the typical Nile village, with the low, clustered houses built of Nile
mud (which looks like yellow-brown stucco), and beautiful feathery palms
with a minaret or two rising above. The palace stands apart from the
village, and is surrounded by large gardens. Opposite the central
portico is the tomb of Mariette Pasha, the founder of the museum--a high
sarcophagus designed from an antique model. Mariette Pasha (it may be
mentioned here that the title Pasha means General, and that of Bey,
Colonel) was a native of Boulogne. A mummy case in the museum of that
town of schools first attracted his attention towards Egyptian
antiquities, and in 1850 he came to Egypt. Khedive Said authorized him
to found a museum; and Said's successor, Ismail, conferred upon him the
exclusive right to make excavations, placing in his charge all the
antiquities of Egypt. Mariette used these powers with intelligence and
energy, giving the rest of his life to the task--a period of thirty
years. He died in Cairo, at the age of sixty-one, in January, 1882. This
Frenchman made many important discoveries, and he preserved to Egypt her
remaining antiquities; before his time her treasures had been stolen and
bought by all the world. A thought which haunts all travellers in this
strange country is, how many more rich stores must still remain hidden!
The most generally interesting among the recent discoveries was the
finding of the Pharaohs, in 1881. The story has been given to the world
in print, therefore it will be only outlined here. But by far the most
fortunate way is to hear it directly from the lips of the keeper of the
museum, Emil Brugsch Bey himself, his vivid, briefly direct narration
adding the last charm to the striking facts. By the museum authorities
it had been for several years suspected that some one at Luxor (Thebes)
had discovered a hitherto unopened tomb; for funeral statuettes, papyri,
and other objects, all of importance, were offered for sale there, one
by one, and bought by travellers, who, upon their return to Cairo,
displayed the treasures, without comprehending their value. Watch was
kept, and suspicion finally centred upon a family of brothers; these
Arabs at last confessed, and one of them led the way to a place not far
from the temple called Deir-el-Bahari, which all visitors to Thebes will
remember. Here, filled with sand, there was a shaft not unlike a well,
which the man had discovered by chance. When the sand was removed, the
opening of a lateral tunnel was visible below, and this tunnel led into
the heart of the hill, where, in a rude chamber twenty feet high, were
piled thirty or more mummy cases, most of them decorated with the royal
asp. The mummies proved to be those of Sethi the First, the conqueror
who carried his armies as far into Asia as the Orontes; and of Rameses
the Great (called Sesostris by the Greeks), the Pharaoh who oppressed
the Israelites; and of Sethi the Second, the Pharaoh of the Exodus,
together with other sovereigns and members of their families, princes,
princesses, and priests. At some unknown period these mummies had been
taken from the magnificent rock tombs in that terrible Apocalyptic
Valley of the Kings, not far distant, and hidden in this rough chamber.
No one knows why this was done; a record of it may yet be discovered.
But in time all knowledge of the hiding-place was lost, and here the
Pharaohs remained until that July day in 1881. They were all transported
across the burning plain and down the Nile to Cairo. Now at last they
repose in state in an apartment which might well be called a
throne-room. You reach this great cruciform hall by a handsome double
stairway; upon entering, you see the Pharaohs ranged in a majestic
circle, and careless though you may be, unhistorical, practical, you are
impressed. The features are distinct. Some of the dark faces have
dignity; others show marked resolution and power. Curiously enough, one
of them closely resembles Voltaire. This, however, is probably due to
the fact that Voltaire closely resembled a mummy while living. How would
it seem, the thought that beings who are to come into existence A.D.
5000 should be able, in the land which we now call the United States of
America (what will it be called then?), to gaze upon the features of
some of our Presidents--for instance, George Washington and Abraham
Lincoln? I am afraid that the fancy is not as striking as it should be,
for New World ambition grasps without difficulty all futures, even A.D.
25,000; it is only when our eyes are turned towards the past, where we
have no importance and represent nothing, that an enumeration of
centuries overpowers us--a little. But in any case, after visiting
Egypt, we all learn to hate the art of the embalmer; those who have been
up the Nile, and beheld the poor relics of mortality offered for sale on
the shores, become, as it were by force, advocates of cremation.
[Illustration: STATUE OF PRINCE RAHOTEP'S WIFE
Gizeh Museum.--Discovered in 1870 in a tomb near Meydoom.--According to
the chronological table of Mariette, it is 5800 years old.--From a
photograph by Sebah, Cairo.
]
The Gizeh Museum is vast; days are required to see all its treasures.
Among the best of these are two colored statues, the size of life,
representing Prince Rahotep and his wife; these were discovered in 1870
in a tomb near Meydoom. Their rock-crystal eyes are so bright that the
Arabs employed in the excavation fled in terror when they came upon the
long-hidden chamber. They said that two afreets were sitting there,
ready to spring out and devour all intruders. Railed in from his
admirers is the intelligent, well-fed, highly popular wooden man, whose
life-like expression raises a smile upon the faces of all who approach
him. This figure is not in the least like the Egyptian statues of
conventional type, with unnaturally placed eyes. As regards the head, it
might be the likeness of a Berlin merchant of to-day, or it might be a
successful American bank president after a series of dinners at
Delmonico's. Yet, strange to say, this, and the wonderful diorite statue
of Chafra, are the oldest sculptured figures in the world.
One is tempted to describe some of the other treasures of this precious
and unrivalled collection, as well as to note in detail the odd
contrasts between Ismail's gayly flowered walls and the solemn
antiquities ranged below them. "But here is no space," as Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu would have expressed it. And one of the curious facts
concerning description is that those who have with their own eyes seen
the statue, for instance, which is the subject of a writer's pen (and it
is the same with regard to a landscape, or a country, or whatever you
please)--such persons sometimes like to read an account of it, though
the words are not needed to bring up the true image of the thing
delineated, whereas those who have never seen the statue--that is, the
vast majority--are, as a general rule, not in the least interested in
any description of it, long or short, and, indeed, consider all such
descriptions a bore.
At present the one fault of Gizeh is the absence of a catalogue. But
catalogues are a mysterious subject, comprehended only by the elect.
[Illustration: THE WOODEN MAN
Gizeh Museum, near Cairo.--According to the chronological table of
Marlette, this statue is over 6000 years old.--From a photograph by
Brugsch Bey]
One day when I was passing the hot hours in the shaded rooms of the
museum, surrounded by seated granite figures with their hands on their
knees (the coolest companions I know), I heard chattering and laughter.
These are unusual sounds in those echoing halls, where unconsciously
everybody whispers, partly because of the echo, and partly also, I
think, on account of the mystic mummy cases which stand on end and look
at one so queerly with their oblique eyes. Presently there came into
view ten or twelve Cairo ladies, followed by eunuchs, and preceded by a
guide. The eunuchs were (as eunuchs generally are) hideous, though they
represented all ages, from a tall lank boy of seventeen to a withered
old creature well beyond sixty. The Cairo eunuchs are negroes; one
distinguishes them always by the extreme care with which they are
dressed. They wear coats and trousers of black broadcloth made in the
latest European style, with patent-leather shoes, and they are decorated
with gold chains, seal rings, and scarf-pins; they have one merit as
regards their appearance--I know of but one--they do look clean. The
ladies were taking their ease; the muffling black silk outer cloaks,
which all Egyptian women of the upper class wear when they leave the
house, had been thrown aside; the white face veils had been loosened so
that they dropped below the chin. It was the hareem of the Minister for
Foreign Affairs; their carriages were waiting below. The most modest of
men--a missionary, for instance, or an entomologist--would, I suppose,
have put them to flight; but as the tourist season was over, and as it
was luncheon-time for Europeans, no one appeared but myself, and the
ladies strayed hither and thither as they chose, occasionally stopping
to hear a few words of the explanations which the guide (a woman also)
was vainly trying to give before each important statue. With one
exception, these Cairo dames were, to say the least, extremely plump;
their bare hands were deeply dimpled, their cheeks round. They all
had the same very white complexion without rose tints; their features
were fairly good, though rather thick; the eyes in each case were
beautiful--large, dark, lustrous, with sweeping lashes. Their figures,
under their loose garments, looked like feather pillows. They were
awkward in bearing and gait, but this might have been owing to the fact
that their small plump feet (in white open-work cotton stockings) were
squeezed into very tight French slippers with abnormally high heels,
upon which it must have been difficult to balance so many dimples. The
one exception to the rule of billowy beauty was a slender, even meagrely
formed girl, who in America would pass perhaps for seventeen; probably
she was three years younger. Her thin, dark, restless face, with its
beautiful inquiring eyes, was several times close beside mine as we both
inspected the golden bracelets and ear-rings, the necklaces and fan, of
Queen Ahhotpu, our sister in vanity of three thousand five hundred years
ago. I looked more at her than I did at the jewels, and she returned my
gaze; we might have had a conversation. What would I not have given to
have been able to talk with her in her own tongue! After a while they
all assembled in what is called the winter garden, an up-stairs
apartment, where grass grows over the floor in formal little plots.
Chairs were brought, and they seated themselves amid this aerial verdure
to partake of sherbet, which the youngest eunuch handed about with a
business-like air. While they were still here, much relaxed as regards
attire and attitude, my attention was attracted by the rush through the
outer room (where I myself was seated) of the four older eunuchs. They
had been idling about; they had even gone down the stairs, leaving to
the youngest of their number the task of serving the sherbet; but now
they all appeared again, and the swiftness with which they crossed the
outer room and dashed into the winter-garden created a breeze. They
called to their charges as they came, and there was a general smoothing
down of draperies. The eunuchs, however, stood upon no ceremony; they
themselves attired the ladies in the muffling cloaks, and refastened
their veils securely, as a nurse dresses children, and with quite as
much authority. I noticed that the handsomer faces showed no especial
haste to disappear from view; but there was no real resistance; there
was only a good deal of laughter.
I dare say that there was more laughter still (under the veils) when the
cause of all this haste appeared, coming slowly up the stairs. It was a
small man of sixty-five or seventy, one of my own countrymen, attired in
a linen duster and a travel-worn high hat; his silver-haired head was
bent over his guide-book, and he wore blue spectacles. I don't think he
saw anything but blue antiquities, safely made of stone.
Hareem carriages (that is, ladies' carriages) in Cairo are large,
heavily built broughams. The occupants wear thin white muslin or white
tulle veils tied across the face under the eyes, with an upper band of
the same material across the forehead; but these veils do not in reality
hide the features much more closely than do the dotted black or white
lace veils worn by Europeans. The muffling outer draperies, however,
completely conceal the figure, and this makes the marked difference
between them and their English, French, and American sisters in the
other carriages near at hand. On the box of the brougham, with the
coachman, the eunuch takes his place. To go out without a eunuch would
be a humiliation for a Cairo wife; to her view, it would seem to say
that she is not sufficiently attractive to require a guardian. The
hareem carriage of a man of importance has not only its eunuch, but also
its sais, or running footman; often two of them. These winged creatures
precede the carriage; no matter how rapid the pace of the horses, they
are always in advance, carrying, lightly poised in one hand, high in the
air, a long lance-like wand. Their gait is the most beautiful motion I
have ever seen. The Mercury of John of Bologna; the younger gods of
Olympus--will these do for comparisons? One calls the sais winged not
only because of his speed, but also on account of his large white
sleeves (in English, angel sleeves), which, though lightly caught
together behind, float out on each side as he runs, like actual wings.
His costume is rich--a short velvet jacket thickly embroidered with
gold; a red cap with long silken tassel; full white trousers which end
at the knee, leaving the legs and feet bare; and a brilliant scarf
encircling the small waist. These men are Nubians, and are admirably
formed; often they are very handsome. Naturally one never sees an old
one, and it is said that they die young. Their original office was to
clear a passage for the carriage through the narrow, crowded streets;
now that the streets are broader, they are not so frequently seen,
though Egyptians of rank still employ them, not only for their hareem
carriages, but for their own. They are occasionally seen, also, before
the victoria or the landau of European residents; but in this case their
Oriental dress accords ill with the stiff, tight Parisian costumes
behind them. Now and then one sees them perched on the back seat of an
English dog-cart, and here they look well; they always sit sidewise,
with one hand on the back of the seat, as though ready at a moment's
notice to spring out and begin flying again.
If the figures of the Cairo ladies are always well muffled, one has at
least abundant opportunity to admire the grace and strength of the women
of the working classes. When young they have a noble bearing. Their
usual dress is a long gown of very dark blue cotton, a black head veil,
and a thick black face veil that is kept in its place below the eyes by
a gilded ornament which looks like an empty spool. Often their
beautifully shaped slender feet are bare; but even the poorest are
decked with anklets, bracelets, and necklaces of beads, imitation silver
or brass. The men of the working classes wear blue gowns also, but the
blue is of a much lighter hue; many of them, especially the farmers and
farm laborers (called fellaheen), have wonderfully straight flat backs
and broad, strong shoulders. Europeans, when walking, appear at a great
disadvantage beside these loosely robed people; all their movements seem
cramped when compared with the free, effortless step of the Arab beside
them.
THE BAZAARS
One spends half one's time in the bazaars, perhaps. One admires them and
adores them; but one feels that their attraction cannot be made clear to
others by words. Nor can it be by the camera. There are a thousand
photographic views of Cairo offered for sale, but, with the exception of
an attempt at the gateway of the Khan Khaleel, not one copy of these
labyrinths, which is a significant fact. Their charm comes from color,
and this can be represented by the painter's brush alone. But even the
painter can render it only in bits. From a selfish point of view we
might perhaps be glad that there is one spot left on this earth whose
characteristic aspect cannot be reproduced, either upon the wall or the
pictured page, whose shimmering vistas must remain a purely personal
memory. We can say to those who have in their minds the same fantastic
vision, "Ah, _you_ know!" But we cannot make others know. For what is
the use of declaring that a collection of winding lanes, some of them
not more than three feet broad, opening into and leading out of each
other, unpaved, dirty, roofed far above, where the high stone houses
end, with a lattice-work of old mats--what is the use of declaring that
this maze is one of the most delightful places in the world? There is no
use; one must see it to believe it.
[Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN WOMAN
From a photograph by Abdullah Freres, Cairo]
We approach the bazaars by the Mooski, a street which has lost all its
ancient attraction--which is, in fact, one of the most commonplace
avenues I know. But near its end the enchantment begins, and whether we
enter the flag bazaar, the lemon-colored-slipper bazaar, the
gold-and-silver bazaar, the bazaar of the Soudan, the bazaar of silks
and embroideries, the bazaar of Turkish carpets, or the lane of perfumes
felicitously named by the donkey-boys the smell bazaar, we are soon in
the condition of children before a magician's table. I defy any one to
resist it. The most tired American business man looks about him with
awakened interest, the lines of his face relax and turn into the
wrinkles we associate with laughter, as he sees the small, frontless
shops, the long-skirted merchants, and the sewing, embroidering,
cross-legged crowd. The best way, indeed, to view the bazaars is to
relax--to relax your ideas of time as well as of pace, and not be in a
hurry about anything. Accompany some one who is buying, but do not buy
yourself; then you can have a seat on the divan, and even (as a friend
of the purchaser) one of those wee cups of black coffee which the
merchant offers, and which, whether you like it or not, you take,
because it belongs to the scene. Thus seated, you can look about at your
ease.
In these days, when every one is rereading the _Arabian Nights_, the
learned in Burton's translation, the outside public in Lady Burton's,
even the most unmethodical of writers feels himself, in connection with
Cairo, forced towards the inevitable allusion to Haroun. But once within
the precincts of the Khan Khaleel, he does not need to have his fancy
jogged by Burton or any one else; he thinks of the _Arabian Nights_
instinctively, and "it's a poor tale," indeed, to quote Mrs. Poyser, if
he does not meet the one-eyed calendar in the very first booth. But, as
has already been said, it is useless to describe. All one can do is to
set down a few impressions. One of the first of these is the charming
light. The sunshine of Egypt has a great radiance, but it has also--and
this is especially visible when one looks across any breadth of
landscape--a pleasant quality of softness; it is a radiance which is
slightly hazy and slightly golden brown, being in these respects quite
unlike the pellucid white light of Greece. The Greeks frown; even the
youngest of the handsome men who go about in ballet-like white
petticoats and the brimless cap, has the ugly little perpendicular line
between the eyes, produced by a constant knitting of the brows. Like the
Greek, the Egyptian also is without protection for his eyes; the
dragoman wears a small shawl over the fez, which covers the back of the
neck and sides of the face, the Bedouins have a hood, but the large
majority of the natives are unprotected. It is said that a Mohammedan
can have no brim to his turban or tarboosh, because he must place his
bare forehead upon the ground when he says his prayers, and this without
removing his head-gear (which would be irreverent). However this may be,
he goes about in Egypt with the sun in his eyes, though, owing to the
softer quality of the light, he does not frown as the Greek frowns. For
those who are not Egyptians, however, the light in Cairo sometimes seems
too omnipresent; then, for refuge, they can go to the bazaars. The
sunshine is here cut off horizontally by thick walls, and from above it
is filtered through mats, whose many interstices cause a checker of
light and shade in an infinite variety of unexpected patterns on the
ground. This ground is watered. Somehow the air is cool; coming in from
the bright streets outside is like entering an arbor. The little shops
resemble cupboards; their floors are about three feet above the street.
They have no doors at the back. When the merchant wishes to close his
establishment, he comes out, pulls down the lid, locks it, and goes
home. A picturesque characteristic is that in many cases the wares are
simply sold here; they are also made, one by one, upon the spot. You can
see the brass-workers incising the arabesques of their trays; you can
see the armorers making arms, the ribbon-makers making ribbons, the
jewellers blowing their forges, the ivory-carvers bending over their
delicate task. As soon as each article is finished, it is dusted and
placed upon the little shelf above, and then the apprentice sets to work
upon a new one. In addition to the light, another thing one notices is
the amazing way in which the feet are used. In Cairo one soon becomes as
familiar with feet as one is elsewhere with hands; it is not merely that
they are bare; it is that the toes appear to be prehensile, like
fingers. In the bazaars the embroiderers hold their cloth with their
toes; the slipper-makers, the flag-cutters, the brass-workers, the
goldsmiths, employ their second set of fingers almost as much as they
employ the first. Both the hands and feet of these men are well formed,
slender, and delicate, and, by the rules of their religion, they are
bathed five times each day.
Mosques are near where they can get water for this duty. For the bazaars
are not continuous rows of shops: one comes not infrequently upon the
ornamental portal of an old Arabian dwelling-house, upon the forgotten
tomb of a sheykh, with its low dome; one passes under stone arches;
often one sees the doorway of a mosque. Humble-minded dogs, who look
like jackals, prowl about. The populace trudges through the narrow
lanes, munching sugar-cane whenever it can get it. Another favorite food
is the lettuce-plant; but the leaves, which we use for salad, the
Egyptians throw away; it is the stalk that attracts them.
Lettuce-stalks are not rich food, but the bazaars of the people who eat
them convey, on the whole, an impression of richness; this is owing to
the sumptuousness of the prayer carpets, the gold embroideries, the
gleaming silks, the Oriental brass-work with sentences from the Koran,
the ivory, the ostrich plumes, the little silver bottles for kohl, the
inlaid daggers, the turquoises and pearls, and the beautiful gauzes, a
few of them embroidered with the motto, "I do this work for you," and on
the reverse side, "And this I do for God." To some persons, the
far-penetrating mystic sweetness from the perfume bazaar adds an element
also. Here sit the Persian merchants in their delicate silken robes;
they weigh incense on tiny scales; they sort the gold-embossed vials of
attar of roses; their taper fingers move about amid whimsically small
cabinets and chests of drawers filled with ambrosial mysteries. There is
magic in names; these merchants are doubly interesting because they come
from Ispahan! Scanderoun--there is another; how it rolls off the tongue!
We do not wish for exact geographical descriptions of these places; that
would spoil all. We wish to chant, like Kit Marlowe's Tamburlaine (and
with similar indefiniteness):
"Is it not passing brave to be a king,
And march in triumph through Persepolis?"
"So will I ride through Samarcanda streets,
... to Babylon, my lords; to Babylon!"
[Illustration: THE NILE--COMING DOWN TO GET WATER
From a photograph by Sebah, Cairo]
When we leave Cairo we cannot take with us the light of these
labyrinths; we cannot take their colors; but one traveller, last May,
having found in an antiquity-shop an ancient perfume-burner, had the
inspiration of bargaining with these Persians, seated cross-legged in
their aromatic niches (said traveller on a white donkey outside), for
small packages of sandal and aloes wood, of myrrh, of frankincense and
ambergris, of benzoin, of dried rose leaves, and of other Oriental twigs
and sticks, for the purpose of summing up, later, and in less congenial
climes perhaps, the spicy atmosphere, at least, of the Cairo bazaars.
What would be the effect of breathing always this fragrant air? Would it
give a richer life, would it tinge the cheek with warmer hues? These
merchants have complexions like cream-tinted tea-roses; their dark eyes
are clear, and all their movements graceful; they are very tranquil, but
not in the least sleepy; they look as if they could take part in subtle
arguments, and pursue the finest chains of reasoning. Would an
atmosphere perfumed by these Eastern woods clarify and rarefy our denser
Occidental minds?
THE NILE
As every one who comes to Cairo goes up the Nile, the river is seldom
thought of as it appears during its course past the Khedive's city. This
simple vision of it is overshadowed by memories of Abydos, of Karnak and
Thebes, and Philae--the great temples on its banks which have impressed
one so profoundly. Perhaps they have over-impressed; possibly the
tension of continuous gazing has been kept up too long. In this case the
victim, with his head in his hands, is ready to echo the (extremely
true) exclamation of Dudley Warner, "There is nothing on earth so
tiresome as a row of stone gods standing to receive the offerings of a
Turveydrop of a king!" This was the mental condition of a lady who last
winter, on a Nile boat, suddenly began to sew. "I have spent nine long
days on this boat, staring from morning till night. One cannot stare at
a river forever, even if it _is_ the Nile! Give me my thimble."