In Pastures New

by George Ade

  CHAPTER XII

  ROUND ABOUT CAIRO, WITH AND WITHOUT THE ASSISTANCE OF THE DRAGOMAN ORSIMON LEGREE OF THE ORIENT

  Mr. Peasley is a secretive student of the guide book.

  He reads up beforehand and on the quiet. Then when we come face toface with some "sight" and are wondering about this or that, Mr.Peasley opens the floodgate of his newly-acquired knowledge and delugesthe whole party. He is seldom correct, and never accurate, but heknows that he is dealing with an ignorance more profound than his own,and that gives him confidence.

  For instance, the first afternoon in Cairo we chartered an openconveyance and rode out to the citadel and the mosque of Mohammed Ali,both of which are perched on a high limestone cliff overlooking thecity. The mosque is modern and very gorgeous with alabaster columns, aprofusion of gay rugs, stained windows, and crystal chandeliers. Wewere rhapsodising over the interior and were saying it was almost asswell and elegant as the new Claypool Hotel in Indianapolis, when wehappened to overhear one of our countrywomen reading aloud from a veryentertaining book on Egypt written thirty years ago by Amelia B.Edwards. Miss Edwards allowed that the mosque of Mohammed Ali was atawdry and hideous specimen of the most decadent period of the mixed-uparchitectures imported from Araby and Turkey. When we heard that wemade a quick switch and began to find fault with the decorations andtold the guide we had enough.

  On the way out to the parapet to enjoy the really wonderful view of thecity and the Nile Valley, with the pyramids lifting themselves dimlyfrom the old gold haze of the desert, Mr. Peasley wished to repay thelady who had read to us, so he paused, and, making a very indefiniteand non-committal gesture, said, "Near this very spot Mohammed Alikilled more than one hundred and fifty mamelukes in one day."

  Our fair countrywoman looked at Mr. Peasley with a puzzled frown on herbrow and then timidly asked, "What is a mameluke?"

  "_What is a mameluke?_"]

  We thought she had him, but not so. He wasn't even feazed. He repliedpromptly, "A mameluke is something like a mongoose, only larger."

  That is Mr. Peasley's way. If he doesn't know, at least he will make astab at it. One evening at dinner we had anchovies as a curtainraiser, and a man sitting next to Mr. Peasley poked at the brinyminnows with his fork and asked, "What are these?"

  "Those are anchorites," replied Mr. Peasley, without the slightesthesitation.

  As a rule he gets one syllable right, which is pretty good for him. Atpresent he is much interested in the huge dams of masonry and irongates that have been thrown across the Nile at Assiut and Assouan.Over here they are called "barrages." Mr. Peasley insists upon callingthem "garages." We tried to explain to him that a garage was a placewhere automobiles were cared for, but he said that automobile and "dam"belonged in the same category and often meant practically the samething, so he continues to speak of the "garage."

  By the way, when a pious Englishman over here, say a bishop on avacation, wishes to relieve his feelings without the actual use ofprofanity he exclaims "Assouan!" If he falls off his donkey,"Assouan!" If his tea is served to him at less than 212 degreesFahrenheit, "Assouan!"

  _Assouan!_]

  "Assouan" means the superlative of all dams, the biggest dam in theworld. It takes the place of a whole row of these:-- ---- ------ ----------. Mr. Peasley uses the word, when he can think of it. If hismemory fails him, he falls back on the American equivalent.

  Inasmuch as I reside in Indiana, where it is a social offence to cravea cigarette, a misdemeanor to keep one in the house, and a high crimeto smoke one, Cairo during the first day gave me many a shock. Cairois unquestionably the cigarette headquarters of the universe. If themodern Egyptians followed the ancient method of loading the tomb withsupplies for the lately departed they would put in each sarcophagusabout ten thousand cigarettes and a few gallons of Turkish coffee. Thefood wouldn't matter.

  In Cairo, men, women, and children smoke. Only the camels and donkeysabstain.

  Cigarettes are sold nearly everywhere--not only by tobacconists, butalso by milliners, undertakers, real estate agents, etc. Those who donot sell them give them away. A cigarette across the counter is theusual preliminary to driving a bargain.

  It surprised us to learn that although the Egyptians have been addictedto this enfeebling vice ever since they first had a chance to cultivateit, they have managed to survive and flourish as a distinct breed ofhumanity for some seven thousand years, as nearly as I can figure itoff hand. By eliminating the cigarette from Indiana the Hoosiersshould beat this record. No doubt they will retain their primitivevigour for a longer period, say nine thousand years. If so, theanti-cigarette law will be vindicated.

  We certainly had a feeling of guilty pleasure when we sat in front ofShepheard's Hotel and smoked the wicked little things, and knew thatthe policeman standing a few feet away did not dare to raise his handagainst us.

  A very clever young American owns a shop near the hotel. He is astudent of Egyptology and a dealer in genuine antiquities, includingmummies. While I was nosing through his collection of scarabs, idols,coins, and other time-worn trinkets, he suggested that I purchase amummy.

  "Can I get one?" I asked, in surprise.

  "I can get you a gross, if you want them," he replied.

  "What would a man do with a gross of mummies?"

  "You can give them away. They are very ornamental. Formerly my onlycustomers were colleges and museums. Now I am selling to people whoput them in private residences. Nothing sets off an Oriental apartmentto better effect, or gives it more colour and atmosphere, as you mightsay, than a decorated mummy case."

  I told him I would not object to the "colour," but would draw the lineat "atmosphere." He assured me that after a few thousand years themortuary remains become as dry as a London newspaper and as odourlessas a Congressional investigation.

  I followed him into a large back room and saw two beautifully preservedspecimens in their rigid overcoats being packed away for shipment toAmerica, while others leaned against the wall in careless attitudes.

  What a grisly reflection! Here was a local potentate, let us sayIpekak II. of Hewgag--ruler of a province, boss of his party, proudowner of broad fields and grazing herds. When he died, 1400 B.C., andwas escorted to his rock tomb by all the local secret societies, themilitary company, and a band of music, his friends lowered his embalmedremains into a deep pit and then put in a rock filling and cuthieroglyphics all over the place, telling of his wealth and socialimportance, and begging all future generations to regard the premisesas sacred.

  Some two thousand years later along comes a vandal in a cheap storesuit and a cork helmet, engages Ipekak's own descendants to pry openthe tomb and heave out the rock at fifteen cents per day, hauls themummy into the daylight, and ships it by luggage van to Cairo, where itis sold to a St. Paul man for $125!

  Until I talked to the dealer I had no idea that mummies were soplentiful. In some parts of Egypt people go out and dig them up justas they would dig potatoes. The prices vary greatly, somewhatdepending upon the state of preservation of the party of the first partand the character of the decorations on the case, but more particularlyon account of the title or historical importance of the once lamented.For instance, a Rameses or Ptolemy cannot be touched for less than$1000. A prince, a trust magnate, or a military commander brings $150;the Governor of a city or the president of a theological seminaryanywhere from $60 to $75. Within the last three years perfectspecimens of humourist have been offered for as low as $18, and thedealer showed me one for $7.50--probably a tourist.

  At Naples, proceeding eastward, one enters the land of Talk. TheFrench are conversational and animated, but Southern Italy begins toshow the real Oriental luxuriance of gab. A Neapolitan trying to sellthree cents' worth of fish will make more noise than a whole Wanamakerestablishment. The most commonplace and everyday form of dialoguecalls for flashing eyes, swaying body, and frantic gesticulations.

  In front of a cafe in Naples Mr. Peasley became de
eply interested in aconversation between two well-dressed men at a table near ours. Atfirst we thought they were going to "clinch" and fight it out, but thenwe saw that there was no real anger exhibited, but that apparently onewas describing to the other some very thrilling experience. He wavedhis arms, struck at imaginary objects, made pinwheel movements with hisfingers, and carried on generally in a most hysterical manner. Mr.Peasley, all worked up, beckoned the head waiter, who had been talkingto us in English.

  "Look here," he said confidentially, "I want you to listen and tell mewhat those fellows are talking about. I can't catch a word they say,but as near as I can make out from the way they act that fellow withthe goatee is describing some new kind of torpedo boat. It goesthrough the water at about thirty miles an hour, having three or fourscrew propellers. When it comes within striking distance of theenemy--bang! they cut her loose and the projectile goes whizzing to themark, and when it meets with any resistance there is a big explosionand everything within a quarter of a mile is blown to flindereens.Now, that's the plot, as near as I can follow it from watchin' thatshort guy make motions. You listen to them and tell me if I am right."

  The head waiter listened and then translated to us as follows:--"He issaying to his friend that he slept very well last evening and got upfeeling good, but was somewhat annoyed at breakfast time because theegg was not cooked to suit him."

  "How about all these gymnastics?" asked the surprised Mr. Peasley."Why does he hop up and down, side step and feint and wiggle hisfingers and all that monkey business?"

  "Quite so," replied the head waiter. "He is describing the egg."

  "_He is describing the egg._"]

  What a people--to take five cents worth of cheap information andgarland it with twenty dollars' worth of Delsarte and rhetoric!

  Talk is one of the few things of which there is a superabundance in theLevant. In nearly all particulars the Arab is economical andabstemious. He eats sparingly and cheaply, wears just enough clothingto keep from violating the municipal ordinances, smokes conservatively,so as to get the full value of his tobacco, and lives in a house whichis furnished with three or four primitive utensils. But when it comesto language, he is the most reckless spendthrift in the world. He usesup large bales of conversation.

  Suppose that three porters at a railway station are to take a trunkfrom a car and put it on a truck and wheel it out to a cab. The talkmade necessary by this simple operation would fill several pages in theCongressional Record. All three talk incessantly, each telling theothers what to do and finding fault because they don't do it his way.One seems to be superintendent, the second is foreman, and the third isboss.

  Endless disputes of a most vivid character rage among the donkey boysand peddlers who assemble near the hotels and lie in wait for victims."What do they find to talk about?" is the question that comes to oneevery time he hears the babel of excited voices. And while we aresmiling at their childish tantrums they are splitting their sides overnew stories relating to that strange being from the antipodes, thebarbarian with the mushroom helmet who exudes money at every pore, whokeeps himself bundled in unnecessary clothes and rides out to thedesert every day to stand in the baking sun and solemnly contemplate abroken column and a heap of rubbish. Truly it all depends on the pointof view.

  We held back the Pyramids and the Sphinx so as to make our visit tothem the cap sheaf of the stay in Cairo. As for sightseeing, most ofthe time we just rambled up one street and down another, looking inshop windows, watching the workmen kill time with their prehistoricimplements, smelling the bazaars, dodging dog carts, donkeys andcamels, and having a fine time generally.

  Aimless excursions are the best, after all. It is more fun to driftaround a new town and rub up against the people than to deliveryourself, body and soul, over to a guide. In Egypt the guide is calleda dragoman. He puts on airs and has an inside pocket bulging withtestimonials from people who were so glad to get out of his clutchesthat they willingly perjured themselves by giving him half-heartedcertificates of good character. While you are in the hands of thedragoman you feel like a dumb, driven cow. You follow the flutteringnightshirt and the tall red fez of this arch villain for hours at atime, not knowing where you are going, or why. He takes absolutecharge of you, either by making specious representations or boldlyassuming authority, and when you start out to visit the famous mosqueof old Midullah Oblongahta or some other defunct celebrity you finishup in a junk shop for the sale of antiques, all of which are personallyguaranteed by the dragoman, because he is a silent partner in thebusiness.

  In many countries, especially at times when the traveller must condensehis itinerary, the guide is a necessary evil, and in Egypt he issupposed to be a sort of ornamental body guard. We found that we couldwander about without being haltered and led, so we spent pleasant hoursin the Mouski, which is the native shopping street, and also we went tothe race meeting and saw native horses and ponies, carrying 140 to 160pounds each, saunter around a half-mile track while a large number ofEnglish in Mardi Gras costumes drank gallons of tea and simulated apolite interest.

  One afternoon we wandered into a market and a man tried to sell me acamel. Wherever we go, if a man has something he doesn't want, hetries to sell it to me, and sometimes he does it. But I refused totake the camel. I did not see how I could fold it up and secrete it soas to get it through the custom house.

  Camels in the Cairo market are now steady, not literally speaking, butas regards their value. A good terra cotta camel, 55 to 60 hands highand broken to single-foot, will fetch as high as $150. The olderones--spavined, hairless, or pigeontoed--can be bought for as low as$50 each. The common or garden camel, trained to collapse like apocket camera and carry from three to eight tons of cargo, can usuallybe bought at from $100 to $125.

  Cairo, as a whole, was a big surprise to us. We knew that it was goingto be cosmopolitan, but we were not prepared to find it sometropolitan. We had pictured it as one or two semi-European streetshedged in by a vast area of native quarter. But, unless you seek outthe old parts of the town or the bazaars, each showing a distinct typeof the Oriental shark, Cairo is outwardly quite modern, veryattractive, and decidedly gay--that is, not real wicked gayety of theParisian brand, but modified, winter-resort gayety, the kind that isinduced by the presence of money-spending tourists. There is no hurrahnight life, and gambling, which flourished here for many seasons underthe skilful direction of our countryman, Mr. Pat Sheedy, has yielded toBritish reformatory influence.

  The modern streets in Cairo, with their attractive hotels, residences,and shops, suggest a blending of Paris and the Riviera--consistentarchitecture, trees, palms, gardens. The streets are of boulevardwidth, and the houses of cheerful colouring, many of them bearingcoloured frescoes in delicate shades. We who live in a country ofrainfall and smoke and changing temperatures are impelled to stop andgaze in wonder at a mansion of snowy white with a pattern of paleblossoms drooping down the front of it. That style of decoration wouldlast about twenty minutes in Chicago.