Paris on the Nile

Architecture, music and fashion: the Beit Al-Harrawi hosts an unusually diverse event, sweeping Fayza Hassan off her feet
top: the young dancer performing to the music of Wist El-Balad band; above: Lefebvre (l) presenting Nuda Veritas
photos: Abdel-Hamid Eid
An unpleasant and untimely khamasin was blowing dust all over Al-Azhar street and the afternoon light, charged with particles of desert sand, was an eerie yellow. This did not deter the many visitors to Beit Al-Harrawi, who came in droves to attend one of the numerous manifestations of Les Français aiment le Caire (the French love Cairo), a programme launched by the French embassy and the French Cultural Centre at the beginning of May.
Regardless of the stifling atmosphere, the francophone public asserted their presence, bearing witness to more than a century of French influence on our cultural life. Many of the guests were old enough to remember more genteel times, when French was spoken as a matter of course on the elegant streets of downtown Cairo; when the Lycées and private French schools reigned supreme and conferences and exhibitions arrived in a continuous stream, courtesy of the French Embassy, l'Alliance Française or the French Cultural Centre.
The recently restored Beit Al-Harrawi was the perfect setting for the event. The beautiful mashrabiya looked more impressive than ever, its dark brown hues standing out under the rays of the setting sun, filtering through a haze of golden dust. The event included a showing of some 30 colour photographs taken by photographer Alain Leclerc of turn-of-the-century palaces transformed, after the 1952 Revolution, into schools and government administrations. Leclerc's lens focused on the splendid details of painted ceilings, flamboyantly embellished façades and ornately original doors, leaving out traces of wear and tear caused by the excessive punishment these majestic buildings have been submitted to over the years. It is regrettable, however, that the organisers only included the present name of the palaces, omitting to mention their original owners or the architects who built them. Many would have liked to know more about the buildings exhibited.
The Nasriya School in Champollion Street, for example, has intrigued many passersby and stories about it being Champollion's house in Cairo have circulated for years. In fact, the palace was built in 1901 by Antonio Lasciac for Prince Said Halim. One would have expected the Institut Français d'Archeologie Orientale (IFAO) researchers, who pride themselves (and quite rightly so) of having a rich archival documentation on Cairo, to make such information available. "We are only offering a feast for the eyes today," said Mohamed Abul-Amayem, the IFAO researcher who is the force behind this particular project. "We plan to enlarge and document this collection. This is only the beginning." This is good news, since only recently, under IFAO director Bernard Matthieu and director of studies Christian Velu, has the institute begun to show a keen interest for 19th and 20th century architecture.
As visitors discovered the architectural treasures of Cairo, the second part of the programme was getting underway. Henri Raymond and Hervé Odéon from the Centre de Musique Baroque of Versailles launched into a lecture on Egyptian influences on French Baroque music of the 17th and 18th centuries. Cleopatra and Isis, much more than the almées dear to Flaubert's heart, had apparently inspired the ballets danced at the French royal court. But to the layman's ear, the samples offered did not sound the least bit Oriental. It soon became clear that the francophone public was equally versed in music, as a heated discussion developed about the use of instrumentation and the conception -- real and imagined -- Western composers had of the East.
Invigorated by the debate, the audience was ready to brave the sandstorm and sit in the open courtyard for the last part of this testimony to Franco-Egyptian friendship. "I hope it doesn't rain now," whispered Brigitte Lefebvre, Christian Dior Middle East representative and the mastermind behind this last production. One could not help but notice that the audience had suddenly increased two-fold. There were obviously more amateurs of haute couture than of Baroque Music. The show was delayed while more stools were positioned in strategic places. Rain or no rain, Dior would be honoured with a full house.
Soft music filled the air and behind the podium, where a veiled dressmaker's dummy stood surrounded by two young bougainvillea, a young woman half-hidden by the splendid mashrabiya screen could be guessed at, undulating to the beat. A voice coming from nowhere intoned, "How I would love to go to Egypt, not as a professional but as a tourist, to breathe in your sun and dream on the banks of the Nile." These words had apparently been spoken by Christian Dior in 1950, during an exclusive interview granted to Antoun Toma, editor-in-chief of Image. Already, on 12 February 1947, when he had launched his famous New Look Collection, a hymn to women's femininity and romanticism, Dior was paying homage to the country of his dreams by creating a dress made of Egyptian telli (cotton netting embroidered with silver threads) which he called Cairo. John Galliano, the present director of Maison Dior, has been perpetuating the tradition: Nuit au Caire, from the prêt-à-porter collection of spring-summer 1998, and Nuda Veritas, from the haute couture collection of autumn-winter 1997-1998, were also made of Egyptian telli and could have been worn by any of Egypt's many queens of times gone by.
The beautifully clear voice of a female singer replaced the anonymous speaker. The poignancy of her love song was enhanced by an arrangement by the Wist Al-Balad band. Inspired by the music played during the 1997-1998 Galliano fashion show, they added a pleasing Oriental touch to the harmony. For a moment, the illusion of being transported to the days when Beit Al-Harrawi was someone's home and the women sang their nostalgic qasidas to while away the long hours, was quite real. The impression was reinforced by the sudden appearance of a young dancer front stage: she could have been a daughter of the house, twirling and bending dreamily to the tune. A last pirouette brought her to the podium, where she unveiled in a dashing finale Nuda Veritas, brought especially from France for the occasion.
As we filed out of the courtyard, it was obvious that the women had enjoyed the dramatic mise-en-scène and although some seemed to have expected more of Dior's creations, they did not resent having strayed so far from their customary haunts to see just one dress, albeit an exceptional one.
I flagged a taxi at the end of the alley. "Do you know where you are coming from," the driver asked sternly. "This is Al-Batniya, one of the worst areas of Cairo. It is frequented by thieves, murderers and drug addicts. I reassured him: "Beit Al-Harrawi is perfectly safe. It is now a theatre," I added for emphasis. "Who would go to a theatre in Al-Batniya?" he wondered. "The French," I said. "They have restored the house. It is beautiful."
"The French go there? I am not surprised: they will go anywhere. They are just like us," he said, suddenly reassured. If the French love Cairo, their message seems to have been heard loud and clear in more than one quarter.
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See: Le Caire au printemps 3 - 9 May 2001
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