Unhappily the same cannot be said of the neighbouring mosque, known as the Mosque of Aboul Hassan, an eminent lawyer and saint; a combination which seems unusual. On this delightful little building the hand of the restorer has lain heavy. He has seen fit to plaster it with modern tiles, suggestive of the bath-room; and in order to throw more light into the building, which is now used as a museum, has made several openings in the walls. It is poor comfort to find in a distant land that we English have no monopoly of ecclesiastical vulgarity; even our church restorers could hardly have done worse than this. It is not easy to formulate the ethics of restoration; the right course can only result from intelligent and instructed effort,—but this may be said of almost everything. The ignorance and indiscretion of those who add poor modern ornament to a grand old building passes understanding. It happens that this little mosque, charming otherwise within and without, enshrines a masterpiece, its mihrab. The mosque was erected in A.D. 1298, according to an inscription on one of its arches, and presumably the interior decoration is of the same date. The dates of the world’s few masterpieces are important. The decoration of the mihrab is executed in plaster. I am not competent to describe its details; they follow the conventional scheme of leaves and scrolls, but with quite unusual refinement. This mihrab has been highly praised; but no praise can be too high for it. It has been described as the finest example of Mohammedan art in existence; it is very likely that it is. An eye that has enjoyed any training will see at a glance that it is on a par with the greatest decorative works of man; it exhibits all the characteristics of the finest periods, especially the combination of exuberant fancy with dominating restraint. Its exquisite delicacy and its small size give emphasis to its unique distinction. I cannot refrain from quoting a French writer who fitly appreciates its qualities: “Cette décoration est le comble de la richesse et du goût ornamental. Elle réunit en effet les qualités les plus diverses; homogénéité de l’ensemble, variété infinie du détail, netteté et fantaisie, largeur et minutie dans l’exécution. Elle est empreinte d’une sorte d’_atticisme_ oriental, d’une beauté atteinte sans efforts et naturellement. Capter la lumière sans grands reliefs, l’emprisonner dans les réticules d’une ténuité extrême, la forcer de se jouer dans ses méandres idéalement fins, donner à des murailles toutes unies un vêtement de dentelles; un encadrement de rubans historiés qui les aggrandit et les rend pour ainsi dire immatérielles; entraîner le regard et l’éblouir par la complication, le rassurer par l’ordre et la paix, voilà le problème que d’obscurs ouvriers out résolu à la fin du treizième siècle de notre ère.”[5] Footnote 5: Ary Renan, “Paysages historiques.”