Bonaparte in Egypt and the Egyptians of To-day

Some days after the celebration of the Molid, Bonaparte, having invited the leading Sheikhs to visit him, prepared for them what he probably thought would prove an agreeable surprise. Receiving his guests with the affability he generally displayed, he retired to an adjoining room, and presently returned with a number of tricolour sashes and cockades. With a smile that was meant to be winning and gracious, he put one of these across the shoulder of the Sheikh el Sharkawi, the President of the Dewan. Flushing red with fury, the Sheikh flung the sash upon the ground. With hurried but soothing words the interpreter sought to explain that the sash was intended as a mark of honour – that it was one of those worn by the General himself – and added that by wearing it the Sheikh would gain increased respect from the army. "Yes," replied the Sheikhs, "but we should be dishonoured in the eyes of God and of our co-religionists!" Here was a sudden flood of mutiny indeed! The tricolour, emblem of all that was honourable, sacred, flung to the ground as though it were an unclean and unholy thing, not to mention the rough discourtesy to the General. What wonder if Bonaparte, as the histories tell us, was "furious" or "enraged"? Was it not exasperating to be taught in this rude manner that the everyday politeness and conciliating manner of these wretched Egyptian Sheikhs really had limits, and that there was a point beyond which they would not go? And the humiliation of having offered a favour only to have it rejected with scorn, and that by men whose very lives depended upon his forbearance! Poor Bonaparte! How many things there were in heaven and earth that were not dreamt of in his philosophy! And poor Sharkawi! Quick as was the ready-witted interpreter to interpose his well-meant explanation, I am well convinced that he was not quick enough to forestall the Sheikh's audible or inaudible cry for forgiveness for such hasty and unseemly anger. But, audible or inaudible, his cry was not to the General, but to the God to whom, as the Moslem believes, anger and hasty speech are abominations. The General, being restrained by no such considerations, and having, we may admit, much more reason to be enraged than the Sheikh, broke forth in an angry denunciation of the worthy President of the Dewan as one entirely unfitted for the high and honourable post he held, and had his wrath increased rather than soothed by the polite endeavours of the Sheikhs to pacify him, while at the same time begging him not to press the sashes upon them. At length he yielded so far as to withdraw the sashes, but continued to demand the wearing of the cockade, believing, no doubt, like young Easy's nurse, that this, being such a little one, would be a more pardonable offence against outraged propriety. But the Sheikhs were as little willing to wear the cockade as they were to put on the sash, reasonably arguing that it was not the size of the emblem but its meaning and purport that was objectionable. Finally, when the question had been discussed with much good sense and much folly on both sides, it was agreed that the Sheikhs should have some days' grace wherein to consider and decide the issue.

On the same day proclamation was made throughout the town to the effect that all the people were to put on the cockade and wear it as a sign of submission and amity. A few only consented, but the opposition of the majority was so strong that later in the day the order was withdrawn, with the condition that all who should have any business with the French, or visited their houses or quarters, should don the despised decoration for the occasion. Here, then, the incident ended, but we must not wholly dismiss it without noticing that Gabarty and others of the Sheikhs, although they were not willing to wear the French colours, were quite clear in their opinion that doing so was no offence to Moslem law or sentiment. It was simply a silly fad of the French, without any real meaning or sense. Whence it is obvious that what is spoken of as progressive or enlightened thought in Islam has not altogether resulted from the influence of European or Christian civilisation, but is the natural product of the freedom of thought inherent in the teaching of the religion.

Learning nothing from the experience that would have taught an abler man the weakness and strength of his position, Bonaparte was thus gradually, though wholly unwittingly, driving the people to rebellion. Misreading the passive acceptance or mild protests with which his rapidly succeeding mandates were received, he kept on, from day to day, more hopelessly and more completely widening the gulf already yawning between the two peoples, and while daily outraging the Egyptians' conception of liberty and happiness, never ceased to talk of the benefits he was conferring upon them, or to wonder at their failure to appreciate all the charm and beauty of the changes he was so anxious to promote.

Under the Mamaluks the people had had but three grievances to complain of, and one of these, the destruction of commerce and trade, they only partly, if at all, attributed to the fault of their rulers. The other two were the excessive taxation to which they were subjected, and the acts of more or less wanton cruelty and oppression that classes as well as individuals were liable to. Apart from these things, their lives were as free as they could desire. They worked or idled, came and went, and, in short, did all things as they listed under no greater restraint than that of the lenient opinion of their fellows, which even when most censorious, was still prone to the Moslem virtue of forgiveness. Little by little Bonaparte went on encroaching upon these liberties the people had always possessed and prized. Births, marriages, and deaths had to be recorded, and fees had to be paid to the recording officers. Those entering the town had to give an account of themselves, whence they came and why. Those who received visitors or strangers in their houses were responsible for them. Those who wished to travel or leave the town had to provide themselves with passports. These and a host of other regulations that, to the French, seemed but natural and proper parts of the organisation of a State, were to the Egyptians intolerable outrages upon their personal liberty, and that nothing should be wanting to make these reforms unpopular, each was fitted with a fee of some sort, to be paid upon demand, with dire pains and penalties for all omissions or defaults of any kind.

It is difficult for the ordinary Englishman or European to form any intelligent or just conception of the feelings of irritation to which these measures gave rise, but those who have travelled in Russia and have there experienced something of the wrath its passport regulations can arouse in the breast of a freeborn Briton, may perhaps be able to imagine how the imposition of such restrictions by a foreign conqueror in his own house would affect him. If he can do this the reader can form some slight idea of the feelings with which the Egyptians regarded the "reforms" they were forced to accept and asked to admire and applaud. But it was not their personal grievances that rankled most deeply in the hearts of the people, or most surely crushed all possibility of sympathy or friendship between them and their new rulers.

Among the incidents that most strongly affected the people was the execution of Sayed Mahomed Kerim, the man whom, as we have seen, Bonaparte had left as Governor at Alexandria. Accused by the French of corresponding with the Mamaluks, he was sent up to Cairo for such trial as he was to have, and was promptly sentenced to pay a heavy fine or, in default, to suffer death. That he was guilty of the offence appears certain, and according to all known laws of war, he was therefore guilty of a breach of parole and liable to death. But the offence that Sayed Kerim had committed was, in fact, nothing more than a technical one, since it consisted in his having offered to admit the Mamaluks to Alexandria while these, so far from being in a position to occupy that town, had abandoned all attempts to face the French. Bonaparte and his army were no doubt present in Egypt as conquerors, but the foe had not only been beaten but cowed, the people of the country had made the fullest submission, and it was an abuse of terms to pretend that there was the slightest pretext to justify the application of the laws of war. The option of a fine granted to Sayed Kerim shows indeed that Bonaparte recognised this fact, and at the same time proves his utter incapacity to gauge the sentiments of the people or realise their estimate of his actions. Moreover, according to the popular view, Sayed Kerim was guilty of no offence whatever, for his promise of fealty to the French was not made voluntarily, and therefore was not binding. Some looked upon his sentence as a proof that the French were afraid of the return of the Mamaluks, others held that the charge had been brought simply to provide the French with an excuse for the seizure of the Sayed's property. All their sympathies were therefore with the prisoner, and they were enhanced a thousandfold by the fact that he was a descendant of the Prophet. But Bonaparte, for all his fulsome speeches to the people, cared nothing for their wishes or desires, and it was in vain that the Ulema and all who could obtain a hearing pleaded for at least a mitigation of the sentence. Bonaparte would hear no reason. The full fine must be paid at once or the prisoner must die. But the Sayed was defiant. "Of what use," said he, "is it that I should pay the fine? If it is my destiny to die I must die, and no fine can save me, and if it is not my destiny to die, who can slay me?" So he died as one expects such a man to die, openly defying his foes, and Bonaparte had his head carried through the town, with written and verbal proclamation that such was the fate that awaited all who conspired against the French, little recking that the lesson he intended this gruesome performance to be was taken by the people in a very different manner to that which he desired, and so far from being a lesson of submission and obedience, was one of hatred and vengeance.

From the European point of view it is, of course, impossible to censure Bonaparte for his treatment of Sayed Kerim. In matters of this kind European civilisation was in those days very little better than the East. It is true that in England traitors' heads no longer provided the public with an interesting spectacle on Tower Hill, but "My Lord Tom Noddy," and the smart set of that day, highly appreciated the entertainment afforded by the hanging of miserable prisoners sentenced to death for petty thefts, or even for attempting to steal, and the bones of highwaymen still hung in chains on the heaths around London, startling unwary nightfarers with their unwelcome rattle.

So Bonaparte went blundering on. Failing entirely to grasp the position, and fancying that he was laying the foundations of that great Eastern Empire of which he dreamed, he was blindly ignorant of and indifferent to the one and only means whereby he could succeed, for if it had been possible for him to realise his dream it could only have been by gaining the adhesion of the Egyptians as his first step. That he could have done this I do not believe, but it was absolutely the only possible road to success open to him, and it was the one that in the futile folly of his overweening confidence in himself and his methods he would not or could not adopt. He might have gone far on the road. Had he left the people at rest, had he respected in fact and deed as in words he professed to do, their prejudices and desires, had he gained as he might have gained the passive if not active support of the Ulema – had he done these things, nothing but a greatly superior force could have dislodged him from Egypt. But these were the very things that he did not do. As we have seen, instead of giving the people the rest from tyranny and vexations for which they longed, he harassed them infinitely more than the worst of all the rulers that had preceded him. So with the Ulema, instead of seeking their friendship in the only way in which it was to be obtained, he mocked them with idle pretences of respect that were never justified by deeds, and, while loudly declaring his respect for Islam and its teaching, ignored both in the most offensive way, and thus not only offended the people, but completely barred himself from the support of the Ulema. So keeping his way with dogged will and unbroken faith in his own ability, he was blindly though surely swelling the tide of discontent fast rising around him, and soon to burst forth in stormy wrath.

CHAPTER X

THE BURSTING OF THE STORM

Looking back now we can see that as the month of September drew to a close the gathering of clouds betokening the growing storm was becoming more and more evident. But the French were altogether unconscious of anything being wrong. That the Egyptians were woefully wanting in gratitude, and most strangely incapable of appreciating the benefits that were being showered upon them – this they saw plain enough. Nor were they blind to the fact that flaunt the tricolour as bravely as they would, the liberty, equality, and fraternity it symbolised were flouted by this people, whose whole history was a record of slavery and degradation. But they did not see that they themselves were hated and detested, that the cordiality with which for a time the people had fraternised with the soldiers had been but a passing reaction, and that, sincere as it was for the moment, it could not continue.

The French in Cairo were then, as Europeans in the East almost always are, quite content to see the surface of the life around them. Of its hidden depths they knew nothing, and therefore judged the strangers amidst whom they were wholly by their own standards. It is but little better to-day. In Egypt, as in India, everything "native" is despised, not because it is native, nor yet that it is bad, but because it is not such as the critical European has been accustomed to, and is therefore not "good form." To stop and ask whether the native may not have good sense, and be acting with good reason in doing as he does, never occurs to the self-satisfied European. So, having the power to do so, we thrust our misbegotten "reforms" upon the people, scorn these for not appreciating our absurdities, and despise them for not applauding our follies. We talk of the Egyptian as backward, bigoted, and prejudiced. A falser charge could not be brought against any people. From highest to lowest, among the most "fanatical" as among the most lax and liberal, the Egyptian takes and adopts as his own whatever he finds good in the ways of other peoples. Nowhere is there a people of greater adaptability, nowhere a people more ready or more willing to accept innovations. Nor is there in all the East a people who has the same, or anything like the same, silly self-sufficiency as the typical Englishman in the East. Other Europeans are bad enough in this respect, but none fall near so low in the scale of common sense as does the Englishman.

But if the Egyptian is willing to accept innovations he is stubbornly insistent upon accepting them in his own manner. He is not willing to have them forced upon him, nor to accept those that clash with his cherished prejudices, nor those that do not commend themselves to him as beneficial, and he demands, further, that whatever change he is asked to adopt is made smoothly and without any abrupt or violent alteration of old-established custom or habit. All these conditions were violated day after day by the French. The reforms they introduced were opposed to all the traditions of the country. They disturbed the habits of the people, interrupted the current of their old-time routine, offended their prejudices, and were forced upon them suddenly and as peremptory mandates demanding immediate and unquestioning obedience. Had they been allowed to criticise and discuss each new proposal they might, being as fond as old Mr. Easy himself of arguing the question, have been won by patience and tact to accept most of them.

So as time went on, and the people had abundant scope for comparisons between French promises and French performances, they were not without reason in accusing them of the faithlessness that the Turks have stamped as their characteristic in the rhyming phrase, "Fransiz imansiz." Still, though daily finding fresh cause of grievance against the French, the people were outwardly submissive, and it did not occur to the French that their pacific attitude could be otherwise than willing. So far, indeed, they were right – it was willing, but the cause of its being so was very different to that which the French assumed it to be, for it is clear that these believed that this willingness was due partly to the people's acceptance of their professions of friendship and partly to their inability to resist. But the submissiveness of the Egyptians had a very different origin. They knew that news of the arrival of the French had been despatched to Constantinople from Cairo almost as soon as it had been received there, and they were certain that the events that followed, the defeat of the Mamaluks and the seizure of Cairo by the French, had also been communicated to the Sultan, and they were therefore looking forward from day to day to the coming of a Turkish army, and never for a moment fancied that the French occupation would or could be other than a temporary one. These things were discussed freely and fully enough in the houses of the people, but the French, as we have seen, had deliberately closed the only door by which a knowledge of the real sentiments and feelings of the people could reach them. To speak of a French disaster or defeat was a punishable treason, and so the Cairenes, doing violence to their natural inclinations, held their tongues in public, only to talk the more and the more bitterly in their homes. Nor did the Egyptians look upon the Mamaluks as having been finally and decisively beaten. French troops had now been in pursuit of the fugitive Beys for some months, and though the French were careful to publish everything that could be made to redound to the glory and credit of their arms, they had not yet been able to record any success worthy of note or which was not discounted by the facts reaching the people from other sources. Nor had the severity with which Bonaparte had punished those who were convicted of circulating the news of the destruction of the French fleet failed to impress the Cairenes with the great importance they attached to that event, or to increase their hopes of the early and utter destruction of the French army. To the Egyptians, therefore, the ultimate disappearance of the French was only a question of time, and situated as they were it is not surprising that they bore the miseries the occupation was inflicting upon them with the outward semblance of content that so misled the French.

Towards the middle of September a Turkish eunuch arrived from Constantinople, and the people, believing that he was the bearer of letters from the Sultan, flocked in thousands after him as he passed through the streets. Bonaparte happened just then to be in the town, whither he had gone to pay a visit to one of the leading Sheikhs, and returning came in sight of the crowd following the new arrival. Instantly loud cries broke forth, maledictions on the French, mingled with shouts of "Victory to the Sultan" and to Islam. Wholly unable to comprehend the meaning of the demonstration, since it was the habit of the people to receive him in silence, he asked what it meant, and was told that the people were acclaiming his presence. "It was," says Gabarty, "a critical moment, and one that might have had grave consequence." One can but wonder that the incident passed as harmlessly as it did, for it is certain that in the temper the people were in it needed but a word to have stirred them to action. Fortunately for Bonaparte the dangerous moment passed, and he was left to return home with no suspicion of how narrowly he had escaped an ignoble ending of his career.

A few days later the French held high festival in honour of the anniversary of the Republic. A great space in the Esbekieh was chosen as the site of the rejoicings, and this was encircled with Venetian poles swathed in the colours so dear to French sentiment, and linked together with festooned flowers. A triumphal arch decorated with frescoes celebrating the defeat of the Mamaluks, was erected in the centre, and on all sides French and Turkish flags were displayed in profusion. The Cap of Liberty and the Turkish Crescent, the "Rights of Man" and the Koran, the glory of the Prophet and that of the French Republic, were inextricably mixed up in the decorations as emblems of the hopes of the French, but were in truth more aptly typical of the absolute irreconcilability of the two peoples assembled in their presence. In the evening there was a grand banquet, to which all the principal Sheiks and other leaders of the people were invited, and at which speeches of great length, but light and witty, full of the spirit that the French seem always to have at command, were made, and the night was brought to a close with a display of fireworks, after which the French went home to sigh for the early coming of the day on which they could return to their beloved France, and the Egyptians to pray for the coming of that same day, but for very different reasons and with very different hopes.

Needless to say that the fête was made an opportunity for the renewal of all the fine promises and a gorgeous repainting of all the brilliant prospects that Bonaparte was never weary of holding out to the Egyptians; but the fête over, he pursued his policy of reform more vigorously and more recklessly than ever. A new scheme for the registration of property was introduced, taxes were imposed upon the inheritance of property, on creditors' claims, on hirings and lettings, and a host of other things. All the citizens living in the citadel were turned out, speaking of politics was forbidden, arrests, confiscations, and executions went on from day to day, the cemeteries within the city walls were closed, and the disinfecting of the houses and clothing of the dead was ordered. These, and a host of other innovations, each in its way reasonable enough, and, according to modern European ideas, most commendable, came upon the Egyptians as ruthless invasions of their personal liberty, and were viewed by them as tyrannical expedients for robbing them. And with these measures for the social organisation of the town Bonaparte was pressing forward others for its defence, for in spite of his suppression of speech among the people he was becoming aware of the fact that they were looking for the coming of a foe to dispute possession of the country with him, and an infinitely more deadly foe than Turk or Mamaluk was already within the walls of the city, and was not to be combated or ousted by any means that he could command; a foe that mocked the might of generals and armies, and in the stillness of a night might decimate the French troops; a foe whose very name – the plague – blanched the faces and hearts of every European who heard it. So, that the army as a whole, or whatever fraction of it the plague might spare, should be in a condition to defend itself from the assaults of Turk or Mamaluk, the French put feverish haste in the building of defences, and houses, mansions, tombs, and mosques were pulled down to make room for and supply materials for forts and other works. Meanwhile the Dewan had not answered Bonaparte's expectations, and as the almost necessary result it was neglected. It met from time to time, to disperse again without having had any affairs presented for its consideration, and the people drawing their own conclusions from all that was going on, adding this to other matters, with a steadily rising tide of anger in their hearts, drew more and more apart from the French, and these apparently began to have some suspicion that all was not going on so well as they could wish.

October came, and a new Dewan was formed with delegates from Alexandria and other towns as members. Then a new law of succession was proposed, as though the French were determined to leave nothing undone that would serve to prove how utterly blind they were in the folly with which they were pushing the people to desperation. The law of succession that then, as now, prevailed in Egypt, as in all Moslem lands and amongst all Moslem peoples, is based upon the express injunctions of the Koran, and being therefore, as all Moslems believe, conformable to the direct command of God Himself, the mere suggestion to modify or alter it in any way whatever is an unpardonable offence. Yet that the madness with which the French were acting should be still more emphatically proved, not only was the proposed new law of succession absolutely and utterly rejected by the Moslems, but also by the Christians and Jews, who declared that sooner than have it they would prefer the Moslem law. Once more, then, Bonaparte had to suffer the humiliation of withdrawing a hasty and ill-conceived measure. The people would no more have his law of succession than his cockades. But still hopelessly incapable of comprehending the real nature of the task he was so fatuitously pursuing, he only consented to abandon this scheme to introduce another not less detestable to the whole population. This was a proposal for a house-tax, and it was to the Cairenes the spark that set aflame the fiercely smouldering fires a hundred others had kindled.