A Short Residence In Cairo Proves Very Captivating To Many Englishmen;
They Like The Independent Sort Of Life Which They
Lead; their perfect
freedom from all the thralls imposed by society at home, and, when
tired of dreaming away existence
After the indolent fashion of
the East, plunge into the surrounding deserts, and enjoy all the
excitement attendant upon danger. Numerous anecdotes were related to
me of the hardships sustained by young English travellers, who, led by
the spirit of adventure, had trusted themselves to the Bedouins, and,
though escaping with life, had suffered very severely from hunger,
thirst, and fatigue. I have no reason to doubt the veracity of one of
these enterprising tourists, who assured me that he had passed through
the holy city of Mecca. According to his account, he had made friends
with an Arab boy, who offered to afford him a glimpse of the city,
provided he would consent to pass rapidly through it, at an early hour
in the morning. Accordingly, disguised in Mohamedan garb, and mounted
upon a camel, they entered and quitted it at opposite ends, without
exciting curiosity or remark. Of course, he could see nothing but the
exterior of the houses and mosques, only obtaining a partial view of
these; but, considering the difficulty and peril of the undertaking,
the pleasure of being able to say that he had succeeded in an
achievement which few would be daring enough to attempt, was worth
running some risks.
Notwithstanding the intolerant spirit generally manifested by the
Arabs, those English strangers who embrace their way of life for a
time frequently attach them very strongly to their persons, obtaining
concessions from them which could scarcely be expected from a
people so bigoted in their religious opinions, and entertaining so
contemptible an opinion of those who are followers of other creeds. In
spite of the faults of his character - for he is frequently deceitful,
treacherous, cruel, and covetous - the Arab of the desert is usually
much respected by the dwellers in towns. His independent spirit
is admired by those who could not exist without the comforts and
conveniences of life, which he disdains. It is no uncommon sight,
either at Cairo or Alexandria, to see a handsome young Bedouin,
splendidly attired, lodging in the open street by the side of his
camel, for nothing will persuade him to sleep in a house; he
carries the habits of the desert into the city, and in the midst of
congregated thousands, dwells apart.
We, who merely crossed the desert from Cairo to Suez, could form
little idea of the pleasures which a longer sojourn and more extended
researches would afford - the poetry of the life which the Arab leads.
Nothing, I was told, could exceed the enjoyments of the night, when,
after a day of burning heat, the cool breezes came down from elevated
valleys, occurring between the ranges of hills which I had observed
with so much interest. This balmy air brings with it perfumes wafted
from sweet-scented flowers, which spring spontaneously in the green
spots known to the gazelle, who repairs to them to drink. Although
the dews are heavy, the Arab requires no more protection than that
afforded by his blanket, and he lies down under the most glorious
canopy, the broad vault of heaven with its countless spangles, no
artificial object intervening throughout the large circle of that wide
horizon. Here, his ablutions, prayers, and evening-meal concluded,
he either sinks into profound repose, or listens to the tales of
his companions, of daring deeds and battles long ago, or the equally
interesting though less exciting narratives of passing events; some
love-story between persons of hostile tribes, or the affection of a
betrothed girl for a stranger, and its melancholy consequences.
Notwithstanding the slight estimation in which the sex is held by the
fierce and jealous Arab - jealous more from self-love than from any
regard to the object that creates this feeling - there is still much of
the romantic to be found in his domestic history. English travellers,
who have acquired a competent knowledge of the language, may collect
materials for poems as tragical and touching as those which Lord Byron
loved to weave. I could relate several in this place, picked up by my
fellow-travellers, but as they may at some period or other desire
to give them to the public themselves, it would be scarcely fair to
anticipate their intention.
We now began to look out with some anxiety for the arrival of the
steamer at Bombay, speculating upon the chances of finding friends
able to receive us. As we drew nearer and nearer, the recollection of
the good hotels which had opened their hospitable doors for us in
the most unpromising places, caused us to lament over the absence of
similar establishments at the scene of our destination. Bombay has
been aptly denominated the landing-place of India; numbers of persons
who have no acquaintance upon the island pass through it on their way
to Bengal, or to the provinces, and if arriving by the Red Sea, are
totally unprovided with the means of making themselves comfortable in
the tents that may be hired upon their landing.
A tent, to a stranger in India, appears to be the most forlorn
residence imaginable, and many cannot be reconciled to it, even
after long custom. To those, however, who do not succeed in obtaining
invitations to private houses, a tent is the only resource. It seems
scarcely possible that the number of persons, who are obliged to
live under canvas on the Esplanade, would not prefer apartments at a
respectable hotel, if one should be erected for the purpose; yet it
is said that such an establishment would not answer. Bombay can never
obtain the pre-eminence over Calcutta, which it is so anxious to
accomplish, until it will provide the accommodation for visitors which
the City of Palaces has afforded during several years past. However
agreeable the overland journey may be, it cannot be performed without
considerable fatigue.
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