There is
nothing attractive in its appearance. You mount a flight of ragged
steps, and enter a low verandah enclosing an open stuccoed terrace,
where stands the holy man's domed tomb: the two stories contain small
dark rooms in which the Darwayshes dwell, and the ground-floor doors
open into the
[p.86]verandah. During the fast-month, Zikrs[FN#24] are rarely
performed in the Takiyahs: the inmates pray there in congregations, or
they sit conversing upon benches in the shade. And a curious medley of
men they are, composed of the choicest vagabonds from every nation of
Al-Islam. Beyond this I must not describe the Takiyah or the doings
there, for the "path" of the Darwaysh may not be trodden by feet
profane.
Curious to see something of my old friends the Persians, I called with
Haji Wali upon one Mirza Husayn, who by virtue of his dignity as
"Shahbandar[FN#25]" (he calls himself "Consul-General"), ranks with the
dozen little quasi-diplomatic kings of Cairo. He suspends over his
lofty gate a sign-board in which the Lion and the Sun (Iran's proud
ensign) are by some Egyptian limner's art metamorphosed into a
preternatural tabby cat grasping a scimitar, with the jolly fat face of
a "gay" young lady, curls and all complete, resting fondly upon her
pet's concave back.
