from underground throbbed the drum, never
loud, but never dumb; round and round flew
the sound, faster, faster, faster, faster, boding
woe and dire disaster.

"At last they are going to begin," said
Rocket, as the dervishes, brown, purple, black,
and green, got in a row facing the niche and the
big candles, and then bowing, suddenly fell on
their knees, so exactly at the same moment that
their horny knees thumped the polished floor as
one man's knees; or at least, if there was a
difference, it was no more difference than
between the first and last note of a rouladed piano
scale, fired off by the swiftest and most dexterous
of Thalberg's hundred fingers. Thump,
thump, went the sixty-eight knees in two rows,
while the sheikh, with both hands crossed upon
his breast, bent low upon his prayer-rug.

And even yet and all this time, like a solemn
cadenced rhyme, breathed the hollow-reeded flute,
very hushed, yet never mute, breaking out with
wild surprises, whispers soft and wailing rises,
and as if from underground, throbbed below the
measured sound of the tight strained echoing
drum, never loud, yet never dumb.

Deeper grew the mystery, deeper the
expectation, as the Koran reader above in the
gallery began the appointed chapters of
Mahomet's fervid rhapsody, half ejaculation, half
hymn, and the brotherhood commenced slowly
pacing processionally round the enclosure, past
the sheikh, who gave them each his benediction.

But before this, each of the dervishes had
peeled off his dressing-gown robe, untwisted his
scarf-girdle, and handed both to an old brother
who seemed to act as master of the ceremonies,
and they appeared lithe and active, though differing
in age and degrees of corpulence, from the
mere stripling to the heavy twelve-stoner,
already perspiring by mere anticipation. Now,
crossing their arms on their breasts, placing
the right hand on the left shoulder and the left
hand on the right shoulder, they began to file
past the sheikh, bowing as they passed him,
then turning to bow to the next comer, who, in
his turn, bowed too.

Now, the master of the ceremonies, having
collected on his arm piles of cloaks, the
barefooted men prepare for the dance by tucking one
flap of their white jackets within the other, and
stretching out their arms horizontally, the right
hand pointing downwards and the left stretched
upwards, as I supposed for balance and
counterpoise, after the manner of boys sliding. Then,
slowly pivoting round, one after the other,
the dervishes began to get into motion, their
naked feet performing skilfully a sort of waltzing
step, which increased in speed as the music
grew faster and faster.

The most astonishing part of the mystical
circling dance was, that although the dozen
or fourteen men twirled all round the enclosure,
they never touched each other—no, not even
the fringe of each other's garments.

And all this time the breathing flute, often
hushed but never mute, danced in echo circling
round, and, as if from underground, came the
murmur of the drum, very low but never
dumb.

I do not know if I can convey a notion of the
step, though I watched it carefully and was
close to the performers. In all cases the left
foot was kept quite even to the floor. The
dervish dancer grinding round slowly on the
pivot of his hard heel, at the same time
passed his right foot over the instep of the
stationary foot, swaying round his body with its
spreading bell of a white skirt, the twisting
screw-like folds of which gave it the
appearance of the model of a chocolate-frother
cut out in white paper; with outstretched
hands, and swaying robe, and staring, rapt, or
entranced eye, they seemed to me like so many
brother magicians engaged in mystical planet
worship. Not that the dervishes all wore the
same aspect of stolid introspection. No.
Roman Nose was going at it as if it was a
matter of life or death, or a wager. I set him
down as a fussy, simple-minded formalist. Old
Boy was hot, but anxious. I supposed him to
be a dupe. Stripling was conceited and showing
off. Fat-and-Forty was spiteful and fanatical.
Negro was calmly pleased and self-satisfied
with the religious efficacy of the performance;
and among them, stooping sometimes to escape
contact with the whirling windmill band, paced
the master of the ceremonies, to see that all was
done according to ritual and precedent.

All this time the Indian flute, never hushed
yet never mute, breathed a cadence to the drum,
never loud yet never dumb.

But shall I forget the bystanders, so Oriental
and characteristic, who shared stolidly with
me, after their manner, my delight at this
religious ballet? Was there not the Arab, his haid
fastened round his head, with Syrian scarf
striped red and brown and yellow, the fierce
half-broken-in camel-driver, with his spear never
out of his hand? Was there not that tall,
handsome, patient Persian, with the black curly wool
cap, shaped like the mouthpiece of a clarionet,
who stood strongly forth from the white wall
background, when everybody at the prayer
turned their faces to the niche that pointed to
Mecca? Were there not the English groom, who
did not know what to make of it; the fat-headed,
fierce, belaced cavass; and one or two Turkish
soldiers, who dropped in as to a morning
concert? Then above, in the women's gallery, there
were spectators, I was sure, for I could see the
lattices darken or brighten as the door admitting
visitors shut or opened, and sometimes I thought
I could see laughing bright eyes, raining
"influence" on us. Below, too, through the open
windows looking out upon a sort of vine-hung
garden wall, Greek women looked in at the
brotherhood, circling round and round with
energy untiring, as the flutes and unseen drum
grew more rapturous and soaring in the minor
key than ever. But of all the spectators, those
who interested me the most were a troop of
reckless Turkish children that stood crowing
and chattering in a sort of royal box that was
raised on a platform higher than the area of the