IN PHARAOH LAND
Here we are on the threshold of the Great Desert! As soon as the “Tzar”
dropped anchor, stopping alongside a Russian cruiser, the “Nakhimoff,”
our vessel was invaded by a crowd of natives who precipitated
themselves on our luggage. They were all speaking at once, shouting and
gesticulating; the scene reminded me of the attack of savages in “Aida.”
We looked about us for the right sort of person to accompany us in the
capacity of guide to Cairo, and finally hired for the service a dusky
Arab named Mahmoud, on whose jersey was embroidered in big white letters:
“I speak Russian.”
Everybody went on shore, but we decided to pass the night on board
and start in the morning to Cairo. We passed a very bad night, the
Egyptian sun having turned our cabin into an oven and we could not open
the porthole through the close proximity of the cruiser “Nakhimoff,”
alongside which we were anchored. At six o’clock we took a carriage to
drive us to the railway station through the broad streets of Alexandria.
The inhabitants we met on our way were for the most part negroes of
different shades, and blue-robed, dark-skinned Fellahs. The native women,
black-shrouded and veiled, wear a piece of black lustring wrapped round
their bodies, making of them formless lumps, and giving them a ghastly
aspect; a black veil is suspended on a metal cylinder, which is placed
between the eyes with texts out of the Koran inscribed inside.
Before taking the train to Cairo, we had to pass through the
preliminaries of the Customs. Thanks to our guide, Mahmoud, we have
obtained, by special favour, the permission for our boxes not to be
opened. It took three hours to get from Alexandria to Cairo; every few
minutes the train halted at a bustling station. At the stoppings the
Arabs dusted our cars with long brooms made of ostrich feathers. The
journey would have been perfect but for the heat and the dust; eyes,
nose, mouth, were choked with it, and by the time we reached Cairo, our
hair was quite grey. All through our desert journey I had felt as if I
had wandered into a dream of the Old Testament. Egyptian villages, with
huts of dry mud of the same colour as the soil, with a maze of dust,
of children, of animals and flies, emerged here and there from between
the date-palms laden with fruit hanging in big bunches. On the road
we saw great brown buffaloes going wearily round and round, turning
the irrigating mills. Strings of burdened camels marched slowly along
the road. Here is a Bedouin leaning forward upon the neck of his quick
stepping horse, outriding a fat Fellah trotting on a small donkey with
a woman sitting astride behind him, holding him round the waist. We now
passed across the fertile delta of the Nile, through cotton plantations
with their white flocks, and fields of ripening grain standing
waist-high. In Egypt the land is so fertile that the harvest is got in
three times a year. We are speeding along canals on which sailing-boats
are gliding; bands of natives and buffaloes are bathing in them. Here is
the Nile, which is very high at this season, all the land between the
Biblical river and the sands being hidden beneath the waters. We are
approaching the Metropolis of Africa. The windows of every compartment of
our train are framed with eager, longing faces, straining for the first
glimpse of the Pyramids. There they are, looking quite close in the clear
atmosphere. The first view of these colossal piles rather disappointed
me: they did not appear on the horizon as big as I thought they would be.
We crossed the Nile by a long bridge and arrived at Cairo, halting in a
vast domed station. Then we took a carriage and went to the New Hotel,
situated in the Esbekieh district, the European quarter of Cairo.
The season had not yet opened, and the hotel was comparatively empty,
there being more servants than guests for the moment, but they were
expecting a great number of visitors and great preparations were made:
carpets were laid down, curtains were put up, and the sights and sounds
of these preparations pursued us everywhere.
Everything around seemed so strange to me. There were no chamber-maids in
the hotel, and barefooted Nubians, wearing a flowing white cotton gown
from neck straight to heel, served us.
On the day of our arrival we sat up late on the terrace of our hotel,
looking out on the Esbekieh Gardens, where the Arab band is playing
every night. I was astonished to hear Russian popular airs among their
repertoire. Smart British officers, quartered in Cairo, in tight-fitting
uniforms, strolled leisurely about the streets. Dignified Arabs,
mysterious long-robed figures, appeared to float rather than walk,
their white bournouses blowing behind them, native nurses wheeled
perambulators, the negresses wrapped up in white veils and the Arab
nurses in blue covers. A band of tourists, riding spirited little
donkeys, passed along. Egyptian donkeys are fine little animals, holding
their heads high like thoroughbreds; they are white for the greater part
and shaved in designs. The best donkeys are brought out from Mecca, and
valued higher than horses.
Oh, how hot it is in Cairo! It never rains here; sometimes clouds are
to be seen on the horizon, but over the town the sky is permanently of
azure blue. In the daytime we are bothered by a swarm of flies, and are
devoured at night by greedy mosquitoes—a veritable Egyptian plague!
Our apartment is next to the Hollands, our new American friends, who
travelled with us on board the “Tzar,” from Piræus to Alexandria. Mrs.
Holland is a charming lady, but rather despotic; she could twist her
husband round her little finger. He was very mild and fond of peace.
Mr. Koyander, the Russian consul, placed himself at our disposal and gave
us a great deal of interesting information. It is now the “Ramadan,” one
of the biggest Mussulman feasts, and the Arab quarter of the town is
especially animated. We drove with Mr. Koyander through narrow and dirty
streets and arrived at a great open place. I was extremely interested by
the panorama of the East which passed before our eyes. We met the most
varied types: magnificent Arabs; Syrians in red mantles; Copts—Christians
of the Greek faith—wearing black turbans; blue-clad figures of Fellahs in
a garb that recalled the ill-omened coat of Joseph; and other specimens
of the brown children of the Nile. The Egyptian women have painted chins
and a ring stuck through their noses. The eyes of their babies were stuck
round with flies, the poor mites being too apathetic to drive them away.
This oriental throng, in turbans, stared at us unbenevolently, except a
young negress, carrying a naked baby astride on her shoulder, who offered
me a piece of sugar-cane, smiling and showing beautiful, glittering white
teeth. We passed with some difficulty through the crowd and manœuvred
between the tables, laid out with refreshments, set in the middle of the
streets, and entered an Arab café to see the dances of the “bayadères,”
or Egyptian dancing-girls. At the entry hung a dark curtain, covering the
open doorway, which was lifted for us to pass, and we found ourselves in
a small hall where three “bayadères” sat upon a raised platform; they
were covered with gauze, with reddened lips and palms, wearing massive
golden ear-rings, their hair twisted into innumerable thin ringlets at
the end of which hung golden coins, with silver bracelets jingling on
their bare ankles and their arms. We waited for their dances in vain,
these daughters of the East absolutely refused to exhibit themselves
before “Giaours” (Christians), and passed their time in throwing alluring
glances at a group of good-looking young “hadjis” (men who had made the
pilgrimage to Mecca or Medina), sitting in the first row.
The next day we visited the mosque of “Amrou.” Before entering it, we
were told to tie on straw slippers upon our shoes. In the shadow of the
mosque it was nice and cool. A palm had grown in the second court near a
cistern where pilgrims performed their ablutions. The mosque is a large
square building containing a whole forest of miraculous columns—“Proof
Columns,” as they are called—standing very near each other, and giving
passage to the “Just” and keeping back the “Perverted.” The proof can’t
be precisely right, for according to it, it is only slim individuals who
are ascertained to be the “Just,” while those inclined to be fat, always
appear to be “Perverse.” A “muezzin” was chanting the Koran, in the
middle of the mosque, to a throng of pilgrims prostrating themselves in
prayer before the tomb of Caliph Amrou, who was buried on the spot where
he had been killed during a great slaughter, which took place in the
altar during the fight of the Arabs and the Mamelukes.
We mounted on the citadel that same afternoon. Before reaching the old
fortress built on the spur of the Mokattam hills, we passed threatening
British cannon, which kept watch over the town of Cairo, and passed
through the iron-clamped gates to the wide courtyard where stands the
mosque of Mohammed-Ali, now converted into barracks. When we returned
to the hotel our way was barred by a funeral procession, escorted by a
group of dervishes bearing ragged banners and chanting the Koran to the
accompaniment of drums, and hired women-mourners, who beat their breasts
and scratched their faces wailing lamentably all the time. Behind them
the favourite donkey of the deceased was led. Some steps further we were
brought to a stand-still by a wedding procession. A rich palankeen,
bearing the newly married couple appeared, placed on two shafts, to
which two splendid dromedaries were harnessed, one behind and one in the
front, covered with bright scarlet nets and decorated with tufts of white
ostrich feathers and little silver bells. Camels heavily laden with the
wedding gifts brought up the rear.
The mighty Pyramids seem to stand quite near to Cairo, and still it
takes an hour and a half to drive to them by a long avenue of great
trees with meeting branches, stately leafy veterans, whose thick tops,
forming a cool vault, prevented the sun from scorching us when we drove
on the Ismail Road that leads from Cairo to the Pyramids. We crossed an
iron bridge over the Nile, which, though at its fullest now, is not very
deep; a drove of buffaloes were crossing it easily. We passed through
the mud-built village of Sakhara, a small encampment with a cluster of
nomad tents, and saw a circle of Arab-Bedouins, cloaked and white hooded
forms, belonging to a nomad tribe, crouching over a fire and cooking
their dinner in the plain, under the scanty shade of palm-trees. Their
Sheikh, a very tall and dignified Arab, offered us a camel and a donkey
to go and see the Sphinx. Sergy mounted the camel and I had to condescend
to the donkey. We were followed by a band of Bedouins who offered us
their services as guides to the Pyramids. Our escort increased as we went
on; half-naked children ran after us begging baksheesh. Directly after
leaving the village we were in the Sahara, with no tree or habitation,
only the naked desert with rippling sandbanks. The landscape fatigued
the eye by its sand uniformly yellow and its sky uniformly blue. The
Pyramids, the greatest of all human monuments, bewildered us by their
size when we drove up to them, especially the Pyramid of Cheops, which
took a hundred thousand masons twenty-five years to build. The Pyramids
are of extreme antiquity, a thousand years before the Christian era. At
the time when Abraham undertook his journey to Egypt, the Pyramids had
already existed for several centuries back. As soon as a Pharaoh began
to reign, in the first place he had his mausoleum built in the form of
a Pyramid. Inside, rooms with alabaster walls are shown, and long high
galleries containing the huge granite sarcophaguses. We made the tour
of the great Pyramid of Cheops. Its blocks consist of a series of steep
stone steps. To go up these steps is like walking up a wall. The hard
African sun was shining fiercely and it was too hot to undertake the
ascent of the Pyramid; we were contented to contemplate its wonders
from the base. A young Bedouin proposed to show us a wonderful feat—his
ascent and descent of the Pyramid in nineteen minutes, but we refused to
witness that acrobatic performance and rode over the hot yellow sand of
the desert to the Sphinx. All around us the great plain extended to the
horizon. I was oppressed by the immense solitude. In the desert, in the
midst of the sand-ocean, the monstrous Sphinx, the colossus of the past
ages, keeps watch on the sands from nearly four thousand years before
the birth of Christ, sleeping his eternal and enigmatic sleep. How many
centuries have past, and this giant continues contemplating, with a
mysterious and condescending smile, the nothingness and instability of
the world. Hundreds of years after I am dead the Sphinx would be probably
as it is now—silent, grave, crouching there under the scorching sun, its
eyes of stone gazing beyond the world of men, and seeming for ever to
be smiling ironically on the folly of human vanities and aspirations. I
looked at the wonderful beast that lay gazing westward, with mocking,
calm and fathomless eyes of everlasting mystery, and was conscious of
a sudden sense of smallness. If it hadn’t been so hot I should have
meditated on the fragility of human greatness. A legend says that Mary,
Joseph, and the Holy Child halted here on their long journey, when they
fled to the land of Egypt to escape the fury of King Herod, and that the
Virgin laid the tired Christ between the paws of the Sphinx to sleep. We
had brought a small kodak with us, and Mahmoud immortalised me installed
on the back of my peaceable courser, and my husband perched on his high
quadruped, both of us surrounded by a multitude of dusky sons of the
Sahara. When we got to our carriage we amply recompensed the services of
our Bedouin followers, who continued to run after our carriage demanding
more tips and shouting “Baksheesh, Sahib, baksheesh!” Mahmoud put out
of himself by their effrontery, rose in his seat looking remarkably
ferocious, and began to throw stones at them, at which the whole crowd
took to their heels. We had to return full speed to Cairo, before the
drawbridge was raised for the ships to pass; we tore through the bridge
which is a mile long, scattering the foot-passengers who happened to be
in our way to right and left.
The next day we went on donkeys to see the “whirling dervishes,” an
extraordinary and rather terrific sight. We entered a mosque consisting
of a square hall, with sheep-skins laid down in the middle, on which
a score of dervishes, in long white skirts, were ranged in a wide
half-circle. Their Sheikh, an old man with a long white beard, stood
between them holding the Prophet’s banner. The dervishes, their long
hair falling to their shoulders, swayed their bodies from side to side,
uttering ominous sounds like that of angry lions. I glanced around with
an involuntary shiver, and went and sat at the back of the hall, near a
group of officers of the Egyptian army, feeling a sense of security in
their proximity. Suddenly the Sheikh gave vent to an odd sort of growl
which I didn’t like at all, it made me think of wolves. The dervishes
tried to imitate him and so horribly that I turned cold and measured the
distance to the door, wanting frantically to get away. At each howl the
dervishes’ heads went backward and forward and then from right to left,
to the sound of cymbals and blow-pipes, their long hair covering their
faces, falling gradually into frantic convulsions, their eyes out of
their sockets. One of them entered into such a frenzy that he continued
for more than five minutes wagging his head, not being able to stop it by
inert force. The long human chain holding each other by the hand, began
bending to the ground to the increasing shouts of “Allah, Allah!” At last
they fell on the floor inanimate, with foam on their lips. Having gone
through all this programme, the dervishes, quietening down, came up to
their Sheikh and kissed him.
When we went out of the mosque we had to pass before a sacred goat,
a very wicked one, who tried to butt all the passers-by with his
horns. We remounted our donkeys and our little cavalcade started off
on the long white road. My frisky, little ass trotted swiftly, moving
gaily his long ears, and Sergy had great difficulty to keep up to me,
being obliged to struggle with his stubborn donkey which was vicious
and kicked frantically all the time. We came up to a little desolate
village inhabited by Copts, native Christians belonging to the Orthodox
faith, and visited in the first place the Coptic church, built on the
place where the Virgin Mary, Joseph and the Holy Child are said to have
stayed when they fled to Egypt. We stood on the very spot where the Holy
Family had rested. The water stood inches deep upon the floor from the
overflowing of the Nile. When we went out of the church we saw on the
perch a crowd of Coptic beggars who whined in English, “A penny for the
love of Christ!”
On our way back we met a carriage preceded by musicians, and thought
that it was a wedding, but instead of a newly-married couple we saw a
little boy sitting between two natives, and were told that it was the
circumcision of the little Egyptian which was being celebrated, by
driving him in triumph around the streets of the quarter of the town
where his parents lived.
We visited on the same day the enormous Mosque of “Amrou,” which will
contain about ten thousand people. Upon the floor were stretched hundreds
of small bright-red carpets upon which the followers of the Prophet
bent, muttering their prayers and went on with the monotonous chanting
of “La-illah, illah-llah!” There is an Arabic academy, the “Medressah
School” for the education of “softas,” (theological students) attached to
the mosque. This academy is a grand edifice supported by 180 columns and
lighted by a thousand lamps, has accommodation for 11,000 students and
325 professors. When we entered one of the immense halls of the academy,
we saw a white-bearded professor, wearing a green turban that means he
is a “hadji,” and has been to Mecca, sitting on the floor and reading
a lecture to a solid mass of white-robed youths, who sat cross-legged
before their teacher, bowing and swaying towards him. We were told that
before a student becomes an “imam” he must study for fifteen years in
order to be admitted formally to the clergy.
Next day Mr. Koyander, who was well acquainted with Egyptian antiquities
and could decipher indecipherable inscriptions, took us to see the Ghiseh
Museum, where in large glass cases lay Egyptian mummies, which had been
human beings of flesh and blood three thousand years ago. The bowels of
the mummies are put in a box and laid at the feet of their sarcophagus.
We saw the mummy of Sette I., the Pharaoh whose daughter had found
out baby-Moses on the banks of the Nile, and that of Rameses II., the
father of _one hundred and seventy children_! Both mummies are admirably
preserved, as well as that of Amanit, the great priestess. She lies upon
her back, her mouth open, showing all her teeth; her long black hair is
still attached to the scalp, and the skin to the bones.
We made some excursions out of town. We went one day in the direction of
Mataryeh, about five miles from Cairo, to see the Virgin’s sycamore-tree,
under which the Holy Family took rest. The way leading there gives
you the impression of old Bible-times. The vegetation is magnificent,
cactuses, bamboos and date-palms everywhere. The grass on the lawns is
more than five feet high. We went along shady avenues and crossed lotus,
maize, and sugar-cane fields. The Virgin’s sycamore is enclosed by a wall
which measures about a mile in length. The railing surrounding the tree
is locked up. We had it opened and saw a great number of names, to which
we added ours, engraved on the mighty trunk of the sycamore, all ragged
by lapse of time and intertwined with branches. An ancient legend says
that the Holy Family on their flight to Egypt remained two years absent,
and lived at the little village of Mataryeh. About fifteen minutes’ walk
from the spot was the celebrated town of Iliopel, which is mentioned in
the Bible. Very few fragments remain of the town, except a high obelisk,
which is supposed to be the oldest in Egypt; it is of granite, and the
height is over sixty-five feet. It is there that Moses had been a priest.
We continued our way to the ostrich farm built on the moving sands
of the Great Desert. It is kept by a French company, but the men who
are occupied with the rearing of the huge birds are all Bedouins. At
the entrance there is an inscription in French “_Parc aux auturches_”
(Ostrich Park.) It contains about a thousand winged creatures, perched
high on their long legs. The males are covered with black curling
feathers, only the tail is cream-coloured, and the females are all
grey-feathered. The heads of the giant birds reach far above the grating
surrounding the farm. The gathering of the feathers, which takes place
once a year in May, requires great precautions. The ostriches gathered
into an enclosure are pushed one by one into a kind of box placed on
four posts. Closed between the four boards, the bird is unable to fling
out his terrible kicks, which could easily smash the operator’s legs and
arms. Eight men must hold the ostrich during the operation. The section
of artificial brooding is very interesting; it is often practised, as
the ostriches, sitting during forty-three days on their eggs, frequently
perish. Each ostrich gives yearly about a thousand francs of profit.
Before leaving the farm we bought a dozen beautiful feathers and a pair
of enormous ostrich eggs. On our way back to Cairo we saw in the distance
in the desert a vast English camp.
On the Isle of Rhoda, the broadest arm of the Nile, there is a Nilometer
dating from the time of the Pharaohs. We went to see it, and crossed on
the other side of the island in a caïque, in the company of barefooted
Arabs. We moored to the spot where the daughter of the Pharaoh found
Moses. The Nile being now in overflow, the Nilometer was submerged in the
water to the very top. The native women, with bronze arms, were drawing
water from the Nile in stone pitchers, and carried it away, balancing
their picturesque burdens, gracefully poised on head and shoulder,
recalling the Biblical times.
Every Friday in the “Gisheh,” the Hyde Park of Cairo, about sundown, the
aristocracy of the city take their drive. We went for a stroll in the
park through a wide avenue bordered by thickly planted trees. In the
large park-alleys broughams passed containing harem ladies with faces
closely veiled with muslin, accompanied by their favourite slaves. A
native of high degree came driving in an open carriage, with sandalled,
gorgeously-clad syces (carriage runners), with white wing-like sleeves
embroidered with gold, running before his carriage and clearing the way
for their master. After our drive we had tea at a little inn on the bank
of the Nile, where we found a nice sheltered place close to the river.
Just in front was moored a _dahabiah_, a large sailing vessel cruising
up the Nile as far as the Cataracts. We were immediately surrounded by a
crowd of natives; one of them was offering “good bananas,” in English,
and another one wanted absolutely to clean our shoes.
Our arrival at Cairo had been advertised in the papers. The local
authorities were warned and English reporters came to ask Mr. Koyander
the reason of our visit to the Metropolis of Africa. They may be
perfectly tranquillised, for we certainly have nothing to do with
politics, Sergy and I!
It had been our intention to travel in Palestine after our tour in Egypt,
but cholera was raging at Mecca, which, much to our disappointment,
prevented us from going there.
I was sorry to say good-bye to Mrs. Holland. We parted with mutual
regret and promises of letters. Kissing me fondly she said: “I love you
awfully, darling; I have never met a more lovely little thing than you!”
A few more kisses and we separated to follow our diverse destinies. Mrs.
Holland stood on the doorway to see us off and waved her hand in friendly
farewell, whilst the omnibus slowly carried us away.
We have learnt through Mr. Koyander that Mr. Abaza, a very old friend
of my family, who had known me at home as a little girl when I was still
in short frocks, and whom I had lost sight of for a great many years,
had settled in Alexandria. We let him know the day and hour of our
arrival, and when we reached Alexandria, as we stepped out of the train,
a gentleman came forward with both hands extended, saying, “A hearty
welcome to you, Princess Vava!” My amazement can well be understood, when
Mr. Abaza proved to be the silent fellow-passenger who had crossed with
us from Sebastopol to Constantinople, whom we had taken for a taciturn
Greek. How extraordinary that we should meet like that! Queer what a
little place the world is! It is so nice to have an old friend turn up in
a far country!
We put up at Alexandria at the Hotel Abbat, where our guide Mahmoud
served as dragoman. On the following afternoon we went on a visit
to Mouchtar Pasha, the ex-commander of the Turkish army during the
Russo-Turkish war, who had removed to Egypt, an old general overcharged
with years and decorations. Our ancient foe came up with his hand out,
welcoming us heartily. We had no need of an interpreter, the Pasha
speaking very good French. Our host proposed a little refreshment; and
the next moment a turbaned servant came in with tea and stole out of the
room silently, walking backwards.
Next day we went to see Mr. Abaza in Ramle, a little place situated at
an hour-and-a-half’s journey from Alexandria, where he owned a house of
his own. We passed the hippodrome, a broad racing-ground, and a large
plain utilised for purposes of recreation by cricketers and lawn-tennis
players, arranged by the English colony of Alexandria. We now rolled
through an arid and deserted country, swarming with all sorts of vermin,
serpents, scorpions, bats, etc. As we approached Ramle the scene changed
as if by magic, and we found ourselves in an ocean of verdure. Mr. Abaza
came to meet us at the station, and led us to his pretty villa buried
among the trees. He regaled us with a Lucullus lunch, with champagne
in profusion. The meal was served by Arab servants clad in white, very
well groomed and trained. Directly after lunch Sergy had to return to
Alexandria to be received in private audience by the Khedive, and I
remained at Ramle until night, Mr. Abaza having proposed to see me back
safely to Alexandria.
I found my husband enchanted with his visit to the Khedive, who had been
charming to him. We sat together with Mr. Abaza on the terrace of our
hotel till late, and had a comfortable chat over old times.