The “Harraat,” or walking-auction, forms a most amusing scene, and in order to view it to the best advantage, Hassan got me a seat on the divan of one of his acquaintance in the Bazaar. The goods to be disposed of, are held at arm’s length above the head, and as soon as the owner has obtained a reasonable offer, he rushes up and down the Bazaar shouting “harraat, harraat!” getting every now and then a fresh bid until he finds no one is inclined to advance, when he is compelled to let his wares go to the last bidder. In this manner I saw silver-mounted pistols sold for fifteen shillings the pair; Arab scymitars, jackets and waistcoats embroidered with lace, scarfs, ink-stands, and red caps, and some amber mouth-pieces; of these some would fetch their full value, whilst others would go for a mere song: and on the whole I would rather purchase in the “harraat,” than run the risk of a lengthy bargain at a shop.
In the evening, Furner insisted on my taking another lesson in donkey-riding, so selecting two of the best looking from the stand close to our office door, we cantered through the square towards Cleopatra’s Needle, which forms a prominent object on the sea-shore, just outside the town. On our way, we passed through a dirty Arab village, where we were besieged by a crowd of urchins who begged of and then threw stones at us. We were compelled to gallop away as fast as our donkeys would go, to get out of the reach of the heavy missiles with which they occasionally obliged us, though had their numbers been less formidable, it is probable we should have stood our ground and shewed fight. For this sort of reception we were indebted to our Frank costume; for I found a few weeks afterwards, when I had adopted the dress of the country, that I could pass the same spot, and others equally notorious, unmolested.
From the Needles, we made a long round to Pompey’s Pillar and the Baths of Cleopatra. There is a good view from the base of the former over the Mahmoudieh Canal, which fertilizes in its course a narrow strip of country, and studded as it mostly is with numerous sails, forms a curious feature in the landscape. The pillar stands out in solitary grandeur from a vast plain of ruins and tombs, the site of ancient Alexandria. Hard by is a little building bearing some resemblance to a temple; this is a refuge for hard-pressed debtors, a strong-hold against all pursuit, and so long as they remain under its friendly shelter, neither law nor remorseless creditor has power to lay hands upon them. Our road to what are said to be the Baths of Cleopatra, lay through a bustling and most dirty street of low Arab dwellings, to a kind of quay or shipping place for corn, near to which is a group of quaint looking wind-mills with six or eight sails each, the whole in full motion, spinning round with a rushing noise that sorely alarmed our poor donkeys, although it served to prove to us that there was at least no lack of corn in Egypt. A dusty gallop of another mile then brought us to the shore, where we tethered our beasts, and proceeded to examine the spot where it is alleged that the “Queen of Beauty” used to perform her ablutions. The Baths consist of three or four rocky caves open to the sea, where sheltered from the scorching rays of the sun, the water acquires an enticing temperature, and ripples in and out at a depth of several feet. Close by the Baths, in a sandy cliff, are some excavations of prodigious size, which an old Arab informed us were Catacombs, but as they contain no bones or relics of mortality, and do not even boast of a stray skull or two, he found us somewhat sceptical; the old man conducted us through the outermost apartments, but having no candles, and the evening closing in, we could see but little of their dimensions, so pitching him a few paras we hastened homewards.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “To the left; to the right; mind your legs!”
[2] Since leaving Egypt, I have learnt that the whole concern has passed into other and more powerful hands, who, by the employment of considerable capital, have succeeded in facilitating the passage of travellers across the Isthmus.
CHAPTER V.
THE CAFE—ARAB MUSIC—ARTFUL EXPEDIENT—THE GHAWAZEE AND KOWAL—CHANGE OF COSTUME—THE LADY FROM BEYROUT—ODD PROCESSION—SHOWERS OF ROSE WATER—ARRIVAL OF THE “TAGUS”—THE OVERLAND MAIL—DEPARTURE OF THE INDIA-BOUND PASSENGERS—THE MAHMOUDIEH—ATFEH.
Alexandria offers to the English stranger very little in the shape of amusement; at six, when the offices and shops are closed, the square becomes the public promenade, serving in fact as the “change,” where business-matters and the news of the day are discussed. A gloomy stillness, however, seems to reign everywhere, for the rumble of wheels is seldom heard save when the Pasha returns from his evening drive, or when the carriages belonging to the rival hotels are brought out of the dusty remises, on the arrival of some steamer. There is but one solitary Cafè in the town, and that by no means an excellent one. It possesses nevertheless a sort of casino or subscription-room, where for twelve dollars a year, one may see the principal papers of France and Italy, and get a chance rubber of billiards with some passing traveller. This Cafè occupies one corner of the English Okella, and at the opposite angle is a theatre, where occasionally some Italian corps, paid for by subscription, are wont to enliven the Alexandrian beau-monde, by the production of some badly sustained opera, or a few of Goldoni’s comedies; the orchestra, on such occasions, being composed of amateurs, with, maybe, a first fiddle of renown from La Scala or the Fenice. In respect of music, the Arabs are still in the dark ages, and the performance of Mehemet Ali’s native band, is a grievous infliction upon the listener, as Furner and myself can testify. A kind old Arab, who had invited us one day to dinner, had prepared an agreeable surprise for us, by borrowing the five royal musicians from the “Nile” steam-frigate, and for three mortal hours or more, we were compelled to listen to and admire the same air (!) from a combination of three drums, two whistles, and a nondescript sort of guitar. It is probable that the whole night would have been devoted to harmony, had not Furner hit upon the fortunate expedient of gradually inebriating the whole five with repeated doses of strong brandy and water, which proved a novel and most enticing beverage. The drums are easily described, being neither more nor less than diminutive grape jars with the bottom knocked out, and a bladder strained over the mouth; these vary in size and consequently in tone, and are played on by the fingers’ ends.
