The ancient Egyptian artist must have been very happy. Temples were built with great smooth walls for him to cover with pictures that required very little writing to go with them, seldom more than Pharaoh’s cartouches, and even these he made more like a picture than a name. That must have been very pleasant, and it should have compensated him for all the restrictions imposed upon him by the high priest of those days, who often limited his choice of subject to a king. The choice of subject is now unlimited. There never were so many different kinds of people in Egypt before. But it would be difficult to draw the king now, for there is much difference of opinion as to who he is.
I left New York with a small library of Egyptian guide-books, and in nearly every one of them was a good description of a traveler’s feelings upon arriving at Alexandria or Port Saïd. I have been in both places, and about the same sensations will fit either port; and traveling is too personal a matter to describe at length, unless it is done with skill. To give advice is much more simple; and mine is that if you are on a steamer that is going through the Canal, don’t stay on her until she gets to Ismailia, but disembark at Port Saïd and get to Cairo that night all the way by
The Slipper Bazaar, Cairo, January 22, 1898.
Egyptian High Life.
rail. You will see as much of the Canal as you want to, and you will not run the chance of being delayed a day, as the Königin Luise was last year by a little tramp steamer that had run foul of a coal-barge.
More advice is to look out of the right-hand window of the car for a first glimpse of the pyramids, the first sure proof that you are in Napoleon’s Egypt. After they are once found, it is easy for your eye to follow them through palm-trees and over mud villages until darkness interferes. Then you come to the station in Cairo, a hotbed of porters and dragomans, and through the confusion you finally reach Shepheard’s, on the street like a great show-window—all but the plate glass—full of odds and ends from all the world. New arrivals are handed in by the dragomans and porters. It is as if you climbed over the footlights to assist in the performance. You finally stand before the good-looking Mr. Bailer, at the back of the stage. If he thinks you will stand a room overlooking the stable-yard, you will get it. The next morning I moved to the sunny side, overlooking the garden, where a tame pelican walked among tall palm-trees.
The dragoman who first lays hands on you claims you for his own. You will find him waiting for you in the morning. He will sell you antiques, will take you snipe-shooting. He knows when the dervishes will howl or whirl, or where there is a native wedding, to which he will take you. It may be the fame of Shepheard’s, or the magic name of Egypt, but it all has a wonderful charm.