_To Sir Alexander Duff Gordon_.
_March_ 10, 1863.
'If in the street I led thee, dearest,
Though the veil hid thy face divine,
They who beheld thy graceful motion
Would stagger as though drunk with wine.
Nay, e'en the holy Sheykh, while praying
For guidance in the narrow way,
Must needs leave off, and on the traces
Of thine enchanting footsteps stray.
O ye who go down in the boats to Dumyat,
Cross, I beseech ye, the stream to Budallah;
Seek my beloved, and beg that she will not
Forget me, I pray and implore her by Allah.
'Fair as two moons is the face of my sweetheart,
And as to her neck and her bosom--Mashallah.
And unless to my love I am soon reunited
Death is my portion--I swear it by Allah.'
Thus sings Ali Asleemee, the most _debraille_ of my crew, a _hashshash_,
{48} but a singer and a good fellow. The translation is not free, though
the sentiments are. I merely rhymed Omar's literal word-for-word
interpretation. The songs are all in a similar strain, except one funny
one abusing the 'Sheykh el-Beled, may the fleas bite him.' Horrid
imprecation! as I know to my cost, for after visiting the Coptic monks at
Girgeh I came home to the boat with myriads. Sally said she felt like
Rameses the Great, so tremendous was the slaughter of the active enemy.
I had written the first page just as I got to Siout and was stopped by
bad news of Janet; but now all is right again, and I am to meet her in
Cairo, and she proposes a jaunt to Suez and to Damietta. I have got a
superb illumination to-night, improvised by Omar in honour of the Prince
of Wales's marriage, and consequently am writing with flaring candles, my
lantern being on duty at the masthead, and the men are singing an
epithalamium and beating the tarabookeh as loud as they can.
You will have seen my letter to my mother, and heard how much better I am
for the glorious air of Nubia and the high up-country. Already we are
returning into misty weather. I dined and spent the day with Wassef and
his Hareem, such an amiable, kindly household. I was charmed with their
manner to each other, to the slaves and family. The slaves (all Muslims)
told Omar what an excellent master they had. He had meant to make a
dance-fantasia, but as I had not good news it was countermanded. Poor
Wassef ate his boiled beans rather ruefully, while his wife and I had an
excellent dinner, she being excused fasting on account of a coming baby.
The Copt fast is no joke, neither butter, milk, eggs nor fish being
allowed for fifty-five days. They made Sally dine with us, and Omar was
admitted to wait and interpret. Wassef's younger brother waited on him
as in the Bible, and his clerk, a nice young fellow, assisted. Black
slaves brought the dishes in, and capital the food was. There was plenty
of joking between the lady and Omar about Ramadan, which he had broken,
and the Nasranee fast, and also about the number of wives allowed, the
young clerk intimating that he rather liked that point in Islam. I have
promised to spend ten or twelve days at their house if ever I go up the
Nile again. I have also promised to send Wassef all particulars as to
the expense, etc. of educating his boy in England, and to look after him
and have him to our house in the holidays. I can't describe how
anxiously kind these people were to me. One gets such a wonderful amount
of sympathy and real hearty kindness here. A curious instance of the
affinity of the British mind for prejudice is the way in which every
Englishman I have seen scorns the Eastern Christians, and droll enough
that sinners like Kinglake and I should be the only people to feel the
tie of the 'common faith' (_vide_ 'Eothen'). A very pious Scotch
gentleman wondered that I could think of entering a Copt's house, adding
that they were the publicans (tax-gatherers) of this country, which is
partly true. I felt inclined to mention that better company than he or I
had dined with publicans, and even sinners.
The Copts are evidently the ancient Egyptians. The slightly aquiline
nose and long eye are the very same as the profiles of the tombs and
temples, and also like the very earliest Byzantine pictures; _du reste_,
the face is handsome, but generally sallow and rather inclined to
puffiness, and the figure wants the grace of the Arabs. Nor has any Copt
the thoroughbred, _distingue_ look of the meanest man or woman of good
Arab blood. Their feet are the long-toed, flattish foot of the Egyptian
statue, while the Arab foot is classically perfect and you could put your
hand under the instep. The beauty of the Ababdeh, black, naked, and
shaggy-haired, is quite marvellous. I never saw such delicate limbs and
features, or such eyes and teeth.
CAIRO,
_March_ 19.
After leaving Siout I caught cold. The worst of going up the Nile is
that one must come down again and find horrid fogs, and cold nights with
sultry days. So I did not attempt Sakhara and the Pyramids, but came a
day before my appointed time to Cairo. Up here in the town it is much
warmer and dryer, and my cough is better already. I found all your
letters in many volumes, and was so excited over reading them that I
could not sleep one moment last night, so excuse dulness, but I thought
you'd like to know I was safe in Briggs' bank, and expecting Janet and
Ross to-night.