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“How nobly said and how sublime!” exclaimed ʿUmar, when he had read the passage. Thereupon K͟habbāb came forth from his place of concealment, and summoned him to testify to the teaching of Muḥammad. ʿUmar asked where Muḥammad was, went to him, and made his profession of faith to the Prophet himself.

Henceforth ʿUmar remained attached to the person of Muḥammad with the most devoted friendship, and embraced the cause of Islām with all the energies of his strong nature. We find ʿUmar, immediately after Muḥammad’s death, unable at first to grasp the reality of the fact. When the news was imparted to him, he exclaimed wildly before the assembly of the faithful: “The Prophet is not dead; he has only swooned away.” And, again, when Mug͟hīrah tried to convince him that he was mistaken—“Thou liest!” he cried, “the Prophet of the Lord shall not die, until he have rooted out every hypocrite and unbeliever.” At this point Abū Bakr quoted the verses of the Qurʾān, revealed after the defeat at Uḥud: “Muḥammad is no more than an Apostle; verily the other apostles have gone before him. What then! If he were to die or be killed, would you turn back on your heels?” And he added the memorable appeal: “Let him then know, whosoever worshippeth Muḥammad, that Muḥammad indeed is dead; but whoso worshippeth God, let him know that the Lord liveth and doth not die.”

Then, and only then, on hearing those words, spoken by the book, as if he had never heard them before, the truth burst upon ʿUmar with crushing force. “By the Lord,” he would tell in later days, “it was so that when I heard Abū Bakr reciting those verses, I was horror-struck, my limbs trembled, I dropped down, and I knew of a certainty that Muḥammad indeed was dead.”

The paramount ascendency which Muḥammad, during his lifetime, exercised over ʿUmar, could not fail to soften his passionate and vehement nature, and to train him to those habits of self-command, which form one of the most essential elements in the character of a good ruler. If it was an act of wise foresight on the part of Muḥammad to designate, at the approach of death, the older and sedater Abū Bakr as his successor, by appointing him to conduct the public prayers during his last illness, he could at the same time feel assured that ʿUmar, far from contesting the choice of his dying friend, would respect it and make it respected against any defection or rival ambition by his cordial and powerful support. But it was equally natural and wise on the part of Abū Bakr, when the time had come, to fix the choice of his own successor upon ʿUmar. It is related that, feeling his end to be near, and willing to fortify his own conviction by the sense of others, he first consulted ʿAbdu ʾr-Raḥmān, the son of ʿAuf, who praised ʿUmar “as the fittest man, but withal inclined to be severe.” “Which,” responded the dying K͟halīfah, “is because he saw me soft and tender-hearted, when himself the Master, he will forego much of what thou sayest. I have watched him narrowly. If I were angry with one, he would intercede in his behalf; if over-lenient, then he would be severe.” ʿUs̤mān, too, confirmed Abū Bakr’s choice. “What is hidden of ʿUmar,” he said, “is better than that which doth appear. There is not his equal amongst us all.”

And so it was: as in bodily stature ʿUmar towered high above his fellow-men, so he excelled in every quality required in an imposing commander of the Faithful (Amīr al-Muʾminīn), this being the title which he adopted in preference to the more cumbersome of “Successor of the Apostle of God” (K͟halīfatu ʾr-Rasūli ʾllāh). It lies outside the scope of the present work to give a complete biography of ʿUmar, and we must refer the reader who should wish to make himself acquainted with it, to the above-quoted attractive volume of Sir W. Muir, Annals of the Early Caliphate. Our less ambitious object here has merely been to sketch, as it were, in a few salient traits culled from it, the picture of a man, who, as a founder of Islām, was second only to Muḥammad himself. Gifted with a high and penetrating intellect, and possessed of a strong sense of justice, he was impartial, skilful, and fortunate in the choice of his military and civil agents, and had learnt to temper severity with clemency and wise forbearance. While it was he who, in his earlier days, after the battle of Badr, had advised that the prisoners should all be put to death, his later resentment against K͟hālid, with whose name the cruel fate of Mālik ibn Nuwairah and the gory tale of the “River of Blood” are linked in history, on the contrary, took rise in K͟hālid’s unscrupulous and savage treatment of a fallen foe. And the fanatic intolerance of some of the Muslim captains is favourably contrasted with ʿUmar’s treatment of the Christianised Arab tribe of the Banū Tag͟hlib.

They had tendered their submission to Walīd ibn ʿUqbah, who, solicitous for the adhesion to Islām of this great and famous race, pressed them with some rigour to abjure their ancient faith. ʿUmar was much displeased at this—“Leave them,” he wrote, “in the profession of the Gospel. It is only within the bounds of the peninsula, where are the Holy Places, that no polytheist tribe is permitted to remain.” Walīd was removed from his command; and it was enjoined on his successor to stipulate only that the usual tribute should be paid, that no member of the tribe should be hindered from embracing Islām, and that the children should not be educated in the Christian faith. The last condition can only have been meant as a nominal indication of the supremacy of Islām, for if it had been enforced, we should not read of the Banū Tag͟hlib continuing in the profession of Christianity under the next two dynasties and even later. The tribe, deeming in its pride the payment of tribute (jazyah) an indignity, sent a deputation to the K͟halīfah, declaring their willingness to pay the tax if only it were levied under the same name as that taken from the Muslims. ʿUmar evinced his liberality by allowing the concession; and so the Banū Tag͟hlib enjoyed the singular privilege of being assessed as Christians at a “double tithe” (ʿushr), instead of paying jazyah, the obnoxious badge of subjugation. (Sir W. Muir, Annals, p. 218.)

As the original asperity of ʿUmar’s character had been mellowed in the school of life and in close communion with Muḥammad and Abū Bakr, so the same influences, together with the responsibilities of his position, tended to blend his natural boldness and impetuosity with prudence and cautiousness. While his captains in Syria and the ʿIrāq were continually urging him to push on his conquests to the north and east, he would not allow any advance to be ventured upon, before the Muslim rule in the occupied provinces was well established and firmly consolidated. In like manner he evinced a singular dread of naval enterprise, ever after an expedition sent to Abyssinia across the Red Sea in the seventh year of his reign had met with a signal disaster; and he was countenanced in this aversion for the treacherous element by a not less daring general than ʿAmr, son of al-ʿĀṣ, who, consulted on the subject, wrote to him:—

“The sea is a boundless expanse, whereon great ships look but tiny specks; there is nought saving the heavens above and the waters beneath. Trust it little, fear it much. Man at sea is an insect floating on a splinter; if the splinter break, the insect perisheth.”

When the wily ʿAmr wished to raise his people in the estimation of the Egyptians, he had a feast prepared of slaughtered camels, after the Bedouin fashion; and the Egyptians looked on with wonder, while the army satisfied themselves with the rude repast. Next day he commanded a sumptuous banquet to be set before them, with all the dainties of the Egyptian table; and here again the warriors fell to with equal zest. On the third day, there was a grand parade of all the troops in battle array, and the people flocked to see it. Then ʿAmr addressed them, saying: “The first day’s entertainment was to let you see the plain and simple manner of our life at home; the second, to show you that we can not the less enjoy the good things of the lands we enter; and yet retain, as ye see in the spectacle here before you, our martial vigour notwithstanding.”

ʿAmr gained his end, for the Copts retired, saying one to the other, “See ye not that the Arabs have but to raise their heel upon us, and it is enough!” ʿUmar was delighted with his lieutenant’s device, and said of him, “Of a truth it is on wisdom and resolve, as well as on mere force, that the success of warfare doth depend.”

But, at the same time, ʿUmar was much too thoughtful and far-seeing himself not to recognise the danger for the future of Islām, which was lurking in this sudden acquisition of unmeasured riches. On one occasion, when he was about to distribute the fifth of some Persian spoils, he was seen to weep. “What,” it was said to him, “a time of joy and thankfulness, and thou sheddest tears.” “Yea,” replied the simple-minded K͟halīfah, “it is not for this I weep; but I foresee that the wealth which the Lord hath bestowed upon us will become a spring of worldliness and envy, and in the end a calamity to my people.”

Moreover, the luxury and ostentation which was thus engendered in the enriched leaders, was utterly repulsive to his own frugal habits and homely nature. On his first visit to Syria, Abū ʿUbaidah, Yazīd, and K͟hālid, met him in state to welcome him. A brilliant cavalcade, robed in Syrian brocade, and mounted on steeds richly caparisoned, they rode forth as he approached. At the sight of all their finery, ʿUmar’s spirit was stirred within him. He stooped down, and, gathering a handful of gravel, flung it at the astonished chiefs. “Avaunt!” he cried; “is it thus attired that ye come out to meet me? All changed thus in the space of two short years! Verily, had it been after two hundred, ye would have deserved to be degraded.”

This primitive simplicity of the Arab chieftain is another grand and highly captivating feature in ʿUmar’s character. We see in our mind’s eye the mighty mover of armies, at the time when the destinies of Islām were trembling in the balance on the battle-field of Qādisīyah, issuing on foot from the gates of al-Medīnah in the early morning, if perchance he might meet some messenger from the scene of combat. At last a courier arrived outside the city, who to ʿUmar’s question replied shortly, “The Lord has discomfited the Persian host.” Unrecognised, ʿUmar followed the messenger, leading the camel, and with his long strides keeping pace with the high-stepping animal, to glean from him the outline of the great battle. When they entered al-Madīnah, the people crowded round the K͟halīfah, saluting him, and hearing the happy news, wished him joy of the triumph. The courier, abashed, cried out, “O Commander of the Faithful, why didst thou not tell me?” but his mind was instantly set at rest by the K͟halīfah’s kindly answer: “It is well, my brother.”

Or we may fancy him perambulating, whip in hand, the streets and markets of al-Madīnah, ready to punish the offenders on the spot, may be his own son and his boon companions, who had indulged in the use of wine. For on this head ʿUmar did not brook pleasantry. When news of some arch-transgressors on this score was sent from Damascus, and indulgence from the strict enforcement of the law was claimed for them on the plea of their exalted position and military merits, he wrote back: “Gather an assembly and bring them forth. Then ask, Is wine lawful, or is it forbidden? If they say forbidden, lay eighty stripes upon each of them; if they say lawful, then behead them every one.” The punishment, if inflicted by ʿUmar’s own hand, was telling, for it became a proverb: ʿUmar’s whip is more terrible than another’s sword.

Or, again, with the groan of repentance of the well-chastised offender still ringing in our ears, we may watch the same ʿUmar, as journeying in Arabia in the year of famine, he comes upon a poor woman, seated with her hungry and weeping children round a fire, whereon is an empty pot. He hurries to the next village, procures bread and meat, fills the pot, and cooks an ample meal, leaving the little ones laughing and at play.

UMMU ḤABĪBAH (ام حبيبة). One of Muḥammad’s wives. She was the daughter of Abū Ṣufyān, and the widow of ʿUbaidu ʾllāh, one of the “Four Inquirers,” who, after emigrating as a Muslim to Abyssinia, embraced Christianity there, and died in profession of that faith.

UMMU KULS̤ŪM (ام كلثوم). The youngest daughter of Muḥammad by his wife K͟hadījah. She had been married to her cousin ʿUtaibah, son of Abū Lahab, but separated from him and became, after the death of her sister Ruqaiyah, the second wife of ʿUs̤mān, the later K͟halīfah. She died a year or two before Muḥammad, who used, after her death, to say he so dearly loved ʿUs̤mān, that had there been a third daughter, he would have given her also in marriage to him.

UMMU ʾL-MUʾMINĪN (ام المومنين). “A mother of the Faithful.” A title which English authors restrict either to the Prophet’s wife K͟hadījah, or to ʿĀyishah; but it is a title applied to each of the wives of Muḥammad. Qurʾān, Sūrah xxxiii. 6: “His wives are their mothers.”

ʿUMRAH (عمرة). A Lesser Pilgrimage, or a visitation to the sacred mosque at Makkah, with the ceremonies of encompassing the Kaʿbah and running between al-Marwah and aṣ-Ṣafā, but omitting the sacrifices, &c. It is a meritorious act, but it has not the supposed merit of the Ḥajj or Pilgrimage. It can be performed at any time except the eighth, ninth, and tenth days of the month Ẕū ʾl-Ḥijjah, these being the days of the Ḥajj or Greater Pilgrimage. [HAJJ.]