On 24 December 1871, Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Aida premiered in Cairo’s Khedivial Opera House. The Khedive of Egypt, Ismail, had commissioned Verdi to compose the opera as part of a larger program of urban renewal that had peaked with the Suez Canal’s inauguration in November 1869. Wide boulevards, landscaped gardens, and luxury hotels of iron, steel, and the improved glass of the nineteenth-century modernized sections of Cairo and Alexandria. In anticipation of the many guests who planned to attend the canal’s inauguration, Ismail funded the construction of a road leading directly from Cairo to the pyramids and patronized the construction of a Khedivial Opera House.Footnote 1
Four years after its premiere, Syrian writer, translator, and journalist Selim al-Naqqash decided to translate Aida into an Arabic-language operetta.Footnote 2 Aware of the Khedive’s unique relationship to the opera, he hoped this would appeal to the Egyptian government and would allow Naqqash to obtain permission to perform in Egypt with his own theatre troupe. His hopes were realized. Naqqash published his Arabicized ‘Aida first in Beirut on 25 April 1875.Footnote 3 Soon after, the Arabic libretto was sold in Egypt, and ‘Aida had its turn to premiere at the Khedivial Opera House.Footnote 4
The enthusiastic audience at the premiere of Verdi’s Aida was mostly European. In the late nineteenth century, Europeans were increasingly framing ancient Egypt as part of a universal patrimony, a part of their own origin story, and the Italian Aida capitalized on the appeal of those universalist claims.Footnote 5 Even so, the Khedive’s aim in commissioning Aida and paying handsomely for its production was to reassert that Egyptians were inheritors of the ancient period and to present Egypt as a civilized counterpart to modern Europe. In other words, the story of a powerful ancient Egypt represented in the high cultural form of opera and performed in modern Egypt relayed that Egyptians were worthy protagonists not just on the dramatic but also on the global stage.Footnote 6 Ismail’s presence at Aida’s premiere, and succeeding khedives’ regular attendance at subsequent productions, illustrated the importance of the message.
What did it mean, then, to adapt Aida into the Arabic ‘Aida? Published reviews, original librettos, and Naqqash’s own writings help flesh out how ancient Egypt was portrayed onstage, in what context, and for what audience. Whereas the Italian Aida projected to largely European spectators that modern Egyptians were worthy protagonists on the global stage, the Arabic ‘Aida focused on pressing that message internally to its mostly Arabic-speaking audience. Contextualizing the story of ‘Aida within Egyptian cultural and political history, I ask what it meant to portray and witness ancient Egypt onstage in the late nineteenth century.
The operetta ‘Aida represented to audiences their own august and unifying history, a heritage that stood ready to be reclaimed and revived. In the late nineteenth century, this new understanding of ancient Egypt was slowly making its way through elite circles, emphasizing a shared cultural identity that was connected to the land. In the late 1870s, before British occupation and while Egypt was a province of the Ottoman Empire, Egyptian identity was less rigidly bounded than it would come to be in the following decades.Footnote 7 After British forces occupied Egypt in 1882, however, the concept of a shared cultural identity would gradually become central to the articulation of anticolonial, nationalist thought.Footnote 8 In short, Egyptianizing Aida meant seizing control of a narrative of Egyptian history, complicating European claims to be inheritors and caretakers of the ancient Egyptian past, and demonstrating how that past might be reclaimed, retold, and reinterpreted to build a shared community. This did not happen by changing the fundamental story line of Aida but by manipulating linguistic and musical details to root it firmly in an Egyptian context for an Egyptian audience.
Historiographical Intervention
Most writing on the meaning of ancient Egypt in the modern world has focused on non-Egyptian reception, whereas studies on what ancient Egypt meant to modern Egyptians have largely focused on contexts outside of theatre.Footnote 9 For example, Ehaab Abdou has done considerable work on the representation of ancient Egyptian religious practices in contemporary Egyptian school textbooks.Footnote 10 Others have focused on relationships among museums, nationalism, and the significance of archaeology in Egypt.Footnote 11 Another strand of scholarship has focused on the ways modern Egyptians have creatively incorporated, sold, and consumed ancient Egypt in architectural design, literary inspiration, and souvenir production.Footnote 12 More recent writing on the role of archaeology and its knowledge practices in imperial rule has done important work to bridge the study of Egyptology, colonialism, and modern Egyptian history.Footnote 13
Many have written about Verdi and the music, libretto, staging, and costume design of the opera Aida. Footnote 14 Edward Said famously argued that the opera was “not about but of imperial domination,” noting that its orientalizing features belie Verdi’s imperialist view of Egypt.Footnote 15 In response, Paul Robinson suggested that the traces of imperialism in Aida were not due to Verdi’s European view of Egypt, but instead appear in the characterization of Egypt as a dominant power over Ethiopia.Footnote 16 Katherine Bergeron critiques both for focusing too much on what Verdi intended rather than the spectacle itself.Footnote 17 Shifting the focus allows her to conclude that Aida was less about Egypt than about a “new order of realistic representation” in the genre of opera.Footnote 18 More recent scholarship has focused on the importance of Aida in shaping perceptions of a powerful Egypt in the face of rival imperial European powers.Footnote 19 In nearly all of these cases, the focus has been on Aida as a European opera, or one created for the European gaze.
Theatrical performances set in ancient Egypt for Egyptian audiences have received considerably less attention. Taken broadly, scholarship has examined how Egyptian theatre was crucial for disseminating nationalist sentiment and radical politics, exploring Arab identity, mocking authority, interrogating the human condition, and offering a space for marginalized groups to voice dreams and grievances.Footnote 20 Cultural elites considered certain types of theatre to be beneficial for educating audiences in morality and modern comportment in an entertaining fashion.Footnote 21
Those who attended high Arabic and opera house theatre were mostly elites who indulged in this new form of leisure ostensibly for pleasure. Performed in the high register of formal Arabic poetry and prose and staged in spaces where ticket prices limited access even further, one might assume that ‘Aida’s audience would be a rather narrow one, and that its production served only to confirm hierarchies of power.
‘Aida’s popularity was not limited to Cairo, however. It spread to Alexandria, Tanta, Helwan, Asyut, Syria, and Tunisia, appearing in theatres and coffeehouses. In many cases it was capped with a short, unrelated comic skit—or, starting in 1906, a short motion picture.Footnote 22 While the content of ‘Aida delivered lessons about Egyptian history by way of what elites deemed worthwhile entertainment, the audience’s communal presence in the theatrical space helped to shape and make visible a modern citizenry who claimed the shared, illustrious past represented onstage.
Performers and playwrights could be explicit in their messaging, but how the audience interpreted what they saw, heard, and experienced is considerably more difficult to discern, as are the unintended consequences of a performance after the curtain fell. The playfulness and liminality of theatre, combined with audiences’ past experiences, expectations, moods, and desires, mingle in the shared performance space. Theatre could reflect society, shape identities, critique social and political conditions, and posit creative alternatives. As Kelly Askew asserts in her work on theatre in Tanzania, “the very tenuousness of performance—its susceptibility to modification, unrehearsed action, unanticipated response, and the contingencies of everyday life—renders it a powerful social force.”Footnote 23 As a nexus for the entanglement of European and indigenous performance practices, theatre could mirror, play with, and shape audience perceptions of themselves and their society—reasons that make it worthy of serious attention.
A persistent question, however, is what aspects of the opera changed when Aida was translated into Arabic and performed in front of a majority-Egyptian audience? Furthermore, what did theatre practitioners hope to communicate in that context? And how was the representation of ancient Egypt onstage used and received by audiences and other participants in the performance?
If, as cultural theorist Stuart Hall asserts, cultural identities “undergo constant transformation” and are “subject to the continuous ‘play’ of history, culture, and power,” I argue that theatrical spaces were essential sites within which to “play” with notions of origin and identity.Footnote 24 ‘Aida’s love story, visuals, music, and embodiment of a past so distant, but with sentiment and human experience so familiar, made it one example of how elites used theatre to cultivate a particular type of shared cultural identity that was essential, in their eyes, to “civilizing” Egypt and Egyptians. As ‘Aida continued to be performed into the 1880s and beyond, its production not only entertained, educated, and bonded audiences but also offered an aesthetic challenge to the rhetoric of Egyptian backwardness used to justify British occupation.
Reviving Ancient Egypt
In the decades before the premiere of Verdi’s Aida, Egyptian elites and intellectuals like ‘Ali Pasha Mubarak and Shaykh Rifa’a al-Tahtawi had begun to write about Egypt in a new way—as a living legacy of its ancient past. Formerly, historical texts explicitly divided Egyptian history into two parts: pre‑ and post-Islamic. The pre-Islamic era was characterized as an age of ignorance. Tahtawi, however, was influenced by the work of Ibn Khaldun (d. 1406), who interpreted history as a cycle of advancement, decline, and renewal. Tahtawi used this conceptualization to reinterpret Egypt’s Pharaonic past as an era of scientific, political, and military strength as opposed to its more recent history of foreign rule and “decline.” Unlike colonial discourse, Tahtawi saw renewal not as requiring external salvation but rather as an opportunity for Egypt’s own people to restore past greatness.Footnote 25
The idea that the glory of the past might inform the present was something that many cultural and intellectual elites of the time were propagating. Donald Malcolm Reid has written extensively on the commitment of scholars like Tahtawi, ‘Ali Mubarak, ‘Abdullah Abu al-Su‘ud, and Ahmad Kamal (the first Egyptian Egyptologist) to convince others of the importance of pharaonic heritage and to inspire a modern revival.Footnote 26 In the 1880s, the attitude shared by Tahtawi and other intellectuals was that modern Egyptians’ ignorance of their own history was shameful, and that if there was to be any hope of improvement or “renaissance,” they would have to educate themselves about their Pharaonic past.Footnote 27 Reconsidering the meaning of ancient Egypt in relation to the contemporary moment necessitated interrogating to whom ancient Egypt “belonged.”
Tahtawi’s contemporary, Education Minister ‘Ali Pasha Mubarak, agreed that the history of ancient Egypt should serve as an example for modern Egyptians who, in his view, shared a “unified, transhistorical experience.”Footnote 28 Perspectives such as these laid the groundwork for later Egyptian intellectuals, who believed that “Islam’s relationship to the pagan past might be renegotiated; that by absorbing the knowledge of modern European Egyptology, Egyptians would learn about an ancient past that belongs rightly to them; and that only by learning about their ancient past could Egyptians become truly modern and authentically Egyptian.”Footnote 29 It was a response to Europeans who increasingly saw their ability to “interpret” ancient Egypt as indicative of their moral obligation not only to care for Pharaonic artifacts but also to intervene in Egypt’s present.Footnote 30 Ideas about Egyptian rights and responsibilities to the past differed from non-Egyptian engagement with ancient Egyptian history and culture. Ever since Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt and Champollion’s subsequent deciphering of hieroglyphics, an Egyptomania, or obsession with ancient Egypt, had seized the European imagination. Ancient Egypt was increasingly seen as not just Egypt’s heritage but also as part of the larger story of European civilization. In such a context, forgetting Egyptians’ own past was not only negligent; it was a capitulation to European claims of superiority and justification for potential intervention. Theatre provided a critical space in which to construct a social body that loved the homeland enough to challenge European claims.
The Khedive Ismail’s desire to commission an opera set in ancient Egypt was no accident. Recognizing that the audience would be mostly Europeans, Egypt’s viceroy paid lavishly for an extravaganza that was both entertaining and demonstrative of Egypt’s remarkable, powerful ancient past. He did this knowing the importance of Egyptology in Europe and the esteem granted to ancient Egypt not just as a “civilized” place but also as the precursor to modern European civilization. Personal experience shaped his understanding: Ismail had studied in Paris as a boy and later served a diplomatic role there under the previous Egyptian governor, Said.Footnote 31 Years later, in 1867, Ismail visited the Universal Exhibition in Paris. The Egyptian exhibit’s temporary structures included a temple to represent “antiquity,” an “Arab-style” pavilion to represent the Middle Ages, and a caravansary with a mashrabiya, or lattice screen, to represent the modern period.Footnote 32 “Egypt of the future” was, ironically, an antique temple within which the chief French engineer of the Suez Canal, Ferdinand de Lesseps, gave lectures on the canal’s construction.Footnote 33 Ismail even greeted visitors in the salamlik of the antique temple, further conflating fiction and reality, past and present.Footnote 34 The experience profoundly shaped Ismail’s vision of what Cairo could be and served as a catalyst for the acceleration of his own projects at home.
As historian Elliot Colla writes, Europeans’ “new narratives about ancient Egypt effectively put into doubt the relationship between ancient Egypt and . . . Islam and modern Egypt”; as he explains, “whereas the past of Egypt was part (or even the origin) of the West, present-day Egypt was construed as part of the Muslim world, that is, the East.”Footnote 35 This deliberate separation of modern from ancient Egyptians was to resolve the dissonance of later claims justifying British occupation in Egypt as necessary to civilize modern Egyptians, even as their ancestors were respected as the source of civilization itself.
Europeans were not the only spectators on Aida’s opening night. Arabic and Turkish translations of the opera circulated in the audience for the Egyptian and Turkish notables in attendance. The man who provided the Arabic translations of the libretto was Su‘ud, a colleague of Tahtawi. Like many translators of his time, Su‘ud was a leader in arts and letters. He was a history master at Dar al-‘Ulum (Cairo’s new Teachers’ College), an author of history textbooks, and the founder of the journals Wadi al-Nil (1866) and Rawdat al-Madaris (the first Arabic journal to publish translated European plays).Footnote 36 He was also a protégé of the French Egyptologist Auguste Mariette: Mariette directed the Egyptian State Antiquities Service, and Su‘ud wrote the Arabic-language guide for its museum. His view that the guide should serve “to teach the sons of Egypt and inform the people of this era about how their ancient forefathers lived” paralleled Tahtawi and other Egyptian elites’ views that knowledge of ancient Egypt would benefit modern Egyptians.Footnote 37 To make it palatable to the audience, Su‘ud was careful in what he acknowledged of that ancient history. For example, he claimed that “the ancestors of the people of Egypt believed in the existence of a single God . . . it is known that the Egyptians were advanced in the matter of divinity to the utmost.”Footnote 38 He then selectively described conceptions of burial and afterlife, deemphasizing elements of ancient religion that potentially were most objectionable to Muslims and Copts, focusing on elements of Egyptian religion that sounded more like a “non-pagan, if not proto-Islamic form of monotheism.”Footnote 39 His desire to forge a clear connection between Egypt’s ancient history and its present, and to communicate the connection to his audience, necessitated, for him, these elisions.
Su‘ud’s translation of Aida contained footnotes that sought to educate the audience on some elements of the opera and ancient Egypt. On the libretto’s cover page, he described the opera as relating “a famous historical event,” affirming the validity of the story.Footnote 40 Periodically he inserted explanations for why he chose to use certain terms. For example, he characterized Aida as an Abyssinian rather than an Ethiopian slave, elucidating in elaborate detail as to why it was a more historically accurate description.Footnote 41 He offered some explanation of who certain gods and goddesses were, recognizing that their names were not widely known. He also linked historical settings (Thebes and Memphis) to the contemporary geography of Egypt.Footnote 42 Thus even though the opera was directed primarily at its European audience, its translation was to educate and deliver a message to its Turkish and Egyptian observers with specificity and accuracy.
It may not be surprising, then, that playwright Selim al-Naqqash’s Arabic adaptation of Aida, transliterated as ‘Aida, started appearing on stages in Alexandria only a few years after the original Aida’s premiere. Naqqash was one of many who left Syria for Egypt in the 1870s and 1880s, a period when Egypt was increasingly considered a haven for artists and intellectuals.Footnote 43 Individuals fled Syria to escape religious tensions, local economic pressures, and the censorship and creative restrictions placed on them by Sultan Abdelhamid II. Many had been educated in the new professions, and Syria could not support them all. In Egypt, Syrian professionals joined a flourishing cultural arena that encouraged journalism, acting, and playwriting. Naqqash explained that in his case, “since our country’s financial means were insufficient for the success of my quest, my thoughts aspired to addressing my aims in others. I heard about what Egypt had attained . . . as it surpassed all other eastern countries in refinement and civilisation, and it had achieved great success.”Footnote 44 Inspired by the possibilities for the arts in Egypt, Naqqash proposed performing an Arabic-language ‘Aida on the Egyptian stage.
An agreement between Naqqash and the Egyptian government permitted him and his troupe entry into Egypt to perform at the Opera House. He described how the opportunity came about. “I became acquainted with some of the dignified notables of Egypt . . . and they instructed me to appeal to the Sunni Khedive’s mercies . . . so I did, and thus I attained more than what I wished for . . . and that was to enter the art of Arabic-language [riwayat] plays in Egyptian lands.”Footnote 45 The original troupe included twelve musicians (though that number would grow) and seventeen actors, “excluding the followers and soldiers and others in big scenes.”Footnote 46 Along with Ya’qub Sannu’, Naqqash was one of the earliest to employ women onstage, Christian and Jewish.Footnote 47 He would later travel with his friends Adib Ishaq and Yusuf al-Khayyat’s troupe to appear at the Zizinia Theatre in Alexandria, where they performed adaptations of Charlemagne and Racine’s Phèdre and Andromaque, though it seems those productions did not garner much attention.Footnote 48
Inspired by his dramatist uncle Marun, Naqqash had long contemplated what he saw as the advantages of theatre.Footnote 49 More than entertainment, he argued, “drama should reflect the wonderful aspects of virtue and the morbid aspects of vice to induce people to do what is good and shun what is evil.”Footnote 50 He believed that love stories, like those of ‘Aida, were appropriate for the stage, as “both the beautiful and the ugly phases of love should be revealed,” because, “if the love presented is decent, it will certainly appeal to those who admire virtue; if it is wicked, it will be condemned by those who have good taste.”Footnote 51 In other words, good theatre presents the range of human experience and is of the highest standard when it promulgates a moral lesson. “Even humor and comic incidents . . . should have moralistic and didactic implications,” he argued. “Otherwise, there is no justification for the drama.”Footnote 52 Theatre, at its best, should edify its audience.
In an essay that appeared in the periodical al-Jinan in 1875, Naqqash laid out his view on the connections among theatre, the public, and the concept of civilization more broadly.Footnote 53 Al-Jinan catered to intellectuals and merchants of greater Syria, with readership numbering around 1500 in 1873.Footnote 54 Mirroring his uncle Marun’s argument that European civilization owed much to its promotion of theatre, Naqqash asserted that theatre was vital to the creation of what he termed a “social body” (al-hay’a al-ijtimā‘iyya) which was, in turn, essential to progress. In his words, “the Europeans . . . devised ways to improve it [the social body]. Among these [were] theaters, for the theater is the mirror that shows man a representation [or imitation, timthāl] of himself, so he sees his vices [‘uyūb] and shortcomings and avoids them.” Theatres were gathering spaces where people met, “devoid of divisiveness and fanaticism [ta‘aùùub]. They made the theater a means to unite, pushing away that which divided them, and this, at times, brought innumerable benefits, and other times, great damage. This has to do with the difference of principles [mabādi’] it displays.”Footnote 55 In other words, if misused, theatre could be destructive. But when produced well, the shared experience of principled theatre heightened one’s moral consciousness at the same time that it cultivated connections between individuals to create a unified social body.
As a space for sociability, refinement, and education, the theatre, at minimum, improved the quality of life. But more broadly for Naqqash, theatre could draw together private and public interests, essential to building civilization (tamaddun), by promoting love for the homeland. Naqqash writes, “this is what people understand by tamaddun, which Europeans spread through acting rooms. [These rooms, i.e., the theatre] are the means to spread principles that are the basis of the country’s progress and its means of civilization.”Footnote 56 The gathering of individuals, audience and performers, allowed for a shared experience that not only improved the social body but actually created it.
As a Syrian, Naqqash pledged to contribute to Egyptian civilization by presenting Arabic-language plays that would increase Egyptians’ love for their homeland, give shape to a social body, and consequently “civilize” Egypt. His concerns echoed his contemporaries—reformists, intellectuals, political leaders, and others—who, as scholar Ilham Khuri-Makdisi writes, “embraced the theater wholeheartedly just as they embraced the press, as a vehicle for the dissemination of reformist ideas that would lead to the formation of a social body and would thus benefit society.”Footnote 57 To what extent and in what ways audiences responded to this ideal would be more difficult to decipher.
The Arabic ‘Aida
The introduction to Naqqash’s adaptation of ‘Aida opened with a praise poem for the Khedive Ismail, among which appear these lines.
Though this praise poem emphasizes ancient Egypt, the specific place and time of the opera’s setting, Naqqash exalts the Khedive as one who supersedes ancient Egyptian glory. In his words, the opera was intended to recall ancient Egypt while cultivating those virtues and connecting them to the “greater glory” of the Khedive and, by extension, the present day.
Why compose this poem to the Khedive? Naqqash needed to secure the Khedive’s patronage to pursue his theatrical ambitions, but also to fulfill what he considered an essential service to the broader community. Contemplating the reason for Arabizing the opera Aida, specifically, Naqqash wrote, “when I understood that this play appeals to the eyes of Moulay Al-Dawri [a term of respect] . . . Khedive of Egypt, I saw that it was a course of action. I had always wished to provide a service . . . that filled the lands with their greatest universal virtues. So I wanted to Arabize it.”Footnote 59 For him, ‘Aida contained within it shared values that included dignity, morality, and uprightness. His articulation to the Khedive of the opera’s pride of place, along with his understanding of theatre’s benefits, together encouraged his translation not just as a form of entertainment but also as a means of cultivating elite sensibilities that would improve society as a whole.Footnote 60
Naqqash’s poem and translation of ‘Aida impressed the Khedive enough to secure a decree permitting his troupe, al-Tiyatru al-‘Arabi (the Arab Theatre) to perform Arabic plays in Egypt.Footnote 61 However, a wave of cholera in Cairo in 1875 coupled with extreme heat in Egypt meant Naqqash’s arrival was delayed. While Naqqash used that time to prepare the performers in Beirut, the magazine al-Jinan provided a sneak preview of the troupe and its forthcoming production.Footnote 62
It is one of the few insights we have into the use of music and song in the production. “[In] the story Aida,” the article stated, “. . . not all of them [the actors] are singing. Some use prose, and some are singing. As for the music, Selim [al-Naqqash] Effendi intended to have it be composed of twelve instruments. Now it is fewer than that, but he is increasing it. As for the actors, they are seventeen individuals, excluding the . . . soldiers and others in major scenes.”Footnote 63 He went on to describe the actors, observing that, “the personifiers/enactors are of good reputation and commendable biography. On their faces are signs of intelligence, acumen, and vigor.”Footnote 64 The journalist believed that audiences would praise Naqqash and his actors for their efforts.
Comparing Aida and ‘Aida
‘Aida’s story line closely parallels the original Aida. Each act is set in the same location, and the scenes and story line mostly align with each other. The names of the characters are also the same, though the king of Ethiopia, Amonasro, is Egyptianized to ‘Ammu Nasir.Footnote 65 And both versions end in tragedy.
But ‘Aida was not a line-by-line translation; Naqqash’s adaptation took a number of liberties in its composition. He turned the Italian opera into an Arabic operetta, a popular form of musical theatre in Egypt. Unlike opera, it contained a mix of spoken dialogue and song. Using a combination of prose and poetry, Naqqash altered the music to reflect popular songs of the time. Specific expressions and phrasing differ, as does the rhythm of the poetry. The poetic forms Naqqash used drew from old, familiar forms like saj’, or rhymed prose, and fakhr, a poetry of martial boastfulness, along with love poetry in locally understood idioms.Footnote 66 Whereas Antonio Ghislanzoni wrote Aida in hendecasyllables, the parts of ‘Aida composed as poetry were typically in couplets, with the last word of each second line rhyming with the last word in the second line of all preceding couplets.
There are some points of departure in terms of specific content from the original, though none of them changes the overall story line or trajectory. Rather, many seem to be more a process of Egyptianization, or appealing to local language, practices, or beliefs. One of the most notable has to do with the inclusion of expressions or commonly known maxims that reference concepts and ideas intelligible to the audience. There are many examples of this. When ‘Aida’s father, ‘Ammu Nasir, who is a prisoner of the Egyptians, manages to meet with his daughter in secret, he tells her he has a plan to release them both from bondage in Egypt. She cannot see how this is possible, and to express her doubt she says to her father, “the eye is long, but the hand is short.”Footnote 67 The aphorism signals how frequently desire exceeds what is actually attainable.
Later in the operetta, the king tries to determine what to do with Radames after learning he has betrayed Egypt. The high priest Ramfis cautions with another adage: “and as it was said: beware of your enemy once, beware of your friend a thousand times. For perhaps a friend betrays and knows better the harm” (IV.5, 46).Footnote 68 The admonition that the threat of a confidant who betrays is more dangerous than the actions of a known enemy was impressed upon the king. With this warning, he sentences Radames to death.
The operetta further engaged its audience by including commonly understood cultural references. When news arrives that the Egyptians defeated the Ethiopian army, for example, the libretto notes that women express their joy through the sound of zaghareet, a type of ululation that Arab women often performed to express celebration and strong emotion. In another scene, during one of Amneris’s emotional soliloquies, she curses her evil eye, a broadly understood reference to the eye as a projection of jealousy. She knows that her envy, if unchecked, might cause great harm. Radames, after confessing to the king that he betrayed the country by giving up secrets to ‘Aida, pleads that he “be killed as the shar‘ia calls for,” an appeal for the use of Islamic law as a fundamental guide (II,7, 23; IV.7, 52; IV.2, 41). And when Radames first realizes that ‘Aida is in the tomb with him, in the Italian he asks if she is a ghost, but in the Arabic he asks if she is a jinn, a reference to a spirit in Arab mythology (V.2, 49).
Some of the adjustments Naqqash made may have been to make the operetta more appealing to the audience’s moral and ethical sensibilities. For example, he omitted references to Isis and Osiris and instead references “gods” more generally, while priests are identified as “idolatrous priests” (e.g., I.1, 2–3). Furthermore, Naqqash omits a section from Verdi’s Aida where Radames and Aida fantasize about fleeing together and sharing a “wedding bed” in the desert.
Changes in the story line from the original to the Arabic translation of ‘Aida are slight. For example, whereas Amneris overhears Radames betraying Egypt’s plans to Aida in the Italian opera, in the Arabic version it is Ramfis, the high priest, who catches Radames; Amneris is not even present. Throughout the Egyptian operetta, Ramfis is presented as more villainous than in the original opera, as he repeatedly attempts to push the king by actively calling for Radames’s death: “My opinion, mighty king,” he argues, “is to kill him as soon as possible . . . we cannot trust him” (IV.1, 39). Indeed there is generally more conversation between the king and Ramfis in the Arabic version (III) than the original. Furthermore, in the Arabic translation, Radames is more willing to accuse ‘Aida for betraying him, whereas in the original, he blames himself (III.5, 36).
Notably, the Arabic ‘Aida contains lengthier characters’ lamentations at multiple points in the narrative, and the melodrama is even more pronounced than in the original. Aida passes out twice, for example, and Amneris passes out once, and Amneris collapses onto a chair as she fluctuates back and forth between begging for Radames not to be killed and saying, “let him die, this is what he brought upon himself” (II.2, 16; IV.7, 48). ‘Aida’s monologues in particular are devastating in their even greater emphasis on suffering and an abandoned heart than in the original (starting in I.5, 7–8). The final act of the opera is stretched out into seven scenes in the Arabic version as opposed to two in the Italian, and the tragic deaths of ‘Aida and Radames involve protracted, heartbreaking soliloquies that are considerably lengthier than in the original.
Salama Hijazi and Suitable Leisure
Waves of Syrian theatre troupes followed Naqqash’s over the following decade. One of the most successful was Sulayman al-Qirdahi, who hired a talented and revered singer named Salama Hijazi, who had been trained as a muezzin (a person who calls Muslims to prayer from a minarat), to join his troupe just a few years before they received permission in 1882 to perform ‘Aida at the Khedivial Opera House.Footnote 69 The troupe included former members of Khayyat’s troupe, Qirdahi’s wife, another female singer, and Salama Hijazi, and in addition to performing in major cities, they also toured Egypt’s provinces. Most plays performed were adaptations of French comedies and dramas—Molière, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas fils. Individuals like ‘Uthman Jalal, a dramatist and author who published a weekly journal and translated Molière, Racine, and Corneille into Arabic, altered plots, names, and places to fit local contexts and often added music. The Qirdahi troupe performed ‘Aida several times in Cairo’s Opera House, where they were assured of regular attendance by the khedives (Ismail and Tewfiq), their courtiers, government ministers, and senior statesmen. The troupe also performed in Alexandria, Asyut Tanta, Mansura, and outside Egypt in Syria. It was patronized by the Egyptian government which paid them four hundred Egyptian pounds per year.Footnote 70
When Hijazi played the role of Radames for the 1887 production of ‘Aida, he adapted the music to reflect his own strengths. Excerpts from Hijazi’s libretto indicate that he sang a musical type known as maqam, a system of melodic notes in traditional Arabic music. Hijazi was known for his improvisation with the seventy-two scales of maqamat. He was also known for perfecting the Arabic poetic form muwashasha, which also featured in Qirdahi’s production of ‘Aida. Footnote 71 These were multilined strophic verse poems, usually in five stanzas, that originated in al-Andalus (Muslim Iberia) and over centuries came to be a favored poetic form in Yemen, Syria, and Egypt.Footnote 72 Ensembles that performed muwashashat typically included traditional instruments: the ‘ud (oud, a lute), kamanja (a bowed stringed instrument), qanun (a zither), darabukka, and daf (two types of drum).
Around the same time, Hijazi also played a recurring and popular role as Romeo in the Arabic adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, titled Martyrs of Love (Shuhada’ al-Gharam). Scholar Jane Wilkinson observes that since Hijazi played both Radames and Romeo for decades, audiences had several opportunities to see the roles as different versions of a single figure.Footnote 73 Indeed one of the last lines in ‘Aida summarizes the fate of characters ‘Aida and Radames as “martyrs of love,” explicitly referencing the Arabic title for Romeo and Juliet and reinforcing tropes long familiar to Arab audiences about idealized love.Footnote 74 Once Hijazi began recording with Odeon Records, his songs became detached from “the context of the single play . . . producing other inter‑ and contextual combinations and associations.”Footnote 75 His voice was now floating in the air, as phonographs multiplied and people played records in both public and private spaces.
Hijazi’s popularity was central to the success of ‘Aida in Egypt, and laudatory reviews of the opera demonstrated this. “Last night was like a flower,” an al-Ahram article stated; “they performed it perfectly,” and “there was not a seat left vacant.”Footnote 76 A review on a different night reported, “It was more crowded than usual because of the trust in and organization of this troupe and how good the story is. . . . [Salama] Hijazi’s voice added to its beauty.”Footnote 77 After Qirdahi’s troupe performed ‘Aida at a charity event, an article in al-Ahram noted how well the operetta was “put together and ordered,” appreciating the “sweet music that filled the space, and attendees were happy.”Footnote 78 After a performance on 11 March 1878, it was reported that “people walked out, praising the head [of the troupe], and committed to helping him become successful and making his art more known.”Footnote 79 Doubtless, affection for Hijazi contributed to the success of ‘Aida and the operatic form more broadly.
Hijazi eventually started his own troupe in 1907, and between its debut and his untimely death in 1917, Hijazi performed ‘Aida over fifty more times, most often in his own theatre, Dar al-Tamthil al-‘Arabi, but also in Alexandria, Faiyum, Syria, and Tunisia.Footnote 80 He performed the opera in Cairo, Alexandria, and Helwan with the famous actor Jurj Abyad, with Abyad as the Ethiopian king ‘Ammu Nassir and Hijazi always as Radames.Footnote 81 And Hijazi’s was not the only troupe that performed ‘Aida. Newspapers advertised performances of the opera by the ‘Abyad and ‘Akasha troupes, Mikha’il Jirjis’s “Pleasure of the Homeland” troupe, and amateur societies like the Maronite Benevolent Association, who all presented it at the Opera House.Footnote 82
Intellectuals in Egypt who touted the benefits of theatre repeatedly praised theatre’s embrace of formal (fusha, as opposed to colloquial) Arabic language. Cultural and political elites strongly supported the use and cultivation of formal Arabic onstage for its inherent nobility and beauty, what they considered crucial factors to creating a “civilized” body of Egyptians. The minister of public works considered Arabic theatre important enough to share his musings with Parliament. On 21 April 1887, he wrote to the government that Qirdahi’s troupe was invested in developing “a high level of art” that was admirable, not least due to its use and exaltation of the Arabic language. In his words, seeing performances in Arabic “gives people who speak the honorable language pleasure.” His concern, however, was that “the Arabic language doesn’t have sufficient vocabulary . . . to accommodate the high level of art,” and, thus, support for Arabic theatre was crucial to its continued development. It was, he argued, “very important and useful for the nation.” To this minister, Arabic theatre was worthy of political attention for its role in advancing, developing, and celebrating the Arabic language, cultivating audiences’ tastes, and “promoting civilization as a whole,” echoing some of Naqqash’s views on the aims of theater.Footnote 83
The focus on edifying theatre was not limited to the Cairo Opera House: Mikhail Jirjis’s troupe, for example, performed ‘Aida and other plays/operettas primarily in Upper Egypt and rural parts of the country, expanding the reach of performance beyond urban elites.Footnote 84 The popularity of ‘Aida meant it popped up in some unexpected contexts. In one case, an amateur group called the Literary Jubilation Society, comprising Egyptian postal employees in Alexandria, performed ‘Aida for their families. The troupe was formed to perform literary plays and, according to their troupe leader, to “prevent members from spending leisure time in ‘places of entertainment’” that were not considered edifying.Footnote 85
Similarly, the newspaper al-Ahram reported favorably on the merits of Arabic theatre with regularity, noting that “it is a sort of school, in which are gathered humour, witticisms, distinction, and knowledge.”Footnote 86 The newspaper Misr wrote that in publicly displaying human weaknesses and strengths, the theatre made a powerful impression on audiences, who both witnessed and heard live voices, resulting in more profound experiences.Footnote 87 The press actively promoted elite support for and attendance at these performances. This could be quite explicit, as when al-Ahram wrote glowingly about playwright Qirdahi’s troupe at the Opera House and urged “all ahl al-fadl [favored/high-class/elite people] to help with this educative effort.”Footnote 88 For many journalists and others, theatre practitioners were planting the seeds for a new conception of Egyptian identity by elevating the Arabic language, associating with Western culture in local idioms, and representing the greatness of ancient Egypt before elite audiences. In short, the proscenium stage was considered a source of appropriate and edifying leisure, crucial to cultivating the modern individual. The message was that modern people have leisure time, and those who are “civilized” use it appropriately to improve themselves.
Naqqash and Qirdahi’s Arabizations were successful outside the elite realm of the opera house stage at least in part because they accommodated their audiences’ desires by incorporating older, familiar, performative practices within the context of the opera. In addition to including popular music and known poetic forms, the framing of the opera drew from older practices. In one performance, an al-Ahram article explains, “Once the curtain lifted, the intelligent young man, Abdullah Effendi, gave an elegant speech of good things and ended it with a qasida [classical ode] with good meaning that drew you in. In his poem, he praised Sa‘ad al-Din [a prominent official in attendance], then started the performance.”Footnote 89 Furthermore, ads indicated that the opera was punctuated by seemingly unrelated entertainments. Al-Qahira newspaper reported, for example, that on “Thursday night Effendi [Sulayman al-]Qirdahi’s troupe performed the famous ‘Aida in the Khedivial opera theatre. It was perfect, even more so because of the military music that was heard between the acts of the play.”Footnote 90 Another performance of ‘Aida in 1916 was one of many that ended with a fasl mudhik, a short, comic skit—in this case, one titled “The Decorator” and performed by a comic actor named Muhammad Nagi.Footnote 91 These additions continued for decades as Qirdahi, Hijazi, and others continued to incorporate local singers and comedic acts in their plays.Footnote 92 Plays within plays, musical interludes, and motion pictures were common practices in Arabic theatre performances, satisfying the proclivities of Egyptian audiences.Footnote 93
Remarking on the beauty of the art and music, the quality of the story, and the talent of the actors, audiences appear to have experienced and appreciated many of the “universal virtues” that Naqqash had hoped they would. But it is less obvious what role the ancient Egyptian setting played in their experiences. Whereas ancient Egypt had typically been understood by the broader population to be firmly in the past, filled with decadent, ignorant, and cruel people, both the Italian and Arabic versions of Aida presented ancient Egyptians as powerful but human. The love story was timeless and universal but also intimately connected viewers to people long gone. What all audiences witnessed whenever the opera was performed was “a young man giving up everything—military glory, the offer of marriage to the royal princess . . . the prospect of the throne of Egypt, and even life itself for the sake of a woman he loves.”Footnote 94 And so, the motivations and emotions of the people in the story were as complex as those in the present day; the hero upheld noble virtues of selflessness and sacrifice for the sake of pure love, ideals that persisted in the contemporary moment. Setting all of this in ancient Egypt reframed the way the ancients had been understood to make them knowable and admirable. This was at least in part what elites desired to impart upon the Egyptian theatregoers in a palatable, pleasurable shared experience.
Conclusion
Both the opera Aida and operetta ‘Aida represented and transmitted continuities between ancient and modern Egyptians, mingling education and entertainment in a pleasurable fashion. The physical presence of bodies onstage was powerful, as they expressed and evoked emotion and empathy, while also mirroring and modeling what were considered to be the most important virtues of the period. If anything, representing ‘Aida onstage using genres and idioms that audiences knew well helped to normalize representations of ancient Egypt. Elite audiences in theatrical spaces were invited to access history, cultivate connections with one another, and claim the legacy of ancient Egypt for themselves.
This was a subtle process, and it is difficult to unpack fully the extent to which an opera may have affected individuals and their relationships to ancient history. Yet the interest in ancient Egypt would feed intellectual, educational, and nationalist thought in the decades to come. A short-lived attempt to train Egyptian Egyptologists in 1869 did not survive, but lessons about ancient Egypt would be increasingly incorporated in Dar al-‘Ulum and elite government schools over time. The press pushed Egyptians to learn about their Pharaonic past, and by the 1880s elites started to make pilgrimages to antiquities sites. Theatrical performance was one of many forms of cultural production that would support Egyptians reviving and identifying with ancient Egypt in a period of shifting economic and political crises and foreign occupation. In delivering a message that modern Egyptians were bound together as inheritors of a common past, entertainments such as ‘Aida helped lay the groundwork for what would become a leading contender for creating a shared national identity. At the turn of the century, future leaders from Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid to Taha Hussein would attempt to cultivate and propagate more broadly ideas about a unified people, composing a nation rooted in a shared ancient past.
