I have been much amused lately by a new acquaintance, who, in romances of
the last century, would be called an 'Arabian sage.' Sheykh Abdurrachman
lives in a village half a day's journey off, and came over to visit me
and to doctor me according to the science of Galen and Avicenna. Fancy a
tall, thin, graceful man, with a grey beard and liquid eyes, absorbed in
studies of the obsolete kind, a doctor of theology, law, medicine and
astronomy. We spent three days in arguing and questioning; I consented
to swallow a potion or two which he made up before me, of very innocent
materials. My friend is neither a quack nor superstitious, and two
hundred years ago would have been a better physician than most in Europe.
Indeed I would rather swallow his physic now than that of many a M.D. I
found him like all the learned theologians I have known, extremely
liberal and tolerant. You can conceive nothing more interesting and
curious than the conversation of a man learned and intelligent, and
utterly ignorant of all our modern Western science. If I was pleased
with him, he was enchanted with me, and swore by God that I was a Mufti
indeed, and that a man could nowhere spend time so delightfully as in
conversation with me. He said he had been acquainted with two or three
Englishmen who had pleased him much, but that if all Englishwomen were
like me the power must necessarily be in our hands, for that my _akl_
(brain, intellect) was far above that of the men he had known. He
objected to our medicine that it seemed to consist in palliatives, which
he rather scorned, and aimed always at a radical cure. I told him that
if he had studied anatomy he would know that radical cures were difficult
of performance, and he ended by lamenting his ignorance of English or
some European language, and that he had not learned our _Ilm_ (science)
also. Then we plunged into sympathies, mystic numbers, and the occult
virtues of stones, etc., and I swallowed my mixture (consisting of
liquorice, cummin and soda) just as the sun entered a particular house,
and the moon was in some favourable aspect. He praised to me his friend,
a learned Jew of Cairo. I could have fancied myself listening to Abu
Suleyman of Cordova, in the days when we were the barbarians and the
Arabs were the learned race. There is something very winning in the
gentle, dignified manners of all the men of learning I have seen here,
and their homely dress and habits make it still more striking. I longed
to photograph my Sheykh as he sat on the divan pulling MSS. out of his
bosom to read me the words of _El-Hakeem Lokman_, or to overwhelm me with
the authority of some physician whose very name I had never heard.
The hand of the Government is awfully heavy upon us. All this week the
people have been working night and day cutting their unripe corn, because
three hundred and ten men are to go to-morrow to work on the railroad
below Siout. This green corn is, of course, valueless to sell and
unwholesome to eat; so the magnificent harvest of this year is turned to
bitterness at the last moment. From a neighbouring village all the men
are gone, and seven more are wanted to make up the _corvee_. The
population of Luxor is 1,000 males of all ages, so you can guess how many
strong men are left after three hundred and ten are taken.
I don't like to think too much about seeing you and Maurice next winter
for fear I should be disappointed. If I am too sick and wretched I can
hardly wish you to come because I know what a nuisance it is to be with
one always coughing and panting, and unable to do like other people. But
if I pick up tolerably this summer I shall indeed be glad to see you and
him once more.
This house is falling sadly to decay, which produces snakes and
scorpions. I sent for the _hawee_ (snake-catcher) who caught a snake,
but who can't conjure the scorpions out of their holes. One of my fat
turkeys has just fallen a victim, and I am in constant fear for little
Bob, only he is always in Omar's arms. I think I described to you the
festival of Sheykh Gibrieel: the dinner, and the poets who improvised;
this year I had a fine piece of declamation in my honour. A real
calamity is the loss of our good Maohn, Seleem Effendi. The Mudir hailed
him from his steamer to go to Keneh directly, with no further notice. We
hoped some good luck for him, and so it would have been to a Turk. He is
made overseer over the poor people at the railway work, and only gets two
pounds five shillings per month additional, he has to keep a horse and a
donkey, and to buy them and to hire a sais, and he does _not_ know how to
squeeze the fellaheen. It is true 'however close you skin an onion, a
clever man can always peel it again,' which means that even the poorest
devils at the works can be beaten into giving a little more; but our dear
Seleem, God bless him, will be ruined and made miserable by his
promotion. I had a very woeful letter from him yesterday.