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[Illustration: THE SPHINX BY MOONLIGHT]
[Illustration]
AN ARTIST IN EGYPT
BY
WALTER TYNDALE R.I.
HODDER & STOUGHTON
NEW YORK & LONDON
PREFACE
I endeavoured, in a former book on Egypt, to give my first impressions
while the glamour of the East had not been dimmed by familiarity; and
the kind reception of that, my first literary attempt, has encouraged
me to write again after spending some years in the Nile Valley. Though
first impressions may have a charm which familiarity lacks, it would
be astonishing if a country so full of beauty, and of such varied
interests as is Egypt, had caused familiarity to breed contempt. I
may safely say that it has not had that result. A lengthened stay has
certainly added to my experiences as well as to my stock of drawings,
and I trust it has also given me some insight into the character of the
people amidst whom I dwelt.
Mediæval Cairo is doubtless year by year the poorer by many picturesque
‘bits’ which have vanished. But Cairo is a large city, and happily many
years may elapse before artists will cease to go there for material.
What is still untouched by the jerry builder, or has not been allowed
to fall into ruin, is probably more beautiful than anything other
oriental cities can show. Less change is seen in the smaller towns,
and the villages are much the same in aspect as when the Saracen
invaders first occupied the valley of the Nile.
Every season adds to the knowledge of Ancient Egypt, and gives us
something which for centuries lay hid beneath the desert sands. It was
my good fortune to spend some winters at Thebes while some of the most
interesting of recent discoveries were made, and through the courtesy
of Mr. Weigall, the Chief Inspector of Upper Egypt, I was enabled to
dwell and do my work in these congenial surroundings. I have also to
thank him for the unique opportunities which our desert journey, from
the Nile to the Red Sea, offered; of all my experiences in Egypt, none
has given me more pleasure in recalling.
HASLEMERE, 1912.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
CAIRO REVISITED 1
CHAPTER II
RENEWAL OF MY ACQUAINTANCE WITH MOHAMMED
BROWN AND SOME REFLECTIONS
ON MATRIMONY 11
CHAPTER III
THE MOSQUE OF MURISTÂN KALAÛN, MY EXPERIENCE
WITH THE FAKÍR, AND A DIGRESSION
ON THE SUBJECT OF DERVISHES 22
CHAPTER IV
THE FESTIVAL OF THE ‘HASANEYN’ AND THE
STORY OF THE PRINCESS ZOHRA 31
CHAPTER V
OF THE OLD AND THE NEW CAIRO, AND OF A
VISIT TO THE SHEYKH AMMIN SAHEIME 43
CHAPTER VI
MY SECOND VISIT TO THE SHEYKH AND MY
EXPERIENCES WITH AN UNFAITHFUL SERVANT 57
CHAPTER VII
IN WHICH I GET ANOTHER SERVANT AND HUNT
FOR A CROCODILE; ALSO A CONTINUATION
OF THE STORY OF PRINCESS ZOHRA 67
CHAPTER VIII
OF A CAIRO CAFÉ AND OTHER MATTERS 78
CHAPTER IX
THE COPTIC CONVENTS OF WADI NATRUN 90
CHAPTER X
THE MOSQUE OF ES-SALIH TALAI 104
CHAPTER XI
THE BLUE MOSQUE AND KASR-ESH-SHEMA 116
CHAPTER XII
THE SPHINX, AND A DISSERTATION ON TOMMY
ATKINS 127
CHAPTER XIII
THE HAMSEEN, THE LAMP-SHOP, AND THE
ACCESSION OF SAID PASHA 136
CHAPTER XIV
MOHAMMEDAN FESTIVALS: THE HOLY CARPET--THE
FAST OF RAMADAN AND THE ASHURA 151
CHAPTER XV
MORE RELIGIOUS OBSERVANCES, SPRING’S AWAKENING,
AND THE CAIRENE HOUSE OF COUNT ZOGHEB 170
CHAPTER XVI
DER EL-BAHRI, AND SOME INCIDENTS WHICH
TOOK PLACE DURING MY STAY THERE 178
CHAPTER XVII
DER EL-BAHRI (_continued_) 194
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CROSS DESERT JOURNEY TO KOSSEIR 206
CHAPTER XIX
THE VALLEY OF HAMMAMÂT 221
CHAPTER XX
THE WADI FOWAKIYEH AND BÎR HAGI SULIMAN 231
CHAPTER XXI
KOSSEIR 245
CHAPTER XXII
EDFU AND THE QUARRIES OF GEBEL SILSILEH 258
CHAPTER XXIII
MY EXPERIENCES AS AN INMATE OF A NATIVE
HOSPITAL 270
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE SPHINX BY MOONLIGHT _Frontispiece_
WATER MELON SELLER 8
AN ARAB WEDDING PROCESSION 16
A CHEAP RIDE 24
THE KHAN KHALIL, CAIRO 32
SUK ES-SELAH, CAIRO 48
ENTRANCE TO THE HAREEM 56
THE TAKHTABOSH 64
MOSQUE OF MOHAMMED BEY 72
A CAIRENE CAFÉ 80
THE TOMB OF SHEYKH ABD-EL-DEYM 88
ARAB SCHOOL 104
THE BLUE MOSQUE 112
PERSIAN ALMSHOUSES 128
THE STORE OF NASSÁN 136
RETURN OF THE HOLY CARPET 144
A FRUIT-STALL AT BULAK 152
A THEBAN HOMESTEAD 168
THE JACARANDA 176
THE BIRTH COLONNADE IN THE TEMPLE OF
HATSHEPSU 184
THE HAIRDRESSER 192
A MARKET ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT 208
THE TOMBS OF THE KHALIFS 216
THE MOSQUE AT KOSSEIR 232
DOORWAY IN THE TEMPLE OF ISIS 240
POTTERY BAZAAR IN A NILE VILLAGE 264
THE VILLAGE OF MARG 272
CHAPTER I
CAIRO REVISITED
After a lapse of some years, I returned to Cairo to attempt once again
to paint its ancient buildings, as well as the picturesque incidents
seen in the shadows they cast or bathed in light against their sunlit
walls.
I made an early start on the first morning after my arrival, partly to
look for a subject, and more particularly to see whether the pictorial
side of the old quarters of the city would still impress me as it did
on my first visit. It was a fateful morning, for had what I saw failed
to stir up my former enthusiasm, I was resolved to pack up my traps,
and try my hand in Upper Egypt.
I hurried along the Mousky as fast as its usual crowd of people would
allow, and turned down the Khordagiyeh to see if an old favourite
subject of mine had not been ‘improved away.’
Needless to say, it was a brilliant morning, for the occasional grey
days of midwinter were still a long way off. Great awnings hung across
the street, and on one side the shopmen were lowering blinds or rigging
up matting, in anticipation of the sun which would shortly be streaming
down on them. Everything still had its summer look, though October
was far spent;--and Cairo, let me say, is much more beautiful in hot
weather than during the comparatively chill days of winter.
The particular houses I had gone in search of were happily untouched;
but had they been restored out of all shape or allowed to fall down for
want of repair, I should hardly have had room for a depressing thought.
From the crowd of country folk and the heavily laden camels and
donkeys, it was evident that a market was being held in the open
space in front of the Beit-el-Kadi. Locomotion was difficult till the
Nahasseen or coppersmith street was reached, for here the road widens
out at the Muristân. This handsome building, together with the mosques
of Kalaûn, en-Nasir, and of Barkûk, formed a magnificent group, massed
as they then were in a luminous shade. It was a meeting of old friends,
and old friends looking their best. The dark awnings stretched across
the road gave this pile of masonry a light and ethereal look, though
they were dark in contrast to the azure above, save where the sun
tipped the domes and a face of the minarets.
The crowd allowed but little time for contemplation; I had to move with
it, and reaching the short street which leads to the Beit-el-Kadi,
a converging stream of people carried us along till we arrived at
the market square. I picked my way through the heaps of fruit and
vegetables which littered the ground, passed behind a group of camels,
and worked my way to the steps of the court-house, which gives its name
to the market. From this point of vantage I was enabled to make some
rough studies of the animated scene before me.
The sun had now risen high enough to flood the larger part of the
square in light. Bits of matting, sailcloth, or anything which can cast
a shadow, were rigged up to protect the more perishable goods, and the
early comers had taken advantage of the shade of the acacia trees at
the further end of the market.
The general impression is one of light, colour, noise and movement.
The detail is full of human as well as pictorial interest. Various
combinations of colour--some beautiful, some inharmonious--leave ample
scope to the painter to arrange his scheme. A pile of oranges and
lemons, with the black and deep purple dress of the fellaha saleswoman,
make a striking note in the foreground; the stacks of pitchers brought
down from Balliana, in Upper Egypt, give a variety in buffs and
greys, and the blue garments of the buyers are sufficiently faded
not to contrast too violently. It is also a great study of types and
characters. The noisy Cairene is chaffering with the quieter Shami from
far Damascus for some pomegranates which are heaped before him; the
Maghraby hawks a bundle of yellow slippers; Jew and Greek are trying to
outdo each other in a deal over a spavined horse.
Through the motley crowd passes the brightly garmented lemonade-seller,
tinkling his brass cups; his rival, who retails licorice-water, seems
more in demand; one, carrying a heavy pitcher with a long brass spout,
invites the thirsty ones to partake of the charity offered them in the
name of God. ‘Sebeel Alháh yá atchan,’ he drones out at stated periods.
He is less often met at markets than at religious festivals, and he is
paid by some visitor to the tomb of a saint to distribute the water as
a thank-offering.
A young camel about to be slaughtered is being led about and sold
piecemeal, intending purchasers chalking on the hide of the beast the
joint they wish to secure.
The cheap-jack, with his usual flow of language, tempts the fellaheen
to buy his European shoddy; Karakush, the Egyptian Polichinelli, is
here, and also the quack doctor.
The effect is now rapidly changing as Bibar’s ancient palace ceases
to cast its shadow over the further part of the market, and my
vantage-ground becomes untenable as the sun creeps round to the steps
of the court-house. I work my way to the archway at the eastern side of
the square, and find another picture here well worth going to Cairo to
paint, for from this point I get a view of the Muristân and the domes
and minarets of its adjacent mosques, now in the full noonday sun. A
stately background to the busy scene before me.
The studies I had made of the market, though far from satisfying me,
left me too tired to do more than make a few notes and a promise to
come here again on a future occasion.
It is a relief, after the glare and noise of a similar subject, to turn
down the narrow dark lanes which are found in the residential parts of
Old Cairo. The one entered from the archway winds through the Hasaneyn
quarter and ends at the eastern entrance of the Khan Khalil.
These lanes where the old houses are still intact are even more
characteristic of Cairo than are the busy streets, for something
similar to the latter can be seen in most eastern cities. The
projecting latticed windows, which relieve the plane surfaces of
the backs of the houses, are a distinct feature of this city. Known
generally as _mushrbiyeh_, they were originally small bays in which the
water-bottles were placed to cool. The word is derived from the root of
the Arabic _shirib_, to drink, from which we also get our word sherbet.
The bays were gradually enlarged so as to allow two or three people
to sit in them and see up and down the street without being seen
themselves. What corresponds to a glass pane in Europe is here replaced
by a wooden grating. Each joint is turned, and so arranged as to make
a pretty pattern. This grating is much closer in the apartments of the
_hareem_, and though it freely admits the air and a sufficiency of
light, it effectually screens the inmates from those outside.
From the enlarged bays one or more smaller ones often project in which
the earthen bottles are now placed. There are also small windows in
the lower panels, through which I have often seen things hauled up in
small baskets from the street. Sellers of fruit or sweetstuffs are
often met in these lonely lanes, and a stranger might wonder where
they expect to find custom. Presently a little grating will open and
a face will nearly fill the opening. Should the stranger have been
seen through the lattice-work, the face will be partly veiled unless
it be that of a child, and after some bargaining with the hawker, a
small basket containing a coin will be lowered. The coin having been
carefully examined, the purchased article is placed in the basket and
they are hauled up to the window. ‘Ma’s salama, ya sitt,’ ‘ya bint,’
or ‘ya Amma,’ according to the degree of the purchaser, is usually the
farewell salutation of the hawker. But should the purchase not prove on
further examination to be up to expectations, a lively altercation is
sure to ensue, and voices from unseen parties behind the grating may
also be heard.
It is sad to see how much of this _mushrbiyeh_ is disappearing; it
is seldom now repaired and is often replaced by cheap sashes or is
roughly boarded up. There are several causes for this: it is expensive,
and the owners of the larger houses have mostly gone to live in the
modern quarters and have let out their old homes in tenements to the
poorer people. Much also has been destroyed by fire. The houses usually
project over the lane as each story is reached, so that the upper
windows often nearly meet the ones of the opposite houses. It is easily
imagined how a fire will spread with so inflammable a material for it
to feed on. The cheap imported petroleum lamps, which are replacing the
earlier form of lighting, have much to account for. Many of the best
examples of _mushrbiyeh_ have been bought up by dealers to be made into
screens or re-used in the modern suburbs.
As seen from the lane, the houses have a gloomy appearance; but it
should be remembered that the Cairene dwelling was not built to make
an outward display,--its beauty is seen from its inner courts or
garden. When he views them from the narrow sunless lane, the visitor
wonders how people can live in such unhealthy surroundings. Should
he be fortunate enough to have the _entrée_ to a house which is
still inhabited by a prosperous owner, he will probably come to the
conclusion that no more suitable plan could have been adopted in a
country where the summer lasts for three-quarters of the year.
I shall attempt to describe a visit to a beautiful dwelling later on;
at present let us wander through the Hasaneyn quarter, thankful that
the rays of the sun are so carefully excluded.
Reaching the wider thoroughfare, where stands the mosque which gives
the district its name, the difference in the temperature is immediately
felt. We carefully keep to the shady side of the road till we arrive at
the entrance of the Khan Khalil.
This Khan, more commonly called the Turkish Bazaar, is one of the
few which every tourist is taken to see; it is in reality a series
of bazaars, the most conspicuous being that of the metal workers.
Passing through a massive doorway we enter a lane, roofed in overhead
with long rafters and matting; the warm light, which filters through
this, harmonises the various-coloured silks and stuffs which are piled
up in every little shop or hung out to attract a customer. Each shop
is little more than a square cupboard, but as carriages do not enter
here the owners have been allowed to retain the _mastaba_, or raised
seat, on a level with their floors and projecting two feet or more
into the roadway. This was characteristic of every shop in Cairo,
until carriages began to replace the litter and the ass as a means
of locomotion. The merchant drops his slippers as he enters his place
of business, while the customer can sit on the _mastaba_ and keep his
slippered feet in the street.
An old acquaintance recognises me and invites us to sit down; he
claps his hands, and the boy from the coffee shop runs across to take
his orders. When it is decided whether we shall have coffee or green
tea, cigarettes are produced and a series of courteous inquiries then
follow. I in return ask after his health and that of his children, but
am not sufficiently intimate to allude to his wife. ‘Allah be praised,
all are well.’ I ask how his business is, and he tells me that it is
Allah’s will that things are not what they used to be. ‘Large rival
stores now exist in the modern parts of Cairo and are injuring the
trade of the Khan Khalil.’ He might have added that prices are more
fixed in these new stores and that visitors have not the time to spend
hours over a purchase. He asks me when I am coming to sit in his shop,
again to paint that of Seleem, his opposite neighbour. He calls out to
Seleem and asks him if he has forgotten the _ghawaga_ who painted him
and his wares. ‘Ya salaam!’ says Seleem, and crosses over to join in
the conversation. When the greetings are over it is time to begin the
leave-taking, and with a promise to come again and possibly bring a
customer we continue our way.
I am glad to find that both men still retain the _kuftân_ and ample
turban, and have not adopted trousers and the ugly red _tarbouch_, as
most of the metal workers have done.
[Illustration: WATER MELON SELLER]
Descending some steps we come to the handsome gateway built by Garkas
el-Khalíly in 1400; innumerable lamps, copied from those which used
formerly to adorn the mosques, are exposed here for sale; brass
finger-bowls, salvers and ewers cover the counters, and tall damascened
lamp-stands fill up every available place on the floor.
The original colouring of the gateway seems to have worn itself down
to making a quiet and harmonious background to this sparkling mass of
metal work.
I am soon recognised by the owner of one of the stalls, from whose
shop I had also painted a part of this bazaar, and am again invited
to sit down to coffee and a cigarette. As some seven or eight seasons
had passed since my last visit to Cairo, and considering the thousands
of foreigners who must have passed through these bazaars during that
time, it is astonishing that he should have remembered my face. There
is, however, no time now to accept of the good man’s hospitality, but
‘In-sháalláh,’ I shall return before many days.
Each turning gives us a fresh scheme of colour and the interest of
another handicraft. The carpet bazaar leads out of that of the metal
workers. The small cupboard-shaped shop is here replaced by one or two
important show-rooms, and here and there a beautiful old Persian rug
makes one regret the crude colouring of the aniline-dyed modern ones
which are replacing them. Be the colours ever so glaring, the subdued
warm light which passes through the awnings makes them part of one
harmonious whole.
A mass of red and yellow is what catches our eyes as we look down
the slipper market, at a right angle from the carpet bazaar. Festoons
of slippers hang from shop to shop, they are piled in stacks on the
counters, and large skins, both red and yellow, are being cut up and
hammered about as if the supply was not yet equal to the demand.
We have them on our right, and pass through a double row of stalls
where we are pestered to buy strings of beads, amber mouthpieces, cut
and uncut stones, ‘Nice bangles for your lady,’ besides many other
things we are equally not in want of. Here we take our leave of the
Khan Khalil, and I also of the imaginary reader whom I have attempted
to conduct through it.
I am fortunate enough to find an _arabeyeh_, the Cairene cab, and can
ponder over my morning while returning to the hotel.
Yes, Cairo is good enough for a second visit, and, please God, a good
many more. My second impressions were perhaps pleasanter than my first
ones, for I had not now that bewildering sense of how I should set to
work, and also if it were possible to give anything like a pictorial
presentment of these scenes. The physical inconveniences of working in
crowded streets and amongst a strange people appalled me; but I did not
then realise, as I do now, how much a tactful guide can do to make this
work a possibility.