Exceptional illustrated manuscript recounting the customs of Islam in the 19th century.

Gaspard d'Ardenne from TIZAC

Illustrated autograph manuscript.

Eleven pages in-8°.

Slnd [Late 19th century]

“Suddenly, in the middle of a recited verse, everyone at the same time raises their right hand towards the sky as if to attest to Allah. »

Exceptional manuscript illustrated with numerous pen drawings recounting the customs of Ramadan and Muslim prayers in a 19th century oriental city.

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“To Madame Téter. The other evening we went, as a family, to the mosque : I am going to tell our adventures to the gray eyes of my little lady Téter, which would have sparkled like candles, with curiosity and mischief, if she had been with us, if she had seen the funny things which amused us ourselves. For a long time we had planned to visit a mosque and for this we were waiting for the Ramadan holidays. First, I have to explain to my little darling what Ramadan is. Ramadan is the Arab Lent. The celebration, in short, consists of fasting for forty days. For a month and a week, therefore, one must not eat from midnight until sunset. From the afternoon we see the Arabs wandering the streets and the square, looking like ghosts, wrapped in their white burnous and their piles of laundry, thin, yellow, drawn – like ghosts who were hungry... usually ghosts are not hungry. Some are sitting at the corner of the terminals saying their rosary, muttering who knows what. When the shade comes, they gather in large numbers on the sort of squares or rather wastelands under the ramparts, outside the city. Holding boxes of matches… suddenly: boom! it is the cannon which announces that the sun has disappeared behind the mountains. At this signal, in the city, on the roads, even in the depths of the countryside, ten thousand matches catch fire, as many cigarettes are in flame: these astonishing people are more eager to smoke than to dine. Five minutes later, no one was left in the streets; all the burnous have returned, all the Arabs are devouring couscous – which is a kind of pâté made with semolina, and which has a perfect sandy taste.

Now, it was a Ramadan evening. After dinner, an old Kabyle, who is our scrubber, comes to pick us up from the house, at the agreed time. We gathered with a few friends, and all together, under the guidance and guard of Bashir, we headed towards the Arab city : it would not be prudent for Europeans to enter there alone. The weather was very fine that evening; the moon shone brightly. We pass through a bunch of small narrow streets, cut in a zig-zag pattern, we cross small plazas as big as pocket handkerchiefs, we elbow crowds of Arabs; It was for the first time that I entered the Arab city, and I looked with all my eyes. The streets, the houses, in this neighborhood; are no different from what we see in the Arab streets of the European quarter, of which I have given you some sketches. Always the houses with large white walls, painted in lime from head to toe, pierced with small holes and a single low door, with a kind of closed balconies projecting forward, which we call moucharabiehs , I think; the streets paved with nail heads, just as dirty, just as tortuous, just as narrow, just as cluttered with all kinds of objects that are left there, blocking the way. We step over all kinds of things that we only half see. But the moonlight, which is splendid, changes the appearance of all that. The houses on one side of the street are all white, like chalk, and on the other side, black like ink. The shadow of the walls, with its angles, its indentations, makes, on the white walls opposite and on the pavement, like cutouts that have been stuck on a sheet of paper. Here and there small square holes in the walls, what we call windows here. The doors are all low; they have a sad appearance, like prison doors. Tortuous passages, all black, plunge in, to the right and to the left; dark arcades open across the street, and beyond we see other white walls, other small square holes. We are not very reassured when we pass under these dark vaults.

We take a long route through these alleys, these arches, these crossroads. Finally we stop in front of a house just like the others, in front of a door like all the other doors, just as low; only this one is open at a time when all the others are locked with heavy bolts. Our Arab beckons us to enter through this corridor where we see Arabs in white burnous slipping like shadows, skimming the walls. I was surprised not to hear them walking: the thing was immediately explained to me: we only enter the mosque barefoot ... Here we are, we also have to take off our shoes... We have crossed the threshold, we are in a small corridor, which leads to a square courtyard, quite narrow, lit by the moon, and surrounded by a dark arcade. There I think I see a pile of large bags of wheat on the ground! Suddenly, it rises again: and I realize that they are Arabs prostrate, in prayer, in the courtyard itself and along the vestibules. We are taken through the courtyard, which is paved with polished, shiny stones – very cold to the feet! – we are taken to the main door of the mosque. We are not allowed to enter, but from the door we can see everything very clearly. The mosque is a large oblong, vaulted room with two rows of arcades and columns. Nothing, in terms of furniture; no benches, no chairs, no grandstand, no altar; the walls bare, whitewashed, without decoration of any kind. The room is lit by a number of candles, but not illuminated. The whole thing doesn't give the idea of ​​a party at all. About two hundred Arabs are there standing and praying, with various attitudes of devotion. No music either, no singing. At certain moments, everyone pronounces at once, in a muffled voice, certain formulas; other times a marabout, who seems to be the priest, although he is in no way distinguished from the other assistants, neither by costume nor by anything else, pronounces, as if humming, words which have the effect of 'a command to exercise .

At one moment, all two hundred Arabs fell to their knees, with the same movement; at another signal, they prostrate themselves and strike the earth with their foreheads. Another word, and everyone gets up at once. Then...it starts again. Sometimes the believers, all together, bow their heads and remain motionless, in meditation, for a few moments; At other times they seem to hide their faces with their fists or wrap their heads around them with their sort of veils: I imagine that this is to avoid distractions. Suddenly, in the middle of a recited verse, everyone at the same time raises their right hand towards the sky as if to attest to Allah ; ... then it is the marabout who speaks or recites, I don't know, with large slow gestures, extending his arms: no doubt he is prophesying, because the whole audience seems transported with admiration. This apostle seems to me to be a Negro, so black is his face. While pronouncing certain words, he raises both arms towards the vault and throws his head back : the first time, I thought he was going to fall. There are a good three minutes left in this singular position. Then the genuflections began again; the prostrations to the ground repeated three times three times. Suddenly, I only see two hundred prominent backs, and, as I am from behind, the whole thing does not offer anything absolutely graceful... it is the bags of flour.

These exercises, accomplished with perfect simultaneity, amused me quite a bit, and I would have gladly stayed a little longer. Just imagine, Madame Téter, what it's like to be barefoot on the pavement for half an hour... I was starting to have enough. Despite my companions being more curious than me or less sensitive to plants, I give the starting signal. I enter the dark corridor, I find my Arab under the vestibule, keeping our shoes... This spectacle gave me pleasure; because, for a while, an idea had been running through my brain: “if only he had gone with it!” ". Thus ends my visit to the holy places of believers. I would also point out to Madame Téter that in this Arab church, only men ever go. Women, Muslims say, are unworthy to pronounce the name of Allah! »