The metropolis of Egypt maintains the comparative reputation by which it has been distinguished for many centuries, of being the best school of Arabic literature, and of Muslim theology and jurisprudence. Learning, indeed, has much declined among the Arabs universally; but least in Cairo: consequently, the fame of the professors of this city still remains unrivalled; and its great collegiate mosque, the Azhar, continues to attract innumerable students from every quarter of the Muslim world.

The Arabic spoken by the middle and higher classes in Cairo is generally inferior, in point of grammatical correctness and pronunciation, to the dialects of the Bedawees of Arabia, and of the inhabitants of the towns in their immediate vicinity; but much to be preferred to those of Syria; and still more, to those of the Western Arabs. The most remarkable peculiarities in the pronunciation of the people of Egypt are the following:—The fifth letter of the alphabet is pronounced by the natives of Cairo, and throughout the greater part of Egypt, as g in give; while, in most parts of Arabia, and in Syria and other countries, it receives the sound of j in joy: but it is worthy of remark, that, in a part of southern Arabia, where, it is said, Arabic was first spoken, the former sound is given to this letter.^[329] In those parts of Egypt where this pronunciation of the fifth letter prevails, the sound of “hemzeh” (which is produced by a sudden emission of the voice after a total suppression) is given to the twenty-first letter, excepting by the better instructed, who give to this letter its true sound, which I represent by “k.” In other parts of Egypt, the pronunciation of the fifth letter is the same as that of j in joy, or nearly so; and the twenty-first letter is pronounced as g in give. By all the Egyptians, in common with most other people who speak the Arabic language, the third and fourth letters of the alphabet are pronounced alike, as our t; and the eighth and ninth, as our d.—Of the peculiarities in the structure of the Egyptian dialect of Arabic, the most remarkable are, the annexation of the letter “sheen” in negative phrases, in the same manner as the word “pas” is used in French; as “má yerdásh,” for “má yerda,” “he will not consent;” “má hoosh teiyib,” (vulgarly, “mósh teiyib”), for “má huwa teiyib,” “it is not good:” the placing the demonstrative pronoun after the word to which it relates; as “el-beyt dé,” “this house;” and a frequent unnecessary use of the diminutive form in adjectives: as “sugheiyir,” for “sagheer,” “small;” “kureiyib,” for “kareeb,” “near.”

There is not so much difference between the literary and vulgarvulgar dialects of Arabic as some European Orientalists have supposed: the latter may be described as the ancient dialect simplified, principally by the omission of the final vowels and other terminations which distinguish the different cases of nouns and some of the persons of verbs.^[330] Nor is there so great a difference between the dialects of Arabic spoken in different countries as some persons, who have not held intercourse with the inhabitants of such countries, have imagined: they resemble each other more than the dialects of some of the different counties in England. The Arabic language abounds with synonyms; and, of a number of words which are synonymous, one is in common use in one country, and another elsewhere. Thus, the Egyptian calls milk “leben;” the Syrian calls it “haleeb:” the word “leben,” is used in Syria to denote a particular preparation of sour milk. Again, bread is called in Egypt “’eysh;” and in other Arab countries, “khubz;” and many examples of a similar kind might be adduced.—The pronunciation of Egypt has more softness than that of Syria and most other countries in which Arabic is spoken.

The literature of the Arabs is very comprehensive; but the number of their books is more remarkable than the variety. The relative number of the books which treat of religion and jurisprudence may be stated to be about one-fourth: next in number are works on grammar, rhetoric, and various branches of philology: the third in the scale of proportion are those on history (chiefly that of the Arab nation), and on geography: the fourth, poetical compositions. Works on medicine, chemistry, the mathematics, algebra, and various other sciences, etc., are comparatively very few.

There are, in Cairo, many large libraries; most of which are attached to mosques, and consist, for the greater part, of works on theology and jurisprudence, and philology. Several rich merchants, and others, have also good libraries. The booksellers of Cairo are, I am informed, only eight in number;^[331] and their shops are but ill stocked. Whenever a valuable book comes into the possession of one of these persons, he goes round with it to his regular customers; and is almost sure of finding a purchaser. The leaves of the books are seldom sewed together; but they are usually enclosed in a cover bound with leather; and mostly have, also, an outer case of pasteboard and leather. Five sheets, or double leaves, are commonly placed together, one within another; composing what is called a “karrás.” The leaves are thus arranged, in small parcels, without being sewed, in order that one book may be of use to a number of persons at the same time; each taking a karrás. The books are laid flat, one upon another; and the name is written upon the front of the outer case, or upon the edge of the leaves. The paper is thick and glazed: it is mostly imported from Venice, and glazed in Egypt. The ink is very thick and gummy. Reeds are used instead of pens; and they suit the Arabic character much better. The Arab, in writing, places the paper upon his knee, or upon the palm of his left hand, or upon what is called a “misned′eh,” composed of a dozen or more pieces of paper attached together at the four corners, and resembling a thin book, which he rests on his knee. His ink and pens are contained in a receptacle called “dawáyeh,” mentioned in the first chapter of this work, together with the penknife, and an ivory instrument (“mikattah”) upon which the pen is laid to be nibbed. He rules his paper by laying under it a piece of pasteboard with strings strained and glued across it (called a “mistar′ah”), and slightly pressing it over each string. Scissors are included among the apparatus of a writer: they are used for cutting the paper; a torn edge being considered as unbecoming. In Cairo there are many persons who obtain their livelihood by copying manuscripts. The expense of writing a karrás of twenty pages, quarto size, with about twenty-five lines to a page, in an ordinary hand, is about three piasters (or a little more than sevenpence of our money); but more if in an elegant hand; and about double the sum if with the vowel points, etc.

In Egypt, and particularly in its metropolis, those youths or men who purpose to devote themselves to religious employments, or to any of the learned professions, mostly pursue a course of study in the great mosque El-Azhar, having previously learned nothing more than to read, and, perhaps, to write, and to recite the Kur-án. The Azhar, which is regarded as the principal university^[332] of the East, is an extensive building, surrounding a large, square court. On one side of this court, the side towards Mekkeh, is the chief place of prayer, a spacious portico; on each of the other three sides are smaller porticoes, divided into a number of apartments, called “riwáks,” each of which is destined for the use of natives of a particular country, or of a particular province of Egypt. This building is situated within the metropolis. It is not remarkable in point of architecture, and is so surrounded by houses that very little of it is seen externally. The students are called “mugáwireen.”^[333] Each riwák has a library for the use of its members; and from the books which it contains, and the lectures of the professors, the students acquire their learning. The regular subjects of study are grammatical inflexion and syntax, rhetoric, versification, logic, theology, the exposition of the Kur-án, the Traditions of the Prophet, the complete science of jurisprudence, or rather of religious, moral, civil, and criminal law, which is chiefly founded on the Kur-án and the Traditions, together with arithmetic, as far as it is useful in matters of law. Lectures are also given on algebra, and on the calculations of the Mohammadan calendar, the times of prayer, etc. Different books are read by students of different sects. Most of the students, being natives of Cairo, are of the Sháfe’ee sect; and always the Sheykh, or head of the mosque, is of this sect. None of the students pay for the instruction they receive, being mostly of the poorer classes. Most of those who are strangers, having riwáks appropriated to them, receive a daily allowance of food, provided from funds chiefly arising from the rents of houses bequeathed for their maintenance. Those of Cairo and its neighbourhood used to receive a similar allowance; but this they no longer enjoy, excepting during the month of Ramadán; for the present Básha of Egypt has taken possession of all the cultivable land which belonged to the mosques; and thus the Azhar has lost the greater portion of the property which it possessed: nothing but the expenses of necessary repairs, and the salaries of its principal officers, are provided for by the government. The professors also receive no salaries. Unless they inherit property, or have relations to maintain them, they have no regular means of subsistence but teaching in private houses, copying books, etc.; but they sometimes receive presents from the wealthy. Any person who is competent to the task may become a professor by obtaining a licence from the Sheykh of the mosque. The students mostly obtain their livelihood by the same means as the professors, or by reciting the Kur-án in private houses, and at the tombs and other places. When sufficiently advanced in their studies, some of them become kádees, muftees, imáms of mosques, or schoolmasters, in their native villages or towns, or in Cairo; others enter into trade; some remain all their lifetime studying in the Azhar, and aspire to be ranked among the higher ’Ulama. Since the confiscation of the lands which belonged to the Azhar, the number of that class of students to whom no endowed riwák is appropriated has very much decreased. The number of students, including all classes excepting the blind, is (as I am informed by one of the professors) about one thousand five hundred.^[334]

There is a chapel (called “Záwiyet el-’Omyán,” or the Chapel of the Blind), adjacent to the eastern angle of the Azhar, and one of the dependencies of that mosque, where at present about three hundred poor blind men, most of whom are students, are maintained from funds bequeathed for that purpose. These blind men often conduct themselves in a most rebellious and violent manner; they are notorious for such conduct and for their fanaticism. A short time ago, a European traveller entering the Azhar, and his presence there being buzzed about, the blind men eagerly inquired, “Where is the infidel?” adding, “We will kill him!” and groping about at the same time to feel and lay hold of him; they were the only persons who seemed desirous of showing any violence to the intruder. Before the accession of the present Básha, they often behaved in a very outrageous manner whenever they considered themselves oppressed, or scanted in their allowance of food; they would, on these occasions, take a few guides, go about with staves, seize the turbans of passengers in the streets, and plunder the shops. The most celebrated of the present professors in the Azhar, the sheykh El-Kuweysinee,^[335] who is himself blind, being appointed, a few years ago, Sheykh of the Záwiyet el-’Omyán, as soon as he entered upon his office, caused every one of the blind men there to be flogged; but they rose against him, bound him, and inflicted upon him a flogging far more severe than that which they had themselves endured, and obliged him to give up his office.

Learning was in a much more flourishing state in Cairo before the entrance of the French army than it has been in later years. It suffered severely from this invasion, not through direct oppression, but in consequence of the panic which this event occasioned and the troubles by which it was followed. Before that period, a sheykh who had studied in the Azhar, if he had only two boys, sons of a moderately rich felláh, to educate, lived in luxury: his two pupils served him, cleaned his house, prepared his food, and, though they partook of it with him, were his menial attendants at every time but that of eating: they followed him whenever he went out, carried his shoes (and often kissed them when they took them off) on his entering a mosque, and in every case treated him with the honour due to a prince. He was then distinguished by an ample dress and the large formal turban called a mukleh; and as he passed along the street, whether on foot or mounted on an ass or mule, passengers often pressed towards him to implore a short ejaculatory prayer on their behalf; and he who succeeded in obtaining this wish believed himself especially blessed: if he passed by a Frank riding, the latter was obliged to dismount; if he went to a butcher to procure some meat (for he found it best to do so, and not to send another), the butcher refused to make any charge, but kissed his hand, and received as an honour and a blessing whatever he chose to give.—The condition of a man of this profession is now so fallen that it is with difficulty he can obtain a scanty subsistence unless possessed of extraordinary talent.

The Muslim ’ulama are certainly much fettered in the pursuit of some of the paths of learning by their religion; and superstition sometimes decides a point which has been controverted for centuries. There is one singular means of settling a contention on any point of faith, science, or fact, of which I must give an instance. The following anecdote was related to me by the Imám of the late Muftee (the sheykh El-Mahdee): I wrote it in Arabic, at his dictation, and shall here translate his words. The sheykh Mohammad El-Baháee (a learned man, whom the vulgar regard as a “welee,” or especial favourite of heaven) was attending the lectures of the sheykh El-Emeer El-Kebeer (sheykh of the sect of the Málikees), when the professor read, from the Gámë’ es-Sagheer^[336] of Es-Suyootee, this saying of the Prophet: “Verily El-Hasan and El-Hoseyn are the two lords of the youths of the people of Paradise, in Paradise;” and proceeded to remark, in his lecture, after having given a summary of the history of El-Hasan and El-Hoseyn, that, as to the common opinion of the people of Masr (or Cairo) respecting the head of El-Hoseyn, holding it to be in the famous Mesh-hed in this city (the mosque of the Hasaneyn), it was without foundation; not being established by any credible authority. “I was affected,” says Mohammad El-Baháee, “with excessive grief, by this remark; since I believed what is believed by people of integrity and of intuition, that the noble head was in this Mesh-hed; and I entertained no doubt of it: but I would not oppose the sheykh El-Emeer, on account of his high reputation and extensive knowledge. The lecture terminated, and I went away, weeping; and when night overshaded the earth, I rose upon my feet, praying and humbly supplicating my Lord, and betaking myself to His most noble apostle (God favour and preserve him!), begging that I might see him in my sleep, and that he would inform me in my sleep of the truth of the matter concerning the place of the noble head. And I dreamed that I was walking on the way to visit the celebrated Mesh-hed El-Hoseynee in Masr, and that I approached the kubbeh,^[337] and saw in it a spreading light, which filled it: and I entered its door, and found a shereef standing by the door; and I saluted him, and he returned my salutation, and said to me, ‘Salute the Apostle of God (God favour and preserve him!);’ and I looked towards the kibleh,^[338] and saw the Prophet (God favour and preserve him!) sitting upon a throne, and a man standing on his right, and another man standing on his left: and I raised my voice, saying, ‘Blessing and peace be on thee, O Apostle of God!’ and I repeated this several times, weeping as I did it: and I heard the Apostle of God (God favour and preserve him!) say to me, ‘Approach, O my son! O Mohammad!’ Then the first man took me, and conducted me towards the Prophet (God favour and preserve him!) and placed me before his noble hands; and I saluted him, and he returned my salutation, and said to me, ‘God recompense thee for thy visit to the head of El-Hoseyn my son.’ I said, ‘O Apostle of God, is the head of El-Hoseyn here?’ He answered, ‘Yes, it is here.’ And I became cheerful: grief fled from me; and my heart was strengthened. Then I said, ‘O Apostle of God, I will relate to thee what my sheykh and my preceptor El-Emeer hath affirmed in his lecture:’ and I repeated to him the words of the sheykh: and he (God favour and preserve him!) looked down, and then raised his head, and said, ‘The copyists are excused.’ I awoke from my sleep joyful and happy: but I found that much remained of the night; and I became impatient of its length; longing for the morn to shine, that I might go to the sheykh, and relate to him the dream, in the hope that he might believe me. When the morn arose, I prayed, and went to the house of the sheykh; but found the door shut. I knocked it violently; and the porter came in alarm, asking, ‘Who is that?’ but when he knew me, for he had known my abode from the sheykh, he opened the door to me: if it had been another person, he would have beaten him. I entered the court of the house, and began to call out, ‘My Master! My Master!’ The sheykh awoke, and asked, ‘Who is that?’ I answered, ‘It is I, thy pupil, Mohammad El-Baháee!’ The sheykh was in wonder at my coming at this time, and exclaimed, ‘God’s perfection! What is this? What is the news?’ thinking that some great event had happened among the people. He then said to me, ‘Wait while I pray.’ I did not sit down until the sheykh came down to the hall; when he said to me, ‘Come up:’ and I went up, and neither saluted him, nor kissed his hand, from the effect of the dream which I had seen; but said, ‘The head of El-Hoseyn is in this well-known mesh-hed in Masr: there is no doubt of it.’ The sheykh said, ‘What proof have you of that? If it be a true record, adduce it.’ I said, ‘From a book, I have none.’ The sheykh said, ‘Hast thou seen a vision?’ I replied, ‘Yes;’ and I related it to him; and informed him that the Apostle of God (God favour and preserve him!) had acquainted me that the man who was standing by the door was ’Alee the son of Aboo-Tálib, and that he who was on the right of the Prophet, by the throne, was Aboo-Bekr, and that he on his left was ’Omar the son of El-Khattáb; and that they had come to visit the head of the Imám El-Hoseyn. The sheykh rose, and took me by the hand, and said, ‘Let us go and visit the Mesh-hed El-Hoseynee;’ and when he entered the kubbeh, he said, ‘Peace be on thee, O son of the daughter of the Apostle of God! I believe that the noble head is here, by reason of the vision which this person has seen; for the vision of the Prophet is true; since He hath said, “Whoso seeth Me in his sleep seeth Me truly; for Satan cannot assume the similitude of My form.”’ Then the sheykh said to me, ‘Thou hast believed, and I have believed: for these lights are not illusive.’”—The above-quoted tradition of the Prophet has often occasioned other points of dispute to be settled in the same manner, by a dream; and when the dreamer is a person of reputation, no one ventures to contend against him.

The remark made at the commencement of this chapter implies that there are, in the present day, many learned men in the metropolis of Egypt; and there are some also in other towns of this country. One of the most celebrated of the modern ’Ulama of Cairo is the sheykh Hasan El-’Attár, who is the present sheykh of the Azhar. In theology and jurisprudence, he is not so deeply versed as some of his contemporaries, particularly the sheykh El-Kuweysinee, whom I have before mentioned; but he is eminently accomplished in polite literature. He is the author of an “Insha,” or an excellent collection of Arabic letters, on various subjects, which are intended as models of epistolary style. This work has been printed at Boolák. In mentioning its author, I fulfil a promise which he condescended to ask of me: supposing that I should publish, in my own country, some account of the people of Cairo, he desired me to state that I was acquainted with him, and to give my opinion of his acquirements.—The sheykh Mohammad Shiháb is also deservedly celebrated as an accomplished Arabic scholar, and elegant poet. His affability and wit attract to his house, every evening, a few friends, whose pleasures, on these occasions, I sometimes participate. We are received in a small, but very comfortable room: each of us takes his own pipe; and coffee alone is presented to us: the sheykh’s conversation is the most delightful banquet that he can offer us.—There are also several other persons in Cairo who enjoy considerable reputation as philologists and poets.—The sheykh ’Abd-Er-Rahmán El-Gabartee, another modern author, and a native of Cairo, particularly deserves to be mentioned, as having written a very excellent history of the events which have taken place in Egypt since the commencement of the twelfth century of the Flight.^[339] He died in 1825, or 1826, soon after my first arrival in Cairo. His family was of El-Gabart (also called Ez-Zeyla’), a province of Abyssinia, bordering on the ocean. The Gabartees (or natives of that country) are Muslims. They have a riwák (or apartment appropriated to such of them as wish to study) in the Azhar; and there is a similar provision for them at Mekkeh, and also at El-Medeeneh.

The works of the ancient Arab poets were but imperfectly understood (in consequence of many words contained in them having become obsolete) between two and three centuries, only, after the time of Mohammad: it must not therefore be inferred, from what has been said in the preceding paragraph, that persons able to explain the most difficult passages of the early Arab authors are now to be found in Cairo, or elsewhere. There are, however, many in Egypt who are deeply versed in Arabic Grammar, rhetoric, and polite literature; though the sciences mostly pursued in this country are theology and jurisprudence. Few of the ’ulama of Egypt are well acquainted with the history of their own nation; much less with that of other people.

The literary acquirements of those who do not belong to the classes who make literature their profession are of a very inferior kind. Many of the wealthy tradespeople are well instructed in the arts of reading and writing; but few of them devote much time to the pursuit of literature. Those who have committed to memory the whole, or considerable portions, of the Kur-án, and can recite two or three celebrated “kaseedehs” (or short poems), or introduce, now and then, an apposite quotation in conversation, are considered accomplished persons. Many of the tradesmen of Cairo can neither read nor write, or can only read; and are obliged to have recourse to a friend to write their accounts, letters, etc.: but these persons generally cast accounts, and make intricate calculations, mentally, with surprising rapidity and correctness.

It is a very prevalent notion among the Christians of Europe, that the Muslims are enemies to almost every branch of knowledge. This is an erroneous idea; but it is true that their studies, in the present age, are confined within very narrow limits. Very few of them study medicine, chemistry (for our first knowledge of which we are indebted to the Arabs), the mathematics, or astronomy. The Egyptian medical and surgical practitioners are mostly barbers, miserably ignorant of the sciences which they profess, and unskilful in their practice; partly in consequence of their being prohibited by their religion from availing themselves of the advantage of dissecting human bodies. But a number of young men, natives of Egypt, are now receiving European instruction in medicine, anatomy, surgery, and other sciences, for the service of the Government. Many of the Egyptians, in illness, neglect medical aid; placing their whole reliance on Providence or charms. Alchemy is more studied in this country than pure chemistry; and astrology, more than astronomy. The astrolabe and quadrant are almost the only astronomical instruments used in Egypt. Telescopes are rarely seen here; and the magnetic needle is seldom employed, excepting to discover the direction of Mekkeh; for which purpose, convenient little compasses (called “kibleeyehs”), showing the direction of the kibleh at various large towns in different countries, are constructed, mostly at Dimyát: many of these have a dial, which shows the time of noon, and also that of the ’asr at different places and different seasons. Those persons in Egypt who profess to have considerable knowledge of astronomy are generally blind to the true principles of the science: to say that the earth revolves round the sun, they consider absolute heresy. Pure astronomy they make chiefly subservient to their computations of the calendar.

The Muslim year consists of twelve lunar months; the names of which are pronounced by the Egyptians in the following manner:—

•   1. Moharram.
•   2. Safar.
•   3. Rabeea el-Owwal.
•   4. Rabeea et-Tánee.
•   5. Gumád el-Owwal, or Gumáda-l-Oola.
•   6. Gumád et-Tánee, or Gumáda-t-Tániyeh.
•   7. Regeb.
•   8. Shaabán.
•   9. Ramadán.
• 10. Showwál.
• 11. Zu-l-Kaadeh, or El-Kaadeh.
• 12. Zu-l-Heggeh, or El-Heggeh.^[340]

Each of these months retrogrades through all the different seasons of the solar year in the period of about thirty-three years and a half: consequently, they are only used for fixing the anniversaries of most religious festivals, and for the dates of historical events, letters, etc.; and not in matters relating to astronomy or the seasons. In the latter cases, the Coptic months are still in general use.

With their modern names I give the corresponding periods of our calendar:—

The Eiyám en-Nesee (Intercalary days), five or six days, complete the year.

These months, it will be observed, are of thirty days each. Five intercalary days are added at the end of three successive years; and six at the end of the fourth year. The Coptic leap-year immediately precedes ours: therefore the Coptic year begins on the 11th of September only when it is the next after their leap-year; or when our next ensuing year is a leap-year; and, consequently, after the following February, the corresponding days of the Coptic and our months will be the same as in other years. The Copts begin their reckoning from the era of Diocletian, A.D. 284.

In Egypt, and other Muslim countries, from sunset to sunset is reckoned as the civil day; the night being classed with the day which follows it: thus the night before Friday is called the night of Friday. Sunset is twelve o’clock: an hour after sunset, one o’clock; two hours, two o’clock; and so on to twelve; after twelve o’clock in the morning, the hours are again named one, two, three, and so on.^[341] The Egyptians wind up and (if necessary) set their watches at sunset; or rather, a few minutes after; generally when they hear the call to evening-prayer. Their watches, according to this system of reckoning from sunset, to be always quite correct, should be set every evening, as the days vary in length.

The following Table shows the times of Muslim prayer,^[342] with the apparent European time of sunset, in and near the latitude of Cairo, at the commencement of each zodiacal month:—

A pocket almanack is annually printed at the government-press at Boolák.^[343] It comprises the period of a solar year, commencing and terminating with the vernal equinox; and gives, for every day, the day of the week, and of the Mohammadan, Coptic, Syrian, and European months; together with the sun’s place in the zodiac, and the time of sunrise, noon, and the ’asr. It is prefaced with a summary of the principal eras and feast-days of the Muslims, Copts, and others; and remarks and notices relating to the seasons. Subjoined to it is a calendar containing physical, agricultural, and other notices for every day in the year; mentioning eclipses, etc.; and comprising much matter suited to the superstitions of the people. It is the work of Yahya Efendee, originally a Christian priest of Syria; but now a Muslim.

Of Geography, the Egyptians in general, and, with very few exceptions, the best instructed among them, have scarcely any knowledge: having no good maps, they are almost wholly ignorant of the relative situations of the several great countries of Europe. Some few of the learned venture to assert that the earth is a globe; but they are opposed by a great majority of the ’Ulama. The common opinion of all classes of Muslims is, that our earth is an almost plane expanse, surrounded by the ocean,^[344] which, they say, is encompassed by a chain of mountains called “Káf.” They believe it to be the uppermost of seven earths; and in like manner they believe that there are seven heavens, one above another.

Such being the state of science among the modern Egyptians, the reader will not be surprised at finding the present chapter followed by a long account of their superstitions; a knowledge of which is necessary to enable him to understand their character, and to make due allowances for many of its faults. We may hope for, and, indeed, reasonably expect, a very great improvement in the intellectual and moral state of this people, in consequence of the introduction of European sciences, by which their present ruler has, in some degree, made amends for his oppressive sway; but it is not probable that this hope will be soon realized to any considerable extent.^[345]