DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0036
IS A THOUSAND MILES UP THIS NILE.
vaulted ball a hundred feet square, in the center of which
stood a plain, railed-off tomb, with an empty iron-bound
coffer at the foot. We afterward learned that for five
hundred years—that is to say, ever since the death and
burial of Sultan Hassan — this coffer had contained a tine
copy of the Koran, traditionally said to have been written
by Sultan Hassan's own hand ; but that the khedive, who
is collecting choice and antique Arabic manuscripts, had
only the other day sent an order for its removal.
Nothing can be bolder or more elegant than the propor-
tions of this noble sepulchral hall, the walls of which are
covered with tracery in low relief incrusted with disks and
tessera? of turquoise-colored porcelain; while high up, in
order to lead off the vaulting of the roof, the corners are
rounded by means of recessed clusters of exquisite arabesque
woodwork, like pendent stalactites. But the tessera?
are fast falling out, and most of their places are
vacant; and the beautiful woodwork hangs in fragments,
tattered and cobwebbed, like time-worn banners, which the
first touch of a brush would bring down.
Going back again from the tomb to the court-yard, we
everywhere observed traces of the same dilapidation. The
fountain, once a miracle of Saracenic ornament, was fast
going to destruction. The rich marbles of its basement
were cracked and discolored, its stuccoed cupola was flak-
ing off piecemeal, its enamels were dropping out, its lace-
like wood tracery shredding away by inches.
Presently a tiny brown and golden bird perched with
pretty confidence on the brink of the basin, and hav-
ing splashed, and drunk, and preened its feathers like a
true believer at his ablutions, flew up to the top of the
cupola and sang deliciously. All else was profoundly
still. Large spaces of light and shadow divided the quad-
rangle. The sky showed overhead as a square opening of
burning solid blue; while here and there, reclining, pray-
ing, or quietly occupied, a number of turbaned figures
were picturesquely scattered over the matted floors of the
open halls around. Yonder sat a tailor cross-legged, mak-
ing a waistcoat; near him, stretched on his face at full
length, sprawled a basket-maker with his half-woven
basket and bundle of rushes beside him ; and here, close
against the main entrance, lay a blind man and his dog;
the master asleep, the dog keeping watch. It was, as I
vaulted ball a hundred feet square, in the center of which
stood a plain, railed-off tomb, with an empty iron-bound
coffer at the foot. We afterward learned that for five
hundred years—that is to say, ever since the death and
burial of Sultan Hassan — this coffer had contained a tine
copy of the Koran, traditionally said to have been written
by Sultan Hassan's own hand ; but that the khedive, who
is collecting choice and antique Arabic manuscripts, had
only the other day sent an order for its removal.
Nothing can be bolder or more elegant than the propor-
tions of this noble sepulchral hall, the walls of which are
covered with tracery in low relief incrusted with disks and
tessera? of turquoise-colored porcelain; while high up, in
order to lead off the vaulting of the roof, the corners are
rounded by means of recessed clusters of exquisite arabesque
woodwork, like pendent stalactites. But the tessera?
are fast falling out, and most of their places are
vacant; and the beautiful woodwork hangs in fragments,
tattered and cobwebbed, like time-worn banners, which the
first touch of a brush would bring down.
Going back again from the tomb to the court-yard, we
everywhere observed traces of the same dilapidation. The
fountain, once a miracle of Saracenic ornament, was fast
going to destruction. The rich marbles of its basement
were cracked and discolored, its stuccoed cupola was flak-
ing off piecemeal, its enamels were dropping out, its lace-
like wood tracery shredding away by inches.
Presently a tiny brown and golden bird perched with
pretty confidence on the brink of the basin, and hav-
ing splashed, and drunk, and preened its feathers like a
true believer at his ablutions, flew up to the top of the
cupola and sang deliciously. All else was profoundly
still. Large spaces of light and shadow divided the quad-
rangle. The sky showed overhead as a square opening of
burning solid blue; while here and there, reclining, pray-
ing, or quietly occupied, a number of turbaned figures
were picturesquely scattered over the matted floors of the
open halls around. Yonder sat a tailor cross-legged, mak-
ing a waistcoat; near him, stretched on his face at full
length, sprawled a basket-maker with his half-woven
basket and bundle of rushes beside him ; and here, close
against the main entrance, lay a blind man and his dog;
the master asleep, the dog keeping watch. It was, as I