their religious edifices. Following the example of the older Egyptian
Byzantine churches, the nave and tribune are uncovered and the side
aisles have galleries. The nave has three divisions: first, a vestibule;
second, a section set apart for women; and third, another section for
men. There are the usual choir, sanctuary, and side chapels, and the
division between the choir and the sanctuary is ornamented with carvings
in wood and ivory. The church also contains Byzantine carving and
mosaics, and is characterized by the usual richness in decoration. A
flight of twelve steps descends into the crypt, a small vaulted chapel
with marble columns situated under the choir. At the end of the nave is
an altar, around which has sprung up the tradition that the Virgin and
Child there rested during a month's stay, after the flight to Egypt. The
Church of St. Sergius is similar in construction, as are others of the
group, besides hundreds more scattered through Egypt. The dust of ages
clung to our skirts as we left the desolate scene, and there was within
us the consciousness that, for old Cairo, there could be no
resurrection.
One of the places that might consume days in the inspection is the
Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, which it is impossible to describe in a
limited space. But to the student of Egyptology and to the tourist it is
alike important, because, in its monuments of stone and bronze, it
presents visible proofs of a wonderful past, while the sarcophagi,
mummies, and other remains taken from the tombs, reveal the life and
habits of the early Egyptians.
With only two mornings for an inspection, we devoted one to a general
view of the museum, and the other to the fine collection of our
fellow-traveller, Mr. Theodore Davis, for which a special room is
reserved. Mr. Davis courteously explained to us the different objects,
or "finds"; these included artistic articles of household use, a fine
group of Canopic jars, and miscellaneous pieces of unusual merit (all
from the tombs of the Kings at Thebes); the whole exhibit showing what
an enthusiast, with time and means, can accomplish in the interest of a
buried past.
An excursion of great meaning is that to the pyramids. Crossing the
Nile, we followed its course to the former palace of Gizeh; then the way
led inland, along what was formerly a fine carriage drive, but now one
usually takes the tram to save time. Our arrival was exciting, owing to
the number of persistent Bedouins who met us with donkeys and camels. A
white donkey, named Snowflake, and an attendant, named Yankee Doodle,
fell to me, while a camel, named Mary Anderson, was allotted to a
friend. An inquiry as to why American names prevailed, revealed the fact
that the names of the animals are adjustable, according to the
nationality of the party to be supplied.
The appearance of the pyramids is familiar the world over, but an actual
view of these monuments of hoary age ever inspires awe and reverence. As
we ascended the plateau (twelve hundred by sixteen hundred yards), and
rode within the shadow of the pyramids, our feeling was deepened by the
view of the barren waste stretched before us,--yellowish sand and piles
of debris accentuating the solitude of the place, while the inscrutable
Sphinx and other monuments added their silent testimony.
A more extended view revealed "the river of rivers," on each bank of
which appeared a green line of foliage; beyond this could be dimly seen
cultivated fields with intersecting canals, while tiny villages lent the
human touch, and far away, Cairo, with her gleaming domes and minarets,
became an appropriate background for the scene.
All the members of our party having previously visited the spot, we were
spared the excitement of climbing the walls and entering the chambers,
greatly to the disappointment of our guides, to whom the prospect of
extra bakshish is always alluring. Our tour of observation consumed so
much time that the usual programme of five o'clock tea at the Hôtel Mene
was abandoned. On our arrival in the city, the mantle of night had
fallen,--a peaceful close to a never-to-be-forgotten day.
Another afternoon's excursion was made by carriage to the old villages
of Matariya and Heliopolis. Near the former place is an ancient gnarled
sycamore, under which, so tradition says, the Holy Family rested in
their flight to Egypt. The present tree was planted in 1672, but the
credulous still believe it to be a direct descendant of the original
one. A fine spring which flows in the vicinity is also supposed to
have lost its natural brackish taste on account of the infant Jesus
having been bathed in it. A half-mile farther on is Heliopolis, the old
City of the Sun. It is now marked by the solitary obelisk, which alone
remains to remind us of a past that stretches untold centuries back of
the Muslim conquest of Egypt in 640; and of a city that was the exponent
of the most ancient civilization of the world.
[Illustration: _The obelisk marking the site of Heliopolis_]
The obelisk is the oldest Egyptian one known; it is of red granite,
sixty-six feet in height, although it seems lower on account of the mass
of debris at the base, and is inscribed with hieroglyphics. There remain
a few granite blocks of the temple, designated the House of Ra, whose
priests were so learned as to have attracted Plato when a student, to
have drawn Herodotus into discussion, and to have laid the foundation of
Moses' wisdom.
Heliopolis has been the scene of many stirring events, the victory of
the Turks over the Mamelukes occurring there in 1517, while in 1800
General Kléber successfully led the French forces against the Turks. The
memory of the active past serves to emphasize the present solitude of
the place.
A favorite resort of the Cairo folk is the island of Gezireh; here a
long avenue of lebbek trees furnishes a fashionable promenade, while
games of golf, tennis, cricket, and polo, together with the races, are
a constant source of attraction. The once famous palace of Gezireh (the
scene of great festivities at the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869) is
now turned into a popular hotel; its grounds slope down to the Nile,
where dahabiyehs are sometimes anchored; an inspection of one of these,
the _Bedouin_, excited our admiration.
The time of our stay was drawing to a close, and Cairo was again to
become "memory" with a past stretching back into centuries without
number. Egypt has a human history that is almost appalling to the
thoughtful mind; this limitless stretch of time may, in part, explain
the peculiar, indefinable charm that Cairo has upon the imagination of
the beholder, thus winning for herself the appropriate name of the
"Mysterious City of the Nile."
* * * * *
PORT SAÏD, _November 26th_: The return to Port Saïd in the afternoon was
followed by our departure on another P. & O. steamer, the _Arabia_, for
Bombay, India.
One enters the Suez Canal with peculiar sensations, as it is a waterway
of vast importance, connecting the Mediterranean and Red Seas, and so
narrow that the shores on both sides are distinctly visible. It extends
from Port Saïd to Suez, and is nearly one hundred miles in length; it is
artificial, with the exception of a channel through Bitter Lakes and
Lake Tinsuh. All along the way, we were virtually traversing the desert,
Isma'iliya presenting a small oasis, fifty miles from Port Saïd. From
the deck we watched the monotonous scene, hour after hour, the landscape
being old and colorless, with great billows of sand in the foreground,
and here and there occasional hillocks. Once we saw mountains of sand,
called the Gebel Abû Batah range. Sometimes a few native huts would
appear (the mere semblance of a village), then a stray camel or two, or
a group of natives with their pigskins, intent on securing water. The
Great Bitter Lake is a fine body of water, and it afforded us a
temporary relief from the monotony of the Canal. There was a short stay
at Suez, which has all the stir of a noisy modern port. We were now for
a time in the Gulf of Suez, but saw nothing except a yellow beach and
low outlying mountains; we longed for even a patch of grass, but, alas!
this was the season of drought, and vegetation was slumbering.
But if Nature was dull and lifeless, there was no lack of jollity on
board the steamer; for the passengers were mostly English, and there
were constant games or other devices for "killing time," in which the
English as a nation are so proficient.
We sailed out of the Gulf of Suez into the Red Sea, which afforded some
variety of scene, as there were occasional islands, that of Perim being
the most important and a possession of Great Britain. It stands
prominently out of the sea in its length of two miles, and seems almost
destitute of vegetation, although there was a little settlement close to
the shore.
Thus far, contrary to all expectation, we had had comfortable weather;
but Aden, a few hours later, gave us a heated welcome. This small city
of Arabia is picturesquely situated on the Arabian Sea, high up on rocky
cliffs; we had anticipated a hurried survey of the city, but the heat
was so excessive that only a few gentlemen ventured ashore; however, we
had a little diversion on the steamer in the interval, as numerous
natives appeared with amber beads, ostrich feathers (which are a noted
commodity of the place) and fans; this provoked the usual contest in
bargains.
The evening brought us compensation for a day of heat, with its
consequent languor, in the shape of a gorgeous sunset; a huge ball of
fire hung in the west and radiated great streaks of red, yellow, and
blue, these fading away into the softer tints, and then came the most
wonderful afterglow, the heavens being suffused, and the whole scene
making one breathless, as if under a spell.
[Illustration: _The Suez Canal near Port Saïd_]
The Arabian Sea gave us an aftermath of heat, but, remembering with
considerable satisfaction that the days of our transit were nearly
over, we assumed an indifferent air.
* * * * *
BOMBAY, _December 6th_: On nearing India, with its far-away past, I was
convinced that I would be first impressed with its Oriental aspect, but,
on the contrary, the approach to Bombay presented a decidedly modern
phase. There is a fine, almost semi-circular harbor, with a modern quay,
and tall buildings encircling the shore, the tasteful Royal Bombay Yacht
Club in the front, the spacious new Taj Mahal Hotel to the left, having
about a block of frontage on the bay, while farther back were other tall
buildings. Dusky faces greeted us at the landing, and a Babel of voices
in an unknown tongue, or rather tongues, since many tribes were
represented, each with their separate dialect.
Arriving at the Taj Mahal, we felt a sense of strangeness, as the
arrangement of rooms and the service were distinctly foreign. There were
almost too many attendants or servants (two for each room, an upper and
a lower one), and the waiters in the dining-room were more interesting
to me than the menu,--the Portuguese wearing white uniforms with short
jackets, pink vests, and black ties; the Mohammedans attired in long
white tunics, with wide belts at the waist, loose trousers, and
barefooted.
It was reserved for an afternoon drive through the crowded native
quarter, however, to give us a striking impression of the India of the
past. Every nook and corner of the narrow streets seemed a blaze of
color--women in their full skirts of many shades of red (that color
predominating), with diverse novel waist arrangements and a profusion of
jewelry, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and anklets. Men were in their
many-hued turbans of various styles, with no clothing to the waist and a
limited supply below. Then there were boys and small children,--the
former with only a loin cloth, the latter as Nature made them, with
silver chains bearing quite large hearts suspended around their waists,
and with smaller chains around their necks, each supposed to ward off
sudden calamity or disease.
But, if there was color in the dress, there was emaciation in the
figure,--thin features, thin limbs, and flat chests being the prevailing
type, a fair indication that their scanty supply of food does not
furnish them sufficient nutrition. Northern India is the so-termed
"famine district," and the famine of one year is said to have destroyed
over four millions of people; pestilence is always threatening these
natives, and besides, the demands for tribute of an enervated priesthood
(who "toil not," alas! "neither do they spin") have to be met. So is it
any wonder that poverty prevails and that sadness of countenance is
everywhere seen?
[Illustration: _Aden, Arabia_]
The bazars are similar in arrangement to those in Cairo; but more novel
wares are displayed, and less bargaining is resorted to. The European
shops were satisfactory, and we invested at once in white felt topee
hats lined with green, and also in ecru parasols similarly lined, for
dire tales had been told us of the penalty we should suffer if we were
not thus equipped, on account of the great power of the sun in midday;
often the heat was known to bring on insanity (on the authority of a
long-time resident of India). The wearing of that topee hat was a great
personal sacrifice, as it was horribly unbecoming, and after some weeks
of trial one of our party was brave enough to advise a second venture; a
Calcutta style was tried, with no better results, so you can imagine the
joy of the final "giving up"!
If the native quarters revealed to us an unknown life, so did a country
drive, for there were trees and shrubs never before seen, and queer
little thatched houses of the bungalow type. Groups of cocoanut and
other palms were all lacking in freshness, as this was the dry season,
and dust must prevail until the arrival of the "monsoon," or rainy
season, in May. The domestic animals seemed to thrive, such as camels,
donkeys, bullocks, and there were many birds, the little mina and the
green paroquets being of special interest, while immense black crows
hovered about everywhere.
The European aspect of Bombay is imposing, and the public and municipal
buildings are hardly to be surpassed, the railway station claiming the
distinction, architecturally, of being the finest in the world. The
dominant type of public building is designed in what is called Gothic
Indian style.
The drive along Queen's Road is a dream of beauty. The private
residences, each with fine grounds, are many and tasteful, those along
Queen's Road being usually occupied by the military class or by
officials in the civil service. Malabar Hill is also a residential
centre, and a drive there affords one an extended view of the city.
There also one may have a glimpse of the Arabian Sea, but a much better
view is to be had from the grounds of the Towers of Silence, that
strange exemplification of the faith of a peculiar people.
We had met a Parsee gentleman of culture and refinement on the steamer,
_en route_ for Bombay, which fact made us eager to learn something of
this sect. They came to India from Persia, twelve hundred years ago,
driven away on account of Mohammedan persecution. They are strict
followers of the tenets of Zoroaster, their creed, briefly epitomized,
being "Good thoughts, good words, and good deeds." There are about one
hundred thousand in Bombay; as a class they are well educated, and have
great business capacity; hence they are prominent in commercial affairs,
particularly in banking. They are generous and charitable, and are at
the head of most of the philanthropic institutions of the city; many
distinctions have been won by them from the English Government.
[Illustration: _Victoria Station at Bombay_]
Their strange treatment of the dead shows what a strong hold custom and
faith can have over a people; believing that fire is a symbol of Deity,
and also revering the earth, neither cremation nor burial of the dead is
permitted. The Towers of Silence, five of them occupying the most
beautiful site on Malabar Hill, and surrounded by spacious grounds with
trees, shrubbery, and flowers, hold the Parsee dead.
These towers are of whitewashed stone, two hundred and seventy-five feet
in circumference, and twenty-five feet in height; the upper floors are
of iron grating, with three circles, whereon the corpses are placed; the
inner circle is for children, the next for women, and the outer one for
men. Thus placed, the vultures, which have been hovering about awaiting
their prey, complete the work, and soon only the skeletons remain; these
are thrown into a circular well in the centre of the enclosure, where
they quickly turn to dust. This well has perforated holes in the
bottom, so that the action of the rain can carry away the dust to still
another receptacle, which in time reaches the sea. Previous to the
ceremony, one hundred or more mourners, robed in white, may be seen
walking up the hill, preceded by four men, carrying the bier on their
shoulders. They pass into the house of prayer for a time, and then
proceed to the Towers, where they are met by the only two men (of the
outcast class) who are ever permitted to enter, to whom the body is
consigned for the final rite.
And yet, in spite of all this gruesomeness, the Parsees are a happy,
social people, and their entertainments, particularly their weddings,
are described as presenting a brilliant array of bejewelled women,
tastefully dressed in the soft tinted silks they so much affect, with
the long graceful veils falling to the feet. This is the only head
covering worn in a carriage or on the street. The men, however, usually
wear the conventional European dress, but on ceremonial occasions a
white costume is required, with a small black hat.
Another sombre feature of Indian life is the prevalence of caste, which
no foreigner can expect to understand, so complex is the system. There
are four general classes: the Brahman, or princely caste (this has four
subdivisions); the military caste; the commercial caste; and the
laboring caste, commonly called "coolies." These in their turn admit
of many subdivisions, and when we realize that caste is hereditary and
that whatever a man's ambition he can never rise above his station, even
though he seek to secure promotion, we may understand what a yoke it
imposes on the people.
[Illustration: _Queen's Road at Bombay_]
Another bar is custom, which is quite as iron-clad as is caste; whenever
any improvement is suggested, either in dress or in living, the
suggestion is usually met with the reply that it is prevented by custom.
This applies particularly to the agricultural class, among whom the
crude ploughs and other out-of-date implements cannot be replaced by
modern ones, as it has been the custom to use the former. Even the
carrying of heavy burdens on the head cannot be given up; woe to any one
who suggests substituting the carrying of a basket! A laughable incident
is told of a European gentleman who employed a number of men to carry
sand; thinking to lighten their labor, he purchased wheelbarrows, but on
visiting the scene of action a week later, he found the men with the
barrows on their heads! No doubt, the reply to his protest was, "It is
custom."
Another deplorable condition in India is found among women, particularly
of the lower classes, as they are considered of a more inferior order
than the men of the family and are treated with little respect, being
virtually slaves. The higher class lead secluded lives, but do not
escape the inflexible law that demands the marriage of a girl by the age
of fourteen, or the ostracism thrust upon the child widow, who, on
returning to a home of which she was once an honored member, finds
herself virtually an outcast. Her pretty clothes are taken from her, and
she is required to do the menial work of the family; this is the Indian
protest against the abolishing of the suttee, or the burning of widows
on the funeral pyre of their husbands,--cruelties prevented by English
rule, as are also the practice of child suicide and the passing of the
Juggernaut car over the prostrate bodies of living victims.
These phases are not pleasant to contemplate, but are none the less
necessary to know, if one is to form even a superficial idea of
"conditions." It is gratifying to learn that still more reforms are
advocated, and that there are to be more schools established, similar to
the one originated by Ramabai, not far from Bombay, as a refuge for
child widows. She received financial aid when in the United States a few
years since. Mrs. Annie Besant has also established, at Benares, a
school under Theosophical auspices, called Central Hindu College; this
has for its object the combination of religious, moral, mental, and
athletic instruction for Hindu youths.
[Illustration: _Country scene in Bombay_]
The European residents of Bombay lead their own lives, and the social
usages are quite the same as in England; the usual "sports" abound
there, such as golf, tennis, and cricket, polo, and the races, while
yachting has great prestige under the auspices of the aristocratic yacht
club on Apollo Bunder.
The Victoria and Albert Museum has a fine building, but an unimportant
collection; it stands in Victoria Gardens (a park of thirty-four acres,
well laid out), and near the south entrance are the remains of the stone
elephant which gave the island of Elephanta its name; the gardens are a
popular resort. In another portion of the city is the best statue of
Queen Victoria to be found in India.
An unusually fine market building is surmounted by a handsome
clock-tower. There are large, well-equipped hospitals and a college, in
addition to the number of buildings for public uses. One frequently sees
gayly painted mosques and temples. Among the many ruins, those of Siva,
called the Caves of Elephanta, are of most interest.
A steam launch was taken at the Apollo Bunder, and, after an hour and a
half on the bay, we arrived at the island; the landing was not
agreeable, and we were met with a chorus of voices from boys and men,
crying "Memsahib" this and "Memsahib" that; some were beggars, others
were intent on renting their "chairs" for the ascent of the hill.
The caves are excavations in the solid rock from fifteen to seventeen
feet in height; originally there had been a plan, showing the
arrangement of columns and colonnades, but the depredations of the
followers of Mohammed in the past are everywhere to be seen. The
entrance to one cave, however, is well preserved, as is also a group,
almost life size, of Siva, Vishnu, and Brahma, called the Trinity. The
caves are said to be the home of many deadly snakes, but none appeared,
and a death-like stillness prevailed; once in the sunshine again, we met
a snake charmer with a lively collection of what seemed to be cobras,
but we declined to gaze upon them.
Further visits to the streets and bazars revealed new scenes, and such a
variety of nationalities! As Sir Edwin Arnold has written: "Here are
specimens of every race and nation of the East, Arabs from Muscat,
Persians from the Gulf, Afghans from the northern frontier, black shaggy
negroes from Zanzibar, islanders from the Maldives and Laccadives;
Malays and Chinese throng and jostle with Parsees in their sloping hats,
with Jews, Lascars, Rajputs, Fakirs, European Sepoys, and Sahibs."
[Illustration: _A Tower of Silence_]
My vivid impression of Bombay is a memory of the June-like temperature
(in December), the lovely drives, and the never-ending panorama of the
water front as seen from my hotel windows, sometimes dazzlingly bright
in the sunlight, and again subdued, as the soft opalescent tints of the
twilight enveloped the landscape in a shadowy haze. Before me lay ocean
steamers, merchantmen, a man of war, yachts, and many smaller vessels,
with rowboats of diverse pattern; to the left was the pier, while the
English flag floated from the attractive yacht club. It was, however, a
typical Continental view, and not an Oriental one, so sharp an impress
has England made on a city and island which were not acquired by
conquest (it is pleasant to note), but as the marriage portion of
Catharine of Braganza, of Portugal, when she became the bride of King
Charles II of England. This transference was a fortunate thing for
Bombay, all foreign residents and tourists agree, but native
appreciation, if there is any, seems to slumber, as is the usual rule
where colonization exists.