No sooner had the god been placed on his portable throne than the wildest excitement was manifested by his bearers; some wished to carry him one way and some another, while others seemed rooted to the ground. A Japanese gentleman, who was with me, explained that until all the bearers felt drawn to pull one way, it was not known by which route the god had decided to go.
It is singular that a similar superstition should obtain with people differing as much as the Egyptians do to the Japanese.
The constant funerals which passed between me and my subject seemed little heeded by Mohammed and the other frequenters of the café, except when the chorus mentioned the name of the prophet, some would murmur, ‘God bless and save him’—‘Salla-lláhu-’aleyhi wasellem.’
The bridal procession, on the contrary, seemed to have a very depressing effect on my man, and he would hardly cheer up till a distant wail suggested another funeral.
On one occasion I recognised the camels with the magnificent trappings used when the holy carpet is conveyed to Mecca; they were doing duty as a kind of vanguard to a bride who followed in a litter swung between two other camels. It was a most picturesque sight, and one to take as many notes of as possible for reference to in a future picture. Fortunately the progress of the procession is slow, the traffic of the street compelling it frequently to stop. This would enable me to get ahead of it and jot down some of the arrangements of colour. The heavy gold and crimson trappings of one camel, a combination of green and gold on a second, while the gold brocade of a third was in a purple setting; all this in a blaze of sunshine, yet subdued compared to the light caught by the brass kettle-drums. The background in some places, too cut up in violent patches of light and shade by the awnings over the shops or too intricate with the drawing of a saracenic mosque entrance, filled me with confusion as to how I could ever treat such a subject.
When the broad plain surfaces of Barkûk’s and Kalaûn’s shrines made a setting to this gorgeous procession, I felt that my task had become more hopeful.
The number of facts I had to crowd into my memory in a half-hour or so, I found more exhausting than a long morning’s work on a subject such as the one I had left to pursue this one. To return to the little café where I had left Mohammed in charge of my painting materials, pack up my traps and go back to the hotel, was about as much as I was fit for during the rest of that morning.
CHAPTER III
THE MOSQUE OF MURISTÂN KALAÛN, MY EXPERIENCE WITH THE FAKÍR, AND A DIGRESSION ON THE SUBJECT OF DERVISHES
PASSING once more the mosque of Kalaûn, 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.