I received your welcome letters of December 15 and 25 on
Monday, to my great joy, but was much grieved to hear of Thomas’s death, and still more so to hear from Janet that Thackeray and
Mrs. Alison were dead. She died the morning I left Cairo, so her last act almost was to send sweetmeats
to the boat after me on the evening before. Poor dear soul her sweetness and patience
were very touching. We have had a week of piercing winds, and yesterday I
stayed in bed, to the great surprise of Mustapha’s little girl who came to see me. To-day was beautiful
again, and I mounted old Mustapha’s cob
pony and jogged over his farm with him, and lunched on delicious sour cream and fateereh at a neighbouring village, to the great delight of
the fellaheen. It was more Biblical than ever; the
people were all relations of Mustapha’s,
and to see Sidi
Omar, the head of the household, and the ‘young
men coming in from the field,’ and the ‘flocks and herds and camels and asses,’ was like
a beautiful dream. All these people are of high blood, and a sort of ‘roll of Battle’ is
kept here for the genealogies of the noble Arabs who came in with Amr—the first Arab
conqueror and lieutenant of Omar. Not one of
these brown men, who do not own a second shirt, would give his brown daughter to the
greatest Turkish Pasha. This country noblesse is more
interesting to me by far than the town people, though Omar, who is quite a Cockney, and piques himself on being ‘delicate,’ turns
up his nose at their beggarly pride, as Londoners used to do at bare-legged Highlanders.
The air of perfect equality—except as to the respect due to the head of the clan—with
which the villagers treated Mustapha, and
which he fully returned, made it all seem so very gentlemanly. They are not so dazzled
by a little show, and far more manly than the Cairenes. I am on visiting terms with all
the ‘county families’ resident in Luxor already. The Názir (magistrate) is a very nice person, and my Sheykh Yussuf, who is of
the highest blood (being descended from Abu-l-Hajjaj himself), is quite charming. There
is an intelligent little German here as Austrian Consul, who draws nicely. I went into
his house, and was startled by hearing a pretty Arab boy, his servant, inquire,
‘Soll ich den Kaffee bringen?’ What next? They are
all mad to learn languages, and Mustapha
begs me and Sally to teach his little girl Zeyneb English.
Friday, 22nd.—Yesterday I rode over to Karnac, with Mustapha’s sais running by my side.
Glorious hot sun and delicious air. To hear the sais chatter away, his tongue running
as fast as his feet, made me deeply envious of his lungs. Mustapha joined me, and pressed me to go to visit the
Sheykh’s tomb for the benefit of my health, as he and Sheykh Yussuf wished to say a
Fathah for me; but I must not drink wine at dinner. I made a little difficulty on the
score of difference of religion, but Sheykh Yussuf, who came up, said that he presumed I
worshipped God, and not stones, and that sincere prayers were good anywhere. Clearly the
bigotry would have been on my side if I had refused any longer. So in the evening I went
with Mustapha. It was a very curious
sight, the little dome illuminated with as much oil as the mosque could afford, and the
tombs of Abu-l-Hajjaj and his three sons. A magnificent old man, like Father Abraham
himself, dressed in white, sat on a carpet at the foot of the tomb; he was the head of
the family of Abu-l-Hajjaj. He made me sit by, and was extremely polite. Then came the
Názir, the Kadee, a Turk travelling on Government business, and a few other gentlemen,
who all sat down round us after kissing the hand of the old Sheykh. Everyone talked; in
fact it was a soirée for the entertainment of the dead Sheykh. A party of men sat at
the further end of the place, with their faces to the Kibleh, and played on a
taraboukeh (sort of small drum stretched on earthenware which gives a peculiar sound),
a tambourine without bells, and little tinkling cymbals fitting on thumb and fingers
(crotales), and chanted songs in honour of Mohammed and verses from the Psalms of David.
Every now and then one of our party left off talking, and prayed a little or counted his
beads. The old Sheykh sent for coffee, and gave me the first cup—a wonderful concession.
At last the Názir proposed a Fathah for me, which the whole group round me repeated
aloud, and then each said to me, ‘Our Lord God bless and give thee health and peace, to
thee and thy family, and take thee back safe to thy master and thy children,’ one adding
Ameen and giving the salaam with the hand. I returned it, and said, ‘Our Lord reward
thee and all the people of kindness to strangers,’ which was considered a very proper
answer. After that we went away, and the worthy Názir walked home with me to take a pipe
and a glass of sherbet, and enjoy a talk about his wife and eight children, who are all
in Foum-el-Bachr, except two boys at school in Cairo. Government appointments are so precarious that it is not worth while
to move them up here, as the expense would be too heavy on a salary of £15 a month, with
the chance of recall any day. In Cairo or Lower
Egypt it would be quite impossible for a Christian to enter a Sheykh’s tomb at all—above
all on his birthday festival and on the night of Friday.
Friday, January 29.—I have been too unwell to write all this week, but will finish
this to-day to send off by Lady Herbert’s boat. The last week has been very
cold here, the thermometer at 59° and 60°, with a nipping wind and bright sun. I was
obliged to keep my bed for three or four days, as of course a palazzo without doors or
windows to speak of was very trying, though far better than a boat. Yesterday and to-day
are much better, not really much warmer, but a different air.
The moolid (festival) of the Sheykh terminated last Saturday with a procession, in
which the new cover of his tomb, and the ancient sacred boat, were carried on men’s
shoulders. It all seemed to have walked out of the royal tombs, only dusty and shabby
instead of gorgeous. These festivals of the dead are such as Herodotus alludes to as held in honour of ‘Him whose name he
dares not mention—Him who sleeps in Philae,’
only the name is changed and the mummy is absent.
For a fortnight everyone who had a horse and could ride came and ‘made fantasia’ every
afternoon for two hours before sunset; and very pretty it was. The people here show
their good blood in their riding. On the last three days all strangers were entertained
with bread and cooked meat at the expense of the Luxor people; every house killed a sheep and baked bread. As I could not do
that for want of servants enough, I sent 100 piastres (12s) to the servants of
Abu-l-Hajjaj at the mosque to pay for the oil burnt at the tomb, etc. I was not well and
in bed, but I hear that my gift gave immense satisfaction, and that I was again well
prayed for. The Coptic Bishop came to see me, but he is a tipsy old monk and an impudent
beggar. He sent for tea as he was ill, so I went to see him, and perceived that his
disorder was arrakee. He has a very nice black slave, a Christian (Abyssinian, I think),
who is a friend of Omar’s, and who sent Omar a handsome dinner all ready cooked; among other
things a chicken stuffed with green wheat was excellent. Omar constantly gets dinners sent him, a lot of bread, some dates and cooked
fowls or pigeons, and fateereh with honey, all tied up hot in a cloth. I gave an old
fellow a pill and dose some days ago, but his dura ilia took no notice, and he came
for more, and got castor-oil. I have not seen him since, but his employer, fellah
Omar, sent me a lot of delicious butter in
return. I think it shows great intelligence in these people, how none of them will any
longer consult an Arab hakeem if they can get a European to physic them. They now ask
directly whether the Government doctors have been to Europe to learn Hekmeh, and if
not they don’t trust them—for poor ‘savages’ and ‘heathens’ ce n’est pas si bête. I
had to interrupt my lessons from illness, but Sheykh Yussuf came again last night. I
have mastered Abba shedda o mus beteen — ibbi shedda o heftedeen, etc. Oh dear, what
must poor Arab children suffer in learning ABC! It is a terrible alphabet, and the
shekel (points) are désespérants; but now I stick for want of a dictionary.
Mr. Arrowsmith kindly gave me Miss Martineau’s book, which I have begun. It is true as
far as it goes, but there is the usual defect—the people are not real people, only part
of the scenery to her, as to most Europeans. You may conceive how much we are
naturalized when I tell you that I have received a serious offer of marriage for Sally. Mustapha Agha has requested me to ‘give her to him’ for his eldest son
Seyyid, a nice lad of nineteen or twenty at most. As Mustapha is the richest and most considerable person here,
it shows that the Arabs draw no unfavourable conclusions as to our morals from the
freedom of our manners. He said of course she would keep her own religion and her own
customs. Seyyid is still in Alexandria , so
it will be time to refuse when he returns. I said she was too old, but they think that
no objection at all. She will have to say that her father would not allow it, for of
course a handsome offer deserves a civil refusal. Sally’s proposals would be quite an ethnological study; Mustapha asked what I should require as dowry for her.
Fancy Sally as Hareem of the Sheykh-el-Beled of Luxor!
I am so charmed with my house that I begin seriously to contemplate staying here all
the time. Cairo is so dear now, and so many dead
cattle are buried there, that I think I should do better in this place. There is a huge
hall, so large and cold now as to be uninhabitable, which in summer would be glorious.
My dear old captain of steamer XII. would bring me up coffee and candles, and if I ‘sap’
and learn to talk to people, I shall have plenty of company.
The cattle disease has not extended above Minieh to any degree, and here there has not been a case. Alhamdulillah!
Food is very good here, rather less than half Cairo prices even now; in summer it will be half that. Mustapha urges me to stay, and proposes a picnic of a few
days over in the tombs with his Hareem as a diversion.
I have got a photo, for a stereoscope, which I send you, of my two beloved, lovely
palm-trees on the river-bank just above and looking over Philae.
Hitherto my right side has been the bad one, but now one side is uneasy and the other
impossible to lie on. It does not make one sleep pleasantly, and the loss of my good,
sound sleep tries me, and so I don’t seem well. We shall see what hot weather will do;
if that fails I will give up the contest, and come home to see as much as I shall have
time for of you and my chicks.