The Story Teller of the Desert—"Backsheesh!" / or, Life and Adventures in the Orient

by Thomas Wallace Knox

As for Mr. Taylor—well, I may be revealing a secret and it may breed a quarrel between us, but candor again compels me to speak out. His hat wasn’t his hat but another gentleman’s, borrowed for the occasion, or if it wasn’t it might have been. I never saw him wear it before, and it was much better than mine, which was only fit to be seen when out of sight. Mr. Taylor ought to have been proud of that hat when he compared it with the one I carried, but if he was, he was too polite to hurt my feelings, and didn’t manifest any haughtiness.

Accompanied by Mr. Beardsley, we drove to the Abdeen Palace, where the Khedive resides with his family,—a neat and substantial looking edifice, in the western part of Cairo. As we entered the courtyard and drove to the door, the sentinels on duty presented arms, and we were met at the doorway by Murad Pasha, the Master of Ceremonies, who greeted us cordially and escorted us to the waiting room on the ground floor.

Here we spent some fifteen minutes,—as we were ahead of time—in conversation with the Master of Ceremonies and with Ibrahim Pasha, nephew of the Khedive. The secretary and assistant secretary of the Khedive were present, and we were introduced to both. The time passed away rapidly, as all were fluent in French and the conversation was not confined to particular topics.

Promptly at half-past ten we were ushered up one side of a double staircase, that turned and formed a single broad escalier, a dozen steps or so below the audience floor. Murad Pasha accompanied us to the foot of the broad stairway, and thence we—the Consul-General and ourselves—proceeded alone. As I raised my eyes I saw the Khedive standing carelessly at the further side of the room; when he caught site of our advancing column he stepped forward to meet us. He first greeted Mr. Beardsley, who followed the greeting by introducing Mr. Taylor with a few carefully chosen and appropriate words concerning him. Then came my turn, and while the Consul-General was making the introduction, the Khedive shook hands with us and welcomed us to his house. He then led the way to the audience room, a smaller parlor, overlooking the court yard.

The reception hall, where he met us, was furnished in the French style, with large mirrors and Parisian furniture; the audience parlor, whither we followed him, was similarly adorned in European style, with chairs and sofas covered with snow-white linen, and with a marble table in the centre. The walls were covered with blue paper, figured with small flowers of a grayish tint, and the curtains and fixtures were in harmony with the walls. A tasteful chandelier above the table was filled with candles, ready for lighting, and on the table was a box of cigars, which, doubtless, were equally ready for lighting.

If we had gone there expecting to find the ruler of Egypt wearing baggy trowsers and a turban and smoking a nargileh, we should have been greatly disappointed. His dress is entirely European, with the single exception of the fez, or tarboosh, which covers his head. His coat and trowsers were of English cut; the former was double-breasted, with silk trimmings on the lappels, and he wore it buttoned after the style of a morning or walking coat in London or New York.

His shirt-front was almost entirely concealed by a black cravat or necktie, fastened at the crossing with a single pin of what appeared to be a ruby; beyond this pin he wore no jewelry whatever. His spotless white collar was turned down, and from the neatness of its fit and the careful polish it presented, I judge that he has a better laundress than I was able to find in Cairo. I was on the point of asking him to recommend me to her, but forebore, on the supposition that he might prefer to keep such a good washwoman to himself.

The figure of the Khedive is not of the lean and hungry kind; he appears to be about five feet nine in height, and is decidedly inclined to stoutness, without being ill-proportioned.

Physically, he appears to have lived well, without any overfeeding. His face is full and broad, and he wears a closely-trimmed beard and moustache of a brownish hue. When in repose, his face is quite thoughtful, but as soon as he begins to talk it lightens up, and there is a constant play of animation over all his features. His brown eyes sparkle, and he accompanies his facial expression with frequent gestures of his hands, quite in contrast to the solemn and stately manner which we associate with Oriental rulers.

The Khedive took a seat in the corner of the room, and motioned us to places near him, one on his right and two on his left, so that he could address all three without any necessity for a change of position beyond a very slight turning of the head. He began the conversation by asking Mr. Taylor if this was his first visit to Egypt. The latter replied that he was there twenty years ago and made a journey to the White Nile.