The friend who conducted us related some anecdotes of the poor maniacs, to which I listened with interest. The first, I am told, has been related by some European traveller, in a work descriptive of the Egyptians; but as I do not know by whom, and you may not have read or heard it, I will give you that as well as the others.
A butcher, who had been confined some time in the Máristán, conceived an excessive hatred for a Delee (a Turkish trooper), one of his fellow-prisoners. He received his provision of food from his family; and he induced his wife one day, on the occasion of her taking him his dinner, to conceal, in the basket of food, the instruments he had used in his trade, viz., a cleaver, a knife, and a pair of hooks. I must here observe, that those lunatics who do not appear dangerous have lighter chains than others, and the chains of the person in question were of this description. When he had taken his meal, he proceeded to liberate himself; and as the cells communicated by the back, he soon reached that of his nearest neighbour, who, delighted to see him free, exclaimed, “How is this? Who cut your chains?” “I did,” replied the first, “and here are my implements.” “Excellent,” rejoined the other, “cut mine too.” “Certainly,” said he; and he proceeded to liberate not only one, but two, three, and four of his fellow-prisoners. Now follows the tragical part of the story. No keepers were present—the man who possessed the cleaver attacked the poor Delee, chained and unarmed as he was; slaughtered him; and after dividing his body, hung it on the hooks within the window of the cell, and believed himself to be—what he was—a butcher.
In a few minutes the liberated lunatics became uproarious; and one of them growing alarmed, forced open the door by which the keepers usually entered, found one of them, and gave the alarm. The keeper instantly proceeded to the cell, and seeing the body of the murdered man, exclaimed:
“What, have you succeeded in killing that Delee? he was the plague of my life.” “I have,” answered the delinquent; “and here he hangs for sale.” “Most excellent,” replied the keeper, “but do not let him hang here; it will disgrace us: let us bury him.” “Where?” asked the maniac, still holding his cleaver in his hand. “Here in the cell,” replied the other, “and then the fact can never be discovered.” In an instant he threw down his cleaver, and began to dig busily with his hands. In the mean time, the keeper entered by the back of the cell, and throwing a collar over his neck, instantly chained him, and so finished this tragedy.
Some time since, the brother of the person who gave the following anecdote, on the occasion of his visiting the Máristán, was accosted by one of the maniacs by name, and greeted him with the usual salutations, followed by a melancholy entreaty that he would deliver him from that place. On examining him particularly, he found him to be an old friend; and he was distressed by his entreaties to procure for him his liberation, and perplexed what to do. The lunatic assured him he was not insane, and at length the visitor resolved on applying for his release. Accordingly he addressed himself to the head-keeper on the subject, stated that he was much surprised by the conversation of the patient, and concluded by requesting his liberation. The keeper answered that he did appear sane at that time, but that perhaps in an hour he might be raving.
The visitor, by no means satisfied by the reply of the keeper, and overcome by the rational arguments of the lunatic, urged his request, and at length he consented, saying, “Well, you can try him.” This being arranged, in a short time the two friends set out together; and, engaged in conversation, they passed along the street, when suddenly, the maniac seized the other by the throat, exclaiming, “Help, O Muslims! here is a madman escaped from the Máristán.” He wisely suffered himself to be dragged back in no gentle manner to the very cell whence he had released the poor lunatic; and the latter, on entering, called loudly for a collar and chain for a maniac he had found in the street, escaped from the Máristán. The keeper immediately brought the collar and chain; and while pretending to obey his orders, slipped it over his neck, and secured him in his former quarters, I need not say, to the satisfaction of his would-be deliverer.
Our conductor also related, that some years ago, a maniac, having escaped from his cell in the Máristán, when the keepers had retired for the night, ascended the lofty mád’neh of the adjoining sepulchral mosque, the tomb of the Sultán Kala’oon. Finding there, in the gallery, a Muëddin, chanting one of the night-calls, uttering, with the utmost power of his voice, the exclamation “Yá Rabb!”(O Lord!) he seized him by the neck. The terrified Muëddin cried out, “I seek God’s protection from the accursed devil! God is most great!”—“I am not a devil,” said the madman, “to be destroyed by the words, ‘God is most great!’” (Here I should tell you that these words are commonly believed to have the effect here ascribed to them, that of destroying a devil.) “Then what art thou?” said the Muëddin. “I am a madman,” answered the other, “escaped from the Máristán.” “O welcome!” rejoined the Muëddin: “praise be to God for thy safety! come, sit down, and amuse me with thy conversation.” So the madman thus began: “Why do you call out so loud, ‘O Lord!’ Do you not know that God can hear you as well if you speak low?” “True,” said the other, “but I call that men may also hear.” “Sing,” rejoined the lunatic; “that will please me.” And upon this, the other commenced a kind of chant, with the ridiculous nature of which he so astonished some servants of the Máristán, who, as usual, were sitting up in a coffee-shop below, that they suspected some strange event had happened, and hastily coming up, secured the madman.
After what I have told you of the miserable creatures at present confined in the Máristán, I am very happy to add, that their condition will, I believe, in a few weeks, be greatly ameliorated. They are, I have since heard, to be removed to an hospital, where they will be under the superintendence of a celebrated French surgeon, Clot Bey.
I now return to the subject of the mosques.
Proceeding still southwards along the main street, we arrived at a fine mosque, called the Ashrafeeyeh, on the right. It was built by the Sultán El-Ashraf Barsabáy, consequently between the years 825–41 (A.D. 1421 et seq.). Frequently criminals are hanged against one of the grated windows of this mosque; as the street before it is generally very much crowded with passengers.