THIS year the Ramazan befell in June, and a fearful infliction was that
"blessed month," making the Moslem unhealthy and unamiable. For the
space of sixteen consecutive hours and a quarter, we were forbidden to
eat, drink, smoke, snuff, and even to swallow our saliva designedly. I
say forbidden, for although the highest orders of Turks,-the class is
popularly described as
"Turco fino
Mangia porco e beve vino."-
may break the ordinance in strict privacy, popular opinion would
condemn any open infraction of it with uncommon severity. In this, as
in most human things, how many are there who hold that
"Pecher en secret n'est pas pecher,
Ce n'est que l'eclat qui fait le crime"?
The middle and lower ranks observe the duties of the season, however
arduous, with exceeding zeal: of all who suffered severely from such
total abstinence, I found but one patient who would eat even to save
his life. And among the vulgar, sinners who habitually drink when they
should pray, will fast and perform their devotions through the Ramazan.
Like the Italian, the Anglo-Catholic, and the Greek fasts, the chief
effect of the "blessed month" upon True Believers is to darken their
tempers into positive gloom.
[p.75]Their voices, never of the softest, acquire, especially after
noon, a terribly harsh and creaking tone. The men curse one
another[FN#1] and beat the women. The women slap and abuse the
children, and these in their turn cruelly entreat, and use bad language
to, the dogs and cats. You can scarcely spend ten minutes in any
populous part of the city without hearing some violent dispute. The
"Karakun," or station-houses, are filled with lords who have
administered an undue dose of chastisement to their ladies, and with
ladies who have scratched, bitten, and otherwise injured the bodies of
their lords. The Mosques are crowded with a sulky, grumbling
population, making themselves offensive to one another on earth whilst
working their way to heaven; and in the shade, under the outer walls,
the little boys who have been expelled the church attempt to forget
their miseries in spiritless play. In the bazars and streets, pale
long-drawn faces, looking for the most part intolerably cross, catch
your eye, and at this season a stranger will sometimes meet with
positive incivility. A shopkeeper, for instance, usually says when he
rejects an insufficient offer, "Yaftah Allah,"-"Allah opens.[FN#2]"
During the Ramazan, he will grumble about the bore of Ghashim, or
"Johnny raws," and gruffly tell you not to stand there wasting his
time. But as a rule the shops are either shut or destitute of shopmen,
merchants will not purchase, and students will not study. In fine,
[p.76]the Ramazan, for many classes, is one-twelfth of the year
wantonly thrown away.
The following is the routine of a fast day. About half an hour after
midnight, the gun sounds its warning to faithful men that it is time to
prepare for the "Sahur," (early breakfast) or morning meal. My servant
then wakes me, if I have slept; brings water for ablution, spreads the
Sufrah[FN# 3] (or leather cloth); and places before me certain remnants
of the evening's meal. It is some time before the stomach becomes
accustomed to such hours, but in matters of appetite, habit is
everything, and for health's sake one should strive to eat as
plentifully as possible. Then sounds the Salam, or Blessings on the
Prophet,[FN#4] an introduction to the Call of Morning Prayer. Smoking
sundry pipes with tenderness, as if taking leave of a friend; and until
the second gun, fired at about half-past two A.M., gives the
Imsak,[FN#4]-the order to abstain from food,-I wait the Azan,[FN#5]
which in this month is called somewhat earlier than usual. Then, after
a ceremony termed the Niyat[FN#6] (purpose) of fasting, I say my
[p.77]prayers, and prepare for repose.[FN#7] At 7 A.M. the labours of
the day begin for the working classes of society; the rich spend the
night in revelling, and rest in down from dawn till noon.
The first thing on rising is to perform the Wuzu, or lesser ablution,
which invariably follows sleep in a reclining position; without this it
would be improper to pray, to enter the Mosques, to approach a
religious man, or to touch the Koran. A few pauper patients usually
visit me at this hour, report the phenomena of their complaints,-which
they do, by the bye, with unpleasant minuteness of detail,-and receive
fresh instructions. At 9 A.M. Shaykh Mohammed enters, with "lecture"
written upon his wrinkled brow; or I pick him up on the way, and
proceed straight to the Mosque Al-Azhar. After three hours' hard
reading, with little interruption from bystanders-this is long
vacation, most of the students being at home-comes the call to mid-day
prayer. The founder of Al-Islam ordained but few devotions for the
morning, which is the business part of the Eastern day; but during the
afternoon and evening they succeed one another rapidly, and their
length increases. It is then time to visit my rich patients, and
afterwards, by way of accustoming myself to the sun, to wander among
the bookshops for an hour or two, or simply to idle in the street. At 3
P.M. I return home, recite the afternoon prayers, and re-apply myself
to study.
This is the worst part of the day. In Egypt the summer nights and
mornings are, generally speaking,
[p.78]pleasant, but the forenoons are sultry, and the afternoons are
serious. A wind wafting the fine dust and furnace-heat of the desert
blows over the city; the ground returns with interest the showers of
caloric from above, and not a cloud or a vapour breaks the dreary
expanse of splendour on high. There being no such comforts as Indian
tatties, and few but the wealthiest houses boasting glass windows, the
interior of your room is somewhat more fiery than the street. Weakened
with fasting, the body feels the heat trebly, and the disordered
stomach almost affects the brain. Every minute is counted with morbid
fixity of idea as it passes on towards the blessed sunset, especially
by those whose terrible lot is manual labour at such a season. A few
try to forget their afternoon miseries in slumber, but most people take
the Kaylulah, or Siesta, shortly after the meridian, holding it
unwholesome to sleep late in the day.
As the Maghrib, the sunset hour, approaches-and how slowly it
comes!-the town seems to recover from a trance. People flock to the
windows and balconies, in order to watch the moment of their release.
Some pray, others tell their beads; while others, gathering together in
groups or paying visits, exert themselves to while away the lagging
time.
O Gladness! at length it sounds, that gun from the citadel.
Simultaneously rises the sweet cry of the Mu'ezzin, calling men to
prayer, and the second cannon booms from the Abbasiyah
Palace,[FN#8]-"Al Fitar! Al
[p.79]Fitar!" fast-breaking! fast-breaking! shout the people, and a hum
of joy rises from the silent city. Your acute ears waste not a moment
in conveying the delightful intelligence to your parched tongue, empty
stomach, and languid limbs. You exhaust a pot full of water, no matter
its size. You clap hurried hands[FN#9] for a pipe; you order coffee;
and provided with these comforts, you sit down, and calmly contemplate
the coming pleasures of the evening.
Poor men eat heartily at once. The rich break their fast with a light
meal,-a little bread and fruit, fresh or dry, especially water-melon,
sweetmeats, or such digestible dishes as "Muhallabah,"-a thin jelly of
milk, starch, and rice-flour. They then smoke a pipe, drink a cup of
coffee or a glass of sherbet, and recite the evening prayers; for the
devotions of this hour are delicate things, and while smoking a first
pipe after sixteen hours' abstinence, time easily slips away. Then they
sit down to the Fatur (breakfast), the meal of the twenty-four hours,
and eat plentifully, if they would avoid illness.
There are many ways of spending a Ramazan evening. The Egyptians have a
proverb, like ours of the Salernitan school:
[p.80]"After Al-Ghada rest, if it be but for two moments:
After Al-Asha[FN#10] walk, if it be but two steps."
The streets are now crowded with a good-humoured throng of strollers;
the many bent on pleasure, the few wending their way to Mosque, where
the Imam recites "Tarawih" prayers.[FN#11] They saunter about, the
accustomed pipe in hand, shopping, for the stalls are open till a late
hour; or they sit in crowds at the coffee-house entrance, smoking
Shishas,[FN#12] (water-pipes), chatting, and listening to
story-tellers, singers and itinerant preachers. Here a bare-footed girl
trills and quavers, accompanied by a noisy tambourine and a "scrannel
pipe" of abominable discordance, in honour of a perverse saint whose
corpse insisted upon being buried inside some respectable man's
dwelling-house.[FN#13] The scene reminds you strongly of the Sonneurs
of Brittany and the Zampognari from the Abruzzian Highlands bagpiping
before the Madonna. There a tall, gaunt Maghrabi displays upon a square
yard of
[p.81]dirty paper certain lines and blots, supposed to represent the
venerable Ka'abah, and collects coppers to defray the expenses of his
pilgrimage. A steady stream of loungers sets through the principal
thoroughfares towards the Azbakiyah Gardens, which skirt the Frank
quarter; there they sit in the moonlight, listening to Greek and
Turkish bands, or making merry with cakes, toasted grains, coffee,
sugared-drinks, and the broad pleasantries of Kara Gyuz[FN#14] (the
local Punch and Judy). Here the scene is less thoroughly Oriental than
within the city; but the appearance of Frank dress amongst the
varieties of Eastern costume, the moon-lit sky, and the light mist
hanging over the deep shade of the Acacia trees-whose rich scented
yellow-white blossoms are popularly compared to the old Pasha's
beard[FN#15]-make it passing picturesque. And the traveller from the
far East remarks with wonder the presence of certain ladies, whose only
mark of modesty is the Burka, or face-veil: upon this laxity the police
looks with lenient eyes, inasmuch as, until very lately, it paid a
respectable tax to the state.[FN#16]