EGYPT: Twenty-One

The King of Egypt is young, flabby, willful. At night, when he cannot sleep, he loves to set off the air-raid alarm, watch his courtiers scurry to the shelter in their night clothes. He eats pounds of chocolates daily. He drives big, sleek, red and green cars—15 Packards and ten Rolls-Royces—and steers them, according to his chauffeurs, better than anybody in Egypt. He is even surer of himself when running his country’s affairs.

This he has done since he was 18. By the time ailing Fuad I died in 1936, the Wafd and other constitutional nationalists had finally wrung a return to parliamentary government from him. Before Farouk had been King two years he took advantage of a Wafd split and nominated his own ministers. Soon afterward, with the support of religious leaders and impoverished fellahin, he made Egyptian policy his own. One day it looks pro-British; another, pro-Italian; but it is always pro-Farouk.

Last week, to celebrate his 21st birthday, handsome, whimful Farouk gave £2,000 “for the purchase of shoes for the barefooted.” Loyal Queen Farida, Queen Mother Nazli and the King’s four hazel-eyed sisters scraped together £750 for the same good cause. The King held a reception, too, but he didn’t attend. He had jaundice.