The Autobiography of ‘Alī Mubārak

(1824–1893)

Introduction

‘Alī Mubārak was born in a small village in northern Egypt in 1824. In the opening passages of his autobiography, he recounts a childhood so filled with misadventures that he might well be termed an Egyptian Tom Sawyer. He leaves his teachers when they beat him, frustrates all of his father's efforts to educate him at home, works at five different occupations, runs away from home and from various employers, is brought home against his will several times, lies to his parents and employers alike, lands in prison once, is placed under “house arrest” by his parents, and, finally, against the will of his entire family, enrolls in a government elementary school and is selected to become a student at one of the new European-style secondary schools in Cairo—all by the age of twelve!^[1]

Eventually he was sent to France as part of an educational delegation that included two sons of the Egyptian ruler Muḥammad ‘Alī and studied there for five years (1844–50), first in Paris and then in Metz. On his return to Egypt he embarked on a tempestuous political career during which he fell in and out of favor with members of the royal family and, over several decades, held the posts of minister of public works, minister of education, and minister of charitable foundations for various periods. He was an ardent reformer and modernizer who personally helped to redesign Egypt's central irrigation system, railway system, and institutions of higher education. His two best-known literary works are his encyclopedic historical and geographic description of Egypt in twenty volumes, al-Khiṭaṭ al-Tawfīqiyya, and his four-volume didactic novel, ‘Alam al-Dīn, neither of which is available in translation.

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Mubārak's autobiography appears in his Khiṭaṭ—a genre of geographic description that originated in the Middle Ages in which the author describes cities and villages, arranged alphabetically, and cites their major monuments and characteristics, important historical events that occurred there, and the biographies of famous persons who were born, resided, or died there. The whole is thus a combination of geographic, historical, and biographical knowledge and is one of several genres that reflect the universalist encyclopedic impulse typical of medieval Islamic scholarship.

Mubārak includes his own life story precisely where it should be found: under the entry for his natal village, al-Birinbāl al-Jadīda (New Birinbāl). He opens his account quite modestly by stating that since he has listed all other persons of note under their appropriate headings, he shall therefore proceed to include his own life story under that of his birthplace. The account is rather lengthy and is recounted in the first person. Mubārak's writing is rather modern in taste regarding which aspects of his childhood he chooses to recount to his readers and at the same rather traditional in literary style. It is almost ironic that this distinctly modern autobiography, which presages much of what was to happen in that genre of Arabic literature over the next century, came into being within the framework of one of the last examples of the khiṭaṭ genre. The only subsequent example of the khiṭaṭ genre of real significance has been Khiṭaṭ al-Shām (The Description of Syria), by Muḥammad Kurd ‘Alī (1876–1953). Following the example of Mubārak, he included a short autobiography in his Khiṭaṭ, published in 1928, but later produced a greatly expanded, more modern version titled Mudhakkirāt (Memoirs) in four volumes published between 1948 and 1951. Selections of this later work have appeared in an English translation by Khalil Totah.

In his autobiography, ‘Alī Mubārak never allows the latter part of his life to be foreshadowed in the chronological unfolding of his narrative. The reader is always left in suspense about how various trials and tribulations will be resolved. Mubārak is also liberal in his portrayal of feelings. At one point when he is lying sick in the hospital and thinks that he might die, he portrays his father's leave-taking as follows: ℌHe looked at me and I looked at him, he kissed me and I kissed him, he wept and I wept, and finally he said farewell and went on his way, him sighing and me crying. Our state was like that described in the verse:

	Could perhaps the sorrows which now beset me
	Conceal behind them approaching release?

Each hardship he endures, however, leads him (at least in his autobiography) to derive some positive lesson from what he has undergone and to face the future even more resolutely.

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‘Alī Mubārak's autobiography provides a fascinating account not only of the internal politics of Egypt during a dramatically eventful period but also of an exuberant personality whose early poverty and simple origins fostered a deep desire to provide basic education and modern technological advances to the masses.

Bibliography

Missing

The Childhood of ‘Alī Mubārak
[al-Khiṭaṭ, vol. 9, pp. 37–42]

In describing each village we have taken it upon ourself to mention, to the best of our ability, those who were born or raised there and those who died or are buried there from among the famous or those renowned for some important matter (good or otherwise). We have also mentioned those who have obtained high rank or an honored position from His Highness the khedive as well as others from the family and forebears of Muḥammad [‘Alī]. It is therefore appropriate that we should make mention here of our own biography and the stages of our life that they may become known—and perhaps they shall not be without some value:

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New Birinbāl [Birinbāl al-Jadīda, located in the Nile Delta] was my birthplace and where I grew up. I was born in the year 1239 [1824] according to what I have been told by my father and my late elder brother, al-Ḥājj Muḥammad, who died in the month of Ramadan 1293 [1876]. My father's name was Mubārak ibn Mubārak ibn Sulaymān ibn Ibrāhīm al-Rūjī. My brother told me that our distant forefather was from the area of al-Kūm wa-l- Khalīj, a village on the “sea” of Ṭanāḥ, and that because of an economic crisis which occurred there, our family scattered to different villages. The Baḥālṣa [branch of the] family went to live in the region of Damūh and some of the others went to the region of al-Mawāmana. There are none left in the original village except the descendants of Ghayṭās.

My great-great-grandfather, Ibrāhīm al-Rūjī, went to live in the region of New Birinbāl where he was respected and venerated. He was the prayer leader of the village, its preacher, and its judge. After his death, his son Sulaymān succeeded him in that position, and after Sulaymān, his son Mubārak. When my grandfather Mubārak was blessed with the birth of my father, he named him after himself, and bequeathed to him the position of his forefathers. So it was with most members of the family. The family is known in that village even now as the family of the shaykhs [religious leaders]. The family had so many branches that the village had an entire neighborhood of them containing nearly two hundred souls. They were judges, preachers, prayer leaders, officiators at marriages, and the weighers and measurers of the village harvests. They had income but no landholdings, so they did not suffer any of the fiscal obligations levied upon the peasants, nor did they have any affiliation with the local authorities.

They remained thus until the villagers could no longer farm the land. Then the tax system was reorganized and the authorities forced upon our family liability for some farmlands and then demanded the taxes which [they claimed] were due.^[2] The authorities fined them and threatened them with imprisonment and beatings just like the peasants. They spent what money they had and sold their livestock and household furnishings. Overwhelmed by the situation, and unaccustomed to such abuse, they saw no alternative but to flee. So they left the village and dispersed to various other villages. My father settled in the village of Ḥammādiyyīn in Sharqiyya province.

I was at that time about six years old. Before our departure I had begun to learn to read and write from a blind man in Birinbāl whose name was Abū ‘Asr, but he then passed away. Due to the lack of hospitality in the region of Ḥammādiyyīn our stay there was not pleasant and we did not remain long. We then traveled to the Samā‘na Arabs, also in Sharqiyya province. They were tent-dwelling Bedouin with no men learned in religion among them, so they received my father with generosity and hospitality. They benefited from him and he in turn benefited from them a great deal. They began to consult him in all religious matters, for he was a righteous man, pious, well schooled in religious law, and well mannered. Their affection for him increased tremendously, so much so that they built a mosque and appointed him prayer leader.

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When he was thus comforted and relieved of his troubles, he turned his attention to my education and at first taught me himself. He then turned me over to a teacher by the name of Shaykh Aḥmad Abū Khaḍir who was originally from the area of Kurdī, a village near Birinbāl. At that time he was living in a small village near the camps of these Arabs and my father sent me an allowance for my upkeep at the shaykh's home. I returned home only on Fridays and out of fear of the shaykh I never returned [to him] empty-handed. I stayed on with him for about two years, and to begin with I completed my memorization of the Qur’ān. Then, because of the many beatings he gave me, I left and refused to go back to him. So I began to study again with my father, but due to the large amount of work he had, and all the various distractions which diverted his attention from me, I took to playing and neglecting my studies and forgot what I had memorized. My father feared what might come of all this and was about to force me to return to that teacher, but I refused and resolved to run away from home if he did not relent.

I had seven sisters, but my mother had no male children other than myself, though I did have half brothers through women other than my mother. When my parents understood that I indeed intended to run away, they grew concerned and more sympathetic toward me, and asked me what I wished to do regarding my education. It would not do for someone from a learned family to remain without an education. I chose at that time not to become a religious scholar but rather to become a civil servant, for I had noticed the fine appearance of the civil servants, their status, and their close relations with the authorities. My father had a friend who was a civil servant, so he entrusted me to him. He was a district secretary and lived in the region of Akhaywa. I found him to be a man of fine appearance, well dressed, and who wrote in a beautiful hand, so I stayed with him for a while. I had an allowance from my father that sufficed for my upkeep, so I lived with him in his home and settled in among his children. It turned out, however, that although he appeared quite well-off, he was in fact in dire domestic straits. He had three wives, and more children than food, which meant that I went to sleep starving with hunger most of my days there. Most of his instruction, what little there was of it, took place in the house in front of the women. He rarely went out to work, and when he did go out he would take me along as company, from which I did not benefit at all but rather was of service to him. On top of all that, he used to torment me constantly, until one day when we were in the village of Manājāt, he asked me in front of the school principal and others what one times one is. When I answered two he struck me with a coffee-roasting pan and split my head open. Those present rebuked him. I went to my father to complain, but I obtained nothing from him but further pain.

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That day was the festival of Our Master Aḥmad al-Badawī [a Sufi saint], so I ran away with all the people heading toward Maṭariyya near Manzila intending to catch up with an aunt of mine there, but on the way, I took ill with cholera in the village of Ṣān al-Ḥajar. One of the inhabitants of the village whom I did not know took me in and I lay ill in his home for forty days. They asked about my family, but I told them I was an orphan, completely alone in the world. During this time, my father and one of my brothers had been searching for me throughout the villages. My brother was eventually guided to where I was in Ṣān, but I caught sight of him from a distance and ran away. I stayed in Minyat Ṭarīf where a Bedouin man took me in, but I only stayed with him a short while. I left and happened to come across a brother of mine in our home village of Birinbāl to which he had returned. A few days later, the brother who had been searching for me found us; he tricked me and took me back to my father.

My situation was becoming a real problem for them. They had done everything they could as far as providing an education was concerned, and they began to suggest Qur’ānic reciters and Qur’ān school, but I wouldn't agree to this. I told them that I had received nothing from teachers except beatings. The civil servant had been of no use to me except as wasted time and torment; indeed, he had been the one who benefited from using me as a servant. Then it was suggested to my father that he send me to a friend of his who was a surveyor and this idea pleased me.

When I got to know him I grew to like him, and by accompanying him I earned some of the money which he took in payment from people. I stayed with him three months, but because of my youth and lack of knowledge about what is good for one and what is harmful, I revealed his secrets and divulged what he took in payment from people on the side. For this, he threw me out and I ended up living at home again, studying with my father.

My father used to take me along with him when collecting the government levies imposed upon the Bedouin and with which he was entrusted. I also used to handle the writing of the accounts and some of the calculations.

Then, after about a year, he made me an assistant to a civil servant in the district office of [the town of] Abū Kabīr at a salary of fifty piasters. I would write out fair copies of the notebooks for him. I stayed with this civil servant about three months. All my clothes were worn out and I was soon in very dire straits indeed, for I had not yet received any of my salary except for the food I ate in his house. Then one day he entrusted me to collect the revenues of Abū Kabīr. I collected them, took out the amount due me as my salary, and wrote him a note as a receipt and placed it in the money sack. When he found it he grew angry with me, but kept it to himself. The commissioner in Abū Kabīr at that time was ‘Abd al-‘Āl Abū Sālim from Minyat al-Namrūṭ, and he informed the commissioner of this incident.

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It happened that the commissioner's office was required to send a person to the armed forces, so they tricked me into it. They agreed to send me to the military service to meet this requirement. They called for me when I was completely unsuspecting and the commissioner ordered me to go to the prison to write up the names of the prisoners. He sent a man from the commissioner's guards to accompany me. When I entered the prison, they brought an iron fetter and placed it on my neck and I was left a prisoner there. I was overcome with the greatest fear. For twenty days or so I was kept in the filth and refuse of the prisoners. I began to weep and wail so much that the guard took pity on me due to my young age and moved me closer to the door. I gave him a small amount of the money which had been the reason for my imprisonment and through him sent news to my father.

My father went to His Highness the khedive who was in the area of Minyat al-Qamḥ where he presented my story in detail in a formal written petition. The khedive then ordered my release. My father had the order in his hand, but before he reached me, a friend of the guard's from the service of the commissioner of cotton production in the area of Abū Kabīr came to him and informed him that the commissioner needed a salaried secretary to work for him. The guard, taking pity on me, pointed me out to him, described my outstanding qualities and fine penmanship, and told him of my miserable situation. The servant approached me and asked me to write something on a piece of paper so that the commissioner could see my handwriting. I wrote a petition and took great care in doing it, and handed it to the servant with a gold piece worth twenty piasters and promised him more than that as well if he would but open a path for me to his master

He took it and after a short while came back with an order for my release and took me to the commissioner, a man by the name of ‘Anbar Effendi. I looked at him: he was black, an Abyssinian—like a slave! But he was magnanimous, noble, and dignified. I saw the shaykhs and the governors of towns standing before him as he addressed his instructions to them, so I waited until they withdrew, then entered and kissed his hand. He spoke to me in fine, eloquent Arabic, saying, “Do you wish to be a secretary in my service? You will receive your daily food and a monthly salary of seventy-five piasters.” I said yes, then withdrew from his presence and sat with the servants.

Because of the shaykhs who presented themselves to him, I came to know a number of the most famous men of that area, men possessed of riches, servants, entourages, and slaves. I was greatly surprised to see them standing before him and obeying his orders. I had never seen such a thing before, nor had I heard of its like. I had thought rather that the authorities were chosen exclusively from the Turks, as was the practice in those days, and I was both amazed and confused about the reason which would cause eminent men to remain standing in front of a slave and to kiss his hand. I grew intent on discovering the reason for this; it was one of my main motives for remaining with him.

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The next day my father arrived with the order from His Highness the khedive and I greeted him and ushered him into the presence of the commissioner and introduced him. ‘Anbar Effendi smiled cheerfully at my father, asked him to be seated, and made him feel welcome. My father was handsome, fair-complexioned, eloquent, gracious, with all the signs of righteousness and piety. My father asked about me and the commissioner answered, “I have chosen him to be with me and have granted him a salary. If you are in agreement, then it will be so.” My father thanked him and agreed that I should remain with him. He told the commissioner about our origins and our current conditions, then left the audience with the commissioner quite content.

When I sat with my father that night I turned the conversation to the subject of the commissioner and said, “The commissioner cannot be a Turk for he is black.” He answered me that it was possible he was an emancipated slave. “Could a slave then become a governor when even the most powerful men of this region are not governors, let alone the slaves?” I asked. His answers did not convince me. He said that perhaps the reason for this was the commissioner's fine manners and education. “But,” I said, “what knowledge does he have?” “Perhaps he lived at the al-Azhar university and studied there,” he answered. “And does learning in al-Azhar lead to a governorship? Who leaves al-Azhar a governor?” I asked. “We are all slaves of God,” my father replied, “and God, may He be glorified, raises up whomsoever He desires.” “Agreed,” I said, “but there must be reasons for all of this.” Then he began to preach to me and tell me stories and recite poems which did not convince me at all, and finally he advised me to stay in the commissioner's service and to obey his orders.

Two days later my father departed and left me there. Then another idea occurred to me. Writing accounts and drawing a salary were the reason for my imprisonment and being forced to wear neck-irons, I said to myself, and the commissioner had indeed delivered me from that; but what if the commissioner in turn dealt with me as the secretary had? Who would deliver me then? These ideas remained in my mind and my concern was to be done with all of this and everything like it. I wanted a position which did not mean suffering indignities and which would not bring with it constant fear of ruin.

In the meantime, I grew friendly with a servant of the commissioner's and began to gather information about his master and the reason for his high rank. I gleaned enough information from him that I could piece it all together.

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The servant told me that his master, the commissioner, had been bought by a generous woman of noble rank and that his mistress had enrolled him in the Qaṣr al-‘Aynī school when the khedive Muḥammad ‘Alī had opened the schools and had had boys enrolled. He told me that they studied calligraphy, mathematics, Turkish, and other things there, and that the government authorities were selected from these schools. At that moment I resolved to enter such a school. I asked him whether any peasants ever made it into these schools, and he told me that only those who have “connections” enter them. This made me think even more about the idea. After that my interest never abated. I asked about Qaṣr al-‘Aynī, the way there, and what life there was like. He told me about all of this. He spoke highly of the fine living conditions, the food, the uniforms, and the hospitality. My desire to go increased. I wrote down everything he told me about the way to the school, the distance, and the names of the towns along the way.

The idea eventually occurred to me simply to escape and make my own way to the school, so I asked for permission to visit my family and was given fifteen days' leave.

I traveled until, on Saturday, I arrived at Banī ‘Iyād, a village on my route. There I came upon a group of children led by a tailor, each of whom had an inkstand and pens. I sat with them beneath a tree and we talked. It turned out that they were pupils from the elementary school at Minyat al- ‘Azz. This seemed to me a good sign. When they saw my penmanship, they found it to be finer than their own, and some of them said to the others, “If he were to join the elementary school, he would be a chāwīsh.” “That would be easy for him,” the tailor said. “Even the penmanship of our bashchāwīsh does not equal his.”

So I asked them what a chāwīsh and a bashchāwīsh were.^[3] They explained to me that they were the best pupils in the elementary school. I began to ask for information about the elementary school and what it was like, and the tailor began to describe it in glowing terms, enticing me to join it. He explained to me that the outstanding students from the elementary schools continued on to the secondary schools even if they did not have “connections.” This was my most ardent hope, so I wasted no time in going with them and entering the elementary school.

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As it turned out, the principal was an acquaintance of my father's and wished to prevent me from becoming one of the pupils. He went to great lengths to dissuade me in order to please my father, but I would not listen to him and stayed on at the elementary school for fifteen days. The principal sent for my father. When he arrived, the principal explained the situation to him and showed him that I was very determined, having even said to the principal that if he did not enroll me I would file a complaint against him. But he and my father devised a trick to seize me when the other pupils and I would be caught unawares. My father waited till I went out for a walk at lunchtime; then he abducted me, took me back to our village, and there imprisoned me in the house for about ten days. All the while my mother cried—for me and because of me—and implored me to refrain from anything which would cause me to leave them again. She asked me to swear that I would not attempt to leave again, so I promised her that I would refrain from this for her sake and they then released me.

We had some sheep and I was charged with taking them out to graze. My parents thus thought to keep me far from a writing career which might mean me leaving them again. I remained thus for some time until their concerns were calmed and they came to believe that I had given up my plan, despite the fact that it never left me. I was only concealing it until I could take advantage of an opportunity to escape. One night I waited till they were all asleep and, taking my inkstand and other things, I left, fearful of being caught. I headed toward Minyat al-‘Azz. That was the last time I lived with my parents.

It was a moonlit night so I walked till it grew light and entered Minyat al-‘Azz around midmorning. The principal did not see me until I was in the midst of all the children in the Qur’ān school. I was forced to avoid leaving by day or night for fear of being abducted again. Later my father came and used every possible means of persuading me, he and the principal both, but to no avail. Eventually he went home without achieving his goal, but he continued to visit frequently hoping to take me from the Qur’ān school until ‘Iṣmat Effendi, the principal of the maktab al-khānqāh, came to select the best students for the Qaṣr al-‘Aynī school: I was among those chosen. My father went and complained to ‘Iṣmat Effendi, but he said to him, “Here is your son before you; it is his choice.” They gave me the choice and I chose the school. At this my father wept greatly and a group of teachers and others implored me to change my mind, but I did not listen to them. It was decreed by God, and there is no escape from what He has decreed.

I entered the Qaṣr al-‘Aynī school in the year 1251 [1835–36] and at that time I was just entering adolescence.^[4] I was placed in the class of Bur‘ī Effendi, but I found the school to be not at all what I had imagined. In fact, because of its recent establishment, the areas of responsibility were unclear, and teaching and education were of little concern. Instead, the major concern was with teaching military marching drills, which were held in the dormitories every morning and noon and after meals. All those who supervised the students tormented them with beatings, different types of abuse, and countless insults. There was no end to the favoritism and they neglected their duties in matters such as providing food and other essentials. The furnishings of the barracks consisted only of grass floormats and blankets of heavy wool made in Bulaq. I hated the food given us so much that I ate only cheese and olives. Bur‘ī Effendi looked after me more than he did the others, so the small amount of money I had, I placed in his care.

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When I saw what conditions were like, I was unable to bear it and felt that I had done myself wrong by entering schools which were in this state. Then, due to the change in climate from that to which I was accustomed, and the great number of thoughts and misgivings which beset me, I fell ill with mange rashes all over my body. I was therefore placed in the infirmary where I came down with even more illnesses. They began to despair for my life, but God preserved me.

At this point my father came and asked to see me, but they would not allow him in. So he offered one of the attendants fifty gold pieces if he would secretly bring me out of the infirmary and save me from the condition I was in. I knew nothing of this until one of the attendants broke the iron window in the room I was in and informed me of my father's wishes and that he was waiting for me outside the school grounds. The attendant wanted to lower me down to him from the window so he could get his reward. At first I was inclined to comply, to go with my father and leave the school. I had seen such great hardship there and almost no teaching, and I had experienced such hunger in the infirmary that I had even sucked the bones others had finished with. But then I thought of the punishment for running away, and the fact that they used to chase down the students who ran away and arrest their families and lock them up and abuse them, so I restrained myself from going with him.

He tried several ploys to make the matter easier for me, but I refused. “Let me be patient with God's decree,” I said, “for I am the one who has wronged myself.” To the attendant I said, “Give my father my greetings and ask him to pray for me and to give my mother greetings from me.” But then my father bribed his way into where I was. He looked at me and I looked at him, he kissed me and I kissed him, he wept and I wept, and finally he said farewell and went on his way, him sighing and me crying. Our state was like that described in the verse:

	Could perhaps the sorrows which now beset me
	Conceal behind them approaching release?

Later I recovered, returned to the school, and worked hard at my studies. I never fell ill again.

Toward the end of the year 1252 [1837] they transferred me to the school of Abū Za‘bal and they turned Qaṣr al-‘Aynī into a private medical school which it still is today. The school administration at Abū Za‘bal was the same as that at Qasr al-‘Aynī except that they did have some small concern for teaching because the directorship had been given to the late Ibrāhīm Bey Ra’fat.

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The heaviest and most difficult subjects for me were geometry, arithmetic, and grammar. I regarded these subjects as talismanic charms and everything the teachers said about them as incomprehensible as magical spells. I remained thus for some time until the late Ibrāhīm Bey Ra’fat gathered together the slow students at the end of the third year after our transfer and made them into a separate class. I was one of them, in fact, the last of them. He appointed himself teacher for this class and in the very first lesson he gave us he explained the aims of geometry with complete clarity and concision. He explained the importance of boundaries and the designations placed at the beginnings of the diagrams, and explained that the letters were used like names for the shapes and their parts just as we use names for people; and how just as a person may choose for his son any name he wishes, whoever analyzes the diagrams may choose whichever letters he wishes.

The excellence of his explanations unlocked my mind and I understood everything he said. His method of teaching was what opened the door for me. I did not leave that first lesson without having learned something, and this was true of all of his lessons—quite the contrary from the other teachers, for they did not possess his methods. Their persistence in their approach was the obstacle which had prevented me from understanding all along!

Within the first year I had completed all of geometry and arithmetic and had become the best in my class. In grammar I became an outstanding student because I did not have to change teachers and was not subjected to the bad teaching methods of the others. Ra’fat Bey began to cite me as an example and to use my success at his hands as an indication of the poor teaching of the other teachers, showing that poor teaching was indeed the cause of the lack of progress among the students.

In that year, 1255 [1839–40], they selected from among us those students who would go on to the School of Engineering in Būlāq, and I was among the ones they chose. I stayed there five years and took all of the courses offered. I was always first and at the head of my class.

There I studied elementary algebra with the late Ṭā’il Effendi, as well as mechanics, dynamics, and mechanical design. I studied advanced algebra with him and with the late Muḥammad Abū Sinn; differential calculus and astronomy with the late Maḥmūd Pasha al-Falakī; hydraulics with the late Daqla Effendi; topography and hydrography with the late Ibrāhīm Effendi Ramaḍān; chemistry, physics, mineralogy, geology, and mechanical engineering with the late Aḥmad Bey Fā’id; descriptive geometry, sectioning, and sampling technologies for wood and stone, and surveying^[5] in part with Ibrāhīm Effendi Ramaḍān, and in part with the late Salāma Pasha, as well as the essentials of cosmography.

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Due to the lack of printed books on these and other subjects at that time, the students used to copy their lessons from the teachers in notebooks, each one according to his ability to take down what the teachers said. At that time the teachers put forth their greatest efforts in teaching, but it was rare for any one student to have taken down everything that had been presented in his notebook, especially all the figures and diagrams. For that reason, after some time had passed or when the students left the school, it was difficult for them to recall what they had studied, and they lost much of what they learned.

Toward the end of my period at the School of Engineering they began publishing some books in lithographs, and the students made use of them and benefited from them. Later, little by little, books grew more plentiful, so that now all of the proofs are printed with their figures and diagrams and it has become easy to deal with them and to recall what is in them.

Then in the year '60 [1844], His Highness the khedive decided to send his noble sons to the kingdom of France to study. An order was issued to select a group from among the best of the advanced students in the schools to accompany them. The late Sulaymān Pasha [ = Joseph Sève] the Frenchman came to the School of Engineering to select a group of its students, and I was among them. The headmaster at that time was Lambert Bey. He wished to keep me at the School of Engineering to become a teacher there. But I explained to Sulaymān Pasha that I wished to travel with the others. The headmaster tried to persuade me and turned me over to the teachers to keep me from leaving. “If you remain here,” they said, “you will receive a salary immediately and be given an allowance, but if you travel you will still be a student and you will miss this opportunity.” My opinion, however, was that traveling with the sons of Muḥammad ‘Alī would bring me honor, status, and knowledge. So I insisted on traveling, despite the fact that I knew that my family was poor, and that they would have benefited from my teacher's salary, and were even counting on this. But I felt that “An abundance delayed is worth more than a pittance today.” It all happened just as I wished, praise be to God, and we did indeed travel to that country.

My monthly salary was, like my companions, two hundred fifty piasters, and I set aside half of it for my family to be paid to them in Egypt each month. This had been my habit with them ever since I entered school.

We lived in Paris for two years in a single house reserved for us. The teachers for all of our lessons, as well as the prefect and overseer, were sent from the French War Ministry because our mission was of a military nature. We studied military science every day.

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A point worth mentioning here is that the background knowledge of each of the members of our mission was quite different: some of us had knowledge only of military matters, such as those who had been taken from the artillery, cavalry, or infantry; and some had knowledge of mathematics but did not know French, such as those who had been taken from the Polytechnical School like myself; and others knew French—some of these were even teachers of French in the schools of Egypt. The overseer chose to lump together in one group those who were advanced in mathematics and those advanced in French, a group in which I was included. He ordered the teachers to give everyone lessons in French without differentiating between those who understood that language and those who did not. They did this and turned over those who did not understand to those who did, so that they could learn from them after the presentation of the lessons. But the ones who knew French were sparing about giving us lessons so that they might be the only ones to make progress. For a while we simply did not understand the lessons, until we began to fear that we would fall far behind, at which point we began to complain and ask that the system be changed and that we be taught in a language we could understand. The overseer, however, would not listen to our complaints, so we stopped attending class for several days.

As a result, they locked us up and wrote a report about us to His Highness, Muḥammad ‘Alī, who then issued an order that we be told to obey and that whoever did not obey would be sent back in irons to Egypt. We feared the outcome of all of this, so I directed my efforts and focused my thoughts in a way which brought me quite good results as well as knowledge of the French language: I asked about books for children and they told me of one so I purchased it and strove to memorize it. I got to work memorizing and studying, staying awake at night, scarcely lying down to rest, and sleeping but a short while. This has remained a habit of mine until now. I learned the book by heart along with its meaning, and then I memorized a large portion of a history book with its meaning as well. I also memorized the names of the geometric shapes along with the terminology, all of this in the first three months.

It was customary that the examination be at the beginning of each three-month period. I now turned to the lessons which were given by the teachers. My memorization produced great results for me. I became the best student in the entire delegation, switching places on and off with Ḥammād Bey and ‘Alī Pasha Ibrāhīm. When the late Ibrāhīm Pasha, the general of all of Egypt, came to Paris, he and the French general attended our examinations, along with the son of their king, and the nobles of France, as well as a group of the wives of the most important men. They praised us all lavishly and then distributed prizes amongst us three. The late Ibrāhīm Pasha handed me my prize himself, it was the second prize, a book of geography by the Frenchman Malte-Brun along with the accompanying atlas as a gift from him. We were invited to eat with our general, Ibrāhīm Pasha, and when he returned to Egypt he praised us to His Highness [Muḥammad ‘Alī] and to others.

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After exactly two years, the top three from our delegation, that is myself, Ḥammād Bey, and ‘Alī Pasha Ibrāhīm, were appointed to the school of artillery and military engineering which was located near Metz also in the kingdom of France. In addition, we were awarded the rank of second lieutenant. We stayed in that city for two years. There we studied light and heavy fortifications, civil and military marine and terrestial construction, explosives, military strategy, and all that goes along with that, including a review of all that we had previously learned, summarized concisely by our new teachers. Our examinations there took place after two years and I placed fifteenth among approximately seventy-five students.

We were then assigned to different regiments. I was in the Third Regiment of Military Engineers but stayed there less than a year. The late Ibrāhīm Pasha wished us to remain in the military until we had exhausted its benefits and then travel throughout the European countries so that we might see what we could discover, by thus applying both knowledge and practice, about the actual conditions, situations, and customs of these nations. This was the intended plan, but God desired other than what the Pasha desired, for he then passed into the mercy of Almighty God. In the year '66 [1849–50], the late ‘Abbās Pasha was appointed to head the government of Egypt and the three of us were asked to return to Egypt.^[6]

This section of ‘Alī Mubārak's autobiography covering his birth to his return to Egypt at the age of twenty-six constitutes approximately one-fifth of the text. In the remainder of the text, he describes the vicissitudes of his political career and his role as reformer in Egyptian public life. He fared well during the reign of ‘Abbās I, holding a number of key government posts in education and public works, but was removed from his various positions during the reign of Sa‘īd through the intervention of jealous rivals whose actions he sums up in a quoted verse of poetry: “Like the second wives of a beautiful first wife, they say of her face / Out of envy and spite, that it is unlovely.” He provides a dramatic description of his forced departure from the school where he had served as rector: students and colleagues line the riverbank as he boards the ferryboat “weeping and mourning as if they were sons mourning the death of their father, so much so that I too began to cry!” Yet as he surveys the ranks of students, he is proud of the work he has done.

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During this period, Mubārak was sent abroad for two years in government service—in virtual exile—to the Crimea, Constantinople, and finally Anatolia. He sums up the experience with typical aplomb by noting, after a vivid description of the hardships he endured, that he had at least learned Turkish, seen new places, and met new people. With the establishment of a new administration under the khedive Ismā‘īl he rose to the pinnacle of his political career, at one point being in charge of Egypt's railroads, government schools, public works, and charitable foundations, in addition to being chief engineer in charge of the Nile Barrages. He then lost all but one of these posts in a clash with his rival, the finance minister Ismā‘īl Ṣiddīq. He later managed to regain some of his political status when the khedive Ismā‘īl was ousted and replaced by Tawfīq I and even, though to a lesser degree, remained a key political figure during and after the ‘Urābī rebellion.

Mubārak describes himself most enthusiastically as a reformer and a civil engineer. Long passages are devoted to his plans, some successful and some not, for reforming the school system, improving Egypt's waterways and irrigation system, creating new boulevards and neighborhoods in Cairo complete with gas streetlights and modern sewers, and implementing new textbooks he wrote for teaching mathematics and engineering more effectively, as well as for effecting the financial reform of his ministries, establishing new printing presses, creating a national library, building slaughterhouses and bridges, revitalizing agriculture in the Fayyoum oasis, and other undertakings.

In between these projects, which he describes in loving detail, we catch glimpses of his private life. He marries the orphaned and impoverished daughter of a former teacher out of regard for the education he had received from her father. He tells of his first visit back to his home village after his return from France; in the middle of the night he reaches his family home and has a tearful reunion with his mother, whom he has not seen for fourteen years. At the death of his first wife, he marries another woman, also an orphan, whose rightful inheritance had been seized by her stepmother, and describes in great detail the legal proceedings and the political maneuvering in the highest social circles that occurred subsequent to his attempt to reclaim her inheritance—an affair that reached almost scandalous proportions for that period. At times he grows so frustrated with government service that he vows to return to his village and farm for the rest of his life, but each time some new opportunity arises. He falls deeply in debt several times and tries out a number of private business ventures.

Toward the end of his narrative, the momentous historical events in Egypt during the period from the 1860s to the 1880s begin to dominate his story. He helps to survey the land to be leased to the new Suez Canal Company and at the inauguration of the Suez Canal was placed in charge of the transportation and well-being of the foreign guests, for which he received medals from the governments of Egypt, France, Prussia, and Austria. Thereupon quickly follow the extended financial crises of Ismā‘īl's later reign, various desperate attempts to reorganize the ministries on more financially sound principles, the increasing political and military presence of foreign powers, and finally the ‘Urābī rebellion, the arrival of British and French warships in Alexandria, and the disastrous military defeat of the Egyptian forces. Mubārak's autobiography ends in 1888, with the author once again serving in the Ministry of Education in the newly formed government of Muṣṭafā Riyāḍ, and Egypt fully under England's colonial control.]

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Notes