Some day, when my last impressions of the place may fade and I may remember more clearly the shrine retaining its human associations, I may possibly be able to take up this drawing again and infuse some life into it.
I did better from the window overlooking the Nahasseen.
The ruinous domed mosque—built before the one of Kalaûn—to shelter the remains of Ayyub es-Salih, has been heavily dealt with by ‘decay’s effacing fingers.’ Copper-smiths have rigged up their stalls against its crumbling walls, and the mosque school still hangs together sufficiently to be used by the youths repeating their Koran. This and an ever-moving crowd of people had at all events a soul left in it.
My regrets at having lost so much time in producing an artistic failure decreased in proportion as the use I was able to make of this window increased.
Facing immediately the street leading to the Beit-el-Kadi, I was able to take notes, on a market day, of all the incidents mentioned in the last chapter, and at ordinary times there would always be more than enough subject-matter to furnish the foreground of the couple of drawings I made from here.
A CHEAP RIDE
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The mosque being now a ‘sight’ more than a place of worship, a fee is charged for admittance; and even this matter, which I was regretting before now, proved an advantage to me, for the attentions of the inquisitive are usually more marked while making figure studies than while painting some inanimate subject.