As strangers-even those whose beards have whitened in
the land-know absolutely nothing of what unfortunate natives must
endure, I am tempted to subjoin a short
[p.19]sketch of my adventures in search of a Tazkirah, or passport, at
Alexandria.
Through ignorance which might have cost me dear but for friend
Larking's weight with the local authorities, I had neglected to provide
myself with a passport in England, and it was not without difficulty,
involving much unclean dressing and an unlimited expenditure of broken
English, that I obtained from H.B.M's Consul at Alexandria a
certificate, declaring me to be an Indo-British subject named Abdullah,
by profession a doctor, aged thirty, and not distinguished-at least so
the frequent blanks seemed to denote-by any remarkable conformation of
eyes, nose, or cheek. For this I disbursed a dollar. And here let me
record the indignation with which I did it. That mighty Britain-the
mistress of the seas-the ruler of one-sixth of mankind-should charge
five shillings to pay for the shadow of her protecting wing! That I
cannot speak my modernised "civis sum Romanus" without putting my hand
into my pocket, in order that these officers of the Great Queen may not
take too ruinously from a revenue of seventy millions! O the meanness
of our magnificence! the littleness of our greatness!
My new passport would not carry me without the Zabit or Police
Magistrate's counter-signature, said H.B.M.'s Consul. Next day I went
to the Zabit, who referred me to the Muhafiz (Governor) of Alexandria,
at whose gate I had the honour of squatting at least three hours, till
a more compassionate clerk vouchsafed the information that the proper
place to apply to was the Diwan Kharijiyah (the Foreign Office). Thus a
second day was utterly lost. On the morning of the third I started, as
directed, for the Palace, which crowns the Headland of Clay. It is a
huge and couthless shell of building in parallelogrammic form,
containing all kinds of public offices in glorious confusion, looking
with their glaring
[p.20]white-washed faces upon a central court, where a few leafless
wind-wrung trees seem struggling for the breath of life in an eternal
atmosphere of clay-dust and sun-blaze.[FN#5]
The first person I addressed was a Kawwas[FN#6] or police officer, who,
coiled comfortably up in a bit of shade fitting his person like a robe,
was in full enjoyment of the Asiatic "Kayf." Having presented the
consular certificate and briefly stated the nature of my business, I
ventured to inquire what was the right course to pursue for a visa.
They have little respect for Darwayshes, it appears, at Alexandria.
