DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.11715#0035
ALEXANDRIA TO CAIRO.
art, he would have done a good work. But the new Boulevards satisfy none of these
requirements. They are simply poor imitations of a faulty original. And this applies
to the whole system of administration. It is an exotic which has no roots in the soil,
and no adaptation to surrounding conditions.
But, as an American gentlemen said to me, "Cairo is a big place, and can stand a
great deal of improving." In a few minutes we may pass from the Frank quarter into
the labyrinthine windings of bazaars, which are almost unchanged since the days of
Saladin, and in which " Haroun Alraschid, Giaffar, the Grand Vizier, and Mesrour, the
chief of the eunuchs," might have wandered and found little to surprise them. The
Mooskee affords us a good line of transition from the one to the other. We enter the
main thoroughfare, broad for an Eastern city, with a Bavarian bier-halle at one corner,
and at the other a shop for the sale of French
books and photographs. The road-way is, of
course, unpaved, but it is wide enough to allow
a carriage to drive along it, with space for foot-
passengers on either side. Each carriage is
preceded by its running footmen—lithe, agile
fellows, who can keep ahead of the horses, going
at full speed, for an incredible distance. They
wear a lieht dress of white linen, which leaves
the arms and le^s bare. Each carries a wand
by day, a flambeau by night. Their duty is
to warn pedestrians to get out of the way,
which they do by incessant cries: "To the
right; To the left; Look out in front," mingled
with good-humored abuse of those who are
slow to take their warnings. Lines of camels1
with their long swaying necks, soft, silent tread,
and peevish groans, stalk solemnly along the
middle of the roadway. A string of donkeys,
surmounted by inflated balloons of black silk or
white muslin, from which dainty little slippers
of red or yellow morocco leather peep out, are
carrying the ladies of a harem to take the air.
Here comes a procession of blind men chanting
the Koran, followed by a group of women wailing and crying in tones of well-simulated
grief; between them is a board carried on men's shoulders and covered by a pall, be-
neath whose folds it is easy to make out the rigid lines of a corpse on its way to the
1 Barham Zincke's description of the camel, though long, is too good not to be quoted. Its long neck is elevated and stretched
forward. It is carrying its head horizontally, with its upper lip drawn down. In this drawn-down lip, and on its whole demeanor,
there is an expression of contempt—contempt for the modern world. You can read its thoughts. " I belong," it is saying to itself,
for it cares nothing about you, still you can't help understanding it. "I belong to the old wodd. There was time and loom enough
then for everything. What reason can there be for all this crowding and hastening ? I move at a pace which used to satisfy kings
and patriarchs. My fashion is the o'd-world fashion. Railways and telegraphs are nothing to me. Before the Pyramids were
thought of, it had been settled what my burden was to be, and at what pace it was to be carried. If any of these unresting pale faces
(what business have they with me?) wish not to be knocked over, they must get out of the way. I give no notice of my approach ;
I make way for no man. What has the grand calm old world come to ? There is nothing now anywhere but noise and pushing and
money-grubbing ; " and every camel that you will meet will be going the same measured pace, holding its head in the same po-
sition, drawing down its lip with the same contempt, and soliloquising in the same style.—Egypt of the Pharaohs and the Khedive.
31
art, he would have done a good work. But the new Boulevards satisfy none of these
requirements. They are simply poor imitations of a faulty original. And this applies
to the whole system of administration. It is an exotic which has no roots in the soil,
and no adaptation to surrounding conditions.
But, as an American gentlemen said to me, "Cairo is a big place, and can stand a
great deal of improving." In a few minutes we may pass from the Frank quarter into
the labyrinthine windings of bazaars, which are almost unchanged since the days of
Saladin, and in which " Haroun Alraschid, Giaffar, the Grand Vizier, and Mesrour, the
chief of the eunuchs," might have wandered and found little to surprise them. The
Mooskee affords us a good line of transition from the one to the other. We enter the
main thoroughfare, broad for an Eastern city, with a Bavarian bier-halle at one corner,
and at the other a shop for the sale of French
books and photographs. The road-way is, of
course, unpaved, but it is wide enough to allow
a carriage to drive along it, with space for foot-
passengers on either side. Each carriage is
preceded by its running footmen—lithe, agile
fellows, who can keep ahead of the horses, going
at full speed, for an incredible distance. They
wear a lieht dress of white linen, which leaves
the arms and le^s bare. Each carries a wand
by day, a flambeau by night. Their duty is
to warn pedestrians to get out of the way,
which they do by incessant cries: "To the
right; To the left; Look out in front," mingled
with good-humored abuse of those who are
slow to take their warnings. Lines of camels1
with their long swaying necks, soft, silent tread,
and peevish groans, stalk solemnly along the
middle of the roadway. A string of donkeys,
surmounted by inflated balloons of black silk or
white muslin, from which dainty little slippers
of red or yellow morocco leather peep out, are
carrying the ladies of a harem to take the air.
Here comes a procession of blind men chanting
the Koran, followed by a group of women wailing and crying in tones of well-simulated
grief; between them is a board carried on men's shoulders and covered by a pall, be-
neath whose folds it is easy to make out the rigid lines of a corpse on its way to the
1 Barham Zincke's description of the camel, though long, is too good not to be quoted. Its long neck is elevated and stretched
forward. It is carrying its head horizontally, with its upper lip drawn down. In this drawn-down lip, and on its whole demeanor,
there is an expression of contempt—contempt for the modern world. You can read its thoughts. " I belong," it is saying to itself,
for it cares nothing about you, still you can't help understanding it. "I belong to the old wodd. There was time and loom enough
then for everything. What reason can there be for all this crowding and hastening ? I move at a pace which used to satisfy kings
and patriarchs. My fashion is the o'd-world fashion. Railways and telegraphs are nothing to me. Before the Pyramids were
thought of, it had been settled what my burden was to be, and at what pace it was to be carried. If any of these unresting pale faces
(what business have they with me?) wish not to be knocked over, they must get out of the way. I give no notice of my approach ;
I make way for no man. What has the grand calm old world come to ? There is nothing now anywhere but noise and pushing and
money-grubbing ; " and every camel that you will meet will be going the same measured pace, holding its head in the same po-
sition, drawing down its lip with the same contempt, and soliloquising in the same style.—Egypt of the Pharaohs and the Khedive.
31