I left my companion in the victoria, and wended my way alone to the obelisk, not far distant. It may be he preferred to contemplate on Heliopolis' past glory, as he was fresh from Yale's classic shade, and deep, no doubt, in its lore, rather than touch its hieroglyphics. To see the bees so thickly settled there was of little satisfaction, but what were we there for if not to touch, taste and handle? The climatic effects will preserve this wonderful monument for ages, while their consorts on the Thames and in New York Central Park already show signs of decay.
The ostrich farm was a more enlivening scene. One thousand of these ugly, vicious birds were kept in an enclosure, the fence surrounding them being so high we were obliged to seek an elevation from which we could look down upon them. They are most ungainly, but their strut is indicative of vanity. To probe them, as some did through an opening in the gateway, was to arouse their wrath, and the warning was soon given to desist, by the care-keepers. Many of the eggs were emptied of their contents and for sale. Throughout the land morgues are crumbling to ruins, the Arab seemingly powerless to repair them, or to build new ones. Cairo is built from the ruins of Heliopolis and Memphis.
To return to Cairo by the Kooha road is to meet at 5:00 p. m. the Khedive and suite on their return from Abdin palace. It is said the Khedive is never seen to smile; we can testify that he did not smile on us, although we rode parallel with him that day. The tramp of his attendant cavalry always attracts a crowd. We see, as we drive along, the donkeys roll with their saddles in the sand; swarms of naked soiled children, with their deafening yell, increase the clamor made by the native pipe seller and blower. These are made of bamboo, and, when properly handled, give out a noise peculiar to those people. Water-sellers, with filled goatskins on their shoulders, leather aprons to their knees, striking their copper goblets one against the other, richly caparisoned mules, bearing venerable Mohammedan priests, whose gowns are kissed as they go by—all these and more join this medley in human or animal form. Traffic is suddenly stopped by a long string of camels coming, laden with thick pieces of timber, rugged stones or enormous bales of merchandise. They walk silently in the dust with long strides, waving to and fro, exhaling an insupportable odor. Their heavy, incommodious cargoes strike right and left, breaking everything before them. Woe betide the pedestrian, who does not anticipate their coming, and prepare to skip. These caravans are only momentary disturbances, then all is righted till another passes. Through all this pandemonium we drive to the tombs of the Caliphs, the independent sovereigns of Egypt from the ninth to the twelfth century. In the face of the ruins crumbling slowly beneath the action of centuries, one feels an unutterable melancholy. Mosque of El Achraf-ynal El Ghours is near the tombs of the Caliphs, their courts are full of rubbish and plants and brambles, with its fountains for ablutions in ruins. These mosques contain tombs and stone mausoleums. We pass out into a dilapidated village of low mud houses, few shops, with fruits to sell, camels lying down, asses and tattered children and old men. We ascend not far away the staircase with disjointed steps, the mosque of Karl Bey. The interior court, open to all elements, is paved with marble mosaics. The ceiling of the mosque is carved, painted and gilded. The rose windows, cut in massive stone, is in great perfection, but all is crumbling, like everything else in the east.
The tombs of the Caliphs we overlook from the citadel, where we listen to the guide who relates the daring feats of the Mamelukes. To see the sun set from this point is one of the pleasures that Cairo affords. Here is a fortress, where Ramises II detained his Assyrian captives, when the Roman legion under Caesar held Egypt. The vile, stuffy smells that greet you on entering are appalling, and the ragged children eaten up by vermin, and afflicted by sore eyes rub against you. You enter the Coptic church of the Virgin Mary; partitions in woodwork separate three naves. Mother of pearl and ivory inlaid work decorate the interior, but it was so dark the beauties were lost to me, but we are not insensible to the vile uncleanliness, for that is paramount. We are taken to the banks of the Nile, shown the ancient Nile meter, and the exact spot where Moses was found in the bulrushes. From all this we turn with weary steps to the university, where scholars from the extreme north, south, and those who scarcely know from whence they came, are here to study the four rites taught from the Koran. They board at the Mosque and also receive a small allowance and oil for their lamps. Gathered together in circles, holding their tablets in their hands, lying or sitting on their mats covering the ground, they learn by heart verses from the Koran, which they recite aloud in a drawling voice, swinging the body, as is peculiar to the Orientals. A special fund is raised from pious fanatics for the support of the blind who become scholars, no less fanatic than their teachers.
Another day for the museums at Boulah to be taken before, and after going up the Nile. From its terrace the views are splendid. The supporting walls bathe in the Nile, where multitudes of vessels lie side by side. Across the desert come caravans from Abyssinia, with coffee and incense from Arabia; pearls, precious stones, cassimeres and silks from India.
In dahabehis from Esneh come ivories, ostrich feathers, acacia gum, nitre from Kenner, boats loaded with pottery of porous earth, in which to keep the water of the Nile in amphoræ (large earthen jugs) in all sizes. Edfou sends its pipes, vases of red clay and black. Barges filled with indigo, cotton and barley, dahabehis of carpets and woolen stuffs with flagons of rose water. From the North come rice, maize and Syrian tobacco; draperies from Aleppo, Smyrna and Damascus; dried grapes from the mountains of Karamania; soap from the isles of the Archipelagos, and in the midst of all this enterprise, donkey boys yell, and camels make their unearthly cry, while I, who am mounted on a donkey, scarcely look to the right or left, lest I go over "Abraham Lincoln's" head.
We have left the museum and are on the road leading to Cairo, the Champs Elysee of this capital city. Tuesdays and Sundays the gay world is met on this thoroughfare. We overlook the port of old Cairo to see all we have described, besides dahabehis from Nubia and Soudan with goods and passengers. The ferry passing between Bedrashen and old Cairo is full to overflowing. Men, women, Bedouin negroes, asses, camels overburdened with merchandise, cages of fowls, and fruit in kouffas; people gesticulating and grumbling in an inconceivable manner—all this confusion we pass through to reach our hotel to dream of our journey to the pyramids the following day. Our dragoman secures an open carriage that seats four persons, besides the coachman and himself on the coachmen's seat. We are told that twenty years were consumed in building the great pyramid, costing 600 talents (the Hebrew weight 94 lbs.) in Hebrew money; 100,000 men were employed on the works, and were changed every three months. They say nothing changes in the valley of the Nile; the Fellah has always bent the spine to the stick. Lives innumerable were sacrificed by the Pharaohs in building for themselves, and others, tombs that time could not change, and where thieves could not break through and steal. How all earthly plans are frustrated. Now the hidden places of the pyramids are laid bare. The museum at Boulah contains the mummied forms of the builders, and the entrances to their sepulchres are open to bats and men. I did not ascend the pyramids farther than to look into these excavations. This effort was most exhausting, even when assisted by these athletic Arabs, and the demand for backsheesh was overpowering. The sheik, under whose patronage these coolies work, stands looking on without intervention until your dragoman is forced to appeal to him to quell the disturbance, but we could see that he berated those who were delinquent in making their demands good. The sphinx near by can be reached either by camels, who stand in readiness to convey you, or you can walk. We prefer the latter rather than to have another bombardment for backsheesh, but waiving, as we did, all assistance but our dragoman, we were followed by these wretched persecutors. There is in this colossal figure a dignity—an air of mystery. It is with difficulty that the sands of the desert are kept from enveloping it, but the climatic effect is wonderful; it seems destined for time and eternity.
Friday is the day for religious service with the howling dervishes. One never cares for a repetition. Those who take active part in the ceremony are men whose regular features are set off by a tall, round, sugar-loafed hat, surrounded at its base with a turban wound very tight, clothed in long, flowing gowns, very full, open in front. A second gown underneath of mauve silk shows a blue jacket and orange-colored trousers. One carries a flute, and now and then a soft, ethereal note is heard. Around this musician are others with their instruments. In a semi-circle, with arms falling at their sides, stand at least thirty dervishes, their long gowns of different colors fastened tight around their waists with a red silk sash, red, white and green turbans, and linen or woolen caps. Their hair is of extraordinary length, dyed with henna, and falling to their knees. At a signal from their leader, all uncover their heads at the same moment, and, as they bend balancing themselves slowly at first, with each jerk pronouncing the word "Allah!" This swinging motion becomes by degrees rapid; voices burst out; one hears the piercing note of the flute, and the ring of the cymbals. The sepulchral roll of the Dara-bonkas make the flesh creep, and finally ends in a delirious exaltation.—They assume frightful contortions; their bodies bend; the hair whips the air and the cry of "Allah! Allah!" penetrates bone and marrow. After a while their ways become more regular, voices clearer, and they seem again to possess their faculties.
The great artery of trade cuts bazaar quarters into the old Frank quarters where east and west mixes. Living side by side, the occupants of these shops speak, when opening the shutters in the morning, and when closing them in the evening, and frequently offer each other tea and cigarettes through the day, and that terminates all connection. A Babel street, dealers in French novelties; an American dentist; a barber, a Jewish money changer side by side, while on foot in the roadway divers people from diverse nations throng—few groups but a constant movement. Among them are loaded camels, people on horses, donkeys, mules, victorias drawn by Arab steeds always on the trot. The guards driving to one side the crowd by blows in the face with their sticks, water carriers, soldiers, in fact, everybody, hustling, bustling in search of something. In the bazaar of Khan Khabiel we found copper utensils of all forms and sizes, coffee pots, perfume burners, ewers, chandeliers for mosques, Persian caskets chiseled to perfection, articles of rhinoceros horn, Circassian and Saracen steel armor, inlaid with gold, tables of mother of pearl and ivory. A dealer in old clothes sat at the angle of the street playing a game of chance with his neighbor. We see Koran letters in green on black ground hung in black frames standing against the wall, while the owner sits dreaming near by, apparently deriving much comfort from his kief. The streets are narrow, often hedged from houses by a trellis work, fashioned from palm leaves. The sun penetrates in spots. Through these apertures one sees the clear blue sky and black kites, vultures and hawks describing circles, and at intervals wild geese from the north go flying by. The roads are covered with dust which, when it rains, becomes almost impassable. We see coming towards us women accompanied by slave bathing attendants, going to a public bath house reserved for females. They meet by appointment, burn perfumed aloes, etc., send for singers and treat themselves to pastry and sweets.
The roofs of carpet bazaars, half covered with mats and shreds of cloth, permit the soft light to filter through, and upon the sacred prayer rug throws a mellowed light. Piles of camels' bags, some brilliant in color, with mountains of rugs from all parts of the east; those of the velvety silken texture with blended colors come from Persia. A coarser kind of many stripes comes from Rabah, Tunis and Kurdistan. Long squares with ground of soft blue are used by the Mohammedans in their devotion and are made in Smyrna and Bokhara. The gem polisher sits within the doorway of his shop, with wheels and implements, whereon he perfects his work. We are interested in the Persian turquoise, the most desirable to be purchased. We buy, we think, flawless ones of exquisite shades.