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. This high dignitary's reception room was a
court-yard sub dio: fronting the door were benches and cushions
composing the Sadr or high place, with the parallel rows of Diwans
spread down the less dignified sides, and a line of naked boards, the
lowest seats, ranged along the door-wall. In the middle stood three
little tables supporting three huge lanterns-as is their size so is the
owner's dignity-each of which contained three of the largest spermaceti
candles.
The Haji and I entering took our seats upon the side benches with
humility, and exchanged salutations with the great man on the Sadr.
When the Darbar or levee was full, in stalked the Mirza, and all arose
as he calmly divested himself of his shoes; and with all due
[p.87]solemnity ascended his proper cushion. He is a short, thin man
about thirty-five, with regular features and the usual preposterous
lamb-skin cap and beard, two peaked black cones at least four feet in
length, measured from the tips, resting on a slender basement of pale
yellow face. After a quarter of an hour of ceremonies, polite
mutterings and low bendings with the right hand on the left breast, the
Mirza's pipe was handed to him first, in token of his dignity-at
Teheran he was probably an under-clerk in some government office. In
due time we were all served with Kaliuns[FN#26] (Persian hookahs) and
coffee by the servants, who made royal conges whenever they passed the
great man; and more than once the janissary, in dignity of belt and
crooked sabre, entered the court to quicken our awe.
The conversation was the usual Oriental thing. It is, for instance,
understood that you have seen strange things in strange lands.
"Voyaging-is-victory," quotes the Mirza; the quotation is a hackneyed
one, but it steps forth majestic as to pause and emphasis.
"Verily," you reply with equal ponderousness of pronunciation and
novelty of citation, "in leaving home one learns life, yet a journey is
a bit of Jahannam."
Or if you are a physician the "lieu commun" will be,
"Little-learn'd doctors the body destroy:
Little-learn'd parsons the soul destroy."
To which you will make answer, if you would pass for a man of belles
lettres, by the well-known lines,
"Of a truth, the physician hath power with drugs,
Which, long as the patient hath life, may relieve him;
But the tale of our days being duly told,
The doctor is daft, and his drugs deceive him."
After sitting there with dignity, like the rest of the guests, I took
my leave, delighted with the truly Persian
[p.88]"apparatus" of the scene. The Mirza, having no salary, lives by
fees extorted from his subjects, who pay rather than lack protection;
and his dragoman for a counter-fee will sell their interests
shamelessly. He is a hidalgo of blue blood in pride, pompousness and
poverty. There is not a sheet of writing-paper in the "Consulate"-when
they want one a farthing is sent to the grocer's-yet the Consul drives
out in an old carriage with four outriders, two tall-capped men
preceding and two following the crazy vehicle. And the Egyptians laugh
heartily at this display, being accustomed by Mohammed Ali to consider
all such parade obsolete.
About half-an-hour before midnight sounds the Abrar[FN#27] or call to
prayer, at which time the latest wanderers return home to prepare for
the Sahur, their dawn meal. You are careful on the way to address each
sentinel with a "Peace be upon thee!" especially if you have no
lantern, otherwise you may chance to sleep in the guard-house. And,
chemin faisant, you cannot but stop to gaze at streets as little like
what civilised Europe understands by that name as is an Egyptian temple
to the new Houses of Parliament.
There are certain scenes, cannily termed "Ken-speckle," which print
themselves upon Memory, and which endure as long as Memory lasts,-a
thunder-cloud bursting upon the Alps, a night of stormy darkness off
the Cape, an African tornado, and, perhaps, most awful of all, a
solitary journey over the sandy Desert.
Of this class is a stroll through the thoroughfares of old Cairo by
night. All is squalor in the brilliancy of noon-day.
