It is true that the architecture of Egypt was freer than its sculptures, but the whole of it together is not worth one edifice like the Greek temple at Pæstum. And to end, by what may seem a sweeping statement, I have had more pleasure from a bit of Greek work—an intaglio, or a coin of the best period, or the sculptures on a broken entablature—than from anything that Egypt ever produced in art.
CHAPTER XXXV.—ON THE WAY HOME.
FOR two days after the sand-storm, it gives us pleasure to write, the weather was cold, raw, thoroughly unpleasant, resembling dear New England quite enough to make one homesick. As late as the twenty-eighth of March, this was. The fact may be a comfort to those who dwell in a region where winter takes a fresh hold in March.
We broke up our establishment on the dahabeëh and moved to the hotel, abandoning I know not how many curiosities, antiquities and specimens, the possession of which had once seemed to us of the last importance. I shall spare you the scene at parting with our crew. It would have been very touching, but for the backsheesh. Some of them were faithful fellows to whom we were attached; some of them were graceless scamps. But they all received backsheesh. That is always the way. It was clearly understood that we should reward only the deserving, and we had again and again resolved not to give a piastre to certain ones of the crew. But, at the end, the obdurate howadji always softens; and the Egyptians know that he will. Egypt is full of good-for-nothings who have not only received presents but certificates of character from travelers whom they have disobliged for three months. There was, however, some discrimination in this case; backsheesh was distributed with some regard to good conduct; at the formal judgment on deck, Abd-el-Atti acted the part of Thoth in weighing out the portions, and my friend took the rôle of Osiris, receiving, vicariously for all of us, the kisses on his hand of the grateful crew. I shall not be misunderstood in saying that the faithful Soudan boy, Gohah, would have felt just as much grief in bidding us good-bye if he had not received a penny (the rest of the crew would have been inconsolable in like case); his service was always marked by an affectionate devotion without any thought of reward. He must have had a magnanimous soul to forgive us for the doses we gave him when he was ill during the voyage.
We are waiting in Cairo professedly for the weather to become settled and pleasant in Syria—which does not happen, one year with another, till after the first of April; but we are contented, for the novelties of the town are inexhaustible, and we are never weary of its animation and picturesque movement. I suppose I should be held in low estimation if I said nothing concerning the baths of Cairo. It is expected of every traveler that he will describe them, or one at least—one is usually sufficient. Indeed when I have read these descriptions, I have wondered how the writers lived to tell their story. When a person has been for hours roasted and stifled, and had all his bones broken, you could not reasonably expect him to write so powerfully of the bath as many travelers write who are so treated. I think these bath descriptions are among the marvels of Oriental literature; Mr. Longfellow says of the Roman Catholic system, that it is a religion of the deepest dungeons and the highest towers; the Oriental bath (in literature) is like this; the unwashed infidel is first plunged in a gulf of dark despair, and then he is elevated to a physical bliss that is ecstatic. The story is too long at each end.
I had experience of several different baths in Cairo, and I invariably found them less vigorous, that is milder in treatment, than the Turkish baths of New York or of Germany. With the Orientals the bath is a luxury, a thing to be enjoyed, and not an affair of extreme shocks and brutal surprises. In the bath itself there is never the excessive heat that I have experienced in such baths in New York, nor the sudden change of temperature in water, nor the vigorous manipulation. The Cairo bath, in my experience, is gentle, moderate, enjoyable. The heat of the rooms is never excessive, the air is very moist, and water flows abundantly over the marble floors; the attendants are apt to be too lazy to maltreat the bather, and perhaps err in gentleness. You are never roasted in a dry air and then plunged suddenly into cold water. I do not wonder that the Orientals are fond of their bath. The baths abound, for men and for women, and the natives pay a very small sum for the privilege of using them. Women make up parties, and spend a good part of the day in a bath; having an entertainment there sometimes, and a frolic. It is said that mothers sometimes choose wives for their sons from girls they see at the baths. Some of them are used by men in the forenoon and by women in the afternoon, and I have seen a great crowd of veiled women waiting at the door at noon. There must be over seventy-five of these public baths in Cairo.