Sometimes a drama springs from a single strange sight. The boatmen came up to me in procession, with long faces and their palms turned towards heaven. There was a long silence. Then, out of the lips of the oldest crawled a single word:
‘Plague!’
The Year of the Noble Eye
919 A.H.
9 March 1513 — 25 February 1514
The epidemic had broken out at the beginning of that year, on the morrow of a violent storm and torrential rains, manifest portents to the Cairenes of the anger of God and the imminence of chastisement. The children had been affected first, and the notables had hastened to evacuate their families, some to Tur, at the south of Sinai, where the air is healthy, and some to Upper Egypt if they had residences there. Soon countless boatloads passed us, carrying pitiful clusters of fugitives.
It would have been unwise to go further without knowing the extent of the disease. We drew alongside the eastern bank of the river in a deserted place, resolving to stay there as long as was necessary, sustaining ourselves from the goods we were carrying, changing our mooring each night to put possible looters off the scent. We went out five or six times a day in search of news, rowing close up to those travelling up the Nile to question them. The epidemic was devastating the capital. Every day, fifty, sixty, a hundred deaths were recorded in the register of births and deaths, and it was known from experience that ten times more would have gone unrecorded. Each craft quoted a new figure, always an exact one, often accompanied by explanations which permitted no discussion. Thus, on the Monday after the Christian Easter, there were three earth tremors; on the following day two hundred and seventy-four deaths were recorded. The following Friday there was a hailstorm, unheard of at that time of year; on that very day there were three hundred and sixty-five deaths. On the advice of his doctor, the Sultan of Egypt, an old Circassian Mameluke named Qansuh, decided to wear two ruby rings on his fingers to protect himself from the plague. He also decreed a ban on wine and hashish and dealing with prostitutes. In all the quarters of the city new basins were fitted to wash the dead.
Of course the victims were no longer only children and servants. Soldiers and officers began to succumb by the hundred. And the sultan hastened to proclaim that he himself would inherit their equipment. He ordered that the widows of all the soldiers who had died should be arrested until they had handed over to the arsenal a sword encrusted with silver, a coat of mail, a helmet and a quiver, as well as two horses or the equivalent of their value. Furthermore, calculating that the population of Cairo had been considerably reduced by the epidemic, and would continue to drop, Qansuh decided to confiscate a substantial quantity of corn from the new harvest, which he sent immediately to Damascus and Aleppo, where he could sell it at a price three times higher. From one day to the next the price of bread and corn increased inordinately.
When, shortly after the announcement of these measures, the sultan left his citadel and crossed the city to inspect the costly reconstruction of the college which would bear his name, which he had designed himself and whose cupola had just cracked for the third time, the people of the capital shouted at him in derision. Cries reached his ears: ‘May God destroy those who starve the Muslims!’ On his return the sovereign avoided the popular quarter of Bab Zuwaila, preferring to reach the citadel through streets which were not swarming with people.
This news was conveyed to us by a rich and educated young merchant, fleeing the capital with his family on his private boat, who drew up alongside us for a few hours before continuing his journey. He took an immediate liking to me, asked about my country and my recent travels, and his questions were weightier with knowledge than my replies. When I brought back the conversation to Egypt, he said to me privately in a serene voice:
‘Thank goodness rulers sometimes go too far, otherwise they would never fall!’
Before adding, his eyes sparkling:
‘The folly of princes is the wisdom of Destiny.’
I believed I had understood.
‘Will there soon be a revolt, then?’
‘We would not use such a word. It is true that in times of epidemic the people of the streets show great courage, since the power of the sultan appears very weak in comparison to that of the Most High, who mows down whole regiments of soldiers. But not even the smallest weapon can be found in people’s houses, hardly even a knife to cut the cheese. When the time for an upheaval comes, it is always one Circassian Mameluke replacing another.’
Before continuing his journey, the merchant made me an unexpected proposition which I accepted with gratitude, although at the time I had no idea how generous it was.
‘I am going to live for some months in Assyut, the town where I was born, and I do not want my house in Cairo to stay unoccupied for such a long time. I should be honoured if you would live there while I am away.’
While I was making a combined gesture of gesture of gratitude and refusal, he took me by the wrist:
‘I am not doing you a favour, noble traveller, since, if my house remains without a master, it will be a prey for looters, especially in these difficult times. If you accept you will be obliging me, and you will solve a problem that has been bothering me.’
In these circumstances I could not but accept. He continued, in the confident tone of a man who has nurtured a decision for a long time:
‘I will write out a deed certifying that you can have free use of the property until my return.’
He went to get paper, pen and ink from his boat and then came back and squatted by my side. As he was writing he asked me my name, my surnames and occupation, which seemed to satisfy him. As well as the document he gave me a bunch of keys, and told me the purpose of each of them. Then he explained very precisely how to find the house and how I should recognize it.
‘It is a white building, surrounded by palm trees and sycamores. It is on a slight rise, at the extreme north of the old city, directly on the Nile. I have left a gardener there who will be at your disposal.’
This made me even more impatient to reach my destination. I asked my interlocutor when the end of the plague might be expected.
‘The previous epidemics have all come to an end before the beginning of Mesori.’
I asked him to repeat the last word, because I thought I had misheard it. He smiled benevolently.
‘In the Coptic year Mesori is the month when the Nile floods reach their peak.’
I murmured:
‘Egypt has much merit to be Muslim when the Nile and the plague still follow the calendar of the Pharaohs.’
From the way he lowered his eyes and from his confused smile I understood that he himself was not a Muslim. He busied himself immediately:
‘It’s getting late. I think we must hoist up the sails.’
Addressing one of his children, who was running incessantly around a palm tree, he called out:
‘Sesostris, get back into the boat, we’re leaving!’
He shook my hand for the last time, adding in an embarrassed voice:
‘There is a cross and an icon in the house. If they offend you, you can take them down and put them in a coffer until my return.’
I promised him that on the contrary nothing would be moved and thanked him for his extreme thoughtfulness.