While we were approaching Cairo, and were yet two or three leagues away, the dim outline of the everlasting pyramids could be seen, through the shimmering haze, softly limned against the evening sky, firing the imagination, and causing an involuntary and quicker pulsation of the heart. It was impossible not to recall the glowing words of the Humpback in the Thousand and One Nights, as we saw the pyramids and glistening minarets coming into view: "He who hath not seen Cairo hath not seen the world: its soil is gold; its Nile is a wonder; its women are like the black-eyed virgins of Paradise; its houses are palaces, and its air is soft,—its odor surpassing that of aloes-wood and cheering the heart; and how can Cairo be otherwise when it is the Mother of the World?"
CHAPTER IX.
Cairo and the Arabian Nights.—Street Scenes and Cries.—Camels and Donkeys.—Turkish Bazars in Old Cairo.—Water Carriers.—The Pyramids of Gizeh.—The Sphinx.—Interesting Visit to a Native House.—Mosque of Mehemet Ali.—The Rotten Row of Cairo.—The Khedive's Palace.—Egyptian Museum.—Mosque of Amer.—Whirling and Howling Dervishes.—Suez Canal.—Ismailia and Port Said.—Island of Malta.—City of Valetta.—Palace of the Knights.—Bird's-eye View.
Cairo is nearly the size of Boston, having a population of about four hundred thousand. It forms a strange medley of human life,—a many-hued crowd constantly pouring through its thoroughfares, dirty lanes, and narrow streets, in picturesque confusion. On one side the observer is jostled by a liveried servant all silver braid and bright buttons, and on the other by an Arab in loose white robe and scarlet turban; now by a woman with her face half-concealed beneath her yasmak, and now by one scarce clothed at all; by jaunty Greeks in theatrical costume, and cunning Jews with keen, searching eyes; by tempting flower-girls, and by shriveled old crones who importune for alms; by Franks, Turks, and Levantines; by loaded donkeys and lazy, mournful-looking camels—a motley group. The water-carrier, with his goatskin filled and swung across his back, divides the way with the itinerant cook and his portable kitchen. In short, it is the ideal city of the Arabian Nights. The Esbekyeh is the Broadway of Cairo, and its contrast to the mass of narrow lanes and passages where the native bazars are located, as well as the dingy houses of the populace, only adds to its brilliancy.
Like Paris, it is a city of cafés. During the evening and far into the night, crowds of individuals of every nationality are seen seated in groups before them in the open air, drinking every sort of known liquid, but coffee taking precedence of all others. In picturesqueness of costume, the Turk leads the world. There is none of the buttoned-up aspect of Europeans about him. His graceful turban and flowing robes are worthy of the classic antique, while the rich contrast of colors which he always wears adds finish to the general effect. As he sits cross-legged before his open bazar, smoking his long pipe, he looks very wise, learned, and sedate, though in point of fact, as has been shrewdly said, there are doubtless more brains under the straw hat of a Yankee peddler than under three average turbans. The dark, narrow lanes and endless zigzag alleys had an indescribable interest, with their accumulated dirt of neglect and dust of a land where rain is so seldom known. One looks up in passing at those overhanging balconies, imagining the fate of the harem-secluded women behind them, occasionally catching stolen glances from curious eyes peering between the lattices. What a life is theirs! Education is unknown among the Egyptian women. They have no mental resort. Life, intellectually, is to them a blank. There was a mingled atmospheric flavor impregnating everything with an incense-like odor, thoroughly Oriental. One half expected to meet Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, as we still look for Antonio and the Jew on the Rialto at Venice. The whole city, with myriads of drawbacks, was yet very sunny, very interesting, very attractive. The dreams of childhood, with those veracious Arabian stories and pictures, were constantly before the mind's eye, in all their extravagant absurdities, stimulating the imagination to leap from fancy to fancy as it achieved grotesque impossibilities, and peopled the present scene as in the days of Haroun Alraschid.
Camels and donkeys were in endless numbers; the latter, small creatures carrying enormous loads, and often having big, lazy men on their backs,—so immeasurably disproportioned to the animals as to seem liable to break their tiny limbs like pipe stems. Of course the fable, wherein the old man was told it was more fitting that he should carry his ass than that his ass should carry him, occurred to us. Scores of Egyptian porters, bent half double, carried on their backs loads that would stagger a brewer's horse. Women who rode their ponies and donkeys astride, man-fashion, were yet very careful to cover their faces from view, their eyes gleaming out of peep-holes like those of a cat in the dark. Others, again, jostled you in the street with little naked children straddling one shoulder, and holding on by both hands to the mother's head. People riding upon donkeys—used in place of cabs here—require a boy to follow behind them with a stick to belabor the poor creatures; otherwise, being so trained, they will not move a step forward. Those who drive through the streets in carriages have a runner to precede them, gorgeously dressed, and carrying a long white wand in his hand, who is constantly crying to clear the way. These runners go as fast as a horse ordinarily trots, and seem never to tire. The common people lie down on the sidewalk, beside the road, in nooks and corners, anywhere in the open air, to sleep off their fatigue like a dog. Speaking of dogs: here, as in Constantinople, their name is legion, and they appear to have no special masters, shrinking away into holes or behind bales of goods during the day, and coming forth by night to seek for food from the débris of the streets, like jackals in India or crows in Ceylon. Every public square has its fountain, and there are two hundred in Cairo, where the domestic portion of the households come to obtain water. The young girls carry water gracefully poised in jars upon their heads, displaying forms and gait of faultless beauty. Some of these girls scrupulously screen their faces from the public eye; others roguishly remove the yasmak when a European smiles at them, and tinkle their silver bracelets as full of roguery as a Viennese.
What a motley aspect these Cairo bazars present! This old Turk, with flowing caftan and white turban, from his dingy quarters dispenses delicious odors, curious pastes and essences, with kohl for the eyes and henna for the fingers. Another has piles of sandal-wood fans, beads, and cheap jewelry of silver and gilt; now we come upon a low platform spread with Syrian crapes of all colors, hues, and patterns, to satisfy the gaudy taste of the slaves of the harem and the negresses of the Soudan; here are sweetmeats, dates stuffed with almonds and honey and sugar, combined in a tempting mixture, with added coloring matter; again we have pipes of all shapes and sizes, with delicate stems of nicely wrought amber, and stores of trinkets from Stamboul; here are red and yellow slippers of kid and satin, some elaborately wrought in silver and gilt, and all turned up at the toes. The narrow way is crowded with white and red turbans, women with fruit in baskets upon their heads, strong and wiry Bedouins leading their horses and taking count of everything with their sharp black eyes. They are the veritable sons of the desert. Nile boatmen, Abyssinian slaves, and lazy Egyptians, with Greeks, Italians, and Maltese, make up the jostling crowd of the bazars; and amid all this one feels inquisitive as to where Aladdin's uncle may be just now, with his new lamps to exchange for old ones.
Your local guide will suggest a short excursion to the Island of Roda, and it is best to go there: if you do not, some one will tell you that it was a great omission; that you will never know what you have missed, and so forth! It is reached by a ferry-boat at a fee of a few pennies. Here the gardener points out the identical spot where Moses was rescued by the king's daughter! Here is to be seen the Nilometer, a square well connected with the Nile, having in its centre an octagonal column on which is inscribed Arabian measures. The flora of the island was interesting, showing a large array of palms, oranges, lemons, bananas, date, and fig-trees. Here also was pointed out to us the henna plant, which we had not before seen, and from whence comes the dye with which the Eastern women tint their fingers, nails, and the palms of their hands. The plant is seen here in the form of a well-trimmed dwarf bush, but it grows more like a tree in its natural state.