Moslem Mayor of Jerusalem was another such figure, belonging also I
believe to one of the Arab aristocratic houses (the Grand Mufti is
a descendant of Mahomet) and I shall not forget his first appearance
at the first of the riotous meetings in which I found myself.
I will give it as the first of two final impressions with which I
will end this chapter, I fear on a note of almost anarchic noise,
the unearthly beating and braying of the Eastern gongs and horns
of two fierce desert faiths against each other.

I first saw from the balcony of the hotel the crowd of riotors come
rolling up the street. In front of them went two fantastic figures
turning like teetotums in an endless dance and twirling two crooked
and naked scimitars, as the Irish were supposed to twirl shillelaghs.
I thought it a delightful way of opening a political meeting;
and I wished we could do it at home at the General Election.
I wish that instead of the wearisome business of Mr. Bonar Law
taking the chair, and Mr. Lloyd George addressing the meeting,
Mr. Law and Mr. Lloyd George would only hop and caper in front of
a procession, spinning round and round till they were dizzy, and waving
and crossing a pair of umbrellas in a thousand invisible patterns.
But this political announcement or advertisement, though more intelligent
than our own, had, as I could readily believe, another side to it.
I was told that it was often a prelude to ordinary festivals,
such as weddings; and no doubt it remains from some ancient ritual dance
of a religious character. But I could imagine that it might sometimes
seem to a more rational taste to have too religious a character.
I could imagine that those dancing men might indeed be dancing dervishes,
with their heads going round in a more irrational sense than
their bodies. I could imagine that at some moments it might suck
the soul into what I have called in metaphor the whirlpool of Asia,
or the whirlwind of a world whipped like a top with a raging monotony;
the cyclone of eternity. That is not the sort of rhythm nor
the sort of religion by which I myself should hope to save the soul;
but it is intensely interesting to the mind and even the eye, and I
went downstairs and wedged myself into the thick and thronging press.
It surged through the gap by the gate, where men climbed
lamp-posts and roared out speeches, and more especially recited
national poems in rich resounding voices; a really moving effect,
at least for o