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Mehemet Ali： by a steep incline it ascends into the midst of rocks and
sandand already； and almost in a moment； we seem to be in the
desert； though we have scarcely left behind the last houses of an Arab
quarter； where long…robed folk； who looked half frozen； were muffled
up to the eyes to…day。 。 。 。 Was there formerly such weather as this
in this country noted for its unchanging mildness？
This residence of the great sovereign of Egypt； the citadel and the
mosque which he had made for his last repose； are perched like eagles'
nests on a spur of the mountain chain of Arabia； the Mokattam； which
stretches out like a promontory towards the basin of the Nile； and
brings quite close to Cairo； so as almost to overhang it； a little of
the desert solitude。 And so the eye can see from far off and from all
sides the mosque of Mehemet Ali； with the flattened domes of its
cupolas； its pointed minarets； the general aspect so entirely Turkish；
perched high up； with a certain unexpectedness； above the Arab town
which it dominates。 The prince who sleeps there wished that it should
resemble the mosques of his fatherland； and it looks as if it had been
transported bodily from Stamboul。
A short trot brings us up to the lower gate of the old fortress； and；
by a natural effect； as we ascend； all Cairo which is near there；
seems to rise with us： not yet indeed the endless multitude of its
houses； but at first only the thousands of its minarets； which in a
few seconds point their high towers into the mournful sky； and suggest
at once that an immense town is about to unfold itself under our eyes。
Continuing to ascendpast the double rampart； the double or triple
gates； which all these old fortresses possess； we penetrate at length
into a large fortified courtyard； the crenellated walls of which shut
out our further view。 Soldiers are on guard thereand how unexpected
are such soldiers in this holy place of Egypt！ The red uniforms and
the white faces of the north： Englishmen； billeted in the palace of
Mehemet Ali！
The mosque first meets the eye； preceding the palace。 And as we
approach； it is Stamboul indeedfor me dear old Stamboulwhich is
called to mind； there is nothing； whether in the lines of its
architecture or in the details of its ornamentation； to suggest the
art of the Arabsa purer art it may be than this and of which many
excellent examples may be seen in Cairo。 No； it is a corner of Turkey
into which we are suddenly come。
Beyond a courtyard paved with marble； silent and enclosed； which
serves as a vast parvis； the sanctuary recalls those of Mehemet Fatih
or the Chah Zade： the same sanctified gloom； into which the stained
glass of the narrow windows casts a splendour as of precious stones；
the same extreme distance between the enormous pillars； leaving more
clear space than in our churches； and giving to the domes the
appearance of being held up by enchantment。
The walls are of a strange white marble streaked with yellow。 The
ground is completely covered with carpets of a sombre red。 In the
vaults； very elaborately wrought； nothing but blacks and gold： a
background of black bestrewn with golden roses； and bordered with
arabesques like gold lace。 And from above hang thousands of gold
chains supporting the vigil lamps for the evening prayers。 Here and
there are people on their knees； little groups in robe and turban；
scattered fortuitously upon the red of the carpets； and almost lost in
the midst of the sumptuous solitude。
In an obscure corner lies Mehemet Ali； the prince adventurous and
chivalrous as some legendary hero； and withal one of the greatest
sovereigns of modern history。 There he lies behind a grating of gold；
of complicated design； in that Turkish style； already decadent； but
still so beautiful； which was that of his epoch。
Through the golden bars may be seen in the shadow the catafalque of
state； in three tiers； covered with blue brocades； exquisitely faded；
and profusely embroidered with dull gold。 Two long green palms freshly
cut from some date…tree in the neighbourhood are crossed before the
door of this sort of funeral enclosure。 And it seems that around us is
an inviolable religious peace。 。 。 。
But all at once there comes a noisy chattering in a Teutonic tongue
and shouts and laughs！ 。 。 。 How is it possible； so near to the great
dead？ 。 。 。 And there enters a group of tourists； dressed more or less
in the approved 〃smart〃 style。 A guide； with a droll countenance；
recites to them the beauties of the place； bellowing at the top of his
voice like a showman at a fair。 And one of the travellers； stumbling
in the sandals which are too large for her small feet； laughs a
prolonged； silly little laugh like the clucking of a turkey。 。 。 。
Is there then no keeper； no guardian of this holy mosque？ And amongst
the faithful prostrate here in prayer； none who will rise and make
indignant protest？ Who after this will speak to us of the fanaticism
of the Egyptians？ 。 。 。 Too meek； rather； they seem to me everywhere。
Take any church you please in Europe where men go down on their knees
in prayer； and I should like to see what kind of a welcome would be
accorded to a party of Moslem tourists whoto suppose the impossible
behaved so badly as these savages here。
Behind the mosque is an esplanade； and beyond that the palace。 The
palace； as such； can scarcely be said to exist any longer； for it has
been turned into a barrack for the army of occupation。 English
soldiers； indeed； meet us at every turn； smoking their pipes in the
idleness of the evening。 One of them who does not smoke is trying to
carve his name with a knife on one of the layers of marble at the base
of the sanctuary。
At the end of this esplanade there is a kind of balcony from which one
may see the whole of the town； and an unlimited extent of verdant
plains and yellow desert。 It is a favourite view of the tourists of
the agencies； and we meet again our friends of the mosque； who have
preceded us hitherthe gentlemen with the loud voices； the bellowing
guide and the cackling lady。 Some soldiers are standing there too；
smoking their pipes contemplatively。 But spite of all these people； in
spite； too； of the wintry sky； the scene which presents itself on
arrival there is ravishing。
A very fairylandbut a fairyland quite different from that of
Stamboul。 For whereas the latter is ranged like a great amphitheatre
above the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmora； here the vast town is
spread out simply； in a plain surrounded by the solitude of the desert
and dominated by chaotic rocks。 Thousands of minarets rise up on every
side like ears of corn in a field； far away in the distance one can
see their innumerable slender pointsbut instead of being simply； as
at Stamboul； so many white spires； they are here complicated by
arabesques； by galleries； clock…towers and little columns； and seem to
have borrowed the reddish colour of the desert。