Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 23, 2025
Again, as before in this land, in the first sunset, on the tower, on the minaret of the mosque of Sidi-Zerzour, Nature spoke to her intimate words of inspiration, laid upon her the hands of healing, giving her powers she surely had not known or conceived of till now.
And when she listened, standing still, a feeling of awe came upon her, and she knew that she had never heard such a strangely impressive, strangely suggestive sound before. "What is that?" she said. She looked at Androvsky. "I don't know, Madame. It must be people." "But what can they be doing?" "They are praying in the mosque where Sidi-Zerzour is buried," said Mustapha.
This is the famous Sidi-Zerzour, where the great warrior is buried, and where the Arabs make pilgrimages to worship at his tomb." "Yes, Madame." He answered in a low voice. "As we are here we ought to see. Do you know, I think we must yield to honest Mustapha and have dejeuner in the garden. It is twelve o'clock and I am hungry. We might visit the mosque afterwards and ride home in the afternoon."
She must soar towards the place of the angels, whither good women soar in the great moments of their love, borne up by the winds of God. On the minaret of the mosque of Sidi-Zerzour, while Androvsky remained in the dark shadow with a curse, she had mounted, with prayer, surely a little way towards God. And now God said to her, "Mount higher, come nearer to me, bring another with you.
She did not hesitate, but walked on quickly again. She did not wish him to know that she had seen him. When she came to the long road that skirted the desert she met the breeze of dawn that blows out of the east across the flats, and drank in its celestial purity. Between the palms, far away towards Sidi-Zerzour, above the long indigo line of the Sahara, there rose a curve of deep red gold.
That kiss was surely the consecration of the life of the sands. But to-day there had been another consecration. Domini had a sudden impulse to link the two consecrations together. She drew from her breast the wooden crucifix Androvsky had thrown into the stream at Sidi-Zerzour, and, softly going to one of the beds, she pinned the crucifix above it on the canvas of the tent.
It was the little wooden crucifix Androvsky had thrown into the stream at Sidi-Zerzour. As she realised that her anger died. She was humbled and ashamed. What was her religion if, at a word, she could be stirred to such a feeling of passion? "I, at least, am not suspicious of you," she said, choosing the very words that were most difficult for her to say just then.
"Not that night when you took me out of the dancing-house, not our ride to Sidi-Zerzour, not there are things I shall remember. When I am dying, after I am dead, I shall remember them." The song faded away. The torch was still, then fell downwards and became one with the fire.
Sometimes she seemed to be near to something stern. Sometimes she felt as if there were a secret link which connected him with the perfume-seller in his little darkened chamber, with the legions who prayed about the tomb of Sidi-Zerzour. But these moments were rare.
As she had said, she had not become accustomed to the magic of Africa. Its strangeness, its contrasts still startled and moved her. But she began to feel as if she belonged to Beni-Mora, as if Beni-Mora would perhaps miss her a little if she went away. Ten days had passed since the ride to Sidi-Zerzour days rather like a dream to Domini.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking