The Map of Love (11 page)

We sat under a tree which they say sheltered Our Lady in her flight into Egypt with the infant Jesus, and I own myself touched by the simple faith with which our guide spoke of Settena Maryam and her son Yasu al-Masih and — Mrs Butcher relayed to me — his utter conviction that it was this very tree and no other that had offered them shelter. And, after all, it could have been this tree. And if it was not — since there are other trees under which she is said to have rested — what harm is there in believing that it was your own particular tree that had so hospitably offered its shade? As long as one does not come to blows with one’s neighbour over the question. Why should Our Lady not have rested under several trees during her sojourn in this land?

Mrs Butcher is most kind and good-hearted. She and the Dean have lived in Egypt now for many years. She speaks the language and appears to get on well with the Native people and is quite free from any rigidity of mind but holds the most generous opinions. She spoke to me with much interest and sympathy of the religion of the Ancient Egyptians and its similarities — in its most developed stage — with our own Christianity, saying that the Ancient Egyptian, like the modern Christian, knew that he lived in the sight of God, and under the shadow of the Eternal Wings.

10 February
I was speaking of learning Arabic and Dean Butcher said, ‘Ah! you want to read the Mu
allaqat?’ When he saw that, far from wishing to read it, I did not even know what it was, he explained that it was the name given to seven Odes that are the most famous in Arabic poetry from the days before Islam. I was struck by the similarity of the word to the name of what has now become my favourite church in Egypt, and the Dean explained that ‘
allaqa’ means ‘to hang’ and the Mu
allaqah is named thus because it is hung on the ancient gateway of the Roman fort. The Mu
allaqat are the ‘hung’ poems, because they were the winning poems in the great poetry competition that took place every year in Mecca and so had the honour of being ‘hung’ on the door of the House of God (the Ka
ba).

I was loath to give up the idea that the shared name was somehow significant and I asked whether anything else was known by the same epithet. After some thought the Dean said that the only other instance that he could bring to mind was the Hanging Gardens of Babylon on the Euphrates: ‘Hada’iq Babel al-Mu’allaqah’.

I have returned to the Mu
allaqah again and again, and as my familiarity with it grew — as I came to know the figures in the paintings, and their expressions and attitudes became things I recognised rather than discovered, as my ear became attuned to the eastern sound of Coptic chanting or the muffled hush of the empty church broken only by the odd Arabic call from the courtyard without, and my nose ceased to be surprised at the oddly tinny edge of the incense — as my familiarity with the church grew, so my consciousness increased of the effect it was having on my heart and on my soul, an effect that I can only describe as a sense of increased spaciousness within myself, as though the age of the building, the years it had hung as a
hallowed space between its twin Roman towers, were working its way into my soul and I too, somehow, was becoming a part of that great tract of time. I cannot express this better, but its effect on me is of a deep — and I pray enduring — peace.

 … but she was mostly silent except when Mr Barrington asked her advice concerning a horse he was considering, and on one other occasion. Among those present was a young man by the name of Temple Gairdner, a very tall, ungainly young man with a big mop of hair, who was ordained yesterday in Alexandria and is shining with his enthusiasm to begin the work of converting Mohammedans in Cairo. He was rather disconcerted, I think, when Mrs Butcher questioned him on the wisdom of his undertaking; he did not expect it from the wife of the Dean. She did it very gently but there was no doubting her intent as she pointed out the consequences (to the convert) of his success: the legal problems of inheritance, the inetrievable loss of family and friends. For while the native Mohammedan may have a friendship — of sorts — with his Coptic neighbour, she said, to have his
own son or brother repudiate the faith was another matter entirely. Mr Gairdner made a brave defence, declaring that such worldly matters could not be weighed against the suffering of Our Lord and undertaking that he and his Society would be all the family the convert would need. Lady Anne then broke her silence to ask why he deemed it necessary to make a Moslem embrace Christianity since the Moslem is, in any case, a Believer? Was it worth the trouble it would cause to the convert and all who knew him, she asked, that he should worship the same God, but in a different manner? Mr Gairdner thus found himself trapped between two gentle but formidable ladies and I own I felt sorry for his discomfiture for he seems quite without any ill intent; indeed, he is bent on good. It all ended in friendly enough manner, though, for he declined to enter upon a discussion of theology but contented himself with saying that even if we looked at the matter from a wholly historical point of view, the entire edifice of Mohammedan belief is ‘in the face of Christianity’ and that his wish was to ‘reclaim’ for Christ souls that were His. The ladies indulged him and let the matter rest and Mr Boyle told a story of a donkey-boy who is famous for falling to his knees in front of lady tourists crying ‘Lady, lady, me believe. Gib it plenty Bibbie’, thus sounding a variation on the usual cry of ‘Baksheesh’. But Mrs Butcher said to me privately that she thought Mr Gairdner’s kind of activity only led to much mischief here and she doubted whether he would make a single true convert for his troubles.

And now, my dearest Friend, lest you think I am grown too dull and solemn I will tell you that I have attended that apex of the Egyptian Winter Season: the Khedive’s Ball. It had been postponed out of respect for our Mourning, but the Coronation having taken place, it was considered proper to hold the Ball — particularly as it is the one Event here at which all the Nations mingle and so has a most particular political and diplomatic standing.

It was a very grand affair, held at
Abdin Palace, the official Residence of the Khedive (his personal Residence is at the Qubba Palace), and on the night the carriages were nose to back
from the Hotel and progress was very slow indeed. (Made slower by an odd occurrence, for as we came to the southern end of Opera Square we were halted by what I took to be a procession: two hundred or so men, in the official workers’ clothes of the Tram Company, together with some young Egyptian men in European dress, all marching, preceded by a brass band! They came from the direction of the Citadel and turned ahead of us so we had to follow them all the way to the Palace. Nobody knew who they were but it was thought they might be celebrating some event.) I went with Lady Wolverton and Sir Hedworth Lambton and we were deemed of enough importance to be presented to His Highness and to be placed well to the front in his train when entering the Ballroom. The Khedive really seems a very pleasant young man, with an intelligent look and a good-humoured smile and perfect manners, and it is a shame he and Lord Cromer cannot get on better with one other. The Lord made an appearance but left early — before supper even — and this was excused on account of his bereavement and his known antipathy to festivities.

The Ballroom itself is of surpassing magnificence, gilt and crystal and velvet everywhere and on the whole everything you would expect in a Royal Palace and more. At one end it had huge doors which opened later in the evening to reveal a Banqueting-Hall of equal magnificence. At the other end, a kind of narrow gallery ran around the higher portion of the wall and at the back of that was a curious golden grille, behind which I was told the ladies of the household sat and watched the proceedings if they had a mind to. My interest was naturally immediately captured by this and throughout the evening I found myself glancing up at it so that, were I a man, my behaviour would surely have been construed as indelicate. And yet, I think that for all my commonplace curiosity about the world behind that screen, my greater wish was somehow to know how we, in the Ballroom, appeared to the hidden eyes which watched us.

For the dances, they were in every point similar to what we would have at a formal ball in a great house in England — but I have never before seen such a mix of nationalities, for all the
Consuls of the Powers and the Consuls of every other Nation were there together with their Ladies, and naturally there was a very large British Presence. The Native notables were there (and those are the people I was most curious about, not having met any at all though I have been here more than five months) but not one single Moslem lady. No doubt they were all behind the grille! The Natives were in the uniform of the Egyptian Army, or in the robes of the religious orders or, like the Khedive, in Court dress topped by the scarlet fez, and I own I thought some of them looked most gallant. But they kept to themselves. I did not see one of them dancing.

You will want to know what I wore. I chose my violet silk, which Emily did not think was grand enough and I own it probably was not, but as I knew that Moslem notables were to be present I thought it would provide me with adequate covering and would not cause offence. We are, after all, in their country. But I did wear Lady Winterbourne’s tiara and my mother’s amethyst necklace and I believe I did not disgrace the Empire!

When the doors to supper were opened there was such a rush to enter the room, you would have thought all these people had not had a bite in weeks. Lady Wolverton and I stayed back awhile and I saw that some Native gentlemen did the same and indeed took the opportunity very soon to leave. I had the oddest feeling that I had seen one of them before — I
only caught the briefest glimpse of him as he was turning to leave, but something in that moment transported me back to the Costanzi and it seemed to me that I could hear again Dardée’s anguished lament rising into the House — with such inconvenient consequences for you, my dearest friend —

But it was the beginning of my healing and I trust you will see from all this that I have made great progress since those sad days which I shall always remember for the angelic kindness you demonstrated towards your devoted
,