From Nahda to Exile:
A History of the Shawam in Egypt in the Early Twentieth Century
Hussam Eldin Raafat Ahmed
Institute of Islamic Studies McGill University Montreal, Canada
June 2011
A thesis submitted to McGill University in partial fulfillment of the requirements of the degree of Master of Arts
Hussam Eldin Raafat Ahmed 2011 Abstract
After important intellectual contributions to the Arab Nahda, the Syro-Lebanese of Egypt (the Shawam) underwent a far-reaching process of French acculturation. This process culminated in their cultural alienation from mainstream Egyptian society, and became a major reason for their departure from Nasserite Egypt in the sixties. Unlike previous narratives dealing with the history of the Shawam in Egypt, which underscored static identitarian choices as the driving force behind their cultural alienation, my thesis situates their adoption of French language and culture in the wider context of the Egyptian francophonie. This relatively unknown francophonie thrived in pre- revolutionary Egypt and was fully embraced by Egypt’s urban cosmopolitan society. Despite the British occupation, French was the language of culture, finance, the press, justice and administration until the regime change. Using a more context-based approach, this thesis explores details of daily practices and experiences to discern the conditions in which the Shawam made their choices. I turn to their educational policies and appropriation of Egypt’s prestigious French schools to assess the role played by these schools in their deep French acculturation. I also examine the vibrant francophone literary circles and salons, which flourished in Cairo during the interwar period, where they were particularly visible. Shawam intellectuals had not disappeared from Egyptian intellectual life, but had limited their activity to the much smaller, and much more powerful, francophone one. I contend that their cultural alienation was not the result of an innate separateness between Egyptians and them, but was contingent on historical factors, pertaining both to the community and its land of adoption.
ii Résumé
Après leur collaboration précieuse au projet de la Nahda arabe, les Syro-Libanais d’Egypte (les chawâms) se sont tournés de plus en plus vers la langue et la culture françaises. Cette adoption démesurée de la langue française au détriment de la langue arabe a engendré leur éloignement culturel de la grande majorité de la société égyptienne. Elle devient même une raison principale de leur exode de l’Egypte dans les années 1960. Si la plupart des récits historiques ayant abordé le sujet des chawâms d’Egypte trouvent dans l’identité de ceux-ci (différents de par leur origine et leur religion) l’explication ultime de ce phénomène, je constate que cette hypothèse demande d’être nuancée. Je propose de mettre leur aliénation dans le plus grand cadre de la francophonie égyptienne, mal connue même aujourd’hui. Pendant un siècle et demi et malgré l’occupation britannique, le français demeurait la langue de la culture, les finances, la presse, la justice et l’administration, jusque’ au changement de régime et la crise de Suez. Pour ce faire, j’étudie en grand détail les expériences et les pratiques de tous les jours pour mieux discerner les circonstances dans lesquelles les chawâms ont fait leurs choix culturels. J’examine leurs politiques de scolarisation et leur appropriation des écoles françaises prestigieuses ayant joué un rôle principal dans cette acculturation. De surcroit, ce mémoire analyse de très près les cercles et les salons littéraires francophones du Caire durant l’entre-deux-guerres, où les chawâms étaient actifs et pleinement visibles. Loin d’avoir disparu de la vie intellectuelle égyptienne, ils avaient approprié la scène francophone, plus restreinte mais très puissante. Je soutiens que plusieurs agents historiques, liés à la fois à l’Egypte et aux chawâms, ont contribué à cette aliénation culturelle.
iii Acknowledgements
I would first like to thank everyone at the Institute of Islamic Studies, McGill University for their support and encouragement. The librarians and administrative staff, especially Ms. Adina Sigartau and Ms. Karen Moore, have been very patient and helpful with my endless questions and requests, always with a smile. My peers are largely responsible for an enriching collegial environment at the Institute, with all their thoughts, ideas and our many discussions. Professors Michelle Hartman and Setrag Manoukian from Islamic Studies and Professor Nancy Partner from the History Department know how much I appreciate their sincere interest in my academic progress and the pleasure I took in being their student. I am very grateful to the Institute for the Graduate Fellowship Award, and to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for the generous CGS Master’s scholarship. It is very hard to find the right words with which to thank Professor Laila Parsons. She has been the ideal supervisor, and it has been a great privilege working with her. Truly dedicated to her students, she is incredibly generous with her immense knowledge, time and feedback. Her crucial questions have made me think and rethink many of my ideas, while her meticulous comments and remarks have continuously pushed me for more clarity and precision. Without her guidance and patience I do not see how I could have come this far. The kindness of many people made my trip to the archives in Cairo extremely rewarding and enjoyable. From the Collège de la Sainte Famille I would like to thank Père Henri Boulad for his interest, recommendations, and for sharing some of his personal recollections with me. The librarian, Père Jacques Masson, has suggested many sources that proved pertinent to my research. From the Dominican Institute of Oriental Studies, I am very grateful to Père Emilio Platti for his time and the books he offered me, and many thanks go to Professor Dalal Adib for all her support, discussions and recommendations. The staff at both institutions was very kind and helpful. Ms. Elodie Gaden has been very generous sharing her experience as a researcher in Cairo. The McGill University Arts Graduate Student Travel Award helped make this trip possible.
iv I would also like to express my gratitude to friends and relatives who have been there for me. In particular I would like to thank Kevin Jones for his unfailing support and encouragement throughout months of research and writing. He has read everything and helped me improve it in many ways. His intellectual stimulus, feedback, assistance with some translations from French and unmatchable sense of humor have been invaluable. Of course, none of this would have been possible without the unconditional love of my family. My sisters Sarah and Hend have been wonderfully supportive. Their faith, thoughtfulness and humor have been a great source of motivation. As for my mother, Naglaa, she knows nothing I say here can describe how deeply she inspires me. Her gracefulness, her values and her parenting continue to influence my thinking, worldview, approach and work habits. Her love and encouragement have made it all happen. Finally, I owe my interest in the history of the Shawam in Egypt to the remarkable story and rich world of my late grandmother, Saada. She has all my love and respect.
v Table of Contents
Introduction …………………………………….………………………………. 1
Chapter 1 The Shawam in Egypt: A Historical Oversight…………………… 19 De-Arabization……………………………………………………. 20 The Shawam in Egypt: A Narrative of Failed Integration………... 24 Reinstating Egypt’s Francophone Cosmopolitan Society in the Narrative of Failed Integration……………………………………. 31 French Education in Pre-Revolutionary Egypt: A Short-term Privilege…………………………………………………………… 38 The Shawam, Egyptians and Others………………………………. 44 Conclusion………………………………………………………… 49
Chapter 2 French Influence in Egypt: An Untainted Colonialism…………… 51 France: The Model of Choice of an ‘Awakened’ Egypt………….. 52 Modern Egypt and France: A Long History………………………. 54 The British Occupation and a Legitimate Francophilia…………... 56 Egypt’s Urban Communities: The Adoption of French as a First European Language……………………………………………….. 59 Egypt, What Have You Done With Your French?...... 73 Conclusion………………………………………………………… 76
Chapter 3 The Shawam and Cairo’s Francophone Literary Circles and Salons……………………………………………………………… 77 Proliferation of Francophone Lectures……………………………. 78 Amy Kher…………………………………….…………………… 81 Nelly Zananiri and Al-Diafa………………………………………. 85 Dar El-Salam of Mary Kahil and the Cercle catholique de la jeunesse syrienne………………………………………………….. 90 Other Francophone Groups……………………………………….. 94 Francophone Circles in the Early 1930s: An Insight Into Cairo’s Cosmopolitan Society……………………………………………... 99 Intellectual Interests……………………………………………….. 106 A Problematic “Egyptianness” …………………………………… 112 Conclusion………………………………………………………… 116
Conclusion …………………………………….………………………………. 118
Bibliography …………………………………….………………………………. 121
vi Introduction
“To be French-Speaking in Cairo before the 1952 Revolution was to belong to a group of people who felt themselves deeply rooted in Cairo as a place, and probably believed that their lives would be spent in that city until death disseminated them to their various cemeteries, distinguished only by religion or rite… It was to think of Cairo as home, but to believe that Paris was the navel of the world.”
- Magdi Wahba, “Cairo Memories,” 1978.
The Suez crisis in 1956 closed the curtain on the privileged position France had occupied in Egypt for over a century and half. The Egyptian government gave French and British citizens a few hours to organize their departure. French companies in Egypt were sequestered and the material losses amounted to several hundred billion francs; French insurance companies alone had monopolized 60% of the Egyptian market.1 Economy aside, the strong French cultural influence received a fatal blow, from which it never recovered. The schools of the Mission laïque française were nationalized. The Lycées français were renamed Lycées de la liberté, while the prestigious French Catholic schools were temporarily spared after striking a quick deal that put them under the protection of the Vatican.2 Seals were put on the new premises of the active literary circle, the Amitiés françaises, inaugurated a year earlier, where Albert Camus was expected to lecture the following season.3 Its library was sold on the street, and among the documents scattered around was its Livre d’Or, which had the signatures of André Gide, Georges Duhamel, Jean Cocteau, Jean Audiberti, Philippe Soupault, Roger Caillois, and Henri Michaux, among others.4 A few years later, following Nasser’s socialist laws of 1961-1962, other foreign communities resident in Egypt started to leave. These immigrants-turned-emigrants included the Syro-Lebanese of Egypt, who, by virtue of language, culture, and origin, were expected more than others to remain in the country. Their role in the intellectual
1 Robert Solé, L’Egypte passion française, (Paris: Seuil, 1997), 391. 2 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 391. 3 Daniel Lançon, “La France participée: les grandes heures de la francophonie égyptienne,” Bulletin of Francophone Africa, no. 12-13, (July 1998): 36. 4 Lançon, “La France participée: les grandes heures de la francophonie égyptienne,” 36.
1 movement of the Arab Nahda was fundamental. They founded important periodicals that exist today. Some of Egypt’s renowned journalists, actors and film directors were of Syro-Lebanese origin. Cemeteries, neighborhoods, streets and department stores that still bear their names, along with their lavish churches, which are now too big for existing congregations, attest to a prosperous community that was well established in the country.5 Yet, similar to all other foreign communities in Egypt, the demise of the Syro-Lebanese community was precipitated by the regime change, the Suez crisis and the various nationalizations. Worse still, members of the community came under increasing attack and harassment from the revolutionary government. King Farouk’s small inner circle of friends and associates—accused of corrupting the once-popular king—counted four Egyptians of Syro-Lebanese descent.6
5 Besides known Nahda intellectuals like Jurji Zaidan, Ya'qub Sarrouf, Farah Antun, and Adib Ishaq, other Syro-Lebanese include the playwright and theatre actor George Abyad, the film directors Henri Barakat and Youssef Chahine, the actor Michel Chalhoub (AKA Omar Sharif), the writers Andrée Chedid, Albert Cossery, Amy Kher, Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri, Joseph Ascar- Nahas, Jeanne Arcache, Marius Schemeil, Céline Axelos, Gaston Zananiri, Georges Anawati and others. 6 Latifa Salem, Fārūq wa-suqūṭ al-malakīyah fī Miṣr (1936-1952) [Farouk and the Fall of the Monarchy in Egypt (1936-1952)], (Cairo: Maktabat Madbūlī, 1996), 940-7. Narratives against Farouk evoke a group of foreign profiteers who surrounded the young King and corrupted him, most notably, the Egyptian-Italian Pully, who started working in the palace as an electrician in 1922, and ended up as Farouk’s personal assistant (See Salem, Farouk and the Fall of the Egyptian Monarchy, 935-6). In her study, Salem mentions the following Egyptian- Syrians: The first was Gahlan, who was responsible for royal procurements and played a key role in the King’s financial deals. The second was Edgard Gallad, whom Salem describes as experienced in politics and who prepared important summaries for the King in French. Salem states that Gallad used his journalistic influence to run various propaganda campaigns for the King. Despite her belief that Gallad was not as bad an influence as the rest, she thinks Egyptians considered him and Karim Tabet, another Egyptian-Syrian, as “outsiders” and hated them both. She saves her severest critique for Karim Tabet. She describes him as a “Christian Lebanese” who started his career writing for (his uncle’s) al-Moqattam and his praise of Farouk brought him very close to the royal family. He eventually became a close friend of Farouk and “followed him like his shadow,” until he became a major (bad) influence on the King. Finally she talks about Elias Andraous, a Greek Catholic businessman, who was also close to Farouk and was his gambling partner. Andraous would voluntarily lose generous sums of money to Farouk, and was member of the Royal Automobile Club where the King spent his evenings. Although Salem uses British documents, she also relies on Egyptian newspapers and testimonies that appeared in the wake of the regime change. In a more sympathetic account of Karim Tabet, Massoud Daher cites him as an example of a Syro-Lebanese who loved Egypt, and praises his role in the country’s modern political life. Tabet was imprisoned following the regime change, but after his release, he refused to leave Egypt preferring to die in it. At another point in his book he described him as the de facto ruler of Egypt. See Massoud Daher, Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām [The Lebanese Emigration to Egypt], (1986; Cairo: Dar Al-Shorouk, 2009), 223-4 and 278.
2 Apart from works on the intellectual history of the Nahda, very few scholars have explored the history of the Syro-Lebanese community in Egypt. Existing narratives emphasize failed attempts and resistance to integration into Egyptian society. As Egyptian nationalism grew in the twentieth century, the Syro-Lebanese turned more and more towards European, especially French, language and culture. Amidst nationalist cries for a real Egyptian independence and attempts to reinstate Arabic in the many fields from which it was excluded, descendants of the pioneers of the Arab Nahda were writing in French and animating a vibrant francophone literary scene that thrived during the interwar period. Most spoke the Egyptian dialect, but many could no longer read or write Arabic. Legally, 90% of all Syro-Lebanese had opted for Egyptian nationality, yet, after generations in Egypt they were still referred to as al-mutamassirun—the “Egyptianized.”7 This thesis will tell the story of the cultural alienation of the Syro-Lebanese of Egypt. In so doing it will try to offer one explanation of why this community travelled from a place at the center of the Egyptian Arab Nahda at the turn of the century to exile in the 1960s. I contend that their alienation was contingent on a combination of historical factors, pertaining both to the community and its (temporary) land of adoption. My thesis situates the increasing affinity of the Syro-Lebanese towards French language and culture in the wider context of Egypt’s once-thriving francophonie. It does this by offering a detailed narrative of the Syro-Lebanese participation in the French educational system, in addition to a detailed account of the social and cultural life of their elite. This includes a study of the famous francophone literary circles and salons that thrived in Cairo during the interwar period.
The Shawam Two main immigration waves in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries brought the Syro-Lebanese population in Egypt to about 100,000 in 1945.8 Coming from greater
7 Thomas Philipp shows that 90% of the Syro-Lebanese opted for Egyptian nationality, 5% became French citizens, while 5% became Lebanese or Syrian citizens. See Thomas Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt: 1725-1975, (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner-Verlag-Wiesbaden GMBH, 1985), 146. 8 Albert Hourani, Minorities in the Arab World, (London: Oxford University Press, 1947), 48. By the time Hourani did his study in 1945, the majority of the Syro-Lebanese in Egypt had already been naturalized. Hourani stresses that this was only a rough estimate as it was impossible to
3 Syria, i.e. Syria, Lebanon and Palestine, Egyptians simply called them “Syrians” or “Shawam,” i.e. from Barr or Bilad al-Sham, a designation that became closely associated with Christian Syrians.9 There was a large percentage of Catholics, mostly Greek Catholic, but also Maronite and Syriac. The first wave of immigration was almost exclusively Greek Catholic, and their number continued to rise.10 In 1914-1915 the representation of Greek Catholics in Egypt compared to the Maronites and the Greek Orthodox was significantly higher than it was in Syria. While they constituted less than 20% of the total population of the three communities in Syria, they were almost 50% of their total number in Egypt.11 They were also the most prosperous and powerful of all Shawam communities.12 As opposed to their Christian compatriots, Muslim Syrians did not perceive themselves, nor did Egyptians perceive them, as a separate community. The historian Thomas Philipp believes that the general lack of documentation on Muslim Syrians is one pointer to their quick integration into Egyptian society. They were significantly less numerous than Christians, and were usually completely assimilated into Egyptian society within a generation.13 A doctor Asaad Salhab, who worked in Mansourah during the interwar period, stated that, to an average Egyptian, all Shawam—the majority of whom had come from Syria and Lebanon—were Christians. When he once told an Egyptian worker that he was Muslim, the worker was completely surprised and immediately asked: “Shami and Muslim?”14 The situation was very different with the Christian Shawam, however. Their different denominations set them apart from Coptic Christians, and obviously from Muslims as well. Supported by religious courts for personal law, each immigrant community within the millet system was able to run its own affairs. Churches kept provide an accurate figure. Even church records are problematic as will be detailed below in footnote 15. 9 Al-Sham also refers to Damascus, and since a large number of the first Syrian immigrants were originally from Damascus, this could yet be another origin for the term. 10 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, xi. 11 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 86. 12 Frédéric Abécassis, “Conversion religieuse et identités nationales en Egypte dans la première moitié du XXe siècle,” in Conversions Islamiques: Identités religieuses en Islam méditerranéen, ed. Mercedes Garcia-Arenal, (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 2001), 272. 13 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, xiv. 14 Daher, Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām, 275.
4 records of baptisms, marriages and deaths, for example. In his study, The Syrians in Egypt, 1725-1975, the historian Thomas Philipp argued that “in a general demographic sense, we are […] justified in talking about the Syrian immigrants as one group.”15 These records show that most Shawam married within their own communities, indicating very strong communal ties. Intermarriages with other communities living in Egypt were few— mostly with Europeans and to a much lesser extent with Coptic Christians. Philipp has used statistics from the Greek Catholic Archives to show their residential preference for neighborhoods that have, or are close to, their own churches.16 He has also illustrated that the shift in occupations from “trade and craft to white-collar jobs and the professions,” followed the same trend in the three main Shawam communities—the Greek Catholics, Greek Orthodox and the Maronites.17 These records also reflect the huge drop in numbers of the different communities in the sixties following the socialist laws of 1961-1962.
Cultural Alienation Although this thesis focuses on the Shawam, I am aware of the shortcomings of using them as a category. Even if demographics justify this categorization, it is of course problematic to generalize about a whole group’s cultural alienation from Egyptian society.18 This study relies on statistics and the Shawam’s educational policies in Egypt to get a sense of the strong French acculturation that swept second and third generations.
15 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 96. These records need to be used with caution. For example, establishing the exact numbers of the communities is never straightforward. Baptism registers, for one, are useful but inconclusive. Some Shawam were born abroad, and moved to Egypt at a later stage. Others were born in Egypt but returned to Syria at some point. Barbotin believes that numbers were sometimes exaggerated in the effort to justify the initial independence of the different churches or to have more clergy sent over from Syria (See Anne-Sybille Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte 1863-1929: Identité et dépersonnalisation,” (MA Thesis, Université de Paris IV, 1996-7), 28). All sources dealing with the Shawam raise this disclaimer and indicate that all numbers are only a fair estimate. 16 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 89. 17 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 90. Philipp also shows that there was a relative over- representation of Greek Catholics and Maronites vs. Greek Orthodox in the law, teaching and medical professions, which required more formal education. See Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 92. 18 Similarly, although I am aware of the problems inherent in using terms like “Egyptian society” or “mainstream Egyptians” I need them as it were for the purpose of making arguments about the differences between Shawam and Egyptians.
5 It also looks at the extent to which members of the community started to rely on French in their daily lives. Statistics illustrate the predilection of the Shawam in particular, especially Catholics, for French missionary schools; they were in fact the major clientele of these schools as will be discussed later in more detail. Communitarian schools existed, but they were surprisingly few, and the Shawam were among the communities least invested in building schools of their own—compared to Greeks and Italians for example.19 Egyptian Muslims and Copts from the higher bourgeoisie also attended French schools, and this study will try to show that they shared many of the same characteristics as the Shawam concerning their alienation from mainstream Egyptian society. Yet, in the case of the Shawam, French acculturation was a far-reaching process. It was not constrained by class considerations. The historian Frédéric Abécassis states that, by the 1920s, Eastern Christians and Jews perhaps could still speak Arabic, but they mostly used French in their communication amongst themselves and with the outside world.20 There is evidence to suggest that even the poorer Shawam students received a French education. The presence of Shawam welfare organizations, which dispensed regular monthly stipends and scholarships for needy students, indicates that there were poor Shawam.21 Statistics from public government schools, however, show how unpopular they were with the Shawam.22 On the other hand, poorer students could attend a communitarian school, or go to a subsidized French Catholic school; a paying French Catholic school in a rich neighborhood usually financed an affiliated school in a poorer neighborhood.23 Even in
19 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 155. 20 Frédéric Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire: enjeux de formation d'une élite nationale,” in Entre réforme sociale et mouvement national, identité et modernisation en Egypte (1882-1962), ed. Alain Roussillon, (Cairo: CEDEJ, 1995), 222. 21 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 94-5 and 155. Daher argues that the percentage of the poor to the total population of the Shawam was very small, and, even then, they were much better off than poor Egyptians. Wealthy notables and welfare organizations made sure there was enough employment, medical care, and education for the children. See Daher, Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām, 14. Daher goes further to say that these welfare organizations had a strong reputation and encouraged other Syro-Lebanese to embark on the trip to Egypt, knowing that even if they could not find jobs easily, the benevolent organizations would take good care of them. See Daher, Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām, 105. 22 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 156. 23 Frédéric Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920: une nébuleuse à plusieurs degrés de francité,” Documents pour l’histoire du français langue étrangère ou
6 the few communitarian schools where Arabic was taught, French was still the language of instruction.24 To get a sense of the kind of education the Shawam received from the late nineteenth century until their mass emigration in the sixties, this study looks at Egypt’s French schools, both in their Catholic and secular variations. Within the system of Capitulations, which gave foreign residents in Egypt important fiscal and judicial exemptions, French schools enjoyed unlimited freedom and were completely independent from the Egyptian government. Especially after Egypt’s ostensible independence in 1922, this freedom came under increasing attack from the Ministry of Education, which continued to push for more government control and more attention to teaching Arabic. The general critique was that foreign, especially French, schools, were responsible for culturally alienating their students from Egyptian society. Students became well versed in the language and culture of the country with which their school was affiliated, at the expense of Arabic, Egyptian history and geography, which were widely ignored. Many of these students, especially girls, saw Arabic as a foreign language and tended to look down on government—also referred to as Arabic—schools. Decades later, this attitude and stigma have changed little. Although this study focuses on the cultural alienation of the Shawam, this is only one way of telling their story in Egypt. Economy is yet another and perhaps a more obvious lens. Egypt’s economic prosperity was after all one of the main factors for their settlement in Egypt, while sequestration of property is usually cited as the main reason for their departure. Economy can explain the rise of the community and its prosperity during the eighteenth century, with their control of customs in Egyptian ports, e.g. in Damietta, and their successful integration into European businesses in the twentieth century. Philipp showed that almost all Christian Syrian merchants were involved in the Egyptian-European trade, and their presence in Egyptian commerce was 30 times greater
seconde, no 27 (December 2001): 109. Abécassis shows that French schools tried to separate paying students from those with scholarships, and concluded that: “social classes did not mix on the benches of French schools in Egypt.” See Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 111. 24 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 156.
7 than their ratio to the total population.25 Evidence suggests a correlation between Nasser’s laws of 1961-1962 and what Philipp describes as an “almost complete emigration of all the Syrians, after living in Egypt for several generations.”26 The Stock Exchange Year Books show the elimination of the Shawam from the Egyptian economy within in a year, and the financial losses of the commercial bourgeoisie must have been substantial—all of this coinciding with a sharp drop in birth statistics.27 Yet, statistics also indicate that not all the Shawam had property worth nationalizing; many were salaried employees and professionals.28 Philipp concludes that economy alone cannot explain the mass emigration of the Shawam, and he turns to their cultural alienation during the twentieth century as another plausible explanation. He believes that the process of Egyptianization had reached its climax when “the Syrians, despite having lived for generations in Egypt, considered themselves culturally and socially less than ever as Egyptians and hardly any more as Arabs.”29
Failed Integration Thomas Philipp published his important study, The Syrians in Egypt, 1725-1975, in 1985. This rather short narrative remains the work of reference for scholars interested in the history of the Shawam in Egypt. Historians like Albert Hourani and Ami Ayalon, for example, have used it in their works on the Lebanese Diaspora and the Arab press.30 Philipp has relied on biographies, a wide range of statistical data from various archives in Egypt—patriarchal and governmental—in addition to records from the Egyptian Stock Exchange. He is also the author of an earlier work, a biography of Jurji Zaidan, in which he had access to the Zaidans’ archives in Cairo and in Beirut. In his acknowledgements section he explicitly thanks the Zaidans for “their own comments and recollections,” so
25 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 120-2. 26 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 142. 27 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 141. 28 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 142. 29 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 158. 30 In a footnote Albert Hourani says: “I have pleasure in acknowledging all I have learnt in the way of facts and ideas from Thomas Philipp’s book, The Syrians in Egypt, 1725-1975.” See Albert Hourani, “Lebanese and Syrians in Egypt,” in The Lebanese in the World: A Century of Emigration, ed. Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi, (London: Centre for Lebanese Studies, 1992). Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East: A History, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995).
8 one may assume they also gave him an insider’s perspective on the life of the Shawam in Egypt as they had known it.31 Philipp’s narrative is one of failed integration. He traces the Shawam’s long presence in Egypt and writes the story from their rise to prosperity until their elimination from Egyptian society. His overarching argument is that their different origin and religion made integration into Egyptian society impossible. Coupled with the necessity of integrating into Egypt’s powerful European businesses, this led to their social and cultural alienation from Egyptian society. Philipp writes: Doubly alienated in Egypt by religion and by origin, and increasingly drawn to the local foreign bourgeoisie for economic reasons, the Christian Syrians in Egypt in the twentieth century underwent a process of complete de-Arabization. It was the cultural and social alienation much more than the material losses themselves which determined the reaction of the Syrians to the expropriation of their businesses in Egypt in 1961-1962 and led to their departure from Egypt.32
He distinguishes between Syrian intellectuals and the commercial bourgeoisie, whereby the former called for transcending parochial communal ties and for embracing a wider Ottoman or Arab identity. These calls did not appeal to the bourgeoisie, whose thriving businesses depended on closer ties with the European communities in Egypt. The secularization of welfare organizations, which reduced the power of the clergy to the advantage of the wealthy, did not help. In fact, Philipp claims that as far as the poor were concerned, these organizations removed all incentive for what he refers to as a “horizontal integration with the Egyptian lower class.” He writes: Through the welfare organizations, free schooling, medical treatment, food, and even monthly subsidies were made available to the poor and the lower class. These material benefits became a strong incentive for maintaining loyalty to the respective community, since only affiliation with it qualified a person to receive these benefits. In the same spirit, the enterprises of the commercial bourgeoisie provided employment for the lower class of the community.33
Although the present work agrees that a cultural alienation from Egyptian society played a major role in pushing the Shawam out of Egypt, it adopts a different approach in exploring it. Philipp’s is a teleological approach that assumes a built-in separateness
31 See Thomas Philipp, Gurgi Zaidan: His Life and Thought, (Beirut: Orient-Institut des Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, 1979). 32 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 163. 33 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 135.
9 between Egyptians and Shawam. As the former increasingly affirmed the “Egyptianness” of their country, the latter had adopted a European culture and were eventually forced to withdraw altogether. It posits the Shawam’s cultural alienation and what Philipp calls their “complete de-Arabization” as a consequence of a failed integration.34 Philipp uses the disappearance of Syrian intellectuals from Egypt during and after the First World War as further proof of that failure; realizing they would never integrate into Egyptian society and together with the promise of a considerable material gain, the Shawam made their cultural choice. They would turn their back on Arabic language and Egyptian culture to embrace a European, especially French, language and culture. While recognizing the importance of Philipp’s contribution, and his arguments about communal identity, this study adopts a more context-based approach. It looks at what people did, taking the details of their daily practices and experiences, as a starting point, rather than focusing on a static identity, which is the driving force behind Philipp’s narrative. It uses the narratives put forward by Philipp and others, and draws on a wide range of primary sources, to write a new narrative history of how this cultural alienation occurred. By relying on details of everyday life, this study seeks to challenge the assumption that cultural alienation resulted from a series of rigid identitarian choices on the part of the Shawam. Exploring other historical factors that were at play in Egypt at the time takes away from the full agency that such an assumption ascribes to the Shawam. The process of cultural alienation did not start with the failure of integration nor with the disappearance of Syrian intellectuals after the First World War, but had started much earlier in the late nineteenth century. Time was simply needed for its consequences to be felt. The process of cultural alienation of the Shawam cannot be studied in isolation from the wider context of the Egyptian francophonie, which dominated Egypt’s urban society, and was by no means limited to the Shawam. Its influence extended to, and was sometimes challenged by, other communities living in Egypt, including Arabic-speaking
34 I discuss my concerns with the term “cultural de-Arabization” in more detail in Chapter 1. Whereas the term “cultural alienation,” although not perfect, does help us understand the story of the Shawam in Egypt, I am not comfortable with “de-Arabization.” It sets up the idea of an authentic Arab culture that the Shawam moved away from. Many parts of Philipp’s work have been very useful in this thesis, but I do not find his use of the term “cultural de-Arabization” the most productive part of the book.
10 Egyptians (Muslims, Copts and, especially, Jews) as well as foreign residents (Greeks and Italians for example). The privilege that French language and culture enjoyed had started with Mohamed Ali’s modernization project, while French missionary schools succeeded in forging a small but powerful francophone elite that dominated Egyptian life until the regime change in 1952. A weak British educational policy with a limited budget had undermined public government schools and empowered the French ones, which were open to students of all ethnicities and religions, attracting members of the Egyptian Muslim and Coptic higher bourgeoisie as well.35 Although this system could not have flourished without the protection of the British occupation, being francophone became a way of affirming one’s anglophobia.36 As nationalists like Mustapha Kamel and Saad Zaghloul turned to Paris in their fight against London, they rid French of any suspicion of collaboration with the colonial occupiers.37
Francophone Literary Circles and Salons The visibility of the Shawam in Cairo’s vibrant francophone literary scene offers a wealth of detail about their French acculturation. Their active involvement in the large number of literary circles and salons that animated Cairo’s intellectual life, especially during the interwar period, indicates that Shawam intellectuals did not really disappear from Egyptian life. Rather, they formed a substantial segment of a community of francophone writers and poets. They dominated the francophone press, founded literary groups, gave lectures and held some of the most important francophone salon gatherings in the capital. These gatherings bring together many of the threads important to this
35 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 100. 36 Gilles Perrault, A Man Apart: The Life of Henri Curiel, trans. Bob Cumming (London and New Jersey: Zed Books Ltd), 41. 37 Although this study is not about Egyptian nationalism or the emergence of the Egyptian identity, I sometimes allude to them to show their impact on the Shawam. For more on this subject see Juan Cole Colonialism and Revolution in the Middle East: Social and Cultural Origins of Egypt’s ’Urabi Movement, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), the several works of Israel Gershoni and James Jankowski, e.g. Redefining the Egyptian Nation, 1930-1945, (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995), Eve Troutt Powell, A Different Shade of Colonialism: Egypt, Great Britain, and the Mastery of the Sudan, (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2003), Beth Baron, Egypt as a Woman: Nationalism, Gender, and Politics, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005) and Wilson Jacob, Working out Egypt: Effendi Masculinity and Subject Formation in Colonial Modernity, 1870- 1940, (Durham: Duke University Press, 2011).
11 study: Cairo’s francophone cosmopolitan elite, the influence of French schools, a thorough French education, a sentimental idealization of French language and culture, as well as a carefree attitude that was largely oblivious to the country’s language, culture and problems. Examining details pertaining to both the French schools and to francophone circles gives a sense of how the Shawam came to make these choices over time. Of course some Egyptian Muslim intellectuals were also regulars at many of these circles and salons. One famous example is Taha Hussein.38 His complete mastery of the Arabic language is beyond any doubt. He was Professor of Arabic Literature and was appointed Minister of Education in 1950. His important literary contributions had earned him the title “Dean of Arabic Literature.” His active presence shows that not all regulars of francophone circles were culturally alienated from Arabic-speaking Egyptian society. Nevertheless, Taha Hussein had received a traditional Egyptian education, first in the village kuttab then in al-Azhar. He learned French later. This is quite different from those who had only received a French education. The case of his children, Moenis and Amina, illustrates this point. Both were also active in the francophone scene. In 1941, for example, when French theatrical troops could no longer come to Egypt during the war, they founded the group Les Escoliers, which presented different French plays.39 Yet, unlike his father, Moenis-Claude wrote primarily in French and published several French poetry collections. Although the Egyptian francophonie remains largely unknown to Egyptians and French alike, several studies have recently appeared that deal specifically with Egyptian francophone literature. Besides writers who made a name for themselves in France, like Andrée Chedid and Albert Cossery, there is a growing interest in other francophone Egyptian writers, and their works are being slowly rediscovered and republished—such as Ahmed Rassim and Georges Henein. The debate on the “Egyptianness” of this literature and its authors resonates with the discussion on the cultural alienation of the
38 Other names, which sometimes appeared in francophone gatherings, include Sheikh al-Azhar Mustapha Abdel Razek, and his brother Ali Abdel Razek, who wrote the controversial book al- Islām wa-uṣūl al-ḥukm. 39 Lançon, Daniel. “Fortune et infortune du champ littéraire au Caire,” in Entre Nil et sable: Ecrivains d’Egypte d’expression française (1920-1960), ed. Marc Kober, Irène Fenoglio and Daniel Lançon (Paris: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, 1999), 36-7.
12 Shawam. Although these writers, Shawam and others, could only express themselves in French, critics are unable to dismiss their “Egyptianness,” and some of these writers themselves find no contradiction between adopting French as a means of communication and their birth identity. What complicates the discussion even further is a study on Egyptian French, which shows that it had evolved into a particular dialect. With hundreds of words and expressions that found their way into French, Egyptian francophone speakers were aware of the specificity of their dialect and how obscure their conversation could sound to a Metropolitan Frenchman.40
Sources and General Outline Research on Cairo’s francophone literary circles and salons required a trip to the archives in Cairo. Besides the names of some associations and general information in secondary sources, very little is actually known about these literary groups. As Zielger pointed out in Mayy Ziyāda Rediscovered, and in her article “Arab Literary Salons at the Turn of the 20th Century,” at least one hundred literary circles and salons existed in Cairo alone, and despite their popularity, the Arab salon culture is an area that has not received serious consideration.41 A large collection of material on the Egyptian francophonie is in the Jesuit archives of the Collège de la Sainte Famille. The Institut Dominicain d’Etudes Orientales also has an important library, and there is some material in the libraries of the American University in Cairo and Dar al-Hilal. French and Egyptian primary sources give first-hand accounts of the preponderance of French influence in Egypt, alongside rare literary works by Egyptian francophone authors, and a wealth of periodicals. Of these periodicals, the weekly Images was the most useful for this research. Published between 1929 and 1973, it was the French equivalent of the Arabic al- Musawwar. I have focused on articles that appeared on the different literary circles and salons, but more specifically on the very rich Society section, Mondanités, especially between 1929 and the mid-1930s. The magazine covered these literary gatherings and left
40 Jean-Jacques Luthi, En quête du français d’Egypte, (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2005), 240-1. 41 Antje Ziegler, Mayy Ziyāda Rediscovered, (Beirut: Orient-Institut der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 1999), 7, and Antje Ziegler, “Arab Literary Salons at the Turn of the 20th Century,” in Understanding Near Eastern Literatures, ed. Verena Klemm and Beatrice Gruendler (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2000), 241.
13 details about the topics, the speakers, and more importantly, the attendees. It is worth noting that Images, as a magazine published by the Shawam-owned Dar al-Hilal, seemed to pay special attention to the Shawam community in Cairo. In the Society section, for example, we find news on key Shawam figures, their wedding celebrations, where they went for the summer (usually Alexandria, Europe or Lebanon), when they came back, and so on. Another useful periodical was the Revue des Conférences françaises en Orient (1936-1951). It reproduced the content of the main lectures given at the different literary circles, mostly in Cairo and Alexandria, and occasionally in Beirut, Damascus and Teheran. It gives an excellent idea of the length and depth of these lectures, in addition to some information on the speakers. I was also able to find a book published by the important literary group, the Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925-1947) on the occasion of their twentieth anniversary, which provides a detailed list of all the cultural activities of the association. Some pamphlets related to the Shawam, like articles addressed to the Syrian Union in Cairo, were also very helpful. Besides works on the Shawam intellectual figures of the Nahda, very few monographs exist on the history of the Shawam community itself.42 As already mentioned, the most cited is Thomas Philipp’s The Syrians in Egypt, 1725-1975. In 1986, Massoud Daher published Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām [The Lebanese Emigration to Egypt], in which he provides a detailed survey of Shawam families, their origins in Syria and Lebanon, statistics from patriarchal archives, and so
42 For recent studies of the Nahda and the intellectual history of this period more broadly see Marilyn Booth, May her Likes Be Multiplied: Biography and Gender Politics in Egypt, (Berkeley; London: University of California Press, 2001), Stephen Sheehi, Foundations of Modern Arab Identity, (Gainesville, Florida: University Press of Florida, 2004), Shaden Tageldin, “Disarming Words: Reading (Post)Colonial Egypt's Double Bond to Europe,” (PhD Diss., University of California, Berkeley, 2004) and Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860-1914, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010). For earlier works on the intellectual production of the Nahda see Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age (Cambridge; London: Cambridge University Press, 1962), Thomas Philipp, Gurgi Zaidan: His Life and Thought, (Beirut: Orient-Institut des Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, 1979), Donald Reid, The Odyssey of Farah Antun: A Syrian Christian’s Quest for Secularism, (Minneapolis; Chicago: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1975) and George Haroun, Shibli Shumayyil: Une pensée évolutionniste arabe a l’époque de an-Nahda, (Beirut: Publications de l’Université Libanaise, 1985).
14 on.43 This work has not really found its way to either English or French scholarship, however. In his article on the Shawam in 1992, Albert Hourani only referenced Philipp’s work and not Daher’s. The reason might be that Daher tries to make an unconvincing case for a successful integration of the Shawam into Egyptian society. He includes important testimonies by Egyptian Shawam, which more often than not contradict this assumption.44 Another work on the Shawam is Anne-Sybille Barbotin’s MA thesis, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte 1863-1929: Identité et dépersonnalisation.” Focusing on the Catholic Shawam, Barbotin follows in Philipp’s footsteps and uses their strong sense of Catholic identity to justify the resistance to integration, identification with Europeans, especially Roman Catholics, and the cultural alienation that ensued.45 None of these sources make the important connection between the French acculturation of the Shawam and the Egyptian francophonie. The resurging interest in the Egyptian francophonie since the nineties has provided a limited but very insightful body of secondary literature, most notably by the literary scholar Daniel Lançon and the linguist Irène Fenoglio, who have explored the relationship between Egypt’s urban cosmopolitan society before 1952 and French language. The Egyptian-Syrian journalist, novelist and essayist Robert Solé has written several works on Franco-Egyptian relations, in addition to his own personal experience as
43 There are a few sources on the Shawam in Arabic as well: Abd Allāh Muḥammad ʻAzabāwī, al-Shawām fī Miṣr fī al-qarnayn al-thāmin ʻashar wa-al-tāsiʻ ʻashar, (Cairo: Dār al-Nahḍah al- ʻArabīyah, 1986), Aḥmad Ṭāhir Ḥasanayn, Dawr al-Shāmīyīn al-muhājirīn ilá Miṣr fī al-nahḍah al-adabīyah al-ḥadīthah, (Damascus: Dār al-Wathbah, 1983), in addition to biographical sketches of Syrians, like Ilyas Zakhura’s al-Sūrīyūn fī Miṣr: ism li-kitāb yaḥtawī ʻalá tarājum wa-rusūm afrād al-ʼuar al-Sūrīyah fī al-diyār al-Miṣrīyah, (Cairo: Arabic Press, 1927). 44 For example, Daher includes a testimony by the Dominican Father Georges Anawati in which he said that the Shawam lived in isolation from Egyptian society and away from its problems. Even the poor Shawam, according to Anawaty, tried to distinguish themselves from the poor Egyptians. There are also testimonies on exclusive Shawam clubs in Alexandria and Mansourah. Dr Asaad Salhab told Daher that the Shawam club in Mansourah allowed Shawam and foreigners in, but Egyptians found it extremely difficult to enter. Daher himself says that the Shawam tried to distinguish themselves from Egyptians by their foreign customs and traditions and their communication in French. He concludes that the Egyptians’ dislike of the Shawam was due to social and political reasons, and not sectarian ones. See Daher, Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām, 270-7. 45 Massoud Daher’s Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām [The Lebanese Emigration to Egypt], (1986; Cairo: Dar Al-Shorouk, 2009) and Anne-Sybille Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte 1863-1929: Identité et dépersonnalisation,” (MA Thesis, Université de Paris IV, 1996-7).
15 a Syrian in Egypt, now an Egyptian in France. The laborious research by the historian Frédéric Abécassis has been extremely useful in understanding the role of French schools in Egypt, how they operated and the tension that existed between them and the Egyptian government, which considered them a state within the state. The works of Jean-Jacques Luthi share his long experience with many of Egypt’s francophone writers, with whom he had direct contact during his teaching years in Egypt, and later on in France. Finally, recent works calling for new approaches to the study of Egyptian cosmopolitanism have greatly informed my understanding of the subject, even if cosmopolitanism as a term remains ambiguous. Khaled Fahmy tries to include Egyptians in their country’s cosmopolitan narrative, which has tended to overlook their presence as a majority population.46 Ilham Khuri-Makdisi raises the issue of working-class cosmopolitanism and questions whether our understanding of ethnicity today corresponds to how it was perceived in Ottoman ports in the late nineteenth century.47 As he calls for more attention to details, Will Hanley tries to avoid the two extremes that have dominated the study of Egyptian cosmopolitanism: rigid communitarianism on one hand and rosy cosmopolitanism on the other.48 Deborah Starr makes an effort to bring the cosmopolitan narrative to the forefront, stifled as it is between colonial and nationalist narratives revolving around the nation-state.49 Yet, this study deals with an elite that valorized communal ties while being involved in daily inter-communitarian exchange. Robert Ilbert’s Alexandrian model of cosmopolitanism has been useful for this study. Ilbert argues that Alexandria’s cosmopolitanism was not a “melting pot” but resulted from the coexistence and shared interests of the different communities.50 Having inherited many features from the
46 See Khaled Fahmy, “Towards a Social History of Modern Alexandria,” and “For Cavafy, with love and squalor: some critical notes on the history and historiography of modern Alexandria,” both in Alexandria: Real and Imagined, ed. Anthonty Hirst and Michael Silk, (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2006). 47 See Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860-1914, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010). 48 See Will Hanley, “Foreignness and Localness in Alexandria, 1880-1914,” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 2007). 49 See Deborah Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt: Literature, Culture and Empire, (New York: Routledge, 2009). 50 See Robert Ilbert, Alexandrie 1830-1930: Histoire d’une communauté citadine, (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1996) and “A Certain Sense of Citizenship,” in Alexandria 1860-
16 Ottoman millet system, which recognized the autonomy of the different communities, this cosmopolitanism empowered a community’s control over the social life of its members. Despite too much stress on ethnic allegiance, Ilbert’s model remains the closest match to the numerous testimonies used in this study. Most of these sources deal with the experiences of writers, journalists, and members of the community who enjoyed a certain visibility in Cairo’s high society, and who, by association, projected an image of prosperity on the whole community. They were part of a powerful francophone community, which Egypt’s francophone periodicals constantly referred to as the elite of the nation. Much has been said on cosmopolitan elites, but Egypt’s francophone elite often figures in literary and not historical studies, and the Shawam of Egypt have received very little scholarly attention. This thesis is a narrative history of how the Shawam of Egypt retreated from the central place they occupied in the Arab Nahda to the fringe of Egyptian society and eventually to exile. Chapter 1 explores the cultural alienation of the Shawam from mainstream Egyptian society. It recognizes how a combination of different religion and origin played an important role in strengthening communal ties to the detriment of integration—as posited by other secondary literature, most notably Philipp’s The Syrians in Egypt and Barbotin’s “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte.” Yet, it departs from these narratives by focusing on educational policies and the Shawam’s almost complete dependence on French schools. Examining how these schools operated prior to the regime change provides a more accurate context for the Shawam’s deep French acculturation. Enjoying unrivaled freedom under the Capitulations and disregarding teaching Arabic, Egyptian history and geography, French schools played a major role in this acculturation and eventual alienation. Such a context refutes the assumption that the Shawam adopted French language and culture as a result of failed integration. Their cultural alienation was a process that started with their arrival in Egypt. Chapter 2 draws on both primary and secondary sources to offer a narrative of the forgotten Egyptian francophonie. Such an overview is necessary to understand the
1960: The Brief Life of a Cosmopolitan Community, ed. Robert Ilbert and Ilios Yannakakis with Jacques Hassoun (Alexandria: Harpocrates Publishing, 1997), 24. The second book was first published in French as Alexandrie 1860-1960, Un modèle éphémère de convivialité: Communautés et identité cosmopolite, (Paris: Les Editions Autrement, 1992).
17 cultural choices that faced the Shawam during their stay in Egypt, and as an introduction to the francophone circles and salons in chapter 3. In an Arab country occupied by the British, to speak of the French acculturation of the Shawam divorced from the wider context of the Egyptian francophonie only accentuates their cultural alienation. Although the Shawam were a stark example of French acculturation, the preponderance of French language and culture extended to other foreign communities resident in Egypt and to the Egyptian higher bourgeoisie. The British were never able to impose English as a colonial language, and French continued to dominate the fields of justice, finance and administration. Fluency in French was not only a mark of social distinction but was also necessary for lucrative careers and integration into Egypt’s small but powerful francophone elite, which dominated the country until the regime change. Finally, chapter 3 examines in great detail some of the main francophone literary circles and salons that thrived in Cairo during the interwar period. It explores these groups, their founders, their mission and the kind of audience they attracted. The lectures allow us to discern some of the intellectual concerns of Cairo’s francophone elite, in which the influence of French schools—in terms of topics and a sentimental idealization of French language and culture—becomes very apparent. Furthermore, the social aspect of these gatherings, assiduously reported in Images, illustrates who this Cairene elite actually was. Recurring names and honorific titles show a society of Egyptian and non- Egyptian statesmen, ambassadors, university professors, writers, journalists, financiers, and so on. The Shawam were clearly over-represented; they were committee members, organizers, speakers and attendees. They did not disappear from the intellectual scene, but had limited their activity to the much smaller, and much more powerful, francophone one—in its Egyptian variation.
18 Chapter 1
The Shawam in Egypt: A Historical Oversight
“Perhaps it was their own fault but there are few who can predict the path of history. Over decades they had played around with identities that allowed them significant material advantages and, for the most part, they had not noticed that times were changing. Likewise, for the most part, they were to pay dearly for this oversight.”
- Robert Ilbert
After having made important contributions to the Arab intellectual movement of the Nahda, the Shawam in Egypt adopted French language and culture, resulting in second and third generations who expressed themselves primarily in French. The work of Thomas Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt: 1725-1975, is one of the very few studies on the Shawam, and remains the main work of reference for scholars interested in the history of the community.51 In about 185 pages, Philipp traces the history of the Shawam from their arrival in Egypt in the eighteenth century until their mass emigration from Egypt in the sixties.52 His overarching argument is one of failed integration. In this argument, their origin and religion made integration into Egyptian society impossible, leading them to opt for European, especially French, language and culture. While recognizing the importance of community identity in Philipp’s argument, I contend that such a cultural alienation cannot be explored in isolation from the wider context of Egypt’s francophone cosmopolitan society. The once-thriving Egyptian francophonie arguably created and was created by an urban cosmopolitan society that inherited many characteristics from the Ottoman millet system and, together with the Capitulations, promised both the safeguarding of identity and the possibility of material gain. French education, especially
51 As already mentioned in the introduction, both Albert Hourani in his “Lebanese and Syrians in Egypt,” in The Lebanese in the World: A Century of Emigration, ed. Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi, (London: Centre for Lebanese Studies, 1992) and Anne-Sybille Barbotin in “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte 1863-1929: Identité et dépersonnalisation,” (MA Thesis, Université de Paris IV, 1996-7) rely extensively on Philipp. 52 Although Philipp concentrates on the two main Syrian immigration waves in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, he is clear that there has always been a Syrian presence in Egypt due geographic, commercial and cultural reasons. See Thomas Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt: 1725- 1975, (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner-Verlag-Wiesbaden GMBH, 1985), 1.
19 in its Catholic variation empowered by the Capitulations, became an evident choice for the Shawam, to which they turned not only because of the importance of French language in Egypt at the time, but also because it offered the moral and religious education which they believed their children would not get elsewhere. Despite their excellence, French schools failed to adjust their students to the reality of the country in which they lived. The resulting cultural alienation was not limited to the Shawam, but extended to all other students—Egyptians, Jews and local Europeans— and understandably, these schools came under attack, mildly before the regime change in 1952 and more intensely afterwards. This chapter will use the main secondary sources that studied the Shawam in Egypt, as well as those on the role of French education prior to the Suez crisis in 1956. It will also turn to primary sources for testimonies on daily practices and experiences of a community that gradually lost command of its native language. Contextualizing the cultural alienation of the Shawam in a prevalent Egyptian francophonie shows that it was not inevitable, but was a process contingent on conditions particular to pre-revolutionary Egypt.
De-Arabization Philipp uses the term de-Arabization in a very broad sense to describe a process whereby the Shawam increasingly adopted French language and culture at the expense of their native Arabic. This process, according to Philipp, led to closer ties with other foreign minorities living in Egypt while reinforcing a social and cultural divide from Egyptian society.53 When dealing with the Shawam, two other works have used Philipp’s term. In her thesis on the religious and cultural identity of the Catholic Shawam, Anne- Sybille Barbotin refers to Philipp’s de-Arabization to describe a linguistic affiliation with France that came to play an important role in transforming the Shawam’s cultural identity.54 In The Press in the Arab Middle East: A History, Ami Ayalon uses Philipp’s notion of de-Arabization to explain why second and third generation Shawam abandoned Arabic journalism—traditionally their strong fiefdom—at a time when it was rapidly
53 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 153. 54 Anne-Sybille Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte 1863-1929: Identité et dépersonnalisation,” (MA Thesis, Université de Paris IV, 1996-7), 146
20 expanding.55 The term de-Arabization presumes the existence of an “authentic Arab identity” or an “authentic Arab culture,” which the Shawam turned their back on. As such, I do not think it is the most useful term to explain changes affecting how the Shawam related to their world between the turn of the century and their emigration in the sixties. Instead of trying to define authentic vs. unauthentic Arab culture, this chapter will rely on examples from Shawam daily experiences and practices to illustrate the preponderance of French language and culture at the expense of Arabic. The historian Frédéric Abécassis states that by the 1920s, French had become the mother tongue of the different Catholic communities in Egypt.56 In another article, he says that Jews and Eastern Christians perhaps knew the Cairene dialect, but tended to communicate amongst themselves and with the outside world in “imported idioms,” English perhaps, but mostly French.57 The Shawam cemetery in Old Cairo and baptism registers attest to a changing taste as they illustrate the increasing adoption of French proper names. If at the turn of the nineteenth century it was common to see names like Gobrail, Butrus and Boulos, at the end of the century not only do we find their French equivalents—Gabriel, Pierre and Paul—but we also find non-biblical names like René, Bertrand and Henri.58 Furthermore, we see several rich families adopting the aristocratic French prefix, de, to mark their nobility, e.g. the de Saab, de Chedid and de Zogheb families. In registers we see more signatures in Latin letters and annotations made in French. To a Jesuit school survey, 92.9% of Shawam parents replied in French, while the Greek Catholic official review, Le Lien, was published solely in French.59
55 Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East: A History, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 76. 56 Frédéric Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920: une nébuleuse à plusieurs degrés de francité,” Documents pour l’histoire du français langue étrangère ou seconde, no 27 (December 2001): 107-8. 57 Frédéric Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire: enjeux de formation d'une élite nationale,” in Entre réforme sociale et mouvement national, identité et modernisation en Egypte (1882-1962), ed. Alain Roussillon, (Cairo: CEDEJ, 1995), 222. 58 Anne-Sybille Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 147. Speaking of Paul and Boulos, in his latest novel, Une Soirée au Caire, Robert Solé writes of an uncle, Paul, for whom the name Boulos fell on deaf ears and infuriated him: “Paul n’y aurait rien trouvé à redire si on lui donnait du « khawaga Boulos ». La transcription arabe de son prénom le faisait enrager.” See Robert Solé, Une soirée au Caire, (Paris, Editions du Seuil, 2010), 56. 59 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 145.
21 Ayalon explains that after abandoning the Arabic press, the Shawam turned to and dominated French journalism.60 Similarly, while early Shawam intellectuals had made important contributions in Arabic, second and third generations like Amy Kher, Nelly and Gaston Zananiri, Jeanne Arcache, Joseph Ascar-Nahas and others, wrote primarily in French and were key figures in the francophone literary circles and salons that thrived in Cairo in the first half of the twentieth century. Even in translation—a field previously dominated by the Shawam and marked by their important translations into Arabic—their descendents reversed the process and we see several translations from Arabic into French. In 1918, for example, the writer Marius Schemeil translated a play, written about the First World War by his uncle, the Nahda intellectual Shibli Schemeil, into French.61 In addition to language, the affiliation with foreign communities resident in Egypt found other important expressions—intermarriage and shared urban space, for example. Philipp uses patriarchal records for Greek Catholic and Maronite men to deduce patterns of intermarriage. These statistics show that more than 90% of Greek Catholics typically married within their own community (a combination of Catholic faith and Syrian origin), while intermarriage was mostly with Europeans and to a much lesser extent with Coptic Christians.62 Clearly intermarriage with Muslims would not show in these statistics, as it
60 Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East: A History, 76. The domination of the French press by the Shawam was also mentioned by Ascar-Nahas in a speech he gave in 1953. Talking about the importance of French culture in Egypt, he showed how the French press was initially run by Frenchmen, and how it had all come into Egyptian hands. He gives some names, most of them Shawam: Edgard Gallad, Achille Sékaly, Aziz Saab, Nématallah Ganem, Victor Adm, Charles Arcache. See Joseph Ascar-Nahas, Egypte et culture française, (Cairo: Editions de la Société orientale de la publicité, 1953), 24. Philipp contrasts the fate of two famous Arabic magazines, al-Hilal and al-Muqtataf, to illustrate the receding influence of the Shawam in Arabic journalism. The longevity of al-Hilal, according to Philipp, was due to the Syrian management’s decision to Egyptianize the magazine and open it to Egyptian writers and thinkers. Al-Muqtataf, on the other hand, remained focused on Syrian concerns and relying on Syrian writers, leading to its eventual demise in 1951. See Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 153. 61 Shibli Schemeil, Le Grand fléau, trans. Marius Schemeil (Cairo: J. Parladi and Taha Ibrahim, 1918). Marius Schemeil (1863-1956) was born in Liverpool, England and studied in Beirut. He established himself in Cairo in the banking business. He published poetry, a book on the history of Cairo and held a literary salon. He died in Cairo. See Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 257. Philipp also mentions that the only French translation of al-Jabarti’s Ajāʼib al-āthār fī al-tarājim wa-al-akhbār in 9 volumes was translated by 4 Egyptian Shawam: Shafiq Mansour, Abd al-‘Aziz Kahil, Jibra’il Niqula Kahil, and Iskandar ‘Ammoun. See Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 154. 62 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 150-2.
22 is illegal for a Muslim woman to marry a Christian man, and similarly a Muslim man marrying a Christian woman would not have registered the marriage in church. Philipp contends, however, that such cases were very rare.63 Regarding spouses of different origins, they were mostly Armenian or Roman Catholics, i.e. European.64 Data from 1941-1942 show a noticeable increase in intermarriage between Greek Catholic men and European women.65 Both Philipp and Barbotin use the demographic distribution of the Shawam to illustrate the close proximity of the Shawam to one another and to other foreign residents. In general, the Shawam preferred the fashionable “European city” in the west of Cairo and later, the new suburb of Heliopolis. In the twenties, the highest concentration of Shawam was in Faggala and Shubra, which were overtaken by Heliopolis in the thirties.66 In Heliopolis the Greek Catholics built two churches in 1910 and 1940, while the Maronites built a church in 1917.67 Although Barbotin found records of Shawam who lived in the older neighborhoods of Cairo like Gamaliya and Mousky—and suggests these were the poorer Shawam and merchants who continued to run their businesses in the older neighborhoods like Khan al-Khalili—she concludes that the grand majority chose to live in neighborhoods with a high number of foreigners.68 She argues that such neighborhoods, home to all the big hotels, banks, embassies and grand stores, offered the Shawam not only the same standard of living, but also a lifestyle similar to Egypt’s foreign communities.69 Given the crucial role of education as an indication of cultural orientation, the Shawam’s clear predilection for French schools is another manifestation of their affinity towards French culture. Unlike other foreign communities, like Greeks and Italians, who invested in communitarian education, Philipp highlights the Shawam’s lack of interest in communitarian schools.70 Two Greek Catholic schools existed at the end of the nineteenth century, but paying students quickly left them for the newly-established
63 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 151. 64 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 152. 65 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 152. 66 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 89-90. 67 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 89. 68 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 135-6. 69 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 136. 70 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 155.
23 French schools, forcing one school to close down; eventually students with scholarships were transferred to the French Frères des Ecoles chrétiennes in Shubra.71 In 1909 the Greek Catholic welfare organization charged the Sœurs de la Charité de Besançon with opening a school for girls that prepared them for the French certificate.72 Even though Arabic was taught, French was the language of instruction in schools run by the community as well as in the Maronite Patriarchal School.73 Philipp uses statistics to show the high concentration of Greek Catholic and Maronite students in French schools.74 Similarly, Barbotin looks at the students’ distribution by religion in the Jesuit school, the Collège de la Sainte Famille. In 1904, 1914 and 1919 the percentage of Catholic Shawam students to the entire student body was 40%, 40% and 47% respectively.75
The Shawam in Egypt: A Narrative of Failed Integration Both Philipp and Barbotin see religious identity as having played the main role in alienating the Shawam from Egyptian society. Philipp believes that the recognition of Greek Catholicism as an official Ottoman millet in 1848 not only empowered the clergy and prevented the fusion of the different Shawam communities, but also destroyed any hope for their integration in Egyptian society.76 Even after what he refers to as the secularization process of the late 1870s—whereby rich members of the commercial bourgeoisie and their welfare organizations reduced both the control of the clergy and the
71 The first Syrian communitarian school was the Greek Orthodox school al-‘Ubaidiya in 1860, but most of the students were Greek and not Shawam. The Greek Catholics established two schools in Shubra and Ezbekiya in 1872 and 1873 respectively. In 1894 the first school closed down after the Jesuits had opened their college in Faggala. The Patriarchal school was founded in 1907 and to which all students with stipends were transferred. The language of instruction was French, but Arabic was also taught. See Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 155. Barbotin also mentions three small Maronite schools, but does not elaborate on their destiny, see Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 139. 72 The girls’ school was Le Pensionnat Sainte Anne. See Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 140. 73 See Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 155. 74 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 156-7. 75 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 141. Barbotin constructed her table from data in C. Mayeur-Jaouen’s “Le Collège de la Sainte Famille 1879-1919: Un établissement français et catholique au Caire,” (MA thesis, Paris IV, 1985), 44. 76 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 161.
24 strength of religious identity—the community structures and the communal identity remained powerful.77 Philipp heavily influences Barbotin’s interpretation of the Shawam’s religious and cultural identities. As she investigated the Catholic Shawam’s affinity towards European culture and lifestyle in Egypt, she declared the purpose of her study was to determine if such affinity was part of “a strategy of distinction,” “a minority instinct” to preserve the community, or a deliberate refusal to integrate in Egypt.78 In her conclusion, she maintains that the Shawam’s strong sense of communal identity was a substitute for a nation-state that did not exist, putting them on a collision course with rising Egyptian nationalism. She sees the transformation in the cultural identity of the Catholic Shawam as an “irreparable fracture” between them and Egyptian society. At the heart of this affinity was the important Catholic component of their identity and its preservation, which facilitated their integration into European, especially French, communities.79 Calls to transcend the confines of such communal identity by Syrian intellectuals, in the form of secular Arab or Ottoman nationalism, did not appeal to the Syrian commercial bourgeoisie, who, according to Philipp, depended on their “minority status” for their success. Numerous religious and national minorities and an increasing European presence, says Philipp, “seemed to make [the Syrians’] existence as a minority not only safe but almost desirable.”80 He explains that as Syrian intellectuals started to disappear and were being replaced by Egyptians, almost all Christian Syrian merchants were involved in the Egyptian-European trade, and their presence in Egyptian commerce was 30 times greater than their ratio to the total population.81 Lacking the numerical strength, the capital, the judiciary and fiscal privileges of the Capitulations to thrive on their own, their prosperity depended almost entirely on their integration into the local foreign bourgeoisie, while integration into Egyptian society would have jeopardized this relationship.82
77 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 162. 78 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 97-8. 79 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 159-60. 80 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 142. 81 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 120-2. 82 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 140.
25 This part of Philipp’s analysis seems to match many of the primary sources; the necessity for the Shawam to build good relations with the foreign communities resident in Egypt is convincing. However, the way in which their cultural alienation hinges on this necessity is, in my opinion, not productive. Such an approach puts all the emphasis on two factors. On one hand the Shawam’s different religion and origin kept them apart from the rest of Egyptian society. On the other hand the promise of material prosperity brought them closer to the Europeans in Egypt. Philipp then concludes that the Shawam’s cultural alienation from Egyptian society was a consequence of these two factors; they turned their back on one culture to adopt another. Such a neat arrangement looks at the Shawam’s French acculturation in isolation from the wider context of the Egyptian francophonie. I will turn to that later in more detail. The factors working against the integration of the Shawam into Egyptian society were sometimes reinforced by the British influence and Egyptian nationalism. The relationship between the Shawam and the British colonial administration may have complicated the former’s relationship with Egyptians. In its classically orientalist/racist language, Cromer’s Modern Egypt gives an idea of how the British Agency dealt with the Shawam. His view of the Shawam is somewhat contradictory, although in general it was rather positive, saying that together with the Armenians, the Syrians were the “intellectual cream of the East.”83 He distinguishes, however, between Syrians who had recently arrived in Egypt to make a fortune, and those who were born in Egypt and were “to all intents and purposes, Egyptian.”84 This could not have been a compliment given his very bleak view of Egyptians. He also describes how “the Copt,” who was not friendly to the English administration, considered the Syrian to be “his rival.” The animosity, according to Cromer, was instigated by changes that the British administration had introduced to the accounting system, previously controlled by the Copts. As the Copts were either unwilling or incapable of cooperating, Cromer says they were replaced by others, many of whom were Syrians.85 Cromer paints a picture of the Shawam, especially recent arrivals, as a very opportunistic community and describes reasons why Egyptians harbored negative
83 Earl of Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, (New York: The Macmillan And Co., 1908), 220. 84 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 220. 85 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 210.
26 feelings towards them. He attributes their importance not to their number, but to the positions they held, as many Syrians were government employees. He also describes how usurers in Egyptian villages were either Greek or Syrian—the Syrian known to be particularly “grasping and merciless.”86 The administrative reforms of Khedive Ismail presented a golden opportunity for the Syrians, allowing them to play their traditional intermediary role, using their knowledge of both Arabic and French: [The Syrian] possessed all the qualifications required. Arabic was his mother tongue. He was generally familiar with French, having been educated at some French college in Syria. He was versatile, pushing, and ambitious…He found, therefore, little difficulty in jostling himself into some position of authority, and once there, being animated by strong feelings of race affinity, he opened the door to others amongst his countrymen, and took little heed of the charges of nepotism which were brought against him.87
Cromer recognizes the negative consequences of the British policy that openly favored the Shawam, admitting it may have rendered the administration unpopular with Egyptians. Implicitly of course, he is also saying the rapport between Egyptians and Shawam could not have benefitted from such a policy. Later on, Cromer is more explicit when he says that the “more intelligent Moslem” started to question the situation: I do not like [the Englishman], but I am aware that he means well by me, and I see that he confers certain material benefits on me, which I am very willing to accept; but what of this Syrian? Am I not as good as he? If native agents be required, why should not my kinsman be employed rather than this alien, who possesses neither the advantages of the European nor those of the true Egyptian?88
Although Cromer gives no statistics, the Shawam’s overrepresentation in public service seems to have stirred a polemic, leading Riaz Pasha to propose a law in 1890 preventing Syrians from working for the Egyptian government. The British administration intervened, however, allowing Syrians who had lived in Egypt for fifteen years or more to work in the public service on the same terms as Egyptians.89 Looking for these important statistics elsewhere, it is not surprising to see for example that in 1905 30% of
86 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 214. 87 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 215. 88 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 216. 89 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 216.
27 high government positions were held by Shawam and Armenians, while only 28% were held by Egyptians, with the rest (42%) going to the British.90 A last revealing passage from Cromer’s Modern Egypt is one of praise for the Syrian upper class gentleman. Contrary to his earlier depiction of the Syrian’s opportunism and nepotism, Cromer goes on to say: [The Syrian] is rarely corrupt. There are many gradations of Syrian society. A high- class Syrian is an accomplished gentleman, whose manners and general behaviour admit of his being treated on a footing of perfect social equality with high-class Europeans. His intellectual level is also unquestionably high. He can do more than copy the European. He can understand why the European does what he does, and he is able to discuss with acuteness whether what is done is wisely or unwisely done. He is not by any means wanting in the logical faculty. It would, in a word, be wholly incorrect to say the he merely apes civilisation. It may be said with truth that he really is civilised. In this respect, he is probably superior, not only to the Copt, but also to the Europeanised Egyptian, who is but too often a mere mimic.91
This passage was quoted in its entirety, without the last sentence of course, and duly translated into French, by Marius Schemeil in an article that he wrote on the Syrian Union in 1914. He was trying to use Cromer’s praise to convince and motivate fellow Syrians to establish the Syrian Union in Cairo.92 This equality with Europeans must have appealed to Schemeil, who went a step further and claimed the Shawam had close ethnic ties with Europeans. He first mentions that it would be difficult to establish a pure Syrian identity given the waves of immigrations and invasions in Greater Syria, which resulted in a large amalgam of peoples: Armenians, Persians, Phoenicians, Romans, Greeks,
90 Lord Milner, “Report of the Special mission to Egypt,” in House of Commons, Sessional Papers 1921, vol. LXII, CMD 1131, London, 1921, 1-40. Quoted in Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 100. 91 Cromer, Modern Egypt, vol. 2, 218. 92 Marius Schemeil, L’Union Syrienne: Son utilité, sa possibilité, son but (Cairo: Imprimerie A. Mourès & Cie, 1914), 6. In the first page, Schemeil talks about the Syrian Union. It was established on the initiative of 45 Syrians of Cairo, who sent a circular around inviting Cairene Syrians to meet up and discuss the possibility of founding a Syrian Union that brings together all the Syrians living in Egypt. Two days later several hundred Syrians convened and founded the Syrian Union of Cairo. See Schemeil, L’Union Syrienne, 1. He thinks the Syrians in Egypt were about 100,000 (an unlikely figure back in 1914) and presumes they are the biggest foreign community in Egypt (again an exaggeration, the Syrians were never more than the Greeks and Italians as far as the statistics show). Schemeil talks about how this loyal community, mostly Christian, has been serving Egypt and yet lacked the one voice that would speak on its behalf, for example, at the Egyptian Legislative Assembly, hence the need for a Syrian Union. See Schemeil, L’Union Syrienne, 4. He also mentions a Club Oriental that had existed for over fifteen years (apparently also for the Syrians).
28 Arabs, Turks, Crusaders, and Egyptians.93 Later on, however, he eliminates all races except Phoenicians and adds that “most enlightened Syrians in the present day are not descendants of ancient Phoenicians, but indisputably [are a result] of a crossbreeding with European races that formed the kingdom of Jerusalem from 1099 to 1187.” Influenced by his own experience in Egypt, he also comments on how Syrians always remain Syrians despite their immigration and innate skills for assimilation: Now, despite all their assimilation skills, Syrians allover the world, including those who have voluntarily adopted the nationality of the countries in which they reside, by legal means and after a long stay, remain Syrians. This is especially the case in the eyes of foreigners and in the eyes of the nation that has accepted and adopted them. This is the natural way of things, against which there is nothing to say or to do.94
Nevertheless, Schemeil’s article carefully emphasizes the loyalty of Syrians to Egypt, and reiterates his belief that together with Egyptians, the Shawam form one family.95 Yet, Cromer was not the only one who referred to tensions between Shawam and Egyptians, and not all the Shawam were as careful in their wording as Marius Schemeil. Philipp, for one, points out how the Shawam dominated the field of the press in its early years and lists some of the frictions that ensued. Before the British occupation, some Shawam intellectuals like Adib Ishaq attacked European interference, appealing for a common Ottoman, and sometimes even Arab identity.96 Yet the relation between the Egyptian and the Shawam press sometimes got out of hand, as was the case in the events leading to the Urabi revolt and the British occupation. Philipp shows how Adib Ishaq had hoped his paper Misr would come to represent the Urabi government, but the latter thought Misr was too moderate for their purposes and preferred the Egyptian al-Taif and
93 Schemeil, L’Union Syrienne, 3. 94 Schemeil, L’Union Syrienne, 3. 95 Schemeil, L’Union Syrienne, 6. 96 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 104-5. In his study of Minorities in the Arab World, Albert Hourani talked about the situation of the Shawam in Egypt in 1945. He described their economic position as very favorable and that many of them were “almost completely Europeanized.” He said they were aloof from the country’s politics, and that their relations with Egyptians might have been better. Egyptians, according to Hourani, often accused the Shawam of collaborating with the British, and did not look favorably on their “social exclusiveness.” The Shawam on the other hand, says Hourani, “often despise the Egyptians as less civilized than themselves, but at the same time fear them as a majority possessed of political power.” See Hourani, Minorities in the Arab World, (London: Oxford University Press, 1947), 48-9.
29 al-Mufid. As the political situation worsened, Urabists became openly hostile to the Syrian press. Syrian papers like al-Mahrusa were closed down and many Syrian journalists returned to Beirut.97 Al-Mufid wrote: The owners of al-Ahwal (Salim and Bishara Taqla), al-Mahrusa (Salim al- Naqqash), and Misr (Adib Ishaq) came to us when their pockets were emptier than their hearts were of patriotism, to which they appealed while promoting their own interest. They called for patriotism and service of humanity as long as the situation was tranquil. When the situation changed they silenced their newspapers and returned to their country with full pockets. Wonderful are the friends who stay with us in happy times and forsake us when we are in trouble.98
Another Egyptian intellectual, Salama Musa, wrote about some of the Shawam intellectuals with whom he had dealt. In his autobiography he praises al-Muqtataf, for example, as having been instrumental in his intellectual formation, but he is also very open about differences between Shawam and Egyptians. He described Farah Antun as “one of the few Lebanese who integrated in the Egyptian national movement a complete integration and was loved and appreciated by Saad Zaghloul,” implying that the majority kept a distance from nationalist movements.99 He described how Jurji Zaidan was not allowed to lecture on Islamic literature at Cairo University because he was Christian, and how this incident hurt Zaidan. He described Shibli Schemeil (Marius’ uncle) as “European in sensibility, thought and even lifestyle.”100 Philipp, however, denies that all Shawam journalists shared the same views towards Egyptian politics. He contrasts al-Ahram to al-Muqattam to make his point. Whereas the former sided frequently with Egyptian nationalists—Mustapha Kamel for example published many of his articles in al-Ahram where Salim Taqla had given him an office— it was also clearly pro-French, and Phlipp finds it difficult to discern al-Ahram’s policy when the French and Egyptian interests did not coincide.101 To counterbalance al- Ahram’s anti-British stance, the British administration financed al-Moqattam in 1888 and entrusted it, again, to a Syrian: Fares Nimr.102 Egyptian nationalists were furious with al-
97 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 104. 98 Al-Mufid, June 22, 1882. Quoted in Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 104. 99 Salama Musa, Tarbiyat Salāmah Mūsá, (Cairo: al-Khānjī, 1958), 46. 100 Musa, Tarbiyat Salāmah Mūsá, 185 and 196. 101 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 106. 102 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 106.
30 Muqattam’s pro-British policies and the paper’s headquarters were ransacked in 1883 and again during the 1919 revolution. Furthermore, the very pro-British Fares Nimr made a statement to Muhammad Kurd ‘Ali in 1908 in which he said: “The lowliest British sergeant is higher than the most exalted Egyptian.”103 Yet, at a later point in his narrative, Philipp thinks that, generally speaking, the Syrians were sympathetic to Egypt, and “certainly were much less outspoken.” 104 He uses al-Hilal and al-Muqtataf as two Shawam periodicals that stayed out of Egyptian politics. Moreover, he finds it remarkable how little Syrian intellectuals wrote about the situation of the Shawam in Egypt, and when they did, it was usually in an apologetic tone, praising the Egyptian hospitality on one hand, and on the other hand reminding Egyptians of the Shawam’s loyalty and their contribution to society, both economically and intellectually.105 Yet he concludes that their visibility in the field of the press—they controlled about one fifth of all Egyptian periodicals before the First World War—ended up doing them more harm than good.106 He believes that the Egyptian intelligentsia, by background and education, were more interested in administration and the press than in economy and the military, and slowly started to reclaim these domains as their own.107
Reinstating Egypt’s Francophone Cosmopolitan Society within the Narrative of Failed Integration Philipp’s narrative helps explain why it was difficult for the Shawam to integrate into Egyptian society. Yet, as I have discussed in the introduction, he focuses almost entirely on what he calls their “de-Arabization” as a consequence of failed integration, which resulted in an affinity towards other European communities living in Egypt. Faced
103 Mohammad Kurd ‘Ali, al-Mudhakkirat, III, (Damascus, 1948-51), 845. Quoted in Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 109-10. In an interview with Massoud Daher in 1983, Soraya Antonius, the granddaughter of Fares Nimr and daughter of George Antonius, told him how much her grandfather loved Egypt. He neither wished to return to Lebanon nor to move al-Muqtataf or al- Muqattam there. See Massoud Daher’s Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām [The Lebanese Emigration to Egypt], (1986; Cairo: Dar Al-Shorouk, 2009), 229. 104 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 110. 105 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 110. 106 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 98. 107 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 100-1.
31 with a binary opposition between the culture and lifestyle of Europeans and Egyptians, the Shawam, according to Philipp, opted for the former: While the immigrant intelligentsia vanished from the Egyptian scene after World War I, the Syrian communities in general, led by the commercial bourgeoisie, remained. But they took a very different cultural road. The secularization of life in these communities, combined with an unwillingness and/or inability to join the secular Arab national society in either its Egyptian or its Syrian variation, led to a growing affinity with European, in particular French, culture and language. In this way, legal and organizational separation from Egyptian society was culturally and socially reinforced while creating, at the same time, closer ties with the local foreign bourgeoisie.108
There are, however, other historical circumstances that contributed to the changing place of the Shawam in Egyptian society which Philipp and Barbotin ignore. Both downplay the agency of a powerful francophone urban society and the central role of French influence and education in this acculturation. As both study the Shawam in isolation, they ignore other communities, including Arabic-speaking Jews and Egyptians, who also underwent the same process. Exploring these circumstances will enhance our understanding of how this cultural transformation occurred, and challenge the clearly defined agency of the Shawam as inscribed in Philipp’s narrative, which imagined a choice limited to two mutually exclusive identities. The situation in Egypt in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century had a strong role in the Shawam’s lack of integration and French acculturation. The multilingual urban society, into which the Shawam were very well integrated and where they cultivated their affinity to European culture and lifestyle, included not only Shawam and Europeans, but also Egyptians, Jews, Armenians and others. Chapter 2 explores the special place that French occupied in Egyptian urban society during the late nineteenth century and until the Suez crisis in 1956. It opens up the national aspect of the much forgotten Egyptian francophonie, which was espoused by Egyptian nationalists in their fight against the British occupation. It shows the centrality of fluency in French to lucrative careers in the press, finance, justice and administration and how it became a common cultural medium for the different foreign communities resident in Egypt, resulting in an Egyptian dialect of French with its own set of words and expressions. This
108 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 153-4.
32 francophonie in its Egyptian variation produced hundreds of literary works and was at the heart of a vibrant intellectual scene that reached its zenith in the interwar period. In the rest of this chapter I will try to examine how the French acculturation of the Shawam was tied to Egypt’s cosmopolitan urban society, which not only posed no threat to the different communal identities, but also seemed to promote them. I also contend that this process ran in parallel to France’s rising cultural influence in Egypt, in which French education enjoyed an unrivaled freedom and played a huge role in the acculturation of the Shawam. This process had started decades before the failure of integration, which Philipp signaled by the disappearance of Syrian intellectuals during and after World War I. A lot has been written about Egypt’s cosmopolitan society, especially Alexandria. Scholarship continues, however, to struggle with the definition of cosmopolitanism, which according to Ilham Khuri-Makdisi is “a term that probably obscures more than it explains.”109 In Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt: Literature, Culture and Empire, literature professor Deborrah Starr stresses the voluntary nature of cosmopolitanism when she refers to it as an “identification with a place and with a collective as a ‘voluntary affiliation,’ not governed by legal definitions of nationality, not by commonly held conceptions of national identity.”110 She argues that although postcolonial approaches (Edward Said and Timothy Mitchell for example) have helped us understand the unequal power relations between East and West, they continue to dominate the study of Egypt’s recent past, suppressing what she refers to as a “cosmopolitan narrative.” Between “colonial encroachment” and “anti-colonial resistance” the cosmopolitan narrative, which explains how foreign communities resident in Egypt became associated with European powers, is lost.111 Her study valorizes what she refers to as a “hybrid cultural identity” that transcended the narrow confines of strong religious and communal identities.112 In order to achieve her objective of “foreground[ing] the cosmopolitan, reading it against and through the colonial experience,” Starr seems to downplay religious and communal identities in order to bring out the “transcendent hybrid cultural identity.” This is all the
109 Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860-1914, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 161. 110 Deborah Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt: Literature, Culture and Empire, (New York: Routledge, 2009), 7. 111 Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt, 8-9. 112 Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt, 14.
33 more evident in her use of Amanda Anderson’s definition of cosmopolitanism— “a cultivated detachment from restrictive forms of identity”—which Anderson believes to have remained constant across different periods and contexts.113 As opposed to Starr’s thesis of “a transcendent hybrid cultural identity,” the scholar of Ottoman port cities, Robert Ilbert, gives more weight to discrete religious and communal identities. In his works, Alexandrie 1830-1930: Histoire d’une communauté citadine and Alexandria 1860-1960: The Brief Life of a Cosmopolitan Community, he describes the Alexandrian model of cosmopolitanism as one that recognized the autonomy of the different communities living in the port city, and he uses the Alexandrian Municipal Council to illustrate how a “community of interest” was run by the wealthy notables of the different communities, who made sure public order was maintained. What allowed this system to flourish, he clarifies, was a fluidity of identity undetermined by a “European sense of nationality:” At the end of the nineteenth century one could still have several nationalities and use them like credit cards to the point that the sole determining criterion rested within the combination of religion and nationality.
As pointed out in the introduction, Ilbert’s model argues that Alexandria’s cosmopolitanism was nothing of an American-style melting pot, but was based on what he refers to as “a certain sense of propinquity:” [The cosmopolitanism of Alexandria] existed not as a crucible but as a dynamic contiguity of recognized and responsible component groups…Groups in this patchwork city preserved their customs and particularities notwithstanding any strong intercommunal ties that may have existed in daily life.114
113 Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt, 10. The definition is from Amanda Anderson’s “Cosmopolitanism, Universalism, and the Divided Legacies of Modernity,” in Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling Beyond the Nation, ed. Pheng Cheah and Bruce Robbins, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998), 266. Starr then clarifies how Anderson sees the variable in her definition to be the “restrictive forms of identity,” and she quotes Anderson again: “In antiquity, with the initial elaborations of cosmopolitanism by the Cynics and Stoics, cosmopolitan detachment was defined against the restricted perspective and interests of the polis. In the Enlightenment, it was defined against the constricting allegiances of religion, class, and the state. In the twentieth century, I think we can fairly say that is defined against those parochialisms emanating from extreme allegiances to nation, race and ethnos.” See Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt, 267. 114 Both quotes come from Robert Ilbert, “A Certain Sense of Citizenship,” in Alexandria 1860- 1960: The Brief Life of a Cosmopolitan Community, ed. Robert Ilbert and Ilios Yannakakis with Jacques Hassoun (Alexandria: Harpocrates Publishing, 1997), 24. The book was first published in
34 In the case of Egypt’s Shawam, there is evidence to support Ilbert’s idea of strong communal ties. The statistics cited earlier on limited intermarriage and the tendency of
French as Alexandrie 1860-1960, Un modèle éphémère de convivialité: Communautés et identité cosmopolite, (Paris: Les Editions Autrement, 1992). In The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860-1914, Ilham Khuri- Makdisi points out how most works on cosmopolitanism in the eastern Mediterranean ports have tended to focus on the elite and the notables. She believes that most works have ignored the role of class in their investigation. In the case of Robert Ilbert, who specifically mentions workers and the poorer Alexandrians for example, Khuri-Makdisi voices reservations about his conclusion that although such workers transcended ethnicity to improve their working conditions, they reverted to ethnic ties, and later to nationalist sentiments, at times of crises. She thinks that Ilbert based his conclusions on a very limited historical period (1919-1921) in which ethnic allegiance may have had the upper hand, but this does not imply communal ties had consistently won over common class interests, see Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 161. At the end of her argument Khuri-Makdisi is clear that she does not imply that an absence of a strong state in Egypt at the time made it easier or more natural for “class solidarity, workers’ militancy, and working class cosmopolitanism” to exist. Instead she calls on scholars who examine “class” and “ethnicity” in late nineteenth/early twentieth century Egypt to consider using different categories of investigation other than the ones usually used in the context of strong states or colonial contexts. See Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 163. Khaled Fahmy has also called for a new approach for writing the social history of Alexandria. He believes Alexandria’s cosmopolitan narrative needs to include the city’s Egyptian population, who was always a majority, and gives three examples where Egyptians were ultimately present: the digging of the Mahmudiyya canal, the dockyard and the Quarantine Board. He also shows that there were other sites of contact that brought working class Egyptians and foreigners together, like bars and markets. See Khaled Fahmy, “Towards a Social History of Modern Alexandria,” and “For Cavafy, with love and squalor: some critical notes on the history and historiography of modern Alexandria,” both in Alexandria: Real and Imagined, ed. Anthonty Hirst and Michael Silk, (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2006). In his recent dissertation “Foreignness and Localness in Alexandria, 1880-1914,” Will Hanley has used a different lens to provide a formidable account of daily practices pertaining to categories of Alexandrians who have not received enough scholarly attention. Relying on British and French consular court records in Alexandria, he problematizes what is seen as contiguous categories of “foreign” and “local,” questioning what it actually meant back then to be considered “foreign” or “local.” He shows that: “Foreignness was above all a position of privilege. If patterns of use and outcome before the courts are used to measure such privilege, it becomes clear that foreignness was not simply determined by birth. The elite foreigners who populate histories of Egypt were as distant from the mass of those who would be considered ‘Western’ at the consular courts as the Turko-Circassian aristocracy was from the Egyptian fellahin.” See Will Hanley, “Foreignness and Localness in Alexandria, 1880-1914,” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 2007), 16. In his approach, Hanley tries to avoid the two extremes that he thinks have dominated studies on Alexandria: “segmented communitarianism” on one hand and “rosy cosmopolitanism” of elites and notables on the other. The consular records allow him to explore other foreigners who were not part of the elite foreign class, as well as the poor non-Europeans and locals, whose status in front of the consular courts was largely determined by class, which included not only economics, but also “education and religion, cultivation and worldliness.” See Hanley, “Foreignness and Localness in Alexandria,” 17.
35 the Shawam to live in neighborhoods close to their churches point to that effect. Furthermore, individual testimonies concur that there was a very heightened sense of community identity, without hindering inter-communitarian interaction. On the contrary, they seem to indicate that such a clear identity was essential for that kind of interaction. Speaking of Alexandrian cosmopolitan society, the Greek-French historian Ilios Yannakakis, who was born in Cairo, says: The very idea of assimilation or integration into the surrounding society and culture was foreign to the community spirit. All the same, the Quartier (Greek, Armenian, Jewish, etc.) was not a ghetto; it was open, porous, socially mobile and well inserted into the “psychology” of the town… If the refusal to assimilate flowed from the foreignness and remoteness of the surrounding culture’s way of life, it also expressed a desire for community cohesion in the face of this environment .115
In his latest novel, Une Soirée au Caire, the journalist and essayist Robert Solé gives an idea of the rarity of intermarriages, and the extent to which they were frowned upon: We lived side by side; we lived together, but without mixing. Everyone had a precise identity which enabled him or her to deal with others. Friendships were solid, but never went as far as marriage. The rare cases of transgression of this rule resulted in tragedies.116
Also, in his autobiography, the Egyptian-Syrian Gaston Zananiri gives his view on the Shawam, their identity, their pride combined with the fear of melting in the larger Muslim society, and the consequent lack of integration: [Egypt] was also the country where we lived in isolation (en vase clos)—like in other Levantine ports—because we felt superior while feeling crushed at the same time. We were conscious of what our families had done for centuries, and that without us, Egypt in the beginning of the twentieth century would never have come that far. We were the elite that never wanted to integrate in this milieu, and
115 Ilios Yannakakis, “The Death of Cosmopolitanism,” in Alexandria 1860-1960: The Brief Life of a Cosmopolitan Community, ed. Robert Ilbert and Ilios Yannakakis with Jacques Hassoun (Alexandria: Harpocrates Publishing, 1997), 193. The book was first published in French as Alexandrie 1860-1960, Un modèle éphémère de convivialité: Communautés et identité cosmopolite, Paris: Les Editions Autrement, 1992. 116 Solé, Une Soirée au Caire, 121-2. I am aware of the complexity of using novels—being artistic productions—as a historical source. Yet in Solé’s fiction—usually based on his personal experience as a Syrian in Egypt—content seems to take precedence over technique, and provides interesting insights into the life of the Shawam in Egypt. As such, I feel comfortable using some of these insights.
36 that is why, with the rise of nationalism, we were excluded. It was the result of our own lack of concern and superiority complex.117
Furthermore, Zananiri’s autobiography offers an anecdote pertaining to the importance of religious identity. When Gaston’s father, George, wanted to marry a Jewish woman, his father told him he could marry whomever he liked, except she had to be Christian at the time of the marriage.118 Such a clear policy of no integration would not have been possible if the situation in Egypt had not allowed, if not encouraged, it. Ilbert believes that the power of the different communities was based on the Ottoman millet system.119 Within that system, the different religious minorities could autonomously manage their own confessional and judicial affairs, as was later confirmed in the Khatti Hamayoun of 1856. In the case of the Shawam, Thomas Philipp believes that the millet system did not help with their integration. As the Greek Catholics were finally recognized as an independent millet, Philipp believes that “genuine integration [into Egyptian society] became less likely than ever.”120 A community was crucial in running the affairs of its members, according to Ilbert. These institutions, he argues, which started as confessional, but were later run by laity, controlled every aspect of social life. They were not only concerned with the poor and helping the new immigrants settle in, but also: They were the sole means of entering into the Ottoman social system which was Egypt’s until 1914 and even beyond, despite the British occupation and later independence. From weddings to wills, everything passed through their councils, which were populated by the long-established wealthy of the city.121
Ilbert’s argument about the role of the millet system creating a certain kind of close-knit community is convincing. Furthermore, Yannakakis posits that in the absence of a nation- state, which was the case for the Shawam, communal identity became its substitute: The ethnic, religious and linguistic identity of community members replaced the weak, uncertain, even mythical, sense of belonging to a nation state which often
117 Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert: Mémoires, (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1996), 16. 118 Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 27. 119 Ilbert, “A Certain Sense of Citizenship,” 24. 120 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 76-7. 121 Ilbert, “A Certain Sense of Citizenship,” 24.
37 did not exist. Paradoxically, it was the external cultural inputs, essentially European, that propped up the community identity.122
Philipp is at his most convincing when he argues that the restructuring of Ottoman heterogeneous and autonomous groups on national basis to create a homogeneous centralized nation-state was essentially one of the main reasons why the Shawam had to emigrate once more after having made Egypt their home for generations.123
French Education in Pre-Revolutionary Egypt: A Short-term Privilege In 1963, Guirguis Salama, the principal of the English School in Heliopolis, which came under government control following the Suez crisis in 1956, published his History of Foreign Education in Egypt in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. As Salama praises the government efforts to bring foreign schools under control, he gives a good idea of how educational experts viewed these schools at the height of Nasser’s Pan- Arabism in the late fifties and early sixties. He appreciates their quality of education, the teachers’ experience and qualifications, and praises their pedagogical methods, organization, taste, cleanliness and impressive buildings.124 Yet he describes them as “a state within the state,” initially built under the Capitulations to preserve the customs and traditions of foreign communities so they would not melt in Egyptian society.125 His criticism resonates deeply with the narrative of Shawam alienation from mainstream Egyptian society: And thus, every year foreign education throws in the midst of Egyptian life graduates who are fluent in the language, history, and civilization of Western countries, and know nothing about the country they live in. They look down on students of government schools and on the Arabic language. Isolated in their ivory tower, they do not mix with the people, and are unaware of their pain, ignorant as they are of the people’s language, history and civilization. They do not share the people’s feelings, because they have not studied their problems, and do not share their feelings and sentiments.126
122 Yannakakis, “The Death of Cosmopolitanism,” 193. 123 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, ix. 124 Guirguis Salama, Tārīkh al-taʻlīm al-ajnabī fī Miṣr fī al-qarnayn al-tāsiʻ ʻashar wa-al-ʻishrīn, (Cairo: al-Majlis al-Aʻlá li-Riʻāyat al-Funūn wa-al-Ādāb wa-al-ʻUlūm al-Ijtimāʻīyah, 1963), 227- 8. 125 Salama, Tārīkh al-taʻlīm al-ajnabī fī Miṣr, 8, 18 and 19. 126 Salama, Tārīkh al-taʻlīm al-ajnabī fī Miṣr, 20.
38 He explains that the European control of the economy under the Capitulations had made it imperative to learn foreign languages, empowering the foreign schools while weakening the Arabic language and government schools.127 Following Egypt’s political and economic independence, he finds it only natural that such an important foreign cultural influence would be subjugated as well by what he calls the “Arabization” of all foreign schools, bringing them directly under the control of the Ministry of Education. He was particularly in favor of law number 160 for the year 1958 stipulating that owners, teachers and principals—except those teaching foreign languages—would all have to be “Arabs,” and that the schools had to follow the Egyptian curriculum and examinations.128 Guirguis is right in confirming that education did not facilitate the Shawam’s integration into Egyptian society. On the contrary, French schools had widened the cultural rift between mainstream Arabic-speaking Egyptians and Shawam, perhaps beyond repair. The Shawam’s lack of interest in communitarian schools and their adoption of French Catholic schools have already been discussed. French schools were seen as the natural choice for the Shawam, especially Catholics. Since the early Capitulations, France was perceived as the protector of all Eastern Catholics. The special relationship that Catholics in Egypt had with France was reflected in what a Maronite priest said to his congregation in the 1890s: “Let us pray for the Sultan, sovereign of the whole Empire, for the Khedive, sovereign of the country, for France, our protector. May our motto always be: the soul for the church, the heart for Egypt, and the mind for France.”129 In addition, the Jesuit school clearly accommodated Eastern Catholic rites, and helped propagate a Catholic education that both Shawam clergy and Shawam parents approved of. As early as 1897, the Greek Catholic Patriarch wrote a letter to the Jesuit fathers in appreciation of “all you do for our Greek Catholic youth.”130 A Greek Catholic priest was placed in the school to preside over Sunday mass and catechism, and students
127 Salama, Tārīkh al-taʻlīm al-ajnabī fī Miṣr, 131. 128 Salama, Tārīkh al-taʻlīm al-ajnabī fī Miṣr, 24. 129 Cited by Louis Malosse, Impressions d’Egypte, (Paris, 1896). Quoted in Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 310. 130 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 142.
39 were allowed to attend mass at the nearby Cathedral on Greek Catholic holy days.131 Responding to a survey in 1955, parents explained why they chose the Jesuit school: moral and religious education was far more important a consideration than education itself. The highest concern was for Catholic traditions that their children would not be able to acquire elsewhere, like in government schools.132 So what kind of education and environment did French schools provide? In 1922, the French writer and member of the Académie Française, Maurice Barrès noted his impressions of a visit he had made to the Collège des frères in Alexandria. He was particularly taken by Eastern Christian and Jewish students, and expressed his admiration for them—albeit in very condescending terms: These little Levantines, sitting in front of the same tables [as I did], and more or less in front of the same lessons that I recited, interest me. They all attend religious lessons respectfully and even participate if they want. Sometimes, a little Jew is the best in catechism. There we can understand the flaw in these children: they lack a spine. They are a rather poor human material. But we make them love France, her values, her loyalty. Italians resist the most, but that is because they have a homeland. The others attach themselves to France…
And addressing these “little Levantines” he goes on:
We give you our language and all the enlightenment and sentiments that come with it. We ask nothing from you in return, except your hearts.133
It was indeed the case that until the beginning of the Second World War the curricula in most French schools were the same as those taught in France.134 Even prior to 1952, tension existed between the Ministry of Education and French schools, where the former was continuously pushing for more government control, teaching Arabic and Islamic religion. The Egyptian Secondary School Certificate had been created in 1887, and in 1913 this certificate or its equivalent became obligatory for anyone who wanted to join the Egyptian higher education schools (which later became the Egyptian University).135
131 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 142. 132 Barbotin, “Les Syriens catholiques en Egypte,” 143-4. 133 Maurice Barrès, Une enquête aux pays du Levant, (Paris: Plon, 1922). Quoted in Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 309. 134 Jean-Jacques Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte (1798-1998), (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2000), 48. 135 Frédéric Abécassis, “L'Enseignement étranger en Égypte (1930-1960),” Aujourd'hui l'Égypte no. 30 (1995) (http://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/docs/00/15/91/89/PDF/aujourdhui.pdf, 3).
40 French schools had to respond to these new changes, and in 1913 the Jesuit school introduced two programs, a French section which prepared students for the French baccalauréat, and another for the Egyptian Secondary Certificate. Yet, even in the latter, most of the subjects were taught in French.136 Although Arabic was taught in both sections, it was taught explicitly as a “foreign language” and students were not allowed to speak it during their playtime.137 Abécassis even argues that it gradually disappeared from the French section.138 Solé points out that although boys were sometimes taught Arabic, this did not happen in the girls’ schools, where “Arabic remained a foreign language, and simply ignored.”139 In 1935 the Lycée français du Caire added an Egyptian section. Respecting the wishes of the Ministry of Education, history and geography were to be taught in Arabic. On this occasion, the principal of the school talked to the press of the Wafd Party expressing his understanding of the necessity for Arabization: “We want to convince our foreign students of the need to learn the language of the country they live in, and which is the main language in the East.”140 Abécassis is struck by the need for school officials to convince their own students of the utility of Arabic, and argues it was an attempt for “re-Arabization,” which the officials perceived as a first step towards the “Egyptianization” of the Shawam, Jews and others.141 Catholic schools remained the most resistant to the introduction of Arabic, compounded with a fear of government intrusion and inspection. Abécassis speaks of a reluctance (réticences) on the part of the Jesuit school to cooperate with the Ministry of Education in the “Arabization of education,” resisting a long-term government process that aimed to define what he calls a “national entity,” providing clearer-cut boundaries between “Egyptian” and “foreigner.” This reluctance and lukewarm commitment to
136 Frédéric Abécassis, “Une certaine idée de la nation: Le collège de la Sainte Famille et l'Égypte nassérienne (1949-1962),” in Itinéraires d'Égypte: Mélanges offerts au père Maurice Martin, s.j., ed. Christian Décobert, (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1992), 250. The French baccalauréat was abolished in 1962. 137 Abécassis, “Une certaine idée de la nation,” 250-2. 138 Abécassis, “Une certaine idée de la nation,” 250. 139 Robert Solé, L’Egypte passion française, (Paris: Seuil, 1997), 285. 140 ADN, série Le Caire Ambassade, volume n°5, revue de presse du 8 octobre 1935. Quoted in Frédéric Abécassis “L'Enseignement français en Egypte dans les années 1930: les dévaluations contraintes d'un modèle,” in Une France en Méditerranée: écoles, langue et culture françaises, XIXe-XXe siècles, ed. Patrick Cabanel, (Grâne: Créaphis editions, 2006), 297-8. 141 Abécassis “L'Enseignement français en Egypte dans les années 1930,” 298.
41 Arabization reinforced the school’s designation, not just as a private or language school, but especially as a foreign school.142 In another article Abécassis describes these foreign schools as a practical counter-model to the nation-state, a relic from an Ottoman past controlled by foreign powers.143 As opposed to Muslims and Copts who had an “Egyptian profile,” he believes that Jews and Catholics maintained “a foreign comportment,” and for them, French schools represented an opportunity to escape from “the rigid shackles of the nation-state.”144 Creating Egyptian sections went on in most schools, however, but not without hiccups. Abécassis highlights a dramatic reaction in Port Said schools where students and parents expressed their “repugnance” that Arabic was to be taught.145 It was only in 1948 that it became forbidden to teach a student a religion that was not his—even if his parents agreed—and in 1953 teaching Islam to Muslim students became obligatory.146 The freedom French schools enjoyed in Egypt seems to have surpassed that in Lebanon, as French Catholic schools there were more accommodating of Arabic. In the biography of Mary Kahil, who will be discussed later in more detail, she evoked her schooling in Cairo with the sisters of the Mère de Dieu. She later went to Beirut where she spent time with the sisters of Nazareth. Mary, who was born in 1889, was very surprised to see that Arabic was being taught in Beirut. Eighty-three years later, in 1972, she remembered her surprise in detail and how she could not read Arabic at all: Je suis allée à l’école chez les Sœurs de ‘la Mère de Dieu.’ Je suis allée partout. On m’a ensuite envoyée à Beyrouth, ou je suis allée chez les sœurs de Nazareth. J’ai été étonnée d’y voir que l’arabe était à l’honneur. Il y avait des cours d’arabe
142 Abécassis, “Une certaine idée de la nation,” 252. 143 Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire,” 216. 144 Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire,” 226. 145 Abécassis “L'Enseignement français en Egypte dans les années 1930,” 299. Abécassis also explains the reason why the Ministry of Education would not recognize the French diploma. Such a recognition would have made the domain of public administration open to graduates of French schools, and thus compete with government schools graduates. See Abécassis “L'Enseignement français en Egypte dans les années 1930,” 299. This might also explain why upon the opening of Victoria College, the Egyptian government immediately recognized the British diploma. British schools were highly elitist; with much fewer students, less competition was expected. See Abécassis “L'Enseignement français en Egypte dans les années 1930,” 284-5. 146 Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire,” 227-8.
42 à trois heures de l’après-midi. Mais moi je mourais de sommeil et je ne savais pas du tout lire.147
Similarly, in a lecture given in 1953, the Egyptian-Syrian writer Joseph Ascar-Nahas called for more attention to Arabic and mentioned how the Frères des Ecoles chrétiennes had followed the example of the Jesuit fathers in Beirut, and published schoolbooks for teaching the Arabic language.148 It is therefore not surprising that some of Egypt’s French speakers expressed reservations about this precarious situation. Concern over the Shawam losing command of their native Arabic was voiced as early as 1914 in a speech given to the Syrian Union by Abdallah Sfer who highlighted the need for building communitarian schools that paid special attention to teaching Arabic.149 Joseph Ascar-Nahas admitted that the situation of francophone students knowing more about France than their own country had to change.150 Students could admirably talk about Clovis and Joan of Arc but knew nothing about Egyptian history; many considered Arabic to be a foreign language and referred to Egyptians in the third person.151 He recommended that French education find a “generous formula” that would allow for “a harmonious alliance” between French and Arabic education “so as not be surprised by events.” He specifically addressed these concerns to girls’ schools.152 Solé juxtaposes two situations that illustrate the widening gap between nationalists and the Shawam, whom Henri Gaillard, France’s representative in Egypt, described, again in condescending praise, as “French at heart” and as “our best clientele in Egypt.”153 After the Second World War, the Nationalist Party of Young Egypt started a
147 Jacques Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte 1889-1979, (Paris: Geuthner, 2010), 31-2. 148 Ascar-Nahas, Egypte et culture française, 10. Joseph Ascar-Nahas (1900-1970), his real name Joseph Nahas Bey, was born in Helwan (Helouan-les-Bains) in the south of Cairo, and received his education in missionary schools. After a law degree he worked for the Compagnie du Canal du Suez. He published a novel, poems, and essays, and gave several lectures. He received the Edgar Poe prize in 1955. See Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 242. 149 Abdallah Sfer, Pour l’union des Syriens dans leurs interets sociaux, (Cairo: 1914), 15 (in the Arabic Section). Curiously enough, this call to teaching Arabic was omitted in the French half of the pamphlet. 150 Ascar-Nahas, Egypte et culture française, 8. 151 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 365. 152 Ascar-Nahas, Egypte et culture française, 30. 153 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 310.
43 campaign asking Egyptians to speak only Arabic, not to reply to anyone who addressed them in another language, and to boycott shops whose names were not written in Arabic.154 On the other hand, Solé describes what seems like a different world: the Scouts de Wadi-el-Nil. Mostly composed of Eastern Christians, these scouts had a French Jesuit chaplain. Modeled after the Scouts de France, the boys wore kaki shorts with fleurs de lys embroidered on their shirts. Even their songs were not different from their homologues in French cities. One of the exercises that Solé mentions, for example, was training the scouts how to make fire in the rain—when, he adds ironically and somewhat sadly, that it hardly rains in Egypt. Seeing that the scouts were being referred to as khawagat on the streets, some of the leaders became worried. In 1948 they started a program which they called: “Effort d’Egyptianisation au Caire.” The general commissioner, William Assis, wrote in the group’s bulletin (in French); Our Boy Scout Movement cannot continue to live on the fringe of the Egyptian questions, ignoring the country, its problems, [and] its language. It has to integrate into the nation, into society, or disappear.155
Consequently, they devised four main “efforts” for integration. They were to replace the chapeau with the tarboush, to use Arabic but “not at the expense of the link with the Occident, especially Latin culture,” to introduce activities with Arab or Egyptian themes, and finally to “Arabize” the badges. Solé concludes that these efforts were implemented to some degree, but with little outcome. Most of the Scouts de Wadi-el-Nil continued, he says, “to sing, to think and to dream in French. Their Christmas tree continued to be covered with snow, and little Jesus in his crib continued to have a desperately light complexion…”156
The Shawam, Egyptians and Others In his criticism of foreign schools and their graduates, Salama does not explicitly mention the Shawam. In fact he speaks very generally about the rising number of Egyptians, and how they have became the majority of students—hence the need for more
154 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 364. 155 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 364-5. 156 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 365.
44 government control.157 Prior to the sixties, however, if Catholic schools were seen as the natural choice for the Shawam, the average Egyptian student tended to go to a public government school, also referred to as an “Arabic school.”158 Yet, in his analysis of the number of students of different origins and confessions in French schools, and in agreement with the data presented earlier by Philipp, Abécassis argues that Egyptians were not alone in what he refers to as a “national resistance to the radiance of French institutions.” Greeks, Italians, and Germans resident in Egypt also tended to send boys to their respective national schools, which were considered to be “constitutive” of their identity. As for girls, the question was less critical, and parents of all these groups were willing to send their girls to French school and pay the fees.159 In another article, Abécassis also shows that in the 1930s, similar to the Egyptian government, Greeks and Italians became more assertive, and sometimes even clashed, with a dominating French culture. Although French continued to be taught in Greek and Italian schools, Greek language became obligatory in Greek primary schools. Similarly, the number of Greek students in the Collège Saint Marc saw a “brutal drop,” as they started to opt either for Greek or Egyptian diplomas. The Alexandrian Littorio, a complex of Italian schools, was officially inaugurated in 1933, so that Italians could have a more “patriotic” education, and was placed under the direct control of the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Direct confrontations happened as well, as in the case of a sermon delivered in French in Port Said, where the priest was violently interrupted: “We do not want to speak French here, it is an Italian church, it is a fascist church.”160
157 Salama, Tārīkh al-taʻlīm al-ajnabī fī Miṣr, 19. 158 In his autobiography, Gaston Zananiri mentions that in Alexandria, sons of most Muslim families went to the Frères des Ecoles chrétiennes, and later held very important positions. He must have been referring to notables, as he later mentions that public schools were frequented by the “modest classes.” See Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 60. It is worth mentioning that the first foreign language taught in government schools was English, which replaced French after the British occupation, further widening the gap between students of French and government schools. It is not surprising that Nasser, and most of the Free Officers, who came to challenge the existing regime and its francophone elite, had received their education in government schools. 159 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 111. 160 Archives diplomatiques, Paris (ADQO), Série K-Afrique 1918-1940, sous-série Égypte, volume 102, p. 144. Quoted in Abécassis “L'Enseignement français en Egypte dans les années 1930,” 282. Ilbert also mentions Italians who occasionally wrote to their Consul in French. See Ilbert, “A Certain Sense of Citizenship,” 19.
45 Although the narrative of cosmopolitan Egypt has tended to exclude Egyptians from that society, there was of course social and cultural interaction between Egyptians and others, including the Shawam. In Magda Baraka’s work on the Egyptian elite, The Egyptian Upper Class Between Revolutions 1919-1952, it is not surprising to find that members of the Egyptian upper class were also criticized for being alienated from mainstream Egyptian society. First Baraka uses three criteria to identify the upper class in Egyptian society: wealth, descent and kinship, in addition to education and behavior.161 She focuses on the huge divide between rich and poor and its different manifestations: inhabiting a different urban space, leading a different lifestyle and having a different education. Although Baraka focuses on the Egyptian upper and middle classes, her study highlights a stronger Egyptian presence than what is sometimes portrayed in the literature of a cosmopolitan Egypt without Egyptians. She quotes the late professor Magdi Wahba, who pointed out to her the existence of a social interaction between Levantines—whom she identifies as “Westernized Syrians, Jews, Armenians, Greeks (and perhaps Italians)”—and many members of the Egyptian upper class, especially the younger ones. He suggested that such links between Levantines and Egyptians were “well worth studying.”162 Baraka shows that upper and middle class Egyptians inhabited the same urban space as the Shawam and other foreign residents. Similar to the Shawam, she argues that upper class Egyptians started moving from the older Cairene neighborhoods to Zamalek and Garden City, while the middle class, who could not afford such high rents, also left the old city but to more affordable neighborhoods, like Shubra, Sakakini, Zahir and Heliopolis.163 As pointed out earlier, these areas were home to the vast majority of the Shawam. In 1925 Heliopolis counted a significant number of Egyptians alongside other communities: 50% Egyptian, 30% Syrian and 20% European (mostly Greek and
161 Magda Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 1919-1952, (Reading: Published for the Middle East Centre, St. Antony’s College, Oxford, by Ithaca Press, 1998), 45. This, according to Baraka, included “owners of 500 feddans and over, leading members of the liberal arts and professions, high-ranking government officials, the higher strata of business entrepreneurs covering industry, trade, and brokerage.” See Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 46. 162 Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 153. 163 Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 97.
46 Italian).164 Regarding social venues, Baraka talks about Downtown Cairo and specifically the area that forms a triangle between Kasr el Nil, Suliman Pacha and Fouad streets. She describes it as an area “embracing a score of tearooms and Parisian-style cafes, antique shops and art galleries, where the Europeans, upper-class Egyptians and the Levantines did their shopping.”165 She argues that even popular leisure activities, like old feasts, were appropriated by the poor, while the richer middle and upper-middle classes turned to more fashionable forms of leisure such as going to beaches, theatres or cinemas.166 Although Baraka admits the importance of foreign languages, and especially French, in pre-revolutionary Egypt, she pays very little attention to the role of French schools and how they operated.167 She mentions that upper-class families tended to send
164 Robert Ilbert, “Heliopolis: colonial enterprise and town planning success?” in The Aga Khan Award for Architecture, The Expanding Metropolis Coping with the Urban Growth of Cairo, 39. Quoted in Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 108. Khedive Ismail’s urbanization of Cairo and the split of the city into old and new cities have been the subject of much attention. Timothy Mitchell for example, shows how the French experts insisted on excluding the older parts from the new city. He quoted Henri Pieron who explained how the Arab town “must be preserved to show to future generations what the former city of the Caliphs was like, before there was built alongside it an important cosmopolitan colony completely separate from the native quarter… There are two Cairo’s, the modern, infinitely more attractive one, and the old, which seems destined to prolong its agony and not to revive, being unable to struggle against progress and its inevitable consequences. One is the Cairo of artists, the other of hygienists and modernists.” Mitchell then comments that colonialism did not actually ignore the older part of the city, but ended up dividing the city into two. See Henri Pieron, “Le Caire: Son esthétique dans la ville arabe et dans la ville moderne,” L’Egypte Contemporaine 5 (January 1911): 512, quoted in Timothy Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, (London: University of California Press, 1991), 163. Similarly, the divide between old and new, indigenous and European, was a continuous source of tension in the novels of the Egyptian-Syrian novelist, Albert Cossery, who referred to the new Cairo as the “European city.” Among the most famous of his novels were Les Hommes oubliés de Dieu (1940) and Mendiants et orgueilleux (1955). 165 Magdi Wahba, “Cairo Memories,” Encounter, vol. 62 (May 1984): 74. Quoted in Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 119. 166 Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 121-2. 167 For more on French influence in Egypt, see the next chapter. To make her point, Baraka uses a long quote from Wahba who says: “The social circles of the Mixed Courts, where justice was dispensed in French by Scandinavian, Italian, German, American and British judges, belonged essentially to this French-speaking world. The banks and cotton houses, the vast majority of foreign schools, the Catholic missions in Egypt, the nascent Fouad the First secular university, the Royal Family…, the Egyptian plutocracy (both Moslem and Coptic), the Masonic lodges, the department stores, the Suez Canal Company, the majority of the press (including the editors of Arabic papers), the eligible young girls of all communities who expected brilliant marriages, the habitués of the tea-rooms and restaurants, the young cinema industry, the legal profession, the better-class brothels, the hotels, the tram and metro inspectors, the learned societies, the Antiquities Service, and naturally the French community itself—all were
47 their children to French and English schools, and that especially for girls, “a French education was almost essential.”168 She eventually notes, however, how the over- westernization of the Egyptian elite became “a subject of remark,” and discusses Muhammad al-Muwailhi’s Ḥadīth ʼĪsá ibn Hishām, which he wrote at the turn of the twentieth century. In this work a dead pasha was resurrected a few generations later and was horrified to see his grandson gambling, drinking and communicating—not in Arabic or Turkish—but in foreign languages. Similar to the Shawam, the phenomenon became more noticeable in the second generation, according to Baraka: Nevertheless, European influence was evidently making itself felt more with the second generation of the upper class than the first…The generation of 1919 was reading Anatole France, Bernard Shaw, H. G. Wells, Bertrand Russell and later embodiments of the fusion between enlightenment and nineteenth-century liberal and positive thought…Unlike their fathers, men of the second generation either continued their studies in Europe or remained in Egypt in schools where, in most cases, mastery of one or two foreign languages was achieved.169
The mastery of one or two foreign languages often came at the expense of Arabic. In an interview with the francophone Egyptian poet Ahmed Rassim, Jean-Jacques Luthi expressed his admiration for the poet’s mastery of French. Rassim, who had also worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was Governor of Suez and later became head of the Press Bureau and the Tourism Bureau, explained the social and cultural conditions that had perfected his French. As a child, he was raised by a French governess, and later, the Alexandrian milieu where he lived usually communicated in French. He finished his higher education at the Ecole française de droit in Cairo and then held several diplomatic posts abroad. He was also very close to a circle of francophone writers and journalists. As for Arabic in his life, Luthi put the following sentence in parenthesis: “We only spoke Arabic with the domestic staff (domesticité).”170 If cultural alienation existed among the Egyptian upper and upper-middle classes, class alone does not explain the cultural transformation of the Shawam. If the Muslim
French–speaking.” Magdi Wahba, “Cairo Memories,” 76. Quoted in Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 135. 168 Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 156-7. 169 Baraka, The Egyptian Upper Class between Revolutions, 147-8. 170 Jean-Jacques Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte: et fragments de correspondances, (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2008), 82.
48 and Coptic higher bourgeoisie attended French schools, Egyptian schools remained the general education choice for Egyptian students. Using government statistics from 1937, Philipp has shown that 99.8% of Muslim students and 80% of Coptic students attended schools that were directly under the inspection of the Egyptian government.171 As already shown, the Shawam on the other hand were heavily concentrated in French schools. Even among the poorer Shawam, there is evidence to suggest they received a French education. On one hand the statistics retrieved by Philipp show how unpopular government schools were among the Shawam.172 On the other hand poorer students could attend a communitarian school or a subsidized French Catholic school, as money from a paying French Catholic school usually financed students in poorer neighborhoods. Even in the few Shawam communitarian schools where Arabic was taught, French was still the language of instruction.173 The story of the Shawam in Egypt remains a particularly stark example of French acculturation.
Conclusion This chapter has tried to situate the cultural alienation of the Shawam in the context of an Egyptian urban cosmopolitan society in which French language and culture held a privileged place. This society had inherited many characteristics from the Ottoman millet system in which there was no incentive for the Shawam to seek integration into mainstream Egyptian society. Instead, it offered them the opportunity to reinforce their communal identity while promising further success and material gain by fostering closer ties with Egypt’s powerful foreign communities. Within that system, which took care of its members, the community was extremely important. Yet, the most formidable explanation for the Shawam’s cultural alienation lies in the French schooling system, which they adopted completely, encouraged as it were not only by France’s traditional role as protector of Eastern Catholics, but also because of what this kind of education promised in an Egypt dominated by foreign powers and the Capitulations. Such a quality education, which completely detached them from the Arabic language and the reality of the country, was responsible in many ways for the acculturation that ensued and which
171 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 156. 172 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 156. 173 Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt, 156.
49 put the Shawam, and students from other communities, on the fringe of mainstream Egyptian society.
50 Chapter 2
French Influence in Egypt: An Untainted Colonialism
“Voici des Musulmans, des Maltais, des Grecs, des Italiens, des Arméniens, des Juifs, des Syriens, et bien d’autres. Familles d’esprits aux contrastes et aux oppositions innombrables, mais qui se sont pliés à une même règle et ont accepté une discipline semblable, celle de la langue et de la culture françaises. Peut-être cette langue et cette culture touchent-elles en moi ce que nous avons de commun, nous autres riverains de la Méditerranée, je veux dire le goût pour les idées pures, pour la Raison.”174
- Elian J. Finbert (Francophone Egyptian writer)
In 1956 the Suez crisis dethroned France from the privileged place it had occupied in the Nile valley for over a century and a half. The weight of this crisis was felt most by Egypt’s urban cosmopolitan communities, including the Shawam, to whom French had become a common language and, by extension, a common cultural vehicle. This chapter looks at the special relationship between Egypt and France, which reinforced the French acculturation of the Shawam. It explores some of the conditions that made the adoption of French culture and language not only possible, but also highly desirable for the different communities. This chapter will try to show that the linguistic and cultural identity embraced by the Shawam was the product of a polyglot urban society, in which they coexisted with other local and foreign communities living in Egypt, and into which they were completely integrated. France was perceived not only to have discovered Egypt’s ancient past during and following Napoleon’s campaign, but also to have played a pivotal role in building the modern Egyptian state. This chapter will examine the particular conditions that placed this special relationship beyond the traditional colonial framework, ensuring for France
174 “Here are Muslims, Maltese, Greeks, Italians, Armenians, Jews, Syrians, and many others. These families, with minds of countless contrasts and oppositions, have adapted to the same rule, and have accepted a similar discipline, that of the French language and culture. Perhaps this language and that culture touch in me what we, other residents of the Mediterranean, all have in common. I mean to say the taste for pure ideas and for Reason.”
51 and its culture a moral superiority over English.175 The British occupation in 1882, initially a blow to the more established French influence, ironically only served to reify it, and nationalists like Mustapha Kamel and Saad Zaghloul turned to Britain’s traditional rival for support. In a sphere of influence that included justice, administration and commerce, the jewel in the crown of French presence in Egypt was the missionary and secular French schools. Together with socio-economic conditions that made fluency in French highly rewarding, these schools provided a shared cultural medium and linguistic identity to Egypt’s urban cosmopolitan society, while forging a powerful political, economic and cultural elite. This chapter draws on both primary and secondary sources to offer a narrative on the Egyptian francophonie. Although recent French scholarship has explored the much- forgotten movement, this chapter provides a synthesized overview that offers a history of the French cultural influence in Egypt. The abrupt end of this long cultural relationship, the animosity of the revolutionary regime, the emigration of the different francophone communities, decades of disinterest and the state of the francophonie in Egypt today, make this overview necessary. The details of the preponderance of French influence in an Egypt occupied by the British may be surprising, but are relevant in the discussion of the cultural alienation of the Shawam. Such details account for daily choices and help break away from the simplistic formula that French acculturation was a means to embracing the “foreign” and rejecting the “local.” The boundaries were not always this clear.
France: The Model of Choice of an ‘Awakened’ Egypt The place reserved for French language and culture in Egypt figured highly in Franck L. Schoell’s La Langue française dans le monde, published in 1936. Schoell, a graduate of the Ecole normale supérieure whose works were honored by the Académie française, observed in this book the receding influence of the French language around the world.176 He concluded that French could no longer play the role of the universal
175 Richard Jacquemond. Entre scribes et écrivains: le champs littéraire dans l’Egypte contemporaine, (Paris: Sindbad, 2003), 147. 176 Schoell’s L’Humanisme continental en Angleterre à la fin de la Renaissance and his translation from Polish of Ladislas Reymont’s Les Paysans were honored by the Académie
52 language as it had since the eighteenth century, something that Albert Dauzat from the Académie française, saw as an “exaggerated pessimism.”177 In a section devoted to the Levant, a region where French “occupies a special place,” he examined Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and Egypt. To the latter he devoted the larger part of his chapter and noted, despite his general pessimism, how a set of circumstances “hardly found anywhere else,” had rendered the situation of the French language in Egypt very favorable.178 He noted that “among the countries of the Near East where French is used as a language of culture, Egypt undoubtedly occupies the first place.”179 While most scholars focus on the legacy of France in Lebanon, for example, it is striking that Shoell’s book gives such important weight to Egypt. This special place was repeatedly and proudly celebrated in Egypt’s francophone periodicals. On 25 November 1945, the weekly Images reported on a lecture by Jacques Tagher, the first in a series devoted to French influence in Egypt since the military failure of Bonaparte’s expedition and the “extraordinary success” of the cultural missions.180 The magazine wrote: “It was by the mind and the heart that France conquered Egypt… A series of remarkable men in all domains, including Clot Bey, Mariette, Linant Pacha, Cérisy, and de Lesseps all contributed in making Egypt enamored of French culture despite political complications like 1882 and the Fashoda incident.”181 These “remarkable men” had put their expertise in the service of Egypt and its rulers. Their names became associated with modern medicine, Egyptology, public works and irrigation canals, the modern Egyptian navy and the Suez Canal. More importantly, they came to symbolize a
Française. He also wrote Charlemagne (The distracted emperor), an Anonymous Elizabethan Drama published by the Princeton University Press. 177 Albert Dauzat, preface to La Langue française dans le monde, by Franck L. Schoell (Paris: Bibliothèque du “Français Moderne,” 1936), 7-9. 178 Franck L. Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, (Paris: Bibliothèque du “Français Moderne,” 1936), 228. 179 Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 220. Schoell devotes three pages to Turkey (209- 213), four and half to Syria and Lebanon (213-217), two and half to Palestine (217-220) and ten pages to Egypt (220-229). 180 Jacques Tagher (1918-1952) was a historian born to a Catholic family. He worked in the private royal library and published historical studies on Mohamed Ali and Ismail, before founding the periodical Les Cahiers d’histoire égyptienne. He published his Sorbonne thesis “Coptes et Musulmans” in 1952 but it was banned in Egypt. He died soon after in a car crash. See Jean- Jacques Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 258. 181 Images, “Aux A.C.F.E.,” November 25, 1945, sec. Mondanités, 12.
53 solid link between Egypt’s “awakening” and France—a link summarized by the historian Georges Lecarpentier, and which the article also quoted: “France has resurrected (ressuscité) ancient Egypt and has given rise to (suscité) contemporary Egypt.”182
Modern Egypt and France: A Long History The special relationship between modern Egypt and France finds its roots in Napoleon’s expedition (1798-1801) and Mohamed Ali’s modernization project in collaboration with French experts. At the peak of France’s influence in Egypt the ambiguity inherent in Napoleon’s expedition—between its self-portrayal as a scientific cultural mission and its colonial ambitions183—was downplayed in favor of what literature professor and translator Anouar Louca describes as an “unexpected contact that came to remove [Egypt] from its serene indifference.”184 The Description de l’Egypte, the Institut d’Egypte, the introduction of the printing press, deciphering hieroglyphics and Egypt’s first periodicals, were the first fruits of this contact. In her research on the French language in Egypt and its literary production, the linguist Irène Fenoglio argues that Bonaparte’s technical and scientific team established a precedent, whereby cultural exchanges started to develop between Egypt and Europe, especially France, during the reign of Mohamed Ali (1805-1848).185 In 1809 Egypt’s viceroy sent the first educational mission to Italy before shifting his attention to France in 1826 under the influence of Drovetti and Jomard.186 These
182 Images, “Aux A.C.F.E.,” November 25, 1945, sec. Mondanités, 12. 183 Frédéric Abécassis, “Une certaine idée de la nation: Le collège de la Sainte Famille et l'Égypte nassérienne (1949-1962),” in Itinéraires d'Égypte: Mélanges offerts au père Maurice Martin, s.j., ed. Christian Décobert, (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1992), 250. 184 Anouar Louca, Voyageurs et écrivains égyptiens en France au XIX siècle, (Paris: Didier, 1970), 24. The debate resurfaced in Egypt in 1998, between those for and against celebrating the expedition’s 200th anniversary. The role of Napoleon’s expedition in Egypt’s “awakening” has been a subject of scholarly debate. Peter Gran for example has tried to show that the work of the Ulama between 1760 and 1840 was supportive of capitalism and secular culture. See Peter Gran, Islamic Roots of Capitalism: Egypt, 1760-1840, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1979). 185 Irène Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” in Entre Nil et sable: Ecrivains d’Egypte d’expression Française (1920-1960), ed. Marc Kober, Irène Fenoglio and Daniel Lançon (Paris: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, 1999), 16. 186 Anouar Abdel-Malek, L’Egypte moderne: Idéologie et renaissance nationale, (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2004), 119-20. In Voyageurs et écrivains égyptiens en France au XIX siècle, Anouar Louca cites a letter dated January 7, 1826 from Drovetti to Boghos, Mohamed Ali’s Minster of Foreign Affairs. Boghos had asked Drovetti’s opinion whether the Pasha should send
54 missions would include not only the future reformers like Rifaʻah Tahtawi, Ali Mubarak and Sharif Salim, but also members of the Mohamed Ali family. The missions were seen as instrumental in Egypt’s modernization and reinforced the idea that the French model was the modernizing model “of choice.” Louca puts it this way: These men [Tahtawi, Mubarak and Salim] considered France as a school of civilization, and their stay in Paris as an invitation and a learning experience. Once they were back, they formed a bridge between Egypt and Europe—which they identified directly with France.187
The sociologist Anouar Abdel-Malek goes even further and argues that Mohamed Ali expressed francophile sentiments that resonated not only with the “new elite,” who were the graduates of the educational missions, but also with some influential Azharites who were deeply marked by Napoleon’s scientific mission, most notably ʻAbd al-Raḥmān al- Gabartī and Ḥasan al-ʻAṭṭār, Rifaʻah’s teacher and the precursor of Muhammad ʻAbduh.188 The largest of these missions was “biʻthat al-angāl” or “the mission of the sons,” which included Mohamed Ali’s son, Prince Halim, and the future Khedive Ismail.189 Ismail’s infatuation with Paris left its marks on all his projects, especially the urbanization of Cairo and Alexandria “à la française,” what Ahmad Chafik called his “Haussmannization mania.”190 The link between the new modern city and Paris became a leitmotif. Jeanette Tagher wrote in the Cahiers d’histoire égyptienne: “Cairo changed its face, becoming a miniature Paris, a city of boulevards and ballets, of casinos and musical
the students to Italy or to France. The Italian did not recommend Italy explaining that intellectual life was under the pressure of a reactionary regime, and where the Greek war would incite unfavorable reactions to Muslim students, a problem they would not face in France where the French were well-disposed towards Turks. See Louca, Voyageurs et écrivains égyptiens en France au XIX siècle, 37. 187 Anouar Louca, Voyageurs et écrivains égyptiens en France au XIX siècle, 114-5. Louca’s book was initially his Sorbonne doctoral dissertation under the supervision of Jean-Marie Carré. Carré was the Dean of the Faculty of Arts at the Egyptian University, and a popular and active figure in Cairo’s vibrant francophone circles in the 1930s. Carré wrote the famous work Voyageurs et écrivains Français en Egypte in two volumes, a title that is echoed in Louca’s own title. 188 Abdel-Malek, L’Egypte moderne: Idéologie et renaissance nationale, 147. 189 Louca, Voyageurs et écrivains égyptiens en France au XIX siècle, 77. 190 Ahmad Chafik, L’Egypte moderne et les influences étrangères, (Cairo: Imprimerie Misr, 1931), 48-9. Chafik (1860-1940) was a historian and minister under Khedive Abbas II.
55 cafes.”191 The notion of a “modern” Egyptian state and a “modernizing” elite became deeply associated with France, its language and culture.
The British Occupation and a Legitimate Francophilia Missionaries, French businessmen and the sizeable French community of engineers and administrators in the Suez Canal Zone considered losing Egypt to the British a loss of their perceived domain. The historian Samir Saul describes how “passionate voices declared that the only greater loss was that of Alsace-Lorraine.”192 A Jesuit could not help but see the loss of Egypt as a divine punishment: From the bottom of my heart, I cannot stop myself from screaming: poor France! You should have conquered this magnificent country and raised the cross in it. As punishment for your crimes, perhaps God has entrusted this mission to someone else!193
Ironically, the British occupation increased France’s cultural influence for two reasons. On one hand, such an occupation spared France a direct colonial role in Egypt and allowed her to capitalize on economy and culture. This situation, as pointed out by Richard Jacquemond, created a distinction between francophone Egyptian intellectuals and other intellectuals from the French colonies. The latter were condemned to “invent the myth of a dual France, the colonizing, reactionary and racist France, and the noble generous France, mother of art and literature, the emancipator, creator of the rights of man and citizen.”194 The Egyptians, on the other hand, could seek “Parisian recognition” without compromising their political demands. According to Jacquemond “it was striking to see the principal Egyptian writers of French expression slip into the mould of that language, naturally, without remorse or ulterior motives.”195 On the other hand, the nationalist struggle against the British naturally turned to Great Britain’s traditional rival for support, further ridding French of any suspicion.
191 Jeanette Tagher, “Les Cabarets du Caire dans la seconde moitié de XIX siècle,” Cahiers d’histoire égyptienne VII, no. 3 (June 1955): 186-195. Quoted in Louca Voyageurs et écrivains égyptiens en France au XIX siècle, 121. 192 Samir Saul, La France et l’Egypte de 1882 à 1914: Intérêts économiques et implications politiques, (Paris: Comité Pour L’Histoire Economique et Financière de la France), xv. 193 In Compagnie de Jésus, Relations d’Orient, 1883. Quoted in Robert Solé, L’Egypte passion française, (Paris: Seuil, 1997), 259. 194 Richard Jacquemond. Entre scribes et écrivains, 142. 195 Richard Jacquemond. Entre scribes et écrivains, 142.
56 Telling the success story of Henri Curiel’s Jewish family, and of others who made fortune in Egypt, Gilles Perrault talks about a “collective phenomenon devoid of intrigue:” They are all in league with European capitalism whose privileges are guaranteed by British bayonets, but their emotional and intellectual involvement with France exonerates them from any suspicion of complicity with the occupying force. Better still: francophilia is, in Egypt, a way of affirming one’s anglophobia…196
This francophilia cannot be understood in isolation from what the historian Ilios Yannakakis refers to as a wider francophile wave that swept through the Mediterranean basin from the beginning of the French Second Republic. A much wider circulation of French and foreign language newspapers also helped boost French culture in the region. This francophilia was not limited to the elites, but extended to the middle classes and to Arab nationalists who “took their inspiration from the French constitutionalist spirit and the model that France represented.”197 This was certainly true for two of Egypt’s most influential nationalist (and francophone) leaders, Mustapha Kamel and Saad Zaghloul. Kamel had made Paris the center from which he pleaded Egypt’s cause in Europe. He wrote extensively in European papers and addressed the French senate in 1895 soliciting France’s assistance; the same assistance, which he argued France had lent to the United States, Italy, Belgium and Greece in their fights for independence.198 He composed poetry and prose appealing to the generosity of the “great French nation,” which “declared the rights of man, and led him on the path of progress and civilization. The Egyptian nation has come to this generous nation pleading for help. Will its pleadings find an answer?”199
196 Gilles Perrault, A Man Apart: The Life of Henri Curiel, trans. Bob Cumming (London and New Jersey: Zed Books Ltd), 41. 197 Ilios Yannakakis, “The Death of Cosmopolitanism” in Alexandria 1860-1960: The Brief Life of a Cosmopolitan Community, ed. Robert Ilbert and Ilios Yannakakis with Jacques Hassoun (Alexandria: Harpocrates Publishing, 1997), 193. This work was first published in French as: Alexandrie 1860-1960, Un modèle éphémère de convivialité: Communautés et identité cosmopolite (Paris: Les Editions Autrement, 1992). The Second Republic was the French government between the revolution of 1848 and Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte’s Second Empire. 198 ʻAbd al-Raḥmān Rāfiʻī, Muṣṭafá Kāmil: bāʻith al-nahḍah al-waṭanīyah, (Cairo: Dār al-Hilāl, 1950), 50. 199 Rāfiʻī, Muṣṭafá Kāmil, 51.
57 Although disappointed by the Fashoda incident in 1898 and the Cordial Entente in 1904, Egyptian nationalists continued to turn to France for support. In a letter dated 31 July 1919, the Egyptian delegation to the Conference of Versailles (headed by Saad Zaghloul) addressed the French Parliament and made Egypt’s case to the French people. After citing Egypt’s wartime support for the Allied Forces and highlighting the injustices committed by the British in Egypt, the delegation devoted the last five paragraphs to an appeal and a highly sentimental reminder of the two countries’ special relationship: It is undeniable that Egypt has been France’s eldest daughter in the East for a century. France was the first to take Egypt’s hand towards independence under Mohamed Ali, and it was France who has surrounded Egypt with unlimited care from the beginning. These friendly relations have continued throughout last century, and consequently our education and national sensibility were given a purely French tint; our laws are nothing but French laws. All this has installed in the hearts of Egyptians a trust in France, which makes them now ask her in the name of truth and justice to raise her voice in their favor.200
France’s reaction to the nationalists’ sentimental appeals is beyond the scope of this study, but clearly France was not indifferent to its weight in Egypt. France was the first country to recognize Egypt’s ostensible independence in 1922.201 The British Agency was clearly uncomfortable with the French influence in Egypt. The historian William Welch, who studied the British rule in Egypt, describes how the British Agency was concerned with what he refers to as “Gallicized Egyptians.”202 Cromer, for example, reprimanded Khedive Abbas II for the generosity that he extended to Juliette Adam, Kamel’s confidante and supporter in France, during her visit to Egypt.203 Welch portrays French influence in Egypt as a major obstacle to what he calls the “work of reform” that British officials wanted to undertake, and only served to increase tension between the two European powers. The French, for instance, resolutely defended their administrative positions. As Welch puts it “once a post was
200 ʻAbd al-Raḥmān Fahmī, Mudhakkirāt ʻAbd al-Raḥmān Fahmī: yawmīyāt Miṣr al-siyāsīyah, vol. 2, ed. Yūnān Labīb Rizq, (Cairo: al-Hayʼah al-Miṣrīyah al-ʻĀmmah lil-Kitāb), 50. Referring to Egypt as France’s “eldest daughter in the East,” could also be a clin d’œil to France—the “eldest daughter of the Church” (la fille ainée de l’église romaine). 201 Robert Solé, L’Egypte passion française, (Paris: Seuil, 1997), 319. 202 William M. Welch Jr., No Country for a Gentleman: British Rule in Egypt 1883-1907, (Connecticut: Greenwod Press, 1988), 110. 203 Welch Jr., No Country for a Gentleman: British Rule in Egypt 1883-1907, 92. Abbas II was eventually deposed by the British in 1914.
58 filled by a Frenchman, that position was deemed a French preserve.”204 If in retrospect Welch traces this important influence to France’s deep involvement in Egypt since Mohamed Ali, Schoell had noted the opinion of his contemporary English observers. He showed how Murray Harris seemed to think that French culture had a particular appeal in the Levant: “The Gallic form of culture, which is so readily absorbed by all races of the Levant, has also given the French a considerable advantage in other spheres.”205
Egypt’s Urban Communities: The Adoption of French as a First European Language To further understand the situation of the French language in Egypt until 1956, Robert Ilbert, Fenoglio and Schoell highlight a dichotomy that existed between Egypt’s rural and urban communities. The remarkable division between multilingual urban centers—in Cairo, Alexandria and other main cities—and the more populated but illiterate rural areas made what Fenoglio calls “the sociolinguistic situation” in the second half of the nineteenth century very complex.206 At the time of Shoell’s study, he mentioned 14 million inhabitants, 85% of whom lived in the country where Arabic was the only language used. The rest were distributed among Egypt’s largest cities: Cairo (900,000), Alexandria (500,000), Mansourah (65,000), Suez (45,000), Port Said (105,000), Damietta (35,000), Assiut (52,000)…etc. In the cities of Lower Egypt, he spoke of a considerable foreign community of about 250,000 people, whom he described as “very influential and diversified but nevertheless in their grand majority are driven towards French, and who all in all have adopted this language as a common European language.” To explain the mobilization around the French language on behalf of the urban communities, Fenoglio argues that the native Egyptian aristocracy was the first to be able “to invest on the level of the habitus and on the symbolic level on acquiring a language of a second culture.” 207 The rising bourgeoisie and the many cosmopolitan communities desirous to express themselves in what was seen as a “universal” language quickly
204 Welch Jr., No Country for a Gentleman: British Rule in Egypt 1883-1907, 53. 205 Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 205. Schoell quotes Murray Harris and makes a reference to “his volume on Egypt (1925).” Schoell does not include a bibliography, but he is most probably referring to Harris’s book, Egypt under the Egyptians, published in 1925. 206 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 16. 207 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 20-1.
59 followed suit. Made accessible by missionary schools, they turned to French and, henceforth, what Fenoglio sees as “a linguistic differential” marked them as a social elite that played its role until the 1952 revolution.208 Fenoglio argues that “a language is practice, it is made to be spoken;” the conditions in Egypt provided ample opportunity for French to be used in all sorts of practical functions independently of personal communication.209 Furthermore, it simultaneously produced and was produced by this urban cosmopolitan society. She sees cosmopolitanism as the social effect of a myriad of ties that have to converge in order to participate in this phenomenon and to constitute it. For this to happen they need what she calls “a common ground in the literal sense,” which can be nothing but a common language: The common path, in Egypt, is linguistic expression. Strategies of differentiation to distinguish belonging and cultural identity work within a general group strategy, a strategy of convergence and standardization. The standard is a common language. Within this framework we can understand the mobilization in Egypt around French language. This mobilization gave substance to cosmopolitanism and offered it a symbolic gratification as well. This mobilization not only built cosmopolitanism but it was also a product of it; the different communities were sustained due to this cultural medium and as long as that medium continued to exist.210
The strong francophile sentiments associated with France’s role in the creation of a modern state—shared by important Egyptian nationalists and Wafd politicians— conferred legitimacy on the French influence in Egypt. These positive sentiments along with Capitulatory privileges, an active francophone press and powerful French educational establishments, contributed to making French this “cultural vehicle.” Despite replacing French with English in government schools, the British were still unable to impose English as a colonial language. If England controlled the government, the police and the army, France held on to the press and the most prestigious schools.211 Instead of ceding to the British, the journalist and essayist Robert Solé argues that French language occupied an “exceptional place in the salons, intellectual circles, businesses, justice,
208 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 20-1. 209 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 21. 210 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 24. 211 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 10.
60 administration and even among family members.”212 French was used for daily instructions, street names, shops, and cinemas.213 Train tickets, postage stamps and, until a few years ago, the Egyptian passport, were all in French and Arabic. It became unimaginable for a young man interested in an administrative or commercial career not to know French.214 In addition to influencing elite culture and nationalist rhetoric, France was a key economic player in the country. The Capitulations had made Egypt one big “free zone” to European economic interests, allowing Europeans in Egypt to live in a state of “euphoria.”215 Francois I was the first European monarch to sign a Capitulations treaty with Suleiman the Magnificent in 1535 and these agreements were later ratified at the London Convention of 1840 ensuring their continuity and observance in Egypt. By applying a principle of “extra-territoriality,” the Capitulations not only guaranteed the individual freedom of all foreign communities, but also gave them important judiciary, legislative and fiscal immunities.216 The Capitulations, combined with France’s influence in Egypt, allowed French investments to grow even after the British occupation, surpassing even those of the occupier.217 Contemporary English observers, according to Schoell, remarked a “natural tendency” towards collaboration with the French whenever the creation of a new business enterprise was concerned. They attributed this inclination to “subtle Jesuit propaganda” which acquainted the country with French “methods and thinking habits.”218 Regardless, an inquiry by the Quai d’Orsay in 1902 revealed that out
212 Robert Solé, preface to Entre Nil et sable: Ecrivains d’Egypte d’expression française (1920- 1960), ed. Marc Kober, Irène Fenoglio and Daniel Lançon (Paris: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, 1999), 7. 213 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 20 214 Jean-Jacques Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte (1798-1998), (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2000), 73. 215 Joseph Ascar-Nahas, Egypte et culture française, (Cairo: Editions de la Société Orientale de la Publicité, 1953) 10. Robert Ilbert compares Egypt to a big free zone in “A Certain Sense of Citizenship,” in Alexandria 1860-1960: The Brief Life of a Cosmopolitan Community, ed. Robert Ilbert and Ilios Yannakakis with Jacques Hassoun (Alexandria: Harpocrates Publishing, 1997), 29. The book was first published in French as Alexandrie 1860-1960, Un modèle éphémère de convivialité: Communautés et identité cosmopolite, Paris: Les Editions Autrement, 1992. 216 Abdel-Malek, L’Egypte moderne: Idéologie et renaissance nationale, 74. 217 Saul, La France et l’Egypte de 1882 à 1914: Intérêts économiques et implications politiques, xv. 218 Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 224.
61 of 62 countries, Egypt came sixth in terms of French capital investments.219 In his detailed study of the economic relations between Egypt and France from 1882 to 1914, Samir Saul carefully analyzed the scope of French investments in Egypt, including the powerful Universal Company of the Suez Canal, the Crédit Foncier Egyptien (1880) and the Sugar Refineries.220 Other investments included the Crédit Lyonnais (1867), the Lebon gas company (established in Cairo in 1867 until the expiry of its monopoly in 1940), in addition to the Water and Electricity companies. Famous Parisian department stores opened branches in Cairo: le Louvre, le Printemps (1896 on Kasr al-Nil street), and le Bon Marché (Emad al-Din street).221 Despite good relations with the Egyptian government, it was not surprising that France was the European power mostly opposed to the abolition of the Capitulations at the Conference of Montreux in 1937. The stakes were too high: 60% of all foreign investments in Egypt belonged to French citizens, amounting to a heavy 25% of the country’s wealth.222 Combined with other businesses that used French in their transactions, it is understandable why fluency in French became such a necessity for lucrative careers in administration and commerce. Solé cites an Arabic journal article summarizing the status of the French language in 1923 (an article deemed important enough to be communicated to the Quai d’Orsay) Even if I am an admirer of the English civilization and literature, I have to admit that studying French is much more useful for a young Egyptian than English. It is French that he has to learn from the first year of primary school. Why? Because even though the French language has been combated for forty years, it has always maintained in Egypt its due place.
The author goes on to explain that if two candidates applied for a job at the Anglo- Egyptian Bank, one of whom knew only English while the other knew only French, the latter would surely be hired. Anyone who wrote in Arabic to the Anglo-Egyptian Bank would receive a reply in French.223
219 Saul, La France et l’Egypte de 1882 à 1914: Intérêts économiques et implications politiques, xv. 220 See Saul, La France et l’Egypte de 1882 à 1914: Intérêts économiques et implications politiques. 221 Jean-Jaques Luthi, Egypte qu’as-tu fait de ton français ?, (Paris: Synonym S.O.R, 1987), 55. 222 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 351. 223 Ministère des Affaires étrangères, “Alexandrie, 29 Octobre 1923,” série K-Afrique, 1818- 1940, sous-série Egypte, vol. 33. Quoted in Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 320-1.
62 Another key product of the Capitulations was the Mixed Courts, which made justice another French sphere of influence. Established in 1875 to settle legal disputes between Egyptians and foreigners, as well as disputes between foreigners of different nationalities, the courts were an important step towards Egypt’s judicial independence and limiting the abuse of the consular courts, according to Ahmed Chafik.224 The complexity of the legal system, however, encouraging manipulation and favorable verdicts, caused Nubar Nubarian Pasha to label the Mixed Courts a “Judiciary Babylon.”225 Yet the same complexity, the legal competencies it required and the multitude of litigations involved impressed Shoell. He believed that such an environment maintained “a highly-developed judicial mind” in the country and the French language itself benefitted from the logic and precision of these immense tasks.226 Although Arabic, English, Italian and French were the four authorized languages in court, French was the dominant language in defense speeches as well as in official documents, especially with the adoption of the Code Napoleon, simplified and adapted to Egypt.227 Jacques d’Aumale, who represented France in Cairo during the interwar period, commented favorably on a situation in which “French codes and French law manuals had become the instruments of all judges, making knowledge of French indispensable…A lawyer would be taking a risk if he did not make his case in French. French language, French thought and French law dominated.”228 Lawyers and magistrates were trained at the École française de droit in Cairo, or at the Faculty of Law at the Egyptian University. The former was founded in 1890 and funded entirely by the Quai d’Orsay, dispensing degrees in law from the Sorbonne without the students having ever left Egypt.229 The Faculty of Law at the Egyptian University had a French section, and students in the English section had to study French in order to have access to the “indispensable law manuals.”230 Law
224 Chafik, L’Egypte moderne et les influences étrangères, 45. 225 Nubar Pacha, Mémoires, (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1983), 149. 226 Shoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 224. 227 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 279. 228 Jacques d’Aumale, Voix de l’Orient, (Montreal: Variétés, 1945), Quoted in Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 279. 229 Frédéric Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920: une nébuleuse à plusieurs degrés de francité,” Documents pour l’histoire du français langue étrangère ou seconde, no 27 (December 2001): 103-5. 230 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 280.
63 graduates could also work in administration, on the Bar or in banks.231 The courts employed a large number of clerks, bailiffs and secretaries who invariably had to know French. Shoell mentioned an incident during the Conference of the Codification of International Law in The Hague in 1930: “as we listened to Balaoui Pasha develop the most nuanced theses in impeccable French, everyone had the impression of listening to a French master.”232 The press was yet another domain where French influence was evident. The French press in Egypt had started with Napoleon, whose expedition published Le Courrier d’Egypte and La Decade égyptienne. During Ismail’s reign, however, francophone journals and periodicals vastly expanded. In his study of the French influence on the literary press in Egypt, Rouchdi Fakkar notes the great resemblance between Egypt’s early francophone press and its equivalent in France. French editors or their descendants were in charge and had maintained a strong “spiritual and intellectual relationship” with France. According to Fakker “the title, the different sections, the page layout and the general form gave the impression that one was reading a periodical published in France and not in Egypt.”233 The French journalist Jules Munier indicated that Egyptian intellectuals not only read but also wrote for these periodicals. Their collaboration was most evident in bi-lingual periodicals, such as Le Bosphore Egyptien and Le Memphis (French journals with an Arabic edition) as well as Al-Mu’ayyad (an Arabic journal with a French edition).234 In his 1936 study, Shoell inventoried dailies and periodicals published in languages other than Arabic: 15 out of 30 dailies and 35 out of 79 periodicals were published in French.235 In 1938, for 200 Arabic periodicals appearing in Cairo, there were
231 Shoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 224. 232 Shoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 224-5. 233 Rouchdi Fakkar, L’Influence française sur la formation de la presse littéraire en Egypte au XIX siècle, (Paris: Guthner, 1972), 53. In his study, Fakkar looks at the French influence on the literary press in Egypt, which includes not only the francophone press, but also the Arabic press with francophile tendencies like al-Ahram. 234 Jules Munier, La Presse en Egypte: Notes et souvenirs, (Cairo, 1930), 29, quoted in Fakkar, L’Influence française sur la formation de la presse littéraire en Egypte au XIX siècle, 76. 235 Shoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 226-7.
64 65 periodicals in other languages, 44 of which were in French.236 In the beginning of the fifties, Cairo had four daily francophone papers: Le Journal d’Egypte (1936-1994), Le Progrès égyptien (1893-), La Bourse égyptienne (1898) and La Patrie. Solé describes the weekly Images (1929-1973) as a “sought-after supplement.”237 Other important periodicals with wide readership included La Revue du Caire (1938-1964), the monthly Revue des Conférences françaises en Orient (1936-1951), L’Egypte nouvelle (1922), and the Cahiers d’histoire égyptienne (1948-1969).238 It is interesting to note that newspapers in languages other than Arabic and French sometimes published supplements or entire sections in French in order to reach a wider cosmopolitan readership. The Greek Phare d’Alexandrie decided in January 1874 to publish a French edition to expand its circulation, while the Egyptian Gazette was compelled to publish half its pages in French.239 Yet by far, the cornerstone of the French cultural influence in Egypt was French education, in its missionary and secular variants. As opposed to Greek, Italian and American schools targeting particular clienteles—mostly Greek, Italian and Coptic respectively—French and British schools were seen as “cosmopolitan and inter- communitarian melting pots.”240 Whereas British schools were highly elitist (2,000-4,000 students before the Second World War), French schools enrolled a significant number of students (20,000-35,000 students, about half of all students receiving their education in foreign schools).241 Open to students from all nationalities and religions, French schools attracted a wide mix of backgrounds: French and other Europeans but also a large number of Egyptians and Syro-Lebanese. At the turn of the twentieth century, half of the students were Catholic, and the rest were Muslim, Jewish, a large percentage of Orthodox students
236 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française,” 21. The rest of the 65 periodicals were 5 in English, 8 in Greek, 4 in Armenian, 1 in Turkish, 1 in Italian, 1 in Persian and 1 in Hindustani. 237 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 362. 238 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 362. 239 The information on the Gazette is from Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 264-5, whereas the information on the Phare d’Alexandrie is from Fakkar, L’Influence française sur la formation de la presse littéraire en Egypte au XIX siècle, 74. 240 Frédéric Abécassis, “L'Enseignement étranger en Égypte (1930-1960),” Aujourd'hui l'Égypte no. 30 (1995) (http://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/docs/00/15/91/89/PDF/aujourdhui.pdf, 2). 241 Abécassis, “L'Enseignement étranger en Égypte (1930-1960),” 2.
65 (Coptic and Greek) and fewer Protestants.242 In 1908, 25,000 students, i.e. a sixth of all students in the country, attended French schools, in addition to another 2,500 who attended non-French schools, e.g. the Alliance Israélite, which also offered education in French.243 In the 1930s there were 400 foreign schools in Egypt, with a student population of about 75,000, an impressive 25% of all students in Egypt.244 In the beginning of the 1950s there were 150 French schools with 55,000 students, in addition to over 50 schools (Greek, Jewish, Armenian and Italian), which paid important attention to teaching French.245 French schools received generous and systematic support from the French government and the Egyptian ruling family. The latter’s favorable position towards France and French influence started with Mohamed Ali and in general his descendants shared his francophile sentiments. Mohamed Ali, after the French tried to support him at the London Convention in 1840, said the following: All my life, I will be grateful for what [France] has done for me, and when I die, I will hand down my gratitude to my children, and will advise them to always remain under the protection of France.246
Almost a hundred years later, in April 1939, the nineteen-year-old King Farouk wrote a “touching message” to France in a special edition of Le Temps devoted to Egypt: I am overcome with emotion as I address France. I would like to tell her that I know her and that I love her. I know her through her long and prestigious history, through her literature and her arts. I love her scholars, her peasants, her artisans. I love her elegance and also her familiar simplicity. I love her patriotism and her generosity. I love her living and her dead, through Champollion, Mariette, de
242 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 281. At this time “students” actually refer to the students who were enrolled in schools. The illiteracy rate among Egyptians at the time was quite high and the vast majority of school-age population was not in school. 243 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 280. 244 Abécassis, “L'Enseignement étranger en Égypte (1930-1960),” 1. Abécassis cites the following source: Statistique scolaire de l’Égypte, publication périodique du Ministère des Finances (1906-1952), which excludes kuttabs and elementary education facilities. 245 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 362. 246 Jacques Tagher in a special edition of the Cahiers d’histoire égyptienne consecrated to Mohamed Ali. Quoted in Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 92. Solé comments that it is hard to say whether the resourceful Mohamed Ali was only saying this to seduce Paris and acquire additional advantages, capable as he was at any time of “leaning on France to refuse an English demand, and leaning on England to oppose a French project.”
66 Lesseps and Soliman Pasha. Hail to the great nation to which my country and my house are so solidly linked.247
French schools profited well from such close ties between the ruling family and France. Mohamed Ali’s son Said (1854-1863) was generous to French and Italian missionary schools to the detriment of public ones. His generosity solicited the following comment from the English scholar on Egyptian education, J. Heyworth-Dunne, in the 1930s: On the whole, Egyptian cultural interests were not served by Said Pasha. His negligent policy towards them is blameworthy for he could see the growth of European schools all around him and actually gave several of them great help; apart from the government buildings which he gave away, the amount of money which he gave to the Frères in Cairo and to the Italians in Alexandria was probably more than he spent on his educational budget during the whole of his reign.248
Although such negligence towards public education was rectified by his successor Khedive Ismail (1863-1879), support for foreign educational institutions continued during Ismail’s reign. As J. Heyworth-Dunne put it: “the growth and development of European schools and those belonging to the local communities is the most remarkable feature of [Ismail’s] reign.”249 In 1879, the Jesuits founded their famous school, the Collège de la Sainte Famille, and the French General Consul, M. Godeau, took it upon himself to present the superior of the school, Père Jullien, to the Khedive.250 In 1916 Sultan Hussein (1914-1917) paid the Jesuit school a visit accompanied by two of his sons-in-law, Prince Ismail Daoud, his aide-de-camp, and Mahmoud Fakhry Bey, his first chamberlain. Addressing the Jesuits before the whole student body gathered to celebrate his visit, he indicated his sons-in-law and said: “Here are two products (fruits) of your schools. May God bless your schools and their graduates (fruits).” 251 In 1921, the French consul informed the Quai d’Orsay that Sultan, later King, Fouad (1917-1936) had visited
247 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 348-9. 248 J. Heyworth-Dunne, An Introduction to the History of Education in Modern Egypt, (London: Luzac, 1939), 340. 249 J. Heyworth-Dunne, An Introduction to the History of Education in Modern Egypt, 406. J. Heyworth-Dunne wrote that 130 foreign schools were opened between 1863 and 1879. 250 J. Heyworth-Dunne, An Introduction to the History of Education in Modern Egypt, 410. 251 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 285.
67 the foreign schools in Alexandria. After having received the Sultan 7 times during 8 days of royal visits to French schools, the Consul went to thank him in the palace.252 French influence was also felt in higher education. In addition to the École française de droit already discussed, the Egyptian University regularly hired a number of foreign professors, a large number of whom were French and Belgian, especially in the faculties of Arts and Law.253 When the Egyptian University became a state-owned university in 1925 and tried to reunite the existing establishments of higher education in the form of faculties, it became a cultural battleground for France, Italy and England, all adamant on securing chairs in the Arts and Law faculties.254 The new Law faculty competed with the already well-established École française de droit and the attempts by the Palace to retain the judiciary field as a francophone domain.255 The French government took the French schools very seriously. The French secular law of 1905, which separated church and state, had no impact on the support Catholic schools received from the French government in Egypt. Solé explains that: Even at the highest moments of anticlerical campaigns [in France], religious schools in Egypt continued to receive all support from the governments of the Third Republic…Not a single important event or a prize-giving day would take place in the French schools without the active diplomat in Cairo or Alexandria being present in the front row.256
Shoell attributes the success of French in the Levant not only to the experience and competence of the professors, but also to the “generosity of the French state,” and the financial support it gave to a great number of schools in the region.257 During the negotiations at Montreux in 1937, faced with France’s resistance to the abolition of the Capitulations, some Egyptian intellectuals professed their surprise that a secular state would fight for the protection of religious privileges.258 Yet this protection was hardly new. It had figured very highly in the negotiations leading to the Cordial Entente of 1904, when France insisted on the protection of all French educational establishments. Such
252 Archives diplomatiques françaises, Affaires étrangères, “Alexandria, December 1, 1921,” Correspondance politique. Egypte. Quoted in Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 284. 253 Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 225. 254 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 106. 255 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 106. 256 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 281. 257 Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, 208. 258 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 352.
68 recognition implicitly confirmed the domination of the French cultural influence in Egypt and the crucial role played by the schools in preserving that influence. In addition to official support, French schools filled a significant void in educational facilities following the bankruptcy of the Egyptian government and the British occupation. Until Napoleon’s campaign, education was offered by religious institutions—kuttabs and al-Azhar—and the different communities were not always able to build their own schools.259 The state was slow in building “modern” schools and the expansion in public education during Ismail’s reign had come to a painful halt following the bankruptcy of the government and the establishment of the Caisse de la Dette (Commission of the Public Debt). The failure of the British educational policies (the budget assigned to education never exceeded 1% of the annual budget between 1883 and 1901), and Lord Cromer’s opinion that modern education would only produce frustrated “half-westernized” Egyptians, increased the demand for French schools significantly.260 The missionary schools—whose work began in 1844 with the arrival of the sisters of St. Vincent de Paul261—were initially established to convert Orthodox Copts to Catholicism, to counter the efforts of the very active American Protestant missions, and to ensure the best education for Latin and Oriental Catholics.262 Quickly, however, they started to attract the sons and daughters of Muslim and Coptic high bourgeoisie, including the future mother of King Farouk herself.263 These paying notables became an important source of income to the schools and helped maintain other charitable Catholic schools built for non-paying Catholic students.264 Furthermore, the presence of the notables’
259 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 18. 260 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 100-1. Before 1882 there were over 25 secondary schools, this number went down to 3 in 1906. Restricting education to the affluent classes was seen as a means to “political stability.” See Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 100-1. 261 Ascar-Nahas, Egypte et culture française, 7. After the sisters of St. Vincent de Paul, Nahas mentions the arrival of the sisters of Notre-Dame de la Charité du Bon Pasteur d’Angers, the Frères des Ecoles chrétiennes in 1849, the Jesuits in 1869, the sisters of la Mère de Dieu and the Congrégation de Notre-Dame de Sion in 1880, the fathers of the Missions Africaines de Lyon in 1890, the brothers of Lamennais in 1904, the sisters of the Déliverande, of Notre-Dame des Apôtres, of St Joseph de l’Apparition, the Congrégation du Sacré-Cœur and others. 262 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 106-7. 263 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 108. 264 Frédéric Abécassis, “Conversion religieuse et identités nationales en Egypte dans la première
69 children guaranteed “the perenniality of the schools against any unforeseen turn of political events.”265 The missionary schools were an astounding success. They offered a carefully monitored single-gender education space that reassured parents.266 In the second half of the nineteenth century, 90% of educated girls had received their education in missionary schools.267 Statistics show the preponderance of foreign education in Egypt: in 1906, foreign schools formed 41.4% of all educational facilities in the country, attracting 36.7% of all students.268 In 1933, the Ministry of Education had direct control over 20% of students in Egypt, far less than the foreign schools in the same year.269 After independence in 1922, however, the Egyptian government started to spend heavily on education. The result was an increase in the number of government schools while the number of foreign schools remained relatively stable. Consequently, in 1951 the percentage of foreign schools dropped to 12.8% of all schools in Egypt, responsible for educating only 8.7% of the students.270 Another important, but less populated, network of French schools was the secular French Lycées, which started in the 1870s.271 The first school of the Alliance Israélite Universelle opened in Cairo in 1896, followed by those in Alexandria (1897) and Tanta (1905).272 Abécassis explains that these communitarian schools started losing a number of their students to the benefit of the newly constructed Lycées of the French Secular moitié du XXe siècle,” in Conversions Islamiques: Identités religieuses en Islam méditerranéen, ed. Mercedes Garcia-Arenal, (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 2001), 291. 265 Abécassis, “Conversion religieuse et identités nationales en Egypte dans la première moitié du XXe siècle,” 291. 266 In 1878 for 35 governmental schools for boys, 5370 kuttabs and 2 Coptic schools, there were 91 foreign schools, where education was primarily in French. As for girls, for 2 governmental schools and 2 Coptic schools, there were 38 foreign schools. See Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 19-21. 267 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 20. 268 Frédéric Abécassis, “Approche d’un champ: l’enseignement étranger en Égypte, d’après la statistique scolaire de l’Égypte, 1921-1951,” Égypte/Monde arabe, Première série, L’éducation en Égypte (2008), http://ema.revues.org/index101.html. Appeared in Egypte - Monde Arabe (CEDEJ) no. 18-19 (1994) (http://halshs.archivesouvertes.fr/docs/00/15/91/91/PDF/Approchechamp.pdf, 4). 269 Frédéric Abécassis, “L'Enseignement étranger en Égypte (1930-1960),” 2. 270 Abécassis, “Approche d'un champ: l'enseignement étranger en Egypte,” 4. 271 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 19. 272 Abécassis, “Conversion religieuse et identités nationales en Egypte dans la première moitié du XXe siècle,” 291.
70 Mission (Mission laïque française) in Cairo (1906) and Alexandria (1909). Nevertheless, the overall number of students in this secular network remained far inferior to the missionary schools (less than 25% of students in all French schools).273 Despite a larger recruitment of Muslim and Orthodox Christian students than Catholic schools, secular French schools remained particularly popular with Jews and Greek Orthodox. Abécassis has analyzed this variation in clientele, attributing it to what he calls “tradition” and “politics,” which worked together to maximize the French cultural influence. On one hand, Eastern Catholics preferred missionary schools, which were associated with France’s traditional role as protector of Eastern Catholics. On the other hand, the French Revolution with, in Abécassis words, “its model of emancipation and focus on the citizen,” made secular schools particularly attractive to the Jewish population.274 In the 1937-1938 school year, 54% of the students in the Lycée du Caire were Jewish.275 The fact that French schools were open to students of all nationalities and religions helped propagate the myth that they were Egypt’s melting pot—the Mixed Courts being the guarantor.276 Yet at the heart of these schools, argues Abécassis, was The interest of a common class [that] favored the adoption of a language that allowed for inter-communitarian exchange; a training ground where this language was acquired and where people marked their territory, where they learned to deal with each other without intruding on each other’s domain, where subtle and fluctuating borders of influence and exchange were continuously being re- drawn.277
Furthermore, these schools crystallized many families’ hope of being incorporated into the powerful economic, political and cultural foreign elite and to acquire a privileged status through the Capitulations.278 Even after the regime change in 1952, French schools, especially Catholic ones, continued to bear the mark of a certain elitism that was appropriated by the new revolutionary elite:
273 Abécassis, “Conversion religieuse et identités nationales en Egypte dans la première moitié du XXe siècle,” 291. 274 Frédéric Abécassis, “L'Enseignement étranger en Égypte (1930-1960),” 2. 275 Abécassis, “Conversion religieuse et identités nationales en Egypte dans la première moitié du XXe siècle,” 291. 276 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 109. 277 Frédéric Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire: enjeux de formation d'une élite nationale,” in Entre réforme sociale et mouvement national, identité et modernisation en Egypte (1882-1962), ed. Alain Roussillon, (Cairo: CEDEJ, 1995), 223. 278 Frédéric Abécassis, “Ecole étrangère, école intercommunautaire,” 216.
71 By teaching French, these schools not only offered the “technical possibility” of speaking the language, but they also helped diffuse a certain cultural habitus of the Egyptian aristocracy. Having a fiancée raised by the nuns of the “Mère de Dieu,” the “Notre-Dame des Apôtres,” or the “Sacré-Cœur,” marked the first step of a process of agglomeration to a prestigious francophone elite; a process sanctioned by educating the son at the Collège de la Sainte Famille. There, links with the children of notables would be woven. It was less the foreign education in itself that was sought, but rather the integration into the elite that had access to this education.279
Access to education—synonymous in most cases with French education—played a major role in Egypt’s social and political life between 1919 and 1952; it legitimized political power and, together with fluency in French, offered access to prestigious careers.280 The result, according to Jean-Jacques Luthi, was a francophone community that formed an urban elite, limited in number, but powerful in finance, commerce, justice and administration.281 This community readily considered itself an elite to the extent that a French marine officer visiting Alexandria remarked that “all intellectuals in Egypt come from our schools.”282 Furthermore, as will be shown later in more detail, francophone periodicals were largely consistent in referring to this community as the intellectual elite of the nation. The idea of French “universality” as the ideal tool of communication between elites of different cultures was omnipresent. The first issue of l’Egyptienne, the feminist magazine founded by Hoda Chaaraoui, declared that: In founding this review in a language that is not ours, but which in Egypt as well as elsewhere is spoken by all the Elite, our aim is double: to make known the Egyptian woman abroad, as she is in our days… and to enlighten the European public opinion with regards to the real social and political state in Egypt.283
Similarly, in the first issue of the Revue du Caire:
279 Frédéric Abécassis, “Une certaine idée de la nation,” 269. In this article Abécassis devotes an entire section to this appropriation: “De la Répression à l’Appropriation (1956-1962).” 280 Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français dans les années 1920,” 103 and 106. 281 Jean-Jacques Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 15. 282 Archives diplomatiques du Quai d’Orsay, Série K-Afrique, sous-série Égypte, volume n°6, p. 34-69. Rapport du 1er décembre 1921 du contre-amiral Grandclément au ministre de la Marine. Quoted in Frédéric Abécassis, “L’Enseignement du français en Égypte dans les années 1920,” 97-8. 283 L’Egyptienne. First Issue. February 1925.
72 The Association internationale des écrivains de langue française, whose headquarter is in Paris, shines in all the civilized world, because the civilized world is more or less a tributary of the French culture and thought, even when countries and peoples do not know the language of Ronsard and Pascal.284
In 1945, to celebrate its 20th anniversary, the association of the Amis de la culture française en Egypte published a book bearing its name. The short introduction highlights the choice of French language and culture: not only does it describe French as the “universal language” in Egypt, considered by all a “mark of distinction,” but also, with its clarity and precision, French is presented as the finest instrument of knowledge and mutual understanding.285
Egypt, What Have You Done With Your French? Networks of excellent French schools in the main Egyptian cities, along with socio-economic conditions that promoted the use of the language, resulted in a “French of Egypt.” In two important works, Egypte, qu’as-tu fait de ton français ? [Egypt, What Have You Done with Your French?] and En quête du français d’Egypte [Looking for the French of Egypt] Jean-Jacque Luthi studied with great detail the spoken Egyptian French. He concluded that the French of Egypt was a dialect of its own, much like Algerian or Quebec French.286 It was a French deeply marked by Egypt’s polyglot urban society, something that the Egyptian poet and novelist Elian Finbert had evoked in one of his novels: In the conversation, he made use of two, sometimes three languages at the same time. When a word escapes him, or does not immediately come to his mind, he finds its equivalent elsewhere, in another vocabulary, and immediately slips it in, sure that his listener would understand it.287
284 Revue du Caire. First Issue. April 1936. 285 Brin, Morik. “L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte.” In Les Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925-1945), ed. Morik Brin (Cairo: Editions Horus, 1945), 8. 286 Jean-Jacques Luthi, En quête du français d’Egypte, (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2005), 237. 287 Elian Finbert, quoted in Luthi, Egypte, qu’as-tu fait de ton français ?, 62. Elian J. Finbert (1899-1977) was born in Palestine and moved to a tiny village in Lower Egypt with his parents when he was one year old. After an initial education at a kuttab, he joined the missionary school in Tantah and started to compose poetry verses. Besides poetry, he wrote several novels, and his Le Fou de Dieu earned him the Prix Renaissance in 1933. He died in Paris in 1977. See Jean-Jacques Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 248.
73 As a result of daily interaction, many words and expressions, mainly from Arabic and Turkish, but also from Italian, Greek, Armenian and Hebrew, infiltrated the French language. Luthi points out the reluctance of journalists and writers to use this dialect in writing, but it still appeared in certain journals, e.g. L’Egypte nouvelle (1922-1925) and in theatre comedies, if only for entertainment.288 He traced the features of this dialect in the francophone press and other francophone literary works to compile an “approximate” list of 60 pages, of such borrowed words and expressions, explaining their meaning and context.289 He counted over 1,000 such words and expressions in addition to other lexical and grammatical innovations.290 More importantly, he argues that one could indeed speak of a French specific to Egypt, where the local francophones were conscious they would not be fully understood except within “their local or social group” and that their conversation would be sometimes obscure to someone from Metropolitan France.291 He was not able to locate noteworthy differences between the local French spoken in the different urban centers in Egypt, and concluded that a certain “cohesion and relative unity” existed.292 Solé distinguishes several levels of fluency in French. Between the refined French spoken in the very closed circle of the Alexandrian Municipal Council and the impromptu French the man on the street had learned from the neighbors, there was the French of the French schools. Ethnic origin had some impact on the students’
288 Luthi, Egypte, qu’as-tu fait de ton français ?, 62. 289 See Luthi, Egypte, qu’as-tu fait de ton français ?, 63-127. Luthi later expanded and republished his book under En quête du français d’Egypte, were he included excerpts from these literary works to further illustrate where and how these words and expressions were used. 290 Some of the Egyptianized expressions include the following: “Il va couper les billets,” instead of “il va prendre” or “il va acheter les billets.” To “cut the ticket” in the Egyptian dialect refers to the tickets seller actually detaching the ticket from the tickets book. The Egyptian structure is also used when saying: “Il est entré dormir/ se baigner,” “il est sorti travailler,” “il est parti manger,” or when saying “allume la lumière!” Instead of using “mettre au monde” it becomes “ma sœur a apporté un enfant,” and “on disait qu’elle ne portait que des garcons.” See Luthi, En quête du français d’Egypte, 137-8. Luthi gives a long list of Arabic words used in French: Attar (he who sells herbs and spices), backal (grocer), khaddam (servant), foul, tamieh and pain baladi (local bread). Words from other languages like: bastourma/pastirma (Armenian for dried meat with garlic), cambiala (Italian for a bill of exchange), roba vecchia (pronounced robabekia, Italian for old dress, but means everything old that can be sold for some money), basta (Italian for enough), bitello (from the Italian vitello: veal), from English: constable, mister, motor-boat, farewell-party, agreement…etc. 291 Luthi, En quête du français d’Egypte, 240-1. 292 Luthi, En quête du français d’Egypte, 243.
74 pronunciation—u became an ou with Italians and an i with arabophones, while the ch tended to slip to an s with the Greeks—yet all students of the main French schools, according to Solé, ended up having the same accent, the Egyptian accent: It is a charming talk, a bit musical. The stress is not on the same syllables as in France. When enumerating, the final vowels are elongated for more expressivity: ‘Une femme riiche, qui a une autoo, une villaa, et cii et caa…’ Gestures readily accompany the voice. The r’s are rolled, as the grasseyement [the Parisian way of pronouncing r’s from the back of the throat] is used as a sign of affection. On is often pronounced en; é and ai become é: ‘en va boire du lé’…293
In addition to Egyptian words like mabrouk (congratulations) and maalech (sorry; it is alright), some verbs also found their way to French and received proper French conjugation, e.g. bakchicher (to tip).294 Such Arabic words came primarily from the spoken Egyptian dialect and very rarely from formal Arabic, except in the area of administration.295 Some expressions were translated literally from Egyptian Arabic; when asked the time, a francophone from Egypt would answer: “Il est quatre heures et demie et cinq [It is four and half and five]” (4:35).296 As opposed to the elitism of French language prior to 1952, Fenoglio admits that (American) English—the language of acculturation in Egypt today—enjoys a certain “democratic” status. Yet, she claims that “English [in Egypt today] is a simple instrument, whereas using French constituted direct participation in another cultural life, an opportunity for literary creation.”297 The situation was such that consuming the language turned into a lavish production of over 1,000 literary works by 300 francophone authors between 1850 and 1950.298 Chapter 3 explores this vibrant francophone literary scene and the many literary circles and salons celebrating it. This rich literary life solicited the following observation from Solé: “During the interwar period, no francophone colony produced as many works in French as did that Egypt occupied by the English!”299
293 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 313. 294 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 314. 295 Luthi, En quête du français d’Egypte, 103. 296 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 315. 297 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 23. 298 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 21. 299 Solé, L’Egypte passion française, 317.
75 Conclusion Until the Suez crisis of 1956 a set of circumstances, particular to Egypt, created a very favorable environment that ensured the supremacy of French culture in Egypt’s cosmopolitan urban society. A longstanding relationship triggered by Napoleon and solidified by Mohamed Ali proved to be a significant counterweight against British influence after the occupation in 1882. Spared the burden of being associated with direct colonial role and as the traditional rival of Great Britain, France was able to benefit from the Capitulatory privileges while capitalizing on Egyptian nationalist sentiments and the appeal of the ideals of the French Revolution. Despite attempts by the British administration, English never became a colonial language in Egypt, and the failure of the Egyptian state and the British in providing proper education empowered the French schools. Offering a quality education while implementing an open enrolment policy, they attracted local and foreign students, filling up that educational void. As French occupied an exceptional place in justice, administration, commerce and the press, Egypt’s francophone community became more and more identified as the elite of the nation. Unlike a much more complicated situation in the French colonies, French in Egypt was perceived as a choice, a mark of distinction and universality. French schools, to which the Shawam had a privileged access, became the evident political choice for families seeking to rise in the social hierarchy. French was the necessary cultural medium for this cosmopolitan urban society, as well as the heart of its linguistic and cultural identity. To second and third Shawam generations, embracing this cultural and linguistic identity was a crucial part of their integration into Egypt’s urban cosmopolitan society.
76 Chapter 3
The Shawam and Cairo’s Francophone Literary Circles and Salons
“[En Egypte] il y a eu depuis cinquante ans une floraison d’écrits, de talents qui attendent leur Froissard et constituent avec le recul du temps, un beau gâchis… Il a manqué aux écrivains de 1900 à 1940, exception faite d quelques-uns, l’amour du pays qui donne le suc et la moelle… Ces observateurs de l’extérieur ont payé leur tribut et disparaissent.”300
- The poet Foulad Yeghen in 1942
In an article published in 1998 on the Egyptian francophonie, literature professor Daniel Lançon noted the surprise of young Egyptian research assistants as they learned that francophone authors had once existed in their country. Despite a resurgent interest in the Egyptian francophonie and francophilie, Lançon believes that both remain largely unknown (mal connues) to French and Egyptians alike.301 Despite the absence of a direct French colonial role and the numerical inferiority of the French, French became the language of acculturation in Egypt and was embraced by the Shawam and other foreign communities. This culminated in a vibrant francophone intellectual scene where literary circles and salons promoted French culture and local francophone literature. Details from Cairo’s francophone cultural scene provide a wealth of information about the cultural alienation of the Shawam. This chapter explores francophone circles and salons as the locus of many of the elements discussed so far: French language and culture, the influence of French schools, the francophone press, and Cairo’s cosmopolitan society. Drawing mostly on primary sources, it studies some of the popular groups, their founders and main activities. It also relies on the Society section “Mondanités” of the popular weekly Images (1929-1973), which documented this social scene during the late 1920s and early 1930s. The magazine reveals a plethora of names, titles and professions—a high-profile group of regulars, from various ethnic backgrounds—that
300 “For the past fifty years there has been a blossoming of writings [in Egypt], of talents that await their Froissard, and which in retrospect will be seen as a beautiful waste. With the exception of a few, the writers of 1900-1940 lack the belonging that gives substance to writing…These external observers have paid their tribute and are disappearing.” 301 Daniel Lançon, “La France participée: les grandes heures de la francophonie égyptienne,” Bulletin of Francophone Africa, no. 12-13, (July 1998): 11.
77 allows for a closer assessment of the Shawam’s involvement in these groups—not only as writers and poets, but also as committee members, founders of circles and hosts of private salons. Moreover, lectures organized by the different circles reveal the intellectual interests of this francophone society, and the clear bias towards France illustrates the influence of the French schools, which had successfully forged a powerful francophone elite. Finally this chapter looks at works that engaged in the classification of Egypt’s francophone literature and tried to define its “Egyptianness” —both recent scholarship in addition to reflections by some francophone authors on their own literary production. Despite expressing themselves in a foreign language, their sentimental idealization of France, and their limited contact with Arab intellectuals, critics do not dismiss the “Egyptianness” of these francophone authors and the debate on their identity is far from resolved. Such a debate on the Egyptian francophonie problematizes the clear-cut boundaries between “local” and “foreign” which have traditionally governed discussions on the cultural alienation of the Shawam.
Proliferation of Francophone Lectures Official societies and institutions carrying out their activities partially or entirely in French existed well before the advent of francophone literary and artistic circles. The Institut d’Egypte (founded by Bonaparte in 1798), the Société de Géographie d’Egypte (1875), the Institut français d’archéologie orientale (1880) and the Société d’archéologie d’Alexandrie (1893) were among the most famous. Initiatives to form private groups and associations started in Alexandria, which was more cosmopolitan than Cairo. A theatre group, the Société artistique d’Egypte, was founded in 1895, and other famous groups included the Union artistique française (1898), Les Amis de l’art (1921), the Atelier d’Alexandrie (1934) and others.302 In the late 1920s, however, Cairo started to witness a proliferation of cultural groups, lectures and exhibitions. In December 1931 and January 1932, the journalist and active literary figure, Robert Blum wrote a series of articles in
302 Jean-Jacques Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte (1798-1998), (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2000), 32-4. For more on the status of scholarship on the Arab salon culture refer to Ante Zielger, “Arab Literary Salons at the Turn of the 20th Century,” in Understanding Near Eastern Literatures: A Spectrum of Interdisciplinary Approaches, ed. Verena Klemm and Beatrice Gruendlern (Wiesbaden: Reichart Verlag, 2000), 241.
78 Images on the “Mode des conférences.”303 He stated that lectures used to be rare in Cairo, and that people discussed a lot, but only in salons. Lectures were more common in Alexandria, especially at the Université Populaire Libre.304 With the establishment of the Egyptian University in Cairo and the eminent professors (many of them foreign) who had been hired, Alexandria was overtaken, and he concluded that the “intellectual center [was] being displaced in favor of the capital.”305 The linguist Irène Fenoglio evokes this cultural displacement that was due to administrative and cultural reasons. The centralization of the administration and public services attracted a growing number of foreigners to Cairo who until then had been concentrated in Alexandria, while the Egyptian University boosted cultural activities in the capital, and French schools were at the height of their expansion.306 What stands out in Blum’s observations from the time and the much later analysis of Fenoglio is the weight they both give to the francophone intellectual scene. They do not view it as marginal or of limited influence, but as a factor contributing to Cairo’s replacement of Alexandria as Egypt’s cultural center. In any case, Blum’s testimony reveals a surge in the number of lectures in the early 1930s, which to him presented a much riper opportunity for education: Now, we hardly talk in salons anymore. As for lectures, there are so many that an amateur no longer knows which ones to choose. He is claimed left and right, in Heliopolis and in Giza, in the Continental Hotel and at al-Diafa, at the Union universelle de la jeunesse juive, at the Centre d’études hébraïque, and at the Société de Géographie. […] In barely a week, the auditor who does not miss a
303 Robert Blum (1903) was born in Tunis and moved to Egypt with his parents a year later, where he received his education. From banking he moved to journalism and insurance. He published several literary works: novels and plays. He left Egypt to France in 1956 where he continued to work in commerce and literature until his death. For more on Blum, see Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 244. 304 Ilham Khuri-Makdisi describes the Université Populaire Libre d’Alexandrie as a unique project in the Ottoman Empire and the Eastern Mediterranean. Established by Alexandrian notables in 1901 it offered a large number of lectures on theatre and its history. It was in line with “the philosophy of the Parisian headquarters of that same institution, which thoroughly embraced the idea of social liberation through art and believed that the theater was the most effective tool for that purpose.” See Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860-1914, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 69 and 88. 305 Robert Blum, “La Mode des conférences,” Images, 12 December 1931, 5. 306 Irène Fenoglio, “L’Activité culturelle francophone au Caire durant l’entre-deux guerres: Du paradoxe à la contradiction,” in D’un Orient l’autre, vol. 1 (Paris: Editions des CNRS, 1991), 460.
79 lecture has had a chance to hear about the United States, the “ransom of the machine age,” young men and women, Jewish leaders, fictional biographies, French authors in Egypt, and psychoanalysis… He was thus able to educate himself by simply going from one side of the city to another. 307
While describing this wave of lectures that spanned the capital from Heliopolis in the east to Giza in the west, Blum in fact refers to groups that were located in downtown Cairo itself. This high concentration of literary circles, alongside publishing houses, bookshops, theatres and cinemas might help explain why downtown Cairo was a cultural hub for decades. With famous speakers and high society involved, understandably, periodicals like Images would rush to celebrate this new fashion. It became customary for Images to announce the start of the cultural season after the summer holidays, and then report on all the weekly activities. Although some groups received more attention than others, Images would usually announce the name of the speaker and the topic a week in advance, and then discuss the event in more detail in the following issue. Certain clichés were quite common in these laudatory reports. It was usually the “intellectual elite,” or “all of Cairo’s elite,” or “all the Egyptian and European elites,” who celebrated a certain speaker talking about this or that topic, followed by a list of attendees. Words of praise for the lecturer and the organizers were very common. It was usually a “brilliant” gathering, “the hall was full,” and “some had to remain standing,” etc: So many lectures in Cairo these past couple of weeks! We can say that it was all in the honor of French belles lettres, and young intellectuals responded with such a magnificent momentum to invitations, whether at the Lycée français, the Essayistes, al-Diafa, without forgetting the Amis de la culture française en Egypte. We have to admit that it was its founder Morik Brin who first gave Cairo the taste of these lectures in instituting the “6 à 7” of the Continental-Savoy. André Maurois, Reynaldo Hahn, Claude Aveline, celebrities from the world of French literature, art and music, brought such an enthusiastic success these last days.308
307 Robert Blum, “La Mode des conférences,” Images, 12 December 1931, 5. 308 Images, March 26, 1932, sec. Mondanités. 23. Morik Brin (1891-1951) was born in Nantes, France. He established himself in Egypt in 1919, first as a philosophy teacher in the Lycée d’Alexandrie, then at the school of Commerce, and finally at the Egyptian University. He returned to France in 1947. See Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 245.
80 Famous literati de passage in Cairo were hailed as they testified to Cairo’s growing reputation on the intellectual map, reflecting positively on the city’s intellectual elite. Such a celebrity list was not limited to French writers like André Maurois (1885-1967), Reynaldo Hahn (1874-1947), Claude Aveline (1901-1992) and others, but included the likes of Thomas Mann (1875-1955), Filippo Marinetti (1876-1944) and Emil Ludwig (1881-1948). The most active literary groups in the late 1920s and early 1930s, enjoying rich coverage in Images were the Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925), al-Diafa (1930), the Essayistes (1928), to a lesser extent the Association des écrivains d’Egypte d’expression française (1929) and the Cercle catholique de la jeunesse syrienne (1918). The private salon and tea receptions of Amy Kher held a place of honor in the mondanités section of the magazine. Together with Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri and Mary Kahil, the three society women illustrate the visibility of the Shawam in Cairo’s cosmopolitan society and the degree to which they adopted the francophonie in Egypt. Furthermore, their biographies—briefly narrated below because of the particular prominence of their salons—echo many of the characteristics associated with the Shawam community. Their fathers were of Syro-Lebanese origin and their mothers were western. They received their education in Egypt’s Catholic schools and expressed themselves primarily in French. They lived in Heliopolis, Giza, and Zamalek— neighborhoods that were home to an ethnically diverse population. All three were either involved in feminist movements, defended feminism or were close to the famous feminists Hoda Chaaraoui and Cesa Nabaraoui.
Amy Kher Amy Kher was born Amy Nemetallah in 1897 in Mansourah in Lower Egypt. Her father was of Lebanese origin and her mother was English, hence the unusual first name in Egypt at the time.309 She was educated at the missionary school of the city before marrying Georges Kher when she was sixteen. He was a rich director of an agricultural firm and they eventually settled in Cairo. Besides news on her salon, Images paid
309 In her biography, Mary Kahil refers to Amy Kher as Aimée, so perhaps she also went by that name in Cairo’s francophone circles.
81 considerable attention to the social life of Amy Kher, (shown here in a photograph published in Images on April 15, 1933) and made numerous references to her beauty.310
We know that she spent her summers between Alexandria, Europe and Lebanon, and that two of her sons studied in Lausanne (Images mentioned three sons, Marcel, Henri and Fernand).311 Amy Kher died in Cairo in 1981. Amy Kher published many of her poems in Egypt’s francophone periodicals. She wrote articles in which she supported the feminist movement and was a founding member
310 In his interview with Amy Kher in her house, Jean-Jacques Luthi described a portrait of Kher that was made in her youth, and he described it as “captivating.” See Jean-Jacques Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte: et fragments de correspondances, (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2008), 35. This and all other photographs here are reproduced with the permission of the Institut Dominicain d’Etudes Orientales in Cairo. 311 Images, February 4, 1933, sec. Mondanités. Fernand Kher passed his first engineering exams “brilliantly” in Switzerland (as reported in Images September, 9 1933, sec. Mondanités, 8). We also learn that Georges Kher, accompanied by his daughter, spent some time in Switzerland with his two sons, whereas Mrs Kher stayed in Cairo with her eldest son Henri (Images September, 16 1933, sec. Mondanités, 8). We also learn that the Khers first lived on Kasr el-Nil Street, before moving to their villa in Heliopolis. From an article on Kher’s fiction, we know that her daughter, Marthe, went to the Pensionnat de Sacre- Cœur in Cairo.
82 of the syndicate of Women-Journalists of Egypt.312 She published several novels—Salma et son village, Remous à Bab Touma, Mes soeurs, and Les Sycomores—in addition to several poetry collections. She was a regular at many francophone literary circles where she sometimes lectured as well. Yet Amy Kher is perhaps mostly remembered for having held the most important private francophone salon in Cairo in the 1930s.313 Starting in the late 1920s and for about ten years, she opened her salon, usually twice a month, for writers, artists and intellectuals.314 Besides Egypt’s francophone writers, like Jean Moscatelli and Robert Blum, who found another opportunity to discuss and present their work, other important regulars were the famous Egyptian writer and essayist Taha Hussein and the poet Khalil Moutran. Images gives an idea of the kind of discussions that took place in her salon. In one of the gatherings Edgard Gallad, himself a writer and editor-in-chief of La Liberté, recited some verses of Fernand Leprette, the general inspector of French language in the Ministry of Education.315 The famous poet Khalil Moutran was once invited to read some of his poems in Arabic, and Images described how “the success of the sensitive poet became very lively with a roaring applause when he translated into French the beautiful Kabyle legend of love and war.”316 Images spoke in very laudatory terms of a reception that Kher organized for Egypt’s Elian Finbert, author of Batalier du Nil and Un homme vint de l’Orient on January 24, 1931.317 Furthermore, Kher gave tea receptions in honor of some of the famous writers visiting Cairo, like the French Claude Aveline, who was also received at al-Diafa and at the Essayistes.318 Images gave an idea of the atmosphere that reigned in Kher’s salon, which was characterized by “a very particular charm:” With a cup of tea, around a table covered with nice things, a pleasant conversation with joyous laughs; Madame Kher receives her guests with tact and grace, putting
312 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 251-2. 313 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 252-3. 314 Images, November 22, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11. Here Images talks about Amy Kher restarting “her days twice a month.” This particular meeting took place on a Tuesday, but sometimes the gatherings happened on Sundays, so it seems there was no fixed day. 315 Images, November 22, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11. 316 Images, December 22, 1929, sec. Mondanités, 42. 317 Images, February 1, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 10. 318 Images, March 26 1932, sec. Mondanités, 12.
83 everyone into such a good mood that it would be impossible to keep a morose face.319
Upon his return from Egypt and Sudan, Claude Aveline published his book La Promenade égyptienne in 1934. His account of Cairo’s society in the early 1930s gives an outsider’s perspective on the scene that celebrated his visit. He mentions al-Diafa, the Amis de la culture française en Egypte, and the Essayistes, describing them as “amiable gatherings,” where any Frenchman who had the least to say about literature and art was “the most popular and the most pampered.” He mentions foreign communities who open their door to such a man, welcome him to their homes and invite him to participate in their lives. Although he does not mention any names, we can assume he is referring to Amy Kher among others: Along with some free-spirited Egyptians (égyptiennes libérées), the ladies of foreign stock—Greek, Jewish, Syrian, etc.—are the real Cairene queens. Going against traditional Islamic social practice—consciously or not I don't know—they go everywhere, create salons, and are at the center of inner circles [of followers/admirers], where there are many Muslims.320
Amy Kher was also on the committee of the Société de musique d’Egypte, which organized musical afternoons in the hope of allowing group members to be heard in an intimate circle and help refine the musical taste in Cairo.321 She seems to have been a close friend of a Madame Stross, wife of the Austrian Minister in Cairo, in whose absence Kher would open her salon to such musical afternoons.322 In 1933 the French Republic awarded Amy Kher the “décoration d’Officier d’Académie.” Images reported an intimate ceremony at the French Legation where Henri Gaillard, the French Minister in Cairo, gave her the award himself. The decoration,
319 Images, December 10, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 9. 320 Claude Aveline, La Promenade égyptienne: avec une échappe au Soudan, (1934; Paris: Renaudot et Cie, 1988), 258. 321 Images, December 12, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 10. 322 During one such afternoon, Images mentions several singers: Irene Christophe who “sang with a lot of emotion and elegance Pissard’s ‘Bonjour Suzon,’ Messenet’s ‘Werther,’ and ‘l’amoureuse,’ and Tagliafico’s ‘cherchez.’” Accompanied by Madame Sacopoulo on the piano, another Madame Moravetz sang Brahms’ “Chant de jeune fille” and “Reminiscence,” Bruch’s “Ma mère l’a voulu,” and Hugo Wolf’s “le secret.” The name of a young tenor, Sapoundzakis, appears often and he seems to have enjoyed a success that solicited the following comment from the magazine: “M. Spoundzakis has found at [the gatherings of] Madame Amy Kher the success to which he has begun to get accustomed, and which he [now] receives in Cairo’s concerts and high society meetings.” Reported in Images, December 19, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 10.
84 according to Images, came for her role in promoting French literature in Egypt, and for her talent as a writer, poet and lecturer: As a lecturer, Madame Amy Kher has conquered her public with the elegance of her words and the lively interest in her topics of choice. The perfect society lady, she has formed a ‘salon’ where personalities from the literary and artistic world visiting Cairo could find themselves with the intellectual and literary world of our city.323
Images extended its congratulations to Amy Kher, along with many of her friends who “have covered her salon with purple flowers since the news of her decoration.”324
Nelly Zananiri and Al-Diafa Equally active in this francophone scene was the Alexandrian Nelly Vaucher- Zananiri (shown here in a photograph published in Images on November 23, 1930).
She was born in 1897 to a Shawam family established in Egypt since the eighteenth century. Her father was Georges Zananiri Pasha, a member of parliament who was deeply involved in Alexandria’s literary and artistic movements. In a clear demonstration of
323 Images, March 25,1933, sec. Mondanités, 20. 324 Images, March 25,1933, sec. Mondanités, 20.
85 mixed marriages, her mother was Italian-Hungarian who converted to Christianity from Judaism when she married Georges Zananiri, while her paternal grandmother was Armenian from Constantinople. Nelly’s paternal grandfather, Antoine, was chief dragoman at the British Consulate in Cairo, and he obtained British citizenship for him and his descendants. Nelly received her education at the school of Notre-Dame de Sion, and French was the language family members used at home.325 At school she became an intimate friend of Cesa Nabaraoui, the famous feminist who collaborated very closely with Hoda Chaaraoui.326 In an interview with Jean-Jacques Luthi, she revealed having been the first woman to pass the baccalauréat in Egypt.327 After an unsuccessful marriage to a Belgian man, Nelly studied theatre in Paris under Charles Dullin and started a career in journalism working for the Excelsior and Paris-midi.328 She returned to Egypt and married the Swiss George Vaucher who was visiting the country. They settled in Cairo where her husband became head of one of the largest insurance companies, La Genevoise.329 During the Second World War she assisted her husband with his duties in the Red Cross, and after the war, she opened an art gallery, Aladin, using the space for her salon gatherings.330 She also opened her private salon to literary and political discussions until the regime change in 1952.331 Nelly seems to have been known to the French press, possibly due to her experience in France as a journalist. Images reported that a Parisian daily had praised the talent of the “young Egyptian poet,” and that French journalists interviewed her in the summer of 1930 on feminism in Egypt.332 In addition to several poetry collections, she published a novel in 1922, Vierges d’Orient, in which she talked about the social
325 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 146. 326 In his memoires, Gaston Zananiri mentions that his father had hired a Sheikh to teach him Arabic, a language “which [he] knew badly, having spoken Italian—[his] mother language—at home since [his] childhood, in addition to French.” He does not mention if his sisters had received similar lessons, but most probably they did not. See Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert: Mémoires, (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1996), 60. 327 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 59. 328 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 59. 329 Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 232. 330 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 59. 331 Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 28. 332 Images, August 3, 1930, sec. Mondanités, 9.
86 condition of young girls in Egypt, followed by a literary critique of contemporary American literature, published in Cairo in 1945.333 Furthermore, she wrote in several francophone periodicals in Egypt and France. In 1938, she was awarded the Prix Edgar Poe in France, for the best francophone book of the year—her poetry collection A midi sous le soleil torride.334 In his memoirs, published posthumously in 1996, her brother the lawyer and writer, Gaston Zananiri (1904-1996), regrets how she gradually abandoned her poetry after her second marriage: he was sure her talent as a poet would have earned her special literary standing in France.335 He also mentions that the Vauchers lived in Rabat for two years when George Vaucher was appointed economic advisor to the King of Morocco. They finally retired in Geneva in 1978 and became involved with the problems of the Palestinian refugees.336 Gaston (shown here in a photograph published by Images on September 17, 1932) was similarly active in the Alexandrian intellectual circles and was a friend of Constantin Cavafy.
333 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 60. 334 Lançon, Daniel. “Fortune et infortune du champ littéraire au Caire,” in Entre Nil et sable: écrivains d’Egypte d’expression française (1920-1960), ed. Marc Kober, Irène Fenoglio and Daniel Lançon (Paris: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, 1999), 33-4. 335 Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 28. 336 Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 29.
87 He published several essays and poems and was particularly interested in Mediterranean culture and Eastern Christianity. In 1955 he joined the Dominican order and settled in Paris. Nelly died in Geneva in 1984. Very little is known about Nelly’s private salon. It was cited in Le Mondain d’Egypte in 1937 as one of three important francophone literary and high society salons in Cairo (along with Amy Kher’s and Marie Cavadia’s).337 Much of the information we have on her involvement in the francophone scene comes from her active participation in other groups, and more importantly as the secretary of the group al-Diafa, which she founded in 1929, and of which she was particularly proud.338 During a period of four years, al-Diafa welcomed important literary figures visiting Cairo, and organized lectures and other cultural activities. On December 29, 1929, Images reported the inauguration of the circle at 7 Deir Banat street, using the usual clichés.339 It was a “soirée of the highest elegance” that united all the “intellectual elite,” followed by a list of key figures who attended the inauguration.340 The same issue explained the objectives of the group. Keen on establishing links between Egyptian and foreign intellectuals—a role perceived to be at the heart of the duty of a country’s elite—the group would receive foreign intellectuals visiting the capital and organize events contributing to the development of literature and art. The article highlighted the apolitical nature of the group: “no politics, no games.” The inauguration coincided with the 37th Congrès de l’Association littéraire et artistique that was taking place in Cairo, and that night there were two speakers: Romain Coolus, famous dramatic French author, and Marinetti, the creator of the Futurist movement. Before introducing the speakers, a Chahine Pasha evoked the numerous foreign artists and intellectuals who visit Egypt and the need for having a club like al-Diafa that can put them in contact with the country’s intellectual scene.341
337 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champ littéraire au Caire,” 34-5. 338 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 59. 339 The inauguration of the new premises of al-Diafa on 7 El Fadl Street took place on November 16, 1930. (Reported in Images, “L’Inauguration des nouveaux locaux du cercle al-Diafa: L’Intéressante conférence du Docteur Ali Pacha Ibrahim sur ‘Les Tapis d’Orient au XVII siècle,’” November 23, 1930, 4). 340 Images, December 29,1929, sec. Mondanités, 9. 341 Images, “L’Inauguration du cercle al-Diafa,” December 29, 1929, 17.
88 This photograph, published in Images on February 17, 1933, was taken at al-Diafa when they received the Viennese artists from the Royal Opera on February 1. Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri is the third from the left, while her father Georges Zananiri Pasha is in the center of the photograph. To his left is Mrs. Emile Zaidan, the daughter-in-law of the famous Jurji Zaidan. Marie-Rose, Nelly’s sister, is sitting next to Mrs. Emile Zaidan.
Nelly was involved in another circle, the Association des écrivains d’Egypte d’expression française, which was founded in 1929 by Robert Blum and Elian Finbert. This association, according to Luthi, reflected the need for francophone writers to have an association of their own, with the goal of “creating a link of solidarity between francophone writers living in Egypt and to make Egypt better known abroad.”342 They founded an annual literary prize to be awarded to a work of verse or prose, a novel, tales, or essays “of Egyptian inspiration.”343 In 1932 this award went to Arsène Yergath for his poetry collection “Scarabée.”344 They also published their own review, Le Flambeau (the
342 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 36. 343 Images, “La Vie littéraire,” December 12, 1931, 7 (signed by Les Sept). 344 Arsène Yergath (1893-1969) was a poet of Armenian origin. He arrived in Cairo in 1907 and went to the Lycée Français. He published several poetry collections while working for the Compagnie des Eaux. After his retirement he left Egypt to join his son in Canada in 1963 where he died a few years later. See Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 259-60.
89 torch) in 1929. They declared their weekly magazine would be “devoted to the literary and artistic intellectual movement in the renewed (renaissante) Egypt.”345 On December 12, 1931 they organized the first book exhibition devoted to works by francophone Egyptian writers, with books on “history, poetry, [and] different essays:” One will be certainly surprised not only that literary production in Egypt has been and continues to be much more superior than what we think, but also at the numerous carefully-prepared publications worthy of European printing houses.346
During the exhibition, André de Laumois, editor-in-chief of the Bourse égyptienne, gave a talk on the general goals of the association, and their wish to double the effort that was needed to encourage Egypt’s francophone writers who, according to de Laumois, “remain too shy to affirm themselves without the much appreciated support.” 347 In a meeting which they held at al-Diafa in 1932, Images mentioned 10 writers and journalists who were on the committee: Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri, André de Laumois, Fernand Leprette, Robert Blum, Jean Moscatelli, Ahmed Rassim, Georges Dumani, and for Alexandria: Max Aghion, Gaston Zananiri and S. Soriano. During that meeting they decided to raise 10 Egyptian pounds to participate in the publishing of Yergath’s poetry collection.348 Moreover, a branch of the Association internationale des écrivains de langue française opened in Cairo in June 1936, with Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri as its vice- president.349 The mouthpiece of this Cairene branch was no less than the famous Revue du Caire, established and run by Mohamed Zulficar in 1938. Until 1961 this very prestigious review published articles by all the famous writers of the time: Nelly Zananiri, Taha Hussein, Out el Kouloub, Ahmed Rassim, Marie Cavadia, Georges Anawati, and others.
Dar El-Salam of Mary Kahil and the Cercle catholique de la jeunesse syrienne Two circles with a decidedly more religious character in this francophone scene were the center Dar El-Salam and the Cercle catholique de la jeunesse syrienne. The former was much more influential and was founded by Mary Kahil in 1945. Similar to
345 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champ littéraire au Caire,” 25. 346 Images, “La Vie littéraire,” December 12, 1931, 7 (signed by Les Sept). 347 Images, December 19,1931, sec. Mondanités, 10. 348 Images, May 28,1932, sec. Mondanités, 14. 349 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champ littéraire au Caire,” 34.
90 the Zananiris, Mary Kahil’s family originally came from Syria in the eighteenth century, and settled in Damietta where Mary was born in 1889.350 Her father Constantin Kahil traded in wood and owned large plots of land. He married a Von Cramer from Germany, and together they had 5 children, Mary being the youngest. Before building her own intellectual and religious circle, Mary, who was close to many princesses from the royal family, worked in the charity group of Mohamed Ali, and later helped Hoda Chaaraoui in the Feminist Union.351 Mary’s long friendship with the French Orientalist Louis Massignon started in 1912-1913, and their first collaboration resulted in the creation of a prayer group, the Badaliya. Later she cooperated with Massignon, the Dominicans and the Jesuits in Cairo and founded Dar El-Salam, which for over thirty years and until her death in 1979, was an important center for Islamic-Christian dialogue and studies on Islamic and Christian mysticism.352 Mary founded the center in the presbytery of the Greek Catholic church, Sainte Marie de la Paix, which she had bought and refurbished in Cairo’s neighborhood of Garden City. Lectures were organized on Tuesdays, and were published simultaneously in Arabic and French under the title “Les Mardis de Dar El-Salam.” The founders insisted on two principles: no political engagement and no religious institutionalization. Some of the speakers at Dar El-Salam were Louis Massignon, Taha Hussein, Gabriel Bounoure, Mourad Kamel, Ibrahim Madquoir, Georges Anawati as well as ambassadors such as those of Senegal and Belgium.353 The author of Mary Kahil’s biography, Jacques Keryell, opposes what he refers to as the “golden age of the Egyptian intelligentsia” and the “blossoming of the intellectual and spiritual life in Egypt from the 1920s to the 1980s,” to Nasser’s Pan-Arabism and the rise of fundamentalism.354 He sees the latter as having dealt a serious blow to the efforts of Mary Kahil and the Dominican Father Georges Anawati who tried to defend a Christianity that was “authentically Arab,” and argues that the reflections, studies and
350 Jacques Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte 1889-1979, (Paris: Geuthner, 2010), 11. 351 Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte, 39. 352 Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte, 12-3. 353 Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte, 117-9. 354 Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte, 109-111.
91 efforts which they started in Egypt would later continue in Lebanon in various Orthodox and Catholic universities.355 It might be worthy to note that although names of other members of the Kahil family are sometimes mentioned in the primary sources when they attended the gatherings of other francophone circles and clubs in the 1930s, Mary’s name does not figure among them. Images does mention, however, a reception that Hoda Chaaraoui gave in honor of the delegates of the Congrès du Tourisme in her palace on Kasr el-Nil Street in 1933, a reception to which both Amy Kher and Mary Kahil were invited.356 Mary was also a close friend of Taha Hussein and his wife—as reported in the testimony of Moenis-Claude, Taha Hussein’s son, in Mary Kahil’s biography.357 We can therefore assume that she had access to this francophone circle, but did not often socialize with them. If that was indeed the case, this might point to the possibility that Mary was too pious for a francophone social scene that prided itself on its secular culture. The active presence of Taha Hussein in these circles—along with other intellectuals as will be shown later in more detail—indicate that this francophone scene extended across ethnic and religious lines. Its fashionable gatherings were an expression of the appearance of a secular cultural space in which Muslims, Christians and Jews mixed.358 On the other hand, the absence of Mary from these gatherings shows that this space in part depended for its identity on a rejection of “old-fashioned piety.” The Cercle catholique de la jeunesse syrienne was another circle that conducted its activities primarily in French and, as opposed to other circles and salons, its membership was limited to the Catholic Shawam. Even the speakers reported in Images seem to have been primarily Shawam as well. The group was founded in 1918 on the initiative of some young Syrians and was placed under the patronage of the Syrian
355 Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte, 111 and 125. 356 Images, February 25,1933, sec. Mondanités, 10. 357 Keryell, Mary Kahil: Une grande dame d’Egypte, 62-6. 358 In her PhD dissertation “The Making of Sectarianism: Arab Christians in Mandate Palestine,” Laura Caroline Robson has argued that European missionary schools changed the structure of education in Palestine as they raised the literacy rates among Christians, increasing the divide between them and Muslims. Yet, these schools inspired Muslim and Christian elites to create “national” schools that were “self-consciously secular, nationalist and modern,” and provided an educational space for middle-class Muslims and Christians. See Laura Caroline Robson, “The Making of Sectarianism: Arab Christians in Mandate Palestine” (PhD diss., Yale University, 2009), 42-6.
92 bishops in Egypt and the apostolic delegate. In an article published in Images in 1931, Habib Habra, the president of the circle, explained that the circle was founded for the purpose of “strengthening ties between the young Syrians of all Catholic rites in Egypt (Greek Catholics, Maronites, Chaldeans and Syriacs) and to establish a permanent contact among them.” It organized meetings, lectures, picnics and pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Its motto was the same as other Catholic organizations around the world: “Piety, Union, Action.” Lectures, according to Habra, were particularly successful and he spoke of recent talks by Jean-Marie Carré on “Claudel,” Marius Schemeil on “Les intellectuels d’Egypte et les muses françaises,” a lecture by Dr Antoine Sabbagh on “Les Megliss Hasby,” Dr Antaki on “Le réveil des nationalités orientales” and a talk by a Father Monnier on “La jeunesse contemporaine.”359 In 1933 they organized a party at the Continental hotel to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Lamartine’s visit to the East (shown in this photograph, published in Images on May 27, 1933).
During this celebration Marius Schemeil talked about his trip to Syria and Lebanon, while Amy Kher explained a poem by Lamartine in detail before reciting one of her own. The poet Adel Ghadban translated Lamartine’s “Le Lac” into Arabic and Jean-Marie Carré expressed his pleasure to see such a precious homage to a French poet by people
359 Serge Forzannes, “Les Groupes intellectuels d’Egypte: Le CCJS,” Images, May 21,1931, 9.
93 from the East (des orientaux). The poet Khalil Moutran also gave a speech.360 On a different occasion Amy Kher gave a talk on Zenobia Queen of Palmyra, and Julia the Roman Empress.361
Other Francophone Groups Lançon believes that the most endorsed of all the francophone literary groups during this period was the Amis de la culture française en Egypte (A.C.F.E.).362 Established in 1925 by the French Morik Brin, under the patronage of Prince Haidar Fazil and Henri Gaillard, the Minister of France in Cairo, the association started with seven members and twenty years later increased to nearly four hundred.363 In an article published in Images on May 28, 1932, Morik Brin reiterated the apolitical nature of the association and highlighted what was going to resonate deeply with his audience. He declared A.C.F.E. to be a society of elites, dedicated to the development of friendship between the French and all those living in Egypt, and he presented French culture and its universality—one of the main reasons behind the success and popularity of French missionary and secular schools—as the means through which such an objective would be attained. He referred to a “work of bonding” that was to be carried out in the form of lectures dedicated to French culture. The association’s objectives were the following: To multiply between the elites of two people, who are already predisposed by all sorts of affinities to a mutual understanding, the opportunities to better know one another and to appreciate one another. Without direct propaganda for the French language and without political preoccupation, we simply want to develop the friendly relations between Egyptians and French of Egypt and to bring together, no matter the nationality, religious or political opinions, all those who live in this hospitable country and who mutually recognize these cultural affinities. It is a
360 M.N., “Cent ans après la visite de Lamartine en Orient: La fête du CCJS au Continental,” Images, May 27, 1933, 6. 361 Images, “Zénobie reine de Palmyre, et Julia, impératrice romaine: La conférence de Mme Amy Kher,” February 28, 1933, 8. 362 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28. 363 In 1945 there were 390 members to be exact. See Morik Brin, “L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte,” in L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925- 1945), ed. by Morik Brin, (Cairo: Editions Horus, 1945), 8. The list of patrons grew rapidly, and some of the patrons in France were a French senator and ex- minister, as well as members from the Académie Française and the Académie de Marine (Images, “Les Amis de la culture française en Egypte,” February 9, 1930, 6).
94 work of bonding through regular meetings that facilitate the exchange of opinions. We have thus endeavored to multiply the lectures and the talks.364
In addition to lectures, the association organized art exhibitions, film screenings, and tea receptions. These activities continued without interruption until the departure of Morik Brin to France in 1947. Gabriel Boctor took over but the association ceased all activities in 1949. This photograph is of a lecture by Fernand Leprette on Georges Duhamel’s Salavin. It took place at the Continental-Savoy and the photograph was published in Images on November 26, 1932.
364 Serge Forzannes, “Groupes intellectuels d’Egypte: Les Amis de la culture française,” Images, May 28, 1932, 10. In another article and after evoking the royal and French patronage, the article reiterated the objectives of the association: not only to facilitate the mutual understanding between Egyptians and French and foster friendly relations between them, but also to bring together all those living in Egypt and who have a predilection for Mediterranean and especially French culture (Images, “Les Amis de la culture française en Egypte,” February 9, 1930, 6). The word “elite” became a conscious leitmotif, not only in the objectives of the association, but also in any press coverage of its cultural activities and events. Again in an advertisement published in the Christmas issue of 1930—which publicized annual membership and its cost—A.C.F.E. presented itself as an association that brings together the Egyptian intellectual elite, through lectures on French literature, Arabic literature, arts in Egypt and the announcement of the results of the annual “Jeux Floraux d’Egypte” (Images, December 1930, 36). The “Jeux Floraux d’Egypte” was a writing competition for young poets writing in French that was inspired by a similar competition in France, and was inaugurated for the first time in 1928 by the French Consul in Egypt. The French Ambassador, the Egyptian Minister of Education, the Principal of the Lycée Français and the university French professors attended the ceremony regularly (Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28).
95 As expected, the Shawam were active in the association, both as speakers and—as will be shown later in more detail—as regulars and guests. Lançon mentions that Nelly Zaniniri was the secretary of group, yet I could only find her name as a regular and as a speaker.365 She gave a talk in 1927 entitled “Des Jardins du Yemen aux fastes de Bagdad,” and another in 1943 on “Quelques romanciers Américains: Leurs contacts avec la France.”366 Amy Kher introduced her book Salma et son village to A.C.F.E. when it was first published in 1933, and she talked about the French cultural influence in Egypt in celebration of the association’s twentieth anniversary in 1945.367 On this occasion the association published a book, which listed all its activities in the past twenty years. Of all the lectures they hosted, they chose to publish a lecture by the Egyptian-Syrian writer Joseph Ascar-Nahas, which he had given on April 8, 1943 entitled: “Une conférence sur les conférences.” Other Shawam speakers were: Marius Schemeil (1930), Edgar Gallad (1930, twice in 1932 and 1934), Mai Ziadah (1931), Youssef Karam (1934), Téo Ackad (1938), Elie Chagouri (1942) and René Habachi (1945). The Essayistes was another important group founded in 1928 by the young intellectuals A. Saltiel, Jules Levi, and Gabriel Boctor, who was also the group’s secretary. Images published this photograph of the group on May 7, 1932.
365 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28. 366 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28 and Morik Brin, ed., L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925-1945), (Cairo: Editions Horus, 1945), 50 and 78. 367 Serge Forzannes, “Aux Amis de la culture française: Mme Amy Kher parle de Selma et le Liban,” Images, March 5, 1932, 5.
96 Later they were joined by Robert Blum, Elian Finbert and Georges Henein.368 Their lectures, which were usually followed by musical recitals, seem to have been particularly popular. The group published its own bulletin, Un Effort, which in addition to articles by members of the group, like Boctor’s art reviews, also included the first writings of the surrealist poet Georges Henein and the romantic poems of Ahmed Rassim.369 In 1931 they founded a library, which they opened to the public at a monthly subscription of five piasters, money that they used for the acquisition of new books.370 Similar to A.C.F.E., they received significant coverage from Images, which gives an idea about their popularity and the degree of Shawam involvement.371 Following a political incident in 1938 events slowed down until the group ceased all activities in 1939.372 The photograph
368 Fenoglio, “L’Activité culturelle francophone au Caire durant l’entre-deux guerres: Du paradoxe à la contradiction,” 493. The Essayistes first held their meetings and organized their lectures at the Conservatoire Berggrun, on 5 Chawarby Street, until they moved to their own premises in 1932, on 19 Manakh Street (Images, September 27, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11, and Images, September 17, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8). 369 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 35. Issue number 33 (January 1933) of Un Effort contained essays and poems by Taha Hussein, Jeanne Arcache, Amy Kher, Elian Finbert, Fernand Leprette, Fouad Bey Abaza and others. They also published surveys to stir debates, like a questionnaire in 1928, which they addressed to “all intellectuals and artists in Egypt.” It questioned the objectivity and relativism of art, asked if there was “a positive beauty” and if elements of such a beauty could be isolated. The questionnaire was reproduced in Le Magazine égyptien followed by the answers and reflections of José Canéri, its editor-in-chief (José Canéri, “Une enquête sur l’art,” Le Magazine égyptien, 22 September 1928, 25.) 370 Images, September 27, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11. There are 100 piasters in one Egyptian pound. 371 Similar to how they covered A.C.F.E. events, reports would mention the title of the talk, the speaker, and who will introduce him or her a week in advance. The next issue would cover the event itself, with details on the crowded hall, the important figures who attended, how the speaker was received and a few words of praise for members of the group. The group was very often praised, e.g. Images wrote: “André de Laumois introduced [André Maurois] and also praised the Essayistes; this young group who directed their intelligence towards the cult of literature, giving an example in an epoch that is more devoted to “cocktails and automobiles” than to intellectualism. They got together to fight this tendency, in order to indulge and help others indulge in books, the arts, and the sweet rewards of the mind—very modestly, without showoff, using a useful and noble propaganda that shows the tight connection between French thought and the intellectual renaissance in the East…” (G. de R., “André Maurois au Caire,” Images, 19 Mar 1932, 13). 372 In an interview with Jean-Jacques Luthi, Robert Blum explained why the circle closed down. First, there was their periodical whose themes were sometimes deemed too political and hence were frowned upon. Then on March 24, 1938, the group received the founder of the Italian Futurist movement, the Alexandrian Filippo Marinetti, who gave a talk on Futurism. The
97 below was published in the Magazine égyptien on December 9, 1928 and shows the Conservatoire Berggrun on Chawarby Street, where they met until they moved to their own premises in 1932.
Other important circles and groups were formed and continued to organize cultural activities well into the fifties. Some of these groups include: the Surrealist movement Art et liberté (1939), the Amitiés françaises (1944-1956), the Société Anatole France (1949), the Société Romain Rolland (1951), René Habachi’s the Amis du centre de philo, Taha Hussein’s and Ahmed Rassim’s the Société des amis de l’art (placed under the patronage of King Farouk and whose president was the famous collector Mahmoud Khalil), the Amis de René Guénon (1953), and others.373 Other important salons included those of Valentine de Saint-Point (1926), Marius Schemeil, Prince Haidar Fazil (until 1928), and Marie Cavadia (after 1935).374
discussion that ensued was apparently extremely aggressive, and Marinetti was bitterly criticized by Georges Henein. Henein also accused Italian literati of being in collusion with the Fascists. It was a “big scandal,” according to Luthi, from which the group did not recover and disappeared soon afterwards. See Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 64. Lançon specifies that they stopped their activities completely in 1939, see Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28. 373 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 45-6. 374 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28.
98
Francophone Circles in the Early 1930s: An Insight Into Cairo’s Cosmopolitan Society Images has left a substantial documentation of the social scene associated with Cairo francophone circles. It provides photographs, names, professions and honorific titles of what was constantly referred to as Cairo’s elite. It gives details of its ethnically diverse social makeup and draws a picture of who some of these people actually were. Its reports underscore how seriously these events were taken, as illustrated by an important official representation, both from the Egyptian government and the foreign delegations working in Cairo. Ministers (especially education) and statesmen were both regulars and patrons. In her analysis of visual culture and its link to the development of secularism in Turkey, Suraiya Faroqhi, showed how the representation of a confident, sophisticated, and cultured Ottoman citizen was a relatively subtle but effective factor that contributed to the process of secularization and modernization.375 Similarly, photographs published in Images of A.C.F.E. gatherings, at the ballroom of the Continental-Savoy, show a confident and elegant crowd, clearly playing a role in disseminating the idea of a powerful francophone elite in charge of modernizing the country. The following photograph of an event organized by both the Amis de la culture française en Egypte and
The palace and art collection of Mahmoud Khalil were bequeathed to the Egyptian government after the death of his French wife, Emeline Lock, on the condition that it would be turned into a public museum. It is home to a large art collection (Gauguin, Monet, Manet, Pissarro, Renoir, Rodin and others). In August 2010 the collection attracted worldwide attention after a Van Gogh painting, known both as the “Poppy Flowers” and “Vase and Flowers,” was stolen. Among other key figures that animated Cairo’s francophone literary circles was the Greek Stavro Stavrinos. In the early 1920s he owned La Librairie d’art in downtown Cairo, which specialized in rare books. It also became a kind of salon, where writers and painters met one another (Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 41). He then founded the Semaine égyptienne (1926-1951), a weekly social, political and literary review. For over twenty years Stavrinos encouraged young francophone authors and published their first writings (Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 258). The Semaine égyptienne was also a publishing house and very often the author who wrote for the review ended up publishing his works there too (Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 69). With his death in 1951 his periodical disappeared leaving a void that was expressed in the Progrès égyptien: “Disappearing with its founder, [Stavrino’s] review, which gave the young the opportunity to try themselves out in literature, and informed the public on the neo-Greek literary movement, has not been replaced. We feel with bitterness the void that his disappearance has left us.” Etienne Meriel in the Progrès égyptien, 8 December 1951. Quoted in Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 44. 375 Suraiya Faroqhi’s Subjects of the Sultan: culture and daily life in the Ottoman Empire, (London, New York: I.B. Tauris, 2000), 258.
99 the Essayistes to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the death of Goethe was published in Images on April 16, 1932. The gathering took place at the Continental-Savoy hotel on April 7, 1932.
We can see Taha Hussein (wearing dark glasses) and his wife in the second row. People are assertive and sober, but also relaxed; they take the event seriously and want to be taken seriously. Stephen Sheehi, in his article on early Arab photography, talks about the way in which photographs of Beiruti elites in the late Ottoman and early Mandate period in Lebanon “exude a civilizing and civilized air” and help establish a normative behavior.376 The photographs published in Images fulfill the same function. They say this is how the francophone elites spend their time. This is how they look and how they dress.377 Certain events seem to have attracted a more official presence than others. When A.C.F.E. organized a talk by Edgard Gallad on the works of the Prince of Poets, Ahmed
376 Stephen Sheehi, “A Social History of Early Arab Photography or a Prolegomenon to an Archaeology of the Lebanese Imago,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 39 (2007): 185. He takes the direct quote from John Tagg’s The burden of Representation: Essays on Photographies and Histories, (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1988), 68. 377 The caption for this photograph provided some information on the photographers: “Photo IRIS Studio, Tamburini et Casakos.”
100 Chawki Bey, whom he knew personally, the hall was full of local dignitaries and European ambassadors: Sitting in the first lines were: His Excellency Hilmy Issa Pasha, who presided the session, M. Henri Gaillard, Minister of France, Dr. Von Stohrer, Minister of Germany, M. Dauge, Minister of Belgium, Baron Versbach Hadamer, Minister of Austria, M. Smart, from the [British] residence, the Spanish Chargé D’affaires, his Excellency Youssef Cattaui Pasha, M. Schenen, First Secretary of the Belgian Delegation, Dr. Mansour Fahmy, Dr. Kamel Moursi, Dean of the Faculty of Law, Saad El-Labbane, numerous professors from the university, civil servants from the Ministry of Public Instruction [Education], and a crowd of noteworthy Cairo officials and societies.378
Similarly a high-profile crowd, whom Images duly described as the “intellectual elite of Cairo,” had attended the inauguration of al-Diafa in 1929. In addition to an Egyptian minister, three Pashas, two Beys, Taha Hussein and the feminist Cesa Nabaraoui, there were several delegates from foreign embassies. The list has thirteen recognizable Shawam names, including Amy Kher (all underlined): The intellectual elite of Cairo found itself with the intellectual elite of several European nations in the presence of members of the Association littéraire et artistique internationale, in Egypt for their 37th congress. We found: His Excellency Hafez Pasha Hassan, Minister of Public Instruction [Education], his Excellency Hafez Pasha Afifi, his Excellency Chahine Pasha, His Excellency Hassan Anis Pasha, Georges Maillard, President of the Association, M. Marinetti, President of the Italian Delegation, M. Romain Coolus, M. Clausetti, the French, Italian, Dutch, Yugoslav and Swiss delegates, the Marquis Paterno di Manchi, Minister of Italy, Baron de Heerdt, the Chargé D'affaires of Holland, M. Politis from the Greek Legation, M. and Mme Lescuyer and Baron de Sainte Suzanne from the French Legation, M. Bufoni and M. Tony from the Legation of Italy, M. and Mme H. Naus Bey, M. and Mme Mahmoud Bey Khalil, M. and Mme Caucher, M. Thierrad, M. and Mme Taha Hussein, Mourad Bey Sid Ahmed, Emir Lutfallah, M. Gallad Bey, Mme and Mlle Gallad, M. and Mme Georges Kher, Professor, Mme and Mlle Olga Wagner, M and Mlle Feldman, M. and Mme Fernand Zananiri, Mtre and Mme Rodolph Chalom, M. Rogel Breval, M. Marcerou, and members of the press: M. Barakat, M. M Emile et Choukri Zaidan, Mlle Cesa Nabaraoui, M. and Mme Gaston Berthey, Mme G. de Ravenel, Aboul El Fath, Edgard Gallad, M. de Laumois, M and Mme Robert Blum, M. Stavrinos, M. Antoine Assaf, etc.379
On May 31, 1932 the Association des écrivains d’Egypte d’expression française organized a gala night in the great lecture hall of the Lycée français. It included a recital,
378 Images, December 17, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8. 379 Images, December 29, 1939, sec. Mondanités, 9.
101 a skit, and a revue written by Robert Blum. Again, the crowd had a very similar profile: European delegates, Egyptian notables, and a large number of Shawam—at least fifteen in this report (again underlined): M. Dauge, Minister of Belgium, the Baron Von Stohrer, Minister of Germany, and the Baroness Von Stohrer, M. and Mme Marius Schemeil Bey, M. Lefrere, Director of the Crédit Lyonnais, and Mme Lefrere, M. Berget, Principal of the Lycée Français and Mme Berget, M. the Consul General of Austria and Mme O. Stross, M. and Mme J. Mosseri, M. and Mme Anhoury, Mme H. Naus Bey, Fouad Bey Abaza, Mme Emile Eid, M and Mme Fernand Zananiri, Mr Mme R Schemeil, Mlle Cesa Nabaraoui, Mlles Hawa et Houraia Idris, M and Mme Gres, Mme Georges Kher, M and Mme Charles Terresse, M Leprette, Mme Borik Brin, M. and Mme Emile Zaidan, M Choucri Zaidan, Mlle Asma Mousalli, M. and Mme Georges Dumani, Mlle Dumani, Mme and Mlle Sciuto, M. Edgard Gallad, M. and Mme E. Arcache, Mme Robert Blum, G. Zananiri Pasha, M. and Mme Bernard Michel, etc.380
Furthermore, these lists allow us to discern possible social networks that existed. Same names appear in different events and are regulars at different circles. Sometimes events overlapped, and sometimes on the same day the crowd would leave an event only to see each other again at a different event. For example, Images reported that following a tea reception at Amy Kher’s—where the guests listened to Madame Soulon sing and play the piano, followed by Mlle Joan Rotman who danced an Argentinean tango—the guests left rather late only to find each other again at al-Diafa, where Alberto Campa was giving a lecture.381 Organizers of various groups knew each other and it was not uncommon, for example, that the Association des écrivains d’Egypte d’expression française would hold its meetings or exhibitions at the premises of al-Diafa or the Essayistes.382 These people, whose names slowly became familiar as I moved through the Images archives, also met at private parties, pointing to social links existing beyond cultural events. Not all gatherings at Amy Kher’s, for example, were intellectual. Images reported a “brilliant dancing soirée” on December 29, 1929. The hall was transformed into a ballroom with a jazz band, and people danced until late at night. A cold dinner was served along with “delicious and spicy cocktails of every known alcohol.” The names of
380 Images, June 4, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 10. 381 Images, January 9, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 11. 382 For example, the association held its first book exhibition at al-Diafa’s (Images, “La Vie littéraire,” December 12, 1931, 7).
102 over fifty guests were mentioned in the report, many of whom were circle and salon regulars.383 Similarly, in March 1933 Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri and her husband gave a tea reception in their “charming apartment” in Giza. They received the following group of Pashas, Beys, European delegates, and intellectuals (Fourteen Shawam names are underlined): Hilmy Issa Pasha, Midhat Pasha Yeghen, Abdel Rahman Pasha Reda, Gallini Pasha Fahmy, Dr Chahine Pasha, Mahmoud Sedky Pasha, Abdel Hamid Soliman Pasha, Mme Gaillard, M. Dauge, Minister of Belgium, the Minister of Germany and Mme Von Stohrer, His Excellency and Mme Joseph Cattaoui Pasha, His Excellency Shoucair Pasha, M and Mlle Shoucair, Mme Laforge, Mme Capsambellis, M. Grafty Smith, Mme O. Stross, Mme H. Naus Bey, the Countess of Serionne, M and Mme Sofianos, M. and Mme Marius Schemeil, Mme Neguib de Saab, Dr Schneider, Mme Foucart, Mme Charles Terrasse, M. and Mme de Heller, M and Mme Emile Zaidan, M. Choukri Zaidan, M. and Mme Jean Anhoury, M. and Mme Merton, M and Mme J. Codsi, Dr. Shorbagui Bey, M and Mme Taha Hussein, Sheikh Moustapha Abdel Razek, Mme Ernest Trembley, Achmaoui Bey, Ibrahim Bey Rateb, Elias Bey Awad, Mamdouh Bey Riaz, Mme Gabriel Takla Bey, M André de Laumois, Mme Michel Lutfallah Bey, M. Schevenne, M. Abdel Rahman Azzam, Ali Abdel Razek, M and Mme Roger Breval, M and Mme Georges Dumani, M and Mme Georges Meyer, M and Mme Gaston Berthey, Mme Jacob, Mme Boeglin, M. Habib Chiha, Mlle Romana, Mlle Zogheb, Mlle Boulad, Mlle Asma Moussalli, etc.384
Although there was a high representation of officials, literati and university professors, the scene included some of Cairo’s biggest names in commerce and finance as well. One of the regulars of the francophone circles was the Belgian Henri Naus Bey. Images published a short article on him, entitled “Nos silhouettes financières: Henri Naus Bey, C.B.E.” which gives a certain idea of the positions he held. It also provides a more concrete example of the thriving European businesses in Egypt as a result of the Capitulations and the power associated with the francophone elite. It was not uncommon for one person to be on the board of directors of several companies, so it is likely that Henri Naus held all the following positions simultaneously. He was: President of the Société Egyptienne d’Irrigation, Vice-President of the Banque Belge, Administrator-Director General of the Sugar Refineries of Egypt, Administrator of the Kom-Ombo, the Crédit Foncier Egyptien, Heliopolis, the Africain Enterprise, the Cairo Water Company, the Frigorifique, the Anglo- Belgian, the Cement factories, the Banque d’Abyssinie, President of the
383 Images, December 29, 1929, sec. Mondanités, 9. 384 Images, March 11, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 9.
103 Fédération des Industries, member of the Conseil Consultatif de la Régie Sucrerie, member of the Conseil de la Faculté des Lettres, member of the Conseil de l’Agriculture, Honorary President of the Union des Agriculteurs.385
The way these lectures were perceived and analyzed by some Cairene intellectuals gives additional insight into the society that included so many Shawam and the attention it accorded to form and appearances. Intellectuals were conscious of this new literary fashion and its potential, which surpassed the traditional and much smaller salon. Antje Ziegler, who calls for more scholarly works on Arab salons and literary circles, explains how the Arab salon had emerged at the turn of the twentieth century aligning itself with the European model, with new notions of sociability that departed from the exclusively male majlis. Usually held by women in the semi-public (and limited) space of their homes, education in these “feminized” salons, explains Ziegler, was “no longer limited to the acquisition of formal knowledge but comprise[d] the cultivation of social graces, of manners, morals, and taste.”386 Manners and social graces seem to have retained their importance in the francophone circles. In his series of articles on “La Mode des conférences” in 1931-2, Robert Blum engaged with this fashionable new way of socializing. In a humorous and not overtly didactic tone, he focuses almost entirely on the form in which a lecture should be given and attended. He gives an example of a good lecturer who “had everything to seduce the crowd: gentle features, a warm voice, the art of modulation, a vast memory and complete mastery of his topic.” He divides lecturers into those who read, and those who talk, and within those categories there are those who do it well and those who do it badly. His is a critique, mostly of what lecturers should avoid; he is against monotony, and approves of those who express courageous opinions, with “spirit and tact,” and can conquer the crowds. Extremes are to be avoided like those who do not make a single gesture or those who think they are performing a tragedy scene. He speaks of a protocole which should be respected and which sometimes leads to (a comical) friction between organizer and speaker: - Il faudrait dire: Excellences, Monsieur le Ministre… - Je dirai: Mesdames, Mesdemoiselles, Messieurs… - Je vous en prie. Vous allez provoquer un scandale ou, tout au moins des incidents. Ils vous causeront autant de tort qu’à moi.
385 Images, “Nos silhouettes financières: Henri Naus Bey, C.B.E.,” January 7, 1933, 18. 386 Antje Ziegler, “Arab Literary Salons at the Turn of the 20th Century,” 245.
104 - Je dirai: Mesdames, Mesdemoiselles, Messieurs. Je suis un démocrate ! - Moi aussi je suis un démocrate, un démocrate qui aime sa tranquillité ! - Je dirai: Mesdames, Mesdemoiselles, Messieurs.
Fortunately, continues Blum in a conclusion that sums up this attention to how things should be said: not all orators are this stubborn; as long as no one interferes with their topic they usually comply.387 Audiences get much more attention from Blum. He analyzes the crowd with the same humor. If the Cairo intellectual scene, says Blum, is used to seeing high officials and members of the diplomatic corps, nine times out of ten, these officials are there out of duty and not for their own pleasure. Nevertheless, that it was a duty to attend such lectures shows how seriously these events were taken. Blum denounces the hypocrisy of those who attend only to find faults with the lecture and still congratulate the speaker on his genius when he finishes. More interestingly, he talks about the young shy journalist, who is new to the whole scene, sent to cover the event and to work on his summarizing skills. Later when he has mastered the techniques and finished his training, he shall “enter the hall with authority, will install himself in his fauteuil without asking anybody, will greet this minister or that archbishop, and will stand up to gently kiss the hand of a society lady who reproaches him for having missed her last bridge dansant.”388 In his last article in this series, Blum addressed the auditors again. Lectures, he argues, bring together those who are really interested in the topic and the snobs, whom he criticizes bitterly: “The snobs think (when they can think) that is it necessary for their reputation to attend a literary or scientific talk. They reserve their applause for the foreign lecturer, even when he has no talent. But still, they applaud only a little. To applaud: a noisy action practiced by the bourgeois.” Elite young ladies do not escape his scrutiny. It is pointless, he argues, to analyze those who arrive late and leave early. They disrupt the talk, are mindless of their noisy steps, dare to talk and are happy with themselves. He is pleased with the enthusiastic ones who take notes and don’t miss a word, who applaud little but passionately, and who talk to the lecturer with deference and humility. He is less complimentary to the “blasé” and to the “over-eager hostesses;” the former have seen it all, have read it all, they never applaud, and never give a compliment; the latter are
387 Robert Blum, “La Mode des conférences,” Images, 12 December 1931, 5. 388 Robert Blum, “La Mode des conférences,” Images, 19 December 1931, 17.
105 inoffensive and useless, they attend only so they can invite a famous lecturer to dinner or tea, especially one who can talk without notes and would thus make an excellent guest at their salon.389 Blum’s articles offer a social commentary and insight into the practices of the francophone elite in these intellectual gatherings. There is special attention given to oratory skills, the necessity of capturing the audience’s attention and using the correct formulas and titles when addressing dignitaries.390 To say there are those who come late and leave early, and snobs who only attend to see and be seen indicate how important it was for them to make an appearance in such gatherings, even if they were not interested in the lectures per se. Blum reserves his praise for those who take the lectures seriously, listen attentively, take notes and show due respect to the lecturer and the gathering as a whole. He talks about high society ladies who recruit illustrious guests for their bridge parties, and the first timers who are intimidated by what must have been an impressive setting. Not only do they need time and regular attendance to get accustomed to these gathering, but they also have to have the right manners to be accepted as part of the group and have access to the more private, and possibly livelier, bridge parties.
Intellectual Interests The lectures and cultural activities organized by Cairo’s francophone literary circles and salons, along with the speakers’ names and qualifications, display a wide array of interests. Fortunately, some of these lectures were reproduced in Images and other periodicals, and began to be published more regularly from 1936 onwards in the Revue des Conférences françaises en Orient (1936-1951). Furthermore, in celebration of its 20th anniversary, the Amis de la culture française en Egypte published a book that included a long list of all its activities from 1926 to 1945. As far as speakers were concerned, they generally belonged to three categories. They were either foreign intellectuals visiting Egypt, university professors working in Cairo, or they were local writers and journalists. Given that the majority of founders and organizers were also writers and journalists and were mostly educated in Egypt’s French schools—Luthi estimates 80% of them were—the influence of French education was evident in their
389 Robert Blum, “La Mode des conférences,” Images, 16 January 1932, 15. 390 Among the first decisions made after the regime change in 1952 was the abolition of all official titles such as Pasha and Bey.
106 choice of topics.391 Most lectures had to do with France, its history, literature and institutions, in addition to general topics dealing with art, music, dance and travel. There were lectures on ancient Egyptian history and there was an effort to celebrate some key Egyptian artists and intellectuals. Given the large number of prolific francophone local writers, their works were regularly presented and discussed. Out of 158 lectures given at the Amis de la culture française en Egypte between 1926 and 1943, literature had the lion’s share of 68 lectures. Fifteen lectures were given on history, 19 on philosophy and sociology, 20 on art, theatre and music, 9 on science, 9 on traveling and 2 devoted to women.392 French literature figured highly in this list with talks on Bergson, Anatole France, Collette, La Fontaine, Georges Duhamel, Rimbaud, Franc-Nohain, Molière, Ronsard, Lamartine, Baudelaire, Verlaine…etc. Some of the topics covered included: “La Décadence de l’hellénisme en Egypte,” “Les Voyageurs français en Egypte,” “La Sculpture et les arts mineurs de l’Egypte ancienne,” “Les Grands temples de l’Egypte ancienne,” “Salons et cafés littéraires d’hier et d’aujourd’hui,” “Kant et la mesure de nos forces,” “ L’Ame de Paris,” “Quelques secrets de l’âme japonaise,” “L’Esprit français,” “Hommage à Sarah Bernhardt,” “La France et l’art de vivre,” “Humanisme et science juridique française,” “Le Génie pédagogique français,” “L’Economique, science et doctrine françaises,” “L’Humour français,” “Le Génie artistique français,” “Le Génie musical français,” “La Conception française de la paix internationale,” “Le Génie littéraire français,” and “La Philosophie française depuis 1940.” There were French poetry readings (both by French and Egyptian poets), lectures on English literature and poetry, aesthetic surgery, as well as on impressionism, cubism, and futurism. About 20 art exhibitions were organized for Egyptian and non-Egyptian painters and sculptors.393 The primacy of French literature and history was also reflected in the lectures organized by the Essayistes. There were talks on “La Mode actuelle des biographies,” by Jean-Marie Carré the Dean of the Faculty of Arts at the Egyptian University,
391 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 107. 392 Jospeh Ascar-Nahas, “Conférence sur les conférences,” in L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925-1945), ed. by Morik Brin, (Cairo: Editions Horus, 1945), 14- 15. 393 This list of lectures and activities come from Morik Brin, ed., L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925-1945), (Cairo: Editions Horus, 1945).
107 “Civilization et machinisme,” by Louis Rougier, head of the Philosophy Department at the Egyptian University, “Le Theatre d’amour de Porto-Riche,” by Edgard Gallad, “Du bilan littéraire en France des années 1931-32,” by Jules Levy, a talk on Napoleon, his life and the events associated with him in Egypt, by the French historian Edouard Driault, and “Notions de la dance,” by the dance teacher Joan Rotman.394 One night Gabriel Gardaut, an editor at the Bourse égyptienne presented the local francophone writer Elian Finbert’s new novel Le Fou de Dieu, and talked about the ensemble of his works, while George Antonius, one of the first historians of Arab nationalism and author of The Arab Awakening, once gave a talk entitled “Quelques observations sur le rêve.”395 Together with the Lycée français, the Essayistes organized a lecture by Jules Romains to discuss the “Fonction de l’esprit français dans le monde actuel.” Images introduced Romains as a representative of “the French thought and the modern mind, one of the biggest authors of our epoch.”396 A Lila Levy spoke about the life of Franz Liszt, illustrating her talk with some of Liszt’s works.397 A year after the inauguration of al-Diafa, Images published an article on the opening ceremony of the new premises of the circle on November 16, 1930. Dr. Ali Pasha Ibrahim gave a talk on “Les Tapis d’Orient au XVII siècle,” in the presence of Mouard Pasha Sid Ahmed, the Minister of Education, and Mahmoud Sedky Pasha, the Governor of Cairo. Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri gave a short speech that summarized the activities of the first year: [Romain Coolus] gave us a taste of the good sense of the French mind, Marinetti gave an animated talk, Madame Devonshire spoke about the old houses being mercilessly demolished, M. Jouguet, Director of the Institut d’art français, and M. Hautecoeur, Director of the Fine Arts, talked about art in ancient Egypt and its modern evolution, Professors Jean-Marie Carré, Sterling and Valli talked about poets and poetry in France England and Italy, while Cécile Sorel brought us a message from France… Journalists of all nationalities talked about the most
394 These lecture titles appeared in the following issues of Images respectively: December 5, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11, March 5, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 10, December 7, 1930, 4, September 17, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8, March 25, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 21, January 21, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 10, 395 Images, May 27, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 11 and Images, October 22, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 19. 396 Images, February 24, 1934 sec. Mondanités, 10. 397 Images, March 17, 1934, sec. Mondanités, 7.
108 important moments of their careers, while all the intellectual elite showed up here to welcome the great novelist Thomas Mann.398
Other reports indicate that musical recitals sometimes followed the lectures. We also learn, for example, that Lucien Boyer and his troupe from Montmartre read from his poetry collection “Paysages de France,” that André de Laumois talked about “Un journaliste est-il perdu pour la littérature?” Edith Hewit, editor-in-chief of the Egyptian Mail, spoke about her impressions of Ghandi, the German historian Emil Ludwig gave a talk prior to which he was introduced by Taha Hussein, and Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri talked about francophone Egyptian poets and read some of her own poems. Tea receptions were regularly organized for famous foreign intellectuals visiting Cairo. Despite a clear bias towards French-related topics, Egypt was not completely absent from all these activities. Egyptian intellectuals who published in Arabic, like Taha Hussein and Sheikh Mustapha Abdel Razek, were regulars at these circles. Although still very limited in number compared to the total number of lectures, there were lectures on Egypt at the Amis de la culture française en Egypte. For example, there were talks on ancient Egypt, famous travelers who visited the country, Egyptian folklore, Egypt and Europe, as well as contemporary Egyptian literature. The Essayistes dedicated one issue of their bulletin, Un Effort, to Egypt’s sculptor Moukhtar, and organized a meeting to honor his memory.399 They also arranged a grande soirée for the poet Ahmed Chawki, under the presidency of Helmy Issa Pasha, the Minister of Education.400 The group also seems to have planned a series of trips to various Egyptian sites, for example there was a trip to Suez in 1932.401 Although there were frequent recitals of classical music, Arabic music was sometimes played as well. On a special occasion when al-Diafa received members of the 10th Congrès de la presse latine, Images reports that the famous Oum Kalthoum was “a great and charming attraction” as she sang several songs from her repertoire.402 In May 1931 and in what Images considered a “poetic festival,” al-Diafa
398 Images, “L’Inauguration des nouveaux locaux du cercle al-Diafa: L’Intéressante conférence du Docteur Ali Pacha Ibrahim sur ‘Les Tapis d’Orient au XVII siècle,’” November 23, 1930, 4. 399 Images, March 31, 1934, sec. Mondanités, 8 and Images, April 28, 1934, sec. Mondanités, 6-7. 400 Images, December 31, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8. 401 Images, September 17, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8. 402 Images January 9, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 11.
109 celebrated “the biggest three Arab poets,” Ahmed Chawki, Hafez Ibrahim and Khalil Moutran.403 Yet, the place of honor was clearly reserved for France, evident not only in the choice of topics, but also as a leitmotif that was repeatedly and explicitly evoked. Presenting the writer Andre Lichtenberger who was to give a talk on “the art of travel,” the Essayiste Gaston Berthey spoke on behalf of his colleagues and said: “To what comes from France our soul responds.” Lichtenberger thanked Berthey in return and expressed his pleasure to see how French culture was held in high esteem by the Egyptian youth, “in such moving terms that he was applauded for a long time,” according to Images.404 On another occasion, Gabriel Boctor, the secretary of the group, organized a meeting during which he summarized the group’s activities thus far, and read aloud letters and articles that appeared in French journals in which writers and authors de passage in Cairo talked about the Essayistes in complimentary terms. 405 Similarly, the Amis de la culture française en Egypte were clearly a strong link between local intellectuals and France. In his lecture entitled “Une conférence sur les conférences,” Joseph Ascar-Nahas discussed the success of the association. In his talk, not devoid of humor, Ascar-Nahas shared his views on the lectures given at A.C.F.E. while presenting some facts and statistics about the various disciplines covered and the corresponding number of lectures. He traced the history of the different locations that A.C.F.E. had occupied in the previous twenty years, how it was necessary to move due to an uninterrupted success, ending up in the Oriental Hall of the American University in Cairo. He finished his talk with a clin d’oeil to the then occupied Paris: Paris, from which shone unfettered in its multiple and magnificent aspects the French culture that lives in every one of us, to the extent that we no longer know if we belong to it, or if it belongs to us. To love the French culture when one is not French, does not mean to know less one’s proper culture, its history, possibilities and richness; it is simply to have a heart big enough to love twice.406
Such sentimental idealization adequately marked the twentieth anniversary of an association that celebrated the success of French cultural influence in Egypt. A
403 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 28. 404 Images, April 22, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 9. 405 Images, July 1, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 18. 406 Jospeh Ascar-Nahas, “Conférence sur les conférences,” 46.
110 coincidence perhaps, but it was somewhat telling that a lecture by one of Egypt’s Shawam would mark this anniversary and would get published in the book commemorating the occasion. Not only did Nahas’ lecture reiterate the association’s objectives and accomplishments, but it also celebrated a sociocultural tradition that it had helped propagate. The Egyptian elite, according to the Ascar-Nahas, went beyond a simple rapprochement and bonding with France. Instead, he argued that “every one of [them]” felt one with French culture. He did not see in such identification any compromise to one’s relationship with one’s own country; on the contrary it doubled the possibilities. More importantly, the lecture declared A.C.F.E. successful in having forged a community of elites. He described how the faces had become familiar and how the regulars were missed when they did not show up. Theirs, according to Nahas, was a group of journalists, university professors and students, high society ladies, and senior civil servants who came to the lectures and socialized at tea parties. It was an “atmosphere of intimacy and solidarity,” a “great work of French culture:” Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you on the support you have given to the organization of lectures here at A.C.F.E. Your assiduity and friendship have transformed this hall into a real literary salon. One knows that one will meet the journalist one wishes to see and will possibly make him talk, the young university student with the slightly surprised look, the high society lady who has not invited you over for tea for such a long time. And when we don’t see the regulars in their usual places, the great professor or the senior civil servant, […] we ask ourselves why they did not come. It is you who have created and maintained this atmosphere of intimacy and solidarity that characterize our meetings. It is also you who allow this great work of French culture to last and to develop.407
Two hundred guests of this community attended a sumptuous banquet at the famous Groppi and later, there was a gala at the Royal Opera House, to mark the occasion.408 M. de Benoist and Ismail Bey Kabbany—who read the speech of Dr. Abdel Razzak El Sanhoury Bey, the Minister of Education—talked about the association, its
407 Jospeh Ascar-Nahas, “Conférence sur les conférences,” 28. 408 Established in 1924, Groppi is a patisserie and tearoom and once the place to be seen in Cairo. Zielger describes it as “a longtime center of attraction for the literati, which can almost lay claim to having embodied a piece of literary history, and still exists to this day in Cairo.” See Ante Zielger, “Arab Literary Salons at the Turn of the 20th Century,” 244. The banquet at Groppi and the gala at the Opera House were listed in Morik Brin, ed., L’Association des Amis de la culture française en Egypte (1925-1945), (Cairo: Editions Horus, 1945), 84.
111 objectives and accomplishments. Anne Nevin talked about French culture in the United States, while M. Muller improvised on the role played by Canada, Switzerland and Egypt in the French cultural movement. Talking about the French culture in Egypt was assigned to yet another key Shawam figure: Amy Kher. Images could not but remark how “everywhere [at the banquet] was what seemed to be a hymn to a newly-born France, home to all eclectics of the world.”409
A Problematic “Egyptianness” Local francophone literature was an integral part of the francophone scene in Egypt. Fenoglio spoke of 1,000 literary works by 300 francophone authors in Egypt between 1850 and 1950.410 Yet this figure may not be accurate, for, as Luthi pointed out, not all writers were able to get their work published. Publishing difficulties forced most writers to publish their work at their own expense and Luthi concludes that much literary work was therefore lost. 411 A collection of French poems by foreign poets was published in France in 1953, and it gives a good indication of this loss. On one hand, that year’s collection included many obscure Egyptian poets. On the other hand, Egypt had the largest number of poets after Belgium (nine of whom had recognizable Shawam names), something that the editor Patrice Buet commented on: Our 102 poets of this year belong to 17 different nationalities: 4 Americans, 1 English, 3 Argentineans, 2 Armenians, 25 Belgians, 5 Brazilians, 1 Scottish, 8 Canadians, 17 Egyptians, 1 Spanish, 1 Haitian, 6 Greeks, 1 Dutch, 7 Italians, 8 Lebanese, 8 Swiss, and 4 Turks. We will allow ourselves to hail (saluer) the Egyptians in particular, who rank immediately after the Belgians. We owe it to Mr. Edouard Gargour, the general representative in Egypt of the Société des amis de l’Académie des poètes de Paris, who had the kindness of presenting us to the poets of his country.412
Support and official recognition of Egypt’s more established literary names came from the French Republic. The French ambassador and other members from the French Embassy were regulars at Egypt’s francophone circles—very similar to their presence in
409 Images, “Vingtième anniversaire des A.C.F.E.,” March 20, 1945, sec. Mondanités. 410 Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” 21. 411 Luthi, Entretiens avec des auteurs francophones d’Egypte, 13. 412 Patrice Buet, introduction to Poèmes français de poètes étrangers (Collection couronnée par l’Académie Française), vol. 5, (Paris: Editions de la Revue Moderne Des Arts et de la Vie, 1953), 9.
112 the events and prize-giving days of missionary and secular schools. Furthermore, France offered various prizes and awards to Egypt’s francophone writers and those who helped preponderate French culture in Egypt. In addition to the awards given to Amy Kher and Nelly Zananiri already mentioned, other authors were honored. In 1937 Ahmed Rassim received the Légion d’honneur, and a year later Stavro Stavrinos received la Médaille de la langue française from the Académie Française.413 Other honored figures included: Prince Haider Fazil who received l’Eglantine d’argent des Jeux Floraux for his poem l’Homme heureux in 1925, Jean Moscatelli who received the Prix d’Honneur at the Jeux Floraux in 1926, Elian Finbert received the Prix Renaissance for his novel Le Fou de Dieu in 1933, Arsène Yergath received the second Prix des Jeux Floraux of Nice in 1938, Ahmed Rassim received the Prix Capdeville given by the Académie Française for Pages Choisies in 1954, while Joseph Ascar-Nahas received the Prix Edgar Poe for his collection Djenane in 1955.414 Recently, this francophone literature has been attracting more and more scholarly attention and many of its authors are gradually being rediscovered, their works being studied and republished.415 With this rediscovery resurfaces the debate on the “Egyptianness” of this literature, a debate with which today’s literary scholars continue to struggle, and is quite pertinent to the debate concerning the cultural alienation of the Shawam. Contemporary scholars of francophone Egyptian literature seem to recognize the specificity of this literature and its resistance to easy classification. In her recent work on francophone literature of the Middle East, Zahida Darwiche Jabbour admits that defining the Egyptian francophone literature is problematic. She argues that if such literature can be identified as the product of a francophonie that resulted from Egypt’s
413 Lançon, “Fortune et infortune du champs littéraire au Caire,” 34. 414 For a full list of honors and awards see Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 238. 415 Francois Zabbal, “A Chacun son Égypte,” Qantara Spring 27 (1998): 28-9. Several francophone works from Egypt have been republished recently. The collected works of Georges Henein were published in 2005 (Georges Henein, Oeuvres: Georges Henein, Paris: Denoel, 2005), and the works of the poet Ahmed Rassim were published in 2007 (Ahmed Rassim, Le Journal d’un pauvre fonctionnaire et autres textes, Paris: Denoel, 2007). The autobiography of Jehan d’Ivray, which first appeared in 1911, was finally republished in April 2011 (Jehan d’Ivray, Au cœur du harem, Saint-Étienne: Publications de l’Université Saint- Étienne, 2011). The Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3 is organizing a conference in November 2011 on the forgotten works of Joyce Mansour, entitled: “Postérité(s) de Joyce Mansour: oubli, relecture, réception.”
113 cosmopolitanism, the identity of its authors remains paradoxical. If most of these authors had non-Egyptian nationalities, they were still born in Egypt, in families that had lived in Egypt for generations. They made their careers in Egypt, and even when they chose exile, she believes their writings remain “strongly tied to Egypt’s sociocultural reality.” Consequently, she concludes that the debate is far from closed.416 Luthi is more authoritative when he declares that any attempt to distinguish local from foreign authors would be artificial.417 Fenoglio, on the other hand, shifts attention to the literature itself. Given the life this literature reflected, and the ideas and feelings it expressed, she concludes that it “belongs in every respect to the Egyptian culture as a whole (ensemble culturel égyptien), which it enriched and on which it still has an effect.” These writers, she explains, wrote in French, not to break away from their original culture, not to express feelings of nostalgia or exile; they wrote simply to write.418 Andrée Chédid spoke in very similar terms when she said that, as far as she was concerned, she never felt she had to adopt the French language, on the contrary this language was part of her “substance:” To speak [French], to write it, flowed from the source… through me… I never had the impression that I was turning myself away from an identity of birth, but on the contrary to have found it through another means of communication.419
The Egyptian francophone authors and critics in question were not unaware of the particularity of their situation and some of these issues were raised at the time. The questions were the same. Were there certain criteria that defined who was to be labeled Egyptian? When discussing literature, did the origin of the author really matter at all? Discussing these authors, Marius Schemeil declared very generously that a writer was Egyptian by birth, by origin, by residence or by friendship.420 Elian Finbert was more
416 Zahida Darwiche Jabbour, Littératures francophones du Moyen-Orient: Egypte, Liban, Syrie, (Aix-en-Provence: Edisud, 2007), 16. 417 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 15. 418 Irène Fenoglio, “Égyptianité et langue française: un cosmopolitisme de bon aloi,” in Entre Nil et sable: Ecrivains d’Egypte d’expression française (1920-1960), ed. Marc Kober, Irène Fenoglio and Daniel Lançon (Paris: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, 1999), 22. 419 Interview with Andrée Chédid in La Quinzaine littéraire, no 436, (March 1985). Quoted in Daniel Lançon, “Edmond Jabès l’égyptien,” in Entre Nil et sable: Ecrivains d’Egypte d’expression française (1920-1960), ed. Marc Kober, Irène Fenoglio and Daniel Lançon (Paris: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, 1999),185-6. 420 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 15.
114 critical when he said he wanted to see francophone Egyptian poetry more “Egyptian” because “without the Egyptian framework, a non imaginary framework (sans le cadre égyptien, et un cadre non pas imaginaire), this poetry will neither have a duration (durée) nor a truth (vérité), because poetry is the truth of a country.”421 Is it telling that upon founding their annual literary prize, the Association des écrivains d’Egypte d’expression française decided it would be awarded to a work that was “of Egyptian inspiration?”422 In the fifties Jean Moscatelli argued that the “Egyptianness” of Egypt’s francophone literature depended not on the origin of its authors, but on its “sensibility,” which he defined as “a certain vision of the world conditioned by Egypt; its land, its history, its culture.” Following this criteria he distinguished between two types of Egyptian francophone literatures; one, by “some French, Swiss and Belgians,” who despite their lives in Egypt were not impregnated by the Egyptian soul, and another by writers who “carry Egypt inside them like an interior land, shaping their sensibility, their imagination and their way of being in the world.”423 Whether in Finbert’s idea of lack of anchorage or Moscatelli’s notion of an “Egyptian soul,” Darwiche Jabbour immediately signals the link between the question of the “Egyptianness” of the cosmopolitan elite and the question of national identity. She quotes the feminist Cesa Nabaraoui who spoke in 1933 of her wish to see the communities established in Egypt develop solid relations amongst themselves and with the land that has welcomed them, similar to how European immigrants feel about their new home in the United States: If this sentiment was solidly rooted in these groups, it would not be difficult to consider every resident of the Nile Valley a true representative of the Egyptian nation. Nobody would bother to remember the origin or confession of this or that person if the individual in question had not proven himself a stranger to the national ambitions, past, present or future.424
Of course these key francophone figures differed on their relationship to “Egyptianness.” After calling for a long and careful study to better understand the whole notion of “Egyptianness,” Luthi added how it seemed to him, from his long interaction
421 Elian J. Finbert in La Semaine égyptienne, no 39-40 (15 October 1932). Quoted in Darwiche Jabbour, Littératures francophones du Moyen-Orient, 17. 422 Images, “La Vie littéraire,” December 12, 1931, 7 (signed by Les Sept). 423 Quoted in Darwiche Jabbour, Littératures francophones du Moyen-Orient, 18-9. 424 Cesa Nabaraoui, in l’Egyptienne, no 94 (1933). Quoted in Darwiche Jabbour, Littératures francophones du Moyen-Orient, 17.
115 with many of these francophone authors, that the question of belonging and identity was not at the heart of their concerns, even when their writings evoke their common origin here and there.425 In 1932 Robert Blum interviewed Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri—who was always referred to as an Egyptian poet, whether in Egypt or France—and she evoked her passion for Egypt: “I love Egypt, I love her completely, profoundly, and when I am far away from her, I feel even more this powerful attraction, the spell, the charm.”426 In his memoires published in 1996, her brother Gaston Zananiri, also professed his love for Alexandria, but he seemed skeptical about his identity. He did not hide his disillusionment with what it meant for him to be an Egyptian: “I am considered to be Egyptian because I was born in Alexandria. We have so often formulated this syllogism for me: As you were born in Alexandria, and Alexandria is in Egypt, you are therefore Egyptian.”427 Over the course of sixty years, the context in which Nelly and Gaston evoked Egypt had clearly changed. Perhaps Gaston in the 1990s was relying on twentieth century notions of ethnicity that were unfamiliar to his sister (and to himself) in the beginning of the 1930s. In her recent work on the dissemination of radical ideas in the Eastern Mediterranean, Ilham Khuri-Makdisi poses a similar question. Although she is concerned with what she refers to as the “working-class cosmopolitanism,” Khuri- Makdisi questions how our understanding of “ethnicity” corresponds to how people in cosmopolitan Cairo and Alexandria understood it: What exactly was Ottoman identity, and what was its significance for Ottoman workers? What did the adjective Greek or Italian mean for workers in Cairo and Alexandria in the late nineteenth century, or, for that matter, in Anatolia, Greece and Italy? Was it primarily a linguistic identity? A consular and legal one? What was the significance of foreigness, when many of Alexandria’s foreign Greek, Italian, and other workers had known nothing but Egypt?428
Conclusion This chapter has tried to describe in detail Cairo’s francophone circles and salons in the late 1920s and early 1930s as a space that brought together the city’s cosmopolitan elite, and in which the Shawam were particularly visible. In addition to key Shawam
425 Luthi, La Littérature d’expression française en Egypte, 145. 426 Robert Blum, “Comment ils travaillent,” Images, January 13, 1932, 5. 427 Gaston Zananiri, Entre mer et désert, 15. 428 Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 161.
116 figures that animated this francophone scene, like Amy Kher, Nelly Vaucher-Zananiri and Mary Kahil, the Shawam were also involved in other popular francophone circles, as organizers, lecturers and attendees. The influence of the French schools is not only evident in having forged a powerful elite community, but also in the intellectual concerns that these circles reflect. Yet, besides the clear bias towards France and French culture, there existed a local francophone literature that was proper to this community, and whose authors did not necessarily see their francophonie as a compromise to their local culture or identity, even when they were unable to express themselves in Arabic. The unresolved debate on the “Egyptianness” of this literature and its authors speaks directly to the cultural alienation of the Shawam.
117 Conclusion
“Je voudrais maintenant, en tant que Français, dire combien mes compatriotes et moi avons été émus, et je l’avoue, surpris de constater à quel point était profonde la culture française des villes comme le Caire et Alexandrie où on nous fut fait un accueil véritablement intraduisible ! Combien d’yeux avons-nous vus s’emplir de la ‘rosée du cœur’ à l’évocation de la France qu’on étreignait en nos mains. Nous en sommes restés bouleversés et pleins d’orgueil… Dire que l’Egypte spirituellement est une colonie française est une absolue vérité.”429
- Denys Amiel, Secretary General of the Confédération des sociétés d’auteurs, in La Bourse égyptienne, January 27, 1930.
After a tumultuous period between Egypt and France following the Suez crisis, diplomatic relations between the two countries were finally restored in 1968. Only the naïve still hoped that the French language would regain its former glory in Egypt. Frank Schoell had correctly predicted that once the British had left Egypt, French would lose the superiority it had had over English, and Egyptians would turn in greater numbers towards the English language.430 He could not predict, however, that for Egypt’s once- powerful francophone elite, the sixties and seventies would prove to be what Daniel Lançon described as “a difficult period marked by suspicion, shame and marginalization.”431 The imposing buildings of the French schools still stand, but Robert Solé has no doubt that the context had completely changed: In fact, the formerly French schools never regained their previous standard. They had lost their freedom, some of their teachers, and the small cosmopolitan community, drawn to France, which was their main clientele.432
429 “As a Frenchman, let me express how deeply my compatriots and I were moved (and even surprised), to see the extent of French culture in cities like Cairo and Alexandria, where our welcome was beyond words! How often when mentioning this France we embrace so fully, did heartfelt tears well up in so many eyes. We were not only moved but extremely proud… It is entirely true that Egypt is spiritually a French colony.” 430 Franck L. Schoell, La Langue française dans le monde, (Paris: Bibliothèque du “Français Moderne,” 1936), 229. 431 Daniel Lançon, “La France participée: les grandes heures de la francophonie égyptienne,” Bulletin of Francophone Africa, no 12-13 (July 1998): 11. 432 Robert Solé, L’Egypte passion française, (Paris: Seuil, 1997), 399.
118 The Shawam were an integral part of this “small cosmopolitan community” and had embraced it completely. This work has explored the Shawam’s appropriation of French, especially Catholic, schools. They neither needed communitarian nor public schools. France, as a protector of Eastern Catholics, was eager to accommodate their religious rites and offered them the Catholic education of which their parents and clergy highly approved. Moreover, given the strong French influence in Egypt before 1952, French schools became a prerequisite to integrating into a small but powerful francophone elite, which dominated Egyptian life until the regime change. Ironically, the British occupation only reinforced France’s influence, gave it a national aspect, and secured its control over the domains of the press, finance, justice and administration. Despite its excellence and perhaps because of the privileges of the Capitulations, French education failed to adjust its students to the changing reality of the country they lived in. Giving students a pure French education, which ignored Arabic, Egyptian history and geography, in a cosmopolitan society that reinforced communal ties and removed any incentive for integration into mainstream Egyptian society, resulted in the cultural alienation of the Shawam. This phenomenon reached its climax during the interwar period, and French became the language they mostly used amongst themselves and with the outside world. In its approach, this thesis departs from other narratives that tried to explain the cultural alienation of the Shawam from Egyptian society. While it acknowledges the role of religion and origin in valorizing communal ties, it gives more weight to the context in which the Shawam valorized these ties. It pays special attention to details of daily practices and experiences to better discern the conditions in which they made their daily choices. The cultural alienation of the Shawam was not a result of failed integration, but was a long-term process that had started with their arrival in Egypt and their dependence on French schools. If anything, this cultural alienation made their integration into mainstream Egyptian society impossible. Such an alienation cannot be studied in isolation from the wider context of the Egyptian francophonie, which the Shawam shared with other foreign communities resident in Egypt, and with Muslims and Copts from the higher bourgeoisie, including the Egyptian royal family, whose founder never learned Arabic and whose descendants continue to feel more comfortable with French than with
119 Arabic. While it lasted, the Shawam had everything to gain from their French education, but in Egypt at least, this proved to be a short-term privilege. Looking in detail at some of Cairo’s francophone literary circles and salons offers a wealth of information on the cultural alienation of the Shawam. The Shawam did not disappear from Egypt’s intellectual life, but second and third generations dominated the French press and became founders, regulars and active members of the many francophone circles and salons that animated Cairo’s intellectual life, especially during the interwar period. In many ways, these circles and salons became an extension of French schools, in terms of the francophone cosmopolitan elite they attracted, the topics they discussed, their exaggerated idealization of French language and culture, and the overall disinterest in Arabic language and culture. Yet, scholars continue to struggle with the “Egyptianness” of this rich francophonie. It flourished, developed its own Egyptian French dialect, sustained an active press and produced hundreds of literary works. Different studies are uncomfortable distinguishing local from foreign authors. To many of these francophone authors, identity as we know it today was not at the heart of their concerns. The Egyptian francophonie was the result of a cosmopolitan world, which attracted both the local and foreign elites. For the Shawam, integrating into this francophone elite reflected their success and imparted a sense of accomplishment and pride. They were marked by their Egyptian experience and when they left, only a few returned to Lebanon. Most chose to settle in France, Canada, the United States and Australia, where they usually identify themselves as Egyptians to distinguish themselves from other Syro-Lebanese.433 Perhaps as we refine our understanding of Egypt’s cosmopolitanism, the identity of the Egyptian Shawam will become less mysterious. In the mean time, any attempt to categorize the Shawam as exclusively Syrian, Lebanese, Egyptian or French would be misleading.
433 Thomas Philipp, The Syrians in Egypt: 1725-1975, (Stuttgart: Steiner-Verlag-Wiesbaden GMBH, 1985), xiii. Massoud Daher, Al-Hijrah al-Lubnānīyah ilá Miṣr: hijrat al-Shawām [The Lebanese Emigration to Egypt], (1986; Cairo: Dar Al-Shorouk, 2009), 202. Similarly, Baha Abu-Laban argues that tension exists among the Lebanese in Montreal, even within the same religious group. One of the examples he gives is tension between Lebanese and Egyptian Maronites. See Baha Abu-Laban, “The Lebanese in Montreal,” in The Lebanese in the World: A Century of Emigration, ed. Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi, (London: Centre for Lebanese Studies, 1992), 238.
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Images
Articles
“Aux A.C.F.E.” November 25, 1945, sec. Mondanités. “Les Amis de la culture française en Egypte.” February 9, 1930, 6. Blum, Robert. “Comment ils travaillent.” January 13, 1932, 5. ——. “La Mode des conférences.” December 12, 1931, 5. ——. “La Mode des conférences.” December 19, 1931, 17. ——. “La Mode des conférences.” January, 16 1932, 15. “Conférences du Caire: Le Théâtre d’amour de Porto-Riche.” December 7, 1930, 4. De R., G. “André Maurois au Caire.” March 19, 1932, 13. Forzannes, Serge. “Aux Amis de la culture française: Mme Amy Kher parle de Selma et le Liban.” March 5, 1932, 5. ——. “Groupes intellectuels d’Egypte: Les Amis de la culture française.” May 28, 1932, 10. “L’Inauguration des nouveaux locaux du cercle al Diafa: L’Intéressante conférence du Docteur Ali Pacha Ibrahim sur ‘Les Tapis d’Orient au XVII siècle,’” November 23, 1930, 4.
122 “L’ Inauguration du cercle al Diafa,” December 29, 1939, 17. N., M. “Cent ans après la visite de Lamartine en Orient: La Fête du CCJS au Continental.” May 27, 1933, 6. “Nos Silhouettes financières: Henri Naus bey, C.B.E.” January 7, 1933, 18. “La Vie littéraire,” December 12, 1931, 7 (signed by Les Sept). “Vingtième anniversaire Des A.C.F.E.” March 20, 1945, sec. Mondanités. “Zénobie reine de Palmyre, et Julia, impératrice romaine: La Conférence de Mme Amy Kher.” February 28, 1933, 8.
Mondanités (Society Section)
December 29, 1929, sec. Mondanités, 9. December 22, 1929, sec. Mondanités, 42. August 3, 1930, sec. Mondanités, 9. Christmas Issue 1930, sec. Mondanités. February 1, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 10. September 27, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11. November 22, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11. December 5, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 11. December 12, 1931, sec. Mondanités, 10. December 19,1931, sec. Mondanités, 10. January 9, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 11. March 5, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 10. March 26 1932, sec. Mondanités, 12. May 28,1932, sec. Mondanités, 14. June 4, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 10. October 22, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 19. September 17, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8. December 17, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8. December 31, 1932, sec. Mondanités, 8. January 21, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 10. February 25,1933, sec. Mondanités, 10. March 11,1933, sec. Mondanités, 9. March 25,1933, sec. Mondanités, 20. March 25, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 21. April 8, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 9. April 22, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 9. May 27, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 11, September, 9 1933, sec. Mondanités, 8. September, 16 1933, sec. Mondanités, 8. July 1, 1933, sec. Mondanités, 18. February 24, 1934 sec. Mondanités, 10. March 17, 1934, sec. Mondanités, 7. March 31,1934, sec. Mondanités, 8. April 28, 1934, sec. Mondanités, 6-7. December 29,1939, sec. Mondanités, 9.
123
Photographs
Le Magazine égyptien, December 9, 1928, 17. Images, November 23, 1930, 4. Images, April 16, 1932, 10. Images, May 7, 1932, 6. Images, September 17, 1932. Images, November 26, 1932, 7. Images, February 17, 1933, 8. Images, April 15, 1933, 7. Images, May 27, 1933, 6.
Archives Visited
The Jesuit Archives – Collège de la Sainte Famille, Cairo, Egypt. The Institut Dominicain d’Etudes Orientales, Cairo, Egypt. The American University in Cairo, Egypt. Dar al-Hilal, Cairo, Egypt.
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