I am enjoying a 'great indulgence of talk' with M. Prevost Paradol as
heartily as any nigger. He is a delightful person. This evening he is
coming with Arakel Bey, his Armenian companion, and I will invite a few
Arabs to show him. I sent off the proofs yesterday per passenger
steamer. I trust they will arrive safe. It is too disheartening about
letters, so many are lost. I am dreadfully disappointed in my letters, I
_really_ don't think them good--you know I don't _blaguer_ about my own
performances. I am very glad people like my Cape letters which I
forget--but honestly I don't think the Egyptian good. You know I don't
'pretend' if I think I have done something well and I was generally
content with my translations, but I feel these all to be poor and what
Maurice calls 'dry' when I know how curious and interesting and poetical
the country really is.
I paid Fadil Pasha a visit on his boat, and it was just like the middle
ages. In order to amuse me he called up a horrid little black boy of
about four to do tricks like a dancing dog, which ended in a performance
of the Mussulman prayer. The little beast was dressed in a Stamboulee
dress of scarlet cloth.
All the Arab doctors come to see me now as they go up and down the river
to give me help if I want it. Some are very pleasant men. Mourad
Effendi speaks German exactly like a German. The old Sheykh-el-Beled of
Erment who visits me whenever he comes here, and has the sweetest voice I
ever heard, complained of the climate of Cairo. 'There is no sun there
at all, it is no brighter or warmer than the moon.' What do you think
our sun must be now you know Cairo. We have had a glorious winter, like
the finest summer weather at home only so much finer.
Janet wishes to go with me if I go to Soden, I must make enquiries about
the climate. Ross fears it is too cold for an Egyptian like me. I
should enjoy to have all the family _au grand complet_. I will leave
Luxor in May and get to you towards the latter part of June, if that
pleases you, _Inshallah_!