Notes from Egypt

Dearest Mutter,

I meant to have written to you by Arthur Taylor, who left for Cairo yesterday morning, but the Simoom made me so stupid that I could hardly finish a letter to Alick. So I begin one to-day to recount the wonders of the season here. I went over to Mustapha’s island to spend the day in the tent, or rather the hut, of dourrah-stalks and palm-branches, which he has erected there for the threshing and winnowing. He had invited me and ‘his worship’ the Maōhn to a picnic. Only imagine that it rained! all day, a gentle slight rain, but enough to wet all the desert. I laughed and said I had brought English weather, but the Maōhn shook his head and opined that we were suffering the anger of God. Rain in summer-time was quite a terror. However, we consoled ourselves, and Mustapha called a nice little boy to recite the ‘noble Koran’ for our amusement, and out of compliment to me he selected the chapter of the family of Amran (the history of Jesus), and recited it with marvellous readiness and accuracy. A very pleasant-mannered man of the Shourafa of Gurneh came and joined us, and was delighted because I sent away a pipe which Abdurachman brought me (it is highly improper to smoke while the Koran is being read or recited). He thanked me for the respect, and I told him I knew he would not smoke in a church, or while I prayed; why should I? It rather annoys me to find that they always expect from us irreverence to their religion which they would on no account be guilty of to ours. The little boy was a fellah, the child of my friend Omar, who has lost all his cattle, but who came as pleasant and smiling as ever to kiss my hand and wait upon me. After that the Maōhn read the second chapter, ‘the Cow,’ in a rather nasal, quavering chant. I perceived that no one present understood any of it, except just a few words here and there—not much more than I could follow myself from having read the translation. I think it is not any nearer spoken Arabic than Latin is to Italian. After this, Mustapha, the Maōhn, Omar, Sally and I, sat down round the dinner-tray, and had a very good dinner of lamb, fowls and vegetables, such as bahmias and melucheeah, both of the mallow order, and both excellent cooked with meat; rice, stewed apricots (mish-mish), with nuts and raisins in it, and cucumbers and water-melons strewed the ground. One eats all durcheinander with bread and fingers, and a spoon for the rice, and green limes to squeeze over one’s own bits for sauce. We were very merry, if not very witty, and the Maōhn declared, ‘Wallahi! the English are fortunate in their customs, and in the enjoyment of the society of learned and excellent Hareemat;’ and Omar, lying on the rushes, said: ‘This is the happiness of the Arab. Green trees, sweet water, and a kind face, make the “garden”’ (paradise), an Arab saying. The Maōhn joked him as to how a ‘child of Cairo’ could endure fellah life. I was looking at the heaps of wheat and thinking of Ruth, when I started to hear the soft Egyptian lips utter the very words which the Egyptian girl spake more than a thousand years ago: ‘Behold my mother! where she stays I stay, and where she goes I will go; her family is my family, and if it pleaseth God, nothing but the Separator of friends (death) shall divide me from her.’ I really could not speak, so I kissed the top of Omar’s turban, Arab fashion, and the Maōhn blessed him quite solemnly, and said: ‘God reward thee, my son; thou hast honoured thy lady greatly before thy people, and she has honoured thee, and ye are an example of masters and servants, and of kindness and fidelity;’ and the brown labourers who were lounging about said: ‘Verily, it is true, and God be praised for people of excellent conduct.’ I never expected to feel like Naomi, and possibly many English people might only think Omar’s unconscious repetition of Ruth’s words rather absurd, but to me they sounded in perfect harmony with the life and ways of this country and these people, who are so full of tender and affectionate feelings, when they have not been crushed out of them. It is not humbug; I have seen their actions. Because they use grand compliments, Europeans think they are never sincere, but the compliments are not meant to deceive, they only profess to be forms. Why do the English talk of the beautiful sentiment of the Bible and pretend to feel it so much, and when they come and see the same life before them they ridicule it.

[Picture: Omar, 1864, from a photograph]

Tuesday.—We have a family quarrel going on. Mohammed’s wife, a girl of eighteen or so, wanted to go home on Bairam day for her mother to wash her head and unplait her hair. Mohammed told her not to leave him on that day, and to send for a woman to do it for her; whereupon she cut off her hair, and Mohammed, in a passion, told her to ‘cover her face’ (that is equivalent to a divorce) and take her baby and go home to her father’s house. Ever since he has been mooning about the yard and in and out of the kitchen very glum and silent. This morning I went into the kitchen and found Omar cooking with a little baby in his arms, and giving it sugar. ‘Why what is that?’ say I. ‘Oh don’t say anything. I sent Achmet to fetch Mohammed’s baby, and when he comes here he will see it, and then in talking I can say so and so, and how the man must be good to the Hareem, and what this poor, small girl do when she big enough to ask for her father.’ In short, Omar wants to exercise his diplomacy in making up the quarrel. After writing this I heard Mohammed’s low, quiet voice, and Omar’s boyish laugh, and then silence, and went to see the baby and its father. My kitchen was a pretty scene. Mohammed, in his ample brown robes and white turban, lay asleep on the floor with the baby’s tiny pale face and little eyelids stained with kohl against his coffee-brown cheek, both fast asleep, baby in her father’s arms. Omar leant against the fournaise in his house-dress, a white shirt open at the throat and white drawers reaching to the knees, with the red tarboosh and red and yellow kufyeh (silk handkerchief) round it turban-wise, contemplating them with his great, soft eyes. The two young men made an excellent contrast between Upper and Lower Egypt. Mohammed is the true Arab type—coffee-brown, thin, spare, sharp-featured, elegant hands and feet, bright glittering small eyes and angular jaw—not a handsome Arab, but bien charactérisé. Omar, the colour of new boxwood or old ivory, pale, with eyes like a cow, full lips, full chin and short nose, not the least negro, but perfectly Egyptian, the eyes wide apart—unlike the Arab—moustache like a woman’s eyebrow, curly brown hair, bad hands and feet and not well made, but graceful in movement and still more in countenance, very inferior in beauty to the pure Arab blood which prevails here, but most sweet in expression. He is a true Akh-ul-Benât (brother of girls), and truly chivalrous to Hareem. How astonished Europeans would be to hear Omar’s real opinion of their conduct to women. He mentioned some Englishman who had divorced his wife and made her frailty public. You should have seen him spit on the floor in abhorrence. Here it is quite blackguard not to forfeit the money and take all the blame in a divorce.

Friday.—We have had better weather again, easterly wind and pretty cool, and I am losing the cough and languor which the damp of the Simoom brought me. Sheykh Yussuf has just come back from Keneh, whither he and the Kadee went on their donkeys for some law business. He took our saddle bags at Omar’s request, and brought us back a few pounds of sugar and some rice and tobacco (isn’t it like Fielding’s novels?). It is two days’ journey, so they slept in the mosque at Koos half way. I told Yussuf how Suleyman’s child has the smallpox and how Mohammed only said it was Min Allah (from God) when I suggested that his baby should be vaccinated at once. Yussuf called him in and said: ‘Oh man, when thou wouldst build a house dost thou throw the bricks in a heap on the ground and say the building thereof is from God, or dost thou use the brains and hands which God has given thee, and then pray to Him to bless thy work? In all things do the best of thy understanding and means, and then say Min Allah, for the end is with Him!’ There is not a pin to choose in fatalism here between Muslim and Christian, the lazy, like Mohammed and Suleyman (one Arab the other Copt), say Min Allah or any form of dawdle you please; but the true Muslim doctrine is just what Yussuf laid down—‘do all you can and be resigned to whatever be the result.’ Fais ce que dois advienne qui pourra is good doctrine. In fact, I am very much puzzled to discover the slightest difference between Christian and Muslim morality or belief—if you exclude certain dogmas—and in fact, very little is felt here. No one attempts to apply different standards of morals or of piety to a Muslim and a Copt. East and West is the difference, not Muslim and Christian. As to that difference I could tell volumes. Are they worse? Are they better? Both and neither. I am, perhaps, not quite impartial, because I am sympathique to the Arabs and they to me, and I am inclined to be ‘kind’ to their virtues if not ‘blind’ to their faults, which are visible to the most inexperienced traveller. You see all our own familiar ‘bunkum’ (excuse the vulgarity) falls so flat on their ears, bravado about ‘honour,’ ‘veracity,’ etc., etc., they look blank and bored at. The schoolboy morality as set forth by Maurice is current here among grown men. Of course we tell lies to Pashas and Beys, why shouldn’t we? But shall I call in that ragged sailor and give him an order to bring me up £500 in cash from Cairo when he happens to come? It would not be an unusual proceeding. I sleep every night in a makaab (sort of verandah) open to all Luxor, and haven’t a door that has a lock. They bother me for backsheesh; but oh how poor they are, and how rich must be a woman whose very servants drink sugar to their coffee! and who lives in the Kasr (palace) and is respectfully visited by Ali Bey—and, come to that, Ali Bey would like a present even better than the poorest fellah, who also loves to give one. When I know, as I now do thoroughly, all Omar’s complete integrity—without any sort of mention of it—his self-denial in going ragged and shabby to save his money for his wife and child (a very great trial to a good-looking young Arab), and the equally unostentatious love he has shown to me, and the delicacy and real nobleness of feeling which come out so oddly in the midst of sayings which, to our ideas, seem very shabby and time-serving, very often I wonder if there be anything as good in the civilized West. And as Sally most justly says, ‘All their goodness is quite their own. God knows there is no one to teach anything but harm!’

Tuesday.—Two poor fellows have just come home from the Suez Canal work with gastric fever, I think. I hope it won’t spread. The wife of one said to me yesterday, ‘Are there more Sittat (ladies) like you in your village?’ ‘Wallah,’ said I, ‘there are many better, and good doctors, Alhamdullillah!’ ‘Alhamdullillah,’ said she, ‘then the poor people don’t want you so much, and by God you must stay here for we can’t do without you, so write to your family to say so, and don’t go away and leave us.’

Thursday, June 2,—A steamer has just arrived which will take this letter, so I can only say good-bye, my dearest Mutter, and God bless you. I continue very fairly well. The epidemic here is all but over; but my medical fame has spread so, that the poor souls come twenty miles (from Koos) for physic. The constant phrase of ‘Oh our sister, God hath sent thee to look to us!’ is so sad. Such a little help is a wonder to my poor fellaheen. It is not so hot as it was I think, except at night, and I now sleep half the night outside the house. The cattle are all dead; perhaps five are left in all Luxor. Allah kereem! (God is merciful) said fellah Omar, ‘I have one left from fifty-four.’ The grain is unthreshed, and butter three shillings a pound! We get nothing here but by post; no papers, no nothing. I suppose the high Nile will bring up boats. Now the river is down at its lowest, and now I really know how Egyptians live.