By Fayza Hassan Artist Mohamed Abla had a studio in the Musaferkhana. His friends came to visit, enjoying his company as well as the very special feeling of surroundings which had seen so much history and yet seemed so familiar. Abla kept all his paintings propped against the thick stone walls. The Musaferkhana was a home away from home for him. The paintings have disappeared now, along with the carved and painted wooden ceilings, mashrabiya doors and windows, and other unique architectural features. The splendid palace was burnt to the ground last week. "The work of a lifetime," says Abla, completely stunned. The disappearance of the palace, however, seems to affect him much more than the loss of his own labour. "Let's collect old pictures of the palace, hold an exhibition, write a book on the building," he suggests feverishly. Others, like Emad Abu Ghazi, lecturer of archival studies at Cairo University, take a sterner view of the accident. The fire started in one of the bins of Darb Al-Masmat where the inhabitants of the area throw their garbage. "The people," he says, "are the problem. Respect for Islamic architecture is not yet part of our culture. Entire families can take over the ancient palaces, public fountains and commercial establishments, open a small business, or even set up a workshop. They often move in more or less permanently. Soon they are cooking, making tea, discarding their garbage in the alleys and building more or less makeshift bathrooms, without realising that these simple actions represent a terminal danger to the monuments." Abu Ghazi disapproves emphatically of the adaptive reuse of Islamic monuments. They are just not suitable as restaurants and hotels. "Turning the Ghouri complex into a public utility is nothing short of criminal," he fumes. "How can Al-Ghouri Palace be used as a theatre without withstanding irreparable damage to its foundations? Soon we will wake up and find that the few remaining Mameluke and Ottoman architectural treasures are all gone, destroyed by our greed or our negligence." Abu Ghazi believes that Islamic monuments should be regarded exactly in the same way as "we have learned to regard our Pharaonic legacy". If we absolutely need to make money out of them, he argues, they should be included systematically on the tourist circuit. "Tourists are taken to visit every Pharaonic monument, but Islamic Cairo is neglected. We show visitors the Citadel, Al-Azhar and sometimes Ibn Tulun, if there is time. The excuse is that our Islamic architecture is in poor condition and will be damaged further by a constant train of visitors. Well, let us do something about restoring it seriously." During the 18th and 19th century, amateur archeologists sometimes chose a cozy tomb in which to seek shelter for the duration of their stay. When Belzoni was digging in Thebes in 1817, he lived on his boat at times, but at others favoured "the French House, belonging to Mr Salt [built] on top of the temple of Luxor, or in the tombs of the Valley of the Kings, where he made great discoveries." Today we know that human presence accelerates decay, and drastic measures have been taken to protect Egypt's Pharaonic heritage. Is the Islamic legacy less valuable? Conservationist and photographer Ahmed Abdel-Gawwad warns that Beit Al-Razzaz, which includes as much decorative wood as the Musaferkhana, and is therefore as liable to be destroyed by fire, may be the next casualty, if drastic measures to protect it are not taken immediately. Abdel-Gawwad, who spoke to the Musaferkhana's caretaker soon after the devastation of the palace, wonders why there is no regular garbage collection in the area. "They claim that the alleys are too narrow to be easily reached. Why don't they use the tricycles which I often see in other quarters? Organising a daily round in the area should not be that difficult. Besides, in view of the formidable wealth that Islamic monuments represent to our country, is it too much to ask that professional guards be employed to protect them?" Renowned architect Abdel-Halim Ibrahim Abdel-Halim is calling for a national commitment at the decision-making level to protect Egypt's Islamic heritage. "There should be a clear plan, detailing the measures to be taken, including an immediate change to non-flammable scaffolding to prop up the constructions," he says. "People may not realise it yet, but this is a mind-boggling tragedy and similar accidents should by avoided at any cost." French architect, Bernard Maury, an adviser on restoration to the Egyptian Ministry of Culture, who recently completed the restoration of Beit Al-Harawi and is presently in charge of restoring Beit Al-Sennari, points out that the wealth of these palaces consists primarily of the intricate woodwork that lavishly adorns their ceilings, doors and windows. This woodwork, however, represents a constant fire hazard. Once the carved and painted wood is gone, there remains little to preserve. The disappearance of Musaferkhana, in this respect, he says, represents an unrecoverable loss. Maury deplores the lack of official measures to provide vigilant and constant protection of such unique examples of artistry. Most Ottoman palaces were adorned with examples of exquisitely intricate woodwork. It takes years of work and highly skilled specialists to properly restore the ceilings, doors and windows of these palaces. The Musaferkhana featured unique wood patterns in relatively fair condition, which we will never see again." Amidst ugly rumours and mud-slinging aimed at identifying those who should bear the responsibility for the disaster, Minister of Culture Farouk Hosni announced at a press conference that the Musaferkhana will be entirely rebuilt. "But," argues Abdel-Halim "how will he revive the spirit of the place? It is true," he comments, "that our history has witnessed a large number of fires, which sometimes destroyed entire quarters. Fustat, Bulaq and Al-Azbakiya are cases in point. They were usually rebuilt and life went on, but we are talking about a period where there was continuity, because the builders were there and the building methods were the same. Now we could eventually hire good artisans, and they could produce good quality work, but they cannot reproduce the Musaferkhana, because their background is different. A whole slice of our civilisation, the spirit of the people who built the Musaferkhana, has disappeared. We can certainly attempt a physical reconstruction, but never a spiritual one. A historical building is not the sum of its material components; it has a spiritual existence which exerts a beneficial influence on the people living around it, linking them intimately to their past. Last week, part of this past went up in smoke." Most Egyptian contemporary artists, writers and intellectuals can remember some time in their life when they were frequent visitors to the Musaferkhana. They held literary meetings there, or even temporarily occupied one of the richly decorated rooms, maybe the one that witnessed the birth of Khedive Ismail. "The splendour and exceptional dimensions of the palace, constructed during the last years of the 18th century by Mahmoud Muharram, with its numerous rooms grouped on two floors around the principal courtyard, explains that Mohamed Ali may have wanted to acquire it in the beginning of the 19th century," writes Maury in the monumental work Palais et Maisons du Caire. This is where the wali harboured his harim, and where Khedive Ismail was born. Later Mohamed Ali transformed the palace into a guesthouse for important visitors; hence the name Musaferkhana, by which it became known thereafter. Muharram, the most important coffee merchant in Cairo, was in many ways a product of his times. During the Ottoman period, Cairo was at the core of Egyptian commercial activities. This state of affairs placed the wealthiest merchants, often allied to the great ulama, at the top of the social order. The wealthiest were those who enjoyed exclusive rights on the coffee trade. Cairene coffee and spice merchants often amassed huge fortunes, which were often invested in luxurious palaces, in every way as richly appointed as those of the high-ranking military men. Among the many opulent residences belonging to merchants, that of Muharram stood out. His palace, while bearing architectural traits similar to those of other contemporary princely residences -- Beit Al-Suhaymi is often mentioned in this connection -- nevertheless included a number of unique features. "It is to the Comité de Conservation des Monuments de l'Art arabe that we owe the salvation of the palace from ruin and complete disappearance," wrote Maury in 1983. Set on a large block near the commercial centre of Al-Gamaliya, the Musaferkhana and its dependencies extended from Habs Al-Rahba Street, with Masgid Al-Marzuq and Masgid Al-Muhammadi marking the southern boundary. To the north, two entrances opened onto Haret Al-Tablawi and Darb Al-Masmat respectively. It featured an unusually large and richly ornamented front entrance for the master, flanked by another one as large, but devoid of decorative motifs, for the servants and the carriages. Among other interesting features were the unusually majestic proportions of the mandara and the dimension of the mashrabiya adorning the grand southern qa'a, its turned wood enhanced at the top with exquisite insertions of stained glass. Maury's words will ring true for centuries to come: "What is the interest of the setting, now that the precious stone is gone?"
