He wondered whether
a place of prayer like this--white-walled, severely simple despite the
veil-like adornment of arabesques--did not more tend to religious
contemplation than a cathedral of Italy or Spain, with its bloodstained
Christs, its Virgins, and its saints. Did this Arab art perhaps more
truly express the fervour of faith which needs no extraneous
elaborations, because it has no doubts? But presently calling up a
vision of the high, dim aisles, the strong yet soaring columns, all the
mysterious purity of gothic cathedrals, he convinced himself that, after
all, the old monkish architects had the real secret of mystic
aspirations in the human heart.
When Josette and Nevill led the way out of the mosque, Stephen was in
the right mood for the tomb of that ineffable saint of Islam, Shaoib ibn
Husain el Andalousi, Sidi Bou-Medine. He was almost ready to believe in
the extraordinary virtue of the earth which had the honour of covering
the marabout's remains. It annoyed him that Madame de Vaux should laugh
at the lowness of the doorway under which they had to stoop, and that
she should make fun of the suspended ostrich eggs, the tinselled
pictures and mirrors, the glass lustres and ancient lanterns, the spilt
candle-wax of many colours, or the old, old flags which covered the
walls and the high structure of carved wood which was the saint's last
resting-place.
A grave Arab who approved their air of respect, gave a pinch of earth
each to Stephen and Nevill, wrapped in paper, repeating Josette's
assurance that their wishes would be granted.
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