While the pasha had since mellowed, he was still the absolute master of his realm. Anything of consequence required his approval. Enfantin could only realize his goals if Muhammad Ali permitted it. At least there was some precedent. The pasha had brought a number of Europeans into his service, employing one as director of irrigation and another as head of health services. He recognized that Europe had surpassed the Near East in its ability to grow food, build cities, produce revenue, employ soldiers, and arm them with advanced weapons. By the time Enfantin arrived, Muhammad Ali had consolidated his hold on Egypt and had mounted a serious challenge to his nominal overlord, the Ottoman sultan. He sought European assistance to further his ambitions. The English supported the sultan and were wary of aiding Muhammad Ali; the French, out of their love for Egypt and their rivalry with England, rushed in to provide whatever help the pasha desired.9
But Enfantin didn’t just want to enter Muhammad Ali’s service. He also wanted to obtain contracts known as “concessions,” which gave the concessionaire a limited monopoly. A concession gave a group or an individual the right to undertake a specific project, whether it was a dam across the Nile or a railroad from Alexandria to Cairo. The concessionaires would then form a company to implement the project, and they would capitalize it themselves. They would also be entitled to most of the profits, with a stipulated amount reserved for the Egyptian government. The system of concessions benefited both parties. Muhammad Ali obtained public works for a minimal cost, and European entrepreneurs were able to set up businesses. Such, at least, was the theory. Unfortunately for Egypt, as for countless other non-European societies in the nineteenth century, these concessions often came with hidden costs for the ruler granting them.
Enfantin passed a few pleasant weeks in Alexandria, mingling with the expatriate community, before heading to Cairo, where he was warmly entertained by the French consul, Monsieur Mimaut. Though politeness demanded Mimaut’s hospitality, it was not an unpleasant duty. Enfantin was a colorful personality with a large following among powerful French industrialists and businessmen. He discussed his ambitions with Mimaut and the consular staff, and his sermons charmed dinner-party guests. Never one to keep his ideas to himself, he told any who asked about his plans for railroads, dams, and canals. He also talked about Egypt as the perfect setting for the next phase of world history. In Europe, he said, political power was locked in a deleterious struggle with industrial power. He pointed, as many others did, to the tumultuous events of Paris in 1830, when King Charles X was removed from his throne in the “bourgeois revolution.” In Egypt, Enfantin believed, there was little tension between politics and industry, and with a man such as Muhammad Ali in control, industry could coexist with political power.
Enfantin was soon making the rounds in Cairo. He needed to arrange an audience with Muhammad Ali, and that took time and connections, and perhaps even a few selective bribes. He met chamberlains and consuls, and he lobbied the Europeans in the service of the pasha. One of these was Maurice-Adolphe Linant de Bellefonds, who had been in Egypt for more than a decade and had ascended to the position of chief engineer. The projects being proposed by Enfantin required Linant’s support, or at least his lack of opposition. Linant’s area of expertise was irrigation, and he was a keen student of canals. In early January, on Linant’s urging, Enfantin took a brief trip to the famed Suez. Accompanied by his disciples, he went first to Damietta, then to the Bitter Lakes, in the middle of the isthmus, and then south, to the port of Suez, before returning to Cairo.10
There was one other Frenchman whom Enfantin encountered in these months, one who would in time become his most avid convert—not to the New Christianity, but to a plan to cut a direct canal linking the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. In later years, however, Ferdinand de Lesseps did everything in his considerable power to distance himself from Enfantin, and he successfully fought to claim the legacy of the Suez Canal for himself and himself alone. During his stay in Egypt, Enfantin made no secret of his desire to build a canal through the isthmus. Had he known that one of his listeners, a polite young vice-consul, would one day appropriate his idea and achieve international fame and fortune, he might have kept his own counsel.
In early January 1834, the pasha agreed to receive Enfantin. Muhammad Ali, by all accounts, listened attentively to the proposals, though he had been briefed on them in advance. He endorsed the idea of irrigation works along the Nile because he was eager to construct a massive barrage north of Cairo that would allow for water to be stored and released as need be. The Nile was notoriously fickle in its flooding, and for millennia, Egyptian rulers had tried unsuccessfully to moderate the floods so that they would be able to predict annual crop yields. Muhammad Ali needed cash crops to raise money to finance his modernization schemes, but unless the floods could be regulated, there was no way to rationalize long-term planning. For that reason as well, he wanted to link Alexandria more tightly to Cairo. Rather than collect a tax quota from the merchants and leave them to their business, he planned to transform Alexandria into a national trade gateway. From its port, the cash crops of the Nile would be exported to Europe, and imported weapons, machines, and materials would arrive at Alexandria before making their way south through Cairo and into Upper Egypt. Each stage of this loop would be managed by individuals directly accountable to Muhammad Ali; he would dictate prices, taxes, and salaries in order to generate maximum revenues for his treasury.
But the pasha was not enthusiastic about a Suez Canal. As far as he could tell, no good would come of it, not for Egypt and not for his dynasty. A canal to the east of the Alexandria-Cairo corridor built by Europeans would simply allow the powers of Europe to trade with the Orient without having to pass through areas controlled by Muhammad Ali. He saw a day when he and his heirs would be cut out entirely, or, worse, undercut completely. As long as trade had to make its way from Alexandria to Cairo and then overland from Cairo to the port of Suez, he could control it. His customs officials could charge duties and take a percentage, and Egyptian middlemen could become rich from the proceeds. That is how he preferred to keep it, and that is what he conveyed to a disappointed Enfantin.
Undeterred, Enfantin took what was offered. He went to work on organizing the Nile barrage, and with Linant he developed preliminary sketches for improving the Mahmoudiah Canal, which connected Alexandria to the Nile. At the same time, he refined plans for Suez. One no from Muhammad Ali was not enough to stop him from pursuing his dream. Work on the barrage proceeded quickly, aided by the tens of thousands of corvée laborers supplied by Muhammad Ali. Enfantin also established schools modeled on the Polytechnic in Paris. Muhammad Ali was a strong advocate of improved education for Egyptians, especially technical education that would give his countrymen the knowledge to build bridges, waterworks, roads, and weapons. Though Enfantin was no fan of weaponry, he happily placed Saint-Simonians in positions of authority. Soon, his apostles were founding schools of their own. Embraced by the pasha, they slowly pulled away from Enfantin. Though most continued to pledge their allegiance to him, several decided to stay permanently in Egypt.
Except for the canal, the mission to Egypt was a success. True, the marriage that Enfantin had talked so much about never quite came to pass. But in other respects, Egypt fulfilled his expectations and satisfied the ambitions of his followers. To celebrate their good fortune, the Saint-Simonians in Egypt organized a party on August 15, 1834. Enfantin chose that date because it was Napoleon’s birthday. Seeing himself as a reincarnation of Christ, Enfantin claimed the mantle of Napoleon as well. The festivities were meant to link the Saint-Simonians in Egypt to the legacy of Bonaparte, and just as Napoleon had organized fireworks displays over the skies outside of Cairo, the Saint-Simonians staged a fête that drew the attention it was designed to attract. The workers on the barrage were given the day off, and an official delegation from the court of Muhammad Ali, along with the representatives of France and other governments, toured the works and the encampment. In a specially outfi
tted tent, Enfantin hosted a lavish lunch with three large tables stacked with delicacies. The nineteen guests were treated to sixteen bottles of champagne, fifteen bottles of Burgundy, and a dozen from Provence. The luncheon ended with the ceremonial laying of the cornerstone for a new school of engineering.11
That day was the high point of Enfantin’s influence in Egypt. Soon, the barrage encountered the inevitable delays and problems that beset most major engineering projects, and the loose coalition of Saint-Simonians, Egyptian officials, and French in the service of the pasha began to disintegrate. The Father had neither the patience nor the temperament to deal with these issues, and he decided to return to France in 1836. He never returned. But he was not done with Egypt, nor had he given up on the idea for a canal.
But when Enfantin finally turned his attention to the canal once again, he was confronted with a man whom he had known in Egypt only as a diligent representative of the French government. Ferdinand de Lesseps was the official delegate of France for lunch that day in Enfantin’s tent. Years later, out of work and in disgrace, Lesseps remembered the dreams of Enfantin, and he made them his own.
CHAPTER FOUR
A MAN, A PLAN, A CANAL
Some men are born great,
Some achieve greatness,
Others have greatness thrust upon them.
—William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
IN DECEMBER 1804, the French consul in Cairo went home to visit his wife and brief the emperor. Though Bonaparte had slunk out of Egypt, he emerged with his reputation intact, and after seizing power, he rewarded the minister Talleyrand with rank and position. Egypt was no longer a high priority for France, but the strategic contest that had led Napoleon there in the first place remained unresolved. The British Empire still craved primacy in Egypt, and Napoleon and Talleyrand sought to prevent that. They could not spare troops, but they did delegate a seasoned diplomat named Mathieu de Lesseps to do what he could to thwart the British.
As consul, Mathieu performed his task with élan. He befriended Muhammad Ali and helped the charismatic, ruthless leader gain control of the country. Though the situation in Cairo was fluid in the fall of 1804, the pasha had defeated most of his immediate adversaries. One reason for his success was Mathieu de Lesseps, who identified Muhammad Ali as a man capable of dominating the warring factions in Egypt. The alliance between France and Muhammad Ali was cemented, as most things are, by a mundane event. At a banquet thrown by the French consulate, some silverware disappeared. Muhammad Ali fell under suspicion. Stealing French cutlery was not a cardinal offense, but it wouldn’t help the Albanian’s cause. Mathieu came to the pasha’s defense and declared him innocent. A seemingly minor gesture, it preserved Muhammad Ali’s honor and reputation, and that was not a minor matter.1
The story may be apocryphal, but the solid relationship between France and the new ruler of Egypt was anything but. Mathieu had earned some rest, and he seems to have spent the time well. Nine months later, he was back in Egypt, and his wife, Catherine Grivégnée y Gallegos, gave birth to a son, whom she named Ferdinand.
It may be, as Shakespeare wrote, that some men are born great, but for Ferdinand de Lesseps, it was much more a case of achieving greatness by dint of will and force of circumstance. To be sure, he was born in elevated circumstances. His father, though absent for long stretches of time, was a respected diplomat of the most powerful government of the day. Napoleon’s France between 1805 and 1814 towered over Europe, and for a time, it seemed that Napoleon’s dreams of a reconstituted Roman Empire would be realized. Though Mathieu de Lesseps did not serve in the most sensitive posts, he was still young and well regarded by the Foreign Ministry. His brother Barthélemy was also a rising star in the diplomatic establishment, and was placed in more key positions than Mathieu. It was Barthélemy who represented Napoleon in St. Petersburg in the years before Bonaparte’s disastrous Russian campaign, and who conducted the doomed negotiations in Moscow in 1812 as the general began his debilitating retreat. Graced with both a father and an uncle poised to occupy positions of influence in the emerging French Empire, Ferdinand inherited a predilection for the family business.
Mathieu was posted to Corfu for several years, but his wife and children did not accompany him. Instead, Ferdinand grew up on a palatial estate in the northern-Italian town of Pisa. Napoleon had conquered much of northern Italy before heading to Egypt, and Mathieu took advantage of French pre-eminence there to settle his family in style and comfort. Ferdinand grew up with siblings, servants, and tutors. Toward the end of his time in Pisa, he began to read French classics, such as the satirical plays of Molière and the works of Beau-marchais. Whether or not he had any interest in or aptitude for these studies is one of those unrecoverable details of the past. He was nearly ten years old when his family went back to Paris, after the Hundred Days, when Napoleon returned to France, rallied his supporters, and was crushed at Waterloo.
It would have been easy for Mathieu’s career to collapse as well, but though he found the next years arduous, he got a diplomatic second wind and was posted to important positions: Philadelphia in the new United States, and Morocco on the coast of North Africa. Ferdinand, meanwhile, became a bourgeois young Parisian. Though he had been born in Versailles, it was the first time in his conscious life that he had actually lived in France. Napoleon had been replaced by the Bourbon Restoration, and France was suspended in a tense stasis. The forces of reaction wanted to revive the world as it was before 1789; the devotees of Napoleon looked for someone to carry on the empire; and the frustrated heirs of the Revolution tried to establish a republic of voters and citizens.
In the years immediately after 1815, while Lesseps was a student in Paris, the forces of reaction were ascendant. Louis XVIII, whose intellectual denseness was rivaled only by his physical obesity, pretended that his older brother, Louis XVI, had not lost his head under the guillotine but had only ceased to rule by some quirk of fate, which was now rectified by the restoration of his family to its rightful place on the throne. Both the Revolution and Napoleon were discredited, and the nobles who had fled or stayed in reduced circumstances tried to regain what they had lost. One of Ferdinand’s classmates was the son of the Duc d’Orléans, who headed a branch of the royal family that had supported the execution of Louis XVI. In July 1830, the pretensions of Louis and his successor, Charles X, finally became too much for Paris, and the head of the house of Orléans, Louis-Philippe, replaced the deposed Charles.
Ferdinand’s childhood acquaintance with royalty had little direct impact on his early career, but he was of that world. He was a member of what would later be called “the establishment,” and from the time he could walk and speak, he had access to wealth and power. But his family was never in the upper tier, and Lesseps knew from a young age that he would have to make his own way if he was to enjoy the comforts and trappings that he had grown up with. His childhood created a template of ease and privilege, with ambition to maintain it.
Though Lesseps could not take his status in society for granted, it never seems to have occurred to him that he could lose it. That may be more a function of how he wanted to be seen than of how he actually experienced life. He left a voluminous trail of documents, especially concerning the Suez Canal, but as one of his biographers noted, it is hard to shake the sense that there’s something missing. Lesseps published thousands of letters and several volumes of autobiography, yet through it all, he seemed preternaturally optimistic. There is never a moment of doubt, despair, or uncertainty committed to paper, or at least not committed to paper that Lesseps or his correspondents preserved. It is as if he went through life burning with energy and ambition, and never felt unsure; as if he existed in a constant state of clarity, and never once wondered whether his dreams would come to fruition or whether he would look back at his past with regret.2
When he turned in earnest to the Suez Canal, Lesseps was nearly fifty years old, and it may be that he had resolved any outstanding questions about who he was
and what he should do with his energies. Most of the letters and memoirs that survive date from the latter part of Lesseps’s long life, and they do not reflect the questions and concerns that may have bedeviled him as a young man still finding his way. The fact that Lesseps was not a reflective man makes it difficult to fill in the blanks of his first four decades. He did not have a philosophical streak, at least not on paper, and he was rarely introspective. In that, at least, he was quite ordinary. He may have accomplished extraordinary things, but, like most people of his day—like most people throughout time—he spent little energy looking inward. He was a Romantic in action, but not in his heart. He dreamed of fantasies that he somehow turned into realities, but he did not stop to ponder the eternal mysteries of life.
In that sense, he was the opposite of Enfantin. Whereas the Saint-Simonians were dedicated to unearthing the currents of history and progress, Lesseps strived to move history forward. The Saint-Simonians had a pragmatic streak that allowed them to finance and design railroads, bridges, and other engineering projects. But their material ambitions were always framed in a spiritual context. Lesseps was uninterested in metaphysics, and that may have given him a competitive advantage over those who were. All humans have the same twenty-four hours. Pursuing the ineluctable questions of who we are and why we are here takes time. Lesseps had unusual energy and drive. Perhaps, just perhaps, that was because his inner dialogue was inseparable from his external goals. Rarely stopping to ask why, he pressed ahead until some equal and opposite force stopped him.
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