The cool breezes of November had returned, and the Thorpe party were again at Cairo, on their way to Thebes, where they proposed to pass the winter. During the few days that they spent in the capital before prosecuting their voyage, they visited the various objects of interest which they had not found time to see during their former stay. One scene, however, which they witnessed was so illustrative of the superstition of the “Cairians,” or inhabitants of Cairo, that it is not unworthy of notice.
Returning one day from an excursion to the Mokattan hills, they saw an immense crowd of persons, of all ages and conditions, on horses, mules, donkeys, and on foot, flocking to a spot called Sabaâ Benât (the seven daughters), on the edge of the desert. Piercing through the outskirts of this mixed assemblage, they were surprised to see beys, effendis, merchants, priests, and beggars all divested of their outer garments and rolling themselves with frantic energy and gesticulation in the sand.
On inquiring through Demetri what was the meaning of this strange ceremonial, they learnt that it was a miracle wrought through the instrumentality of a Moghrebi saint (such as in Algeria are termed Marabouts), who had been warned in a religious trance that the sand in this spot possessed a healing virtue, and that all who rolled themselves therein should be immediately cured of any malady.
News of this miracle had spread through the city, and for several days all who were, or imagined themselves, under the influence of any disease hastened to avail themselves of the holy panacea.
In some instances the pious fraud worked out its own verification. One fat bey, whose only ailment was plethora, brought on by gluttony, actually rolled himself so energetically and effectually that he perspired and vomited under the unwonted exertion. He returned home so much relieved that he spread the fame of the miraculous spot throughout all the members of the divan, and thus the superstition of the fanatic Arabs was communicated to the grave and influential portion of the Turkish community.
Mr Thorpe and his party made their way through this motley crowd with no little difficulty, and they found the whole road from the sacred spot to the city dusty and thronged as that from London to Epsom on a Derby day.[[105]]
“How can they believe,” said Mr Thorpe to Demetri, “that by rolling in that sand they can cure all diseases? Have the saints and dervishes so much power over the people’s belief?”
“Saints and dervishes,” said Demetri, “can make them believe that the Nile comes from the moon, or that the Pyramids were built of cheeses made from the milk of Pharaoh’s cows. But that is nothing; priests can do as much in my country. If you want to see what the Cairians can swallow, you should go to that dome, under which you will find a jackass daily fed on the best of provender at the public expense, and almost worshipped by the people.”
As he spoke he pointed to a cupola erected over the tomb of a saint or sheik, in the interior of which a donkey was contentedly chewing his straw and beans, totally unconscious of the religious honours paid to him.