THE life of the Mameluke beys had for months been a continuous
festival. Nothing but pleasure and festivity; nothing but assurances
of love and friendship on the part of their former enemies, the
Turks.
Since the hated Franks, after so many struggles, so many defeats and
fruitless shedding of blood, had embarked in their proud ships and
returned to Europe, the prospects for peace in the land that was
bleeding from a thousand wounds seemed to be bright. Friends and
enemies had made these wounds; friends and enemies had torn the once
fair form of the beautiful land of the Pharaohs, and converted it
into a hideous corpse.
The battle-fields of Aboukir, the Pyramids of Gheezeh, the blood-
soaked fields of Syria, the overthrown walls of St. Jean d'Acre, and
of the magnifient city of the caliphs, Cairo, tell of the French
general, Bonaparte, who, at the head of his army, had entered upon a
crusade in order to bless Egypt with civilization. This was his
pretext. He intended, with his sans culottes, to carry civilization
to the Orient, and, not being able to convert them to Christianity
by persuasion or, trickery, he determined to baptize them with
blood.
At first the Mameluke beys, who until then had ruled in Egypt, and
had, in protracted struggles, endeavored to cast off their
allegiance to the grand-sultan, had supposed it would be an easy
matter to drive back the French barbarians from the yellow shores of
Africa.
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