n the same afternoon; by making this desperate haste it is
possible to see both services; and as travellers, for the most part,
make but a short stay in Cairo, they find themselves taking part,
_nolens volens_, in this frantic progress, led by their ambitious
dragomans, who appear to enjoy it. The service of the Dancing Dervishes
takes place in their mosque, which is near the square of Sultan Hassan.
Here they have a small circular hall; round this arena, and elevated
slightly above it, is an aisle where spectators are allowed to stand;
over the aisle is the gallery. This January day brought a crowd of
visitors who filled the aisle completely. Presently a dervish made the
circuit of the empty arena, warning, by a solemn gesture, those who had
seated or half-seated themselves upon the balustrade that the attitude
was not allowed. As soon as he had passed, some of the warned took their
places again. Naturally, these were spectators of the gentler sex. I am
even afraid that they were pilgrims from the land where the gentler sex
is accustomed from its earliest years to a profound deference. Two of
these pretty pilgrims transgressed in this way four times, and at last
the dervish came and stood before them. They remained seated, returning
his gaze with amiable tranquillity. What he thought I do not know--this
lean Egyptian in his old brown cloak and conical hat. I fancied,
however, that it had something to do with the great advantages of the
Mohammedan system regarding the seclusion of women. He did not conquer.

At length began the music. The band of the dervishes is placed in one of
the galleries; we could see the performers squatting on their rugs, the
instruments being flutes or long pipes, and small drums like tambourines
without the rattles. Egyptian music has a marked time, but no melody; no
matter how good an ear one has, it is impossible to catch and resing its
notes, even though one hears them daily. Pierre Loti writes: "The
strains of the little flutes of Africa charm me more than the most
perfect orchestral harmonies of other lands." If by this he means that
the flutes recall to his memory the magic scenes of Oriental life, that
is one thing; but if he means that he really loves the sounds for
themselves, I am afraid we must conclude that this prince of verbal
expression has not an ear for music (which is only fair; a man cannot
have everything). The band of the dervishes sends forth a high wail,
accompanied by a