Abd al-Azim Dawud Yazid
He was the only child of Dawud Pasha and Saniya al-Warraq who lived. He grew up in Bayt al-Sayyida and received an urbane upbringing from a hanem mother and a father who was counted among the elite of his day. From childhood, he mixed with his relatives in the old quarter and was particularly fond of his cousin Amr. But he mixed with another kind of people too: the European associates of his father, who often dined and exchanged toasts at his table. He flitted between tradition and modernity, but religion played in his life only a fraction of the role it played in his close friend Amr’s. He was lean, dark skinned, good looking, and had a large head, fine mind, and a lot of ambition. He did well at school, then enrolled in the faculty of law. His father had hoped to make a doctor of him, but he liked rhetoric and belles lettres and specialized in law, in keeping with other sons of eminent men. He was appointed to the public prosecutor’s office without his father’s intervention and from the first day claimed the respect of his superiors, the English in particular.
He was perhaps the first to choose a wife on one sighting. He caught a glimpse of Farida Husam in the family carriage and was attracted by her fair complexion and elegant features, so he found out the name of the family. Saniya al-Warraq, Radia, and Rashwana went to visit the distinguished family and reported back that Husam was a wealthy Syrian silk merchant. Farida was wedded to Abd al-Azim in a villa on Sarayat Road, bringing with her fresh beauty, wealth, and a pleasant readiness for married life. As the days passed, she gave birth to Lutfi, Ghassan, Halim, Fahima, and Iffat. Abd al-Azim excelled in his work and was interested in politics. He was a supporter of the Umma Party and was friends with prominent men, and he believed in the Watani Party drivel. His heart blazed with enthusiasm for the 1919 Revolution, but when the front split, he inclined with heart and mind to Adli Yakan and his companions. He saw his cousin Amr’s confusion and laughed uproariously.
“You’re bewitched by the great buffoon.”
“He’s the leader of the nation and its hope,” said Amr.
Amr would feel the warm bond between him and Abd al-Azim when his cousin visited him in Bayt al-Qadi. But when he went to the villa on Sarayat Road he felt lost in the “European” atmosphere that governed behavior and customs there, including Abd al-Azim Pasha’s habit of whetting his appetite with two glasses of whisky and sometimes speaking to his two daughters, Fahima and Iffat, in French. Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi ingratiated himself with the pasha, keen to strengthen relations with him despite the hidden rivalry between their two families. In truth, Abd al-Azim Pasha did not particularly like the man but would exchange visits out of respect for his cousin Amr. Mahmud Bey once sought to use Abd al-Azim’s influence in one of his many lawsuits but Abd al-Azim frowned and spoke frankly, “You evidently have no idea about the probity of the law.” Mahmud Bey’s work inspired him to believe that slogans were one thing, reality something else, so was shocked by his friend’s antipathy and cursed him privately. However, he found himself on the same side as the pasha after the political schism. Seeking to make light of their differences, he said, “Allegiance to the Crown or the English, it’s all the same.”
“It isn’t allegiance to the English, just friendship,” said Abd al-Azim.
“Isn’t the Crown preferable?”
“The Crown’s loyalty resides with the English. We’re calling for the Constitution.”
“But the Constitution would deliver government to Sa‘d.”
“Maybe to him and them.”
“He charms the people with his call for total independence. How do you stand on that?”
“The fools don’t know the meaning of independence. Independence is an enormous responsibility. Where would we find the money for defense?” said the man shaking his large head. “Wouldn’t it be better to leave that to the English and dedicate ourselves to reform?”
“You’re right,” said Mahmud Bey enthusiastically. “Zaghloul’s independence could lead to another Urabi Revolution.”
Abd al-Aziz’s eldest son, Lutfi, fulfilled his hopes, unlike Ghassan and Halim. Nevertheless, Abd al-Azim was generally considered a lucky father. Lutfi almost went astray when he inclined to Amr’s daughter, Matariya, but God was merciful, although Abd al-Azim was sad to take a stand against the daughter of his dear friend. As the days went by, he was appointed to important posts in the judiciary and was head of the High Court of Appeals when he drew his pension. His vitality enabled him to work as a lawyer until the 1950s then retire in old age. He did not sit still though; he would go each evening to the Luna Park Coffee House to play backgammon with the imperialists of his generation. By the July Revolution he had passed the age of worrying. He developed an acute burning in his prostate, was taken to hospital, and died two days later.
Abduh Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi
He was born and grew up in the mansion on Khayrat Square, the third child of Mahmud Bey and Nazli Hanem. He was characterized by good looks and nobility from childhood. He was raised in an atmosphere of grandeur and taught the principles of morality, culture, and piety at the hands of his beautiful, urbane mother. He grew up with a general aversion for socializing and though he knew his relatives from Amr, Surur, and Rashwana’s families, he did not make friends with any of them. He was fond of sports and excelled at swimming in particular. He also loved reading. He did well at school, which qualified him to enroll in the faculty of engineering, and when he graduated from there after the treaty, he joined the engineering division of the army. He began to diverge from his family’s political line and did not side with the Crown like his father and uncle. Instead, like his relative Hakim Hussein Qabil, he joined the restless generation, angry at everything and searching for something new. His mother suggested he take a wife from the Mawardi family, a family of feudal lords, so he married. He rented an elegant apartment in Zamalek for his bride, but the marriage was childless and unsuccessful; its only benefit consisted in what he learned about himself. It became apparent that in spite of his wealth he could not bear parting with money; it pained him to sacrifice a piaster unnecessarily or without forethought and planning. His wife, Gulistan, adored pomp, social life, and showing off her stunning appearance, but Abduh was completely unable to give up his customs and habits. Bitterness entrapped them and made their lives an unbearable hell.
“You weren’t created for partnership,” his wife told him frankly.
“I absolutely agree,” he replied, fumbling for his escape route.
She vacated the marital home and waited for the divorce. The issue was studied at the highest levels and Abduh found support for his position with his parents, or at least clear opposition to Gulistan’s lifestyle. “I’m not in favor of divorce but in certain circumstances it’s necessary and can’t be avoided,” said Mahmud Bey.