Monthly Archives: April 2017

Horeau show

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Hector Horeau, born in Versailles in 1801, had little luck as an architect. He won the competition for a covered market in Versailles in 1839 and for the design of the main building for the 1851 Great Exhibition of London (pictured above). Neither of these projects was realized with Horeau’s designs. The same happened with his 1849 proposals for Les Halles, the main market of Paris. He came up with a scheme for the construction of a railway tunnel under the Channel, connecting France and Britain (pictured below) – needless to say it never happened, not for another 150 years, anyway. None of his completed projects exists or can be identified. Horeau remains known only to architectural historians, who regard him as a pioneer in cast-iron, even if most of his work went unbuilt.

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There is another body of work by Horeau, which is equally unheralded, although highly regarded by those who know about it. During the first part of his life he travelled extensively around Europe and also in Egypt. He was in Egypt in 1838, the same year David Roberts arrived, and like the Scot, Horeau explored the country with paintbrush in hand, producing a great many watercolours and sketches. Some of these were published in a portfolio with the snappy title Panorama d’Égypte et de Nubie, avec un Portrait de Méhémet-Ali et un Texte Orné de Vignettes. Rare copies of this sell for upwards of US$1,200 and, as far as I know, there have never been any reprints. Happily and quite amazingly, Horeau’s original watercolours survive and are held by the Griffith Institute at the University of Oxford, which has conserved, scanned and put them on line. Here are a few:

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In all, the institute has some 130 paintings and they are magnificent. They show Egypt and its monuments as they would have been seen by early travellers, before they were fully excavated or cleared of debris. For my money, they have far more life and colour to them than Roberts’ far better known but bloodless drawings. To see more, go here.

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Nights at the palace

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I’ve just written a story on the Baron’s Palace for Eight, a magazine that is distributed through the Dusit Thani hotels. The editors asked if I could contribute something from Cairo on a theme of myths and legends. I was tempted to write about Lord Carnarvon’s tragic end in a room at the Continental-Savoy, or about the well in the courtyard of the Gayer-Anderson house that leads down to the domain of Sultan al-Watawit (the Sultan of the Bats), but I’ve always had a fascination with the Baron’s Palace, a building with more than its share of tall tales. Back in the late 1980s, when I worked up in Heliopolis for a spell, I used to make nocturnal visits to the palace with friends. As I write in the story, there was only an old watchman as security. He occupied a small wooden hut the size of a garden shed, over on the north side of the grounds, towards the Airport Road. If you approached from the southeast, the bulk of the palace was between you and him and, unless he was out on patrol, which was rare, you wouldn’t be seen. The fence was just barbed wire and easily slipped through. Then it was just a quick dash of a couple of hundred metres across the hard, dry ground to the sheltering shadow of the building.

It was easy enough to get in. Somebody had already removed one of the boards covering a window at lower-ground level. You crouched down, squeezed through and dropped. That was scary – it was a short drop but you landed in the pitch black. We never thought to bring a torch. After a few minutes, your eyes adjusted a little bit and then you could make out a doorway across the room, but you still couldn’t see where you were stepping and we were always afraid of snakes. You went out into an equally dark corridor at the end of which were some stairs. As you went up, there were some windows, which the moon just about strained through.

64.	 Baron Palace in Heliopolis, Cairo, 2011

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The light didn’t penetrate far. We could just make out that the rooms and halls on this, the ground floor, were completely empty except for filthy rags, crumpled newspapers and the sort of garbage, covered by a solid layer of dust, that suggested hobos had at some point long ago sheltered here. Once we braved the darkness of a corridor only to trigger a squealing whirlwind as a colony of bats loosed itself from the ceiling and swarmed us. After that we just stuck to the stairs and directed our explorations upwards.

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There were only two floors above basement level but the staircase continued up into the tower, splitting in two, curving in two directions around the walls. Where they rejoined, one narrow, ladder-like flight extended out across the void to an upper gallery. We once took a few steps on it but our nerve wouldn’t take us any further. Instead, we found a door that exited to the roof and there we used to hang out, larking around and looking over at the nightlights of Cairo in the company of stone-carved temple dancers, dragons and elephant gods.

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The rest of my story deals with the various legends associated with the palace, some of which are true – the son of the original builder did throw lavish parties and did marry a former burlesque dancer who used to appear naked except for a coat of gold paint – but most of which are not: the revolving sun room, the Satanist rituals, the suicides and ghosts. But you can hardly blame people for making up tales about the old palace – just look at it. Could you conceive of a better model for a haunted house?

I read recently that work was supposed to be beginning on the first phase of an architectural rescue of the building. As I haven’t been in Cairo for a little while now, I don’t know if this is happening. But as with all stories connected with the myth-shrouded Baron’s Palace, I will believe it when I see it.

All the photographs, by the way, are from Xenia Nikolskaya’s book Dust, which I have previously blogged about here.

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Filed under Lost Egypt, My journalism