THE HAMSEEN, THE LAMP-SHOP, AND THE ACCESSION OF SAID PASHA
From the end of March, when the wind shifts to the south, we get a
taste of summer’s heat. The talk in the hotels is of home-returning
steamers, and Cook’s offices are besieged with visitors anxious to
secure early bookings. The Hamseen, as this unpleasant wind is called,
causes a rapid rise in the temperature, and while it lasts the whole
aspect of northern Egypt changes. The sky partakes of the colour of the
desert, and has something of the look of a slight London fog; the sun
also reminds us of the pale orange sphere visible when Londoners remark
on its being a fine day. Apart from these appearances the sensations
felt are very different. Neither moisture nor smoke give that yellowish
look here; it is the sand which the wind collects as it blows across
the desert in its northern course. As the wind increases, so the
temperature rises, and the extreme dryness of the air causes those
unpleasant sensations felt with the first symptoms of fever.
[Illustration: THE STORE OF NASSÁN]
Cairo becomes unpaintable, the sun hardly casts a shadow through the
thickening clouds of dust, and such shadow as it is has none of that
blue reflected light which gives the true shadow quality. Did not
experience teach me that it is only a passing phase, my inclination
would be to pack up and leave by the first available steamer and join
the migration to the north. It is useless to hunt about the streets for
subjects; for even if one were found sufficiently attractive, the dust
would render the work an impossibility. Some subject of a still-life
nature in the shelter of the bazaars or an interior must be found,
unless one makes up one’s mind to stay indoors until the wind sets in a
more favourable quarter.
The word _hamseen_ means fifty, and is given to this wind because of
the fifty days during which spells of it may be expected. If street
rows are more frequent, if irritability or headaches are complained of,
the Cairene shrugs his shoulders and says ‘_Hamseen_.’ It was a day
of that kind that took me once more to the Khan Khalil. I had often
been attracted by a lamp-shop there, but had put off painting it on
account of the elaborate detail, and doubts whether the results would
be proportionate to the work involved. A corner well sheltered from the
wind and an obliging shopman induced me to set up my easel. Should the
wind change, I could always leave it and return when the next _hamseen_
would make work impossible elsewhere.
Every type of Egyptian lamp hung round the entrance, and lamps and
lampstands lined the walls of the passage leading into the store
beyond. There, in the deeper shades, the sparkle of polished metal
suggested innumerable lamps of which the near ones were samples. Brass
bowls and trays, teapots and candlesticks, filled up the spaces where
lamps could not be hung. With the buff-coloured stone of the building,
this metal-work made a harmonious whole. To pull this together so as
not to lose the breadth of effect would be no easy task. During the
third day in this corner of the bazaar a ray of sunlight heralded a
return of beautiful weather; a drop in the temperature and the feel of
one’s skin were enough to tell one that the wind blew no more from the
south, and that once more the cool breezes from the sea ran counter to
the flow of the Nile. The little sunlight which found its way between
the awnings and matting which roof in this bazaar was enough to alter
the whole effect of my subject. My drawing looked leathery and sodden
compared to the rich glow which lit up the shop, and proved that even
the nearest bit of still-life is better when the presence of the sun is
felt. I sponged out more lamps in two minutes than I had put in in two
days, and this corner knew me no more on _hamseen_ days. It was, after
all, only during beautiful days that I could complete the drawing which
illustrates these pages.
Nassán is the proprietor of the shop, and Nassán seemed much exercised
in his mind why I should have so ruthlessly made away with so many
lamps, though they were only on paper. What did a ray of sunlight
matter as long as the name of Nassán was conspicuous on the signboard
which hung over the entrance? As new lamps replaced the old, Nassán’s
interest in my drawing reawakened, and overtures were even made for its
acquisition. I told him I wished to take it to England, as I wanted
illustrations for a book I was about to write, and he, not wishing
to lose a gratis advertisement, got me to promise to say that he was
prepared to supply any one with as many lamps as they could possibly
wish. He had recently furnished the Heliopolis hotel with three hundred
metal ones, and his stock was not nearly exhausted.
I looked up Mustapha, the silk-merchant with whom I had spent an
interesting evening during the Hasaneyn festival. While we sipped our
coffee on the _mastaba_ of his shop, we reverted to the tragic story of
the Irishman O’Donald and his first meeting with the princess Zohra.
Her history has been continued during this narrative, and my readers
may remember that we last saw her settled down in Constantinople under
the protection of the Sultan of Turkey. How her hatred of Abbas (the
then ruling Viceroy) outlived her thwarted love for O’Donald will now
be related. From the account given by the German engineer, Max Eyth, I
was able to tell the silk-merchant more of what happened than he knew;
for Eyth had the details from Halim Pasha, Zohra’s own brother, who was
an important actor in the drama. But nothing to incriminate his sister
fell from Halim’s lips; the part she played was related by the servant
Ramés, from whom Eyth obtained most of her history. Why no English
edition of Max Eyth’s _Hinter Pflug und Schraubstock_ should exist is a
mystery to the present writer.
It will be remembered that when the great Mohammed Ali, towards the
end of his reign, fell into a state of imbecility, the reins of
government were seized by his famous general and adopted son Ibrahim,
and that the latter died within a year after becoming the ruler of
Egypt. Mohammed’s death occurred soon after, and the viceregal throne
passed to his grandson, Abbas I., who reigned from 1849 to 1854. During
these five years the Europeanisation of Egypt ceased. Abbas would have
none of the Frankish innovations which his grandfather encouraged;
European schools, western legal procedure and military instruction were
banished, and the ulemas, dervishes, and fakirs came by their own once
more. His country nevertheless prospered during his reign.
As in so many instances in the history of Egypt, this ruler was a
terror to his numerous near relatives who might be able to establish
a claim to the succession. Of the eighty-five children of Mohammed
Ali but few were living, and this few were well alive to the danger
of their august relationship. Even the princess Zohra, after she had
fled to Constantinople, must be careful of what she ate or drank, and
of the loyalty of those who served her. The Taster became once more an
important personage in the various palaces, and not the least in that
of Abbas himself. His two uncles, Said and Halim, were both much the
same age as their nephew--a thing of constant occurrence in the hareem
life in the East. They lived on tenterhooks, as being possible rivals
to the succession of Abbas’s only son, a delicate little boy called El
Hami. Said Pasha lived at Alexandria when he was not enjoying himself
in Paris. He was the minister of the Egyptian navy--not an arduous
post, for most of the ships had been destroyed during the wars of his
father and those of Ibrahim. Halim Pasha lived in retirement in his
mother’s palace at Shubra.
Abbas and his large hareem divided their time at the palace at
Abbasiyeh, at another which he built in the desert near Suez, and at
a third on the banks of the Nile at Benha. The chief ulema of the
Azhar who was tutor to El Hami, and Elfy Bey, the Governor of Cairo
and Minister of War, became the leading men in the state. Rumours soon
spread through the bazaars that a holy war might any day be proclaimed,
and, if so, a general massacre of the Christians would follow. Later on
it was reported that the day of the horse races at Alexandria was the
day decided on for the rising. Said and Halim, who were both friendly
to the Europeans, trembled at the consequences which might follow;
for in a general rising opportunities are easily found to dispose of
relations who may be thought in the way. The Minister of the Navy found
an excuse for going to Marseilles about the purchase of a frigate, and
he made preparations to sail the day before the races.
It was during the first days of the _hamseen_ that these sinister
rumours spread in the bazaars, and Abbas decided to migrate with his
court to the palace at Benha, which is about a third of the way on the
road from Cairo to Alexandria. It was also decided to send the young
prince El Hami to Syria for the good of his health. From his stables at
Benha the Viceroy would send his favourite horse, el Dogaan, to compete
in the Alexandrian races.
The narrator goes on to say that ‘man may propose, but God disposes.’
Abbas and his court duly arrived at the palace at Benha; the _hamseen_
increased in strength, and with it the temper of Abbas, which at no
time was a good one. It was an easy task for the ulemas and dervishes,
who formed a part of his suite, to dispel any misgivings which
the Pasha may have had as to the contemplated massacre. The court
astrologer, Soliman el Habeshi, had fixed the auspicious hour on which
to begin. The _hamseen_ favoured their designs, for we are told that
the wind increased in violence, and that el Habeshi had to make his
calculations when no stars were visible, owing to the clouds of dust
which hid them.
Rames, the servant of Halim Pasha, now relates to Eyth what followed.
‘I had long been supplanted in my post of pipe-filler to Abbas, who at
that time was my master, by two handsome young mamelukes called Hassan
and Husseyn. They were twins, the same as were the heroes after whom
they were named. They had been sent from Constantinople as a present
from the Sultan to the ruler of Egypt. Abbas had every confidence in
them and loaded them with marks of his favour, while I was relegated
to the stables. I did not mind that, for I always loved horses, and el
Dogaan was as the apple of my eye. As no one could ride this horse as
I could, it was decided that I should do jockey in the coming races. I
was in the seventh heaven, and was attending to my charge one night,
when I was startled by the appearance in the stables of the astrologer.
His wild looks and gestures were alarming. “Be silent, Rames!” he said,
“the all-knowing God ordains what is right, but our Lord the Basha is
in his bath! He bathes in his own blood!”
‘The horror of this awful news gave way to a sense of relief that I
was at last freed from a lifelong tyranny. I ran to the palace and
crept silently up the stairs and through the passages which led to the
bathroom. A lamp hung outside the curtain at the entrance. I feared to
pull this aside--I listened, and hearing no sound my curiosity overcame
my fear. I pulled back the curtain, and a red ray from the hanging lamp
fell on to the marble bath. A naked arm hung over the further edge and
a head lay against the end wall. As if to make him look ridiculous,
his assassins had slit the mouth till it nearly reached the ears, and
a horrible grimace added to the awfulness of the scene. A gash in the
throat showed how the Basha had met his death, and a dark red stream
still trickled from this to colour the water in which the body lay.
‘I still see, when I close my eyes, that bloodless face with its
diabolical smile, lit by the red rays of the hanging lamp; though the
Basha was dead, the evil spirit which possessed him still clung to its
tenement. The costly marble bath, the gilded stalactites which hung
from the dome-shaped roof, and all the luxury with which this room was
fitted only added to the horror of the spectacle.
‘I heard voices not far off, and knew the danger I ran if I were caught
here. I slipped off as fast and as silently as I could and returned to
my stables, where I saddled el Dogaan and led him along the footpath
to the bank of the river. Huddled in a heap, there sat the astrologer,
who trembled as the aspen leaf. I asked him what he was doing there,
and, putting his fingers to his lips, he whispered, “Do you not know, O
Rames, that they seek to kill me? The court physician is already under
lock and key, and all who know of this murder must die--you also--for
the secret must on no account leak out until El Hami can be placed on
the throne.” “They must catch me first,” I called out, and jumping into
the saddle I stuck my spurs into el Dogaan and rode towards Shubra as
fast as I could.
‘Halim Basha had oft befriended me, and he would not forsake me now in
my dire necessity. El Dogaan raced along the Cairo road as fast as if
he took part in the Alexandrian meeting. In two hours he covered the
ground between Benha and the Shubra palace, where we arrived before
daybreak. Allah el Azeem! how he ran. I thought not only of my safety,
but of the far-reaching effects my news might have.’
The prince Halim here continues the narrative: ‘I was awakened when the
first light of the rising sun was visible over the edge of the desert
beyond the Abbasiyeh palace. They told me that a man had brought a
message which had to be delivered at once. I descended to the courtyard
and found Rames; but so covered with dust was he that I could hardly
recognise him. After the greeting he whispered in my ear: “God is just!
Your nephew lies dead in his bath at Benha.” You may imagine the shock
this news gave me. But was this mameluke to be trusted? Might it not
be a ruse of Abbas to trap me with a word or gesture, which would have
been my undoing? “God’s will be done,” I said, and ordered Rames to
return at once to Benha and let no one know that I had knowledge of the
crime.
[Illustration: RETURN OF THE HOLY CARPET]
‘No time was to be lost in apprising my brother Said, as he was to have
sailed that very day from Alexandria, and, unless Rames had lied, our
country was now without a ruler. The lad El Hami was at Damietta on his
way to Syria, and if that child were made Viceroy, Egypt and all of us
would be at the tender mercies of Elfy Bey and the Ulema. The English
had lately set up a telegraph office in Cairo; but how could I word
this message so as to be only understood by my brother? The following
at last suggested itself, and Said would not have been a son of his
father had he misunderstood the meaning: “The house thou seekest in
Cairo is empty. The door stands open. Walk in.” Said understood.
‘He told me later that my message was only just in time, for he was
about to start for the steamer. He decided promptly to leave for Cairo
instead, and he and his bodyguard were on the road before the steamer
had disappeared beyond the horizon. They reached Damanhur that evening,
and at an early hour next morning, when he arrived at Benha, he was
informed that Abbas and his court had just left to return to Cairo.
He questioned some of the notabilities of the town, only to hear with
what pomp the Viceroy had set out on his journey. What was my brother
to make of all this? Was this telegram a trap? or had he perhaps
misunderstood its meaning? The palace was deserted, so he and his
followers rested there till the following day, and then continued their
journey to Cairo.
‘I spent an anxious morning at Shubra,’ continued Halim Pasha, ‘but
imagine my astonishment when a runner in my employ arrived from
Kalioub to inform me that Abbas had passed through that village, and
would in all probability arrive at Shubra towards five o’clock that
very afternoon. “That damned mameluke must have lied,” said I to
myself, and I had to make preparations, as the custom is, to welcome
the Viceroy, or (should he not wish to break his journey) to greet him
at the door of my palace. I had hardly put on my court dress when two
messengers were announced, and they informed me that they had been sent
ahead by His Highness, my nephew, to beg me not to stay his journey, as
he was in great haste to reach his palace at Abbasiyeh that evening.
In one of these messengers I recognised Rames, who hung back while the
other spoke. He drooped his head and closed his eyes--was this a sign?
And what could be the interpretation?
‘Towards midnight of the following day Said and his guard arrived.
We had to hide the latter as well as we could in the stables and
outhouses, for it was a dangerous business. Some trusty servants whom I
had sent into Cairo reported on the crowds of people who had gathered
to witness the Viceroy’s progress through the city, and declared that
His Highness bowed in acknowledgment of the ovations he received. Our
anxiety increased with each fresh report. My mother, however, did not
share our misgivings. “Rames has not lied,” she said; “I watched him
carefully, and his actions told me clearly that Abbas was dead.”
‘We spent the following day here awaiting some report which might help
to clear up the mystery. Towards evening some servants of mine brought
in the astrologer, Soliman, whom they had picked up more dead than
alive on the road from Benha. I told them to feed the old blackguard,
and when he had somewhat recovered I questioned him. He wished to tell
me what the stars had revealed, but I soon was satisfied in my mind
that Rames had not lied. There was still time to take action before the
young prince El Hami could have reached Cairo from Damietta, and we
could not anyhow have kept Said and his thirty retainers here without
exciting suspicion. I sent word at once to the Commandant of the
Citadel to open the gate at midnight and admit the ruler of Egypt.
‘That very night my brother Said rode into the old fortress as Viceroy
of this country. The artillery had orders to defend the place should
the necessity arise. Before daybreak we learnt that El Hami had arrived
from Damietta, and presently the Ulema rode up and demanded the gates
to be opened to admit the Viceroy of Egypt. Said admitted the learned
scribe into the audience-chamber and complimented him on his zeal
in coming so early to greet his new master. The Ulema stared as one
bereft of his senses. Said, my brother, was a good-hearted man, and did
not seize on this opportunity to destroy the enemy whom fortune had
delivered into his hands. He was fond of a little joke, and felt that
now he could afford to indulge in one: a barber was summoned to cut off
the Ulema’s beard, and the poor man was sent off with a message to Elfy
Bey to inform the latter that his game was up, and that he would be
received by his new master as soon as he wished to present himself.
‘Elfy, though a devout Moslem, was not the man to bow to the decrees of
fate--a self-inflicted pistol-shot ended the career of the Governor of
Cairo and Egypt’s Minister of War. The Ulema did not long survive the
loss of his beard, and the young prince El Hami was allowed to start
once more for Syria for the good of his health.’
The reader may now be curious to learn how Abbas’s progress from
Benha to Cairo was accomplished, for when we left that prince in his
blood-stained bath his earthly journey was doubtless over.
Rames now continues the narrative:--‘By Allah, the compassionate,
the merciful, how I rode back to Benha! What dangers I incurred in
returning to that palace no one knew better than myself; but to serve
my present master, Halim Basha, was my chief thought. It was barely ten
o’clock, as you Franks reckon the time, when I and el Dogaan arrived.
None of the horses in the stables had been attended to, and two of them
were missing. I had hardly been ten minutes there when I was called and
had to repair to the anteroom of the bath. The mamelukes who personally
attended our late Basha had also been summoned there; but I noticed
that of the twelve two were missing, namely Hassan and Husseyn. Their
non-appearance was evidently accounted for and no one spoke of them.
Presently Elfy Bey and the Ulema entered. They ordered us to repeat the
profession of our faith, and each one had to take an oath that what
we should now see should not be revealed to any living creature. We
all solemnly swore that we would keep the secret, and then Elfy Bey
warned us that if a word escaped our lips, our tongues should be torn
out and our flayed bodies would hang from the walls of Sultan Hassan’s
mosque. He then drew back the curtain, and by the light of day I again
witnessed the terrible sight of the previous night.
‘Six mamelukes were ordered to lift the body out of the bath and to
dress the mortal remains in the garments used on state occasions. I
and three others had to return to the stables to prepare the state
coach and to harness six white horses. When this was brought round to
the door of the hareem, as ordered, the body of Abbas was placed in a
sitting posture on the back seat of the carriage, and the Ulema sat
beside it to hold it in position. Elfy Bey and the favourite eunuch sat
with their backs to the horses. A veil was wound round the corpse’s
turban, and an embroidered _litám_ concealed the lower part of the
face, as the fashion often is with the Bedouin, as a protection from
the dust. Two sat on the box and two stood, as is the style of the
Franks, on the backboard of the coach. Six cavaliers, of whom I was
one, served as an escort.
‘Such is the manner in which we started on that progress to the
capital! The fellaheen greeted us as we passed through the villages.
I heard some remark that our lord looked ill, and they committed him
to the protection of Allah. As I rode el Dogaan, which is famous for
his speed, I was fortunately sent ahead with the second messenger to
announce the viceregal progress to Halim Basha. I dared not speak; but
hoped that my signs would be understood. By night-fall we reached Cairo
and, as was customary, we carried lighted torches on each side of the
coach. Thousands witnessed our progress through the streets; I heard
again the remark that the Effendina looked ill, and there was also a
silence amidst the onlookers which made me wonder whether any suspected
the truth. When we had passed through the Bab en-Nasr and were crossing
the tract of desert which separates that gate from the palace at
Abbasiyeh, the Ulema praised God and let the corpse fall forward. Elfy
Bey cursed the old man and lifted the body into position again.
‘Once inside the palace there was nothing further to do than to await
the return of El Hami from Damietta. It would then be time enough to
announce the death of Abbas and to proclaim his young son as successor
to the viceregal throne. Elfy would then have been the virtual ruler
of Egypt. By the mercy of Allah his plans were frustrated and a bullet
ended his earthly career. I was not long in seeking out my present
master, and what services I may have rendered have been liberally
rewarded.
‘You may wish to know more of Hassan and Husseyn, whose disappearance
after the murder I had noticed. I have since heard that they are now in
the service of Princess Zohra, and, to tell you the truth, they were in
her service before they ever set foot in Egypt.’
Zohra had at last avenged the death of her first love.