COLONIAL DISCOURSES

Series One: Women, Travel and Empire, 1660-1914

Part 2: Women and the Orient

Part 3: Women and the Orient

Part 4: Women, the Americas and World Travel

Extracts

Emily Anne Beauforte (Smythe).  Egyptian Sepulchres & Syrian Shrines.

London, 1861, 2 vols.  Reel 26, Part 2

Cairo. “The minarets of the Mosques of El Azhar “the splendid,” Barlook, Nasr Muhammed, and Hassan are beautiful; the domes too are sometimes elaborately and elegantly worked.  But the buildings which charmed us most were the Tombs of the Mam’look Kings outside the town, full of variety and of singular elegance: they stand in the loose sand, and should be visited early or late to avoid the heat of the sun, but they will well repay a visit at any time, and artists would find among them subjects for many months of drawing.

One Sunday morning we got up an hour or two before sunrise, having arranged with a Copt dragoman to take us to the Coptic service which was celebrated in a small old Church while their large one was being enlarged and repaired: it commences always at the first dawn of day.  We found an oblong room with latticed windows, cleanly whitewashed and hung round with pictures of saints, some of which were not bad, and a part of it latticed off at one end for the women … As each Copt came in he crossed the Church, and, going into the back of the recess, washed his hands in a little running fountain in one corner; then returning into the Church, squatted on the floor among the rest of the congregation.  At first the service consisted of short readings of the Gospels, each portion read first in Coptic, then in Arabic, by little boys ten or twelve years of age, dressed in a kind of surplice of crimson silk, with caps, embroidered in gold, on their heads; these were the deacons.  There were also several priests who wore crowns with gilt crosses on their heads, and robes of various coloured stuffs.  There was chanting besides, and bells chimed in now and then, which sounded like cymbals.  After about an hour of this the Patriarch, - the successor of the Apostle St. Mark, and the spiritual Head of the Egyptian Church, - entered the Church from behind the chancel, clothed in a magnificent mantle of green and gold tissue, with an enormous hood of the same, which almost hid his face; he held a beautiful patriarchal staff in his hand with a silver crosier on the top, surmounted by the figure of a knight slaying a dragon - ”

Lady Alicia Blackwood.  A Narrative of a Personal Experience and Impressions during a Residence in the Bosphorus throughout the Crimean

War.  London, 1881.  Reel 31, Part 2

“On Wednesday, the day after our arrival, we rode to Sebastopol.  This was naturally number one excursion.  The Redan and Malakoff, which were about seven miles from Zebra Vicarage, were first explored; Sebastopol and the blown-up docks were a mile or so beyond; the fortress of St. Nicholas, the whole city, - all were a mass of ruin; heaps of stones and pieces of exploded shells and shells unexploded, and shot scattered in every direction; it was an awful picture of destruction; but the saddest sight was the rows, and rows of graves, especially near the Malakoff.  The French seem to have taken care in this manner to mark their losses, rather than in concentrating them into mounds as we usually did, and which I think would be much more durable as a monument - for a largely-constructed mound will endure for centuries, while a little heap will soon be obliterated.

All this part of the Crimea was one vast cemetery, on every side were graves and little monuments, marking, perhaps, separately, the resting-place of some especial friend or comrade.  Such descriptions, however, have been so often given, and so well known is every spot, that I need not add to what indeed cannot adequately be described; and silence best tells what the heart felt at such mementoes of sorrow.

A few days after we persuaded Miss Nightingale to accompany us on our second visit to Sebastopol, which she did; and I believe this was the solitary “outing” she took during the whole time of her sojourn in the East.

A visit to the St. George’s Monastery, where we also had a Hospital, made another day’s excursion.  We rode to a magnificent bay, girt with lofty and rugged rocks, which lies between Balaklava and Sebastopol.  The monastery was built on a declivity about half-way down the cliff, from whence was a path descending to the sea, which rolled in upon a shingly shore, where were some beautiful specimens of agate and jasper, but a few only could we carry away with us.  The day was lovely and the sun on the encircling rocks exhibited the beauty of their varied  colours, reminding one of the hues of Alum Bay, though this would be but a miniature portrait of that, the one being of rock and the other of sand, they could not, but for the tints be compared.”

Gertrude Bell.  Sarabande.  1914.  Reel 28, Part 2

“At the river side feluccas waited to row them across to Philae, the beautiful “melted pearl” whose temples and pylons with the morning sunlight streaming down on them looked as though carved from marble.  A few palms waved near the shore – all that is left of the verdant and world-famed tropical vegetation and mystic grove of palm trees of olden days.

As they took their seats on the high latticed poops under gay awnings, every spot – even masts and oars – painted with crude reds and blues, greens and yellows, flags flying in stern and rigging, and listened to the unending chanting of the Nubian crews, Sybil clasped her hands in rapture, saying, “Why here we are, actually living in the time of the Arabian Nights!”

“Yes,” said Archie, “and you will think so all the more when you hear the story of the ancient maiden called ‘The Flower of the Rose,’ who was imprisoned on the Island. I’ll tell you all about it when we are on the roof of the Temple.”

Then beside the lovely columns of Pharoah’s Bed, the graceful unfinished porch of the glorious temple of Egypt’s most beloved goddess, Isis, the great enchantress, the little party landed, Mahommed carring a folding camp-stool for Lady Cameron to sit on when tired.  They wandered all over the marvellous ruins, the wondrous colonnades of Nectanebus, with the carved columns, and no two capitols alike.  They admired the colouring of the reliefs in the many temples and climbed the mighty pylons from whence they gazed entranced on the heavenly scene, with the silver waters of the river lapping against the shores, and the sunlight gilding the ancient stone work and sparkling like sapphires in the dancing ripples.

“I’m so glad I came,” said Lady Cameron.  “We shall never again see the ‘Pearl of the Nile’ thus absolutely free from water.  I wonder how much will be visible of all these glorious buildings when the great dam is full?  Anyway I shall never come again, so we must look our fill on tender, gracious Philae now we have the chance.””

Isabella Lucy Bird Bishop.  The Yangtze River and Beyond.  1899.      Reel 30, Part 2

“New Year’s Day at Kuei-Chow Fu

New Year’s Day arrived at last, as cold and brilliant as if it were not belated by six weeks.  I took a beautiful walk among prosperous farms where the people were all in gala dress.  The houses were decked with flags and streamers, and even the buff dogs had knots of colour round their necks.  From above the wall the grey city could be seen brilliantly decorated, and sounds of jubilation came up from it.  The suburbs and the mat town on the river bank were gay and noisy, and much money was spent on crackers and explosives generally.  The junks were decorated, and the “sing-song” boats blossomed into a blaze of colour.  Everyone except my trackers appeared in new clothes, and threw off the old ones with rejoicing.

This was my second New Year in China, and I had seen its approach as far back as Ichang, where, as everywhere, tables appeared in the streets a month beforehand, and all sorts of tempting articles were displayed upon them in a tempting manner.  This is the time when things can be had cheap, and many articles of bric-à-brac and embroidered dresses are for sale which are not obtainable at any other time.  For in order to pay debts, a sacred obligation worthily honoured in the observance, many families are obliged to part with possessions long cherished.  The crowds in the streets in gala dresses are enormous; children are gaily dressed, their quaint heads are decorated with flowers, and they receive presents and toys and bon-bons.  The toy-shops drive a roaring trade.

… Towards the evening of that day, between the din of gongs and the constant explosion at every door of strings of fireworks intended to expel evil spirits and prevent others from entering, the noise became exciting.  This idea of expelling  evil spirits and preventing their entrance at the incoming of the year is the same as is carried out in Korea by the burning in a potsherd at the house door of the hair of all the inmates, which, when cut off or falling out, is preserved for this purpose.  The Chinese, like the Koreans, believe themselves surrounded by legions of demons, mainly malignant, who must either be frightened or propitiated.”

Florence Caroline Dixie.  Across Patagonia.  1880.  Reel 85, Part 4

“Continuing our way we presently observed several mounted Indians, sitting motionless on their horses, like sentries, on the summit of a tall ridge ahead of us, evidently watching our movements.  At our approach they disappeared over the ridge, on the other side of which lay their camping-ground.  Cantering forward we soon came in sight of the entire Indian camp, which was pitched in a broad valley-plain, flanked on either side by steep bluffs, and with a little stream flowing down its centre.  There were about a dozen big hide tents, in front of which stood crowds of men and women, watching our approach with lazy curiosity.  Numbers of little children were disporting themselves in the stream, which we had to ford in order to get to the tents.  Two Indians, more inquisitive than their brethren, came out to meet us, both mounted on the same horse and saluted us with much grinning and jabbering.  On our arrival in the camp we were soon encircled by a curious crowd, some of whose number gazed at us with stolid gravity, whilst others laughed and gesticulated as they discussed our appearance in their harsh guttural language, with a vivacious manner which was quite at variance with the received traditions of the solemn bent of the Indian mind.  Out accoutrements and clothes seemed to excite great interest, my riding-boots in particular being objects of attentive examination, and apparently of much serious speculation.  At first they were content to observe them from a distance, but presently a little boy was delegated by the elders, to advance and give them a closer inspection.  This he proceeded to do, coming towards me with great caution, and when near enough, he stretched out his hand and touched the boots gently with the tips of his fingers.  This exploit was greeted with roars of laughter and ejaculations, and emboldened by its success, many now ventured to follow his example, some enterprising spirits extending their researches to the texture of my ulster, and one even going so far as to take my hand in his, whilst subjecting a little bracelet I wore to a profound and exhaustive scrutiny.”

Isabella Lucy Bird Bishop.  A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains.  1879.  Reel 79, Part 4.

“… Estes Park combines the beauties of all.  Dismiss all thoughts of the Midland Counties.  For park palings there are mountains, forest skirted, 9000, 11,000, 14,000 feet high; for a lodge, two sentinel peaks of granite guarding the only feasible entrance; and for a Queen Anne mansion an unchinked log cabin with a vault of sunny blue overhead.  The park is most irregularly shaped, and contains hardly any level grass.  It is an aggregate of lawns, slopes, and glades, about eighteen miles in length, but never more than two miles in width.  The Big Thompson, a bright, rapid trout-stream, snow-born on Long’s Peak a few miles higher, takes all sorts of magical twists, vanishing and reappearing unexpectedly, glancing among lawns, rushing through romantic ravines, everywhere making music through the still, long nights.  Here and there the lawns are so smooth, the trees so artistically grouped, a lake makes such an artistic foreground, or a waterfall comes tumbling down with such an apparent feeling for the picturesque, that I am almost angry with Nature for her close imitation of art.  But in another hundred yards Nature, glorious, unapproachable, inimitable, is her-self again, raising one’s thoughts reverently upwards to her Creator and ours.  Grandeur and sublimity, not softness, are the features of Estes Park.  The glades which begin so softly are soon lost in the dark primaeval forests with their peaks of rosy granite, and their stretches of granite blocks piled and poised by nature in some mood of fury.  The streams are lost in canyons nearly or quite inaccessible, awful in their blackness and darkness; every valley ends in mystery, seven mountain ranges raise their frowning barriers between us and the Plains, and at the south end of the park Long’s Peak rises to a height of 14,700 feet, with his bare, scathed head slashed with eternal snow.  The lowest part of the Park is 7500 feet high; and though the sun is hot during the day, the mercury hovers near the freezing-point every night of the summer …”

Constance Frederica Gordon Cumming.  Fire Fountains the Kingdom of Hawaii its Volcanoes, and the History of its Missions.  1883.  Reel 85, Part 4

“I have already explained to you that, as seen from above, the bed of the outer crater resembles a dark bluish-grey lake, being apparently a level surface.  But on a nearer approach, we found it to be a bed of extremely irregular black lava contorted into all manner of forms, such as huge coils of rope, folds of rich black satin drapery, waves of glistening black glass forming a thin iridescent coating to a sort of bubbly red lava.

And here and there the lava had flowed over ridges so steep, that in cooling it had assumed the appearance of a perfectly petrified waterfall.  We saw plainly where successive lava-flows overlapped one another – the currents, after flowing in opposite directions, showing where the fires had found temporary vent by some newly formed lake or chimney.

We climbed up and down undulations which on ordinary ground would be accounted little hills, - lava-waves whose crests rose perhaps a hundred feet or more above the general level.  A smoothly wrinkled expanse is crossed by a stream of blackest angular blocks, tumbled together anyhow – a chopping sea petrified.

In many places large lava-bubbles blister the surface of the smooth lava.  They look like thin bottle-glass, and appear as if blown by escaping gases.  Everywhere the lava-crust cracks crisply under-foot, breaking into sharp fragments.

Here and there yawn deep splits and fissures.  Some are mere narrow cracks, scarcely to be observed but for an occasional puff of white steam.  Others are broader, and horribly suggestive, for a hot breath of poisonous sulphureous fumes rises thence, half choking one, and acts as a mirage, making the air tremulous, so that everything around seems to quiver.  Through some of these cracks fresh lava has oozed out, and lies in black glossy rolls, as if the old flow were seamed with pitch.”

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