MOHAMMEDAN FESTIVALS: THE HOLY CARPET—THE FAST OF RAMADAN AND THE ASHURA
WOMAN so seldom figures in the history of the Mohammedan world that when she appears in the long records of the khalifs, the emirs and the vizirs, she is as welcome as a treble solo after a prolonged bass chorus. The story of the beautiful but unhappy Zohra may not be edifying in all its details, but it lifts for a moment the veil which conceals the hareem life, and gives us an insight into the tragic events occasionally enacted behind these closed doors. The curtain has but recently descended on the drama in which Zohra took a leading part. If we change the names and omit a few details referring to present times, it would be hard to believe that this was not some medi?val story such as the shoara recite in the market-places.
We have to go back to the thirteenth century to find the name of a woman who played an important part in the government of Egypt. There is something refreshing in her name, Sheger-ed-Durr, which means ‘The Spray of Pearls,’ coming as it does amongst the list of the blood-stained warriors of those stirring times. She was a slave who became the wife of the mameluke, Emir es-Salih, not of him who built the Fátimid mosque mentioned further back, but of the Salih who founded152 the mameluke dynasty when he usurped the throne of the last of the house of Saladin. He was killed while fighting the Crusaders shortly after Sheger-ed-Durr had become his queen. The heir to the throne was a son of es-Salih by a former wife, and some time elapsed before he could be brought from the outlying province where he also was endeavouring to hold the Crusaders in check. The widowed queen undertook the management of affairs in the meanwhile, keeping the death of her husband a secret until the succession should be established. The new khalif, Turán-Shah ibn es-Salih, was not long on the throne before he met his death in a brawl, and Sheger-ed-Durr once more took up the reins of government. She sank her identity in that of her baby son, and ruled under the title of ‘Mother of the victorious King Khalil.’
153 While this baby king’s victories were confined to the nursery, his mother’s generals were defeating the Crusaders in every part of his dominions. The battle of Mansúra decided the fate of the last Crusade, and Louis IX. was taken prisoner by the Emir Beybars. The mother of Khalil arranged the ransom which was paid to release the King of France; and, though not in name, she in fact governed the country during some seven or eight years. The baby king died, and Mohammedan prejudice could not brook a woman at the head of affairs. The khalif of Baghdád was appealed to, and a husband was chosen for her in the person of Aybek. It appears that she ruled her husband with as firm a hand as she ruled her country. But this rule was not of long duration. ‘Like a true woman,’ says Stanley-Lane Poole, ‘she could be jealous; she made him divorce another wife, and when Aybek ventured to propose a fresh marriage with a princess of Mosil, the queen gave way to a regrettable act of resentment; having lured him by fair words to the Citadel—the facts unhappily can’t be softened—she had him murdered in his bath’—not unlike Zohra’s vengeance of six centuries later. ‘Her punishment was speedy and terrible. In three days all was over. The mamelukes shut her up in the Red Tower, where she vindictively pounded her jewels in a mortar that they might adorn no other woman, and then she was dragged before the wife whom she had made Aybek divorce, and there and then beaten to death with the women’s clogs. For days her body lay in the Citadel ditch for the curs to worry, till some good Samaritan buried it. Her tomb may be seen beside the chapel of Sitta Néfisa, and a pious hand of these latter days has shrouded it with a cloth on which the Arabic name “Spray of Pearls” is worked in gold.’
The object of the present writer is not the ambitious one of attempting a history of Egypt, but to give a simple account of such things as he saw and heard while in pursuit of his work as an artist. The story of Zohra is still told in the bazaars, and the professional reciter still entertains his audience with the doings of Sheger-ed-Durr. This queen has also a bearing on that vexed question of the origin of the Holy Carpet. The departure of the Mahmal and its return from Mekka are the two events in Cairo which annually excite the greatest interest.
154 The hodag, or the gorgeous covered litter borne by a camel, is usually taken by the foreign sightseers to be the covering of the Holy Carpet which is destined to be placed on the Kaabah at Mekka. There is little wonder that this should be so, for it is by far the most striking object in the procession. It does not, however, contain the carpet, or for that matter anything else. Its origin dates from the pilgrimage which ‘The Spray of Pearls’ made to the Holy City six centuries and a half ago; and though she is only reported to have gone once, her camel and litter were yearly sent to represent her. The original hood of this litter has since been replaced, and the Mahmal, as it is called, has ever since been sent with the pilgrims to represent Royalty at the yearly hagg.
I have had the good fortune to see the procession of the Mahmal several times, both on its starting for Mekka and on its return to Cairo. The Kisweh, as the carpet itself is called, is taken in four separate pieces, which are enclosed in boxes and borne by camels. Though handsome cloths cover these boxes, and the trappings of the camels are magnificent, they yet look far less important than the empty litter which precedes them.
A new carpet, or, properly speaking, a new covering for the Kaabah is annually made, and, when the fast of Ramadan is over, its component parts are deposited in the mosque of the Hasaneyn, there to remain for the few weeks which elapse before the pilgrimage sets out.
When the great day arrives, all Cairo assembles in the large open space on the south of the Citadel walls, and east of the great mosques of Sultan Hassan and of155 el Rifaiya. His Highness the Khedive and all the great state functionaries are here, and smart up-to-date soldiers keep back the crowds of sightseers to make way for as picturesque and truly oriental a spectacle as any one could wish to see. I confess that familiarity has in this case robbed the proceedings of some of its charm; for I have seen and sketched some of these camels in their gorgeous trappings when they have done duty at weddings, and also in the courtyard of the man who hires them out. The pictorial effect is there, however, none the less. I have enjoyed it more while seeing it pass through the old medi?val streets, or file out into the desert through the Bab en-Nasr. Until quite recently its route lay through the passes in the Mokattam hills, and by the desert track which leads to Suez. It is now taken by train to Alexandria, and shipped to Jiddeh, as the nearest port to the Holy City.
My illustration to this chapter is the return journey to Cairo, and though I may have taken some liberties with the background, it will give some idea of its aspect during its desert march. My picture of the marriage procession in the earlier part of this book shows some of the properties which figure in this yearly spectacle.
As the Mohammedan year is composed of lunar months, it is eleven days short of the year as we understand it. Thus these and all other religious festivals are set back eleven days annually. When, in the course of time, the pilgrims will start on their journey during the summer months, few foreigners will have an opportunity to see this picturesque pageant. The156 Great Beiram will also fall during the time when Cairo is empty of visitors, and this is the most important holiday in the Mohammedan world. It is the day of the sacrificial feast which the pilgrims partake of in Mekka after they have heard the sermon on Mount Arafat. As this impressive gathering on the holy mount is only to be witnessed by the followers of the Prophet, we must content ourselves with seeing all we can of its commemoration in more accessible places. The Lesser Beiram, with which we must not confuse it, is the holiday and feastings which follow the last day of the fast of Ramadan. To be spared the month of Ramadan is a loss no visitor need regret. He will not be much aware of it in his modern hotel, where Frankish servants may eat and drink their fill; but should his occupation lie amongst the natives, he will indeed rejoice when the last gun is fired to herald the advent of the Lesser Beiram.
As in many other matters, this fast fells much more heavily on the poor than on the rich. The well-to-do can pass most of the hours, between the rising and the setting of the sun, in sleep or in their cool and comparatively dustless homes. But just think what a long day spent in the sun and the dust must be to a man who may not let a drop of water pass his lips! The callous remark that they are used to it is nonsense. They are used to a drink of water whenever they feel inclined during the eleven months preceding the fest, and this must quite have broken the habit of a rigid abstinence.
I spent one Ramadan in the camp of the Egyptian157 Exploration Fund, and have seen two or three hundred men and boys working the whole day in a perpetual dust. What their cravings for a drink of water must have been was easily imagined; for though I worked in the shade and as far from the excavation dust as I could, the dry desert air often induced me to have a pull at the water-bottle. Mr. Currelly, who directed the work, was considerate enough to alter the hours, when we appreciated how these men suffered; and by starting at daybreak and working till dark, a long rest during the extreme heat of the day was permissible.
In the streets and bazaars of Cairo the fast seems to affect the tempers of the people even more than the hamseen is wont to do. Quarrels are much more frequent, and the only occasion when I had a serious row with a native which might have led to very unpleasant consequences was during Ramadan.
I had secured a comfortable seat on the mastaba of a little shop and was painting a fruit-stall on the opposite side of the road. My man Mohammed induced the woman who kept the stall to pose to me while she squatted amidst the apples and oranges which she sold. The usual bargaining took place between my man and the woman, and inquisitive neighbours were interested as usual in the proceedings. When it was agreed that she would pose for about the value of her whole stock in trade, I set to work. She was a young woman and wore no face-veil, which suggested that she was of easy virtue. I was, however, more concerned with my drawing than with the morals of my model. A rough-looking fellow presently started158 an altercation with her, and as he stood between me and my subject, I told Mohammed to ask him to stand aside. It appeared that the man objected to the woman being painted, and he turned furiously on Mohammed when the latter tried to induce him to move on. Had I then had Mahmood as a servant, he would have made short work of my interrupter; but Mohammed had neither the courage nor the physical strength for such strong measures. Gentle persuasion had no effect on the brute, and he suddenly ended his arguments with my model by giving her a violent slap on her cheek. He then rushed across to where I was sitting and roughly sat down beside me. I was new to Cairo then and could not understand what he said, and I put my materials aside before attempting to rid myself of my unpleasant neighbour. Leaning over me he stuck his fingers right on to my drawing, and was rewarded by a blow in his ribs which sent him sprawling on to the road. That was one for touching my drawing and two for the slap on the woman’s cheek.
Personal courage is not a characteristic of the Egyptians; but when they ‘see red,’ as they describe it, they become like raving madmen. A crowd collected before the man had hardly picked himself up, and I did not at once know what the attitude of the crowd towards myself might be. Mohammed’s persuasive powers were of good service now, and several onlookers held back the man, who made frantic efforts to get at me. He then ran back to the shop, and picking up the thickest piece of sugar-cane, he yelled out his curses and made another rush at me. The crowd159 seemed happily to side with the Nusranee, or possibly wished to prevent the Moslem from getting into further trouble. However that might have been, the man was well guarded until I could get away.
Mohammed had doubtless been of great service to me; he had most likely lied to the crowd that I was a nephew of Lord Cromer’s, or son-in-law to the head of the police, as I found out on later occasions that he had inspired a certain respect for me by similar falsehoods. Be this as it may, I was fortunate to have got out of the row as well as I had. But why should Mohammed have been so alarmed when I insisted on his going with me to the nearest police-court? He was about to turn tail when we reached the entrance; I was, however, in no mood to argue the matter—he should either come in or leave my service.
The Moslem magistrate and his clerks fortunately spoke French, and I was able to state my case. They questioned Mohammed in Arabic, and he, having got over his fears of the police-court, gave a fair account of what had taken place. I was assured that the man would be found, and that I should hear again from them before long.
I returned the next day to the fruit-stall, and made some compensation to the woman for the slap on her cheek of which I had been the innocent cause; but nothing would persuade her to sit to me any more. When I got to work she closed up her shop and departed. I consoled myself, while I put in the detail of the mushrbiyeh oriel which projected over her closed shutters, that the solatium I had given her would160 more than cover any loss of custom during a Ramadan morning. When an Arab in the poorer quarters buys an orange, it is for immediate consumption. To be seen buying one, unless just before or after the gun announces the setting of the sun, would awaken suspicions as to the orthodoxy of the purchaser. A stray Jew or Copt might turn up as a customer; but th............