To-day all Cairo is in a state of joyous excitement. The days of
want and care have passed--who now remembers the terrors of
yesterday? Who still remembers the days when the Frank ruled here,
when the terrible general made the people bow their heads beneath
the yoke? Yes, on this same square of the Esbekieh, have they lain
in the dust before the mighty general who stood before them a giant,
though small in stature. Who still thinks of the misery and disgrace
of those days? Forgotten! all forgotten! Two years are a long period
for the remembrance of a people; and two years have passed since
Bonaparte departed, and more than a year has elapsed since the last
of the Franks withdrew from Egypt.
"All hail the new viceroy sent us by our master in Stamboul! he will
make us happy, and relieve us of the unending struggles of the
Mameluke beys! Long live Cousrouf Pacha, our new viceroy!"
These cries rend the air as the surging crowds make their way toward
Boulak, from which place Cousrouf Pacha is to make his grand
entrance into the holy city. All the authorities have assembled
there to participate in the celebration; there are the ulemas in
their long caftans, and the sheiks in their green robes, the
crescent embroidered on their turbans in token of their dignity;
there are also the generals of the Turkish and English regiments,
the latter only remaining in Cairo to take part in the festivities
of the viceroy's entrance.
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