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

by Thomas Wallace Knox

The sides of the cage were of lattice-work, and not unlike the lathed walls of a room before the plaster is laid on. We could see forms moving within, but could not make out whether they were men, women, or beasts. The instrumental music ceased what was evidently an overture, as it soon struck up again, and this time there was an accompaniment of voices from the interior of the cage. Now the mystery was explained.

In the Orient it is not considered proper for women to speak in public on the stage, or even to sing there. They have no Nilssons or Pattis there, and neither have they a Miss Anthony or Mrs. Stanton. The Orient does not trouble itself about women’s rights; in fact there are very few women’s rights there of any sort, and as for the men’s rights, they are scarce enough. This cage that we saw was a Steinway Hall or Academy of Music, and the women that sang there were inside, where the eyes of men could not reach them. They could peer through the openings and see the crowd, but the crowd couldn’t peer through the openings to see them. The guards were very watchful, and kept the masculine eyes from approaching too near the sacred enclosure. We couldn’t throw bouquets or kiss our hands to the fair singers, and there was no obliging usher who would undertake to convey a note to the prima donna, begging the honor of an introduction. I don’t think much of the Oriental opera. The music had no charms to soothe my Occidental breast, and even had such been the case, it would have lost much by the concealment of the singers. Think of going to a concert in New York or London, where the performers are hid behind a grating or obliged to sing through a curtain impervious to vision! Give me the opera of the Occident, where you can see the singers.

In all parts of the field the people were collected in crowds, particularly around the tents, which seemed to be the centres of attraction.

I may as well say something about all the tents, and what they were there for. They were supposed to be tents of repose and refreshment, and each person who visited the field of the festivities was supposed to be the guest of the Khedive. Readers of the Arabian Nights will remember that the rulers whose careers are there recorded, were constantly giving entertainments to the people, just as the Roman emperors did in their day, and just as some of the rulers in Europe are accustomed to do at the present time. Many of the customs of the time of the Arabian Nights are continued in Mohammedan countries at the present day, but the fêtés are less magnificent than of old, for the reason that money is less abundant.

Everything was free in the show I am describing; lamps, music, fireworks, acrobats, dancing horses, and tents, were paid for out of the Khedive’s purse, and it was emphatically his blowout.

The tents were a part of the entertainment; that on the extreme left of the field was of silk, and had rich divans and carpets in the interior, and the one next to it was nearly but not quite as magnificent in material and decorations. As we moved towards the right we found the tents steadily diminishing in luxury; the last of the lot was fitted with common chairs and uncushioned divans, and had the earth for a carpet. A placard or sign in front of the entrance indicated the use of each tent and the persons to whom it was appropriated.

Beginning on the left, the tents were appropriated as follows: First, the Khedive and his sons; second, the corps diplomatique; third, judges and law officials. Then there was a tent each to the ministers of war, navy, foreign affairs, finance, etc. Then there was a tent for each of the following departments and classes: Military and naval officers; court and staff officers; engineer’s staff; custom-house officials; higher courts; clergy—Mohammedan clergy, Arab and Coptic clergy, Christian clergy; city officials; police officials; school officials; railway officials; merchants of higher class; builders and architects; medical men; merchants of Cairo; merchants of Alexandria; merchants of other parts of Egypt; officials of small towns; gentlemen of upper Egypt; gentlemen of lower Egypt; and last, the public in general, to whom four tents were assigned.

Each tent had several attendants, one of whom—the chief—was supposed to represent the Khedive, and to entertain visitors in his name. We thoughtlessly endeavored to enter the first tent, where the Khedive’s sons had just arrived with a numerous following of staff officers, but the guards kept us back. The two youths were sipping coffee and chatting with those around them; the elder, the heir to the throne, has a pleasing face, and appeared quite vivacious, but the second was a trifle too fat and stout to have any very expressive lines about his features. A few evenings later I had an introduction to both of them, followed by a chat of a quarter of an hour, principally with the elder. He speaks French fluently, and has an easy, polished manner quite unlike the traditional gravity of the Oriental. His dress is entirely European, with the exception of the fez, and his general appearance reminds one more of Europe than of the drowsy East. Great care has been bestowed on his education, and when he comes to the throne he will not be unaware of his duties and responsibilities.

Several officers of the diplomatic corps were in the tent appropriated to them, and were sipping coffee and smoking cigars and cigarettes in an easy, unconcerned way. A few screens had been set up at one side of the tent to form an extempore theatre, where half a dozen actors were giving a Turkish comedy. I say actors for the reason that though two women were in the piece, their characters were sustained by men so well disguised in dress, voice, and manner, that their sex would not be suspected.

The diplomats paid very little attention to the play, and the most appreciative part of the audience was that which stood outside the ropes and could not get in. We endeavored to gain admission to tent after tent, but were politely but firmly kept back until we reached the one appropriated to the engineer staff, where the representative of the Khedive spoke to us in French and invited us to walk in. An attendant was ordered to bring us coffee and another to bring us cigars or cigarettes at our choice, and we were shown to seats on the divans. We crossed our legs in Oriental style, and thus made a favorable impression that secured us a second cup of coffee before we left.