Shortly after nine o’clock, my guide, the pronunciation of whose real name sounded so much like “Jim” that I shall hereafter allude to him as such, called for me, and together we started off for the darkened Turkish quarter. With Jim in the lead, carrying in his hand a ponderous Turkish lantern, which resembled more an oil can than anything I can think of, we stumbled over the cobbles, through the narrow streets, past the latticed windows of the low-roofed Turkish houses and, after three-quarters of an hour (during which time I am safe in saying we climbed every hill in the town) we arrived at the door of the Dervish mosque.
In the courtyard the bodies of several of the departed lay in state, as is the Mohammedan custom before burial. After proceeding through several rooms and negotiating as best we could as many flights of dark, precipitous stairs, we finally found ourselves in a balcony overlooking the room in which the “dance” was to take place. On the opposite side of the balcony from us, behind closely-woven lattice-work, was seated a group of female admirers of the dancers. On the floor below, at one end of the room, stood a shrine, on each side of which a Dervish apostle sat cross-legged. The pungent odour of burning incense and candles filled the atmosphere.
Presently the worshippers, all men, arrived, removed their slippers and squatted on the floor facing the altar, forming a semi-circle. When all were seated, probably thirty in number, one of the patriarchs near the shrine commenced a low, dismal chant. After many repetitions this was memorized by the worshippers, who then chanted it together, emphasizing the first beat of a common time rhythm, their bodies swaying in unison from side to side. The tempo of the song and the movement of the bodies accelerated gradually. At the end of ten or fifteen minutes this particular chant was stopped abruptly and another was commenced, which continued for an equal length of time.
But to worship in a sitting posture did not seem to produce the desired effect and the men, at the beginning of the succeeding wail, arose to their knees to continue the services. Swinging and grunting in this position tended to heighten their emotions to a greater extent, and some of the worshippers became so accustomed to and numbed by the swaying movement that they hopped about the floor in a state of semi-consciousness, their faces engraven with an almost unearthly look, like that of sufferers from delirium tremens. At the end of each chant several required being led back by their fellows to their original positions in the semi-circle.
Still they were not satisfied with the result, and, after an hour of howling in sitting and kneeling positions, they stood up to put a more emotional finishing touch to their devout proceedings. By this time the floor was littered with fallen turbans and the rugs used to kneel upon were scattered about the room. After several more exhaustive efforts to work off their superfluous religious ardour had been resorted to without apparent avail, the men snatched drums and cymbals from hooks upon the wall and commenced beating them furiously, in rhythm to the wails of the priests. The din produced on these instruments was almost deafening and the antics and shouts of the chanting fanatics transformed the place, literally, into the interior of a madhouse. During the final scene all were shouting at once, each trying to outdo the other, as if to receive some recognition for his religious ability from the high priests. From time to time a Dervish would fall upon the floor, completely enervated but trying, unconsciously, to continue his part. On the whole it constituted one of the most repulsive sights of infidel worship.
At half-past eleven the “dance” was over and I was quite willing to take up my position behind Jim and be guided through the narrow streets back to civilization.
CHAPTER XII
FROM SARAJEVO TO THE COAST