And now let us rest ourselves for a while on these tempting seats, here by these lofty windows, from which we may look down over all the wide-spread landscape. The ladies of the Commodore’s family have gone to visit the Sultana, and it will be some time before they return; and a better place for a view over all the city and the country beyond, we could not desire. The palace is built on the highest part of the citadel, and enjoys, indeed, a very extensive prospect, and even at this sultry hour we are here fanned by a delightful breeze.
There, look below where the mountains of Mokattam turn off towards the east, you see between them and the city a great number of buildings of remarkable and light Saracenic architecture, standing alone on the sandy waste. This is “The city of Tombs;” the burying-place of the nobles of modern Cairo. Many of these edifices, consisting, as you perceive, of domes supported, by tall slender columns, are the tombs of the Mamelukes when their race was in power; but there you observe one larger than all the rest, surmounted by three domes, and remarkable for its light but rich style of architecture; that is the Mausoleum belonging to the family of Mohammed Ali. Its three chambers are enriched with tombs of Italian marble, and their marble floors are covered with Persian or Turkey carpets. Some of his wives and two of his children are buried here; and every Friday (the Moslem sabbath) their tombs are covered with Cashmere shawls. Here lies also buried the infant daughter of Ibrahim Pasha, taken off in innocent childhood; and close by is the recently interred body of Defterden Bey, a very tiger in cruelty, and as vile a monster as has ever lived. He was sent to this country when it was still subject to the Sultan, to watch the Pasha and collect the revenue of his master at Constantinople: but it is supposed that a large part of it went no further than his own pockets; for in a short time he grew immensely rich. He was, indeed, at length inferior in wealth only to the Pasha himself. He owned the garden in which the brave Kleber was assassinated. He was often in power; and his favorite mode of punishment was to bury the criminal up to his neck in quick-lime, and thus leave him to perish. On one occasion, his farrier having neglected to shoe a favorite horse according to his directions, he ordered the shoes to be nailed to the feet of the smith himself. The man died in a few hours in the greatest agonies.
On another occasion, when the Pasha’s son Ishmael had been treacherously burnt in his tent in upper Egypt, Defterden Bey was sent to examine into the affair and punish the culprits. He called the inhabitants of the district together, to the number of 10,000, and in revenge burnt them all to death, including women and children; and then plundered the country.
He kept a pet lion, which by some means or other he had attached or awed into gentleness to himself; and one of his amusements consisted in throwing meat to the animal, and then ordering his attendants to take it away; on which the animal often flew at them and tore them to pieces.
This is only a portion of the inhuman acts, of which he was guilty; but, the earth at last grew weary of the monster; and his royal master seems to have grown weary of him also; for one day, after drinking coffee with the Pasha, he went home, was immediately taken sick, and died. Mohammed Ali seized on his immense property, and then honored the body by a burial place in his own tomb.
But observe now that river, how peacefully it glides along, unceasing in its flow, and ever distributing comfort and happiness to the dense population along its banks. Such are Heaven’s dealings to us. What a contrast to this has ever been presented here in men’s dealings towards each other. Say, is man still in the image of his maker?
Our eyes glance on the other side of the river, over the site of Memphis. The western mountains there recede about eight miles from the stream, and it is supposed that the whole of this was covered by its magnificent temples and its dwellings; now the very site of it is disputed by some persons; at all events its ruin is so complete, that objects can no longer be distinguished. Just below it is the Plain of Mummies, still tenanted, as it has been for ages, by forms of human beings that move not and speak not. Men there are at peace with each other. Over this well-peopled but silent city of the dead, we see the small Pyramids of Sakhara: and further down, at a distance of six or eight miles, arise the stupendous structures, the Pyramids of Ghizeh. I have never looked at them without a feeling of awe.
Between us and them, on the western bank of the river, is the little village of Ghizeh, from which they take their modern name; and still nearer to us, on the eastern bank, is the village of Old Cairo, now worthy of note only as the port for boats from upper Egypt. Between it and the larger city of its name you are noticing some hillocks, that seem remarkable objects on this level plain. They are composed of pottery and other rubbish from the city; and your memory will supply you with another example of such hillocks in the neighborhood of Rome. In the latter city the merchants have dug into the base, and formed wine-cellars, which are said to answer admirably well. Near these of old Cairo is also an ancient aqueduct, a fine looking object on the landscape, but useless, as it is now in ruins.
And now look directly north, about eight miles, and you see—no, you cannot see a solitary pillar standing on the open and deserted plain. There is not even a vestige of a ruin near it; and yet there stood in ancient times the great and the learned, as well as the splendid, city of Heliopolis, or “The City of the Sun.” It was of vast extent, and had many large temples; among them one dedicated to the sun, with a mirror so disposed as, during the whole day, to reflect the rays of that luminary into the body of the edifice. Thither came the scholars of ancient times to drink from the streams of knowledge; there Herodotus acquired his lore; and, above all, there Plato studied; and there, too, it is supposed that Moses “was taught in all the learning of the Egyptians.” But neither grandeur nor knowledge itself could avail to save it; and of its many splendid structures, but a single column remains to mark its site.
But here at our feet is Cairo, teeming with life, and with the human passions all at work; and yet it seems like a city of the dead. We hear no sound, no cry; life seems to be stagnant there; but it is not. The surface is not greatly ruffled, but beneath it the passions are fermenting: who shall follow them in their various changes and their devious windings? But we will not philosophise. Here, just below us, is the mosque of Sultan Hassan; and, as our time is short, we will hasten to occupy ourselves with its singular history; a history that has a strong dash of the Arabian Nights, and yet is solemn truth, that may be told in open day. This is the largest, and in its architecture the most imposing mosque in Cairo. It is massy, and ornamented with heavy mouldings; and though of the Saracenic style, is a solid and substantial building. And now for its history.