It is beginning to be cold here, and I only await the results of my
inquiries about possible houses at Thebes to hire a boat and depart.
Yesterday I saw a camel go through the eye of a needle--_i.e._, the low
arched door of an enclosure; he must kneel and bow his head to creep
through--and thus the rich man must humble himself. See how a false
translation spoils a good metaphor, and turns a familiar simile into a
ferociously communist sentiment. I expect Henry and Janet here in four
or five days when her ancle allows her to travel. If I get a house at
Thebes, I will only hire a boat up and dismiss it, and trust to Allah for
my return. There are rumours of troubles at Jeddah, and a sort of
expectation of fighting somewhere next spring; even here people are
buying arms to a great extent, I think the gunsmiths' bazaar looks
unusually lively. I do look forward to next November and your coming
here; I know you would donkey-ride all day in a state of ecstasy. I
never saw so good a servant as Omar and such a nice creature, so pleasant
and good. When I hear and see what other people spend here in travelling
and in living, and what bother they have, I say: 'May God favour Omar and
his descendants.'
I stayed in bed yesterday for a cold, and my next-door neighbour, a
Coptic merchant, kept me awake all night by auditing his accounts with
his clerk. How would you like to chant your rows of figures? He had
just bought lots of cotton, and I had to get into my door on Monday over
a camel's back, the street being filled with bales.
* * * * *
[The house at Thebes of which my mother speaks in the following letter
was built about 1815, over the ancient temple of Khem, by Mr. Salt,
English Consul-General in Egypt. He was an archaeologist and a student
of hieroglyphics, and when Belzoni landed at Alexandria was struck by his
ability, and sent him up to Thebes to superintend the removal of the
great bust of Memnon, now in the British Museum. Belzoni, I believe,
lived for some time in Mr. Salt's house, which afterwards became the
property of the French Government, and was known as the _Maison de
France_; it was pulled down in 1884 when the great temple of Luxor was
excavated by M. Maspero. My late friend Miss A. B. Edwards wrote a
description of his work in the _Illustrated London News_, from which I
give a few extracts:
'Squatters settled upon the temple like a swarm of mason bees; and
the extent of the mischief they perpetrated in the course of
centuries may be gathered from the fact that they raised the level of
the surrounding soil to such a height that the obelisks, the colossi,
and the entrance pylon were buried to a depth of 40 feet, while
inside the building the level of the native village was 50 feet above
the original pavement. Seven months ago the first court contained
not only the local mosque, but a labyrinthine maze of mud structures,
numbering some thirty dwellings, and eighty strawsheds, besides
yards, stables, and pigeon-towers, the whole being intersected by
innumerable lanes and passages. Two large mansions--real mansions,
spacious and, in Arab fashion, luxurious,--blocked the great
Colonnade of Horembebi; while the second court, and all the open
spaces and ruined parts of the upper end of the Temple, were
encumbered by sheepfolds, goat-yards, poultry-yards, donkey-sheds,
clusters of mud huts, refuse-heaps, and piles of broken pottery.
Upon the roof of the portico there stood a large, rambling, ruinous
old house, the property of the French Government, and known as the
"Maison de France" . . . Within its walls the illustrious
Champollion and his ally Rosellini lived and worked together in 1829,
during part of their long sojourn at Thebes. Here the naval officers
sent out by the French in 1831 to remove the obelisk which now stands
in the Place de la Concorde took up their temporary quarters. And
here, most interesting to English readers, Lady Duff Gordon lingered
through some of her last winters, and wrote most of her delightful
"Letters from Egypt." A little balcony with a broken veranda and a
bit of lattice-work parapet, juts out above some mud walls at the end
of the building. Upon that balcony she was wont to sit in the cool
of the evening, watching the boats upon the river and the magical
effect of the after-glow upon the Libyan mountains opposite. All
these buildings--"Maison de France," stores, yards, etc. . . . are
all swept away.']