Outside the hospitals, the able-bodied men raised their spirits as best they could. A popular pastime amongst off-duty soldiers was donkey-riding. Donkeys were plentiful in Cairo, their owners using them as beasts of burden, as well as a means of personal transport. They could also be hired, at a very low cost, as the soldiers found to their delight. El-Djabarti recorded how the French soldiers “loved riding on the donkeys, and were willing to pay generously to hire them. Several would continue riding around all day on donkey-back; others joined together in groups and went around singing and laughing. The donkey-minders joined in with them in their pleasures.”
26
Others took part in excursions to the pyramids and the ancient ruins at Giza—where evidence of these visits remains to this day, in the form of soldiers’ names and other graffiti carved into the upper stones of the pyramids, inside the burial chambers, and on other ruins. In his journal, young Corporal François recalled: “I inscribed my name, my place of birth, my rank . . . in the royal chamber, on the right of the sarcophagus, in the second pyramid.”
27
Such behavior was still commonplace amongst Europeans abroad, and would not generally be regarded as vandalism for several years to come. (Two decades later, Lord Byron would happily carve his name on several ancient ruins as he traveled around Europe.) The myth persists in Egypt to this day that Napoleon’s soldiers actually disfigured some of these ruins, and are even said to have used the Sphinx as target practice for their cannons, shooting off its nose. This last is a calumny: it is known that the Sphinx was defaced as early as the eighth century by the Sufi iconoclast Saim-ed-Dahr,
28
and was further damaged in 1380 by fanatical Muslims prompted by the Koran’s strictures against images. During these early times the Sphinx was not regarded as a precious historical object, but instead inspired fear: through the centuries it became known to the Egyptians as Abul-Hol (Father of Terrors), and would only begin to be regarded more favorably when it became a tourist attraction in the later nineteenth century.
For the most part, the French responded with romantic wonder to the sight of the Sphinx. Denon and several other artists sketched this mysterious ancient figure, though a number of the savants responded in more prosaic fashion, embarking upon a project to measure its vast features with the aid of plumb lines and calipers. (They discovered that from forehead to chin it measured thirty feet, whilst its width was fourteen feet between the ears.) Even so, these intrepid statisticians could only speculate upon the proportions of its body, for during this period the Sphinx remained buried up to its neck in sand blown in over the centuries from the surrounding Libyan desert.
Another desert activity indulged in by the French soldiery which helped to boost their morale was ostrich-hunting; this was carried out in groups, without the aid of firearms, in order not to waste precious ammunition. The object of the exercise was to catch an ostrich, overpower it, and pluck its spectacular hind feathers. This was no mean feat, as many soldiers learned the hard way. Ostriches might not be able to fly, but they can run very fast, and struggle with some vigor, their knobbly protuberances striking savage blows. Despite such difficulties, these hunts appear to have achieved a high success rate. Several memoirs confirm that within a matter of months most of the French soldiers in Cairo sported magnificent ostrich feathers in their caps. In the interests of morale this practice was tolerated, except during full-dress inspections by senior generals or the commander-in-chief himself. Indeed, judging from Napoleon’s memoirs, he seems to have had only a hazy idea of what an ostrich actually looked like, describing it as having, “in its own sort of way, a resemblance to a camel.”
29
Proudly sporting their ostrich plumes, the off-duty French soldiery would roam the streets and the souks in groups, occasionally joining some of their colleagues at one of the buffet-canteens that had opened up. Standing at the makeshift buffets the soldiers would quaff shots of the cheap, locally distilled hooch and watch the natives going about their business. Like the cafés where the officers openly drank alcohol, these buffet-canteens were mainly confined to the French quarter, where so many new shops, outfitters and distillers had opened to meet the needs of the French army that the district became known as “Little Paris.” However, the quarter was certainly not confined to Europeans, and the Egyptians were able to watch the Europeans drinking alcohol, as we have seen from El-Djabarti’s observations of the cafés and restaurants. In a center of Islam such as Cairo, alcohol had officially been forbidden for many centuries. However, as Denon had observed, it was nightly available in the belly-dancing dens. Also, the Christians, most of the Mamelukes, and even some of the sheiks regularly drank alcohol in private. Indeed, according to El-Bekri’s favorite young Mameluke catamite Roustam Raza, who would later become Napoleon’s faithful manservant, Sheik El-Bekri put himself to sleep each night by consuming a bottle of wine mixed with a bottle of the local firewater.
30
As with so many drinking tales, this may well be an exaggeration: even so, it would seem to indicate that El-Bekri, the head of the Cairo
divan
, was at the very least a regular heavy drinker. But all this was done behind closed doors, and the sight of the French soldiers publicly flouting the ban would certainly have been deemed by the general population an insult to Islam. Gossip concerning this practice would have spread quickly throughout the city, generating further widespread disapproval.
Gathered together at their buffet-canteens, the French soldiers from the various regiments also exchanged their own versions of the latest gossip. During September a rumor did the rounds that Desaix had captured Murad Bey in Upper Egypt (this turned out to be false), and later word spread that Sheik El-Bekri had offered his sixteen-year-old daughter to Napoleon (as we shall see, there was more truth in this). Drunkenness amongst the depressed and homesick French soldiers was surprisingly rare—mainly through shortage of money, lack of any palatable drink, and the threat of heavy punishment. As El-Djabarti observed: “Usually the French only drank to become happy, and if one amongst them drank too much he did not leave his barracks, because if he went out and committed any disorder he was punished.”
31
Disorderly behavior, especially in public, was liable to severe punishment; in line with Napoleon’s early proclamation, he was determined that as far as possible his troops should not upset local sensibilities. When a small group of impecunious soldiers took matters into their own hands and embarked upon a burglary, after which they were soon apprehended, their punishment was exemplary. El-Djabarti records how a public notice regarding this appeared on the walls of Cairo: “The general-in-chief has punished the soldiers who broke into the house of Sheik Mohammed el Djohari: he had two of them executed in the Place Karamidan, several others were disgraced and stripped of their ranks.”
32
El-Djabarti may have dutifully recorded such announcements, as did his fellow commentator Nicolas Turc, but his whole tone indicates that he remained unimpressed. Both these observers—who understood the mood of the local population—sensed growing resentment throughout the city.
XIV
The Perils of Diplomacy
O
N
October 5, 1798, Napoleon convened a general
divan
in Cairo containing delegates from all the provinces in Egypt then under French rule. Each delegation consisted of three sheiks versed in Islamic law, three local merchants, and three representatives of the local people—one from the
fellahin
, one of the local mayors, and a Bedouin tribal leader. Although these delegates were in fact chosen by the French governors, the
raison d’être
of the
divan
was democratic. According to Napoleon: “The purpose of the Divan is to accustom the notables of Egypt to the ideas of assembly and government.”
1
In order to facilitate this, he appointed Monge and Berthollet as “commissioners” to the
divan
, in the hope that they would encourage the delegates to engage in democratic debate.
The first function of the general
divan
was to attempt a widespread reform of the unmanageable tax system and the ancient property laws. But what was to be proposed in their place? With regard to the property laws, Napoleon found himself in a quandary. The more revolutionary amongst his advisers were all for a radical redistribution of land amongst the downtrodden
fellahin
, who made up over 90 percent of the rural population. The advisers pointed out that a reform along these lines would be relatively easy to effect, as most of the Mameluke landlords had already fled their properties. Others were against such a reckless move. They reminded Napoleon of his promise to reward all of his soldiers with six acres of land—this would be impossible if he had already given it all away to the local
fellahin
. He would also be unable to reward any of his deserving officers with estates, or have anything available to give to the French colonists whom he intended to import. Napoleon decided to bide his time, and see what ideas the
divan
might come up with.
At the opening session of the general
divan
, which was held at one of the palaces on Ezbekiyah Square, Napoleon’s opening message was read out in Arabic by his interpreter, the fifty-three-year-old Jean-Michel de Venture, the foremost Orientalist amongst the savants. El-Djabarti, who was one of the delegates, recorded some of this speech, in which Napoleon assured them that
The sole desire of the French is to put the affairs of Egypt in order . . . to protect the weak against the strong, so as to reconcile the sympathies of the people. It is thus better for the Egyptians to renounce their ideas of revolt and to display friendship towards the French. The delegates who have arrived from all over the country will bring order to the affairs of Egypt. These are wise and knowledgeable people, and when they are questioned they must reply with sincerity, so that the general-in-chief will know what to do.
El-Djabarti commented that nothing pleased him so much in Napoleon’s speech as when he spoke of “the government of ignoramuses and fools.”
2
He was of course being sarcastic—pretending to believe that Napoleon was referring to his own government, when he knew perfectly well that he was in fact referring to previous rulers of Egypt.
The proceedings of such an assembly were a novelty to the delegates. When the opening speech was finished, the interpreter proposed that they should choose a president. Several of the delegates proposed Sheik El-Charkawi, the chief of the ulema, custodians of Islamic tradition and law at the Al-Azhar mosque and university. But the French commissioners dismissed this, insisting that there must be a vote—so a secret ballot was held, and once again the same sheik obtained the majority of votes. It was evident to the French that the delegates would have to be instructed in even the most basic of democratic procedures; meanwhile, it was equally evident to the delegates that such proceedings were an irrelevant farce. El-Djabarti’s description of the ensuing meetings was peppered with telling comments: “The question was discussed . . . and it was decided that nothing should be changed”; “After a long discussion it was found that the question was too complicated”; “Nothing was decided with regard to this subject and the meeting rose”; “ ‘How did you arrive at this?’ [asked one of the French commissioners.] ‘From the Koran,’ they replied, and cited several verses concerning this question.”
3
Although the delegates saw no reason to change anything, Monge and Berthollet did eventually manage to steer through a number of reforms, including a new sliding-scale tax on town houses and shops: homes that were rented for less than one talari a month were exempted, while dwellings, inns, bathhouses, olive-oil presses and shops were to be taxed between thirty and forty talaris, depending upon their size. Engineers were then drafted in to make a tour of inspection and assess the categories of all houses; at the same time copies were made of these regulations which were distributed throughout the provinces, and also put up in all the main streets of Cairo. According to El-Djabarti, “When the inhabitants learned of these regulations most of them said nothing, simply bowing to their fate, while others gathered together in groups muttering amongst themselves.”
4
It was clear that the householders of Cairo were as little inclined to change as the delegates who were meant to be representing them at the divan, but Napoleon knew that some unpopular measures were unavoidable if he was to raise sufficient money to keep his administration going and pay for the upkeep of his army. He had sought to win over the common people by exempting them from such taxes, and placing the burden on their oppressors, the landlords and the merchants. Yet there was little sign that his strategy was succeeding.
Likewise, Napoleon’s original proclamation to the people of Egypt, which had been circulated throughout the country, also seemed to have won over few hearts. The massacre of the garrison at El-Mansura, whose details had been recounted by its one miraculous survivor, Private Mourchon, had been followed by several similar incidents, though on a lesser scale. After severe reprisals, including beheadings and the burning down of the villages involved, these incidents had stopped and the delta region had appeared pacified. The couriers between Cairo and the coastal cities were still accompanied by armed escorts, but were now rarely molested by Bedouin sorties. Menou in Rosetta felt it quite safe to allow Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire deep into the delta with an armed escort to search out the local wildlife. These scientific sorties proved a great success, with Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire collecting a vast number of specimens, and even receiving help in his quest from local villagers. As a result, Menou decided in mid-September to mount a larger scientific expedition into the delta, led by himself, and accompanied by several distinguished savants, including the geologist Dolomieu, the musician Villoteau, and the artists Denon and Joly. Protected by a cavalry escort of 200 men under General Marmont, and led by a team of native guides, the expedition pressed on into the flooded regions of the eastern delta, invariably receiving a friendly welcome as they passed from village to village. At one point Menou rode ahead from the main group, accompanied only by a few of the savants and some of the guides. In Menou’s words, at this point “we heard some shouting from a nearby village, and a swarm of armed men rushed out and confronted us. In spite of the efforts of our native guides to appease them, they began firing a few shots at us. On account of our small number, and our lack of armed escort, we felt it necessary to fire back, at first just a few warning shots, and then a little more seriously.”
5
They found themselves facing 200 angry villagers in the midst of flooded terrain, which was only fordable by means of certain narrow embankments. Then they became aware that some of the villagers were running behind them to cut off their escape route. In order to beat a hasty retreat they were forced to charge through the mob. Denon, Dolomieu and Villoteau made use of their swords and pistols to break through, but Menou reported that “one of the artists who was with us, Citizen Joly, having totally lost his head, threw himself from his horse, screeching in terror. . . . Circling about him we all shouted, imploring him to get back on his horse, or jump on the back of one of ours.” According to Marmont, “Joly had got off his horse, apparently from fear of falling off it . . . but became witless with terror, and finally fell to the ground as if struck by epilepsy.”
6
The enemy was now upon them and they were forced to flee, leaving Joly to the fury of the mob.