A Revolting Religious Festival.
The whole civilized world has exclaimed with horror over the cruelties of the douseh, celebrated at Cairo in honor of Mohammed’s birthday; and in deference to the enlightened public opinion of the nineteenth century the Khedive, himself a devoted Mussulman, has discontinued the horrid practice. Lieut. N. H. Barnes of the United States Navy, in a recent letter to the Christian at Work, gives an account of another revolting religious festival witnessed by his party while in Constantinople. This festival is held on the anniversary of the violent death of Hussein, a grandson of Mohammed; and in this, as in many other rites practiced in connection with false religions, physical suffering and even death are disregarded, the devotees believing that they will be rewarded with greater happiness in paradise. Contrast these bloody rites with the pure religion of the gentle Son of God, and is it not indeed true that his yoke is easy and his burden light? On all sides, the square was filled with a motley crowd of people, of a variety of races and costumes such as can be seen in no other city. Hordes of mendicants, deformed and dirty, thrust themselves upon you at every turn; and the cries of the numerous venders of fruit, cakes, and sweetmeats, joined with the voices of the thousands in earnest conversation in a dozen or more languages, made a din that almost prevented conversation. This surging mass of humanity with its different national dress and characteristics so plainly marked was a study so interesting that we experienced no190weariness from our waiting. Presently there was an unusual stir among the populace, and we found an irregular procession was being formed which soon marched outside the square to the Shiah church, where there were brief religious services, and a special blessing was invoked upon the devotees. The procession was then formed in a regular order, and marched into and around the square. The devotees, as I term them, were those who took a leading part in the barbarities, and were composed of three groups, which I will distinguish as breast-beaters, the chain gang, and swordsmen. All these were dressed in robes of spotless white reaching to the ground; but so cut that the first had their breasts bare and exposed, and the second their backs to the waist, while the third wore theirs fitting close to the neck with a close standing collar. Rude music, weird and melancholy, announced the approach of the procession, and the compact mass of spectators gave way before it, and closed in after it when it had passed, like waves of the sea yielding to a passing ship. First in order came a small band of music, followed by a group of priests chanting from the Koran, dressed in the Persian costume of a long black robe and black fez. Next was the leading group of devotees, the breast-beaters, about twenty-five in number, who, keeping time to the music, and crossing their arms alternately one way and the other, beat themselves upon the breast with great violence. They were followed by more musicians, more priests and the chain gang of about fifty. The latter held in both hands a short iron bar, to the end of which was suspended a bunch of small chain in loops. Keeping time to the music, they scourged themselves with this terrible weapon, striking with great force over their shoulders alternately. After them followed the principal band of some twenty pieces. A larger group of priests next appeared, with the aged Patriarch, or high priest, in their midst, whose green turban proclaimed that he had made the pilgrimage to Mecca. Three horses then passed, led by their grooms. Over their backs were broad white cloths, the ends of which reached nearly to the ground, and on each side hung a fluttering white dove. This was emblematic of the purity of Hussein’s followers, and of their being carried away into captivity. The swordsmen brought up the rear of the procession, and formed the largest group and the most sickening sight. They were nearly two hundred in number, in two ranks facing each other, so that they moved sideways in the procession. Their heads were bare, and a furrow from the front across the top of the head was shaven, some to the crown and some to the neck. The latter carried in their right hands curved swords, and the former, straight ones, and all grasped with the left hand the right arm of the next man. Keeping time with the music, they cut themselves with their swords across the top of the head. In rear of each was a man holding a billet of wood so as to receive the greater force of the blows of the sword, which became stronger as the devotees became more and more fired with fanatical enthusiasm, under the influence of the large number of priests, who filled the space between the two ranks, singing loudly and wildly. After all, followed a motley crowd of men and boys, who evidently were not a part of it. The procession advanced to the chapel and halted; a prayer was read by one of the priests, and the whole crowd broke into the wildest lamentations, with heavy sobbing. It passed twice and went out again to the church, where there was more praying and lamentation; but it soon returned and continued its marching around the square, stopping each time it passed the chapel for more prayers, weeping and loud laments, when their bosoms heaved convulsively, and strong men shed tears copiously. When the procession first passed, the breasts of the breastbeaters and the backs of the chain gang were red and inflamed, and across the heads of the swordsmen were lines of red. Afterward, breasts and backs became very black and swollen, and blood streamed from wounded heads, until their white garments were stained to their feet, and the broad red gashes were sickening to look at. The horses were used to carry away those who fell from exhaustion and loss of blood. After their first passing, the doves were dead and blood-stained, and the cloths on the horses’ backs became more and more stained until they were terrible to look at. This was to continue until midnight, but long before that their numbers had become very much depleted, and the procession gradually broke up from the exhaustion of its participants. Before we left, we heard that one was already dead, and others could not live. The sight was terrible and revolting in the extreme; but there was a fascination about it that held us to the last, though the blood ran cold in our veins, and we were nauseated with the sickening, brutal spectacle. We also felt that there was considerable danger to be apprehended from the excited fanatics, whose attention was liable at any moment to be drawn toward us, especially as they regard the killing of an unbeliever as a most commendable action. We hurriedly took our way through the narrow, dark, and dirty streets of Stamboul, and were greatly relieved to be again upon the placid waters of the Bosporus. But even there we did not escape the terrible sight, and it will be long before it escapes our memories.