ch7

This chapter surveys the legal background of theatres in late Ottoman Egypt. I start with a microhistory of the Comité des Théâtres. Its administrative history highlights the work of the colonial government and the limited way the khedives’ wishes were accepted in the Opera House. Next, I focus on private theaters and their legal environment. How were theaters legal in a predominantly Muslim land? This question takes us outside of government-funded culture and provides insight into the evolving concept of public space, including a look at censorship. I explore the way non-Islamic and Islamic norms of public morals were articulated. The institutions surveyed here can be also regarded as the predecessors of both the interwar monarchical propaganda and the post-1952 Ministry of National Guidance, today’s Ministry of Culture.

The conditions for government supervision arose from transforming a khedivial asset into a government one. We left the administrative history of the khedivial theaters when Draneht’s administration dissolved around December 1878. As early as April 1877, his post had been abolished at the Cairo Governorate (his salary was now paid from the civil list of the khedivial entourage).² At first, the responsibility for the staff and their salaries passed temporarily to the Cairo City Public Works (Tanẓīm), headed by Pierre Grand.

This unit soon became a part of the Ministry of Public Works.³ In the background was the activity of French and British controlers who aimed at the centralization of control over government expenditure to regulate the Egyptian floating debt.⁴ The parallel structure of dāʾira (dynastic estates) and government expenditure had to be abolished in order to gain full control over the Egyptian economy in order to pay the debt; and this meant the transfer of many assets considered “khedivial” to the government budget. Although legally the maintenance of the khedivial theaters were transferred already to the Cairo Governorate in 1870,⁵ when the structure of the new Ministry of Public Works was created in December 1878 they became the responsibility of its General Administrative Department (together with the railways and the Egyptian Museum [Antīqkhāna]).6 This move made the buildings government property.

It seems to have been decided that not only should the government take over the buildings but that the Khedivial Opera House, at least, should also receive a yearly subsidy, in addition to the cost of maintenance. This decision accounts for the character of the Ministry of Public Works as a pseudo–cultural ministry, perhaps reflecting the preferences of Ernest-Gabriel de Blignières (1834–1900), the minister of public works, or ʿAlī Mubārak who was a superminister in charge of Education and Religious Endowments, perhaps nominally also minister of public works⁷ in the government headed by Nubar (until April 1879).

The budget (subsidy and maintenance) of the theaters within the ministry represented an obscure niche. From 1887, the gas and the water supply to the Opera House were taken care of by a subdivision called the Office of the State Buildings (Qalam al-Mabānī al-Mīriyya, Bâtiments de l’État).⁸ In 1891, the Opera was classified under the “General Direction of Cities and Buildings” as a subsection.⁹ From 1898 to 1905 and possibly later, the subsidy and salaries of the staff (between 5,300 and 7,300 LE yearly) and the cost of maintenance (steadily growing from around 500 LE to 1,700 LE yearly) were paid from the budget of the Central Office of the Public Works Ministry.¹⁰ It was only in the interwar period that government subsidies were given to some privately owned Egyptian theaters, while the Opera House kept its central role in the official culture of the monarchy. The Ministry of National Guidance (established November 1952)—later National Guidance and Culture—continued the maintenance and supervision of these and other theaters along ideological lines.¹¹ In sum, the foreign control of official culture was a consequence of debt management and became normalized as the everyday work of the newly created, occupied state structure.

The committee finally took the title Le Comité des Théâtres du Khédive when two other members joined them in the spring of 1881. A perhaps more apt title was the original one, Comité théâtral de surveillance (Theatre Oversight Committee).¹⁸ Their legal existence was established by a short note from Prime Minister Riyaz.¹⁹ The 1881 government budget provided a total of 121,520 LE for the khedivial theaters, covering salaries, maintenance, and some extra costs.²⁰ This committee was responsible only for the government theaters (though, for instance, in 1896 incorporating the Zizinia Theatre in Alexandria within the committee’s purview was considered²¹).

In 1881, the Comité des Théâtres consisted of four members: Gay-Lussac, Fitzgerald, Ornstein, and possibly Grand.22 They were not really known to the public, though sometimes their names were published, even outside Egypt.²³ Ornstein in the next decade or so, would sign most of the letters in the name of the committee, usually only as “[D’]Ornstein” (twice in 1886 he was addressed as the “president of the Committee of Theatres”).²⁴ Therefore it is important to have a look at the background of this man who decided over the use of the representative space of the khedivate.

John (Jean) Maurice Isidor Ornstein was born in post-Ottoman Iași (Jassy, in Romania) in 1852. His father was Austrian (or Austro-Hungarian), and his mother Russian, very possibly of a Jewish family. He studied in Dresden, then in England. Upon his father’s death the young Ornstein returned to Bucharest in 1874 and became the private secretary of Sir Hussey Crespigny Vivian (1834–1893), a British diplomat. Vivian was next appointed British Consul General in Egypt in 1876; Ornstein accompanied him. In 1878, Vivian helped Ornstein to gain British citizenship.²⁵ For unclear reasons, Ornstein remained in Egypt when Vivian was appointed to his next post in Switzerland in 1879.²⁶ Ornstein became the secretary of the Egyptian Control (of the British Occupation) in September 1882.²⁷ In August 1882, after the occupation, a British general described a certain d’Ornstein, a “private secretary,” who spoke English well, among the “lazy court officials” of Khedive Tevfik. He thought that d’Ornstein was a Hungarian Jew from Budapest. The khedive said that Ornstein knew Egypt well.²⁸ For his services, Ornstein was subsequently knighted by the queen, and granted the Ottoman Mecidiye Order two times by the khedive. Finally, Ornstein moved to Alexandria possibly in 1889,29 where in 1891 he worked as the sub-director-general of the Egyptian Customs.³⁰

Ornstein’s membership and the existence of the committee before and after the summer of 1882 indicates that the British military occupation formalized a system already in place. His example shows that the khedivial theaters were supervised by men with little to no attachment to Arabic or Egyptian culture.

Later, other members joined the Committee. In 1888, for instance, it was composed of Ornstein, Tigrane, Keller, Barois;³¹ in 1889 Ornstein, Blum, Barois, Figari;³² in 1890 they even had a subcommittee whose task was to lobby for the introduction of electricity in the Opera (composed of Blum [who very soon after left Egypt], Ferrnich, Bisch, Grand, and the new superintendent Pasquale Clemente; see below).³³ In 1892 the body included Barois, Le Chevalier, Elwin Palmer, Boghos Nubar, Henry Settle;³⁴ in 1893 Palmer signed letters; in 1896, Palmer still was a member.³⁵ The engineer Julien Barois (1849–1937) was secretary general in the Ministry of Public Works; later he was appointed the director of the Egyptian Railways. Elwin Palmer (1852–1906) served as the Financial Adviser of the Khedive between 1889–1898, oversaw the conversion of the public debt, and finally became the first president of the National Bank of Egypt.³⁶ Some of these men, like Barois, served on other state artistic committees too.³⁷

Most members of the Comité des Théâtres resigned in 1900. The Ministry then suggested to the government that there was no need for a committee; instead, it was enough to continue financial supervision with one delegate from the Ministry of Public Works and one from the Finance Ministry.38 At this point, the Comité ceased to exist but control over the Opera House naturally continued since it remained a state institution.

At first, the payment of employees was the only responsibility of the Comité. They mediated between the Ministry of Finance and the staff of the theaters until 1884.³⁹ In addition, the Comité had to deal with any enquiries related to retirement pensions. The matter of a pension was the key administrative distinction between non-Egyptian and Egyptian employees, with the former receiving pensions and the latter not.

Sometimes the Comité or Ornstein showed favor towards the European employees. For instance, the costumier Elise Béroule, with whom we have already met, the employee who was longest in service (she entered service in 1869 and retired in 1904) was helped by the Comité. In 1886 the government abolished her post. Ornstein suggested to the Financial Committee and to Scott Moncrieff, the adviser of the Ministry of Public Works, that Béroule was in fact an écrivain magasinier and thus she should be included in the retirement scheme.⁴⁰ In contrast, none of the Egyptian farrāshīn were entitled to pensions. Although Shāhīn Shāhīn, the boss of the farrāshīn, asked for an increase in his salary, I could not locate any request for a pension from Egyptian employees to the Comité. Shāhīn was entitled to a pension later only because of his army service. The administrative classification of employees thus embodied a mixture of hierarchical notions of expertise, race, and class.

A significant concern of the committee was the protection of the buildings. It is fair to say that the members were obsessed with the risk of fire, given the history of fires in Cairo, Istanbul, and European capitals. They also financed the repair of al-Azbakiyya Garden Theatre. In their twenty-some years of existence, an ocean of official letters addressed to the Finance Ministry, the police, and the Council of Ministers dealt with such issues. As early as 1881 Ornstein sent a request, following a fire at the Ring Theatre in Vienna, for a secure system of oil lighting to be installed in the Opera building.⁴¹

It was the Comité rather than the minister that decided which theater group or charitable society should have access to the Opera House, and who could receive financial support in addition to the free concession. The Comité’s administrative decisions provide a window onto the logic of bureaucrats who are not citizens of the country where they are employed.

The usual administrative process was as follows. An artist, impresario, or private society would petition the Ministry of Public Works or the Cabinet of the Khedive with a request for the concession of a given period in the Opera House or the Comédie. The letter would almost automatically be transferred to the Comité and, if it was in Arabic, it would be translated into French. The Comité would either agree or not (quite explicitly accepting or rejecting the proposal). If the case was not easy to decide, the Comité would ask for the opinion of other ministries or the Council of Ministers. They would then make a “recommendation” to the minister of public works, who would sign off on it. Finally, the decision would be communicated to the applicant by the ministry. In the case of agreement, a contract was signed between the minister, representing the government (the owner of the Khedivial Opera House), and the impresario. Often a clause was included mentioning that the impresario was responsible to the Comité des Théâtres.⁴⁶ In the case of rejection, there was no further authority to which an applicant could appeal.

How did the Egyptian ministers react to this system? When in spring 1882 the minister of public works in the Bārūdī-government, Maḥmūd Fahmī, agreed to help Qardāḥī’s Arab Opera as we have seen, by this small decision he overstepped the mark. But the Comité, possibly due to the patriotic atmosphere, did not oppose the ministerial decision.47 The postoccupational ministers understood the power hierarchy or at least I have not found documents suggesting any major disagreement. Ministers ʿAlī Mubārak (1882–1884), ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Rushdī (1884–1888), Mehmed Zaki (1888–1894), Ḥusayn Fakhrī (1894–1895), Aḥmad Maẓlūm (1895–1907), Ismāʿīl Sirrī (1908–1917) had little to say about the concession of the Opera House or financial help for visiting impresarios. The most they did, especially Minister Rushdī, was giving recommendations to the Comité.

After Draneht’s system was abolished, no one was given the title “superintendent.” Though Léopold Larose took care of the everyday matters (from 1878), his official title remained keeper of costumes (Conservateur du Matériel). Larose was granted the concessions for the full seasons between 1880 and 1883 and became an impresario himself. Like Draneht, he brought companies from Italy and France to perform in Cairo but only with limited authority, on a one-term contract and budget. After 1883, Larose only carried out his everyday tasks as the keeper of costumes. In 1885, he again submitted a plan for the concession but was turned down,⁴⁸ and in January 1887 he retired.⁴⁹ His activity is not known to have included censorship.

The superintendence was re-established in the winter of 1886, partly as a reaction to Larose’s planned retirement. Other factors were a steady rise of applications from impresarios, the bankruptcy of two inglorious Italian impresarios in December 1886 (Santi Boni and Soschino), and the establishment of the state pension scheme. This latter transformation also regulated the status of the theater employees. From now on, their salaries were paid directly from the yearly budget of the ministry. Since the Comédie was about to be demolished and the Azbakiyya Theatre was on a permanent lease, the regulation only affected the personnel of the Opera House. The Comité included the post of the superintendent in the new pension scheme.⁵⁰

They put forward Pasquale Clemente (1842–191?) for the post of superintendent. He was an Italian pianist from Naples and possibly a music teacher.51 He had already been awarded the Mecidiye medal and was a chevalier de la couronne d’Italie.⁵² There is no information about why he was given these decorations or why the Comité chose him. Clemente was designated as superintendent of the Khedivial Theatres in November 1886 on a temporary basis and appointed officially on 19 January 1887. His accountant was Victor Bellour,⁵³ who had already worked with Larose, and with whom the Comité had been very satisfied. Clemente’s post represented continuity with Draneht’s system: it was again called the Administration des théâtres du khédive d’Égypte.⁵⁴ His first job was to supervise the transmission of materials from the Comédie during 1886–1887. The Comédie, once seen as the most convenient space for Arab theater, was to be demolished due to the damage inflicted by the horses of the British army.

A (rather belated) ministerial decree stated that the Comité’s responsibilities in 1887 covered: 1. any requests concerning the concession or the budget decided by the accountant for the theaters; 2. any requests concerning the appointment and retirement of the staff; 3. issuing regulations for the administration of the theaters; 4. any request and contract of concessions and the submission of these to the minister; 5. any one-off requests such as those from charitable societies; and 6. the formulation of terms of contracts either for a theatrical season or for a ball or any other such event.⁵⁵ Accordingly, the Comité drew up a new rule concerning the concession of the khedivial theaters. It contained six points, the most important of which was the request of a deposit from the candidates for the concession.⁵⁶ For example, Ottoman Armenian impresarios paid a deposit of 1,100 francs (around 50 LE) in 1888 for a guest season.⁵⁷ Arab impresarios, who rarely had capital, were certainly disadvantaged by this requirement.

Unlike Draneht, Clemente was a state employee, not a khedivial courtier. He had no authority over the budget and mostly acted as an executive. He does not seem to have received the title bey or pasha. Nevertheless, Clemente also knew the khedives personally, at least Abbas Hilmi II, who in September 1894 summoned him to Milan to give a report about his work⁶² and remained in contact with him afterwards. By 1904, Clemente’s personnel of the Opera House included eighteen individuals as shown in table 7.1.

The administrative nationalization of khedivial theaters occurred at a moment when wealthy Europeans and educated individuals could claim cultural authority. For instance, there was another committee of (private) theaters in the 1890s in Alexandria composed of Luigi Stagni, N. Abet, Mario Colucci, C. Penazzi, and Fred W. Simond. There was a plan to merge the two committees in 1896, which proved to be unnecessary.⁶⁶

Against this background, how could Sulaymān Qardāḥī have managed to be successful in the second half of the 1880s, as we saw in the previous chapter? We have seen that he was supported by the khedive. How did the incorporation of theaters into the colonial state inform dynastic interests?

The split between “European” (Italian and French) and Arabic elite culture was reflected in chronological terms in official public space. The schedule at the Opera consisted of a winter season from October to February, during which foreign troupes performed. This was then followed by approximately one month of performances in Arabic during the spring in the 1880s and early 1890s. The main difference between the two periods was that Arab impresarios typically did not receive any subsidy from the government, not even the complimentary gas for the lighting. The tension between Arab and non-Arab troupes was normalized into everyday bureaucratic processes.

The post-1882 Arab impresarios (al-Qabbānī, Qardāḥī, Khayyāṭ, Ḥaddād, later Ḥijāzī, Faraḥ, Abyaḍ) actually never submitted a request for a full season in the Opera. The longest season of Qardāḥī was approximately one and a half months. Even George Abyaḍ (1880–1959), the first “professional” Arab actor, trained in France, requested a maximum of two months in the Khedivial Opera House for his troupe in the years immediately before 1914. In the mid-1880s, contracts with an Italian or a French impresario often included the right of the ministry (the Comité) to arrange performances in Arabic and concerts at the Comédie (until 1887) or special evenings in the Opera. However, by the 1890s such clauses were missing from the contracts because the Comédie had been demolished and Clemente had taken over the daily business.

The khedive’s wishes and taste were usually taken into consideration—though these concerned minor, indeed sometimes ridiculously minor, matters. For instance, Tevfik could order that one society’s ball would replace another’s to match his schedule. Sometimes, the minister noted that impresarios were “approved by the khedive.” In other cases, especially involving money, Tevfik’s will was not easily accepted. When he ordered to make a payment to Qardāḥī in 1887 this was received with opposition from the Comité, because there was no money in the budget for uncalculated expenses, only the amount for the gas.⁷⁹

Following the wish of Abbas Hilmi II, Sulaymān Ḥaddād was allowed to use the Opera House in the spring of 1893, and the ministry paid the cost of the gas too;⁸⁰ although in 1895 he was refused.⁸¹ Abbas Hilmi II also used Arabic performances to boost his popularity. In 1893, the Egyptian playwright and lawyer Ismāʿīl ʿĀṣim’s (1840–1919) request for an Arabic theatrical evening at the Opera (with Iskandar Faraḥ’s troupe), was also underscored by the minister’s comment: “H.H. the Khedive would like to attend.”⁸² The khedives also had their favorites among the Italian and French companies and plays. Like Ismail, his grandson Abbas Hilmi II personally approved the Italian program at the Opera House.⁸³

In sum, the Comité, through financial control, ran the government institution according to their tastes. They allowed the wishes of the khedives to be fulfilled if there was no cost attached and very rarely granted small rewards to favored Arab impresarios. The prefiltering of the program had the effect that only loyal plays could be staged, which the Arab impresarios understood, in a form of self-censorship.

Now I would like to extend the discussion to the legal framework of both government and private theaters in nineteenth-century Egypt before and after the British occupation. There are three central issues: the laws concerning the establishment of a theater building (or a stage); the laws of censorship and the act of censoring or banning plays; and the police supervision of performances. With the analysis of the legal measures, we move our focus from government bureaucracy to the private sphere. Muslim religious scholars, from the 1890s, voiced negative opinions about public behavior in the theaters and thus could ask for official intervention into such matters. The history of theater censorship in Egypt, despite the efforts of Ramsīs ʿAwaḍ, Sayyid ʿAlī Ismāʿīl, Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, and Ziad Fahmy (and Juan Cole, concerning the general censorship in the pre-1882 period), has not been adequately explored. My contribution to this topic also remains fragmented because of the limited access to sources.

What was the role of police in relation to the khedivial spaces? In the late 1860s and 1870s the main concerns were the security of Ismail, the behavior of (and intelligence about) the audience and the artists, and the content of the plays. The location of the public buildings made control easy because the theaters in Azbakiyya were designed conveniently within a small area. The Comédie actually faced the police station. Khedivial public spaces were designed to be supervised.

Theaters, in particular, have been dangerous public buildings for political leaders. For instance, the President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated in a theater in Washington, DC, in 1865. Theaters in Alexandria had already been under police supervision. Yet there is no data about similar measures in Cairo. After 1869 a regulation at the Opera and the Comédie prohibited smoking and loud shouting. At least eight policemen were seated among the audience in the Comédie and in the Opera House in the first season of 1869–1870,89 though the police could not enter the loges of the harem, not even during the British occupation.⁹⁰ The prefect of the police owned his own seat both in the Comédie and in the Opera.⁹¹ It is said that Ismail also kept a fire steam engine “always at the side of the [Opera] house ready for instant use.”⁹² By adding eight policemen to the six Egyptian farrāsh and to the khedive’s personal guard, it seems that Ismail’s physical safety was heavily protected.

Secret agents also screened the theaters. The khedivial police chief directed agents to collect information about the general atmosphere among the resident Europeans. Often they received reports by voluntary informants. For instance, a certain Antoine Banucci during the construction of the Opera House asked the khedive to intervene on behalf of the ballerinas who were badly treated by the administrator Nicole Lablache.⁹³ In 1871, a secret agent, Agent X, reported on the two political factions among the Italian musicians in the orchestra,⁹⁴ noting that the divide was causing disturbances even among the dancers. Agent X also reported about a planned boycott of the Opera.⁹⁵ Egyptians were also spied on. We have already seen the report of Agent Z about the first planned and failed Arabic play in Egypt. It is worth noting that there are no reports about James Sanua’s experiments in 1871–1872.

The security system was adjusting to a new area of responsibility at the end of the 1860s. There was some confusion about who exactly should exercise control over the new spaces. For instance, the al-Azbakiyya Garden was supposed to be open in the daytime only. In October 1869 the Cairo police (Ḍabṭiyya) refused to send extra policemen to protect the garden from the entry of “rebellious” elements (al-māridīn). It advised the Tanzim to appoint four of its own fourteen qawwās to the task.⁹⁶ In addition, there must have been many more secret reports that are now lost, uncatalogued, or at unknown locations.

Between 1869 and 1878 the program was filtered by Paul Draneht directly and indirectly. Only two plays are known to have been directly censored. The first was a pantomime in the Circus, entitled Un invité, which mocked the khedive’s guests at the Suez Canal Opening Ceremonies. It depicted a European gentleman who did not want to pay for anything, replying always: “I am invited.” This was immediately suppressed by Draneht, and he ensured that his objection was shown to the khedive.¹⁰⁰ In November 1870, Ismail himself censored the program: a play entitled Quinze jours de siège was planned in the Comédie but he found it “uninteresting” and asked Draneht to suppress the play.¹⁰¹ His reaction must have been related to the Prussian siege of Paris at the time. Otherwise, censorship was indirect. There is no evidence, as discussed in chapter 4, that the troupe of Sanua in 1872 was banned explicitly. Direct censorship might have been viewed as a proof of autocracy in the eyes of the international community and was avoided.

Yet, spatially, crime remained connected to entertainment in al-Azbakiyya, just as it had been in the 1850s and 1860s. For instance, a French woman, Madame Geraldine, who worked “in the theater” and lived around al-Azbakiyya, was robbed in her flat by two Greeks. They stole items to the value of 955 francs but were caught and jailed.102 Another French employee in the theaters (B-t-r-ī Jān), a sardjī (prop man) accused Ḥusayn Sulaymān and Farḥāt al-Māyis of stealing from him. They were found guilty and sent to jail.¹⁰³ Inside the theaters there was petty crime. In 1870, items were stolen from the costume storage room. Draneht was informed that a Frenchman called Soullier (? S-ū-l-ī-a) was suspected, but had been apprehended; another Frenchman, Alphonse, an employee of the theater, was summoned (through the French consulate) to testify to the police.¹⁰⁴ In 1874, Draneht himself was robbed by his maid and her lover. The couple ran away but were caught.¹⁰⁵ In the same year, the European technicians of the khedivial theaters had discussed sabotage, but, after the police warned their consulates, they dropped the issue.¹⁰⁶ There must have been more small disturbances.

Documentation of the activity of secret agents between 1879 and 1882 is missing, although we know that Tevfik inherited some of his father’s trusted agents.¹⁰⁷ Abbas Hilmi II set up his own small secret agency around 1895—entrusted with spying on the British, Ottoman Egyptian notables, and Egyptian patriots—that provided reports about the general atmosphere. They rarely reported about theatrical activities. In the beginning of the 1900s, for instance, an agent reported that in al-Azbakiyya Garden there was a gathering of about 500 men, including journalists, patriots, and Ismāʿīl Ḥāfiẓ Pasha. They watched an Arabic play and listened to Arabic poems.¹⁰⁸ Al-Azbakiyya’s garden theater became the regular stage of patriotic societies by that time. The khedivial intelligence gathering aimed less at the suppression of these activities than at detailed knowledge about their conduct and participants.

While the Comité des Théâtres was principally occupied with the Opera House, in the 1900s the al-Azbakiyya Garden Theatre came under closer government control. From 1903 its director, the widow Madame Santini, had to request the approval of the ministry for every contract, despite the fact that she was running a private business.109 The contracts contained a clause that reserved seats for the government.¹¹⁰ It is possible that this increased attention was in line with the post-1890s new regulation (“cleaning up”) of al-Azbakiyya Garden that I have mentioned in chapter 3; it certainly reflected the growing number of patriotic anti-British activities from the 1890s.

On the other hand, the official police force, controlled by the British, acted according the legal codes set up by the colonial administration.¹¹¹ These laws and ordinances provide the legal concept of public space in its evolution.

How did theaters become legal in a predominantly Muslim territory with no prior tradition or history of such buildings before the nineteenth century? The khedivial decrees did not establish a legal framework into which these entertainment spaces would fit. A public space of leisure owned by a private individual was not a new phenomenon in Ottoman Egypt (since the coffeehouse had functioned in exactly this way), but such spaces were increasingly viewed as entities that ought to be controlled centrally. The reason for this was the shifting understanding of what the “public” was and the growing distrust in the “neighborhood gaze.”¹¹²

One possible explanation is that until the 1860s, and possibly even later, from a legal point of view (be that sharīʿa, Ottoman sultanic law, or Egyptian governor’s law) the private buildings, possessed by (Christian) foreign subjects (though perhaps on rented land), were considered extra-territorial business enterprises and thus under the effect of the Capitulations (the contracts of European states with the Ottoman Empire for trade and for the consular jurisdiction of their subjects). In fact, the early theaters were not buildings but rather stages in storehouses, bars, and brothels (kara-khāna). The first real theater building, the Zizinia theater in Alexandria (built in 1862), was the property of Count Zizinia (d. 1865), who was not only a foreign subject but also the consul of Belgium.

There may have been an “understanding” in the ranks of the ʿulamāʾ, and in the government departments, at least until the 1860s, that either these spaces or their audiences could be excluded from regulation and moral supervision because they were neither Egyptian nor Ottoman nor Muslim. Potential proof for such official regard can be found in the first known official initiative to regulate theaters in late Ottoman Egypt. This was a circular in Italian by Artin Bey, Mehmed Ali’s secretary for foreign affairs, to the foreign consuls in 1847, written in order to discipline the (non-Egyptian) audiences of an Alexandrian theater. Artin Bey considered this theater to be under the jurisdiction of the Alexandria municipality, yet he considered the audience outside of Egyptian jurisdiction because he wrote the letter in Italian to the consuls. Eight Egyptian policemen were stationed close to the theater in case of trouble.¹¹⁷

No documentation has been located thus far about the regulation of the private bars and theatrical activities in al-Azbakiyya in the 1850s and early 1860s or the growing number of theaters in Alexandria. In theory these spaces were under the authority of the provincial governorates. Growing concern is reflected in an 1866 agreement between the government and the consuls, which gave khedivial policemen the right to enter “cafés, restaurants, cabarets” owned by foreign subjects and thus protected by the Capitulations.118 In October 1877, a private theater was set up in Cairo but again nothing is known about its license.¹¹⁹

In 1880 a police regulation gave detailed instructions about what should be involved in the sphere of official action concerning public spaces, although it omitted the explicit mention of theaters. It warned against Egyptian popular weddings celebrated in the streets during which people might become drunk and dance publicly; against prostitution; against the mixing of genders at small coffee shops belonging to women who make coffee during the mawālīd; against the drunkenness of female singers in cafes; and against public dancers (khawalāt), street singers and street musicians, and the homeless who sleep on the street, and so on. The measures were to be communicated through neighborhood sheikhs to their communities. The reasons cited were moral (and religious), public safety, or health arguments. The law prescribed permissions for the opening of all kinds of shops, coffeehouses, taverns, and so on, from the Ḍabṭiyya, the health ministry, and the Ornato (the committee for urban improvement); theaters were only implicitly included (“and what is of this kind,” art. 49). Though the 1880 law does not contain the word “public space” in Arabic, every issue is concerned with urban public behavior and morals. ¹²⁰

In 1896, 1899, and 1900 smaller modifications of the police law were applied.¹²⁶ In the 1890s there was a French form issued by the ministry of interior for Autorisation pour un établissement public provisoire, which was still used in the 1900s.¹²⁷ In 1904, the 1891 rules were updated and extended; for instance, the application for opening a public establishment now had to be approved first by the police, and the consumption of hashish was explicitly forbidden.¹²⁸

Municipalities also began to regulate theaters. The only known regulation so far was drawn by the Alexandria Municipality (in the 1890s it had already been sponsoring theaters, such as the Zizinia, or Qardāḥī’s theater). In 1901, it allocated 500 LE yearly support for “European theaters.”¹²⁹ Khuri-Makdisi quotes a 1904 resolution which stated that “all shows and all representations of an immoral nature will be formally forbidden” and that “no theatre could be erected without the municipality’s previously written authorization.”¹³⁰ This law is quite a late development compared to the situation in Istanbul, where municipality regulations of theaters had already been written in the 1850s, or, after 1867.131 The 1904 Alexandria regulation discloses a growing concern about the content of staged plays, which leads us to the question of censorship.

The institution of censorship in the Ottoman Empire in general, and in the Ottoman Arab lands in particular, was an administrative mechanism to protect the dignity of the ruler, public morals, and the unity of the realm by suppressing the articulation of dissent and subversive political ideas. Censorship established a connection between the three principles: dignity, morals, and unity. In the khedivate of Egypt, censorship initially had the same goals: to protect the dignity of the khedive and the sultan, the public morals, and peaceful rule. After 1882, however, censorship was designed primarily to prevent too fervent pro-Ottoman, revolutionary, or anti-British ideas from appearing in public. The laws regulating printing and journalism included printed plays in theory, but only at a later date can any information be found suggesting that plays were banned from performance. There was no coherent control of printed or staged plays until the 1910s.

The censorship of printed plays was not mentioned explicitly in the laws concerning printed material (books, periodicals, pamphlets). The Ottoman laws of 1857 (on printing presses) and 1865 (on journals) have no separate entries about printed plays (these laws were not fully implemented in Egypt anyway);¹³² the penal code in the 1870s contained only the punishment of the unauthorized opening of a printing press and the printing of obscene drawings.¹³³ The 1881 Egyptian law on printed products omitted the mention of plays (though drawings, rusūmāt, were included, possibly because of James Sanua’s Abū Naḍḍāra).¹³⁴ The 1883 penal code contains measures against unauthorized presses, and prescribing the punishment of printing or distributing texts containing insults to the ruler, the government, or the representatives of public authority (art. 170), or, again, that contained obscene drawings (art. 172).¹³⁵ The absence of special rules for plays is not surprising, however, given that that the performances by Naqqāsh, Khayyāṭ, Qardāḥī, and Nadīm were not subversive, and that until the 1890s Arabic plays were printed only in small numbers in Beirut and not in Cairo, with very few exceptions.

There are examples of banning a performance while the same play in print was relatively freely distributed: in 1906 the play written about the Dinshaway incident (when Egyptian peasants clashed with British soldiers in a village and were harshly punished) was banned from being staged but was then printed under the title Ṣayd al-Ḥamām (“Pigeon Hunt”) and sold openly in the streets.¹⁴⁰ Such discrepancies suggest the government lacked, as yet, an overarching mechanism to control the public or that there was no need at the time for such a mechanism.

The 1893 case in Damietta makes it explicit that although no indication of opposition survived from Muslim religious scholars, modern Arabic theater was seen by some ʿulamāʾ as a morally intolerable practice. There is an as-yet-unconfirmed anecdote that al-Qabbānī’s first theater in Damascus was closed down because of the hostile ʿulamāʾ.¹⁴³ In Egypt, in July 1894, possibly out of newly found Muslim moral concern, the government banned public dancing in cafes and public spaces. However, since non-Egyptian subjects could still dance, the dancing girls quickly married (were married?) to Algerian Muslim men since these individuals typically were under French jurisdiction.¹⁴⁴ The occasional bans indicate the popularity of such leisure practices.

As opposed to older forms of popular mimetic entertainment, modern theaters—the buildings, troupes, and stages—represented a rupture in practices of public entertainment. There was a need for creating historical arguments for compatibilities. For instance, the young leader of all Egyptian Sufi orders Muḥammad Tawfīq al-Bakrī (1870–1932) sometime in the 1890s explained in a talk that “something similar to the representation of events which is known now as theater” was practiced among Arabs (al-ʿArab) during early Islam. His insistence reflects an argument according to which theater (and many other practices, like balls, paintings etc.) was not known before the European influence. Whether this argument came from European Orientalists or Muslim reformists, al-Bakrī clearly thought theater is permissible because there were ancient mimetic traditions in Muslim societies.¹⁴⁵ Sheikh Rashīd Riḍā’s fatwa in 1907 to the question of a Russian Muslim schoolteacher was also not about theater per se. It was about the presence of women on stage and in the audience. Riḍā examined Arabic performances in Egypt in person and found that the only benefit was that ordinary people could listen an elevated Arabic language on stage whose “level” he placed somewhere between fuṣḥā and ʿāmmiyya.146 He judged that while women should not dance with men and not adorn themselves with jewelry in public, acting itself could carry some benefits. A few years later in 1911, answering questions from Syrian students, Riḍā affirmed that acting could be used for the representation of historical events.¹⁴⁷

Next to Islamic morals, technology and the spread of subversive ideas also made entertainment more political. Ziad Fahmy describes the effects of innovations, such as the gramophone and a mass printing industry, with the term “media-capitalism,” which he believes started around 1907.¹⁴⁸ On the political side, the unjust sentences and executions after the Dinshaway scandal in 1906, the revolutions in St. Petersburg (1905), Tehran (1905–1907), Istanbul (1908–1909), the new Ottoman constitution (1908), the death of the patriotic leader Muṣṭafā Kāmil in 1908, the rise of the workers movement, the spread of revolutionary ideas, the assassination of Prime Minister Buṭrus Ghālī in 1910, and the new mass-participation in politics all prompted the British officials and traditional elites to resort to stronger measures of control.

From 1906, an increasing number of plays were banned by the interior ministry from performance, such as the one about ʿUrābī or the Dinshaway play.¹⁴⁹ In 1910, a journal reported that policemen were to be sent to every performance in every single Arab theater.¹⁵⁰ Though this piece of news likely exaggerated, the concern of colonial authorities with public entertainment was unprecedented in this turbulent period. Two specific laws were proclaimed about public spaces and texts. The first in 1909 revived the 1881 press law.¹⁵¹ Next, proclaimed in July 1911, was a Law on Theatres (Lāʾiḥat al-Tiyātrāt), which is the best-remembered law on theater in Arabic.¹⁵² This specialized law did not change the conditions of establishing a theater, but added three important restrictions: that the program and a new troupe had to be approved first by the police, that in every city “a theater committee” was to be created (chaired by the police prefect), and that in every theater a special seat for a policeman must be maintained.153 This legal act explicitly assumed the subversive potential of public acting. The police regulations and the continued censorship in the Interior Ministry established the legal framework and mechanisms that would supervise the rebellious Egyptian public after the proclamation of the British protectorate in 1914.

This chapter has traced the process by which khedivial theaters became state institutions overseen financially and administratively by the Comité des Théâtres. I have shown that financial experts expressed cultural preferences through indirect censorship of the program within the Opera House. The preferences of the khedives were also taken into consideration, when and if there was no cost involved, and some favored Arab impresarios could use the Opera House. In this way, patriotism in Arabic was staged in the stage of the symbolic Opera House within the colonial frames. As a consequence, “culture” attained a double function as both legitimizing and mirroring elite power.

The analysis of laws concerning private theaters and plays has shown that the theater buildings, which at the beginning were extraterritorial entertainment locations, came to be increasingly controlled by the government. Some ʿulamāʾ requested police intervention to ban performances from the 1890s onwards. However, the early Muslim jurists judged the theater permissible on the whole. The institutionalization of government censorship was the disciplinary response to the increased anticolonial activity in the 1910s.

“Being public” was associated with elaborate economic and legal norms. Instead of material change and capitalism creating a civil society to control politics, in khedivial-colonial Egypt being public meant the shrinking scope of free activity both in print (“the public sphere”) and in the new spaces such as theaters. The constant adjustment to an imagined discipline, pushed by civilization discourses, colonial police, and Muslim reformists, resulted in the elite appropriation of the dominant modes of public presence. Not everyone was accepted as a patriot. The new codes of public spaces had to be learned and performed correctly. In the next and final chapter, I examine the ways in which elite social norms changed through the new spatial epistemology and the way patriotism peaked and transformed in the 1890s.

¹ Letter dated 25 January 1885, Comité des Théâtres to ʿAbduh Afandī al-Ḥamūlī and al-Shaykh Aḥmad Abū Khalīl; and letter dated 24 January 1885, Félix Thome to Léopold Larose, both in 4003–022541, DWQ. For the permission, cf. note dated 24 December 1884, MTP to Conseil des Ministres, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

² Letter dated 18 Dhū al-Ḥijja 1297 (21 November 1880), from Māliyya to Ḍabṭiyyat Miṣr, and Kashf min Jarāʾid Istiḥqāqāt al-Maʿiyya al-Saniyya ʿanhu bi-Ism Saʿādat Dranīt Bāshā, undated, Dūsiya 7085, Maḥfaẓa 275, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 13, DM.

³ Letter dated 7 January 1879, Directeur de l’administration de la Voirie to MTP, 4003–037847, DWQ.

⁴ Owen, The Middle East in the World Economy, 130–132.

⁵ Letter dated 18 Ṣafar 1287 (20 May 1870) to Umur-i Hassa, qayd 583, p. 40, microfilm 99, MST, DWQ.

⁶ Amr ʿĀlī dated 31 December 1878 in Jallād, al-Qāmūs al-ʿĀmm, 1:97.

⁷ Rizq, Taʾrīkh al-Wizārāt al-Miṣriyya, 57; Taʾrīkh Ḥayāt al-Maghfūr lahu ʿAlī Mubārak, 45–46.

⁸ Letter dated 13 December 1887, to M. Legros (Ingénieur en chef en Service de la Ville), 4003–036990, DWQ.

⁹ AE (1891–1892), 48.

¹⁰ See W. E. Garstin’s reports between 1898 and 1905, published in Cairo by the National Printing Office (cf. bibliography).

¹¹ Nasīra, Wizārat al-Thaqāfa, 14–15.

¹² Rizq, Taʾrīkh al-Wizārāt, 73–85.

¹³ Owen, Lord Cromer, 124–126.

¹⁴ Memorandum dated 23 December 1881, Comité des Théâtres to MTP, and letter dated 27 December 1881, FitzGerald (Comité des Théâtres) to Ismail Pacha Ayoub, 4003–037847, DWQ.

¹⁵ Hourani, “The Middleman in a Changing Society,” 116.

¹⁶ AE (1891–92), 53.

¹⁷ Letter dated 11 May 1880, Goudaire in the name of the khedive to Riyaz Pacha, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

¹⁸ Cf. Guy-Lussac’s appointment letter, dated 18 May 1881, mentioned in Catherina and Bourdillaud, eds. Fonds Gay-Lussac, under number 36 J 24.

¹⁹ Letter dated 12 May 1881, Riaz Pasha to Ministre des Travaux publiés [sic], Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

²⁰ Letter dated 1 July 1881, signed d’Ornstein, Gay-Lussac; 4003–037847, DWQ.

²¹ La Réforme (L’Égypte), 23 February 1896, 2.

²² For instance, cf. letter dated 9 April 1881, Khalīl Linant (ʿAlī Mubārak) to Fitzgerald, 0075–033141, DWQ; cf. also Sadgrove, Egyptian Theatre, 151.

²³ Al-Jinān, 15 June 1881, 359.

²⁴ Letter dated 26 February 1886, Santi-Boni to J. D’Ornstein (Président du Comité des Théâtres au Caire), 4003–037912, DWQ. Also letter dated 29 November 1886, Ministre des Finances, Note pour M. Ornstein (Président du Comité des Théâtres), in Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

²⁵ See the correspondence, including the letter of Ornstein to Vivian, dated 5 October 1878 and support letter of Vivian dated 28 October 1878, HO 45/9469/78581, A2748 (naturalization issued 4 November 1878), NA.

²⁶ The private letters of Vivian do not provide any hint. GB165–0294, Vivian, MECA. Ornstein was not part of the Austro-Hungarian community in Egypt. His name does not figure in Agstner, Die österreichisch-ungarische Kolonie in Kairo, nor Komár, “Az Osztrák-Magyar Monarchia.”

²⁷ London Gazette, 29 September 1882, 1.

²⁸ Vetch, Life, Letter, and Diaries, 226–227. It is possible that this British general mixed up names, and he met Julius Blum (1843–1919), an Austro-Hungarian Jew who was indeed born in Budapest. Ronall, “Julius Blum Pasha (1843–1919),” 101.

²⁹ Letter dated 11 December 1889, Scott Moncrieff to President Conseil des Ministres, 0075–034491, DWQ.

³⁰ AE (1891–92), 160; cf. London Gazette, 20 May 1880; 28 April 1891.

³¹ Undated letter (for 1888–1889), concerning the request of Santini, about the reduction of the rent of the Azbakiyya Garden Theatre, signed by Tigrane, Keller, Ornstein, Barois. Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

³² Letter dated 20 March 1889, “Copie d’une lettre adressée par les délégues du Gouvernement du Théâtre de l’Opéra à Son Excellence le Ministre des Travaux Publics,” 4003–022543, DWQ.

³³ Letter dated 4 September 1890, Muhammed Zeki to Conseil des Ministres, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

³⁴ Letter dated 7 May 1892, Comité des Théâtres to ?, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

³⁵ Amonasro, “La question des théâtres,” La Réforme (L’Égypte), 1 March 1896, 6–7.

³⁶ Owen, Lord Cromer, 242, 247, etc.

³⁷ Ormos, Max Herz Pasha, 1:52, 90–91.

³⁸ Note dated 26 November 1900, ? to Conseil des Ministres, 0075–033188, DWQ.

³⁹ Various letters in 4003–036765, DWQ.

⁴⁰ Compiled from the pension dossier of al-Sitt Farnand Brul, Dūsiya 22517, Maḥfaẓa 863, ʿAyn 3, Dūlāb 43, Milaffāt Khidma, DM, especially letter dated 31 December 1887, Ornstein to Abdarrahman Pasha Rouchdy, MTP.

⁴¹ French letter dated 23 December 1881, les Membres du Comité des Théâtres (Ornstein) to MTP, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁴² Note dated 8 October 1887, Scott Moncrieff to Conseil des Ministres, 4003–036990, DWQ.

⁴³ Letter dated 18 May 1890, Comité des Théatres to MTP. Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl, CMW, DWQ. See also similar requests in 0075–033144, DWQ.

⁴⁴ Note dated 4 September 1890, Muhammed Zekil, MTP, to Conseil des Ministres, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁴⁵ Letter dated 5 September 1894, MTP to President, Conseil des Ministres. Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁴⁶ For instance, contract dated 3 March 1888, 4003–036990, DWQ.

⁴⁷ Letter dated 30 March 1882, Guy Lussac (Comité des Théâtres) to MTP, 4003–037847, DWQ.

⁴⁸ Letter dated 9 April 1885, Larose to Rouchdy, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁴⁹ Note au Conseil des Ministres, dated ? December 1886, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁵⁰ Letter dated 15 December 1886, MTP (Rouchdy [Rushdī]) to Cons. des Min. Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁵¹ Sessa, Il melodramma italiano, 121. Clemente was hired first instead of the aging Larose, as a keeper of costumes. Al-Ahrām, 11 November 1886, 2. For his birth date, certificate dated 1 September 1909 of the Italian Consulate in Cairo, Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁵² Undated État de service (1887), Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁵³ Attachment to letter dated 17 February 1887, Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁵⁴ Letter with printed letterhead, dated 10 November 1887, from Clemente to Inspecteur du Tanzim, 4003–036990, DWQ.

⁵⁵ Jallād, al-Qāmūs al-ʿĀmm, 1:527.

⁵⁶ “Ikhtiṣāṣāt Lajnat al-Tiyātrāt al-Khidīwiyya,” al-Qāhira al-Ḥurra, 7 June 1887, 3.

⁵⁷ Letter dated 20 February 1888, Comité des Théâtres to Abdul Rahman Pacha Rouchdy, 4003–037874, DWQ. They did pay this amount as evidenced by letter dated 22 May 1888, to Direction Générale du Tanzim, 4003–036990, DWQ.

⁵⁸ Letter dated 4 May 1890 in the pension dossier of Pasquale Clemente, Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁵⁹ L’Art Musical, 15 June 1890, 94 and 31 July 1890, 110.

⁶⁰ Letter dated 6 December 1890, MTP to President (Conseil des Ministres), Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, Majlis al-Wuzarāʾ, DWQ (old system).

⁶¹ Though Clemente was required to retire in 1908 because he had reached the age of sixty-five, an extension was granted. Letters dated 15 March 1911, and 24 March 1908, Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM. As to Bellour’s retirement, cf. letter dated 31 March 1913, ? to Néghib Bey Courgi, Secrétaire du Comité des Finances, 4003–023154, DWQ.

⁶² Letter dated 20 September 1894, A. Rouilly to Clemente, Dūsiya 24653, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 1, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁶³ See Jarīdat Māhiyāt al-Antik-khāne [!] wa-Abū Qīr wa-l-Tiyātrū 1881, 4003–001063; Juzʾ Thānī Istiḥqāqāt Ḥiraf al-Antīq-khāne [!] wa-l-Tiyātrāt bi-Dīwān al-Ashghāl 1882, 4003–001064; Juzʾ Awwal Istiḥqāqāt al-Antīk-khāne [!] wa-l-Tiyātrū bi-Dīwān al-Ashghāl 1883, 4003–001065, DWQ.

⁶⁴ Letter dated 16 August 1911, MTP to l’Intendant des théâtres, Dūsiya 24774, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 2, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁶⁵ Cf. letter dated 23 October 1899, signed C. Caprara and D. I Chapman, Dossier 24774, Maḥfaẓa 1020, ʿAyn 2, Dūlāb 50, Milaffāt Khidma, DM.

⁶⁶ La Réforme (L’Égypte), 23 February and 1 March 1896, 6–7.

⁶⁷ Note dated 26 April 1888, 0075–006682, DWQ.

⁶⁸ Acte préliminaire à la constitution d’une Société Anonyme sous la dénomination de “Société Théâtrale et Artistique du Caire,” dated 5 May 1899, 0075–008620, DWQ.

⁶⁹ Letter dated 22 March 1885, Ministre des Affaires Etrangères to Rouchdy, and letter dated 22 March 1885, Manasse to Nubar Pasha, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁷⁰ Undated letter (in its Arabic translation 26 April 1885), Président du Conseil des Ministres (Nubar) to MTP, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁷¹ Letter dated 11 May 1885, Rouchdy to Comité des Théâtres, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁷² Unsigned draft dated 21 May 1885, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁷³ “Grand Théâtre Khédivial de l’Opéra—Projet pour la saison 1885–86, sous la direction Santi Boni et G. Soschino du 1 novembre 1885 au 1er mars 1886,” dated 18 May 1885, 4003–037912, DWQ.

⁷⁴ Letter dated 2 May 1885, S. Boni et Soschino to Abdel-Rahman Rouchdy, MTP, 4003–037911, DWQ.

⁷⁵ Letter dated 28 July 1885, Joseph Kaiat to MTP, 4003–037912, DWQ.

⁷⁶ Letter dated 13 August 1885, MTP to Comité des Théâtres, 4003–037912, DWQ.

⁷⁷ Letter dated 10 October 1885, Barois to Santi Boni et Soschino, 4003–037912, DWQ.

⁷⁸ Undated letter (1886 winter?), from Rouchdy to President, Conseil des Ministres, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁷⁹ Note dated 21 April 1887, MTP to Conseil des Ministres, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁸⁰ Letter dated 10 January 1893, MTP to Suleiman Haddad, 4003–022553, DWQ.

⁸¹ Note dated 5 January 1895, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl, CMW, DWQ.

⁸² Undated (1894?) letter, M. Zeki Ministre to Comité des Théâtres, 4003–037803, DWQ.

⁸³ Letter dated 5 September 1913, Cherif Seddik to Albert Baroche, 5013–005406, DWQ.

⁸⁴ Contract dated 2 June 1886, between Santi Boni, Graziadio Soschino, and MTP. Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁸⁵ Al-Ahrām, 10 March 1886, 2.

⁸⁶ Note dated 27 April 1890, MTP to Conseil des Ministres. Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁸⁷ Letter dated 4 April 1891, Secrétariat de Khédive to Riaz Pacha, and letter dated 11 April 1891, President Conseil des Ministres to Finance Ministry, Maḥfaẓa 2/1, Niẓārat al-Ashghāl al-ʿUmūmiyya, CMW, DWQ.

⁸⁸ Landau, Studies, 80.

⁸⁹ Letter dated 14 January 1870, Draneht to “la Daira des affaires particuliers de Son Altesse le Khédive,” Maḥfaẓa 80, CAI, DWQ.

⁹⁰ Letter dated 28 September 1887, from the Commandant of Police Cairo City, to H.E. the Inspector General of Police Headquarters, 4003–036990, DWQ.

⁹¹ Letter dated 14 January 1870, from Draneht to “la Daira des affaires particuliers de Son Altesse le Khédive,” Maḥfaẓa 80, CAI, DWQ.

⁹² Dye, Moslim Egypt and Christian Abyssinia, 14.

⁹³ Letter dated Le Caire le 29 December 1869, to the Khedive from Antoine Banucci, 5013–003022, DWQ. Lablache was the administrative director of the Opera House, La Revue musicale de Paris 36 n. 21, 23 May 1869, 174.

⁹⁴ Letter dated 11 January 1871 from Agent X to M. Nardi Inspecteur de Police au Caire. 5013–003022, DWQ. These factions very likely debated the unification of Italy in 1871.

⁹⁵ Letter dated 29 January 1871. From Agent X to Inspecteur de Police au Caire, M. Nardi. 5013–003022, DWQ.

⁹⁶ Letter dated 24 Jumādā al-Thānī 1286 (1 October 1869), daftar 2003–000355, p. 117, DWQ.

⁹⁷ Letter to al-Dāʾira al-Khāṣṣa dated 12 Jumādā al-Awwal 1286 (20 August 1869), p. 31; letter to [al-Dāʾira] al-Khāṣṣa undated (possibly 1 Rajab 1286 [7 October 1869), p. 98; letter to [al-Dāʾira] al-Khāṣṣa, 3 Shaʿbān 1286 (8 November 1869), p. 126; 2003–001827, DWQ.

⁹⁸ Letter dated 2 Rajab 1286 (8 October 1869), to [al-Dāʾira] al-Khāṣṣa, and another of the same date, p. 98, 2003–001827, DWQ.

⁹⁹ Kozma, Policing Egyptian Women, 121.

¹⁰⁰ Letter dated 26 December 1869, Draneht to [Rancy], Maḥfaẓa 80, CAI, DWQ. See also Sadgrove, Egyptian Theatre, 50.

¹⁰¹ Letter dated 22 November 1870, from Pini Bey? to Draneht Bey, 5013–004133, DWQ.

¹⁰² Letter dated 15 Muḥarram 1287 (17 April 1870), to French Consulate, 2003–002068, p. 68, DWQ.

¹⁰³ Letter dated 1 Rabīʿ al-Awwal 1287 (1 June 1870), to French Consulate, 2003–002068, p. 167, DWQ.

¹⁰⁴ Letter dated 17 Muḥarram 1287 (19 April 1870), to French Consulate, 2003–002068, p. 70; letter dated 18 Ṣafar 1287 (20 May 1870), to French Consulate, 2003–002068, p. 135; letter dated 21 Ṣafar 1287 (23 May 1870), to French Consulate, 2003–002068, p. 139, DWQ.

¹⁰⁵ Letters dated 29 March 1874, Burichetti (Cabinet de Directeur de Police) to Hairy Pacha (Chef du Cabinet du Khedive), both in 5013–003022, DWQ.

¹⁰⁶ Letters dated 6 and 9 September 1874, Burichetti (Cabinet de Directeur de Police) to Hairy [Khayrī] Pacha (Chef du Cabinet du Khedive), both in 5013–003022, DWQ.

¹⁰⁷ See undated letter and its mention of dafātir sirriyya, in 28/7, HIL/28/1–190, AHP.

¹⁰⁸ Undated letter, possibly around 1902, 28/31, HIL/28/1–190, AHP.

¹⁰⁹ Various letters between 1903 and 1907, in 4003–038633 and 4003–038635, DWQ.

¹¹⁰ Draft dated 7 April 1903, MTP to Mme. Veuve Santini, 4003–038635, DWQ.

¹¹¹ Tollefson, Policing Islam.

¹¹² I learned this expression from Avner Wischnitzer at a conference at the British Institute at Ankara in April 2015.

¹¹³ Al-Mahdī, Al-Fatāwā al-Mahdiyya; Peters, “Muḥammad al-ʿAbbāsī al-Mahdī.”

¹¹⁴ Mūsā, al-Iftāʾ al-Miṣrī; Hatina, ʿUlamaʾ, Politics, and the Public Sphere, 74.

¹¹⁵ al-ʿAbbāsī al-Mahdī, Al-Fatāwā al-Mahdiyya, vol. 5: 299–300.

¹¹⁶ Ramadan, “The Aesthetics of the Modern,” ch. 1 and appendix 1. For Riḍā’s opinions see Al-Munajjad, ed., Fatāwā al-Imām Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā, 549–554, 1090–1093.

¹¹⁷ This text was published first in Tagher, “Les débuts du théâtre”; then Najm, al-Masraḥiyya, 21–22 (with wrong date and mistranslation); finally Sadgrove, Egyptian Theatre, appendix 1, 169–171.

¹¹⁸ See the text of the agreement, dated 26 April 1866, [Ministère de l’Intérieur], Législation de police, 484, n.1.

¹¹⁹ Sadgrove, Egyptian Theatre, 70.

¹²⁰ Jallād, Qāmūs al-ʿĀmm, 3: 215–221.

¹²¹ Letter dated 16 Rabīʿ al-Awwal 1300 (25 January 1883), Niẓārat al-Dākhiliyya to all provinces, al-Manshūrāt wa-l-Qarārāt al-Ṣādira fī Sanat 1883 Afrankiyya, 10.

¹²² 14 Shaʿbān 1300 (20 June 1883), Niẓārat al-Dākhiliyya to all in charge, al-Manshūrāt wa-l-Qarārāt al-Ṣādira fī sanat 1883, 55–56.

¹²³ Codes égyptiens (1883), 427–507.

¹²⁴ Sayyid ʿAlī Ismāʿīl states that this law prescribed that policemen had to be present during the theater performances, but I have not found any trace of this. Sayyid ʿAlī Ismāʿīl, “Tārīkh al-Raqāba wa-l-Taṭawwuruhā,” http://kenanaonline.com/users/sayed-esmail/posts/119149, accessed 9 March 2014.

¹²⁵ [Ministère de l’Intérieur], Législation de police, 477–485.

¹²⁶ Lantz, Répertoire général de la jurisprudence égyptienne, 500–501 (art. 9360–9364).

¹²⁷ Cf. permission for Sayyid Ḥamūda to opening a theater in 1909. http://modernegypt.bibalex.org/DocumentViewer/TextViewer.aspx?w=1418&h=778&type=document&id=33302&s=2, and many others in BA.

¹²⁸ Lamba, Code Administratif Égyptien, 183–193.

¹²⁹ [Commission Municipale], Budget pour l’exercice 1901, 14.

¹³⁰ Quoted in Khuri-Makdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean, 76.

¹³¹ Mestyan, “A Garden with Mellow Fruits,” 384–385.

¹³² Cioeta, “Ottoman Censorship,” 168. Also Cole, Colonialism and Revolution, 223–224.

¹³³ Projet de code pénal (1871), 35; Codes égyptiens (1875), 484.

¹³⁴ Naqqāsh, Miṣr li-l-Miṣriyyīn, 4:194–197. Fahmy, Ordinary Egyptians, 58.

¹³⁵ Codes Égyptiens (1883), 466–467.

¹³⁶ Ismāʿīl, “Tārīkh al-Raqāba wa-Taṭawwuruhā.”

¹³⁷ Such was [Wāṣif], Riwāyat Harūn al-Rashīd maʿ Qūt al-Qulūb; see chapter 6.

¹³⁸ Ismāʿīl, “Tārīkh al-Raqāba wa-Taṭawwuruhā.”

¹³⁹ MQMMFS, play n. 129 (an 1897 print of al-Ifrīqiyya); p. 14.

¹⁴⁰ Fahmy, Ordinary Egyptians, 93–94.

¹⁴¹ Sayyid ʿAlī Ismāʿīl states that Ḥifẓ al-Tiyātrāt (the Comité) in 1879 was a body for censorship, and also gives its internal legislation of 1887 as the legal constitution of censorship, but there is no proof that the Comité had any power outside of the state theaters. Ismāʿīl, “Tārīkh al-Raqāba wa-Taṭawwuruhā.”

¹⁴² Cf. the references in Ismāʿīl, “Tārīkh al-Raqāba wa-Taṭawwuruhā.”

¹⁴³ Karachouli, “Abu Halil al-Qabbani,” 87.

¹⁴⁴ Farīd, Mudhakkirāt, 173.

¹⁴⁵ Al-Bakrī, Ṣahārij al-Luʾluʾ, 258–259.

¹⁴⁶ Al-Munajjad, ed., Fatāwā al-Imām, 549–554.

¹⁴⁷ Ibid., 1093.

¹⁴⁸ Fahmy, Ordinary Egyptians, 96–97.

¹⁴⁹ ʿAwaḍ, Ittijāhāt Siyāsiyya, 19 and 21.

¹⁵⁰ Quoted in Ismāʿīl, “Tārīkh al-Raqāba wa-Taṭawwuruhā.”

¹⁵¹ Fahmy, Ordinary Egyptians, 103–104.

¹⁵² For instance, http://www.e-socialists.net/node/4538, accessed 19 February 2014.

¹⁵³ Al-Waqāʾiʿ al-Miṣriyya, 17 July 1911, republished in Ismāʿīl, al-Raqāba, 30–33.

TABLE 7.1. État nominatif du personnel de l’Opéra pour le mois de janvier 1904, dated 25 January 1904
Noms	Fonctions	Appoint. LE M	Total LE M
Personnel classé (Chap. 5—Art. I):
Clemente Pasquale	Intendant	58.333
Bellour Victor	Sécrétaire—comptable	22	80.333
Art. II: Magasins et accessoirs:
Bruno Fortunato	Magasinier	9
Furmat Adrien	Taillet—Cons.	9
Talamos Elena	Ouvrière	4.100
Coussa Adèle	Ouvrière	4.100
Francestini Léontine	Ouvrière	4.100
Mille Césarine	Ouvrière	4.100
Isard Arnaud	Ouvrière	4.100	38.500
Art. 3. Agents hors cadres:
Mansour Ghanem	Moaven	12
Granato Alphons	Moulahiz	8
Ahmed el-Komy	Farrach	2.700
Mahmoud Ahmed	Farrach	2.700
Mohamed Aly	Farrach	1.980
Abdalla Saïd	Farrach	1.980
Ahmed Aly	Farrach	1.800
Mohamed Aly	Gaffir	1.950
Hassan Moussa	Gaffir	1.950
Source: Pension file of Alphonso Granato, Dūsiya 24774, Maḥfaẓa 1030, ʿAyn 3, Dūlāb 50, DM. Original orthography.