Passages of Eastern Travel

by an American

Our engagements in Cairo made it impossible for us to remain in Alexandria as long as we could have desired. To the traveler who wishes to see only the external appearance of things, or to look only at the ground which overlies old cities or on which they once stood, one or two days will suffice as well as a month or a year to see the city of the Ptolemies. But not so with us. We caught ourselves often standing for an hour before a modern Arab, or rather Egyptian, house, in the wall of which was worked a piece of old marble, whose exquisite carving and polish proved it to he without doubt a part of the old city: possibly from the pediment of a temple; possibly from the boudoir of a lady; possibly from the throne-chamber of a king. Conjecture – or, if you prefer the phrase, imagination – was never idle as we passed along the streets of the modern city, or over the mounds that cover the ancient. It was most active in the tombs, where we found the ashes of the men of Alexandria of all periods in its eventful history, and the memorials of their lives and deaths.

There was one small earthen lamp which we found in a tomb, over which I wasted may fancy for hours in the evening and night, sitting in my room and listening to the alternate cry of the watchmen and the call of the muezzin at the hours of prayer. There was nothing peculiar about it except a monogram on the top. It was of the simplest form of ancient lamps, with a hole for the oil and a smaller one for the wick; but there was on the surface a cross, on one arm of which was a semicircle rudely forming the Greek character Rho, the cross and the letter together signifying the X_p_, the familiar abbreviation of the name of our Lord. I know not how many centuries that peaceful slumberer in His promises had remained undisturbed; but when I saw that we had broken the rest of one who slept in hope of the resurrection, that we had rudely scattered on the winds of the sea the ashes of one over whom in the long gone years had been read the sublime words, “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” perhaps by Cyril the great Bishop, perhaps by Mark himself – when I saw those crumbling bones under my feet, and thought in what strong faith that right arm had been lifted to heaven in the boor of extremity, I felt that it was sacrilege to have opened his tomb and disturbed his rest. True, the Arabs would have reached him next year; but I would rather it had been the Arabs than I. True, He who promised can find the dust though it be scattered on the deserts of Africa. I too have a more than Roman veneration for the repose of the dead; and, though I felt no compunctions of conscience in scattering the dust of the Arabs who had themselves robbed the tombs of their predecessors to make room for themselves, yet I did not like the opening of that quiet place in which a Christian of the early days was buried.

Who was be? Again imagination was on the wing. He was one of those who had heard the voices of the Apostles; he was one of those who had seen the fierce faith of the martyrs in their agony; he was one who had himself suffered unto death for the love of his Lord and Master. Or possibly that were too wild a fancy, for such a man would hardly have a tomb like this. If so it were, they must have buried him by night, with no torch, no pomp, no light save the dim flickering light of this funereal lamp guiding their footsteps down the corridors of this vast city of the dead; and this they left beside him – sad emblem of his painful life – the light of faith, pure though faint, in the darkness that was all around him.

Men were sublime in faith in those days. It was but as yesterday to them that the footsteps of their Lord were on the mountain of Ascension, – it was but as yesterday that the voice of Paul, was heard across the sea. Perhaps those dusty fingers had grasped the hand that had often, been taken lovingly in that baud which the nail pierced. Perhaps – perhaps – I bowed my head reverently as the thought flashed across me – for I do reverence to the bones of the great dead, and though I would not worship, yet I would enshrine in gold and diamonds a relic of a saint – perhaps in some far wandering from his home this man had entered Jerusalem, and stood within the porch of the temple when He went by in all the majesty of His lowliness. You smile at the wild fancy. Why call it wild? Turn but your head from before the doorway of the sepulchre, and you see that column at the foot of which Mark taught the words of his Lord; and turn again to yonder obelisk, and read that the king who knew not Joseph, but whom Moses and Aaron knew, carved it in honor of his reign. Why, then, may not this tomb which I have opened a hundred feet below the surface of the hill, contain the dust of one who had traveled as far as the land of Judea only eighteen hundred years ago; who had seen the visible presence of Him whom prophets and kings desired to see; and who, won by the kingly countenance, the holy sweetness of that face, went homeward, bearing with him enough of memory of that face and voice to rejoice at the coming of “John whose surname was Mark,” and to listen to the teaching of the Gospel of the Messiah?

It is vain to argue with imagination in a country like this. Every thing is full of interest as suggesting thoughts of the past, and nothing is so well fixed in date and object as to forbid the free exercise of fancy. But for the terrible dogfights under my windows in the great square, I believe I should have dreamed all night over that lamp in the same fashion I have already described.

We were to leave Alexandria for Cairo by rail. A railway in Egypt is perhaps as great a curiosity as the pyramids. Constructed by European engineers, and under the efficient superintendence of a Scotch gentleman, it does not differ much from Continental or English railways. But the appearance of things about it is decidedly different. The stone station-house and buildings are west of the Mahmoud Canal, near its entrance into the sea. The roads or streets leading to it are lined with the low mud huts in which the modern Egyptians live. The lizards, which abound here, lie on the walls and tops of the houses sunning themselves, and do not move for the crowds of men, women, and children passing and repassing them. A more miserable, squalid, abject poverty than one sees here can not be imagined. The inhabitants seem more like brutes than men, and one can not have toward them any of the ordinary feelings of fellow humanity. I can not believe that the blood and dust of which God has made them is the same of which he has made me, except when I am in the tombs, those levelers of distinctions. The clothing of the modern Alexandrians is as simple and miserable as can well be imagined. Children up to ten and twelve years of age go about the streets with either one single ragged, filthy cloth wound around them, or, as frequently, entirely naked. Groups of ten or a dozen play in the sunshine here and there, without a rag of covering from head to foot: The older people are scarcely more clad. A single long blue shirt suffices for a woman. It is open in front to the waist, and reaches to the knees. A piece of the same cloth, by way of vail around the head, is the substitute for the elegant head-coverings of the wealthy classes. The upper part of the body is, of course, entirely exposed, and no one seems to think of covering the breast from sun, wind, or eyes. The face is usually hidden by the cloth held in the hand, while the entire body is exposed without the slightest attention to decency. Not unfrequently, when the woman has not the extra covering for her head, she will seize and lift her solitary garment to hide her features, thereby leaving her person uncovered, it being in her view a shame only to exhibit her face.

The men wear whatever they possess in the way of cloth. Doubtless one garment lasts a lifetime, and is ignorant of water oftener than once a year. Their costume is various. Some wear the single shirt; others a mass of dirty cloth wound around the body, neck, and head others a coarse blanket made of camel’s-hair, which they throw rather gracefully over their shoulders, leaving a cotter to come over the head. The costumes vary so much that I think I counted over thirty entirely different and distinct styles of dress in the square before my windows at one time.

But on the route to the railway we passed mostly the lowest class of houses and people. The huts of mud have no outlet or inlet but the doorway, and they are built in masses like honey-combs, hundreds in a mass, on the sand, without shade or relief from the intense glare of the sun. Not less than a thousand of the miserable inhabitants of those hovels were surrounding the railway station, though not allowed to enter its inclosures. The departure of a train had not yet become so common an event in Egypt as two years’ experience would lead one to suppose. The railway being government property, is under its direction, and trains leave only when specially ordered. There is no regular time of departure, but it usually occurs twice or three times a week, notices being posted in public places in English, Italian, and Arabic, that “a departure for Cairo will take place” on such a day.

It was somewhat strange, as may well be imagined, to see a train of cars, surrounded by a hundred guards in turbans and tarbouches, starting out of a city of mud houses, through groves of palms and bananas, winding its way around the pillar of Diocletian and off into the dismal waste that separates Lake Mareotis from the sea. The speed was at first but slow, even slower than the usual starting rate with us at home; but on reaching the open country we made some thirty miles an hour steadily until we came to Kafr-el-aish, the present terminus of the road on the Rosetta branch of the Nile, eighty miles below Cairo. The length of railway in operation is now only sixty miles; but before this reaches America it will be extended nearly as far again. At the Nile we were transferred to the steamer in waiting for us, the first and second class passengers going on the steamer, and the third class taking an ordinary river boat, which was to be towed three hundred feet astern.

Railway-cars have not introduced carts or trucks into Egypt. The baggage and freight was transferred by hand from cars to boat, a distance of three or four hundred feet, heavy articles being carried on the hacks of the fellahs, supported by ropes around their heads. I was much amused at one fat specimen of the Turk, who had a chest of money in his charge, which was too heavy for any one man to lift or carry. A truck or wheelbarrow would have solved the difficulty in a moment; but in the absence of this they tried in vain to swing the box on ropes from a pole, the ropes breaking at each fresh attempt. Half an hour was wasted in their endeavors, of which I was an amused spectator, and which were at last successful by the aid of iron chains brought from the steamer.

On board the scene was certainly novel to our eyes. Turks had spread their carpets on every available portion of the forward deck, and were going through their noonday prayers. We secured small roooms on the deck, answering to a state-room on an American steamer, though furnished with only a hair-cloths cushion on a wooden bench, and here we could pity the poor wretches of third-class passengers who were broiling in the sun on the deck of the tow.

It was impossible as yet to get up any enthusiasm about the Nile. This was indeed one of the mouths of the great river, but only one of them, and it was hardly more the Nile than was the Mahmoud Canal in Alexandria, whose waters are the same. Most travelers, on leaving the Mahmoud Canal a few miles below this point and entering this branch of time river, break out in enthusiasm at their first view of the Father of Rivers. I could not do so. It is now high Nile, and the stream is muddy and discolored, while it flows high up between its banks, or over the flatlands adjoining them. It was impossible to admire such a mass of mud and dirt, as it appeared to be, and we were glad to excuse ourselves for our lack of excitement by saying that this was only a small part of the great river.

And so all day long, until the night came down on us, we toiled slowly up the river against the strong current, and instead of reaching Cairo, as we had been assured in Alexandria we should, at nine in the evening, it was manifest, long before that time, that we should not be there until two or three in the morning.

As the sun went down, the deck of the boat began to present a strange spectacle. One by one the Mussulmans went out on the little guard behind the wheel-house and performed their ablutions in the proscribed style, and then ascended the wheel-houses, kitchens, state-room decks, and every other elevated place, and went through the postures and prayers. It was certainly curious to see a row of ten or fifteen men on each side of the deck bowing in the strange but graceful forms of the Mohammedan worship. We lay and looked at them till the evening had passed into night, and then wrapping our shawls around us, slept on the deck till roused by passage of the barrage.

This, it is not necessary to explain, is the magnificent stone bridge intended to operate as a dam, which Mehemet Ali projected and big successors have continued to its present state, across the Nile, at the point of the delta where it separates into different mouths, the object being to raise the water somewhat higher and increase the annual inundation. The wild appearance of the stone piers, between which we passed, lit by immense torches of blazing wood, and swarming with half-naked Arabs, whose swarthy countenances glared on us in the flickering light like the fates of so many fiends, roused us from slumber; but we relapsed instantly into deeper sleep, which remained unbroken until we arrived at Boulak, thin port of the modern city, and thence we drove swiftly, by the light of a torch in the hands of a swift runner, up the long avenue and into the gate of the Ezbekieh, and were at last in the city of the Memlooks, Cairo the Victorious, Cairo the Magnificent, Cairo the Beautiful and the Blessed.

Shah I confess it? There were two trains of thought struggling for precedence in my mind during the first half hour after my arrival, nor did the one gain entire ascendency until I was in bed and nearly asleep, as the day was breaking over the red hills. The one was full of all the wonderful creations that once haunted my boyish mind, that I have never ceased to love – never forgotten to recall and cherish. To this day, I know no more complete delight than an hour of the Arabian Nights; and the heroes and all the natural and supernatural personages of those exquisite imaginations were around me in troops the moment I was within the city of Saladin. With these spectres angels strove. I could call it nothing else. Sublime and solemn memories that forever linger in this spot! of all the mighty men of that ancient religion, of which our own is but the new form, of patriarchs and holy men of old, of prophets and priests in later days, who came down with the scattered remnant of the line of Abraham; and last of all, of the Mother of our Lord, and His own infant footsteps; all these came to drive away the genii that were around me, and before I slept the seal of Solomon was over them again.

It is my object to give sketches of travel life. I shall be pardoned, therefore, if I am personal in my descriptions, and if I appear disposed to make ourselves prominent in the scenes I attempt to portray. It is my desire to have the reader feel with me the various emotions of the passing hours in various places, and hence I am free to say, that I intend rather to give my own history from day to day, than to describe scenes and plates. Every body has read of all those a hundred times, and Americans are as familiar with the valley of the Nile as with that of the Mississippi. It is only in the new incidents of our journey that I can hope to find any thing sufficiently novel to interest the intelligent reader.

It was two months since we left home, and our letters were but two weeks later than the date of our departure. Before seeing any thing, so soon as I was fairly awake in the morning, I mounted a donkey and rode to the banker’s for letters.

Through the narrow streets lined with lofty houses, whose latticed windows are more minutely beautiful than the finest workmanship of the Parisian cabinet-maker, and which frequently interclasp each other so as to shut out the sky completely, threading my way among camels, donkeys, and Turks, at a killing pace, that is, killing to any thing that did not “clear the track” on hearing the shout of my donkey-boy, I found myself in a street four feet wide from house to house, the houses fifty and sixty feet high, and after going down this two hundred yards I was at my destination. The letters were there, and I sat on the donkey’s back and read them all the way back, while the boy, fully appreciating my feelings, led the donkey by the head, and I was entirely ignorant of my whereabouts until I found him at the door of the hotel from which I started.

The Cairene donkey-boy is of a different race from all other boys. He has nothing in common with them. We have kept five in our employ steadily since we have been here, and they are as useful as the dragoman himself. One of them rejoices in the name of the great founder of his faith, while his donkey, singularly enough, bears the cognomen of Mister Snooks, given him by some English or American traveler. Mohammed is a bright active boy, talks enough English to be able to communicate information, and is thoroughly acquainted with Cairo and its people. His speed of foot is incredible. The donkey to which he is an attachment is by no means slow, but he will take him by the bridle and run while the donkey gallops, and the lady who rides has nothing to do but look around her, and they go at the rate of five or six miles an hour, or even more, without rest for miles.

Possibly there may be some readers of this article who have not made themselves so familiar with the history and locality of Cairo as others, and I shall therefore be permitted to dwell for a moment on these subjects, to make more intelligible the descriptions of our various rambles here and there. I am the more persuaded of the propriety of this from the fact that my own impressions were incorrect in many instances when I had supposed I was fully informed.

The Nile, running from south to north, is divided into two streams by the island of Rhoda, which is some three miles in length. The branch running to the eastward of the island is narrow, being not over two hundred yards wide. At the south, or upper end of the island, where the water parts to go on either side, stands the palace of Hassan Pacha, one of the dignitaries of the country, and attached to his palace is the Nilometer, of which I shall hereafter speak. On the east bank of the river, immediately opposite this palace, is Old Cairo, and on the west bank is the village of Ghizeh. Three miles down the river, or north from this point, that is, at the other extremity of the island of Rhoda, is Boulak, on the east bank of the river. Two miles from Boulak eastward, and, of course, at the same distance from the river, is the present city of Cairo, containing from two to three hundred thousand inhabitants, and surrounded by a wall, outside of which are no houses excepting mud huts, and a few elegant residences inclosed in gardens. West of the river, and five miles from the village of Ghizeh, are the pyramids which bear the same name, while Sakkara and its pyramids are some seven miles south of Ghizeh, on the same side of the river. The site of Memphis, of course, every one understands to be south from the pyramids, and occupying an unknown space on the west bank of the Nile. Back of Cairo, that is, east of the Nile and about four miles from it, the Mokattam Mountains – barren rock hills of five hundred feet in height – shut out the view of the desert front the city. These hills run northeast and southwest, on an abrupt spur of which, some two hundred feet above the city and within its walls, is the citadel of Cairo. North of Cairo, about six miles distant, is Heliopolis, the ancient On.

These explanations of locality make it sufficiently evident to every one that Cairo in itself possesses no interest by reason of any great antiquity. It does not stand on ground that is hallowed by any ancient name, story, or ruins. The founding of Cairo, known formerly as Musr-el-Kaherah, was in the year 969, but the city received its greatest embellishments, and became most powerful and wealthy, under the reign of Yusef Saladin, known to all readers of the history of the Crusades. The buildings erected by him still stand firmly, and here and there, all over the vast extent of the city, you hear his name in reply to questions for the builder of this or that mosque or other monument. Beyond this, the City of Victory has no interest to the traveler other than as the most Oriental of the Oriental cities, and one in which the Franks have as yet made few innovations.

Until within a very few years past the people have been bigoted Mussulmans, and it was with great difficulty, that a Christian could obtain access to their streets or their mosques. But the love of money is a great civilizer, if it is the root of all evil, and I believe that now a dollar or a sovereign will open the hardest well, or mosque, or tomb from Omar of Jerusalem to old Amer of Cairo.

We had purchases to make in the bazaars, and thither directed our way so soon as the ladies had finished reading their letters.

No description will suffice half so well to convey an idea of the bazaars of Cairo as the sketch here given, which is minutely accurate. The only suggestion necessary to complete the idea is, that the street is crowded, jammed, with passers-by or purchasers, women with vailed faces, and donkeys loaded with water-skins, Turks. Bedouins, camels, dromedaries, and horses, all mingled together, for side-walk or pavement there is none, and it is therefore at the risk of constant pressure against the filthiest specimens of humanity, and constant collisions with nests of fleas and lice, that one passes through the narrow streets. The first purchase to be made was a silk for a lady’s dress, and we went to the silk merchants in the wealthiest bazaar of Cairo. One and another showed his small stock of goods, but it was with difficulty that May hit on a dress for traveling purposes such as suited her. When this was found, then commenced the business of determining the price. The shop of the Turkish merchant is but a small cupboard. The front is invariably about the size of an ordinary square shop-window in America, say six feet wide by eight high. The floor of the shop is elevated two feet above the street, and on a carpet in the middle of the floor sits the merchant. His shop is so small that every shelf is within reach of his hands. Of these shops there are thousands in Cairo, and whatever the business the shop is of the same description.

May sat on the right hand of the merchant, with her feet in the street over the front of the shop; I on his left. The silk goods lay piled on the carpet between us, the pieces she had selected being uppermost. The first step toward price was a cup of coffee and a pipe. She took coffee, I smoked quietly a few minutes, and the Turk smoked as calmly and coolly as if there was no silk on earth, and he was dreaming of heaven. For some minutes the silence was unbroken, and he looked at the opposite side of the street, and we blew a tremendous cloud of smoke. At length I broke the silence.
“How much?”
He smoked calmly a while, sent the cloud slowly up, and the words came from his lips as gently as the smoke itself.
“Two hundred and seventy-five piastres.”
“I will give you one hundred and ninety.”
“It cost me more money than that.”
“It is not worth any more.”
“It is very beautiful. I sold one like it yesterday for two hundred and eighty.”
“I will not give it.”
Five minutes of smoke and silence. May most decidedly impatient, and yet full of fun at this novel mode of buying a dress. A fresh pipe and a fresh start. I asked him the least he would take. It was two hundred and sixty. I laid down the pipe, sighed heavily, and walked away down the bazaar toward the donkey-boys. He followed us out and down the street, calmly and quietly assuring us that he was honorable in his statements, and offering a reduction of ten piastres more. I offered him two hundred and twenty. He exclaimed in despair and retired.

Having made one or two other purchases, we returned to the charge. He had spread his praying carpet, and was kneeling in his little shop engaged in his devotions. A dozen other Mussulmans were in sight, doing as he. It was the hour when the voice of the muezzin called to prayer, and though in the din and bustle of the crowded bazaar I had not heard it, yet on the ears of these sincere worshipers it had fallen from the minaret of Kalaoon, and they obeyed the summons.

We waited till he had finished, and then resumed our seats and negotiations, which were finally terminated by our coming together on an intermediate point, and the sale being closed, we mounted our donkeys and rode homeward. This was but the first of a dozen similar negotiations, and is a fair specimen of the Cairene manner of doing business.

Some one has remarked that the manners of modern Arabs, in common conversation, are such that a stranger hearing them talk will inevitably believe they are quarreling. But it is certain that they do a great deal of quarreling, and almost always about money. It is seldom, however, that these quarrels result in blows. It was just as we reached the hotel that an Arab, enveloped in an enormous amount of blankets, rode up on a donkey, followed by a man, the proprietor of the animal; and as they came in front of us, the donkey, whose gallop was more swift than safe, stumbled and threw his rider ten feet over his head, while he himself actually turned a complete somerset, his head being pointed in the direction from which he had come, and his tail close to the unlucky rider. Then came the war of words. Never was such a storm heard out of Egypt. They seized each ether by the garments, they shook, they gesticulated, they shouted, they fairly howled, while the pour donkey picked himself up, and stood facing them, wondering, doubtless, at the donkeys men could be. All this fury was about the sum of twenty paras – not far from two cents – which was the stipulated hire of the animal, and which the rider refused to pay because the donkey had thrown him, although he frankly admitted that he was lauded at the very spot to which he had contracted for the conveyance. We left them quarreling, and being joined now by the remainder of our party, we started out for a ride in the last rays of the sunlight. In a few minutes we were outside of the gate on the north of the city, and thence rode to one of the numerous hills of sand and broken pottery, and other rubbish, the accumulation of centuries, which abound around the walls and overtop them. From this we had a fine view of the western horizon, the yellow plain of the Great Desert, broken only by the great pyramids that stood majestically in the foreground, and behind which the sun went down with all the pomp and magnificence that could and should attend a sunset over the site of Memphis.

We watched its slow descent; and as it vanished, the ever-ready, never-sleeping watchman called, from the lofty minaret of a mosque, the words of the Mohammedan creed, and from the four hundred mosques of Cairo came, chanted on the air, the same call, thrillingly sweet, and reaching our hearts, as it has often before done, with untold power.

We rode rapidly homeward, dashing into the city at a swift gallop. As we came around the corner of the square, I caught sight of one of the assemblies of dervises surrounding a pole, and commencing their devotional service of dancing and singing. We paused to see them, and sat on our donkeys outside of the ring, in which some fifty men, dressed in various costumes, were swinging their heads and bodies from side to side, and giving utterance, at each jerk, to a hoarse, guttural exclamation. This movement became very rapid. Not infrequently one of them would cry out “Allah!” in a voice of thunder. They then formed two rings, those in the inner faring those in the outer, and swinging toward each other, they shouted the same strange sound at each swing. Their faces became convulsed; they foamed at the month, they streamed, tossed their hair, embraced each other, and called on God with the same hoarse try. We were deeply impressed with the scene. We had gone as closely up to the outside of the ring as we could ride, and the crowd of spectators had made way for us, so that we were directly behind the outer ring, and our donkeys’ heads were close to the performers, when suddenly – imagine our horror! – May’s donkey, being evidently taken with the scene and affected by it, elevated his head and nose between the heads of two of the dervises – one an old man with flowing gray hair and beard, the other a young man with long dark locks, and gave utterance to such a cry as none but an Egyptian donkey can imitate. It was like the blast of hundred cracked trumpets or fish-horns. Never was man so frightened as were the two dervises. They nearly fell into the ring with terror. Mohammed, the boy, in an agony of despair, sprang to his donkey’s head and seized his jaws with both hands. Vain endeavor! He but interrupted the terrific sound, and made it ten-fold worse as it escaped from second to second, and at length he gave it up and fell to the ground. It was too much for Mussulman gravity. They looked at us furiously at first, but the next instant a universal scream of laughter broke from the surrounding crowd, and we rode off in the midst of it. It was the first time I have seen Mussulman gravity disturbed. It was unusual and I am convinced that a growing feeling of contempt for superstition may be found among the Mohammedans of Cairo. The dervises have usually commanded the respect of the worshipers of the Prophet; but I have conversed with intelligent men of the creed of the Prophet, who say that they think there is much of what we call humbug about the dervises, and that they prefer to judge of the sincerity of each man separately.

We attended the worship of the dervises on Friday – that is the Mahommedan day for our Sunday – when the mosques are crowded. Leaving the hotel at an early hour in the morning, provided with lunch in case of necessity, we went first to Old Cairo and visited the Mosque of Amer, which is the most ancient of the buildings of the modern Egyptians. It was erected about A.D. 860, and there is a tradition connected with it, and firmly relied on by the Moslems, that when it fails the Crescent will wane. If it be true, the fall of the Moslems can not be far distant. Already the great walls have fallen in, and lie in crumbling heaps within the sacred inclosure; and splendid columns and gorgeous capitals are here and there in the sand and dust, miserable emblems of the fading glory of the power that has so long controlled the East. Near the entrance are two marble columns of somewhat amusing history. They stand close together on the same pedestal, and in former times, when the mosque was in its glory, these two pillars were the shibboleth of the faith. If a man could pass between them he might hope to pass the gates of Paradise. If he were too great in body – if the good thing of the world had so increased his rotundity that he might not squeeze his mortal parts through the narrow passage – then it was very certain that his immortal soul could never hope to see the houries. Alas! for the decay of the mosque and the trembling of the old faith. There was no one of us that could not readily pass between the pillars, though they stand as firmly as ever, and do not seem worn by the myriads who have tried themselves here. I did stick at first. I confess that the flesh-pots of Egypt have added to my usually respectable size so much that my vest buttons caught on the inner post, and for a moment I thought my anti-Mehammedanism settled. But doubtless these later years of Frank innovations have tended to relax the strictness of the faith, for I went through without difficulty after one vigorous attempt, and the others followed me.

The service, if I may so call it – the Zikr – the dervish mosque was to commence at one o’clock. We had an hour before us, and so we took a boat at the ferry from Old Cairo to Ghizeh, and wont over to the island of Rhoda to see the Nilometer.

It is on the upper end of the island, adjoining the palace of Hassan Pacha, and close to the round building which is prominent in the view herewith given. We did not see it. Reason – the Nile is now high, the meter or well in which the column stands is full. We saw three inches or so of the top, nothing more.

But we saw the Nile, the great river, and our enthusiasm was now at the fullest. We stood on the marble portico of the palace facing up the stream, which is divided here, and saw the lordly ricer come down in all its majesty, and roll its waves to either side of us and away to the great sea. Here it was the Nile. No dream, no half river, no small stream of dashing water, but that great river of which we had read, thought, and dreamed; the river on which princes in long-forgotten years had floated palaces and temples from far up, down to their present abode; the river which Abraham saw, and over which Moses stretched out his arm in vengeance, where the golden barge of Cleopatra swept with perfumed breezes, and when, but a few years later, she was dead and her magnificence gone, the feeble footsteps of the Son of God, in infancy on earth, hallowed the banks that the idolatry of thousands of years had cursed; the river of which Homer sang, and Isaiah prophesied, and in whose dark waters fell the tears of the weeping Jeremiah; the river of which all poets wrote, all philosopher taught, all learning, all science, all art spoke for centuries. The waters at our feet, murmuring. dashing, brawling against the foundation of the palace, had come by the stately front of Abou Simbel, had loitered before the ruins of Philae, had dashed over the cataracts and danced in the starlight by Luxor and Karnak. From what remote glens of Africa, from what Ethiopian plains they rose, we did not now pause to think, but having looked long and earnestly up the broad reach of the river, we turned into the palace, and after pipes and coffee, the universal gift of hospitality here, we returned to our boat and drifted slowly down the river by the spot where tradition says that Moses was hid in the rushes, and near the grotto that sheltered Mary and Joseph, to the village of the dervises that stands on the bank, about midway from Old Cairo to Boulak.

Imagine its seated in the court-yard of the college, on mats spread on the ground, green trees over us, and a group of fifty wild-looking men with long hair and beards surrounding us, and looking curiously at our costumes. Coffee came here too for we were too early for the Zikr; and the tiny cups are never unwelcome. When the hour of commencing worship arrived, we entered the mosque and took our seats on the matting at the western side. About eighty men stool in a semicircle, with their faces to the southeast, the centre of the circle being the arched niche which is always left in a mosque on the side toward Mecca, by way of guiding the prayers of the faithful in that direction. Musical instruments hung on the wall, and some of the worshipers used them, taking down one and putting up another from time to time, The service was simply swinging backward and forward in time with the leader, a noble-looking man, who walked around the inner side of the circle, end uttering at each swing a violent groan, or rather a deep, strong sob. For half an hour this motion was steady. Then it became more rapid. They swung the body forward, leaning down until their hair swept the floor in front, and threw themselves backward with a sudden, swift bend until it again touched the floor behind them. The velocity of this motion may be guessed at from the fact, that for the space of more than an hour the hair never rested or fell on the head, but continually described a larger circle than the head in this motion.

In the mean time a man dressed in a long white hooped dress, tight at the waist and some twenty feet in circumference at the bottom of the skirt, slid into the centre of the half circle and commenced a slow revolution, apparently as gentle and easy as if he stood on a wheel turned by machinery. After a minute, during which he swung out his skirts and started fairly, his speed increased. His hands were at first on his breast, then one on each side of his head, and when the full speed was attained they were stretched out horizontally, the right hand on his right side, with the palm turned up and the left hand on its side, with the palm down. For twenty-four minutes, without pause, rest, or change of speed, he continued to whirl around like a top. The velocity was exactly fifty-five revolutions to the minute. I timed it frequently, and was astonished at the regularity. This was not a long performance. It is oftentimes an hour, or even two or three hours, in duration. After this man retired another took his place, and all the time the excitement in the outer circle was increasing. Some shouted, some howled out the name of God. “Allah! Allah!” rang in the dome of the mosque from eighty voices; and now all the musical instruments, including a dozen large and small drums, added to the terrible noise. Suddenly the noble-looking man, the leader of the revel, turned and faced the city of the Prophet, and instantly all was silent. Some fell on the pavement in convulsions, others stood trembling from head to foot, evidently past all self-control, while others pounded their heads on the stones and gnashed their teeth. Those who were in fits – for it was nothing else – of epilepsy were taken care of by attendants, who also advanced to those who were still standing, and, placing their arms around them, bent them gently down to their knees, and left them so. It was a scent not a little touching, after the terrible confusion, to see those silent frames bowed down before their God in the dim mosque; and we came away and left them there.

I asked a very intelligent Mussulman what he thought of it all. He put his hand up to his chin, and looked soberly at me. In spite of himself his finger slipped up to the side of his nose in a most American fashion, and he said nothing.

It is vain to resist the impression, which is here gathering strength every day, that the day of the Moslem power are nearly numbered. It can not be long before the Crescent will wane. Of the thousands who now surround us, but a few show even outward respect to the forms of the faith of the Prophet, and very few of these pursue the routine prescribed to all true believers. I think not one in five of the inhabitants of Cairo obey the call to prayer. Infidelity prevails now. Another faith must soon follow.

One of the pleasantest incidents of life in Cairo has been the meeting with our friend Dr. Abbott, whose name is so familiar to American readers. He has been resident here for nearly thirty years as a physician, has devoted his life to the study of the climate, and diseases which are here met with, while his leisure hours have been given to forming the collection of Egyptian antiquities now in New York, which is scarcely, if indeed at all, inferior to any in the world. That in the British Museum possesses many large objects and splendid specimens, but as illustrating the manners and customs, lives and deaths of the men and women of the times of the Pharaohs, the collection of Dr. Abbott is said to be superior to those in Europe.

In fact, one may be in Egypt for years and not see so much of ancient Egypt as in an hour in the New York rooms. And this, not because it is not here, not because there are not under these mounds treasures of unknown value, but because here we see the temples and pyramids that defy time, but the desert sand covers every thing else. Here was Memphis. Here_is_ Memphis, but far below the surface of the shifting soil, and you must work and dig, and keep out the sand-storm while you dig, and if you open one tomb, after a week’s labor you will have found an empty sarcophagus, robbed by the Arabs of centuries ago. None can appreciate how invaluable such a collection becomes except by standing on the pyramid and looking toward Sakkara over the wastes of sand that hide the glories of Memphis. Out of this desolation have been brought the memorials of old life, of mornings when the sun rose on the homes of millions around the pyramids, when young men and maidens, who have been dust three thousand years, walked, and talked, and sang, and danced; when they braided their locks with pearls for the evening revel, or when others braided them or laid their heads down calmly on the lotus leaves for long slumber. It is somewhat strange that I, in Egypt, should write to tell Americans that they may see more of ancient Egypt than I do here, but it is even so. I hope there is no danger of the removal of the collection from New York, but I hear of great prices offered in England for single articles from it, and but for his love for the complete collection, and his desire to preserve its unity, Dr. Abbott would long ago have deprived it of its finest specimens, and placed them among the great collections of Europe.

We stood together on the hill of which I have spoken on the north of the city. This has become a favorite place with us. The sun was disappearing. A cool north wind was blowing freshly. The donkeys stood facing it, their sharp ears erect. The boys lay on the sand chattering in Arabic to each other. The dragoman, in full and flowing dress, a short distance in the rear, stood in that attitude of grace that no one but an Oriental can hope to attain to. We four, the only Americans in all the land of Egypt who do not call this their home, stood close together, watching the sun go down the western sky. It was high noon at home. New York was bustling, shouting, noisy New York; and in our homes – how much we would have given to know of them at that instant – who could tell us of the beloved ones there? The moon came out from the sky, silver as never moon was silver to our eyes before. The muezzin calls had ceased, and the faithful had ceased to pray. As the night deepened object after object disappeared, and only Cairo the Blessed was before us, shining in the soft light, but away on the horizon, standing on the Libyan desert edge, calm, silent, solemn, and awful, we still saw the majesty of the pyramids.

by an American
From The Harper's New Monthly Magazine, published in 1905