Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 570 The Ideas of the Egyptian Pasha

Murad did not leave immediately after the canal opening ceremony, but went to Cairo, which is not far away.

By this time, Cairo had taken initial shape thanks to the development efforts of Muhammad Ali and Ismail Pasha. It possessed railways and telegraphs. Pasha had originally planned to build a city modeled after Paris, but due to a shortage of funds, this project was temporarily abandoned.

Murad prayed at the Muhammad Ali Mosque in Cairo and visited Al-Azhar University, interacting with local clerics, students, and citizens. He also visited the iconic pyramid, a marvel of architecture.

Once they entered Ismail Pasha's residence, all diplomatic activities were considered complete, and it was time to get down to business.

Ismail Pasha had previously agreed to accept Iranian command if necessary, and also expressed a desire for the aristocratic lifestyle in Iran.

Even lower-ranking Iranian nobles enjoy far better lives than him. They don't have to worry about debts, can travel freely, and are respected in every country. Unlike him, who lives in constant fear and toils for Egypt.

Moreover, Britain's aggressive stance has put Egypt in danger, and it looks like it is about to become a complete vassal. Ismail no longer wants to rule, so it's best to let Iran take the blame.

"Your Excellency Ismail, your performance at the Suez Canal opening ceremony amazed the European envoys," Murad began, his gaze falling on the unfinished Paris street scene painting in the corner. "But I heard that the directors of the British Bank came again yesterday to collect outstanding payments?"

Ismail's shoulders slumped abruptly as he pulled a crumpled stack of bills from his drawer: "It's not just the canal debt. To build the railway and telegraph station, I borrowed four million pounds from Barings Bank in England, at an annual interest rate of ten percent. Last month, their commissioner said that if the interest wasn't paid by the end of the year, they would take over Egypt's cotton export rights."

The sound of a carriage passing over a cobblestone street came from outside the window. Ismail suddenly lowered his voice: "The old cleric you met at the Ali Mosque quietly told me last week that the British consulate is in contact with the Coptic Church, trying to support them to replace the Muslims. Your Highness Murad, how much longer do you think I, as Pasha, can remain in this position?"

Murad put down his teacup, took a roll of map from his leather bag, and unfolded it on the table: "Look, Iran has just signed a trade agreement with Russia. The Caspian fleet can directly transport tea and silk to Anatolia. If Egypt is willing to join our trade route, your cotton will no longer need to be transshipped through British merchant ships, and your profits can increase by at least 30%."

In 1869, it was cotton harvest season in the Nile Delta, but Ismail Pasha was not faced with fields of white cotton, but rather with a demand for payment slammed on the table by a Bahrain Bank commissioner the previous week—the ten percent annual compound interest, like a venomous snake, was coiling around Egypt's last lifeline. Murad pulled a roll of yellowed parchment from his leather bag, the crescent moon emblem of the Ottoman Empire printed on the corner. "This is the transit agreement reached between Iran and the Ottomans last month. On the trade route from Basra to Suez, the Ottoman customs will grant 'pilgrimage caravans' tax-free treatment—your cotton can be mixed in with the goods bound for Mecca, and the British won't open the chests for inspection beforehand."

The sounds of carriages outside the window faded into the distance. Ismail suddenly rose and walked to the window, pulling back the heavy velvet curtains. In the moonlight, the minaret of Al-Azhar University stood out sharply, the shadows of the pyramids in the distance like sleeping giants. "Do you know? To build Cairo and other places, I mortgaged all the customs revenue from Alexandria. Now, Egypt's treasury is so full that it has to borrow money to pay civil servants' salaries." As he turned, his eyes were bloodshot. "The British Consul General in Egypt threatened me yesterday, saying that if I refused to sign the cotton agreement, he would let someone else rule Egypt."

Egypt's debts were already insurmountable, and the lack of foresight among successive Egyptian rulers had prevented them from recognizing the long-term negative impacts of their borrowing. European financial capital spread unchecked throughout Egypt. In 1856, the Bank of Egypt was established, its capital owned by the British, with its board of directors based in London. In 1864, the Anglo-Egyptian Bank was established, followed by the French-Egyptian Bank. These banks not only lent heavily to the Egyptian government but also forced Egyptian farmers to borrow at exorbitant interest rates. When farmers were unable to repay, the banks bought cotton from them at low prices or forcibly seized their land. Between 1862 and 1878, the Egyptian government borrowed approximately £3800 million from Britain, several times its fiscal revenue.

Murad pushed the teacup toward him, steam condensing into white mist in the cool air. “Iran can offer a one million pound interest-free loan, repayable over five years. The condition is that Egypt allows Iran to establish a consulate in Alexandria and opens the Nile River for navigation—our caravans need to travel from Cairo along the Nile to Sudan, where ivory and gold are more valuable than cotton.” He paused, lowering his voice further, “In addition, the Shah hopes you will send an Egyptian mission to Baghdad; he will reward you and your family handsomely.”

Murad pulled a silver badge from his pocket, engraved with the portrait of the Shah of Iran. "This is the Shah's personal keepsake. Your envoy will receive the highest level of hospitality if he takes it to Baghdad." He placed the badge in the center of the map, precisely overlaying the Suez Canal. "Early next month, a merchant ship carrying tea and silk will arrive in Suez, ostensibly for the first trade exhibition since the canal's opening, but in reality, it carries the rifles and ammunition you need."

Ismail picked up the badge; the cold metallic touch sobered him up somewhat. The sound of evening prayers from the minarets drifted in from outside the window, the melodious Arabic verses floating in the night air. Cairo in 1869 stood at a historical crossroads, and his choice would determine whether Egypt would become a British vassal or find a new way out of the chaos in the Middle East.

“Tomorrow morning, I will have the Finance Minister draft the loan agreement.” He pinned the badge to his lapel, the metallic gleam reflecting in his eyes. “I hope the Shah will keep his word. The Ottomans cannot protect us; Iran is our only hope.”

Murad nodded and rolled up the map. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows on the carpet between the two men, like two ropes about to intertwine. "Three days from now, I will be waiting for your envoy at the docks of Alexandria." As he rose, his gaze swept over the unfinished oil painting of a Parisian street scene in the corner. "Perhaps it won't be long before you see the real Paris with your own eyes—no longer needing to imagine it through paintings."

Perhaps, but Ismail was more interested in seeing the sights of Baghdad at that moment. Even if he didn't have this position, being a nobleman would be just as good.

(End of this chapter)