“February 13th, 1891.—We had the Duke of Cambridge to luncheon. He arrived yesterday on board the Surprise from Malta, and Will, of course, received him officially, but not royally, as he is travelling incog., and he came here to tea. To-day we had a large party to meet him, and a very genial luncheon it was, not to say rollicking. The day was exquisite, and out of the open windows the sea sparkled, blue and calm. H.R.H. seemed to me rather feeble, but in the best of humours; a wonderful old man to come to Egypt for the first time at seventy-two, braving this burning sun and with such a high colour to begin with! One felt as though one was talking to George III. to hear the ‘What, what, what? Who, who, who? Why, why, why?’ Col. Lane, one of his suite, said he had never seen him in better spirits. I was gratified at his praise of our cook—very loud praise, literally, as he is not only rather deaf himself, but speaks to people as though they also were a ‘little hard of hearing.’ ‘Very good cook, my dear’ (to me). ‘Very good cook, Butler’ (across the table to Will). ‘Very good cook, eh, Sykes?’ (very loud to Christopher Sykes, further off). ‘You are a gourmet, you know better about these things than I do, eh?’ C. S.: ‘I ought to have learnt something about it at Gloucester House, sir!’ H.R.H. (to me): ‘Your health, my dear.’ ‘Butler, your very good health!’ Aside to me: ‘What’s the Consul’s name?’ I: ‘Sir Charles Cookson.’ ‘Sir Charles, your health!’ When I hand the salt to H.R.H. he stops my hand: ‘I wouldn’t quarrel with her for the world, Butler.’ And so the feast goes on, our august guest plying me with questions about the relationship and antecedents of every one at the table; about the manners and customs of the populace of Alexandria; the state of commerce; the climate. I answer to the best of my ability with the most unsatisfactory information. He started at four for Cairo, leaving a most kindly impression on my memory. The last of the old Georgian type! ‘Your mutton was good, my dear; not at all goaty,’ were his valedictory words.”
Mutton is goaty in Egypt unless well selected. I advise travellers to confine themselves to the good poultry, and to leave meat alone. What I would have done without our dear, good old Magro, the major domo who did my housekeeping out there, I dread to think. His name, denoting a lean habit of body, was a misnomer, for he was rotund. A good, honest Maltese, his devotion to “Sair William” was really touching. I was only as the moon is to the sun, and to serve the sun he would, I am convinced, have risked his life. I came in for his devotion to myself by reason of my reflected glory. One morning he came hurtling towards me, through the rooms, waving aloft what at first looked like a red republican flag, but it proved to be a sirloin or other portion of bovine anatomy which he had had the luck to purchase in the market (good beef being so rare). “Look, miladi, you will not often meet such beef walking in the street!” He laid it out for my admiration. This is the way he used to ask me for the daily orders: “What will miladi command for dinner?” “Cutlets?” (patting his ribs); “a loin?” (indications of lumbago); “or a leg?” (advancing that limb); “or, for a delicate entrée, brains?” (laying a finger on his perspiring forehead). “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Magro, not brains!” When the day’s work was done he would retire to what we called the “Ah!-poor-me-room”—his boudoir—where, repeating aloud those words so dear to his nationality, he would take up his cigar. Government gave him £250 a year for all this expenditure of zeal.
While on the subject of Oriental housekeeping, I must record the following. Our predecessors of a former time had what to me would have been an experience difficult to recover from. They were giving a large Christmas dinner, and the cook, proud of the pudding he had mastered the intricacies of, insisted on bringing it in himself, all ablaze. It was only a few steps from the kitchen to the dining-room. Holding the great dish well up before him, he unfortunately set fire to his beard, and the effect of his dusky face approaching in the subdued light of the door, illuminated in that way by blue flames, must have been satanic.
“March 14th.—Lord Charles Beresford, who has relieved the other ship with the Undaunted, invited us all to luncheon on board, but Will and I could not stay to luncheon as we had guests; nevertheless, we had a very interesting morning on board. On arriving at the Marina we found Lady Charles, Lady Edmund Talbot, Colonel Kitchener,[10] whose light, rather tiger-like eyes in that sunburnt face slightly frightened me, and others waiting to go with us to the Undaunted in the ship’s barge and a steam launch. Lord Charles received us with his usual sailor-like welcome, and we had a tremendous inspection of the ship, one of our latest experiments in naval machinery—a belted cruiser. She will probably cruise to the bottom if ever the real test comes. A torpedo was fired for us, but it gambolled away like a porpoise, ending by plunging into a mudbank. I wish they would diverge their direction like that in war, detestable inventions!
“April 1st, 1891.—I am now quite in the full swing of Egyptian enjoyment. No more Egyptian rain! Excellent accounts from home, and my intention of going back is rendered unnecessary. How thankful I am, on the eve of our departure for Palestine, for the ‘all well’ from home!”
My entries in the Diary during that unique journey, and my letters to my mother, are published in my book, “Letters from the Holy Land.” I illustrated it with the water colours I made during our pilgrimage, and I was most delighted to find the little book had an utterly unexpected success. It was nice to find myself among the writers! To have ridden through this land from end to end is to have experienced a pleasure such as no other part of the earth can give us. Had I had no more joy in store for me, that would have been enough.
As the railway was not opened till the following year the mind was not disturbed, and could concentrate on the scenes before it with all the recollection it required. I called our progress “riding through the Bible.” Many a local allusion in both Testaments, which had seemed vague or difficult to appreciate before, opened out, so to say, before one’s happy vision, and gave a substance, a vitality to the Scripture narrative which produced a satisfaction delightful to experience. Perhaps the strongest longing in my childhood’s mind had been to do this journey. To do it as we did, just our two selves, and in the fresh spring weather, was a happy circumstance.
As I look back to that time which we spent amidst the scenes of Our Lord’s revealed life on earth, no portion of it produces such a sense of mental peace as does the night of our arrival on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. There there were no crowds, no distractions, not a thing to jar on the mind. Before and around one, as one sat on the pebbly strand, appeared the very outlines of the hills His eyes had rested on, and far from modern life encroaching on one’s sensitiveness, the cities that lined those sacred shores in His time had disappeared like one of the fleeting cloud shadows which the moon was casting all along their ruined sites. His words came back with a poignant force, “Woe unto thee, Chorazin! Woe unto thee, Bethsaida!... and thou, Capernaum, which art exalted unto heaven....” Where were they? And the high waves raced foaming and breaking on the shingle, blown by a strong though mild wind that came across from the dark cliffs of the country of the Gadarenes. One seemed to feel His approach where He had so often walked. One can hardly speak of the awe which that feeling brought to the mind. He was quite near!
Undoubtedly the effect of a journey through the Holy Land does permanently impress itself upon one’s life. It is a tremendous experience to be brought thus face to face with the Gospel narrative. We returned to the modern world on May 1st. This time I left Alexandria in company with my husband on June 3rd, and on landing at Venice we at once went on to Verona, where he was anxious to visit the battlefield of Arcole.