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20 Somerset Terrace (Duke’s Road, W.C.).—Offers to criticise his article, and suggests he talk with Norman Franks. Is disgusted by the sentimental reaction to the death of Queen Victoria. Refers to their guests for dinner.

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Transcript

20 Somerset Terr.
28 Jan. 1901

Dear Mr Lawrence,

We must try to bear up! We are quite used to seeing our bulwarks (against old ladies and other enemies) walking off in all directions! And yet we manage somehow to hold the fort! Seriously, we are not discouraged—neither are we optimistic; while we are alive we go on, voila tout!

I am glad about the book; yes, do send the article when it is ready and I will criticize unmercifully. I know what you mean; we don’t want something merely academic but something dynamic. This is your subject. I think you ought to have a talk with Norman Franks. He knows a great deal experimentally. He nearly lost his life sticking on for 3 years in Rothwell Bgs: {1} and is most keen on the subject. I am sure he would be delighted to see you any time at 59 Eastcheap.

I cannot help being disgusted by the sentimentalism run riot amongst us. {2} There is something real, as you say, something great in the way the ends of the earth have been united in their loyalty to one woman, {3} who was personally worthy of the great ideal which she represented, but it reminds me of Alice in Wonderland, who found herself growing so small that she began to be drowned in her own tears and had to swim through to dry land. Besides, sentimentalism is the death of real feeling and we lose everything including our own self-respect.

Thanks for the little book that you sent me; it is full of the sweet reasonableness and light of the writer, but I always miss the battle-cry:

“Fall battle-axe & clash brand!
Let the King reign.”! {4}

I am going to send you one of my books, one of which I never tire, that never loses its absolute fascination for me. I don’t expect you to like it, so don’t go against the grain to read it. But if you do read it perhaps I might be able to tell you why I accept Wagner and reject Tolstoi.

Shall I tell you for whom we are cooking the dinner today: Mr Pett Ridge, Mr Dunbar Smith {5} and Mac, and the Lady Katherine Thynne (or “Miss Bath”) {6}.

The wife May has a Boys’ Club, so we have to do dishing up and all. She is still as great a source of pleasure and amusement as ever. Her latest is in reference to Mr MacIlwaine coming while we were out:

(Sister Mary, soliloquy) “I suppose he went back to his work”
(May (in her most clucking style)) “Didn’t look much like work!—the way he flopped ’isself down!”

By the way, you have a principle against answering invitations, nicht wahr? Und der Herr ist auch in Deutschland gewesen, und er spricht wohl Deutsch. Also, leben Sie recht wohl.

Ihre höchst, etc.
Emmeline Pethick

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{1} Rothwell Buildings, in Whitfield Street, St Pancras.

{2} The reference is to the national mood following death of Queen Victoria on the 22nd.

{3} Above ‘human being’ struck through.

{4} A conflation of two lines repeated several times in Tennyson’s ‘The Coming of Arthur’ (one of the Idylls of the King): ‘Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign’, and ‘Clash battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.’

{5} Arnold Dunbar Smith, who, together with Cecil Claude Brewer, had designed the Passmore Edwards Settlement. He was later employed by the Pethick-Lawrences to build a cottage near their house in Surrey as a guest-house for London children. See My Part in a Changing World, p. 132.

{6} Lady Katherine Thynne was the second daughter of the 4th Marquess of Bath. She married the Earl of Cromer on 22 October this year.

Dahabeeyah ‘Bolbol’.—Continues her account of her visit to Egypt.

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Transcript

Dahabeah Bolbol. Nov. 26. 04.

Schatz—here are your dear letters just come. Mursi ran to the Post-office & fetched them. There are two, the ones {1} with the dear violets from The Mascotte, & the one with a letter in 2 parts & enclosures, from Stead, from W. I. C. {2} & from Edith Ellis. How glad I am to have word from you again & to know you are happy. Last night I could scarcely sleep again, for thinking of everything—for thinking of the day coming so soon now, when I shall come to meet you & you will be one of our merry party. This is, I suppose, the last letter that you will receive from me in England, though I shall probably have a try for another. It depends on the wind! on my getting on to postal stations!

Business first. I certainly did not wish the pillars of The Mascotte painted green—I said “all white—everything”. I should like to resign from the Women’s Industrial Council Committee—I never attend & have no faith in the organization. I should be glad if you can let Shepherd write to the effect that I am away from England for this winter—& that as I am away from London in the summer & not able to attend, I wish to resign. Now I want to tell you about a little plan.

I have had a very cordial note from Lady Cromer—it has been waiting for me for a week here. She asks us to go to tea with her. I am writing to tell her we have left Cairo—but that we shall be camping close to the Sphinx in January—& to invite herself & Lord Cromer to dinner with us in the desert. I have talked to Enani about it, & he enters with spirit into the plan. He says he has a beautiful ‘salon’ tent—& we will have everything very very nice indeed & make a great feast. Lady Cromer has never been in the desert, he says—and I believe she would love to come & see us in that way. It ought to be at the time of the January full moon—& we ought to have a great “Fantasie”—the best music & dancing that Enani’s village can do—a great great time. I am sure it will be like everything else a great success, great than one imagines. We have everything—every single thing that heart or mind can wish for—not one single contretemps—everything quite quite perfect. I hope you are going to say that we will see two moons after you come—i.e. the one that you come with, & one more. Then I will be content. But oh it is all so very new & so very big. I still feel sometimes that is {3} is all one dream—the life here belongs to the life of wonderland & fairy tale—it is too radiant to be of this earth. I feel as [if] I can never never be ready to go back. My mind refuses to remember anything. I feel a passionate clinging to each day as it passes—the days are beautiful angels & one clings to their radiant robes entreating them not to go yet. I have never yet felt so greedy of the moments. Don’t take me back too soon!

We are nearing Beni Suef—& in half an hour I shall post this letter. I have told all about our life in the other letter. I want you to bring half a dozen graduated copy books—we are teaching Enani to write in return for his teaching us Arabic. Put that down on the postcard I sent you. I am getting sweets for the children at Beni Suef—also tobacco for the crew. I have written to Lady Cromer & given her the invitation I spoke of.

I hope to get letters at Minieh & to be in time to send you a greeting to Marseilles, (if I know your boat). If you don’t get another letter, you will know that I have been prevented by circumstances. I am afraid to think how much I shall love you when you come—though I have taken the precaution to give half of my heart to the desert! Even the other half may prove to be too much.

Patz

I shall send letter & probably telegram to Shepheard’s Hotel. Telegram should be addressed to the Dahabeah Bolbol & sent to the Post Office of the place where we may happen to be.

Whether we are at Luxor or not when you come, I shall be at some station & post office en route. {4}

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A few alterations have been made to the punctuation of the original.

{1} This should read ‘one’. The letter referred to is PETH 6/99.

{2} The Women’s Industrial Council. See the next paragraph.

{3} A slip for ‘it’.

{4} The two postscripts were added on the first sheet.

The Pyramids (Cairo).—Continues her account of her visit to Egypt.

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Transcript

The Pyramids. Nov. 15th 1904.

My darling. Your letters of yesterday—I had two letters[,] one written on the way to Dorking—the other on the Sunday morning from The Sundial—they have brought me very near to you & have filled my heart with love & with sweet thoughts & with happy thoughts of your coming. I have been trying to picture that today. I wonder where we shall be? I expect at Luxor. Unless I hear that you can’t spare more than 3 or 4 weeks. If that is so, I shall leave the boat as soon as we reach Luxor & set up the Camp at once—so that we may get all the programme finished. But I should like you to have a week on the houseboat with us—oh so much, for we are going to be such a happy party. An old friend of Hetty’s—Ali—has turned up today. He got Hetty’s letter & started at once from 75 miles away & was quite overcome with happiness. Abdul Enani engages him to be our servant & he has gone right back to fetch his clothes—& to join the boat Il Bolbol—“The Nightingale”—on Thursday. He can sing too, & he brings his fishing net,—if the ladies like fish, he will promise them as much as they can eat. He can speak no English at all: we are daily struggling with the arabic language & a little friend of Hetty’s, “Ibrahim” came today & gave us a lesson in the arabic writing. I have learnt all the letters in the printed alphabet. He sat with us on the desert this evening & told us about his journey to the sacred city of Mecca. If the will to learn were all, we should soon be able to read, write & speak arabic, or if the will to teach were all—one is impatient with one’s own mind & memory—one learns, & forgets the next minute. We called on Lady Cromer yesterday—she is in Alexandria just now—we left cards—we also called on Mr Cope’s friend Mrs Vere Alston, but she was not at home. She & Judge Alston are coming today to stay at Mena House for a week—so we shall soon know them. We shall be in Cairo all day tomorrow, many things to see & to do there—the days need to be twice as long. There seems no time at all for photographs, or letters, or lessons (Books have been put aside altogether) {1}: so many claims upon eye & mind & interest all at once. This week has spelt but one word—fascination. Here is a little prayer I often say—

“Ya moufeta el abouab
Ifta linna el bab.”

“Oh Keeper of doors, open the door to us.” Open the door—one cries in one’s head—give us to understand this wonderful new world insight into the secret & source of it. It is all so new,—so new—founded on fundamental conceptions so different from all we have learnt before.

Dearest, I was so glad to hear of your happy time at The Sundial—the sunny weather, the lovely motor rides—& of the opportunity given you of being a comfort to your dear little Carry—I was thinking of you much. It was a capital idea asking Marion too. So glad to hear all going well at Holmwood. Dear Podger! give him my love. What a great deal we shall have to talk about. That transfer of the ‘Standard’ “gives one furiously to think”. I am very very sorry. The fight against material resources is a very desperate one & a very long one. It is the history of the 20th century which has just begun & I doubt if the end of the century will see the victory of the good cause, though I am sure that victory will ultimately emerge. Even here, one sees the terrible evil of money divorced from human relationship or human responsibility. Dear, this battle that you speak of, God help us to be wise & courageous. God leave us one another, if it be his will, & leave us our great love, & make us able to fulfil to the uttermost his will concerning us. We will ask nothing more. We will cling to nothing more. I thank God that in these days when there is so much that is unstable—I have in my husband, a rock. I have faith in life, but that is not surprising, when I live my daily life with a man to which right & honour come before every thing else in the world. My rock & my fortress—my sword & my shield.

I have been thinking that we make far too small a claim on our God. These Arabs who for a whole month keep a fast all day & who say so simply “My God helps me, so that I have no hunger or thirst, no wish to eat or drink. I do His will & He gives me the strength”, teach us much. They seem to miss the wear & tear, the strain—they throw that on the God whose command they obey & are saved physically.

God bless you my darling.

Ever yours.
Your wife.

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A few alterations have been made to the punctuation of the original.

{1} The words in brackets were added above the line.

Mena House Hotel (Cairo).—Continues her account of her visit to Egypt.

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*Transcript**

Mena House Hotel. Nov. 12. 04 {1}.

Oh dear Man & husband of mine. The letter from you that I am longing for, will come tomorrow, but not before my greeting to you will have gone forth. This is my second Sunday evening away from you. I wonder where you are today & what you are doing & thinking of? It is sweet to think that the further days bring me from you, the nearer they bring you to me—as the Porpoise said to Alice, “The further off from England, the nearer ’tis to France.” {2} I am longing for you to come. Today for the first time I begin to accept my new surroundings with a little less of that surprise which is the joy of first acquaintance—but one gains more than one loses as that first acquaintance becomes a more familiar friendship. We were up at 5.30 this morning walking to the Sphinx to see the sunrise. The morning was cloudy & a sharp shower of rain drove us to take refuge in the Temple. The two Bedawin brothers, Abdul Enani & Abdul Latief Khattab, were with us of course—and they amused us while we were waiting, with story & song. We have been every day to the Sphinx, 3 times at sunset & today at sunrise—and every time we have been alone except for the Arabs. We are so early, no tourists are here yet. The Arabs tell delightful stories. Enani’s story the night before last was too delicious—I must get him to tell it over again to you. It was about a man who fell in love with a lovely little girl—“his head go all giddy & he get a pain in his stomach” (but I must not spoil it). Latif his brother is too sweetly & deliciously funny for words. Last evening we simply doubled up with uncontrollable laughter—till he said quite grieved, “You spoil my story.” He was telling us about a man who lived in the village who married one bea[u]tiful girl, and presently “he shift that one, & many another, he shift her & many another—beautiful girl—he shift her & many another—the fourth was a bad wife—he like to shift her, but he is afraid.” Abdul Latif thinks one wife is enough—one good wife. He made sure that he got a good one. “But you didn’t see her, Abdul, how could you know?” “Oh yes, I see her.” “How did you manage that, Abdul?” “Oh I manage that easy. I am the devil.” If I could paint the childlike innocence of the man’s expression! It was at this point he besought us not to spoil the story! There are such pictures, & so many funny delightful things I want to tell you. We are learning Arabic quite fast: and never had teachers such obvious delight in teaching. And never have I known such gracious willing service always eager & waiting—always ready. “Shepherd” in his palmiest days does not touch it.

I engaged Abdul Enani Khattab yesterday to take a Dahabeyah for us, which we had seen the day before. It has 2 single cabins & 1 double cabin—a little deck, a big upper deck, dining room & ‘domestic offices.’ I contracted with him, to pay him a fixed sum per day. I will enclose the copy of contract. He has just returned from an engagement of 8 months with a gentleman & his wife who paid him £5 a day & sometimes under specified conditions £8 a day, exclusive of wine & spirits & railway expenses—inclusive of all beside. I saw the contract. They gave him a beautiful gold watch with his name & theirs engraved & a book of amateur photos of the tour as a parting present, also splendid testimonials. I said I could not pay that money. He suggested £4. 10. per day for the 3 persons. I thought £1 per person per day was enough to pay. We finally agreed on £3. 10. for 3 persons per day. I don’t think that is a bad or unfair contract for either side. When I asked the Manager of the hotel to take charge of valuables while we were away, he said we need have no fear, as with Enani we should be absolutely safe from any trouble with any of the Arabs en route—he & his brothers & relations are attached to the hotel. The Manager says it is quite unnecessary to speak to Lord Cromer about it. Hetty suggested we should tell Lady Cromer when I call tomorrow, the name of the Dahabiyeh & the places of call—as the Shekhs of every village would, at a word from headquarters, become special guards: I shall speak to her about it anyway. I shall also see the Consul. A doctor at Cairo, I forget his name (it is Dr Murison) {3}, an old friend of Hetty’s, interviewed Enani & told him if the ladies were ill, they were to telegraph to him at once & he would come to them! So you see we have taken every reasonable step & every possible precaution—for though we all instinctively trust our Bedawin Shekh & feel very safe under his care, yet I wanted to be able to tell you that responsible people on the spot were prepared to vouch for his honesty & capacity as a dragoman. The Brother Abdul Latif has come coaxing to me several times; “I want to go with you, you ask my Brother Enani—he will do everything you want—you ask him.” I said this morning, “Well, but Abdul I cannot pay you any money. I am paying quite enough.” “I don’t want you to give me money. I want to go with you to keep you. I want to go for the fun!” After that, what can I do but speak to Enani: though I don’t see how there is going to be any room! Now I do so want you if possible, when you come, to stay 5 or 6 weeks—because then we can have 2 weeks with you in the Dahabeyah, & 3 weeks camping & caravanning back—& you ought to have 2 or 3 days with the Sphinx to finish up. You see if all goes well, & if Allah wills, we are going to have the very lov[e]liest time we have ever had in our lives—quite unique—& such as in all probability we shall never have again. And we can’t bear to have any little bit of it without you having at least a share in the experience. The contract includes 7 or 8 weeks—it was the very shortest I could make—to make the necessary arrangements worth while.

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Copy of Contract, between Mrs Lawrence & Party & Abdul Enani Khattab.

We sign that we engage with the dragoman Enani Khattab a journey in dahabeyeh from Cairo to Luxor for £3. 10. per day for 3 persons. All the expenses of the journey as well as all the food & breakfast, lunch, tea & dinner are to paid by Enani except wine & spirits.

The boatmen undertake to pull the boat with the towing rope if there is not enough wind.

When we leave the boat at Luxor, we take the train to Assouan {4}; the expenses on the railway will be at our charge—also the railway tickets of Enani, cook & waiter. When we leave the boat the contract for the caravan will be £4 a day for £4† persons for 21 days; dromadaries, tents, food, cuisine, servants, etc., are all paid for by Enani.

Assouan to Ouasta {5} we take the train at our own expense. From Ouasta through the Fayoum {6} to Mena, we take luggage camels & caravan at Enani’s expense. The contract to date from Nov. 17. 1904.

Signed & sealed,
E. P. L(awrence).
H. L(awes).
M. L. P(ethick).
A. E. K(hattab). {7}

That is rather a lovely programme, isn’t it? I fancy there are not many people who visit Egypt for 10 weeks get as much into it & out of it. I think this caravan life is just what you want—there is so much to do, & oh so much to learn—& all you do & all you learn is saturated in sunshine! But the spirit of hurry & rush would spoil it all. They have a proverb here—“El agela minesh shaitan.” (Haste is from the devil.) I want the sense of leisure to steal into your life & take possession of it. I am quite sure that after these years of close, arduous & absorbing work, 8 or 9 weeks of absolute leisure would be time well invested—& would yield you rich returns. I know what January is—a month of low ebb in everything. I believe you could be well spared—how I wish you could get a good man to take charge while you are away—but you have tried that, I know. Well, you must do just what you feel is for the best—if we have to shorten our time a little, “ma’laish”! “Malaish” is like that Russian word that Bismarck had engraved on his ring. It means “It signifies nothing” or “Nothing matters”! & is the spirit of the life in the desert. It makes everything go with a laugh.

My own darling Laddie, I hope that you are well & happy & that everything is going well. You are always in my heart. I often think how eager you were that I should come here—how you went & took those tickets & sent us off in the very right time. You knew I should love the East—you always said so. I did not know or imagine half the fascination of it. I have never felt anything a bit like it. There is something in my blood that responds to it all: the Arab people seem less foreign to me than the majority of the people of my own race—and we have a language in common—which is gradually extending! The Europeans out here look at them quite differently—they hold them in great disdain & order them about—and trust an Arab!—no, they would not dream of it! The visitors here illustrate the great gulf between East & West—they are totally different & a complete want of understanding separates them. But Hetty—I don’t know where she gets it from—can do anything she likes with these Arabs who know her—they simply worship her. She is like a little queen amongst them. You should have seen Enani laugh when she told him we must all have our baths every day in the desert. “Where is the water to come from, Sit? the camels drink only once a week!” “Where the water is to come from I know not; that is your business, Abdul Enani. You must get it.” The talk between them in Arabic sounds like one long happy chuckle: Naharach seid Embarak. (Light shine on thee, may thy day be blessed.)

Dearest, ever yours,
Emmeline

Monday morning. Just had your darling letter. Oh but it makes me want you awful bad. Enani very happy today—has got a much bigger & better dayabeyeh—just going off to look at it now.

In haste,
Patz.

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A few alterations have been made to the punctuation of the original.

{1} The day of the month is incorrect, since the letter is said to have been written on a Sunday evening and the 12th was a Saturday. Moreover, the abortive excursion to the Sphinx to watch the sun rise is mentioned in PETH 7/149 as having taken place on Sunday morning. It was probably the present letter that Marie described Emmeline writing in her own letter of the 13th (PETH 7/164).

{2} A quotation, of course, from the Mock Turtle’s song in the tenth chapter of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland; but these words were in fact uttered by the whiting.

{3} The words in brackets were interlined later.

{4} Aswân.

{5} El Wasta.

{6} El Faiyûm.

{7} The letters in brackets were added later in pencil.

† Sic.

Continues her account of her visit to Egypt.

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Transcript

5th Letter.

Nov. 25. Dahabijeh Bolbol.

Here we are at Ouasta at last—where letters have been waiting for me already for a week—we have passed an hour or two ago the village where 8 days ago we intended spending our first night—so contrary have the winds been. The good stupid old Mursi is despatched for the letters & told to run to the post & back as we do not want to stop & lose the wind: he bears my card, with a written request to the postmaster to deliver the letters to him & he brings me back such a very polite kind note from the postmaster, wishing me a pleasant journey—hoping my letters will be full of good news—saying that he will post forward to Minieh any belated dispatches. Amongst my letters is a very cordial one from Lady Cromer which has been waiting a week—asking us to tea with her & saying how great a pleasure it will be to see me & hear news of Fitzroy Sq. She often “looks back” to those days & would like to come back & see all again. There is also a kind little note from Mr Cope’s friend Mrs Vere Alston—hoping that she may meet us on our return. The letters from home fulfil the good wishes of the postmaster & add to our happiness. Abdul Enani is full of a new idea. He has just built a beautiful new house—it has a big “salon”, & a well, & a bathroom!—everything nice: now, won’t we go & live in it for the summer & he will be our servant? At first we do not take the project seriously but he is in earnest. He finds Hetty alone. Does she think “the great lady” (es Sitt gebir) will come. But Hetty says—“No, because the heart of the great lady is with her husband & where he is, she must be.” He shakes his head gloomily. Presently he renews the subject. “It is beautiful in the summer—you sit in the shade & feel the beautiful cool wind—& the wind from the desert smells so beautiful in the summer.” “But Enani, what would you do if we got ill?” “I would take you into the desert—no one is ever ill in the desert: you know that is true, Sitt” (appealing to Hetty). “You should live one week in the desert—& one week in the house, & you should ride horses in the desert.”

Presently he comes to Hetty again. “Would not the husband of the great lady stay with her if she wished it very much.

“No, Enani, I am afraid he could not.”

“Why?”

“Because he is like a great sheyk in his country & he must stay with the people in his country.”

Another gloomy shake of the head.

“Well then, you & the other lady, won’t you stay?”

“We should like to stay, but I am afraid it cannot be.”

“Why not? I would take care of you—you would be as safe with me as if you were at home—I never leave you.”

“Yes Enani, we should be safe with you I know. We can trust you entirely.”

“Then why not come?”

“There are many reasons.”

“What are they?”

“Well, Enani, for one thing it costs a great deal of money to live in your country—much more than it costs to live in our own.”

“What does that matter? English ladies are all rich.”

“No Enani—not all.”

“Oh but when they want money, they have only to go to the bank & get it. Well perhaps you will think about it—perhaps you will come.”

Enani himself is quite “a duke”. Smokes only the best cigarettes—dresses with magnificence & is lordly in all his ways.

When it was pointed out to him that if he became our servant he could not go with any tourists & would lose a lot of money, his reply was—“I have money enough”.

We are all very very happy—all the servants & all the crew as well as ourselves. “If you are happy, then all are happy” is often said to us. The men seem to find so much pleasure in pleasing. Tonight sitting on the bank close beside the boat I tell my first story, every word in arabic! The men are quite as pleased as I am & greet me as I return to the boat with “Es Sitte shrata”—“the wise lady”. Enani is a walking “Thousand & one nights”—& now we can understand most of all he says without stopping him for the meaning. One of his stories that fascinate me is about a fisherman who went to the river & caught a great big fish; it had no eyes—only a long head standing up like a tower & at the top of it a great mouth. And the fisherman said—“Never have I seen a fish like this—no eyes, only a mouth—how does he get food?” Then he looked again & saw a little ant climbing up the head with a grain of food, & after him another & another, & another, each ant with a grain of food, each dropped his grain into the mouth of the fish. Then the fisherman said—“Why does the Lord care for an ugly fish like this, & send him his food, & I have to work hard? I will not work any more, but will go home & prya the Lord to send food to me as he does to the fish.” The rest of the story is too long to tell & is not of importance. How many people one knows,—let me say rather, how all too easy it is to be that fish—to know no more of life than the bit that is pushed down one’s throat by the little circumstances & surroundings of every day.

Marie says—“I feel like that great big fish—the ants are coming too quickly & I can’t make room for all they are bringing every minute.”

Nov. 26th. Another day—blue, blue, blue—no wind except a breath from the South west—all the sails in the river flapping idly—the water like glass—the hills jagged in outline, limned in delicate lavendar against the sky. We have been for a walk—& now whilst I am writing in the saloon, Hetty & Ali are sitting on the bank—Hetty painting & Ali holding the umbrella. Marie, Enani & a circle of women & girls & children are laughing & talking on the bank. I have taken a photo of each group & hope they will give something of the spirit of the scene.

Now the girls come to the side of the boat & peep in at me through the windows of the saloon—full of admiration for everything—& delighted with some biscuits I give them. They ask for nothing. We have had no begging at all: no cries for backsheesh! A little boy comes with some spinning & Marie is taught how to do it, a little married girl about twelve years old strokes her velvet shoes tenderly & brushes the dust off them: presently they shyly invite Marie & Hetty to have a romp with them on the bank. But it is nearly noon & too hot for romping—otherwise of course we should all be delighted! {1}

There seems no hope of the wind waking up today—we have waited till nearly noon—now the men begin to tow the boat. It looks hard work—but how cheerfully they do it, singing the while. All through the afternoon “Kula na’im” (everything sleeps)—the winds sleep in the heavens, the light sleeps in the waters, the shadows sleep in the hills of gold, and the heart sleeps—a living sleep of light.

The sun slowly sinks towards the west, burnished gold are the sandbanks now, & the jagged mountains behind dream a purple dream. The supreme colour drama begins—this evening it is different from anything we have yet seen—more supernatural—the hills are nearer—they burn with light, a flame that is of rose & blue & mauve & lambent gold. We are moored now, & the soft contralto voices of the men sitting on the bank, waiting for the moment when they may break their fast, make a soft music. On the Eastern bank, two children, dots of purple & scarlet, lead their flock of sheep—& chant—a curious rhythm something like a yodelling. Absolute radiance, utter peace, beauty that makes the heart gasp! Complete & perfect happiness—a new revelation of the riches of the earth. Surely heaven & hell are included in this planet.

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A few alterations have been made to the punctuation of the original.

{1} The ink changes at this point. The passage which follows was probably added in the evening.