Chapter 3
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.
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.
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.
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.
The obelisk is the oldest Egyptian one known; it is of red granite, sixty-six feet in height, although it seems lower on account of the mass of debris at the base, and is inscribed with hieroglyphics. There remain a few granite blocks of the temple, designated the House of Ra, whose priests were so learned as to have attracted Plato when a student, to have drawn Herodotus into discussion, and to have laid the foundation of Moses' wisdom.
Heliopolis has been the scene of many stirring events, the victory of the Turks over the Mamelukes occurring there in 1517, while in 1800 General Kléber successfully led the French forces against the Turks. The memory of the active past serves to emphasize the present solitude of the place.
A favorite resort of the Cairo folk is the island of Gezireh; here a long avenue of lebbek trees furnishes a fashionable promenade, while games of golf, tennis, cricket, and polo, together with the races, are a constant source of attraction. The once famous palace of Gezireh (the scene of great festivities at the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869) is now turned into a popular hotel; its grounds slope down to the Nile, where dahabiyehs are sometimes anchored; an inspection of one of these, the _Bedouin_, excited our admiration.
The time of our stay was drawing to a close, and Cairo was again to become "memory" with a past stretching back into centuries without number. Egypt has a human history that is almost appalling to the thoughtful mind; this limitless stretch of time may, in part, explain the peculiar, indefinable charm that Cairo has upon the imagination of the beholder, thus winning for herself the appropriate name of the "Mysterious City of the Nile."
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PORT SAÏD, _November 26th_: The return to Port Saïd in the afternoon was followed by our departure on another P. & O. steamer, the _Arabia_, for Bombay, India.
One enters the Suez Canal with peculiar sensations, as it is a waterway of vast importance, connecting the Mediterranean and Red Seas, and so narrow that the shores on both sides are distinctly visible. It extends from Port Saïd to Suez, and is nearly one hundred miles in length; it is artificial, with the exception of a channel through Bitter Lakes and Lake Tinsuh. All along the way, we were virtually traversing the desert, Isma'iliya presenting a small oasis, fifty miles from Port Saïd. From the deck we watched the monotonous scene, hour after hour, the landscape being old and colorless, with great billows of sand in the foreground, and here and there occasional hillocks. Once we saw mountains of sand, called the Gebel Abû Batah range. Sometimes a few native huts would appear (the mere semblance of a village), then a stray camel or two, or a group of natives with their pigskins, intent on securing water. The Great Bitter Lake is a fine body of water, and it afforded us a temporary relief from the monotony of the Canal. There was a short stay at Suez, which has all the stir of a noisy modern port. We were now for a time in the Gulf of Suez, but saw nothing except a yellow beach and low outlying mountains; we longed for even a patch of grass, but, alas! this was the season of drought, and vegetation was slumbering.
But if Nature was dull and lifeless, there was no lack of jollity on board the steamer; for the passengers were mostly English, and there were constant games or other devices for "killing time," in which the English as a nation are so proficient.
We sailed out of the Gulf of Suez into the Red Sea, which afforded some variety of scene, as there were occasional islands, that of Perim being the most important and a possession of Great Britain. It stands prominently out of the sea in its length of two miles, and seems almost destitute of vegetation, although there was a little settlement close to the shore.
Thus far, contrary to all expectation, we had had comfortable weather; but Aden, a few hours later, gave us a heated welcome. This small city of Arabia is picturesquely situated on the Arabian Sea, high up on rocky cliffs; we had anticipated a hurried survey of the city, but the heat was so excessive that only a few gentlemen ventured ashore; however, we had a little diversion on the steamer in the interval, as numerous natives appeared with amber beads, ostrich feathers (which are a noted commodity of the place) and fans; this provoked the usual contest in bargains.
The evening brought us compensation for a day of heat, with its consequent languor, in the shape of a gorgeous sunset; a huge ball of fire hung in the west and radiated great streaks of red, yellow, and blue, these fading away into the softer tints, and then came the most wonderful afterglow, the heavens being suffused, and the whole scene making one breathless, as if under a spell.
The Arabian Sea gave us an aftermath of heat, but, remembering with considerable satisfaction that the days of our transit were nearly over, we assumed an indifferent air.
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BOMBAY, _December 6th_: On nearing India, with its far-away past, I was convinced that I would be first impressed with its Oriental aspect, but, on the contrary, the approach to Bombay presented a decidedly modern phase. There is a fine, almost semi-circular harbor, with a modern quay, and tall buildings encircling the shore, the tasteful Royal Bombay Yacht Club in the front, the spacious new Taj Mahal Hotel to the left, having about a block of frontage on the bay, while farther back were other tall buildings. Dusky faces greeted us at the landing, and a Babel of voices in an unknown tongue, or rather tongues, since many tribes were represented, each with their separate dialect.
Arriving at the Taj Mahal, we felt a sense of strangeness, as the arrangement of rooms and the service were distinctly foreign. There were almost too many attendants or servants (two for each room, an upper and a lower one), and the waiters in the dining-room were more interesting to me than the menu,--the Portuguese wearing white uniforms with short jackets, pink vests, and black ties; the Mohammedans attired in long white tunics, with wide belts at the waist, loose trousers, and barefooted.
It was reserved for an afternoon drive through the crowded native quarter, however, to give us a striking impression of the India of the past. Every nook and corner of the narrow streets seemed a blaze of color--women in their full skirts of many shades of red (that color predominating), with diverse novel waist arrangements and a profusion of jewelry, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and anklets. Men were in their many-hued turbans of various styles, with no clothing to the waist and a limited supply below. Then there were boys and small children,--the former with only a loin cloth, the latter as Nature made them, with silver chains bearing quite large hearts suspended around their waists, and with smaller chains around their necks, each supposed to ward off sudden calamity or disease.
But, if there was color in the dress, there was emaciation in the figure,--thin features, thin limbs, and flat chests being the prevailing type, a fair indication that their scanty supply of food does not furnish them sufficient nutrition. Northern India is the so-termed "famine district," and the famine of one year is said to have destroyed over four millions of people; pestilence is always threatening these natives, and besides, the demands for tribute of an enervated priesthood (who "toil not," alas! "neither do they spin") have to be met. So is it any wonder that poverty prevails and that sadness of countenance is everywhere seen?
The bazars are similar in arrangement to those in Cairo; but more novel wares are displayed, and less bargaining is resorted to. The European shops were satisfactory, and we invested at once in white felt topee hats lined with green, and also in ecru parasols similarly lined, for dire tales had been told us of the penalty we should suffer if we were not thus equipped, on account of the great power of the sun in midday; often the heat was known to bring on insanity (on the authority of a long-time resident of India). The wearing of that topee hat was a great personal sacrifice, as it was horribly unbecoming, and after some weeks of trial one of our party was brave enough to advise a second venture; a Calcutta style was tried, with no better results, so you can imagine the joy of the final "giving up"!
If the native quarters revealed to us an unknown life, so did a country drive, for there were trees and shrubs never before seen, and queer little thatched houses of the bungalow type. Groups of cocoanut and other palms were all lacking in freshness, as this was the dry season, and dust must prevail until the arrival of the "monsoon," or rainy season, in May. The domestic animals seemed to thrive, such as camels, donkeys, bullocks, and there were many birds, the little mina and the green paroquets being of special interest, while immense black crows hovered about everywhere.
The European aspect of Bombay is imposing, and the public and municipal buildings are hardly to be surpassed, the railway station claiming the distinction, architecturally, of being the finest in the world. The dominant type of public building is designed in what is called Gothic Indian style.
The drive along Queen's Road is a dream of beauty. The private residences, each with fine grounds, are many and tasteful, those along Queen's Road being usually occupied by the military class or by officials in the civil service. Malabar Hill is also a residential centre, and a drive there affords one an extended view of the city. There also one may have a glimpse of the Arabian Sea, but a much better view is to be had from the grounds of the Towers of Silence, that strange exemplification of the faith of a peculiar people.
We had met a Parsee gentleman of culture and refinement on the steamer, _en route_ for Bombay, which fact made us eager to learn something of this sect. They came to India from Persia, twelve hundred years ago, driven away on account of Mohammedan persecution. They are strict followers of the tenets of Zoroaster, their creed, briefly epitomized, being "Good thoughts, good words, and good deeds." There are about one hundred thousand in Bombay; as a class they are well educated, and have great business capacity; hence they are prominent in commercial affairs, particularly in banking. They are generous and charitable, and are at the head of most of the philanthropic institutions of the city; many distinctions have been won by them from the English Government.