MOHAMMEDAN FESTIVALS: THE HOLY CARPET--THE FAST OF RAMADAN AND THE
ASHURA
Woman so seldom figures in the history of the Mohammedan world that
when she appears in the long records of the khalifs, the emirs and
the vizirs, she is as welcome as a treble solo after a prolonged
bass chorus. The story of the beautiful but unhappy Zohra may not be
edifying in all its details, but it lifts for a moment the veil which
conceals the hareem life, and gives us an insight into the tragic
events occasionally enacted behind these closed doors. The curtain has
but recently descended on the drama in which Zohra took a leading part.
If we change the names and omit a few details referring to present
times, it would be hard to believe that this was not some mediæval
story such as the _shoara_ recite in the market-places.
We have to go back to the thirteenth century to find the name of
a woman who played an important part in the government of Egypt.
There is something refreshing in her name, Sheger-ed-Durr, which
means ‘The Spray of Pearls,’ coming as it does amongst the list of
the blood-stained warriors of those stirring times. She was a slave
who became the wife of the mameluke, Emir es-Salih, not of him who
built the Fátimid mosque mentioned further back, but of the Salih who
founded the mameluke dynasty when he usurped the throne of the last
of the house of Saladin. He was killed while fighting the Crusaders
shortly after Sheger-ed-Durr had become his queen. The heir to the
throne was a son of es-Salih by a former wife, and some time elapsed
before he could be brought from the outlying province where he also
was endeavouring to hold the Crusaders in check. The widowed queen
undertook the management of affairs in the meanwhile, keeping the death
of her husband a secret until the succession should be established. The
new khalif, Turán-Shah ibn es-Salih, was not long on the throne before
he met his death in a brawl, and Sheger-ed-Durr once more took up the
reins of government. She sank her identity in that of her baby son, and
ruled under the title of ‘Mother of the victorious King Khalil.’
[Illustration: A FRUIT-STALL AT BULAK]
While this baby king’s victories were confined to the nursery, his
mother’s generals were defeating the Crusaders in every part of his
dominions. The battle of Mansúra decided the fate of the last Crusade,
and Louis IX. was taken prisoner by the Emir Beybars. The mother of
Khalil arranged the ransom which was paid to release the King of
France; and, though not in name, she in fact governed the country
during some seven or eight years. The baby king died, and Mohammedan
prejudice could not brook a woman at the head of affairs. The khalif
of Baghdád was appealed to, and a husband was chosen for her in the
person of Aybek. It appears that she ruled her husband with as firm a
hand as she ruled her country. But this rule was not of long duration.
‘Like a true woman,’ says Stanley-Lane Poole, ‘she could be jealous;
she made him divorce another wife, and when Aybek ventured to propose
a fresh marriage with a princess of Mosil, the queen gave way to a
regrettable act of resentment; having lured him by fair words to the
Citadel--the facts unhappily can’t be softened--she had him murdered in
his bath’--not unlike Zohra’s vengeance of six centuries later. ‘Her
punishment was speedy and terrible. In three days all was over. The
mamelukes shut her up in the Red Tower, where she vindictively pounded
her jewels in a mortar that they might adorn no other woman, and then
she was dragged before the wife whom she had made Aybek divorce, and
there and then beaten to death with the women’s clogs. For days her
body lay in the Citadel ditch for the curs to worry, till some good
Samaritan buried it. Her tomb may be seen beside the chapel of Sitta
Néfisa, and a pious hand of these latter days has shrouded it with a
cloth on which the Arabic name “Spray of Pearls” is worked in gold.’
The object of the present writer is not the ambitious one of attempting
a history of Egypt, but to give a simple account of such things as he
saw and heard while in pursuit of his work as an artist. The story of
Zohra is still told in the bazaars, and the professional reciter still
entertains his audience with the doings of Sheger-ed-Durr. This queen
has also a bearing on that vexed question of the origin of the Holy
Carpet. The departure of the _Mahmal_ and its return from Mekka are the
two events in Cairo which annually excite the greatest interest.
The _hodag_, or the gorgeous covered litter borne by a camel, is
usually taken by the foreign sightseers to be the covering of the
Holy Carpet which is destined to be placed on the _Kaabah_ at Mekka.
There is little wonder that this should be so, for it is by far the
most striking object in the procession. It does not, however, contain
the carpet, or for that matter anything else. Its origin dates from
the pilgrimage which ‘The Spray of Pearls’ made to the Holy City six
centuries and a half ago; and though she is only reported to have
gone once, her camel and litter were yearly sent to represent her.
The original hood of this litter has since been replaced, and the
Mahmal, as it is called, has ever since been sent with the pilgrims to
represent Royalty at the yearly _hagg_.
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.
Mohammed had doubtless been of great service to me; he had most likely
lied to the crowd that I was a nephew of Lord Cromer’s, or son-in-law
to the head of the police, as I found out on later occasions that he
had inspired a certain respect for me by similar falsehoods. Be this as
it may, I was fortunate to have got out of the row as well as I had.
But why should Mohammed have been so alarmed when I insisted on his
going with me to the nearest police-court? He was about to turn tail
when we reached the entrance; I was, however, in no mood to argue the
matter--he should either come in or leave my service.
The Moslem magistrate and his clerks fortunately spoke French, and I
was able to state my case. They questioned Mohammed in Arabic, and he,
having got over his fears of the police-court, gave a fair account of
what had taken place. I was assured that the man would be found, and
that I should hear again from them before long.
I returned the next day to the fruit-stall, and made some compensation
to the woman for the slap on her cheek of which I had been the innocent
cause; but nothing would persuade her to sit to me any more. When I got
to work she closed up her shop and departed. I consoled myself, while
I put in the detail of the _mushrbiyeh_ oriel which projected over her
closed shutters, that the solatium I had given her would more than
cover any loss of custom during a Ramadan morning. When an Arab in the
poorer quarters buys an orange, it is for immediate consumption. To
be seen buying one, unless just before or after the gun announces the
setting of the sun, would awaken suspicions as to the orthodoxy of the
purchaser. A stray Jew or Copt might turn up as a customer; but the
chances were slight, as we were far from either the Jewish or Coptic
quarters.
I had to finish my fruit-shop as best I could from other studies, and
find another woman to help me to finish the figure.
Days went by, and I heard nothing further about my aggressor, and
concluded that either he had not been found, or that my statement had
been pigeon-holed, and its existence forgotten. I was anyhow singularly
free from interruptions when I worked in the street where I had been
molested, and did not much mind if I heard no more about it. After
a fortnight or so, I received a letter from the British consulate,
telling me to appear at the police-court on such and such a day. I
went at the appointed time, and waited in the magistrate’s office
until my case should come on. The clerk was pleased to air his French,
and tell me about the prisoner, and the punishment he would probably
undergo. Had he called me a _Kelb_? seemed a matter of great import.
He had probably called me the ‘son of a dog’; but I was more concerned
at the time as to what he would do with the thick cane than hurt by
these reflections on my parentage. I was asked if I would go into the
hall and see the man, and I did so. I not only found him there, in
the custody of a policeman, but I was introduced to a crowd of his
relations. One and all beseeched me to let him off, and Mohammed told
a woeful tale of how many were dependent on the loafer’s earnings. The
starvation of a numerous offspring would be laid to my account should
the prisoner be prevented from loafing in his own particular manner.
The tears of his mother had some effect--but what could I do? I did not
run this show, I got Mohammed to explain, and the decision must rest
with the magistrate. I would, however, make as light of the case as I
could, seeing that it was during Ramadan that it happened. There being
no skirt to my garments, the old mother had a try at kissing the hem of
my trousers, and as to the prisoner himself, I could hardly recognise
in the poor lachrymose creature the furious ruffian of the fruit-stall.
The result of all this pleading put me in the unusual position (when
our case was called) of advocate for the defence rather than that of
the prosecutor. When the man got off with sixteen days, I had to slip
away quickly to avoid the marks of gratitude from his relations. The
part which struck me as odd was that none of his sentence was due to
his violent slap of the poor woman’s cheek. She was not his wife, I
explained to the clerk while I waited in the office. ‘There had been
matrimonial relations of a sort,’ he explained, and he seemed to hold
that that might cover his right to administer corporal punishment. It
was my first season in Egypt, so I had still much to learn.
Had the sixteen days of my aggressor’s confinement been passed while
the fast lasted, it would have been a light sentence. But Ramadan was
now far spent, and the term lasted over the holidays of the Lesser
Beiram. That must have been a bitter pill for him to swallow, for there
are great rejoicings and feastings on the first day of Shauwâl. Except
those under lock and key, few Arabs sit down to a meal where a bit of
mutton does not enrich their stew.
Some months after, while I passed through the street of my fruit-shop,
I noticed a man smiling at me, and making his salaams; I seemed to
remember his face, though I could not quite place him. I asked Mohammed
who my acquaintance might be, and he said, ‘Do you not remember the man
you had put in prison?’
I have met with many cases since, where an Egyptian has been justly
punished, and has shown as little resentment. I have asked large
employers of labour as to whether any spiteful action ever followed
to the master who had sent one of his men to the lock-up. I was told
that acts of vengeance were common enough; but never in a case where
punishment was merited. They are not slow to wrath, but the sun seldom
goes down on their anger. I have known cases, however, where some
fellah having been grossly cheated, and not being able to get justice
in the courts, has nursed his revenge for a long while. A burning stack
or a lighted thatch may be so long after the first wrong that suspicion
may fall on others than the incendiary. ‘Never hurry your revenge; it
will be just as sweet in two years’ time,’ is a saying amongst the
fellaheen; but nothing but the grossest injustice will excite this
passion in so light-hearted a people.
It is a matter of congratulation to every one in Mohammedan countries,
whether he be a follower of the Prophet or not, when the festivities of
Shauwâl announce that the fast of Ramadan is over.
The streets are full of colour during the first days of the month of
Shauwâl. Parents take their children from house to house to show them
off in their new garments; for all who can possibly afford it cast off
their old clothes at the end of the fast and appear in new ones to
enjoy the feast. Primitive merry-go-rounds are erected in the vacant
spaces, and the various eatables appropriate to the Little Beiram are
on sale everywhere. The rich give of their substance to the needy, and
happy faces contrast pleasantly with the saddened looks so frequent
during the great fast.
There is a pause in the festivals during the month of el-Kaadeh,
which follows Shauwâl, and el-Heggeh, which is the last month of the
Mohammedan year, makes up for this in the excitements pertaining to
the Mekka pilgrimage. The Great Beiram, or the ‘Eed el-Kebir,’ as it
is called by the Egyptians, falls on the tenth day and it lasts during
the three following ones. Its advent is noticeable from the flocks
of sheep and goats and also the buffaloes which enter Cairo from the
fertile plains of the Delta. Sheep are brought round to the bazaars to
sell to the merchants who may not wish to attend the markets, and they
are frequently to be seen tethered outside the stalls in the poorer
quarters, where they are fatted for the sacrifice which takes place at
the same hour as the one offered up by the pilgrims at Mekka.
Almsgiving is an important duty and is well observed in the Mohammedan
world: on the tenth day of el-Heggeh those who cannot afford a sheep
partake of the sacrificial offerings of their well-to-do neighbours.
The new garments of the Lesser Beiram appear again on the greater
festival, and the gaily coloured dresses of the children once more
enliven the streets. For three days all business is at a standstill,
and merry-making and religious exercises go on all the while. On the
third night it is usual to visit the tombs of the deceased relatives--a
less mournful ending to the festivities than might be supposed. The
approaches to the cemeteries are gay with booths and tents, rigged
up either for entertainments or for religious _zikrs_. Should the
festival fall during the hot season the tomb visiting is somewhat of an
all-night picnic.
Moharram is the month which follows the last, and with it begins the
Mohammedan year. The tenth day is called the Ashura, and an event
which takes place on the evening of that day is not easily forgotten
by any strangers who may happen to have witnessed it. The Sheeas in
Cairo (mostly Persians) then commemorate the death of Husseyn, the
twin brother of Hassan and grandson of the Prophet. They claim that as
Hassan had died, the succession should have continued through Husseyn
and his son, Ali Akbar, after him; whereas the Sunnees claim that as
Abubekr was chosen by the Prophet himself as his successor, Abubekr’s
descendants had a claim prior to that of Mohammed’s actual blood
relations. This caused the great split in the Mohammedan world. The
Sunnees revere the memory of the twin brothers, and the festival which
takes place on their birthday is one of the great events in orthodox
Egypt.
The Sheeas commemorate the day of Husseyn’s death, which he met on
the field of Kerbala while fighting the usurper of his rights to the
Khalifate. That they should do so in Persia is easily understood; but
that they should be allowed to parade the streets of Cairo and proclaim
their heresy to the crowds of orthodox Sunnees, speaks well for the
toleration of the latter. It is true that the police rope the streets
through which the procession passes, and a large body of them guard
the processionists from molestation. But were the fanaticism of the
populace really stirred, the events which I witnessed could never take
place.
I got a seat in a coffee-shop close to the Hasaneyn mosque about an
hour after sunset; and although the Persians would not be allowed to
enter the mosque itself, I felt sure that their enthusiasm would be
stirred to the highest pitch when they passed by the shrine where the
head of Husseyn is said to be buried.
Crowds of people awaited alongside the route which the Sheeas would
take; the display of so much heresy seemed to trouble them very little,
and, like myself, they looked forward to an evening’s entertainment.
The street was not lighted up as on the day of the birth of the twin
brothers, so that the light which presently appeared at the further end
of the street attracted the attention of every one at once.
A number of flaming cressets lit up the grey houses where the
procession turned from out the Mousky into the Hasaneyn street. As it
approached, the short jerky chorus of the men was more often repeated:
‘Hassan, Husseyn! Hassan, Husseyn!’ The shouts got wilder and more
frequent as the procession drew near to the mosque. The first to pass
us was a man on horseback, who harangued the crowd during an interval
in the chorus. He told of how the young Husseyn died in fighting for
his faith and against the usurper of his throne. The crowd seemed as
little inclined to contradict him as I was, although a few murmurs of
dissent came from some who sat on the bench beside me. The men who
carried the flaming cressets followed next, and then several mounted
policemen. These were not necessarily Sheeas, but were there to
preserve the heretics from any hostile demonstrations on the part of
onlookers. A number of men carrying tall banners and others with more
cressets followed the guardians of the law. Two led horses between a
long double file of Persians carrying lanterns were the next objects of
interest, for these horses represented the twin sons of Ali, who both
were killed while mounted on their steeds.
The ever-increasing noise at the further end of the procession prepared
me somewhat for an exciting scene; but I hardly expected the gruesome
sight which now followed. A number of men, some half-clad and others in
long white garments, were literally streaming with blood. They carried
naked swords, with which they occasionally slashed their foreheads, and
the white garments which caught the jets of blood seemed as if they
had been worn with the purpose of making the sight more ghastly. Some
swayed as if about to fall, and had hardly any voice left to shout the
names of their heroes. Others, in a state of frenzy, brandished their
swords and shouted, ‘Hassan! Husseyn!’
We were so near some of these men in the narrow street that I had to
withdraw my legs so as not to touch their blood-stained garments. They
wore no turbans, and the awful wounds on their close-shaven heads made
me feel sick. There were some without swords who preferred to flog
their naked bodies with chains, and though this ordeal may have been
worse than the other, it was, at any rate, less gruesome to behold. A
small boy on a led white horse followed, and blood ran down his face
and stained his white robes. I felt indignant that a child should take
part in this ghastly orgy; but a suspicion that the blood had been
skilfully placed there before the procession had started cooled my
indignation.
I witnessed the above some fifteen years ago, and it is possible that
some of the worst features may have been modified. It might well be
prohibited, for these Sheeas are strangers in the land, and no orthodox
Egyptian could object to the prohibition of practices carried on by
those whom they consider heretics. When the Dóseh was stopped soon
after the British occupation, it was a much greater interference with
the religion of the people, for the Dóseh was not a Sheea practice;
it was, on the contrary, one of the great events during the _Moolid
en-Nebi_, the birthday of the Prophet. It was a barbaric performance
and many people were seriously injured, though to this day Moslems
have tried to assure me that when the Sheykh rode over the prostrate
bodies of the faithful, none were injured by the horse’s hoofs, and all
received great blessings through this act of faith. They have, however,
quietly submitted to the prohibition of being trampled on, and would
doubtless raise no objection to the heretics living in this country
being similarly prohibited from practising the barbarities of the
Ashura.
Towards the end of Safar, the second month, the return of the Mekka
caravan may be expected, and we again witness the picturesque
procession of the Mahmal which has been described.
The third month, or Rabeea el-Owwal, is the month of the Prophet.
His birth and death are both said to have taken place on the twelfth
day; and any one wishing to see as much of the life and character of
the Egyptians as possible will find something of interest during the
first two weeks of that month. With the exception of the Dóseh, all
the ceremonies which Lane describes as having taken place in his day
may now be seen during the latter end of the tourist season, for the
first day of the Mohammedan year 1330 was on the twenty-second day of
December 1911. Three lunar months added to that date takes us into the
middle of March 1912. As these dates get a set-back of eleven days each
year, visitors in the near future will not have to wait to as late a
date to assist in the festivities of the Moolid en-Nebi.
[Illustration: A THEBAN HOMESTEAD]
If not pressed for time and a certain amount of heat can be borne,
both April and May are delightful months in Egypt, always excepting
the days of _hamseen_. Apart from this festival (which then fell in
April) modern Cairo is beautified with its numerous blossoming trees.
The trying hot winds cease early in May, and though that month is, I
admit, a hot one, I consider it and also June to be the months when the
painter may do his best work in Egypt.