The life, letters and work of Frederic Leighton. Volume II

by Mrs. Russell Barrington

Weather divine: the Nile like an opal mirror, reflecting without a break the faint, sleeping, sultry hills on the horizon: a lovely, drowsy scene. Arrived shortly after three at the village at which one lands for Keneh; a very cheery town about a mile inland. It is generally separated from the landing place on the river during the floods by a vast sheet of water; this year, however, owing to the calamitous lowness of the Nile, a narrow, shallow strip of water, only, intercepts the road, and a large tract of country remains untilled and unfruitful from the want of the quickening flood. Keneh is a very pretty sample of an Egyptian town; it is animated and full of colour, has some pretty minarets, some charming gardens, and more than the usual allowance of ornamental doorways: the effect of the mosaic of black and white bricks is most satisfactory, and has the charm which always accompanies a considerable result produced by very sober and simple means. Great relief is frequently obtained by a band or frieze of carved wood, running across the decorated surface at the springing of the arch; this band is generally carved in circles enclosing patterns and picked out with green and red. In the jambs of the door of one of the mosques, a very beautiful effect was produced by alternate bands of brickwork and minutely carved wood, not coloured (three courses of brick to one band of wood).

Visited a pottery, and for the first time in my life saw a pattern-wheel and the artist at work—a most fascinating sight: the bottles and jugs flow into the most graceful forms as if by magic, and look incomparably prettier than when they are baked. I could hardly get away. A little boy scratches a pattern on them as they leave the wheel.

The Consul's white donkey, on which I ride about here, is as fleet as the wind and as oily in his movements as a two-oared gondola.

À propos of consuls, Mustafa at Thebes showed me his travellers' book—in it I saw an entry of the names of Speke and Grant, with the numbers of their regiments, and the dates of their departure from Zanzibar and their arrival at Khartoum and Thebes. A simple conventional travellers' entry, as if they had returned from an ordinary journey—nothing to hint at the great achievement which brought them such honour and lasting fame.

Sunday, 15th.—Made a sketch, a little after sunrise, of the chain of hills on the west bank of the Nile, then crossed the river to see the ruins of Denderah. Horses were waiting on the other side, and would have been most enjoyable if the weather had been cool; but, under a fierce sun, absolutely incessant prancing and waltzing ("he make 'fantasia,'" quoth Hosseyn) was fatiguing after a bit. Was so much struck with the beauties of the mountains, as seen from the left bank, that I resolved to stay a couple of days to paint them. The temple is extremely fine, and in parts unusually well preserved—the sculpture, that is, for the colour is almost entirely lost. These sculptures, being of a late period (Roman), are clumsy enough; on the other hand the general scheme of decoration is more artistic, more varied in distribution and rhythm than in most of the temples. On the external wall I remarked here, as at Edfou and at Medinet Haboo, massive and very handsome gargoyles—half a lion, couchant, on a large bracket, the water flowing from a spout between the paws—a more important feature in the architectural aspect of the wall than in northern countries, and calculated for five months' rain rather than for five minutes', which is the average annual fall here, I believe. This temple boasts a portrait of Cleopatra on a large scale, but, like those of Armout and Karnak, it is absolutely conventional, and any pretence of detecting an individuality is mere humbug. One fancies at first one has discovered some peculiarity in the features, but on a candid examination one must own that the same peculiarities occur in other faces on the same wall, or that they are owing to the mutilation to which two-thirds of the figures in all Egyptian temples has been assiduously subjected. In a lateral chamber of the temple, on the ceiling, is a most striking mystical design, representing the firmament and the sun fecundating the land of Egypt. It is fantastic and poetic in the extreme; it would delight Rossetti. In the evening made another sketch, and then rode to Keneh to dine with the Consul—a most interesting glimpse into a real old-fashioned Muslim interior. Si Syed Achmet (forty-five years British Agent in this town and at Khossayr) is a very wealthy old gentleman with large property in this part of the world. He is of the blood of the Prophet, a good and pious Muslim, tolerant and full of kindliness. A son, three nephews and a daughter form his immediate family circle, living with him in the house to which I was bidden—a bald, uninteresting place enough. It is entered from a narrow, irregular triangular court, ornamented on one side with some good brick and wood work, but ugly and plain on the others, and disfigured by something between a ladder and a staircase which leads to the clean but singularly naked room in which we were to spend the evening. This room was whitewashed, but so roughly bedaubed that the plain deal cupboards, the doors of which formed the only embellishment (?) of the walls, were all besmeared with ragged edges of white. Three windows, innocent of glass, and protected by a close, plain trellis-work of ordinary white wood, lighted the room, which boasted in the way of furniture the usual ugly divans, three red muslin curtains, a small deal table, two lanterns and two candles in candlesticks. Shortly after my arrival and most kindly reception by the old gentleman, who had come up from the country expressly ad hoc, dinner was served. The son, as the eldest, sat at table; the nephews waited on us; we squatted, I on a cushion, they on the floor, round a very low table on which was a large, round, brass tray, containing four plates, some wooden spoons, and a great many small loaves of bread arranged round it in a circle; a soup tureen, into which, after washing of hands, everybody plunged his spoon, was the central feature. After the soup, came in rapid succession several dishes containing savoury messes which were really very good, though perhaps too rich, but which I was entirely unable to enjoy in the sight of a number of hands, shining with gravy, mopping in succession at the dishes with crusts of bread, or fetching out a coveted morsel with fingers too recently licked. It is a delicate and hospitable attention to put a bit with your own hand on to your guest's plate—an attention of which I was the frequent but unworthy recipient. After the made dishes had been done justice to, half a sheep—head and all—was put on the table and clawed asunder by Hosseyn. The roast being disposed of, the sweets appeared, and were eaten out of the common dish with spoons, like the soup: I was not sorry when it was over, for I had gone through all the sensations of a sea voyage. I observe that Arabs make a point of eating with as much noise and smacking of lips as possible; it is as if they were endeavouring to convey a sort of oblique expression of thanks to Providence by manifesting their relish of the blessings vouchsafed. When dinner was over, and a by no means superfluous washing of hands had been gone through, we had pipes and coffee. Hosseyn having gone to dine, I was now thrown on my own extremely limited stock of Arabic for conversation; and as I had about exhausted that during my ride to Keneh with one of the nephews, I was hard put to it. However, I just managed to get through a few broken sentences, to the great satisfaction of Achmet, who informed me that he had been for forty years the servant of the English, of whom he thought very highly, chiefly because, as he expressed it, they have "one word"—a satisfactory character to leave behind. In the evening the governor (Mudir) came to see me with a tail of employés and, if you please, a pocket-handkerchief, of which he was not a little conscious, holding it in his hand rolled into a neat tube, which he occasionally drew with dignity across the basis of the official nose. The Consul for France and Prussia also came and made his salaam. My borrowed and temporary plumes have been of real use to somebody here, for the Mudir, hearing that an Englishman (whom he erroneously supposed to be somebody) was on board a viceroy's steamer, immediately gave the crew two months' pay—an alacrity not sufficiently often displayed in this country, if I am not much misinformed. The dancing-girls who came to entertain us in the evening were no doubt better than those of Lougsor, though, with one exception, at least as ugly; but some of them were gorgeously attired (from the dancing-dog point of view), and all were a mass of gold necklaces and coins and glittering headgear, which produced at a certain distance and in the doubtful light a prodigiously fine effect of colour. The dancing was a little more varied than that of the Lougsor women, chiefly, no doubt, because they got more to drink; but, en somme, I am confirmed in my first impression that it is an eminently ugly performance, though a very remarkable gymnastic feat. Of course a graceful and good-looking girl may do a good deal to redeem it by personal charm, and this was in some degree the case with Zehneb, who is a noted dancer and the fine fleur of the profession. She is pretty though coarse in feature, and not without grace; but has a semi-European smack about her dress and ways that spoils her in my eyes—hers, by-the-bye, are splendid. Just as the "fantasia" was at its height, a ragged, dust-soiled, old beggar came, chattering and grinning, into the room, and at once installed himself, uninvited but unhindered, on the divan, from which comfortable post he proceeded to witness the performance and apparently thoroughly to enjoy his evening. The contrast between his beggar's garb and the scrupulously cleanly attire of his neighbours was very curious. He is a fakeer, as I am told; everybody feeds him, no doors are closed to him; he is not, I believe, exactly an idiot, but is certainly in his second childhood—"rimbambito," as the Italians say. On one side of him squatted a sweet little brown girl, Achmet's daughter, of about five or six, in a pink cotton shift and with anklets hanging about her little naked feet. On the other side, a little further off, was an umber-coloured dancing-girl, with bright bold eyes painted round with black, covered with a mass of gold coins on her head, in her hair, on her ears, and round her neck, and wearing a blue silk dress all bespangled with gold. He looked like a dust-heap between them. It was a queer picture, taken out of the "Thousand and One Nights"; from which work also, I presume, the numerous one-eyed people that I see everywhere in Egypt, are copied. (I prefer this view to that of unimaginative pedants who, attaching undue importance to facts, inform me that this blindness is self-inflicted, to avoid conscription.) My ride home was a fitting close to such an evening; a fantastic procession we made, headed by a handful of torch and lantern bearers, brandishing enormous staves; after which "Meine Wenigkeit" on a sumptuously caparisoned steed, the consul's nephew, the captain, Hosseyn, a cawass, all of them on horses, others on donkeys, and odd men bustling about amongst us and dispersing the few stragglers that were to be found at that late hour in the streets. The fitful flare of the torches, dressing in fugitive, fantastic lights the gateways and dim walls of the slumbering town, had a very fine effect. More curious still was our ride through a quarter of a mile of dourah that stood at least ten or twelve feet high all round us; the train of light and shower of sparks in the tall graceful corn was of a surprising aspect. Except that nothing took fire, it was as if Samson's foxes had been let loose in front of us.

Monday, 16th.—Sketched. In the evening, yielding, I own, with some reluctance, to a pressing invitation, returned to Keneh to dine with Si Achmet. Had, except the roast, exactly the same dinner as on the previous day, which leads me to conjecture that the répertoire of Arab cookery is limited. After dinner we rode out to see the moolid, which is just beginning here. It is the great moolid of Central Egypt, and to it, but only towards the end, flock people from all parts of the country till the concourse is enormous. It must be an interesting sight when in full swing, but as yet there is little or nothing worth seeing except the tomb of the sheykh in whose honour the moolid is held (Sheykh Abd-er-Rahim, the "Genani") to which I was taken by my host. The building was like most others of the same class in Egypt: a square chamber with a dome, and windows through which the coffin, placed conspicuously in the centre, can be seen by the pious crowds outside. On entering, I was conducted, after taking off my boots, to a post of honour, on the ground of course, in the midst of a grave circle of worthies who were squatting in the ruelle between one side of the coffin and the wall. On my right was one of the civic functionaries, on my left the priest attached to the tomb. The spectacle before me was wonderful both in colour and form, though composed in great part of the simplest elements. It was like the finest Delacroix in aspect and tone, but with a gravity and stateliness of form very foreign to that brilliant but epileptic genius. To the left of me, covered with a showy embroidered cloth, stood behind a railing the sarcophagus of the saint, illuminated from above by various lanterns hung from the ceiling (the central one, and the handsomest, the gift of Lady Duff Gordon) and from the corners by gigantic candles, standing in candlesticks of proportionate dimensions; at the same corners stood great banners of sober but rich tone, which added much to the general colour. On each side of the carpet at the head of which I squatted, squatted, in far more picturesque attire, some of the notables of Keneh, half hidden in the shadow, their large turbans cast on the rich carpet they sat on. At the further end stood and stared, with the solemnity of a chorus in an opera, a motley, dazzling group of lesser folk; magnificent, too, in the flow of their draperies, the grace of the half untwisted turbans wreathed round their necks or hanging from their shoulders, the stateliness of their forms, and the fiery glow of colour in which they burnt under the clustered lanterns. Unfortunately, I could not gaze with attention as undivided as I could have wished, because the gentleman on my right insisted on making conversation, the very meagrest form of which exercise absorbed for the time my powers of attention. Hosseyn, who is very pious, bled me of an enormous baksheesh for the shrine of the saint.

Tuesday, 17th.—Completed my sketches in the morning. In the evening, Si Achmet, his son, and three nephews, one of whom I neither knew nor had invited (this is entirely Arabic—I might, also, have taken any one with me to dine with them) came to dine on board. It was a very droll ceremony—the Arabs had, with one exception, probably never sat at a table on a chair before, but they were so entirely simple as not to be (also, by-the-bye, with one exception) at all ridiculous. Ottilio had, perhaps with a little malice, arranged the napkins in a most artistic and intricate fashion; these edifices so impressed my friends that they did not sit down opposite to their plates but on one side of them. I set them at once comparatively at their ease by requesting them, through Hosseyn, to consider themselves at home and eat with their fingers, forgiving me if I followed the custom of my country; the proposal was received with great satisfaction by the old gentleman and his son, who fell to in their own way, the father muttering his appreciation of the dishes in low, sonorous ejaculations: "Allah!"—"Mash Allah!"—"Ou Allah!"—"Ameer! Ameer!" &c. &c. &c. The son, a man of about forty, with a broken nose and a very strong squint, and whose movements carried a general impression of contemplative dreaminess, always verging on surprise, ate with his usual deliberation and spent his odd moments in contemplating a shining bunch of fingers, which he periodically and slowly licked with the utmost impartiality; he did not mix in the conversation. Of the three cousins on my left, two made a very fair attempt at using the knife and fork, though it must have been a virgin effort; the third, who had been a great deal with English people when he was consul at Khossayr, ate his dinner and put down his wine like the best European; I suspect, in fact, that he was brought as a show man. Achmet, in a climax of gratification, exclaimed towards the end of dinner, "By Allah! if the Ameer comes to my house another year, he shall be served after the Frankish custom." Arabs appear to be much devoted to limonade gazeuse—without being the forbidden fruit of wine itself, it dwells in bottles, and has a sort of air of crime about it which no doubt pleases them; my left-hand neighbour took off at least two bottles during dinner.

Hosseyn, whose father was a great friend of Si Achmet, proved invaluable; he hopped about like a delighted child, filling the glasses, cutting the meat of the two digitarians, and generally making conversation—a great relief to me. In the evening one of the nephews asked for some tea to take home, which I gave him; another pocketed all the tobacco that was brought them to make cigarettes. Arabs are hospitable and generous, and I like them much, but they are indiscreet in the extreme. "Arabs," says Hosseyn, "have no face; they never take shame." I have seen instances of this which I won't put down; one only, for it is very droll: my squinting friend with the pensive look asked Lady Ely last year if she would just procure for him from the Queen a title, or an order, as a mark of her regard. I am the bearer of a letter to her from him now, which I have no doubt is a reminder. Slew a sheep again.

Wednesday, 18th.—Left Keneh early, and with regret; the place, the people and the scenery have left many pleasing pictures in my memory. I little expected at starting the annoyance that awaited me! As we approached the spot where Sheykh Selim receives his devout visitors, I sent word to the captain that I did not wish to lose any time in landing, but that the bag of money which had been collected for the saint was to be delivered, and we were to go on. I had scarcely uttered this almost sacrilegious order, when the steamer, which had been judiciously steered within ten yards of a flat, shelving bank, ran hard and fast into the mud, with the apparent intention of sticking there permanently, the engine being utterly powerless to get her out. Nobody on board doubted for an instant but that Sheykh Selim had stopped us in his resentment; the captain instantly dispatched sailors with money to propitiate him, and after a few futile attempts on the part of five or six of the crew (to loud cries of "Help us, O Prophet! help us, O Sheykh Selim!") to heave out a vessel that was four or five feet in the mud, jumped himself into a boat, and hurried, of course accompanied by Hosseyn, and leaving his vessel to take care of herself, to beseech the sheykh to get us off. Their conversation was afterwards reported to me by one who was present. "What is this, O Sheykh, that thou hast done to us? in what have we been wanting towards thee? did I not give thee a shirt when we last came by? and the tobacco, was it not good? was the roast meat not sufficient? why are we thus punished?"—to whom the sheykh: "Don't be a fool! why do you come to me about your boat? am I a sailor? how do you expect me to get her off—or on? Allah got her on the sand, not I, who am a man like yourselves." The captain: "Allah is indeed great, but if he ran us aground it was on thy instigation—thou knowest it, O Sheykh!" &c. &c. In this strain the conversation lasted at least twenty minutes, during which time and for the rest of the day I was literally sick with disgust and anger at the lot of them. Everything that ought not to be done under the circumstances, including losing the anchor (which is still at the bottom of the river), was done before evening; everything that should have been done was left undone.

Next morning (Thursday, 19th) we obtained (by force, after the fashion of this country) through the governor of the neighbouring town a gang of two hundred Arabs, magnificent fellows some of them, who, at last, by heaving and tugging, contrived to get her off—not without the most unearthly charivari I ever heard. In the morning I made a sketch; reached Bellianeh in the evening, appeased, at last, and rather amused at the abject condition of the captain, to whom I had conveyed my mind (he had never seen me angry before), and who swore that in future one hundred sheykhs should not take him out of his course. My misadventure will benefit my successors in the good ship Sheberkheyt—à quelque chose malheur est bon.