The Journey of the Holy Man Abou Naddara Zarqa from Cairo the Victorious to Paris the Glorious

Good Lord, I’ve missed your banter, old man * ¹ Thank goodness you made it here safely, and what a blessed day your arrival brings * What took you so long, anyway? * I left Cairo the same day as you, but in the afternoon, and took leave of you in Alexandria where you were strolling and taking the air in the agreeable company of the youths of the City of Alexander the Great, who adore you, or so I’m told, whilst I set off, my boy, and boarded the Brindisi ship, as they call it, only to arrive here quicker than a bolt of lightning. So here I am—and I’ve been waiting for you for more than a fortnight. How many days did you spend in Alexandria, and how many in Malta and Marseilles? Tell me everything at length, and don’t be sparing with your anecdotes. I can’t get over your witty repartee—after all, it’s the reason why I left my dear homeland and came to these parts. Well come on then, what are you waiting for? Give me all you’ve got, and delight the ears of your good friend Abou Khalil. *

Nothing would give me more pleasure, my good man. Who better to tell my tales to than you? [ . . . ]

Khawaga² Yusif Ramla wrote to me from Alexandria to inform me you’d left on the first of this month on a French ship via Malta, so tell me in detail everything that happened to you from the moment you left Alexandria up until this evening *

Luckily, the ship wasn’t too full, and the captain was one of our brothers, so once he’d greeted me and worked out what was what, he immediately asked the maitre d’, the butler, and the crew to look after me, and introduced me to the ladies from first and second class, telling them, “This here is Abou Naddara, who’s opened the eyes of the world, revealing to people both lofty and humble, the tyranny of rulers most cruel; who’s roused the slumbering fellah [peasant], and told him of his rights and his power!” *

Good gracious, how marvellous! I bet you couldn’t believe your luck when you found yourself sitting amongst the madames—you must have whipped out your pipe, treated them to a tune or two, and had them wiggling their behinds in no time at all. You really are charmed, Abou Naddara, when it comes to that sort of thing *

Thanks be to God! But after a wonderful few days, things went sour on the final day and night *

Why’s that? Did something unfortunate happen, God forbid?

You don’t know the half of it! Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps and makes my hair stand on end *

A storm must have got up, and the sea roiled and the waves crashed, and the ship been tossed back and forth, and the passengers trembled and hit the deck *

As it happens, you’re spot on; to hear your description, anyone would think you’d been there. I was fast asleep when I heard a screaming and a wailing and a terrible fuss, and water pouring into my cabin, so I leapt from my bunk, and found the water up to my knees. I said to myself “There’s no doubt about it, the Sheriff ³ must have summoned the shrewdest astrologers and had them incite the spirits of the sea against us, so that the ship will be smashed to pieces and Abou Naddara will end up a fish’s turd!”

But the Lord saved you, for you have the finest men of religion in the Land of Egypt at your side, praying for your good fortune *

May God preserve them and accept their prayers, and lift the burden of oppression and tyranny from the shoulders of Egypt’s children, and bless them instead with a ruler who is just and sage, for surely the oppression of our country can get no direr than this. To see the people here in France, so jolly and gay, and so prosperous—what’s it all down to?

Freedom * If everything that happened at home were to happen here, d’you think this lot would just put up with it? They’ve done away with many a king *

The time’s run away with us, Abou Khalil, and between you and me, I’m getting peckish, so let’s eat and then I’ll tell you about the rest of my journey.

Praise the Lord. I say, Abou Naddara, God certainly takes good care of us; may he always do so and never let our enemies rejoice on our account. The world’s your oyster; only good things lie ahead. That was a meal to end all meals, the like of which our forefathers never savored; the meat here tastes quite different—it’s simply delectable, no two ways about it—and the delicious stuffed vegetables, and magnificent kebabs, and fresh greens, and salads that whet your appetite, and peppered pickles, and incomparable fruit, and pastries that revive the soul, and the wine—dip a finger in it and it comes out looking like it’s dripping blood . . . Dear me, what a feast. And how much did the whole dinner come to, you drunkard?

Two francs, my good man *

A snip at the price! In that case, we swindled the owner of the establishment as well as disgracing the table by devouring our food like crows. Those two francs scarcely pay for the bread each one of us ate. I tell you what, life here is cheap for someone who knows their way around, but even the shrewdest of strangers is clueless. What’s the name of the place we dined at? From now on I shan’t eat anywhere else *

It’s called the Restaurant des Quatre Drapeaux, which means the Four Banners Inn.

It certainly deserves a banner of its own. You must write me the street name and number *

Rue Montmartre, number 142 *

Thank you kindly, or merci monsieur as they say.

And where did you eat before I arrived? *

In the street. You can’t imagine how the bastards took me for a ride, old man. I’d spend seven or eight francs at a time on meals, I swear to goodness. Honestly, if you’d arrived a month later I’d be bankrupt, it would have been the end of me, and I’d have been a scandal for all to see. Whoever said that visiting a country without knowing its language is more like school than holiday had it quite right *

Indeed. See, Abou Khalil, philosophers have likened this life to a book, and they say that those who never leave their country of birth have only read its first page *

What a delightful thought. It’s certainly true, and all the more so these days, when a person simply has to travel, otherwise they’ll never see for themselves the results and benefits of human progress, the merits of the sciences and arts, the advances of industry and the wonders of technology *

But the thing is, when one of us does, and then reflects on the matter, he grieves over his country and the ignorance of its children, though that ignorance be the result of the injustice of their ruler, who intends his subjects’ eyes never to be opened so that they’ll obey his commands without complaint, and continue to recite nonsense like “God works in mysterious ways,” and give him every last para they possess until finally they starve to death, saying “Praise be to you O Lord, this is Your will!”

And to come here and see fine government, justice and integrity—but that’s enough of this gloomy subject; let’s return to your journey. Now where were we?

You tell me *

Enough joking about, my man. This is Paris, in the land of seriousness. So, you were struck by a storm at sea the night before you reached Malta?

Indeed we were, but the good Lord saved us and we entered Malta on Saturday night. We didn’t go ashore until the next day, however—but at any rate, those few words of Maltese I learnt from the late Salvo the cobbler came in handy *

Good Lord, how brilliant! And what kind of place is this Malta?

Malta is a splendid island, a drawing of which you will find in the seventh issue of my Journey, and the finest fortified citadel in the Mediterranean; those Englishmen you know so well have spruced it up and got it looking quite lovely. Yet its inhabitants, poor things, are quite innocent of civilization, and most of them can neither read nor write—though as they say, a fool is always contented—and you see them walking around barefoot, wearing tattered trousers and grubby hats. But they take religion very seriously, and are fanatical and zealous to the utmost degree *

Are they all like that, I wonder?

No, only the lower classes *

So they also have people of high standing *

Certainly; there, the rich are rolling in money and the poor are paupers *

Go on then, give us a few words in Maltese *

With pleasure. Now, I wanted to disembark and take a look around the town, so I waved to a young boatman and immediately he came up on deck and said to me in his curious tongue, “Sinjur, ara l-barka tieghi, il-barka tieghi sabiha hafna, hejja mieghi nurik Malta. Malta hanina, fjur mtagh il-mondo”—meaning “Sir, look at my boat, she’s a beauty. Come with me and I’ll show you around Malta. Malta’s the flower of the world” *

Good gracious, you speak Maltese fluently! And what did he say to you on the way?

He wanted to take me for a trip, as you’ve gathered, and when I protested that I was an old man, he replied “Mintix xih u ohti Maria tisbah tfajl ta’ Malta, u int sinjur lissa goven, il-lehja tieghek sewda!” [“You’re no old man, or my sister Maria’s the prettiest girl in Malta. You’re still young, sir, your beard is quite black!”].

That boatman sounds savvy, and a charming lad too. Tell me the rest then, come on *

Another man, who wanted to get me to buy a pair of earrings to give to my sweetheart, said to me “Ixtri il-imsielet gharusa tieghek, di mhix ghalja di rhisa hafna” [“Buy these earrings for your bride—they’re not expensive, they’re very cheap”], and when I told him that I “jiena ma nridx” [“I don’t want them”], he flew into a rage and started yelling “Haqq il-Madonna u s-Sagrament!” [“By the Madonna and the sacrament!”] and a great deal more in that vein, and so I was obliged to buy the earrings. On Saturday at noon we set sail for Marseilles, arriving on Tuesday morning; it was a magnificent crossing, with a calm sea, a radiant sun, and a limpid sky, and wonderful food and drink—why, those few days were a veritable pleasure-trip *

Thanks to the Lord for your safe arrival *

As for Marseilles, there’s plenty to say about that city, so tomorrow after lunch I’ll tell you all about it and the places I saw there *

God reward you. [ . . . ]