PASSING once more the mosque of Kala?n, I was attracted to one of its windows; not on account of its particular interest as such, but of its possibilities as a point of vantage from which I might paint the opposite side of the road, and, unmolested, make studies of the interesting incidents which take place in it.
There was still time to go to the Wakfs ministry2 before it closed for the midday ‘siesta.’ ‘El Wakfs’ is the name of what we might term the Board of Religious Endowments. It is here where artists must apply for a pass to allow them to paint inside the mosques3.
I fortunately found Herz Bey, the architect of the Wakfs, and he very kindly4 gave me what I required.
Apart from the window of Kala?n’s mosque which would be of great use to me, its interior is one of the finest and most ornate in the whole of Cairo. I had found several subjects there in former years, and I looked forward to finding a pleasant asylum5 in which I could restfully do some work after the fatigue6 of some days of street painting.
23 The mosque was falling into a ruinous state when I had last entered it. Originally most gorgeous, its colouring had then been softened7 down by more than six centuries since en-Nasir completed the dome8 which covers the tomb of his father.
I also looked forward to a cooler spot than my café, for Cairo has far from cooled down during the first days of November. Though the thermometer may not register so high as in June, the damp heat during the high Nile is more felt than the greater, but dryer9, temperature of early summer.
I was prepared not to find the mosque as paintable as in the earlier days,
‘Before Decay’s effacing10 fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers’;
yet I was hardly prepared to find it to all appearance a brand new building. It had been admirably restored, and restoration was necessary, I have no doubt, to prevent its falling into complete ruin, as so many other monuments have done. But, alas11, its poetry was gone. Nor is this likely to return so long as it is kept as a show-place merely, and only visited by the tourist or student of Saracenic architecture. The hundred and one signs which suggested the worshippers who had gathered here during the six bygone centuries were all swept away; the worn praying mats were gone, and any of the movable furniture which is not now shelved and labelled in a museum may have found its way to some dealer’s shop,—the place for which these things were designed knows them no more.
I started a large drawing, for in spite of all it is a24 beautiful building, and looks now in all probability very much as it looked when Nasir’s work-people left it. I worked hard at this drawing; spent whole mornings getting the intricate arabesque12 patterns into perspective and their relative tones; but the longer I worked the more my drawing became the lifeless perspective elevation13 plate of some book on architecture.
Some day, when my last impressions of the place may fade and I may remember more clearly the shrine14 retaining its human associations, I may possibly be able to take up this drawing again and infuse some life into it.
I did better from the window overlooking the Nahasseen.
The ruinous domed15 mosque—built before the one of Kala?n—to shelter the remains16 of Ayyub es-Salih, has been heavily dealt with by ‘decay’s effacing fingers.’ Copper-smiths have rigged up their stalls against its crumbling17 walls, and the mosque school still hangs together sufficiently18 to be used by the youths repeating their Koran. This and an ever-moving crowd of people had at all events a soul left in it.
My regrets at having lost so much time in producing an artistic19 failure decreased in proportion as the use I was able to make of this window increased.
Facing immediately the street leading to the Beit-el-Kadi, I was able to take notes, on a market day, of all the incidents mentioned in the last chapter, and at ordinary times there would always be more than enough subject-matter to furnish the foreground of the couple of drawings I made from here.
Page 24
A CHEAP RIDE
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25 The mosque being now a ‘sight’ more than a place of worship, a fee is charged for admittance; and even this matter, which I was regretting before now, proved an advantage to me, for the attentions of the inquisitive21 are usually more marked while making figure studies than while painting some inanimate subject.
Small boys would occasionally crawl on to the sill and hang on to the grating to try and see what I was doing, till my man, whom I kept outside, would send them away.
A ragged22 fakir chose the bit of pavement just below my window to do a little basking23 in the sun. Mohammed whispered to me, through the grating, that he was a great saint, and squatted24 next to him in the full odour of his sanctity. A current of air would now and again bring some of this odour my way; but I restrained Mohammed from disturbing the fakir in his sleep. Others were not so considerate, for, in spite of the old man’s saintly repute, a number of young hooligans soon surrounded him, and comments on his appearance provoked such laughter as to wake him up.
The fakir now seemed as one possessed25 of a devil; he laid about with his staff and cursed his tormentors with a fluency26 which only a long practice, during his unregenerate days, could have given him. A young woman at a safe distance called out to him that the ghawaga, that is I, was sketching27 him, whereupon he turned round and directed the flow of bad language in my direction. The grating was a protection from the old fellow’s staff, and an unused-up lot of curses soon fell on the head of Mohammed, who moved him off.
26 Too much attention having been drawn28 to my window, I retired29 with my materials within the shades of the mosque interior.
I made inquiries30 about the old man. The term, fakir, is used in Egypt to denote a wandering dervish, and is also applied31 to any poor beggar. His rags were not simply the torn garments of a poor man, but a carefully made coat of many patches and of variously coloured stuffs, known as a ‘dilk.’ Shreds32 of coloured cloth were also fastened to the end of his staff. He wore no turban, and had supplemented his own hair with what I believe ladies call ‘a front’ made from a horse’s tail.
I was told that he belonged to the Rifaiyeh order of dervishes, and was famous in his day for being able to pass swords through his body without leaving a wound; he would also charm serpents and scorpions33 away from a house, eat live coals and chew glass.
As I have seen many appear to do these wonders without necessarily being considered very holy men, there remained a more potent34 reason for his reputed sanctity. I tapped my forehead once or twice, suggesting that an excess of miracles must have made him mad. ‘His mind is in heaven and only his body remains on earth,’ was the answer to my suggested question.
A superstitious35 awe36 for persons whose intellect is affected37 obtains all over the Mohammedan world—the Cairo hooligan being apparently38 the exception.
The great majority of dervishes are men of some trade or another and take part in a zikr during the religious festivals; a few lead a tramp’s life and beg their way from town to town where one of these festivals27 may be taking place; while those who are mentally afflicted39 without being actually dangerous can generally find the wherewithal to live in the district to which they belong. The latter are now rarely met with in the European parts of Cairo, and as they seem generally bereft40 of all sense of decency41, the police may have something to say in the matter.
I attended a zikr during my first visit to Egypt, when an evening with the Howling or Dancing dervishes was still looked upon as one of the ‘sights.’ These were often got up by the dragomans as an entertainment for the tourists. H. H. the Khedive has since forbidden these shows as liable to bring Islamism into disrepute. Some wit remarked of the dragomans, that they believed in Mohammed and his profits. The dervishes (or darweesh, as they are called in Egypt) were genuine ones, and argued that their religious exercises might be just as acceptable even if they resulted in some profit in the shape of a ‘baksheesh’ from the unbelievers.
The first part of the performance was the same as may be seen any evening, in any village, during the month of Ramadan.
About a dozen men sat in a double row facing each other, and, taking their time from a leader, began by slowly repeating the first words of the Moslem42’s confession43 of faith: ‘Lá iláha illa-lláh,’ which they accompanied with a swaying of their bodies backwards44 and forwards. Gradually they would increase the speed of the repetition and the movements, always taking their time from the leader. This got faster and faster till their chief shouted ‘Alláh!’ Then, repeating28 this one word, the swaying of their bodies became so rapid that one or two fell down exhausted45. The remainder kept it up as long as their physical endurance would allow; their mouths foaming46, their faces livid, and a mad look in their eyes. Presently more would fall down; some lying still, and others to all appearance in their death agony. The cry of ‘Allah’ finally ceased when the leader fell forward, and, saving a gasp47 or a gurgle, all was still.
Some of us were preparing to leave when a sign from the conductor of our party kept us in our seats.
These bodies stretched on the floor—to all appearance dead or dying—looked ghastly in the light of the flickering48 torches.
We sat on some time wondering what the next move would be. A heavy breathing with alternate choking on the part of one of the performers directed our attention his way. After making several attempts to rise, he succeeded in getting into a sitting posture49 and stared vacantly at us. When he seemed conscious of where he was and what he was doing, he rose rapidly to his feet and spun50 round and round for several minutes; he next seized hold of a torch, continued his gyrations, and without stopping held the lighted torch under his one garment, allowing the flames to pass all over his body. It reminded me horribly of the straw fires with which peasants are wont51 to burn the bristles52 off a stuck pig.
A foreign princess who was of our party, and on whose behalf this zikr had been arranged, had now seen as much as she could stand, and she and her immediate20 suite53 went away.
29 The performers seemed quite unconscious of this disturbance54; the man kept on spinning round, toasting his chest and then his back till he let fall the torch and sank down on the matting.
Another had in the meanwhile come to life again and begun to spin like a teetotum. He drew two knives from his girdle and, while continuing his motion, rested the points on his lower eyelids55; he next hacked56 his face and forehead, and when the blood-letting had sufficiently cooled his frenzy57 he joined his companions on the floor.
The low muttered ‘Alláh’ from the other dervishes showed that they were awakening58 from the kind of cataleptic sleep they had fallen into.
A third one now arose and startled one of the spectators by rushing forward and seizing a tumbler near him; he bit off pieces of glass and crunched59 them in his teeth. He looked absolutely loathsome60 as he appeared to swallow the glass, with the blood streaming from his mouth. His craving61 for glass was not satisfied yet. The glass of an oil lamp near me caught his eye, and catching62 hold of it, hot as it was, he chewed it up as a half-starved dog would chew a bone.
I had now had more than enough, and slipped quietly off before a fourth began his ‘turn.’
Mohammed followed me out. He was not very communicative about the unnatural63 orgy we had assisted at, and as he is a good Moslem, I fancy he seemed ashamed of the performance.
While walking down the Mousky on the following morning, a cabman seated on the box of his arabeyeh30 greeted Mohammed with an unusually cheery ‘Salaam Alêkum.’ The answer, ‘Alêkum es-Salaam, ya ibne Kelb,’ with an accompanying shake of the finger, was surprising; that is, ‘The peace be with you, O son of a dog.’ The cabby laughed and drove on. Mohammed looked rather consciously at me, and seeing that I looked puzzled, he asked me if I did not recall that cabman’s face. Yes, I had seen him before, but when or where I could not say. ‘Why, he is the darweesh who ate all that broken glass last night.’
True enough, it was the very man! But no première danseuse seen with her tinsel and spangles behind the footlights, and afterwards met in everyday garb64, could have shown as great a contrast as did this cabby and the wild dervish of the previous night. He was dressed in European clothes, except for the red tarbouch, and he seemed none the worse for his last night’s glass supper.
点击收听单词发音
1 mosque | |
n.清真寺 | |
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2 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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3 mosques | |
清真寺; 伊斯兰教寺院,清真寺; 清真寺,伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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4 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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5 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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6 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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7 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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8 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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9 dryer | |
n.干衣机,干燥剂 | |
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10 effacing | |
谦逊的 | |
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11 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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12 arabesque | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰;adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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13 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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14 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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15 domed | |
adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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16 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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17 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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18 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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19 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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20 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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21 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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22 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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23 basking | |
v.晒太阳,取暖( bask的现在分词 );对…感到乐趣;因他人的功绩而出名;仰仗…的余泽 | |
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24 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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25 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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26 fluency | |
n.流畅,雄辩,善辩 | |
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27 sketching | |
n.草图 | |
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28 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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29 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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30 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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31 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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32 shreds | |
v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
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33 scorpions | |
n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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34 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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35 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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36 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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37 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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38 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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39 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 bereft | |
adj.被剥夺的 | |
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41 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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42 Moslem | |
n.回教徒,穆罕默德信徒;adj.回教徒的,回教的 | |
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43 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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44 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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45 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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46 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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47 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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48 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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49 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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50 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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51 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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52 bristles | |
短而硬的毛发,刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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53 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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54 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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55 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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56 hacked | |
生气 | |
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57 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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58 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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59 crunched | |
v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 );嘎吱作响;(快速大量地)处理信息;数字捣弄 | |
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60 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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61 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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62 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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63 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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64 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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