WHEN IN ROME, do as the Romans do. Many 19th century Orientalists believed that only by going native could they hope to penetrate a culture that was so alien to their own. Deeming in-depth study and exhaustive recording necessary, these scholars traveled to exotic locations like Turkey, Syria, Palestine and Egypt in bids to understand local mores.

Edward William Lane was one of them. Lane visited Egypt three times: from 1825 to 1828, from 1833 to 1835 and finally in 1841, when he stayed for seven years, perfecting his knowledge of Arabic. From his first trip, Lane had brought back to England a young slave, Nefeeseh, whom he married and who followed him back to Egypt thereafter. Apparently, although the marriage remained childless, they were very happy together and, on many occasions, Lane told his friends that he could not think of a more affectionate wife.

What she saw and described at length were two courts surrounded by small cells ‘in which mad persons are confined and chained. . .’

In the summer of 1842, Lane’s sister, Sophia Poole, and her two sons joined Lane and Nefeeseh in Egypt. Sophia was thrilled by the sights of Egypt and grabbed at the chance to help her brother in his study of Egyptian customs. Being a woman, she could also go where he was not allowed — for instance, visiting the harems. Lane suggested that Sophia write her own book and provided her with ample background information on the monuments, which she often copied verbatim. Since she was not a scholar, he advised her to adopt the form of ‘Letters from Egypt’ to record her impressions, which she enthusiastically did.

Until recently, the fruit of her efforts, a series of letters collected under the title The Englishwoman in Egypt, remained out of print, until an Arabic translation by Azza Kararah appeared under the name Muhammed Ali’s Harim in 2002. Soon after, in 2003, the American University in Cairo Press published an English edition of Sophia’s letters, finally allowing readers to fully appreciate her keen sense of observation and wry humor, which pleasantly complement her brother’s more scholarly Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, published in England in 1835.

Having decided to go native, one of Sophia’s first wishes was to visit the interiors of Cairo’s mosques, but she was not allowed to, being ‘an infidel.’ She rejected the plan of disguising herself as a Turkish woman, as she could have been easily discovered if other female visitors in the mosques questioned her. Instead, it was decided that she would impersonate the wife of their landowner and, with his real wife and Nefeeseh, she followed him to the holy places. Disguised as a native, Sophia began her investigations.

She was also particularly interested in the complex of the Sultan “Kal?-oon” (Qalawun) built in 1284-1285 and situated on what was the main avenue of medieval Cairo, now known as El-Muizz Lidin Illah Street. Though she found the mosque less than remarkable, the maristan (hospital) intrigued her. The foundation deed Sophia was able to consult stated that it was dedicated to Muslims of both sexes and all ages, regardless of their social or moral position. They could come from any place in the world and no distinction was made: Priority was given to those most in need of care.

Sophia described the maristan’s efficiency. “The hospital was divided into sections for men and women, and each patient was entitled to a bed made of wood or palm slats, with pillow and covers. The administrator of the foundation, who also handled financial matters, took care that each patient was given proper food and medicine.” Indeed, the services offered at the time (the 13th century) do not seem to differ much from those obtained today in an expensive private hospital.

Sophia was not aware that the place she was visiting had seen better times, when the patients had been treated with greater respect for their humanity. In her book, she did not say much about its history, although it was one of the best-known charitable institutions in the Arab world. It was also a center for the study and practice of medicine up until the 19th century, as noted by Professor Doris Behrens-Abouseif in her book Islamic Architecture in Cairo: An Introduction (AUC Press, 1996). “As a philanthropic foundation, Qalawun hospital was remarkable for its time, and even in comparison with modern times,” wrote Behrens-Abouseif.

One is left with the impression that, when Sophia was given a restricted tour of the famous maristan of Qalawun, the institution was well past its heyday. What she saw and described at length were two courts surrounded by small cells “in which mad persons are confined and chained; men in one court and women in the other.” Although she observes that the keepers are treating the inmates with “mildness and gentleness of manner,” Sophia notes that “they look unlike human beings and the manner of their confinement and the barren wretchedness of their cells contributed to render the scene more like a menagerie than anything else.”

She had brought along provisions, as it was the custom when visiting the hospital, but she noted that these “wretched beings,” confined and chained many women stark naked and men wearing only a loincloth were well provided for by the funds of the establishment: “the poor creatures have more than enough to eat, for none seemed hungry, and I observed that one of the men threw down a piece of bread which was given to him.”

As Sophia was quite distressed by the women who sat staring vacantly in their cells, noting her sorrow and wanting to entertain her, her mehrem (male protector) recounted a number of anecdotes. One of these, actually, was so gory that it would have been better if it had remained untold, but another one was rather amusing. A friend of his had visited the maristan and was addressed by name and greeted warmly by one of the inmates. On examining him thoroughly, he found him to be an old friend and was distressed by his entreaties. The lunatic assured him that he was not mad and finally convinced the friend to apply for his release. The keeper, to whom the trusting man addressed his request, warned him that the patient may appear sane at times, but could, in the wink of an eye, begin raving again.

The man was not convinced and insisted until the keeper consented to let him try. This being arranged, the two friends set out together and were soon engaged in conversation. But, suddenly, the lunatic seized his friend by the throat and began hollering, “Help, O Muslims, here is a madman escaped from the Maristan.” He screamed and begged so much that passersby finally consented to drag the man to the maristan, and did this in no gentle manner. He was wise enough not to present any resistance and was thus led to the very cell from which he had, shortly before, liberated his lunatic friend who was now calling loudly in entering the maristan to bring a collar and chain for a madman he had captured in the streets.

The prison keeper, understanding the situation, did as he was told, but managed to slip the collar on the real lunatic whom he secured once more in his former quarters.

Was this enough to reassure Sophia? She felt better about the fate of “the miserable creatures at present confined in the maristan” when she was told that they were “to be removed to a hospital where they will be under the superintendence of a celebrated French surgeon Clot Bey.”

The lesson was clear: Pretending to go native is one thing; trusting the natives is quite another. et