THE GATHERING OF A STORM
Cairo in 1798 as a city wherein to wander was much safer for the
wanderer than was London in that year of grace. It had no Alsatia,
such as Whitefriars had been in the days of Nigel, nor "Holy Land,"
such as the Seven Dials was down almost to our own day. It had no
criminal class, and its mendicants were then as now few, and almost
all strangers from elsewhere. The peaceful citizen or stranger could
walk through any part of the town by day or night free from the
dangers he would even to-day encounter if he ventured through some of
the slums of the "World's Metropolis." Cairo is to-day unchanged from
what it was in this respect save in the infamous quarter of the town
devoted to the nightly carnival of vice that European civilisation
demands, and, under the august protection of Consuls-General and all
the pomp and glory of diplomatic dignity, obtains.
Volney has drawn a sufficiently deplorable picture of the visible
poverty of the Cairenes as he saw them in 1783, but it is highly
probable that this glaring poverty was to a large extent of the same
self-flaunting type so common in India, where certain sufficiently
well-to-do classes of the people seem by their outward showing to know
no mean between ostentatious prodigality and a pretence of poverty.
But there was then in Cairo a class that gained its uncertain meals
from still more uncertain employment, or from the hospitality or
charity that in the East so seldom fails. There were, too, some waifs
and wastrels, as there will always be in all great cities and towns
until civilisation shall have passed its present hobbledehoy-hood.
These two classes suffered much from the total suspension of business
in the town, and rendered desperate by the complete failure of all
their ordinary means of livelihood, and emboldened by the absence of
all authority resulting from the flight of the Mamaluks and almost all
the officials and leading men of the town, broke out in lawless
disorder, and, joined by many of those whom the panic-stampede had
reduced to poverty, began pillaging the deserted houses and mansions
of all that was left in them.
Bonaparte being informed of this, at once sent parties of soldiers
into the town with the double object of suppressing outrage and
robbery and of seizing everything of value that the Mamaluks and other
fugitives had been forced by the haste of their departure to leave
behind them. Proclamation was also made that whatever had been taken
by any person from any of the deserted houses should at once be
surrendered to the French, and, as a warning to those who might be
inclined to disobey this command, several men who were caught either
in the act of stealing or in the possession of stolen property were
summarily executed. Not content with these measures for the recovery
and protection of what he no doubt regarded as his lawful booty,
Bonaparte is said to have countenanced, if he did not actually order,
the infliction of torture with a view to forcing the disclosure of
hidden wealth.
The prompt and energetic steps taken by the French quickly restored
order in the town, and this having been done Bonaparte began to take
in hand the work of introducing civilisation as it was then understood
in France. Like the common type of "Reformer" and "Philanthropist," in
doing this he effectually barred the way to the success of his efforts
by coupling his professions of friendship for the people with
conditions. It was a case of "Be my brother, or I will slay you." He
was going to render the people for ever happy and content beyond their
dreams, but they, on their part, must yield the most implicit
obedience to all that seemed necessary or advisable to him. They were
to have cake and apples like the good children in the nursery tale,
but, like them, they must all sit in a row and behave nicely--in the
French fashion, which at least was appropriate, since the cakes and
apples they were promised were all of the latest fashion from Paris
itself. It is rather a pitiable picture that the "Little Corporal"
makes, thus playing the part of a glorified Bumble with "Civilisation"
and other fallacious figments for his "parochial" board, and the
porridge bowl of "the house" filled with "Liberty, Equality, and
Fraternity," to be doled out in duly measured spoonfuls to the hungry
and needy. Poor Cairenes! like the hungry Oliver they were to take
what they got and be thankful, and not mutinously set up a standard of
their own. They were not only to be fed but feasted. They were to
remain good Mahomedans, be free in all respects, and be most happy and
prosperous but--they must wear the cockade, and shout "Vive la
Republique" in such French or Arabic as they could. So, as a foretaste
of the banquet to which they were invited, fair words and fine
promises were lavishly scattered among them, but not without a liberal
seasoning of orders, warnings, and threats. For a short time all went
well, but it was not very long before the people began to think that
the seasoning was somewhat out of proportion to the rest of the dish.
In the time of the Beys, which within a week seemed to the Cairenes to
have grown old and distant, the streets of the town had been swept and
watered by day and lit by night, but, like everything else good and
useful in those days, these things had been done in a manner that left
much to be desired. As the town settled slowly back to its old round
of life, if left to themselves the people would, undoubtedly, have
renewed these and others of their ancient customs; but these were
matters in which French propriety could brook no delay, and orders
were therefore issued that sweeping, watering, and lighting should at
once be brought into play. To this no objection would have been taken
had the order stopped there; unfortunately it is a virtuous vice of
the French to love precision--a quality which the Egyptian
appreciates only when applied to the attainment of grammatical purity
in the use of the Arabic language, but which, being otherwise
repugnant to his spirit, is not to be found in his native dialect or
everyday speech or thought, and still less in more important matters.
Hence when the French, in obedience to their natural impulse, fixed
times and methods and degrees for the sweepings and waterings and
lightings they demanded from the people, and enforced the orders by
the proclamation of pains and penalties to be inflicted upon
defaulters, and, moreover, did all this without consulting anyone as
to the native customs and recognised conventions applicable to such
matters, there was much grumbling. Thus the lighting of the streets by
night was ordered on a scale that made it a real grievance, for each
and every house was commanded to hang out upon its outer wall not a
banner but a lamp--a prodigality of illumination that the Cairene
looked upon as utterly unprofitable. Very primitive were the lamps
available in those days. In London itself ladies returning in their
chairs at night from balls and routs, and not improbably bemoaning the
damage done to their attire by drippings from the spluttering candles
of the ballroom they had left, were lighted on their way by linkmen
carrying torches. And since even the Beau Brummels of those days had
to put up with such primitive forerunners of the incandescent lights
that to-day seem to us as indispensable for comfort, it is not
surprising that the honest citizen of Cairo, when delayed from home
until after dark, was content to be accompanied by a servant carrying
a small, rudely made lamp set in a lantern of paper--a custom that
survives to the present day in the harahs, or back streets of the
native town, though now the lamps used are lit by Russian oil and
sheltered from the wind in lanterns of Austrian glass. But when every
reputable man who went through the town at night had his
lantern-bearer with him there was not much need for the lighting of
the streets in a more general way, and so the Cairenes had been
satisfied to consider a street well lighted if it had a lamp hung out
here and there at longer or shorter intervals to serve rather as a
beacon than as a light. A lamp to every house was to them, therefore,
an absurd extravagance, and when householders were further made
responsible, under penalty of a fine, not only for the placing and
lighting of the lamps, but also for seeing that they were kept alight
throughout the night, this, to the French idea, most judicious measure
became to the Cairenes a very real grievance and one that worried and
annoyed all classes.
To provide for the administration of the affairs of the town
generally, and to act as an intermediary between the French and the
people, a Dewan was constituted similar to that which had already been
established at Alexandria. This consisted of ten Sheikhs, who appear
to have been chosen principally as being those most openly opposed to
the Mamaluks. But on the urgent representations of the leading men,
that the Turks or Mamaluks were the only men in the country accustomed
to, or capable of, exercising efficient authority, Bonaparte very
unwillingly appointed three or four Mamaluk officials who had
remained in the town to different posts; and several Frenchmen were
added, nominally to co-operate with, but in reality to control, the
native members of the Dewan. Notwithstanding the assurances thus given
to the people, that it was the intention of the French to carry on the
government with all respect to their religion and customs, the
merchants and dealers showed some reluctance to reopening their shops
and stores. When, however, the troops mixing freely with the people,
as we have seen, and abstaining from the violence and injustice that
it had always been the experience of the townsmen to receive at the
hands of the followers of the Beys, confidence was restored, not only
was the former trade of the town resumed, but shops, especially
intended for the benefit and service of the French, were started.
Meanwhile, the expedition having been accompanied by a body of
scientific experts, who had been instructed to prepare the most
detailed and elaborate accounts of everything that could throw light
upon the state of the country and its people, and the capacity of each
for development, these men were set to work, each with a definite task
to fulfil. Furnished with quarters in the deserted mansions of the
fugitive Beys, they at once commenced the labours which were to give
to the world the vast, though unhappily incomplete, description of
Egypt, which is unquestionably the most marvellous work of the kind
ever undertaken. Of these men it may be said that they represented all
that is best and noblest in the French nation and the higher
aspirations of the revolution.
But however eager Bonaparte was to restore order in Cairo and to
promote the scientific, commercial, and colonising objects of the
expedition, his strongest desires and ambitions lay in another
direction, and he began therefore to prepare for further action. That
he might do this with the greater ease he resolved upon two steps,
which tended not a little to diminish the contentment of the people
with his rule. The first of these was a demand for money presented to
the Dewan, which was instructed to collect the stipulated amount from
the whole community, Christian and Jewish as well as Moslem. To this,
though not without demur, the Dewan consented; but the announcement of
the impost that was to be raised was to the people the betrayal of the
cloven hoof, and although it was a measure they had been fearing, and
which, had it been imposed upon them immediately after the arrival of
the French in the city, would have been accepted as a natural exercise
of the prerogative of a conqueror, was now looked upon as a breach of
faith, and as such completely destroyed confidence in the fair words
and promises of the French. The discontent and uneasiness thus
occasioned gave birth to open and evident dismay and agitation when
the second measure taken by Bonaparte was announced. From its first
building, the town had been divided into harahs or quarters--districts
separated from each other by the run of the streets, and by walls and
gates. These gates it was the custom to close soon after sunset, and
thereafter no one was allowed to pass from one quarter to another
without the permission of the watchmen charged with the care of the
gates. In thus dividing the town its founders had two main objects in
view--one, by the separation of the inhabitants into a number of
clearly defined groups, to be able to fix responsibility for crime on
a particular group; and the other that, in the event of a mutiny or
rebellion, the closing of the gates might serve to isolate the various
groups from each other, and thus facilitate the work of the Government
in dealing with them. Bonaparte, however, far from thinking the
existence of the harahs as contributing to the maintenance of order,
regarded them as affording dangerous shelter to malcontents, and
resolved to abolish them. Parties of soldiers were therefore set to
work to remove the gates. As soon as the people became aware of this
the most alarming rumours were circulated, such as that this was being
done to enable the French to carry out a wholesale massacre of the
people, either by night or when they should be assembled in the
mosques for the special prayers of the Friday noon, which at that time
it was the pride, as well as it still is the duty, of all Moslems to
attend. So great was the alarm of the people at this idea that the
newly opened shops were closed once more, and business, which had been
growing as brisk as it was profitable, was again suspended; but
nothing occurring to justify their fears, the alarm passed, and the
bazaars, that for the moment had been more or less deserted, again
began to fill with life and animation.
As was but natural, the arrival of the French had from the first been
hailed with delight by the Christian population. Under the Mamaluks
these, whether native or foreign, had suffered from many
disabilities, and, though rarely openly molested by the Moslems, were
at all times subject to the insults and rudenesses of the lower
classes. Now, under the protection of the French, they threw off the
restraints to which they had so long submitted, and excited the anger
of the Moslems by appearing in public in the silk and gold-embroidered
costumes that had been forbidden to them under the Mamaluks. Cafes,
restaurants, and wine-shops were opened by the Greeks and others, and
wine was sold and drunk in public, to the great indignation of the
Ulema and all the better class of the Moslems. These and other things,
of little moment in themselves, became important factors in modifying
the feelings of the people towards the French, by marking the change
in the relative standing of the followers of the two religions, and by
largely discounting the professions of friendship for the Moslem faith
with which Bonaparte endeavoured to conciliate the goodwill of the
Mahomedans.
Many other causes helped to keep the people from settling down quietly
under the French. Among these was the constant searching of houses for
arms or valuables belonging to the Mamaluks, and the arrest and
imprisonment of those suspected or accused of concealing wealth or
property of any kind on their behalf. One of those who suffered
directly in this way was the wife of Radwan Kachef who had fled with
Ibrahim Bey. This lady had paid a sum of one thousand three hundred
dollars to the French as reconciliation money, in consideration of
which she had been granted the right to remain in Cairo under French
protection. A few days afterwards, a report having reached Bonaparte
that her husband had left a quantity of arms and money in her care, a
search was made, and some clothing, arms, and other things being
found, all the women in the house were arrested and a fine of four
thousand dollars imposed upon the lady as the condition of their
release. Had the French been content to seize the arms no objection
would have been taken to their action, but the fine was, in the eyes
of all the people, a breach of faith.
If thus rigorous with the Mahomedan population, Bonaparte made it
plain that he had no intention of unduly favouring the Christians. On
the 2nd of August Nelson, having returned to Alexandria, had, in the
famous battle of the Nile, destroyed the French fleet, and the army in
Egypt was thus cut off from all communication with Europe and left
entirely dependent upon itself. News of this event having been brought
to Cairo, the Moslems were as elated as the French and Christians were
depressed. Bonaparte at once instituted a search for the persons who
had first made the ill news known, and these proving to be two Syrian
Christians and a Moslem, all three were condemned to have their
tongues cut out or pay a heavy fine. This was in every way a foolish
measure. It had the effect of checking the open discussion of reports
unfavourable to the French, who, by adopting this ostrich-like policy,
deprived themselves of the only method they had of gauging the
tendency of public opinion, and, while they could not thus prevent
the dissemination of news or rumours, gave the people a fresh and
reasonable grievance, for under even the most tyrannical of the rulers
they had previously known they had been allowed a liberty of speech
that it was clear was now to be denied them, and the distrust of the
fair words that Bonaparte was so lavish in offering them was still
further increased. Nor did the punishment of the Christians impress
the Mahomedans with any sense of the impartiality that Bonaparte
intended it to convey, for it was regarded as nothing more than the
wreaking of his anger, at the bad news received, upon those who,
Christian or not, were, according to popular opinion, guiltless of any
real offence. It was thus an act such as they were accustomed to
expect from the Mamaluks, and, in the eyes of the Cairenes, placed the
boasted justice and humanity of the French on the same level as those
of the Beys.
As time went on almost every day brought some fresh incident to swell
the stream of ill-feeling towards the French that Bonaparte, in his
self-sufficient direction of affairs, was creating. Had he but acted
with some little consideration for the wishes of the people, and
consulted their prejudices, it is certain that the storm that was now
rapidly approaching would never have arisen. But Bonaparte was never
able to get beyond the nursery policy of cake or cane. There was no
worse policy open to him. Neither with cake nor with cane was it
possible to persuade or drive the Cairenes to adopt his views. By a
ceaseless play of petty tyranny he was able to force from them an
unwilling compliance with his demands, but every little victory thus
gained served to widen the gulf between the two peoples, and thus to
defeat that which any man of real ability would have seen was the aim
that of all others it was the interest of the French to pursue--the
conciliation of the Egyptians.
While thus blundering along, baffling his own desires, Bonaparte,
always believing in his own tact and good judgment, decided to give
his patronage to the annual ceremony of the Cutting of the Khalig, or
canal, that from the time of the Pharaohs has been held in Cairo in
celebration of the flooding of the Nile. In the old heathen days this
had been essentially a festival of thanksgiving to the gods, but as
the greatest and most popular feast of the year it had survived the
conversion of the people to Christianity and Islam and was kept as a
day of merry-making upon which the people gave unrestricted play to
their tireless love of gaiety. But the Moslems were in no mood to join
in revelry when Bonaparte summoned them to do so, and though the
French have recorded the occasion as one of unbounded success the fact
is that it was far otherwise.
It was the same with the celebration of the Molid, or birthday of the
Prophet, that occurred soon after. This being in its first inception a
religious feast, had, like the wakes and feasts of the saints of
Christendom, long been accompanied by revelries and rejoicings of a
most unsaintly character, and was, to the Moslem population of Cairo,
the great event of the year, the pious celebrating it with prayer and
praise and the zikrs--that would seem to be an Islamic adaptation of
the ancient worship of the Israelites when they sang songs unto the
Lord with timbrels and harps--while others less piously inclined spent
the night in carousings and sports. But whether pious or otherwise the
Moslems of Cairo had no desire to hold the feast of their Prophet
under the auspices of the Christian invader, and the anniversary would
have been allowed to pass unnoticed but that the Sheikh Sadat, the
recognised head of the family of the descendants of the Prophet living
in Egypt, fearing that Bonaparte would take the refusal to hold it in
bad part, gave the order for its celebration, and invited the General
and his Staff to be present.
So, wholly blind to the storm that was gathering, and flattering
himself that what he deemed a wise combination of firmness and
conciliation was gradually building up a strong tower of French
influence in the country, Bonaparte went on from day to day holding
out his cakes and cane temptingly or threateningly, much as a silly
old woman dangles a gaudy trinket or calls for the bogie-man to coax
or terrify a restless child. For the cakes the Egyptians had no
appetite whatever, and for the cane, since they could see no way to
escape from its unwelcome favours, they were content to pray for an
early deliverance from the French and all their abominations.
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.