The Map of Love (32 page)

4 April

Today, in the carriage, I took the occasion to ask Layla whether Sharif Pasha had returned well from the Sinai and to hope that his work had not suffered too much as a result of his absence. She replied that he was indeed back and that she was sure he could manage his work — in any case he did not seem troubled by it. ‘He said you rode extremely well and showed no sign of weariness,’ she reported. And that was all. But later I understood that he travels tomorrow to Upper Egypt to accompany his mother on her journey home. So now I know there is no possibility of hearing from him for the coming four or five days
.

Cairo
8 April 1901

Dear Sir Charles
,

I have received yours of 23 March and am glad that you are well and in good spirits and so hopeful of Irish Affairs — at their best, you say, since Parnell died. I hope that makes it up for you
—
a little — for the events in South Africa. I own when I hear the news from there my immediate concern is for the effect I know it must have on you
.

We have had a sand-storm here yesterday and today and it is worse, to my mind, than our London fog. For at least with that you can take refuge in your home and forget its existence. Here, the sand has found its way everywhere, through the most firmly shuttered windows and into the papers and garments in every one of my cabinets. Emily was tutting as she brushed it out of my hair. I find myself thinking longingly of England. For now it is April and everything will be in bloom. I Can see the smooth green of the lawns, shimmering with moisture, and I can smell the freshness of the first mowing. I find myself thinking particularly of the magnolia
—
for its blossoming is so short that I have now missed it for a whole year
.

On our last drive I noticed a beautiful tall tree with almost
horizontal branches. It had no leaves but the branches were covered with large, solitary red flowers. I asked Layla its name, to my surprise she did not know but said that presently the red flowers would be sunounded by leaves. Mr S, on the other hand, told me immediately that the tree is a
Bombax malabricum,
also known as a Red Silk-Cotton Tree, and has been imported from tropical Asia. He did not know its name in Arabic. What I find most strange is that he
—
and others
—
seem to love this country as much as they dislike its inhabitants. They have a very clear separation in their minds between the two
.

I had a somewhat unfriendly exchange two days ago with Mr S. We were walking along the rue Qasr el-Nil and we chanced to pass a coffee-shop where a group of Native gentlemen were engaged in a discussion of something in a newspaper: I saw one of them hand the paper to another, folded as though at a specific article. They paused as we drew near and glanced up at us, resuming their conversation when we had passed. Mr S took this as an occasion to inveigh against ‘the older type of Nationalist’ to be seen sitting at cafés, indulging in ‘seditious talk’ and ‘embarrassing every passing European gentlewoman’ with his ‘bold and libidinous stare’. I said, quite gently, that I had not been aware of anything untoward in the gentlemen’s looks and he told me — more or less
—
that I had not the ability to judge the ‘Native character’ and that it was my good fortune that I could not understand what they were saying about me even then and that he had it on good authority that they were all rascals who desired nothing more fervently than to dishonour a European gentlewoman — particularly, I suppose, if she be English. I did not point out that he knows even less Arabic than I, but I asked if he knew any Egyptians personally and he said most decidedly not of ‘this type’ but he was acquainted with Mr Faris Nimr, the Editor of
al-Muqattam,
who is ‘a true gentleman and an anglophile’, and he has based his views on his conversations with Mr Nimr. I confess that as I have not met Mr Nimr, I do not know what to make of this
.

On Thursday I shall go to the Opera with Madame Rushdi to see Sarah Bernhardt in
La Dame aux camélias.
I shall be in
a harem box and I am looking forward to it enormously and you may be sure I shall report on the evening at length. Till then, I remain
,

10 April

Still nothing. But word from Layla that her Mama is back and would be happy to receive me. So I shall call on them tomorrow
.

We had a musical evening at James Barrington’s yesterday and Temple Gairdner was in fine form. He has a true feeling for music and plays the piano like one inspired. Mrs Butcher remarked to me privately that he does indeed have soul, she only wished it were occupied in something more to the general good than trying to convert Moslems
.

I had a curious conversation with James. Among all the people here, he is the one I feel closest to, in part because he knows of my ‘adventures’ (although I have promised not to indulge in any more. It was hardly a difficult undertaking, as I have not any longer the need, for
—
since knowing Layla — I
have so many more opportunities to learn about Egypt than wandering round dressed as a man could ever have afforded me) but mostly, I think, because he has a sympathy with people and is not so ready with his judgements and pronouncements. He said that I should be more careful and that I was becoming quite outspoken in defence of the Egyptians and that it would be noticed. ‘For example,’ he said, ‘you were quite nasty to Mr S the other day, and you stopped only because I pinched your arm.’ I said I had been sorely tempted to tell Mr S that I had spent sixteen nights under the protection of one of those ‘rascals’ of whom he spoke and only wished I could expect the same chivalry in an English country house as that I had received from him. ‘It won’t do, Anna,’ he said again, shaking his head. ‘You know it won’t do. I thought you were sensible.’

And I do believe I am sensible
—
only I am sensible too of the wrong being done here and that there is a living world which people are refusing to see or even hear about. I know that this sensibility is born of my affection for my new friends but it is none the less trustworthy for that
.

Cairo
13 April 1901

My dear Caroline
,

You have been much in my mind tonight for I have spent the evening at the Cairo Opera House watching the Divine Bernhardt — a memorable experience and one you would truly have enjoyed. I went as the guest of Madame Hussein Rushdi, a French lady married to an Egyptian Pasha, and we were both guests of a ‘Princess Ingie’ (although the Princess herself was not there) and so we sat in one of the boxes set aside for the Royal Harem, all red plush and red velvet with the softest wall-light and at the front a delicate wrought-iron screen decorated with gilded flowers to hide us from all eyes while not impeding our view of the House and the Stage. To watch the play and the people while so exquisitely cocooned was
—
I cannot quite find the words but it was delightful. I did so wish you could have been with me
.

We had supper à deux at Madame Rushdi’s afterwards. She is very clever and speaks both Arabic and Turkish and I mean to learn a great deal from her. As we were having coffee a servant appeared and whispered to Madame, whereupon she told me that her husband had arrived and was asking whether he could be received. Is that not charming? Upon my giving my assent, the servant disappeared and the Pasha came in shortly afterwards. He is quite elderly, but most charming and courteous and quite approving of my plans to learn Arabic and know all I could of Egypt. He said I could not have chosen a better teacher than Layla Hanim al-Baroudi. I laughed and said I could not claim the wisdom of the choice for it was Fate that had chosen for me, and he replied, ‘Ah! What better guide than Fate?’ So there we are
.

I have been to Layla’s home twice now. It is very beautifully furnished in the French style
—
but, to my mind, the old house in the Arab style is both more beautiful and more naturally suited to the climate here. I went there a few days ago and was introduced to Layla’s mother, Zeinab Hanim al-Ghamrawi, a good-looking, dignified lady of perhaps sixty. She was very kind
and welcoming, but we did not have much conversation, as she does not speak French and my Arabic is as yet limited to greetings and expressions of politesse. But it was charming to watch her with her grandson. Layla complains that she spoils him terribly but I cannot see that the child is any the worse for it. He takes being with adults as completely natural and comes and goes as he pleases while his nanny sits in a corner and calls him to her from time to time to wipe his face or straighten his shirt or — more often
—
merely to give him a kiss. I observed her blowing in his ear and when I asked Layla she said, ‘Oh, she thinks that will blow away any evil spirits!’

You will gather that I am having a most pleasant time. I still see my friends at the Agency but these new experiences of being ‘in’ Egyptian life, as it were, are
—
for the moment
—
of more interest to me. Perhaps merely because of their novelty. I wonder whether, if one of my new friends were to visit us in England, they would find us as interesting or as pleasant
.

I have not received any letters from you for a long time. Pray do write and tell me all your news for I fear you may be forgetting your loving friend
,

20 April

Today is the first day of the Moslem year 1319. There is still no word. I know he is in Cairo for this much I managed to learn from his sister. What can I
—
what must I believe? I go over our conversations. I reread my own journal. A friendship grew
—
of that I am in no doubt. And certainly after our conversation in the garden of the monastery I no longer felt my presence burdensome to him. He did not seek me out, it is true, but he cared for my welfare
—
but then he would have cared for the welfare of any stranger thrown into his care. We did not have another conversation like it
—
but then circumstances can hardly be said to have permitted such an occurrence
.

I go over our farewell at the edge of the desert as — clad once more in my black veils
—
I waited for the boat that was to take me back to Suez. He merely waited silently at my side. He spoke to Sabir and to Mutlaq, instructing them, I imagine, on the
continued need for caution until we should arrive at his house in Cairo. And then, as the boat drew near, I heard him say, ‘It has been a pleasure travelling with you, Lady Anna.’ He did not wait for my reply but turned and mounted and rode
—
at a gallop — back into the desert
.

I did not question but that I would see him again. I thought that he would call. I waited for a note. Layla and Zeinab Hanim are most welcoming and friendly but they do not speak of him except naturally, in passing
.

MY BROTHER TOOK ANNA INTO
the Sinai. She saw the desert and lived its life and visited the Monastery of St Catherine and climbed Jabal Moussa and her thirst for adventure was watered and she returned safely to my father’s house here in Cairo. How happy I was to see her — and how happy she was to see me! She told me about her journey and I felt then in her mentioning of his name and her praise of him that my brother had left a good impression on her spirit — and I would almost say more.

When I met Abeih Sharif after his return I asked about the journey and all he said was, ‘It ended safely, al-hamdu-l-Illah.’ I tried to lead him on a little and asked, ‘And was Lady Anna a good rider?’ ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Was she any trouble?’ ‘No, not at all.’ I told him she had recounted to me the story of the trip and that she had praised him for the care with which he had looked after her — and he said nothing. But I noticed, as the days went by, that he seemed more abstracted and restless than usual. And when my mother came, back from Minya she noticed it too.

And it happened that I was sitting with him and I mentioned that I had taken Anna to visit Nur al-Huda Hanim and that Madame Hussein Rushdi was there and what a pleasant time we had all had together and how happy Hussein Basha’s marriage seemed to be, and he looked at me sharply and said, ‘Madame Hussein Rushdi is a Frenchwoman. There’s a difference.’

So I asked innocently, ‘A difference between what?’

‘A Frenchwoman and Englishwoman — in our circumstances,’ he said.

‘Ah, but you always said we should judge people as individuals,’ I said, ‘not as examples of a culture or a race.’

‘So one should go with one’s own feet looking for trouble?’ he asked.

‘I think in this case,’ I laughed, ‘trouble has come looking for you.’

‘Thank you, my sister,’ was all he said.

Cairo
21 April, 1901

Dear Caroline
,

I received with joy yours of the 7th. I had heard from Sir Charles about poor Bron Herbert losing his leg in the Boer War and now yours with news of Miss Herbert joining the Theosophists and going off to live in California
—
how odd that two such things should happen in such a short space of time in one family! Do you think, perhaps, that one might have led to the other? I wish you were here and we could sit and converse with one another for I have so many new impressions now, but so vague that they seem to resist being rendered solid on paper. But I suppose it is too late in the year for it to be practicable for you to come to Egypt
—
even if you were willing
.

The weather is starting to heat up now, although it is not yet anything like the heat I have heard described. I am making a study of the trees and plants — I saw a hoopoe flitting around on the polo ground at the Club at Ghezirah the other day. I am enclosing a drawing I did of him for you
.

Cairo
24 April 1901

Dear Caroline
,

I am just returned from the strangest party and wanted immediately to tell you about it. It is a kind of Salon, literary and political, held by a Princess Nazli Fadhil at her palace from time
to time. She is the niece (I think) of Muhammad Ali himself and indeed is (again I think) quite old
—
in age but not at all in spirit
.