News from the world of men reached the harîm like voices from the street without. From time to time some item, interesting them, was cried in tones of censure or approval; but always in a manner of abstraction. This apathy arose from centuries of strict seclusion, in which, through change of dynasties and strife of factions, the privilege of the harîm had been respected. The women felt that politics could not come near them; the government which ruled the men was none of theirs. A realm within the realm, they had their own excitements, their own concerns of life and death and amorous crime. Events the most important failed to move them, while trifling breaches of religion or old custom caused a vast commotion in that nursery of fanaticism.
One day, when Barakah was out driving in her carriage, she was stopped near Abdîn palace by the pressure of excited crowds and heard the sounds of angry tumult. The driver backed the horses and then turned. On reaching home she asked the eunuch of the matter.
He shrugged: “It is the soldiers, O my lady. They are angry at the coming of the Frank commissioners.”
It was then that she presumed to question Yûsuf, and learnt that two commissioners, one French, one English, had come to take control of the finances of the country. The Khedive, that jovial libertine and spendthrift, was now bankrupt. The Europeans, as his creditors, assumed the reins.
“But why the English?” questioned Barakah with irritation, for up to then the French alone had been a power in Egypt.
“Wallahi, just because their men are clever,” was the answer. “They bought up all our Sovereign’s shares in the canal. Their guile is great, but greater Allah’s mercy, for the arrival of these Franks is good for me. Knowing both their languages I am put forward to receive them, and so rise in honour.”
In fact, a few days later he was made a Pasha.
But Barakah could not regard the case thus philosophically. The intrusion of the English frightened her. If they should ever come to lord it in the country her degradation would be unendurable. She confided her displeasure to Muhammad, who took an interest in politics as schoolboys will. He bade her have no fear; the Muslims would destroy them presently. The women told her God would intervene. But things went rapidly from bad to worse.
Since a French force under Bonaparte had entered Cairo, before the era of Muhammad Ali, no such fury had possessed the world of women as that which seized them on the deposition of the Khedive Ismaîl. Whatever touched the majesty of El Islâm excited them; vile infidels had here contrived the downfall of a Muslim ruler. And there ensued a host of innovations, in which the hand of unbelief was plainly visible.
The slave-trade had been formally abolished under Ismaîl, to please the Franks, but with the customary wink of that facetious monarch. The trade continued gaily with his sly connivance. Now, in his son’s reign, it began to be suppressed in earnest. The slaves themselves were loud in lamentation. When it was known that slavery itself was menaced, the harîm chattered like ten thousand angry parrots.