An Artist in Egypt

by Walter Tyndale

I have had the good fortune to see the procession of the Mahmal several times, both on its starting for Mekka and on its return to Cairo. The Kisweh, as the carpet itself is called, is taken in four separate pieces, which are enclosed in boxes and borne by camels. Though handsome cloths cover these boxes, and the trappings of the camels are magnificent, they yet look far less important than the empty litter which precedes them.

A new carpet, or, properly speaking, a new covering for the Kaabah is annually made, and, when the fast of Ramadan is over, its component parts are deposited in the mosque of the Hasaneyn, there to remain for the few weeks which elapse before the pilgrimage sets out.

When the great day arrives, all Cairo assembles in the large open space on the south of the Citadel walls, and east of the great mosques of Sultan Hassan and of el Rifaiya. His Highness the Khedive and all the great state functionaries are here, and smart up-to-date soldiers keep back the crowds of sightseers to make way for as picturesque and truly oriental a spectacle as any one could wish to see. I confess that familiarity has in this case robbed the proceedings of some of its charm; for I have seen and sketched some of these camels in their gorgeous trappings when they have done duty at weddings, and also in the courtyard of the man who hires them out. The pictorial effect is there, however, none the less. I have enjoyed it more while seeing it pass through the old mediæval streets, or file out into the desert through the Bab en-Nasr. Until quite recently its route lay through the passes in the Mokattam hills, and by the desert track which leads to Suez. It is now taken by train to Alexandria, and shipped to Jiddeh, as the nearest port to the Holy City.

My illustration to this chapter is the return journey to Cairo, and though I may have taken some liberties with the background, it will give some idea of its aspect during its desert march. My picture of the marriage procession in the earlier part of this book shows some of the properties which figure in this yearly spectacle.

As the Mohammedan year is composed of lunar months, it is eleven days short of the year as we understand it. Thus these and all other religious festivals are set back eleven days annually. When, in the course of time, the pilgrims will start on their journey during the summer months, few foreigners will have an opportunity to see this picturesque pageant. The Great Beiram will also fall during the time when Cairo is empty of visitors, and this is the most important holiday in the Mohammedan world. It is the day of the sacrificial feast which the pilgrims partake of in Mekka after they have heard the sermon on Mount Arafat. As this impressive gathering on the holy mount is only to be witnessed by the followers of the Prophet, we must content ourselves with seeing all we can of its commemoration in more accessible places. The Lesser Beiram, with which we must not confuse it, is the holiday and feastings which follow the last day of the fast of Ramadan. To be spared the month of Ramadan is a loss no visitor need regret. He will not be much aware of it in his modern hotel, where Frankish servants may eat and drink their fill; but should his occupation lie amongst the natives, he will indeed rejoice when the last gun is fired to herald the advent of the Lesser Beiram.

As in many other matters, this fast fells much more heavily on the poor than on the rich. The well-to-do can pass most of the hours, between the rising and the setting of the sun, in sleep or in their cool and comparatively dustless homes. But just think what a long day spent in the sun and the dust must be to a man who may not let a drop of water pass his lips! The callous remark that they are used to it is nonsense. They are used to a drink of water whenever they feel inclined during the eleven months preceding the fest, and this must quite have broken the habit of a rigid abstinence.

I spent one Ramadan in the camp of the Egyptian Exploration Fund, and have seen two or three hundred men and boys working the whole day in a perpetual dust. What their cravings for a drink of water must have been was easily imagined; for though I worked in the shade and as far from the excavation dust as I could, the dry desert air often induced me to have a pull at the water-bottle. Mr. Currelly, who directed the work, was considerate enough to alter the hours, when we appreciated how these men suffered; and by starting at daybreak and working till dark, a long rest during the extreme heat of the day was permissible.

In the streets and bazaars of Cairo the fast seems to affect the tempers of the people even more than the hamseen is wont to do. Quarrels are much more frequent, and the only occasion when I had a serious row with a native which might have led to very unpleasant consequences was during Ramadan.

I had secured a comfortable seat on the mastaba of a little shop and was painting a fruit-stall on the opposite side of the road. My man Mohammed induced the woman who kept the stall to pose to me while she squatted amidst the apples and oranges which she sold. The usual bargaining took place between my man and the woman, and inquisitive neighbours were interested as usual in the proceedings. When it was agreed that she would pose for about the value of her whole stock in trade, I set to work. She was a young woman and wore no face-veil, which suggested that she was of easy virtue. I was, however, more concerned with my drawing than with the morals of my model. A rough-looking fellow presently started an altercation with her, and as he stood between me and my subject, I told Mohammed to ask him to stand aside. It appeared that the man objected to the woman being painted, and he turned furiously on Mohammed when the latter tried to induce him to move on. Had I then had Mahmood as a servant, he would have made short work of my interrupter; but Mohammed had neither the courage nor the physical strength for such strong measures. Gentle persuasion had no effect on the brute, and he suddenly ended his arguments with my model by giving her a violent slap on her cheek. He then rushed across to where I was sitting and roughly sat down beside me. I was new to Cairo then and could not understand what he said, and I put my materials aside before attempting to rid myself of my unpleasant neighbour. Leaning over me he stuck his fingers right on to my drawing, and was rewarded by a blow in his ribs which sent him sprawling on to the road. That was one for touching my drawing and two for the slap on the woman’s cheek.

Personal courage is not a characteristic of the Egyptians; but when they ‘see red,’ as they describe it, they become like raving madmen. A crowd collected before the man had hardly picked himself up, and I did not at once know what the attitude of the crowd towards myself might be. Mohammed’s persuasive powers were of good service now, and several onlookers held back the man, who made frantic efforts to get at me. He then ran back to the shop, and picking up the thickest piece of sugar-cane, he yelled out his curses and made another rush at me. The crowd seemed happily to side with the Nusranee, or possibly wished to prevent the Moslem from getting into further trouble. However that might have been, the man was well guarded until I could get away.