have a book full, for all is exquisite, and alas, all is going. The old
Copt quarter is _entame_, and hideous, shabby French houses, like the one
I live in, are being run up; and in this weather how much better would be
the Arab courtyard, with its mastabah and fountain!

There is a quarrel now in the street; how they talk and gesticulate, and
everybody puts in a word; a boy has upset a cake-seller's tray, '_Naal
Abu'k_!' (Curses on your father) he claims six piastres damages, and
everyone gives an opinion _pour ou contre_. We all look out of the
window; my opposite neighbour, the pretty Armenian woman, leans out, and
her diamond head-ornaments and earrings glitter as she laughs like a
child. The Christian dyer is also very active in the row, which, like
all Arab rows, ends in nothing; it evaporates in fine theatrical gestures
and lots of talk. Curious! In the street they are so noisy, but get the
same men in a coffee-shop or anywhere, and they are the quietest of
mankind. Only one man speaks at a time, the rest listen, and never
interrupt; twenty men don't make the noise of three Europeans.

Hekekian Bey is my near neighbour, and he comes in and we _fronder_ the
Government. His heart is sore with disinterested grief for the
sufferings of the people. 'Don't they deserve to be decently governed,
to be allowed a little happiness and prosperity? They are so docile, so
contented; are they not a good people?' Those were his words as he was
recounting some new iniquity. Of course half these acts are done under
pretext of improving and civilizing, and the Europeans applaud and say,
'Oh, but nothing could be done without forced labour,' and the poor
Fellaheen are marched off in gangs like convicts, and their families
starve, and (who'd have thought it) the population keeps diminishing. No
wonder the cry is, 'Let the English Queen come and take us.' You see, I
don't see things quite as Ross does, but mine is another _standpunkt_,