a seggádeh (or small prayer-carpet, about the size of a hearth-rug),
upon which he prays. During the noon-prayers of the congregation on
Friday, the worshippers are very numerous; and, arranged in parallel
rows, they sit upon the matting.
Different scenes at other times are presented in the great portico of
the Azhar. We saw many lecturers addressing their circles of attentive
listeners, or reading to them commentaries on the Kur-án. In most cases
these lecturers were leaning against a pillar, and I understand that in
general each has his respective column, where his pupils regularly
attend him, sitting in the form of a circle on the matted floor. Some
persons take their meals in the Azhar, and many houseless paupers pass
the night there, for this mosque is left open at all hours. Such customs
are not altogether in accordance with the sanctity of the place; but
peculiarly illustrative of the simplicity of Eastern manners.
We next visited the fine mosque of Mohammad Bey, founded in the year of
the Flight 1187 (A. D. 1773–4), adjacent to the Azhar. This is
remarkable as a very noble structure, of the old style, erected at a
late period.
The great mosque of that impious impostor the Khaleefeh _El-Hakim_ (who
professed to be a prophet, and afterwards to be God incarnate) derives
an interest from the name it bears, and from its antiquity. It is
situated immediately within that part of the northern wall of the city
which connects the Báb en-Nasr and Báb el-Futooh. This mosque was
completed in the reign of El-Hákim, in the year of the Flight 403 (A. D.
1012–13); but was founded by his predecessor. It is now in a state of
ruin, and no longer used as a place of worship. It occupies a space
about 400 feet square, and consists of arcades surrounding a square
court.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LETTER XI.
November, 1842.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I will continue the subject I left incomplete in my last. Several of the
finest mosques in Cairo front the main street of the city. In proceeding
along this street from north to south, the first mosque that
particularly attracts notice is the Barkookeeyeh, on the right side.
This is a collegiate mosque, and was founded in the year of the Flight
786 (A. D. 1384–5). It has a fine dome, and a lofty and elegant mád’neh;
and the interior is particularly handsome, though in a lamentable state
of decay.
A little beyond this, on the same side of the street, are the tomb,
mosque, and hospital of the Sultán Kalá-oon, composing one united
building. The tomb and mosque form the front part; the former is to the
right of the latter; and a passage, which is the general entrance, leads
between them to the hospital (Máristán.[31]) These three united
buildings were founded in the year of the Flight 683 (A. D. 1284–5). The
tomb has a very large mád’neh, and is a noble edifice; its front is
coloured red and white, in squares: the interior is very magnificent.
The mosque is not remarkable. The hospital contains two small oblong
courts, surrounded by small cells, in which mad persons are confined and
chained; men in one court, and women in the other. Though these wretched
beings are provided for by the funds of the establishment, it is the
custom to take them food, and they ask for it in a manner which is most
affecting. But here I must make one consolatory remark: the poor
creatures have certainly more than enough to eat, for none seemed
hungry, and I observed that one of the men threw down a piece of bread
which was given to him.
Footnote 31:
Vulgarly pronounced Muristan.
Judging by my own anxiety to ascertain the real state of the poor
lunatics in the Máristán, I cannot describe to you their condition too
minutely. Our ears were assailed by the most discordant yells as soon as
we entered the passage leading to the cells. We were first conducted
into the court appropriated to the men, one of our servants attending us
with the provisions. It is surrounded by small cells, in which they are
separately confined, and each cell has a small grated window, through
which the poor prisoner’s chain is fastened to the exterior. Here seemed
exhibited every description of insanity. In many cells were those who
suffered from melancholy madness; in _one only_ I saw a cheerful maniac,
and he was amusing some visitors exceedingly by his jocose remarks.
Almost all stretched out their arms as far as they could reach, asking
for bread, and one poor soul especially interested me by the melancholy
tone of his supplications. Their outstretched arms rendered it
frequently dangerous to pass their cells, for there is a railing in the
midst of the court, surrounding an oblong space, which I imagine has
been a tank, but which is now filled with stones; and this railing so
confines the space appropriated to visitors, that one of our party was
cautioned by the superintendent when she was not aware she was in arms’
length of the lunatics.
I trust that the mildness and gentleness of manner we observed in the
keepers were not assumed for the time, and I think they were not, for
the lunatics did not appear to fear them. The raving maniacs were
strongly chained, and wearing each a collar and handcuffs. One poor
creature endeavoured, by constantly shaking his chain, to attract pity
and attention. They look unlike human beings; and the manner of their
confinement, and the barren wretchedness of their cells, contributed to
render the scene more like a menagerie than any thing else. It is true
that this climate lessens the requirements of every grade in society, so
that the poor generally sleep upon the bare ground, or upon thin mats;
but it is perfectly barbarous to keep these wretched maniacs without any
thing but the naked floor on which to rest themselves, weary, as they
must be, by constant excitement.
I turned sick at heart from these abodes of wretchedness, and was led
towards the court of the women. Little did I expect that scenes
infinitely more sad awaited me. No _man_ being permitted to enter the
part of the building appropriated to the women, the person who had
hitherto attended us gave the provision we had brought into the hand of
the chief of the female keepers. The maniacs sit within the doors of
open cells surrounding their court, and there is no appearance of their
being confined. I shrunk as I passed the two first, expecting they would
rush out; but being assured that they were chained, I proceeded to look
into the cells, one by one. The first lunatic I remarked particularly,
was an old and apparently blind woman, who was an object of peculiar
interest, from the expression of settled sadness in her countenance.
Nothing seemed to move her. A screaming raving maniac was confined in a
cell nearly opposite to hers; but either from habit, or the
contemplation of her own real and imagined sorrows, the confusion seemed
by her perfectly unheeded. The cell next to hers presented to my view a
young girl, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, in a perfect state
of nudity; she sat in a crouching attitude, in statue-like stillness,
and in the gloom of her prison she looked like stone. The next poor
creature was also young, but older than the preceding, and she merely
raised her jet-black eyes and looked at us through her dishevelled hair,
not wildly, but calmly and vacantly. She, too, had no article of
clothing. I was ill-prepared for the sight of such misery, and I hastily
passed the poor, squalid, emaciated, raving maniacs, all without any
covering; and was leaving the court, when I heard a voice exclaiming, in
a melancholy tone of supplication, “Stay, O my mistress, give me five
paras for tobacco before you go.” I turned, and the entreaty was
repeated by a nice-looking old woman, who was very grateful when I
assured her she should have what she required. She was clothed, and
sitting almost behind the entrance of her cell, and seemed on the
lookout for presents. The woman who was the superintendent gave her the
trifle for me, and I hope she was permitted to spend it as she desired.
She and the first I saw were the only two who were not perfect pictures
of misery. If insanity, the most severe of human woes, calls for our
tenderest sympathy, the condition of these wretched lunatics in Cairo
cries aloud for our deepest commiseration. How their situation can be
mended, I know not; the government alone can interfere, and the
government does not.
We were informed that the establishment was endowed with remarkable
liberality. It is, and always has been, a hospital for the sick, as well
as a place of confinement for the insane; and originally, for the
entertainment of those patients who were troubled with restlessness, a
band of musicians and a number of story-tellers were in constant
attendance.
The friend who conducted us related some anecdotes of the poor maniacs,
to which I listened with interest. The first, I am told, has been
related by some European traveller, in a work descriptive of the
Egyptians; but as I do not know by whom, and you may not have read or
heard it, I will give you that as well as the others.
A butcher, who had been confined some time in the Máristán, conceived an
excessive hatred for a Delee (a Turkish trooper), one of his
fellow-prisoners. He received his provision of food from his family; and
he induced his wife one day, on the occasion of her taking him his
dinner, to conceal, in the basket of food, the instruments he had used
in his trade, viz., a cleaver, a knife, and a pair of hooks. I must here
observe, that those lunatics who do not appear dangerous have lighter
chains than others, and the chains of the person in question were of
this description. When he had taken his meal, he proceeded to liberate
himself; and as the cells communicated by the back, he soon reached that
of his nearest neighbour, who, delighted to see him free, exclaimed,
“How is this? Who cut your chains?” “I did,” replied the first, “and
here are my implements.” “Excellent,” rejoined the other, “cut mine
too.” “Certainly,” said he; and he proceeded to liberate not only one,
but two, three, and four of his fellow-prisoners. Now follows the
tragical part of the story. No keepers were present—the man who
possessed the cleaver attacked the poor Delee, chained and unarmed as he
was; slaughtered him; and after dividing his body, hung it on the hooks
within the window of the cell, and believed himself to be—what he was—a
butcher.
In a few minutes the liberated lunatics became uproarious; and one of
them growing alarmed, forced open the door by which the keepers usually
entered, found one of them, and gave the alarm. The keeper instantly
proceeded to the cell, and seeing the body of the murdered man,
exclaimed:
“What, have you succeeded in killing that Delee? he was the plague of my
life.” “I have,” answered the delinquent; “and here he hangs for sale.”
“Most excellent,” replied the keeper, “but do not let him hang here; it
will disgrace us: let us bury him.” “Where?” asked the maniac, still
holding his cleaver in his hand. “Here in the cell,” replied the other,
“and then the fact can never be discovered.” In an instant he threw down
his cleaver, and began to dig busily with his hands. In the mean time,
the keeper entered by the back of the cell, and throwing a collar over
his neck, instantly chained him, and so finished this tragedy.
Some time since, the brother of the person who gave the following
anecdote, on the occasion of his visiting the Máristán, was accosted by
one of the maniacs by name, and greeted him with the usual salutations,
followed by a melancholy entreaty that he would deliver him from that
place. On examining him particularly, he found him to be an old friend;
and he was distressed by his entreaties to procure for him his
liberation, and perplexed what to do. The lunatic assured him he was not
insane, and at length the visitor resolved on applying for his release.
Accordingly he addressed himself to the head-keeper on the subject,
stated that he was much surprised by the conversation of the patient,
and concluded by requesting his liberation. The keeper answered that he
did appear sane at that time, but that perhaps in an hour he might be
raving.
The visitor, by no means satisfied by the reply of the keeper, and
overcome by the rational arguments of the lunatic, urged his request,
and at length he consented, saying, “Well, you can try him.” This being
arranged, in a short time the two friends set out together; and, engaged
in conversation, they passed along the street, when suddenly, the maniac
seized the other by the throat, exclaiming, “Help, O Muslims! here is a
madman escaped from the Máristán.” He wisely suffered himself to be
dragged back in no gentle manner to the very cell whence he had released
the poor lunatic; and the latter, on entering, called loudly for a
collar and chain for a maniac he had found in the street, escaped from
the Máristán. The keeper immediately brought the collar and chain; and
while pretending to obey his orders, slipped it over his neck, and
secured him in his former quarters, I need not say, to the satisfaction
of his would-be deliverer.
Our conductor also related, that some years ago, a maniac, having
escaped from his cell in the Máristán, when the keepers had retired for
the night, ascended the lofty mád’neh of the adjoining sepulchral
mosque, the tomb of the Sultán Kala’oon. Finding there, in the gallery,
a Muëddin, chanting one of the night-calls, uttering, with the utmost
power of his voice, the exclamation “Yá Rabb!”(O Lord!) he seized him by
the neck. The terrified Muëddin cried out, “I seek God’s protection from
the accursed devil! God is most great!”—“I am not a devil,” said the
madman, “to be destroyed by the words, ‘God is most great!’” (Here I
should tell you that these words are commonly believed to have the
effect here ascribed to them, that of destroying a devil.) “Then what
art thou?” said the Muëddin. “I am a madman,” answered the other,
“escaped from the Máristán.” “O welcome!” rejoined the Muëddin: “praise
be to God for thy safety! come, sit down, and amuse me with thy
conversation.” So the madman thus began: “Why do you call out so loud,
‘O Lord!’ Do you not know that God can hear you as well if you speak
low?” “True,” said the other, “but I call that men may also hear.”
“Sing,” rejoined the lunatic; “_that_ will please me.” And upon this,
the other commenced a kind of chant, with the ridiculous nature of which
he so astonished some servants of the Máristán, who, as usual, were
sitting up in a coffee-shop below, that they suspected some strange
event had happened, and hastily coming up, secured the madman.
After what I have told you of the miserable creatures at present
confined in the Máristán, I am very happy to add, that their condition
will, I believe, in a few weeks, be greatly ameliorated. They are, I
have since heard, to be removed to an hospital, where they will be under
the superintendence of a celebrated French surgeon, Clot Bey.
I now return to the subject of the mosques.
Proceeding still southwards along the main street, we arrived at a fine
mosque, called the Ashrafeeyeh, on the right. It was built by the Sultán
El-Ashraf Barsabáy, consequently between the years 825–41 (A.D. 1421 _et
seq._). Frequently criminals are hanged against one of the grated
windows of this mosque; as the street before it is generally very much
crowded with passengers.
Still proceeding along the main street, through that part of it called
the Ghóreeyeh (which is a large bazaar, or market), we arrive at the two
fine mosques of the Sultán El-Ghóree, facing each other, one on each
side of the street, and having a roof of wood extending from one to the
other. They were both completed in the year of the Flight 909 (A.D.
1503–4). That on the left, El-Ghóree designed as his tomb; but he was
not buried in it.
Arriving at the southernmost part of the main street, we have on our
right the great mosque of the Sultán El-Mu-eiyad, which was founded in
the year of the Flight 819 (A.D. 1416–17). It surrounds a spacious
square court, and contains the remains of its royal founder, and of some
of his family. It has a noble dome, and a fine lofty entrance-porch at
the right extremity of the front. Its two great mád’nehs, which rise
from the towers of the gate called Báb Zuweyleh (the southern gate of
that portion of the metropolis which constituted the old city).
Of the mosques in the _suburban_ districts of the metropolis, the most
remarkable are those of the Sultán Hasan and of Ibn-Tooloon, or, as the
name is commonly pronounced, Teyloon.
The great mosque of the Sultán Hasan, which is situated near the
citadel, and is the most lofty of the edifices of Cairo, was founded in
the year of the Flight 757 (A.D. 1356). It is a very noble pile; but it
has some irregularities which are displeasing to the eye; as, for
instance, the disparity of its two mád’nehs. The great mad’neh is nearly
three hundred feet in height, measured from the ground. At the right
extremity of the northeast side of the mosque is a very fine lofty
entrance-porch. From this, a zigzag passage conducts us to a square
hypæthral hall, or court, in the centre of which is a tank, and near
this, a reservoir with spouts, for the performance of ablution; each
crowned with a cupola. On each of the four sides of the court is a hall
with an arched roof and open front. That opposite the entrance is the
largest, and is the principal place of worship. Its arched roof is about
seventy feet in width. It is constructed of brick and plastered (as are
the other three arches), and numerous small glass lamps, and two
lanterns of bronze, are suspended from it. The lower part of the end
wall is lined with coloured marbles. Beyond it is a square saloon, over
which is the great dome, and in the centre of this saloon is the tomb of
the royal founder. Most of the decorations of this mosque are very
elaborate and elegant, but the building, in many parts, needs repair.
The great mosque of Ibn-Tooloon (or, as it is more commonly called,
Gámë’ Teyloon), situated in the southern part of the metropolis, is a
very interesting building. It was founded in the year of the Flight 263
(A.D. 876–7), and was the principal mosque of the city El-Katáë, a city
nearly a century older than El-Káhireh. The space which it occupies is
about 400 feet square. It is constructed of brick, covered with plaster,
and consists of arcades surrounding a square court; in the centre of
which is a tank for ablution, under a square stone building, surmounted
by a dome. The arches in this mosque are slightly pointed: this is very
remarkable, as it proves, as the mosque was constructed A.D. 876–7, and
has never been rebuilt, that the Eastern pointed arch is more ancient
than the Gothic. This remark I borrow from my brother’s manuscript
notes. A great mád’neh, with winding stairs round its exterior, stands
on the northwest side of the mosque; with which it is only connected by
an arched gateway. The whole of this great mosque is in a sad state of
decay; and not even kept decently clean, excepting where the mats are
spread. It is the most ancient Arabian building, excepting the Nilometer
of Er-Ródah (which is about 12 years older), now existing in Egypt: for
the mosque of ’Amr, though founded more than two centuries before, has
often been rebuilt.
In the neighbourhood of the mosque above described is a large ruined
castle or palace, called Kal’at el-Kebsh (or the Castle of the Ram),
occupying, and partly surrounding, an extensive rocky eminence. It was
built in the middle of the seventh century after the Flight (or the
thirteenth of our era). Its interior is occupied by modern buildings.
The mosques of the seyyideh Zeyneb, the seyyideh Sekeeneh, and the
seyyideh Nefeeseh (the first and second situated in the southern part of
the metropolis, and the third in a small southern suburb without the
gates) are highly venerated, but not very remarkable buildings. There
are many other mosques in Cairo well worthy of examination; but those
which I have mentioned are the most distinguished.
I have been surprised at my having visited the most sacred of the
mosques of Cairo without exciting the smallest suspicion of my being a
Christian. A few days ago a party of Englishmen were refused admission
into the Hasaneyn. They were conducted by a janissary of the Pasha, and
he was exceedingly enraged against the officers of the mosque. They
seized him, however, and drew him into the mosque, and closing the doors
and windows, detained him, shutting out his party; but the interpreter
of the Englishmen, being a Muslim, obtained admission by a back door,
and liberated the prisoner.
There are, in Cairo, many public buildings, besides the mosques, which
attract attention. Among these are several Tekeeyehs, or convents for
Darweeshes and others, mostly built by Turkish Pashas, for the benefit
of their countrymen. Some of these are very handsome structures.
Many of the Sebeels (or public fountains) are also remarkable buildings.
The general style of a large sebeel may be thus described. The principal
part of the front is of a semicircular form, with three windows of brass
grating. Within each window is a trough of water; and when any one would
drink, he puts his hand through one of the lowest apertures of the
grating, and dips in the trough a brass mug, which is chained to one of
the bars. Above the windows is a wide coping of wood. Over this part of
the building is a public school-room, with an open front, formed of
pillars and arches; and at the top is another wide coping of wood. Some
of these buildings are partly constructed of alternate courses of black
and white marble.
Hóds, or watering-places for beasts of burden, are also very numerous in
Cairo. The trough is of stone, and generally in an arched recess, over
which is a public school-room.
There are, as my brother has remarked, about sixty or seventy Hammáms,
or public baths, in Cairo. Some are exclusively for men, some only for
women: others, for men in the morning, and for women in the afternoon.
When the bath is appropriated to women, a piece of white cotton is hung
over the door. The apartments are paved with marble, have fountains and
tanks, and are surmounted by cupolas, pierced with small round holes for
the admission of light.
The last of the buildings I shall mention are the Kahwehs, or
coffee-shops, of which Cairo contains above a thousand. Only coffee is
supplied at these; the persons who frequent them taking their own pipes
and tobacco.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LETTER XII.
December, 1842.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
From the city, you must now accompany me, in imagination, to the
citadel. If you could do so in reality, you would be amply repaid for
the trouble of ascending its steep acclivities; not by the sight of any
very remarkable object within its walls, but by gazing on one of the
most striking and interesting views in the Eastern world. The citadel
(El-Kat’ah) is situated at the southeastern extremity of the metropolis,
upon an extensive, flat-topped, rocky eminence, about 250 feet above the
level of the plain, and near the point of Mount Mukattam, which
completely commands it. It was founded by Saláh-ed-Deen (the famous
Saladin), in the year of the Flight 572 (A.D. 1176–7); but not finished
till 604; since which latter period it has been the usual residence of
the sultans and governors of Egypt. Before it is a spacious square,
called the Rumeyleh, where a market is held, and where conjurers,
musicians, and storytellers are often seen, each surrounded by a ring of
idlers.
The Bab el-’Azab is the principal gate of the citadel. Within this is a
steep and narrow road, partly cut through the rock; so steep, that in
some parts steps are cut to render the ascent and descent less difficult
than it would otherwise be for the horses and camels, &c. This confined
road was the chief scene of the massacre of the Memlooks in the year
1811. I may perhaps have something to say, on a future occasion,
respecting that tragedy.