Читать книгу Travels in the Far East - Ellen Mary Hayes Peck - Страница 6

Chicago is reached, and after a hurried transfer of trains I am speeding on to my objective point, New York. An interval of two days and there is a hurried departure for the pier and "the die is cast."

There is always a sense of exhilaration on the sailing of a steamer from New York, despite the sadness of the leave-taking; and the receipt of many gifts, telegrams, and letters keeps up the excitement until after the departure of the pilot. But as the shore line recedes and we drift out to sea, there comes a realization of an entire change of environment and of the rending of former interests, which is, of itself, a fine preparation for the mental equipment necessary to assimilate the new scenes to be visited.

The November Second party of Collver Tours "Round the World," sailing on the Friedrich der Grosse, North German Lloyd line, was to embrace ten individuals, aside from an accomplished Director, each to be independent of the other, but all supposed to fit into a harmonious whole. After the formal presentations were over, there came a sense of relief, for refined manners, culture, and the experience of much travel were apparent, and promised well for the months of companionship which were to ensue.

The localities represented by the several members in the party were as follows: Boston, three; Philadelphia, four; New York, one; Lafayette, Indiana, one; Ottawa, Illinois, one; and Milwaukee, Wisconsin, one. This is an indication of varied personality and diversified taste.

The elements did not prove propitious in the days that followed our departure, and we were forced to bear the stress of wind and storm with becoming resignation, feeling personally thankful for indemnity from fatal results. Such a voyage does not lend itself to much diversion or variety of interests, but there were the usual attempts at gayety in the line of dancing, music, and the exhilarating "Captain's dinner"; hence with congenial people the days were pleasantly whiled away. Among the fellow passengers were some former friends, but I will mention only those who in a sense belong to the public.

There was Mr. Edward P. Allis with his family; he was formerly of Milwaukee, but for many years has been a resident of Mentone, France, where he has continued his researches along biological lines, and where he has also superintended the publication of a valuable magazine relating to his special subject. I am happy to state that he has received, in consequence, distinguished recognition from the French Government, even the decoration of the Legion of Honor. He is also the recipient of orders from other foreign governments, and the Wisconsin University has conferred a high degree upon him.

Another friend was Dr. Baldwin, of Rome, Italy, who has an international reputation as a specialist on diseases of the heart.

A new acquaintance was Mr. Theodore M. Davis, of Newport, Rhode Island, who from November to April, on his finely appointed dahabiyeh, makes the Nile his home, at Luxor. For some years he has superintended valuable excavations in the Tombs of the Kings at Thebes, defraying the expense of the work himself. He holds the only concession granted by the Egyptian Government, on condition that the result of his discoveries become the property of the State; these so-termed "finds" are very valuable, and a special room has been devoted to them in the Museum of Gizeh at Cairo.

Our arrival at the Azores was the first excitement of the voyage, and I had expected to renew the pleasant associations of the day we passed together on San Miguel, at the picturesque city of Ponta Delgada. But, alas! we sailed on and there was only a memory; by the subtle power of association another memory haunted me also, that of Funchal, Madeira, with its balmy air and luxuriant vegetation.

Gibraltar: The world-renowned fortress of Gibraltar was reached after some hours' delay, and we were welcomed by sunshine and a June-like temperature.

The attractions there are not numerous, but they are unique; unfortunately, a visit to the fortified galleries is now denied to visitors, but a beautiful drive to Europa Point and to the neutral ground, together with a walk through the park called the Alameda, is a fair compensation. The shops which line the narrow streets possess an Oriental aspect, and the general view of the massive fortifications afforded much interest to those who had not made a previous visit. But the picturesqueness of former visits—the motley crowd of Moors, Arabs, Spaniards, and Turks at the wharf—was lacking; while the venders of fruit, flowers, and laces were far less numerous, but quite as persistent, as of old.

November 12th: The steamer Magnolia, of the P. & O. line, became our home to Port Saïd, named for the Viceroy of Egypt, who granted the concession for the building of the Suez Canal. We were at once charmed with the general arrangement of the vessel, the salons for ordinary use being large and airy; the staterooms were smaller than those of the Atlantic service, but were finely ventilated.

The passage to Marseilles, France, consumed about thirty-six hours, and the time was spent partly in planning a sight-seeing expedition to take place immediately after our arrival. The Gulf of Lyons, however, gave us a stormy reception; and, as the gale (mistral) increased, the harbor was reached. To be near a destination and yet unable to enter the port was most tantalizing!

Marseilles: The approach to Marseilles is rather disappointing, as there are intervening islands of bare rocks; but later the heights appear, the Church of Notre Dame de la Garde being a prominent feature of the view.

Owing to the delay in landing, only two hours' stay on shore was granted, which was a great disappointment to many of us, but less so to me, as I had previously visited the city, and remembered the enjoyment derived from my stay there.

On our return to the steamer, a novel sight presented itself. The vessel was anchored close to the dock on which is a low embarkation shed, fronting on a wide passage-way, which was now filled with a motley group. At the back there was a fringe of color from many baskets of fruit, flowers, and plants in charge of dealers, clad in costumes of varied hues, with red shawls tied over their heads. Each hawker was intent on extracting coins from the interested spectators, who hung over the side of the steamer. In the foreground were acrobats of every description, dressed in all the colors of the rainbow; among them was a group of five musicians of tender years, an acrobat in pink tights who was exploiting the skill of his little daughter, scarcely five years of age, and another similarly cruel father, who was compelling a little girl to go through all manner of contortions. There was also a group of little girl dancers. This picturesque but painful sight impressed us with the necessity for the establishment here of a society for the prevention of cruelty to children.

Meshrebeeyeah windows

Two hundred and fifty more passengers were added to the steamer list at Marseilles, and henceforth the vessel was to be taxed to her utmost capacity. Most of the passengers were en route for a five weeks' voyage to Australia, many of them were friends, and a general spirit of jollity prevailed, the decks presenting the appearance of a seaside veranda, with their tables, lounging-chairs, work-baskets, and toys. A "sports" committee was at once formed, and games of all kinds were played (always for prizes), while a concert, dances, and bridge enlivened the evening hours.

On the night of November 17th we passed the volcano of Stromboli (now inactive), our steamer gliding between it on one side and the isles of Pina on the other; some hours later the Straits of Messina were reached; while, farther on, the island of Candida was passed. A church service was held aboard both morning and evening (the latter in the second-class salon), this being the invariable rule on English steamers.

Port Saïd, November 20th: As we approached Port Saïd, everything was at first shadowy—the lighthouse, a group of palms, and a minaret seeming to rise out of the sea. There were a few points of land called Damietta, but all else was flat. At last we steamed into the harbor, anchoring at the mouth of the Suez Canal, and were taken ashore in a launch amidst a confused yelling of voices—indeed a perfect Babel.

With only three or four hours in Port Saïd, there was little time for a close survey, but we walked through some of the streets, called at a few shops of no special interest, and had afternoon tea at one of the hotels, to the accompaniment of music furnished by native musicians. We had always heard Port Saïd spoken of as "the wickedest place in the world," and we commented on the apparent absence of such a condition; but we were assured by one of the tourists that wickedness did exist, and we accepted the statement without an attempt to verify it.

Port Saïd gains its principal importance from being the starting-point of that great waterway, the Suez Canal, of which we form our first impression from the fact that ten years' time was required for its construction and $100,000,000 were expended on the work, the payment of which impoverished Egypt and was one of the causes that led to the protectorate of England. This is said to be a humiliating condition to all true Egyptians.

The monument at Port Saïd, raised in honor of Ferdinand de Lesseps, as the founder of the enterprise, emphasizes France's contribution to the project.

Cairo, November 20th: A late train to Cairo caused us to arrive near midnight, an inopportune time for first impressions, but the memory of a former visit caused a pleasant anticipation of scenes to be revisited. A week, however, was too short a time in which to cover the ground, but by persistent effort on our part much was accomplished.

Having headquarters at Shepheard's Hotel—with its foreign arrangement of rooms and furnishings, together with its gayly attired attendants, many of them costumed in red, yellow, green, or blue silk trimmed with gilt, and wearing silk turbans to match—gave us at once an Oriental environment. The central location of the building, with the opportunity, also, which the wide terrace afforded guests for making observations, offered us an immediate insight into the unique life of the city. The venders of fruit, flowers, postal cards, and souvenirs formed a foreground of many colors, while beyond was an unceasing flow of motley carriages, native vehicles, carts, donkeys, and camels, and sometimes two resplendent outriders (called "Sikhs"), on fine chargers, heralded the approach of some dignitary—a custom which is, however, dying out.

The most novel sight which came to our notice was a wedding procession, the bride being ever carefully concealed by silken curtains thrown over either a carriage or a peculiarly constructed litter borne by two camels, one at the front and one at the back; a band of music preceded, followed by vehicles of many different kinds containing members of the bridal party, all en route for the bride's home.

It must be remembered that Cairo, while in one sense a modern city, presents many clearly defined mediæval phases; this is particularly true throughout its native quarters, as exemplified in streets and bazars in the vicinity of the Nile, and in its old-time mosques; in this connection I would emphasize the bazars, both Turkish and Arabic. Some of the old irregular thoroughfares on which the bazars are situated radiate from the wider and more important Muski; then, again, there are narrower alley-like streets, a veritable tangle! The bazars everywhere are similarly constructed, but vary in size and importance; they are box-like in form, from four to six feet in width, and six to eight feet in height, and are raised one or two feet from the ground, with three sides enclosed and the fourth open to the street by day, but at night closed, the fourth wall sliding into place like a folding door.

Here is usually to be found, for a certain distance, but one kind of goods, be it slippers, brass-work, or embroideries, alternating with eatables, fruit, pipes, and the like, there being no attempt at classification. Woe be to the unwary who approach these bazars without the ability to "bargain"; for there is ever a scale of prices, and the topmost one is usually exorbitant!

A bridge spanning the Nile at Cairo

Within the open space of his shop sits the dealer, ready for the contest, sometimes complacently sipping his coffee, or smoking a cigarette, the long Turkish pipes having been largely abolished. The courtesy of coffee or a cigarette is often extended to the purchaser, which possesses a mollifying effect if the discussion over a purchase has waxed high.

It is said that the scenes in the Turkish bazars on a fête day are like a picture from the "Arabian Nights," the places being illuminated by many candles or chandeliers, and covered by awnings formed of rich shawls, scarfs, and embroideries brought from the interior. This gives each bazar the appearance of a reception room, with the dealer seated within, dispensing hospitality, every one being dressed in holiday attire. The bazars in Cairo are considered an important feature of the life of the city (as they are in every place throughout the Eastern or Western Orient), but they are less attractive than those I visited in Tunis, Constantinople, or Damascus.

The crowd that is passing the shops often proves more interesting than the display within, as there are natives of all ages and descriptions, Arabs, Bedouins, Turks, and Egyptians, some mounted on donkeys and some driving heavily laden camels. Water-carriers with jars, mostly women, are among them, while the natives usually carry under the arm the characteristic pigskin, filled with water. These are the sights to be seen, together with the venders of fruit and vegetables, alternating with richly equipped carriages, and funeral or bridal processions. Men and women in their Oriental dress jostle the crowd of sight-seers who ever throng these ways.

In these, but more often in a better class of streets, we pass the lovely meshrebîya windows, with their intricate turned lattice-work designs; they are very frequently oblong projecting windows, but instead of glass there is used the fine tracery or lattice-work in wood. Sad to relate, this fine work is sharing in the general decay to be found in the old quarters of Cairo, and, in a few years, the tourist will only be able to view the specimens even now being sent to the Arabian Museum, which institution is, by the way, doing a splendid work in preserving and classifying all artistic remains, notably those from the crumbling mosques.

Except in the matter of decay, I found little change in the native portion of the city since my visit in 1898; but the aspect of the city proper has grown modern. Fine new streets, public buildings and residences, are seen everywhere in the Ezbekieh and Ismailian quarters of the city, while certain sections suggest a European capital. The Ezbekieh Gardens, opposite the Continental Hotel, form really a small park in the centre of the city, and are a great resort for tourists as well as residents.

The peculiar head-dress of the Cairo women

The Ismailian is the fashionable quarter of the city, and it is said that many wealthy citizens have left their former luxurious native homes for a modern residence in the new section. Hence many dealers in the bazars have secured the deserted Oriental homes, and now live in comparative luxury, showing that conditions and residential centres change in the Old World as well as in the New.

But note how much more attractive the original home must appear to native eyes. A passage leads from the street to a spacious court, and grouped around the court, which usually has a fountain in the centre (with sometimes one or two trees), are the rooms for general use and those assigned to guests. The apartments occupied by the women of the family, commonly called the harem, are not visible, but are generally spacious and well furnished, even luxuriously appointed, with inlaid floors, decorated walls, and rich rugs. The light filters through either meshrebîya or flat latticed windows, for no profane eye can gaze on the supposed loveliness of damsel and dame, nor can they, in their turn, gaze outward for any distance, which shows the restricted social condition of the women.

It is said that they are virtually regarded with contempt, and, though usually kindly treated in the harem, they are considered only as ornamental appendages of the home; hence they are rarely educated, and never in more than those accomplishments, such as music and dancing, which tend to add to their attractiveness.

The better classes of women are always seen veiled, and, with the peculiar covering over the nose, one can only judge of their appearance by their often very beautiful eyes. Oh, the infinite sadness to be found in the depths of many of them!

I was, however, told by a gentleman, long resident in Cairo, that there are indications of a gradual change as regards education, the wives of a few high officials having been educated on broader lines than mere accomplishments; hence it is to be hoped that the leaven will work in time. It may also be found later that the transference of the harem from an Oriental home to a Number 9 residence on a fashionable street will lessen the seclusion heretofore imposed.

The Nile is always a centre of interest, not only for those who explore it to the cataracts or Khartoum, but for natives and tourists who throng its banks to catch a glimpse of the queer sailing craft, and to watch the never-ending procession that passes over it—men, women, vehicles, and animals filling every available space.

It is quite the fashion for parties of tourists to repair to the bridge at 5 a.m. in order to watch the marketmen, venders of all kinds, and the heavily laden donkeys and camels fulfilling their part in the labor of supplying the city markets.

Once across the bridge, the procession from the country is even more picturesque; and, viewed from a waiting "tram" in the late afternoon, when all are homeward bound, the scene is most incongruous. Sometimes four or five heavily veiled women in black robes are seen on one of the long two-wheeled carts, drawn by an emaciated horse with a native at his head as a propelling power; next, follow a flock of geese, two or three score of goats, a group of sheep, four or five camels looking down with a superior air on the donkeys, as well as pedestrians of many complexions and of varied dress—Arabs, Bedouins, Soudanese, and Egyptians—their queerly shaped turbans and brilliant colors lending the finishing touch to the scene. Nowhere else in the Orient does such a view present itself, and its setting is the Nile!

The last glimpse of the Nile, the evening before my departure, will never be forgotten. The occasion was an invitation to indulge in afternoon tea at the Hôtel Semiramis, near the entrance to the bridge. We lingered on for the sunset, which first appeared as a flaming ball of fire, succeeded by myriad shades of rainbow hues, these fading into softer tints and later into those more delicate tones that prelude the twilight. Then silence seemed to brood over the wonderful river, and we departed.

If the street scenes, the bazars, and the Nile are an index to the native life of Cairo, a greater claim may be made for the mosques, in which the city abounds; for they represent political changes, social evolution, and artistic development, as history proves. To substantiate this claim of the mosques, a brief digression is necessary.

The origin of Cairo dates back to the Muslim invasion in 640; the original Arab settlement was called Fustât, the "Town of the Tent," which is substantially the old Cairo of to-day. Here was erected almost at once the first mosque, that of Amr, sometimes called Amru. In 751 a northeast suburb was added, called El Askar; this was to be the residence of the Governor, and here also was erected the Mosque of El Askar. Keeping still to the northeast, another city was added, in 860, by the first independent Muslim King of Egypt, Ibn Tûlûn, called El Katâi; the "wards" became divided into separate quarters for various nations and classes, and here was erected the remarkable Mosque of Ibn Tûlûn. A fourth city still farther northeast was added a little over a century later, called El Kâhira (the Cairo of to-day); this did not become the commercial capital of Egypt, but occupied the same relation to Fustât that El Askar and Katâi held. The Town of the Tent, resting on the bank of the Nile, still remained the metropolis, as it did after the fall of both El Askar and Katâi—the disaster to these latter cities giving additional prestige to El Kâhira.

The Mosque of Amr

The building of a mosque[1] was regarded by the rulers not only as an expression of religious zeal, but as a contribution to the life of the State. Several mosques were erected during the two centuries of Arab rule, but Amr was the first and most important. It is situated near the site of the old Roman city of Misr, where Amr first pitched his tent, on the invasion of Egypt. The outside of the old mosque is not imposing, but, with the vast court forty thousand feet in area, surrounded by colonnades consisting of numberless columns with every variety of capitals (taken from Christian churches), it excites our admiration. Wooden beams, stretched from column to column, formerly supported one hundred and eighty thousand hanging lamps which illuminated the edifice every night, while throngs of learned men, professors, and persons of many conditions gathered there daily for lectures and discussion. The great convocation was on Friday, when a sermon and prayers were the order of the day, the immense court affording ample space for the multitude, while the large east end sanctuary gave room for persons of distinction to kneel. The mihrab, or niche, where worshippers turned toward Mecca, the pulpit, and the tribunal were also features of the edifice. We now see little of the original mosque, for it has been remodelled from time to time; but it still remains the best type of the congregational mosque (called Gami, meaning "assembly"), and to me it seemed, as I looked upon it, one of the most impressive monuments of a dead past that I had ever seen.

With the political change in 868, which introduced the Turkish period, Ibn Tûlûn became the ruler, and another era of mosque and palace and hospital building prevailed. The Mosque of Ibn Tûlûn is the only monument that survives; it is also a congregational type and has the same general style as Amr; it is the earliest instance of the use of the pointed arch throughout a building, this being two centuries earlier than its use in England. Five rows of arches form the arcade, or cloisters, on the Mecca end of the building, with two rows on the other three sides. The ornaments on the arches and around the windows are in stucco, and are worked by hand in the plaster, instead of being moulded as is the stucco work of the Alhambra. These consist of a bud, flower, and rosette pattern. Another century passed on, when, in 969, the victorious Gauhar forced the passage of the Nile and assumed possession in behalf of a Fatimid caliphate (named Fatimid, for a daughter of Mohammed). This event presaged a religious as well as a political change, for the Fatimids were apostates from the true faith and advocated the doctrines of Shi'a, one of the tenets being that the Koran had been created, and another that there had been Mohammeds or inspired men in every century. Shi'a now became the State religion, and for two centuries held sway over Egypt.

This period was famous for palace building, and the descriptions of the magnificence and luxurious furnishings read like a fairy tale. Mosque building was not neglected, and there are two notable examples of the congregational form, El Azhar and El Hâkim. El Azhar was founded by Gauhar on April 3, 970, and in 988 it was especially devoted to the uses of learning. It soon became one of the chief universities of the time, and in 1101 there were nine thousand students and two hundred and thirty-nine professors. The foreign students even now pay no fee and are allowed rations of food, there being an endowment for this purpose. It is, however, still used to a certain extent as a mosque; but it does not now preserve the regular plan of a mosque, having been remodelled and added to several times. It has six minarets and a spacious court covering three thousand six hundred square yards, with one hundred and forty columns and numerous side chambers which are devoted to lectures, libraries, and laboratories.

At the time of our visit this court was filled with individual groups of about thirty students, each around a professor; they were sitting cross-legged on the floor, and were chanting their lessons with a swaying motion of the body. A class of small children was of special interest, studying passages of the Koran from cards. The Mosque of El Hâkim was completed in 1013, and was so resplendent throughout that it was known as the "Brilliant." This mosque has suffered more indignities than even the old Amr, but the vast, empty court, with its partly ruined arches, still has a certain dignity. There were originally five minarets.

The interior of the Tomb Mosque of Kalaûn

Leaving the Mosque of El Hâkim on the right, we have Bâb El-Futûh, the Gate of Capture, which is connected by the city wall with the companion Bâb En-Nasr, or Gate of Victory. These two gates guard the strong northeast extremity of the old city fortifications, and in 1799 formed a strong position for the troops of Napoleon. With Bâb Zuweyler, they are the most important of the sixty gates which once existed in the wall of Cairo. They have an inner and outer entrance and resemble a Roman gateway.

The Fatimid rulers outvied each other in embellishing Kâhira with artistic structures; this seems surprising because, on account of the charge of heresy, Kâhira was cut off from the Arabian centres of art and learning—from Bagdad, Damascus, and Cordova—and of course the artists and students, who formerly frequented the mosques, could not do so when they were in the hands of heretics. This condition of affairs, together with other causes, produced a crisis, as will be seen.

The advance of Amalric and the Crusaders, in 1168, not only resulted in the downfall of the Fatimids, but in the destruction of old Fustât, Shawar, the ruler, having issued a mandate for it to be burned in order to prevent the city from becoming a refuge for the Crusaders. The fire lasted fifty-five days, and the city in all its magnificence, having been the metropolis for five centuries, perished, a portion of the old Mosque of Amr alone remaining. Kâhira then took its place as the official centre of Egypt.

Saladin, the King of Jerusalem, now became ruler of Egypt, and he at once adopted strong measures to win the apostates back to the true faith. With a wisdom far in advance of his time, he planned to educate the followers of Shi'aism by the introduction of madrasah mosques and colleges. Heretofore we have had the Gami, or congregational mosque, with a severely plain exterior. The madrasah mosques of this period contained a smaller court, which was frequently capped with a cupola in the centre; the sides of the court, instead of being surrounded by arcades, were formed of four transepts, each spanned by a single lofty arch. The transept toward the east was deeper than the others, forming the niche for prayer; it was also furnished with the usual mihrab, pulpit, and tribunal. Fine façades, minarets, and domes took the place of the usual plain exterior; the dome was generally utilized as the covering of a tomb or was intended for future memorial use. The religious exercises (daily prayers, except on Friday, with sermons) were in the nature of a school training in the interest of the true Mohammedan faith.

The exterior of the madrasah college was not unlike the mosque described, but the interior included facilities for theological lectures, together with classrooms and libraries for general study; the students were received on the very terms described in connection with the university Mosque of El Azhar. These, in general, were the means employed by Saladin to win all back to the true faith; in time he was successful, and Kâhira no longer rested under the stigma of heresy.

The dignity of the Fatimid age was lowered by Saladin's quartering the officers of his army in the magnificent palaces, while he occupied the house of the Viziers. Shortly every monument of the brilliant Fatimid period had vanished, with the exception of four mosques and the three gates previously alluded to. Saladin, however, inaugurated a new era of building, and during his nominal reign of twenty-four years three mosques and sixteen colleges attest his zeal to the "cause." He also built the citadel, and the great wall which was to enclose not only Kâhira but the remains of the old cities. To him the present city of Cairo owes its form and extent.

The tomb Mosque of Kalaûn was built in 1279 by the ruler of that name, and is adjacent to the fine hospital, bearing the same name also; while not large, it contains exquisite examples of wood carving, marble mosaic, and plaster ornament worked in by hand. Seventy-seven years later, in 1356, we find that, in the Mosque of Sultan Hasan, the sculpture was in stone; hence, the material being unyielding, the designs are geometrical, instead of arabesque, as in the plaster. This is one of the most important mosques of any age, and is the most characteristic of the madrasah form. Seen from without, the walls appear even higher than the accredited one hundred and thirteen feet; they are built of fine cut stone, from the pyramids, and windows relieve the monotony of bare surface. There is a fine portal, set in an arched niche sixty-six feet high, which is decorated with geometrical designs and which has corner columns and capitals. The interior gives one an impression of immense size, on account of the great span of the four arches; the one at the east end is ninety feet high and seventy feet wide, and is unequalled. The mosaics and marbles, however, are less artistic than in the later mosques. The tomb chamber, entered from the east, has a finely decorated door of brass, and is encircled by a marble dado, twenty-five feet high, above which is a verse from the Koran carved in wood. In the centre of the room is the grave of the founder. The original dome fell in 1660, and was replaced by an inferior one; there were to have been four minarets, but these collapsed also. The court is well proportioned and contains an artistic fountain for ablution.

Fountain in the Mosque of Sultan Hasan

We saw the bronze lantern and many of the enamelled glass lamps in the Arabian Museum, which forms a depository for ancient works of art; the mosque has suffered greatly from devastation and abuse, but it still retains a prestige among its class that not even time can efface. It is said that Sultan Hasan was so delighted with the edifice that he ordered the architect's hands cut off, for fear he might duplicate his success—an act committed presumably on the principle that "the end justifies the means."

The Circassian as well as the Turkish Mamelukes were great builders of mosques and colleges, particularly Sultan Barkûk (1382–1399) and Sultan Kâït Bey (1468–1496). Their edifices are marvels of artistic skill, and, by the time of Kâït Bey, perfection seemed almost to have been reached. This is particularly true of the tomb mosques, situated in the mausolea on the east side of the city, and known as the Tombs of the Khalifs. That of Barkûk is noticeable, on account of its two superb domes, its two minarets, and a carved pulpit, the latter erected by Kâït Bey. The Mosque of Kâït Bey is, however, the finest of the group; it has a lofty dome, adorned with bands of sculpture, minarets with galleries, and bronze doors. There are beautiful ivory carvings over the tomb, while the edifice is lighted by fifty colored glass windows. Near by, the smaller modern tomb mosque of the Khedive Tewfik (the father of the present Khedive), which is resplendent with a wealth of interior decorations, suffers in comparison.

The defeat of the Mamelukes, and the Ottoman occupation of Kâhira in 1517, caused no cessation of mosque building; but there was a departure from the Saracenic models, and also a still more marked return to the congregational form than had been witnessed in the days of the great builders just noted. This is evident in the last great mosque of the modern period, that of Mohammed Ali (the independent monarch), begun by that ruler, but not completed until 1857. It is situated in the citadel and has an immense court, surrounded by arcades; but, unlike the original type, it is covered with an immense dome, producing an impressive effect. The exterior has also four smaller domes (one on each side) and two very tall minarets, with shorter ones on each corner. The mosque is likewise called the Alabaster Mosque, as the columns are built of yellow alabaster and the walls encrusted with it; its location in the citadel gives it a commanding position, and, being modern, it has escaped the ravages of time.

Openwork dagobas

Only a few representative mosques have here been outlined architecturally (several others were visited), but an attempt has been made to give these their political and social significance and setting. Of the artistic side of the picture, it is claimed, on high authority, that there have been manifested, in the construction of these mosques, great architectural skill, perfection of ornament in wood, plaster, and stone, and a careful adherence to Saracenic principles.

The most conspicuous point in Cairo is the citadel, erected by Saladin in 1166, and constituting a fitting monument of his reign. From its position and its fortification, it would seem almost invincible; but, unfortunately, the fortress is itself commanded by the higher Mokattam hills, as was shown in 1805, when Mohammed Ali, by means of a battery placed on a hill, compelled Karishid Pasha to surrender the stronghold. The mosque of Mohammed Ali, placed in the citadel, as already described, can be seen from every side, and the barracks are also a prominent feature; but the presence of British troops seems hardly to harmonize with the Oriental environment.

A fine view of the city may be seen from the ramparts, but it is surpassed by the view to be had from the Mokattam hills; on our way there, some of the party took donkeys from near the citadel, but others (like myself) walked, if the exercise of ploughing through the deep furrows of sand may so be termed. A slippery climb, and all of Cairo with its environs lay before us—and such a view! It was in the late afternoon of a perfect day; the scene was, in the main, Oriental, the European touches being less visible from a distance. First, a confused stretch of domes, minarets, and roofs; then a separate mosque stood out, and we recognized Sultan Hasan and Ibn Tûlûn. Farther on were seen the towers above the Bâb Zuweyler gate; then the Tombs of the Khalifs, blended together, and still farther there appeared the shadowy outlines of the old Mosque of Amr. At our feet stood the citadel, while the Alabaster Mosque and the line of arches marking the old aqueduct were clearly visible. The setting sun illumined the silver line of the Nile, touched the distant pyramids resting on the desert, and revealed the far-away step pyramid of Sakkara. Its glory seemed all to be gathered here, suffusing the whole panorama, and resting upon the scene like a silent benediction.

The island of Rodda divides the Nile, and was formerly connected by bridges of boats with both the island of Gizeh and Fustât, now old Cairo. It was formerly a place of commercial importance, and had extensive dockyards; according to tradition it is a place of Biblical associations, since a palace occupied by Pharaoh's daughter is pointed out, and also the place on the river where Moses was found in the bulrushes.

Citadel and Mosque of Mahomet Ali

The old Nilometer, for measuring the depths of the Nile, which was erected in 716, is of interest. It consists of a square well, sixteen feet in diameter, having, in the centre, an octagonal column on which the ancient Arabic measures are inscribed. It was last remodelled in 1893. We visited old Cairo and the Coptic churches, six of which are situated in the precincts of the ancient castle of Babylon. The Copts are considered fine representatives of the old Egyptians, and they have succeeded in preserving their language and liturgy through twelve centuries of fierce oppression. The Fatimid period alone allowed them some measure of toleration; their religious forms are similar to those of the Greek church, but their discipline is more severe, their Lenten fast covering a period of fifty-five days, with abstinence from sunrise to sunset.

The Church of St. George will illustrate the peculiar arrangement of their religious edifices. Following the example of the older Egyptian Byzantine churches, the nave and tribune are uncovered and the side aisles have galleries. The nave has three divisions: first, a vestibule; second, a section set apart for women; and third, another section for men. There are the usual choir, sanctuary, and side chapels, and the division between the choir and the sanctuary is ornamented with carvings in wood and ivory. The church also contains Byzantine carving and mosaics, and is characterized by the usual richness in decoration. A flight of twelve steps descends into the crypt, a small vaulted chapel with marble columns situated under the choir. At the end of the nave is an altar, around which has sprung up the tradition that the Virgin and Child there rested during a month's stay, after the flight to Egypt. The Church of St. Sergius is similar in construction, as are others of the group, besides hundreds more scattered through Egypt. The dust of ages clung to our skirts as we left the desolate scene, and there was within us the consciousness that, for old Cairo, there could be no resurrection.

One of the places that might consume days in the inspection is the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, which it is impossible to describe in a limited space. But to the student of Egyptology and to the tourist it is alike important, because, in its monuments of stone and bronze, it presents visible proofs of a wonderful past, while the sarcophagi, mummies, and other remains taken from the tombs, reveal the life and habits of the early Egyptians.

With only two mornings for an inspection, we devoted one to a general view of the museum, and the other to the fine collection of our fellow-traveller, Mr. Theodore Davis, for which a special room is reserved. Mr. Davis courteously explained to us the different objects, or "finds"; these included artistic articles of household use, a fine group of Canopic jars, and miscellaneous pieces of unusual merit (all from the tombs of the Kings at Thebes); the whole exhibit showing what an enthusiast, with time and means, can accomplish in the interest of a buried past.

An excursion of great meaning is that to the pyramids. Crossing the Nile, we followed its course to the former palace of Gizeh; then the way led inland, along what was formerly a fine carriage drive, but now one usually takes the tram to save time. Our arrival was exciting, owing to the number of persistent Bedouins who met us with donkeys and camels. A white donkey, named Snowflake, and an attendant, named Yankee Doodle, fell to me, while a camel, named Mary Anderson, was allotted to a friend. An inquiry as to why American names prevailed, revealed the fact that the names of the animals are adjustable, according to the nationality of the party to be supplied.

The appearance of the pyramids is familiar the world over, but an actual view of these monuments of hoary age ever inspires awe and reverence. As we ascended the plateau (twelve hundred by sixteen hundred yards), and rode within the shadow of the pyramids, our feeling was deepened by the view of the barren waste stretched before us—yellowish sand and piles of debris accentuating the solitude of the place, while the inscrutable Sphinx and other monuments added their silent testimony.

A more extended view revealed "the river of rivers," on each bank of which appeared a green line of foliage; beyond this could be dimly seen cultivated fields with intersecting canals, while tiny villages lent the human touch, and far away, Cairo, with her gleaming domes and minarets, became an appropriate background for the scene.

All the members of our party having previously visited the spot, we were spared the excitement of climbing the walls and entering the chambers, greatly to the disappointment of our guides, to whom the prospect of extra bakshish is always alluring. Our tour of observation consumed so much time that the usual programme of five o'clock tea at the Hôtel Mene was abandoned. On our arrival in the city, the mantle of night had fallen—a peaceful close to a never-to-be-forgotten day.

Another afternoon's excursion was made by carriage to the old villages of Matariya and Heliopolis. Near the former place is an ancient gnarled sycamore, under which, so tradition says, the Holy Family rested in their flight to Egypt. The present tree was planted in 1672, but the credulous still believe it to be a direct descendant of the original one. A fine spring which flows in the vicinity is also supposed to have lost its natural brackish taste on account of the infant Jesus having been bathed in it. A half-mile farther on is Heliopolis, the old City of the Sun. It is now marked by the solitary obelisk, which alone remains to remind us of a past that stretches untold centuries back of the Muslim conquest of Egypt in 640; and of a city that was the exponent of the most ancient civilization of the world.