From Tales of Travel, by The Marquess Curzon of Kedleston.
Copyright, 1923, by George H. Doran Company..
When the appointed hour arrived, I presented myself at the mosque, which
is situated outside the city walls of Kairwan, not far from the
Bab-el-Djuluddin, or Tanners’ Gate. Passing through an open courtyard
into the main building, I was received with a dignified salaam by the
sheik, who forthwith led me to a platform or divan at the upper end of
the central space. This was surmounted by a ribbed and white-washed
dome, and was separated from two side aisles by rows of marble columns
with battered capitals, dating from the Empire of Rome. Between the
arches of the roof small and feeble lamps—mere lighted wicks floating on
dingy oil in cups of coloured glass—ostrich eggs, and gilt balls were
suspended from wooden beams. From the cupola in the centre hung a
dilapidated chandelier in which flickered a few miserable candles. In
one of the side aisles a plastered tomb was visible behind an iron
lattice. The _mise en scène_ was unprepossessing and squalid.
My attention was next turned to the _dramatis personae_. Upon the floor
in the centre beneath the dome sat the musicians, ten or a dozen in
number, cross-legged, the chief presiding upon a stool at the head of
the circle. I observed no instrument save the _darabookah_, or earthen
drum, and a number of tambours, the skins of which, stretched tightly
across the frames, gave forth, when struck sharply by the fingers, a
hollow and resonant note. The rest of the orchestra was occupied by the
chorus. So far no actors were visible. The remainder of the floor, both
under the dome and in the aisles, was thickly covered with seated and
motionless figures, presenting in the fitful light a weird and fantastic
picture. In all there must have been over a hundred persons, all males,
in the mosque.
Presently the sheik gave the signal for commencement, and in a moment
burst forth the melancholy chant of the Arab voices and the ceaseless
droning of the drums. The song was not what we should call singing, but
a plaintive and quavering wail, pursued in a certain cadence, now
falling to a moan, now terminating in a shriek, but always pitiful,
piercing and inexpressibly sad. The tambours, which were struck like the
keyboard of a piano, by the outstretched fingers of the hand, and,
occasionally, when a louder note was required, by the thumb, kept up a
monotonous refrain in the background. From time to time, at moments of
greater stress, they were brandished high in the air and beaten with all
the force of fingers and thumb combined. Then the noise was imperious
and deafening.
Among the singers, one grizzled and bearded veteran, with a strident and
nasal intonation, surpassed his fellows. He observed the time with
grotesque reflections of his body; his eyes were fixed and shone with
religious zeal.
The chant proceeded, and the figures of the singers, as they became more
and more excited, rocked to and fro. More people poured in at the
doorway, and the building was now quite full. I began to wonder whether
the musicians were also to be the performers, or when the latter would
make their appearance.
Suddenly a line of four or five Arabs formed itself in front of the
entrance on the far side of the orchestra, and exactly opposite the
bench on which I was sitting. They joined hands, the right of each
clasped in the left of his neighbour, and began a lurching, swaying
motion with their bodies and feet. At first they appeared simply to be
marking time, first with one foot and then with the other; but the
movement was gradually communicated to every member of their bodies; and
from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet they were presently
keeping time with the music in convulsive jerks and leaps and
undulations, the music itself being regulated by the untiring orchestra
of the drums.
This mysterious row of bobbing figures seemed to exercise an
irresistible fascination over the spectators. Every moment one or other
of these left his place to join its ranks. They pushed their way into
the middle, severing the chain for an instant, or joined themselves on
to the ends. The older men appeared to have a right to the centre, the
boys and children—for there were youngsters present not more than seven
or eight years old—were on the wings. Thus the line ever lengthened;
originally it consisted of three or four, presently it was ten or
twelve, anon it was twenty-five or thirty, and before the
self-torturings commenced there were as many as forty human figures
stretching right across the building, and all rocking backwards and
forwards in grim and ungraceful unison, Even the spectators who kept
their places could not resist the contagion; as they sat there they
unconsciously kept time with their heads and shoulders, and one child
swung his little head this way and that with a fury that threatened to
separate it from his body.
Meanwhile, the music had been growing in intensity, the orchestra
sharing the excitement, which they communicated. The drummers beat their
tambours with redoubled force, lifting them high above their heads and
occasionally, at some extreme pitch, tossing them aloft and catching
them again as they fell. Sometimes in the exaltation of frenzy they
started spasmodically to their feet and then sank back into their
original position. But ever and without a pause continued the insistent
accompaniment of the drums.
And now the oscillating line in front of the doorway for the first time
found utterance. As they leaped high on one foot, alternately kicking
out the other, as their heads wagged to and fro and their bodies
quivered with the muscular strain, they cried aloud in praise of Allah.
_La ilaha ill Allah!_ (There is no God but Allah)—this was the untiring
burden of their strain. And then came _Ya Allah!_ (O God), and sometimes
_Ya Kahhar!_ (O avenging God), _Ya Hakk!_ (O just God), while each burst
of clamorous appeal culminated in an awful shout of _Ya Hoo!_ (O Him).
The rapidity and vehemence of their gesticulations was now appalling;
their heads swung backwards and forwards till their foreheads almost
touched their breasts, and their scalps smote against their backs. Sweat
poured from their faces; they panted for breath; and the exclamations
burst from their mouths in a thick and stertorous murmur. Suddenly, and
without warning, the first phase of the _zikr_ ceased, and the actors
stood gasping, shaking, and dripping with perspiration.
After a few seconds’ respite the performance recommenced, and shortly
waxed more furious than ever. The worshippers seemed to be gifted with
an almost superhuman strength and energy. As they flung themselves to
and fro, at one moment their upturned faces gleamed with a sickly polish
under the flickering lamps, at the next their turbaned heads all but
brushed the floor. Their eyes started from the sockets; the muscles on
their necks and the veins on their foreheads stood out like knotted
cords. One old man fell out of the ranks, breathless, spent, and
foaming. His place was taken by another, and the tumultuous orgy went
on.
Presently, as the ecstasy approached its height and the fully initiated
became _melboos_ or possessed, they broke from the stereotyped litany
into domoniacal grinning and ferocious and bestial cries. These writhing
and contorted objects were no longer rational human beings, but savage
animals, caged brutes howling madly in the delirium of hunger or of
pain. They growled like bears, they barked like jackals, they roared
like lions, they laughed like hyænas; and ever and anon from the
seething rank rose a diabolical shriek, like the scream of a dying
horse, or the yell of a tortured fiend. And steadily the while in the
background resounded the implacable reverberation of the drums.
The climax was now reached; the requisite pitch of cataleptic
inebriation had been obtained, and the rites of Aissa were about to
begin. From the crowd at the door a wild figure broke forth, tore off
his upper clothing till he was naked to the waist, and, throwing away
his fez, bared a head close-shaven save for one long and dishevelled
lock that, springing from the scalp, fell over his forehead like some
grisly and funereal plume. A long knife, somewhat resembling a cutlass,
was handed to him by the sheik, who had risen to his feet, and who
directed the phenomena that ensued. Waving it wildly above his head and
protruding the forepart of his figure, the fanatic brought it down blow
after blow against his bared stomach, and drew it savagely to and fro
against the unprotected skin. There showed the marks of a long and livid
weal, but no blood spurted from the gash. In the intervals between the
strokes he ran swiftly from one side to the other of the open space,
taking long stealthy strides like a panther about to spring, and
seemingly so powerless over his own movements that he knocked blindly up
against those who stood in his way, nearly upsetting them with the
violence of the collision.
The prowess or the piety of this ardent devotee proved extraordinarily
contagious. First one and then another of his brethren caught the
afflatus and followed his example. In a few moments every part of the
mosque was the scene of some novel and horrible rite of self-mutilation,
performed by a fresh aspirant to the favour of Allah. Some of these
feats did not rise above the level of the curious but explicable
performances which are sometimes seen upon English stages; _e.g._, of
the men who swallow swords, and carry enormous weights suspended from
their jaws; achievements which are in no sense a trick or a deception,
but are to be attributed to abnormal physical powers or structure
developed by long and often perilous practice. In the Aissaiouian
counterpart of these displays there was nothing specially remarkable,
but there were others less commonplace and more difficult of
explanation.
At length, several long iron spits or prongs were produced and
distributed; these formidable implements were about two and a half feet
in length and sharply pointed, and they terminated at the handle in a
circular wooden knob about the size of a large orange. There was great
competition for these instruments of torture, which were used as
follows: Poising one in the air, an Aissioui would suddenly force the
point into the flesh of his own shoulder in front just below the
shoulder blade. Thus transfixed, and holding the weapon aloft, he strode
swiftly up and down. Suddenly, at a signal, he fell on his knees, still
forcing the point into his body, and keeping the wooden head uppermost.
Then there started up another disciple armed with a big wooden mallet,
and he, after a few preliminary taps, rising high on tip-toe with
uplifted weapon would, with an ear-splitting yell, bring it down with
all his force upon the wooden knob, driving the point home through the
shoulder of his comrade. Blow succeeded blow, the victim wincing beneath
the stroke, but uttering no sound, and fixing his eyes with a look of
ineffable delight upon his torturer, till the point was driven right
through the shoulder and projected at the back. Then the patient marched
backwards and forwards with the air and the gait of a conquering hero.
At one moment there were four of these semi-naked maniacs within a yard
of my feet, transfixed and trembling, but beatified and triumphant. Amid
the cries and the swelter, there never ceased for one second the sullen
and menacing vociferation of the drums.
Another man seized an iron skewer, and, placing the point within his
open jaws, forced it steadily through his cheek until it protruded a
couple of inches on the outside. He barked savagely like a dog, and
foamed at the lips.
Others, afflicted with exquisite spasms of hunger, knelt down before the
chief, whimpering like children for food, and turning upon him imploring
glances from their glazed and bloodshot eyes. His control over his
following was supreme. Some he gratified, others he forbade. At a touch
from him, they were silent and relaxed into quiescence. One maddened
wretch who, fancying himself some wild beast, plunged to and fro,
roaring horribly, and biting and tearing with his teeth at whomever he
met, was advancing, as I thought, with somewhat truculent intent in my
direction, when he was arrested by his superior and sent back, cringing
and cowed.
For those whose ravenous appetites he was content to humour the most
singular repast was prepared. A plate was brought in, covered with huge
jagged pieces of broken glass, as thick as a shattered soda-water
bottle. With greedy chuckles and gurglings of delight, one of the hungry
ones dashed at it, crammed a handful into his mouth, and crunched it up
as though it were some exquisite dainty, a fellow-disciple calmly
stroking the exterior of his throat, with intent, I suppose, to
lubricate the descent of the unwonted morsels. A little child held up a
snake or a sand-worm by the tail, placing the head between his teeth,
and gulped it gleefully down. Several acolytes came in, carrying a big
stem of the prickly pear, or _fico d’India_, whose leaves are as thick
as a one-inch plank, and are armed with huge projecting thorns. This was
ambrosia to the starving saints. They rushed at it with passionate
emulation, tearing at the solid slabs with their teeth, and gnawing and
munching the coarse fibers, regardless of the thorns which pierced their
tongues and cheeks as they swallowed them down.
The most singular feature of all, and the one that almost defies belief,
though it is none the less true, was this—that in no case did one drop
of blood emerge from scar, or gash, or wound. This fact I observed most
carefully, the _mokaddem_ standing at my side, and each patient in turn
coming to him when his self-imposed torture had been accomplished, and
the cataleptic frenzy had spent its force. It was the chief who
cunningly withdrew the blade from cheek or shoulder or body, rubbing
over the spot what appeared to me to be the saliva of his own mouth;
then he whispered an absolution in the ear of the disciple, and kissed
him on the forehead, whereupon the patient, but a moment before writhing
in maniacal transports, retired tranquilly and took his seat upon the
floor. He seemed none the worse for his recent paroxysm, and the wound
was marked only by a livid blotch or a hectic flush.
This was the scene that for more than an hour went on without pause or
intermission before my eyes. The building might have been tenanted by
the Harpies or Laestrygones of Homer, or by some inhuman monsters of
legendary myth. Amid the dust and sweat and insufferable heat the naked
bodies of the actors shone with a ghastly pallor and exhaled a sickening
smell. The atmosphere reeked with heavy and intoxicating fumes. Above
the despairing chant of the singers rang the frenzied yells of the
possessed, the shrieks of the hammerer, and the inarticulate cries, the
snarling and growling, the bellowing and miauling of the self-imagined
beasts. And ever behind and through all re-echoed the perpetual and
pitiless imprecation of the drums.
As I witnessed the disgusting spectacle and listened to the pandemonium
of sounds, my head swam, my eyes became dim, my senses reeled, and I
believed that in a few moments I must have fainted, had not one of my
friends touched me on the shoulder, and, whispering that the _mokaddem_
was desirous that I should leave, escorted me hurriedly to the door. As
I walked back to my quarters, and long after through the still night,
the beat of the tambours continued, and I heard the distant hum of
voices, broken at intervals by an isolated and piercing cry. Perhaps yet
further and more revolting orgies were celebrated after I had left. I
had not seen, as other travellers have done, the chewing and swallowing
of red-hot cinders,[1] or the harmless handling and walking upon live
coals. I had been spared that which others have described as the climax
of the gluttonous debauch, _viz._, the introduction of a live sheep,
which then and there is savagely torn to pieces and devoured raw by
these unnatural banqueters. But I had seen enough, and as I sank to
sleep my agitated fancy pursued a thousand avenues of thought,
confounding in one grim medley all the carnivorous horrors of fact and
fable and fiction. Loud above the din and discord the tale of the false
prophets of Carmel, awakened by the train of association, rang in my
ears, till I seemed to hear intoned with remorseless repetition the
words: “They cried aloud and cut themselves after their manner with
knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them”; and in the
ever-receding distance of dreamland, faint and yet fainter, there
throbbed the inexorable and unfaltering delirium of the drums.
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[1] For an account of this exploit, _vide_ Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_,
cap. xxv.; and compare the description of Richardson, the famous
fire-eater, in Evelyn’s _Memoirs_ for October 8, 1672.