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Dissident Authorship in Mozambique: The Case of António Quadros (1933-1994) (Oxford Modern Languages and Literature Monographs) 1st Edition Stennett
Dissident Authorship in Mozambique: The Case of António Quadros (1933-1994) (Oxford Modern Languages and Literature Monographs) 1st Edition Stennett
This book is based on research carried out during my doctorate at St. Anne’s
College, Oxford University. Throughout the project, I benefited from the
engagement of colleagues at Oxford University and Exeter University. I
would like to thank, in particular, my doctoral supervisor, Phillip Rothwell,
for his generous and encouraging supervision.
Many thanks to the individuals that I interviewed or who provided aca-
demic support during my research: João Paulo Borges Coelho, José Forjaz,
Eugénio Lisboa, Olga Iglésias, Luı́s Cabaço, Ana Mafalda Leite, Paulina
Chiziane, Mia Couto, Ungulani Ba Ka Khosa, Margarida Calafate Ribeiro,
Rita Maia Gomes, and Sandra Quadros. A special thank you to Amélia Muge,
who gave me permission to photocopy a substantial portion of her archive
of António Quadros’s works.
A ‘thanking you’ to my friends and family, who can claim an indirect, if
not insubstantial, contribution. What follows is dedicated to my dad.
Contents
Bibliography 139
Index 152
Introduction
António Quadros and the Problematics of
Authorship and Readership in Mozambique
In ‘A lula compartilhada’ (The Shared Squid), the poet describes his horror
as he watches a colonial official and an opponent of the colonial regime in
Mozambique eat squid together.¹ From the 1971 collection Uma Meditação,
21 Laurentinas e Dois Fabulı́rios Falhados (A Meditation, 21 Laurentinas
and Two Failed Lyrical Fables), ‘A lula compartilhada’ was published under
Portuguese colonial rule in Mozambique. Seasoned with ‘enganos’ (trick-
eries), the meal is an exchange of ‘galhardetes’, of political allegiances, as the
politically ambidextrous ‘Ó pus (cisão … )’ (Oh puss (scission)) is revealed to
be pally with the colonial regime that it only notionally opposes. The sight of
the squid being shared by political enemies is enough to make the poet spew
words (‘vergomitar’, a neologism). The result of the poet’s heaving is the text
that his readers have before them. He wonders with some irony whether his
nausea is the result of his having drunk too many of the beers that give the
collection in which the poem appears its title (Laurentina is a Mozambican
beer brand) or his heightened sensibilities as a minor poet (‘poetazinho’).
Either way, the final lines reveal that the speaker too has been partaking
of squid: his vomit smells of the seafood that he has eaten. The speaker,
who is repulsed by this vision of political corruption, is also complicit in the
unseemly meeting. However, he does not act on his revulsion. His role is lim-
ited to observing, writing (vomitous) poetry, and retiring to bed to nurse a
hangover.
‘A lula compartilhada’ raises several questions relating to the politics of
authorship in colonial Mozambique. What is the function of authors in
colonial contexts? What strategies were available to writers to critique the
¹ Laurentinas, p. 35. When referencing quotations taken from works by Grabato Dias, Muti-
mati Barnarbé João, Frey Ioannes Garabatus, or António Quadros, I use abbreviated titles,
followed by a page number, where one is available (unlike most of the texts written by Quadros,
Laurentinas is paginated) and I provide an English translation of the quoted text.
Dissident Authorship in Mozambique. Tom Stennett, Oxford University Press. © Tom Stennett (2023).
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198885900.003.0001
2 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
³ Eugénio Lisboa, Acta est Fabula: Memórias, 6 vols (Guimarães: Opera Omnia, 2012–2017),
III, p. 333–335. Rui Knopfli, ‘Homem do Renascimento’, Jornal de Letras: Artes e Ideias, XIV:
632 (1995), 14.
⁴ Lisboa, Acta est Fabula, III, p. 337.
⁵ I refer to the Frente de Libertação de Moçambique as Frelimo throughout this book. Before
the party’s Third Congress, held in 1977, the party was called FRELIMO. Arcénio Francisco
Cuco, ‘FRELIMO: De um Movimento Revolucionário a Partido Político’, Revista Núcleo de
Estudos Paranaenses, 2:2 (2016), 138.
4 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
Grabato Dias’s literary début in 1968 coincided with the publication of two
foundational texts on authorship: Roland Barthes’s ‘La mort de l’auteur’
(The Death of the Author, 1968) and Michel Foucault’s ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un
auteur?’ (What Is an Author?, 1969).⁸ Barthes’s and Foucault’s essays are
primarily concerned with probing the centrality of authors in literary anal-
ysis. They ask, in different ways, why should we care who the author of
a given text is? Barthes’s declaration of the death of the flesh-and-blood
author, consigned to irrelevance in textual analysis, was written against the
⁶ Patrick Chabal, ‘The End of Empire’, in A History of Postcolonial Lusophone Africa (Bloom-
ington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2002), p. 17.
⁷ Lisboa opines that Quadros was referring to his personal projects. Lisboa, Acta est Fabula,
III, p. 426.
⁸ In an article published in 1973, Grabato Dias’s reader Maria Lourdes Cortez repeatedly
cites Barthes’s S/Z—the comprehensive analysis of the same short story, Balzac’s ‘Sarrasine’
(1830), discussed in ‘La mort de l’auteur’. Cortez, ‘Grabato Dias e as Trangressões de Lin-
guagem’, in Craveirinha, Grabato Dias, Rui Knopfli: Leituras (Lourenço Marques: Minerva
Central, 1973), pp. 19–34; Cortez, ‘Introdução’, in Uma Meditação, 21 Laurentinas e Dois Fab-
ulírios Falhados, edited by Jorge de Sena (Lourenço Marques: João Pedro Grabato Dias, 1971),
pp. 5–13.
6 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
⁹ Adrian Wilson, ‘Foucault on the Question of the Author: A Critical Exegesis’, The Modern
Language Review, 99:2 (2004), 343–344.
¹⁰ Barthes, ‘La mort de l’auteur’, in Le bruissement de la langue (Paris: Éditions du Seuil,
1984), p. 67.
¹¹ Barthes, ‘La mort de l’auteur’, Le bruissement de la langue, p. 67.
¹² Andrew Bennett, The Author (London: Routledge, 2005), p. 17.
¹³ Bennett, The Author, p. 14.
¹⁴ Wilson, ‘Foucault on the Question of the Author: A Critical Exegesis’, 342.
¹⁵ Bennett, The Author, p. 19.
¹⁶ Michel Foucault, ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur?’, in Dits et écrits: 1954–1988, 2 vols (Paris:
Gallimard, 2001), I, p. 824.
INTRODUCTION 7
First, it guarantees critical distance from the turbulent context in which the
poet lives, thereby allowing him to analyse it lucidly.³¹ Second, it is the vehi-
cle through which the poet critiques the iniquities of the political context
out of which he writes. Playing the role of a ‘“clown” truculento e também
melacólico’ (a truculent and melancholic clown), Grabato Dias’s ‘carniva-
lesque’ poetics is subversive and given to the ‘destruição da ordem e do
regime habituais do mundo’ (destruction of the habitual order and routine
of the world).³² In this way, Cortez forestalls charges of political and social
indifference (and even betrayal) analogous to those levelled against poets
such as Rui Knopfli, and invites historicizing readings of the poet’s work.³³
Cortez’s analysis is useful in that it encourages an engagement with the
contexts of production of Grabato Dias’s texts that accounts for the agency
of the writer. According to her, a given text is not reducible to the con-
text in which it was written; texts are also responses to that same context.
Furthermore, she makes the case, in contrast to Barthes, that biography
is a significant context of literary analysis in contexts where authors’ rela-
tive positions in colonial and post-colonial society had a significant impact
on what they wrote, and under what conditions. The ‘distancing processes’
at play in Laurentinas cannot be appreciated by a reader who is unaware
of the context that ‘rodeia’ (surrounds) and ‘penetra[ … ]’ (penetrates) the
author, and the author’s relation to that context.³⁴ Cortez’s term ‘distanc-
ing processes’ shifts the focus—Barthes’s focus—from the absolute denial of
an intimate relationship between biography and literary texts, to an appre-
ciation of the ways in which the pseudo-absent author (Quadros) rewrites
himself through poetry; an emphasis is placed on the process of the denial of
identity and the whys and wherefores of the poet’s performative aloofness.
Writing out of the same censorship context as the author she introduces,
Cortex does not put her mode of reading into practice: there is no reference
to colonial rule or to censorship. In this way, she shadows Quadros’s own
coy approach to the context out of which he writes. Quadros withholds key
contextual information that he nudges his readers to uncover.
Perhaps surprisingly for a writer who engages in metatextual games of
hide and seek through his creation of discursive fictional authors, Quadros’s
literary works insistently gesture to the world outside the text and how
writings can have a tangible impact on the world. The relationship between
the text and the world is mediated by its readers, whom Quadros frequently
positions as his pupils, and he their teacher.³⁵ Indeed, Quadros’s output is
marked by an interest in pedagogy. Grabato Dias published three didactic
odes (O Morto, A Arca, Pressaga); a poetic ‘tratado de morfologia’ (trea-
tise on morphology) Facto/Fado; and, a collection of didactic short stories
(Sete Contos para um Carnaval). Quadros produced several textbooks at
the Direcção Nacional de Habitação. In the early 1980s, Quadros penned
a short-lived column in Domingo that aimed to disseminate the TBARN
project’s findings with a view to improving readers’ use of resources and
fomenting a wider appreciation of the work carried out by the different
groups of workers that make Mozambique’s society and economy function.
Although Quadros is cautious to circumscribe and limit texts’ potential to
have a concrete impact on readers and the world, his output demonstrates
an interest in theorizing how writing can be used as a vehicle to improve
society. For Quadros, the writer is a teacher who imparts knowledge on
his reader-pupils, who, he hopes, will use the author’s ideas in practice.
In particular during his time working on the TBARN project, Quadros
grapples with the question of how to make ideas resonate beyond political
elites and intellectual milieus. He asks: how can texts be vehicles for knowl-
edge in contexts of high illiteracy? How can writers meaningfully make a
difference?³⁶
The central claim of this book is that Quadros’s texts conceive of author-
ship as the fraught negotiation of distinct and conflicting functions and
features: speaking truth to power and supporting a political project; intel-
lectual independence versus intellectual compromise; authenticity versus
falsity; the poet as figure of authority versus the writer as an oppositional,
anti-authoritarian figure. The crucial paradox of being an author in the con-
texts of late colonial and post-independence Mozambique is that authors
were politicized figures the political impact of whose works was neces-
sarily minimal. Although Quadros was distanced from the anti-colonial
and nationalist politics of Mozambique, his conceptions of the author as
³⁵ According to José Forjaz, Quadros was first and foremost a teacher. José Forjaz, ‘António
Quadros, Professor’, in António Quadros, Curso de Comunicação Gráfica (Maputo: Universi-
dade Eduardo Mondlane, 1998), pp. 4–5.
³⁶ For Ofeimun, negotiating the bind of African authorship is a question of figuring out how
to reconcile political activism and literature. Ofeimun, ‘Postmodernism and the Impossible
Death of the Author’, pp. 46–47.
12 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
³⁷ Phillip Rothwell, A Postmodern Nationalist: Truth, Orality, and Gender in the Work of Mia
Couto (Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2004); Hilary Owen, ‘Women on the Edge
of a Nervous Empire in Paulina Chiziane and Ungulani Ba Ka Khosa’, in Narrating the Post-
colonial Nation: Mapping Angola and Mozambique, edited by Ana Mafalda Leite, Hilary Owen,
Rita Chaves, and Livia Apa (Oxford and Bern: Peter Lang, 2014), pp. 199–211; Hilary Owen,
‘Third World/Third Sex: Gender, Orality and a Tale of Two Marias in Mia Couto and Paulina
Chiziane.’ Bulletin of Hispanic Studies, July 2007: 84.4, 475-488; Mark Sabine, ‘Gender, Race
and Violence in Luís Bernardo Honwana’s Nós matámos o Cão-tinhoso: The Emasculation of
the African Patriarch’, in Sexual/textual Empires: Gender and Marginality in Lusophone African
Literature, edited by Hilary Owen and Phillip Rothwell (Bristol: University of Bristol Press,
2004), pp. 23–44.
³⁸ Hilary Owen, Mother Africa, Father Marx: Women’s Writing of Mozambique. 1948–2002
(Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2007).
³⁹ Ana Margarida Martins, Magic Stones and Flying Snakes: Gender and the Postcolonial
Exotic in the Work of Paulina Chiziane and Lidia Jorge (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2012); Maria
Tavares, No Country for Nonconforming Women: Feminine Conceptions of Lusophone Africa
(Oxford: Legenda, 2018).
⁴⁰ See the volume edited by Ana Mafalda Leite and Margarida Calafate Ribeiro,
Moçambique: Das Palavras Escritas (Porto: Afrontamento, 2008) and the special issue of Por-
tuguese Studies Literatures and Cultures of the Indian Ocean edited by Ana Mafalda Leite,
Jessica Falconi, and Elena Brugioni, 37:2 (2021).
INTRODUCTION 13
⁴¹ Phillip Rothwell, Pepetela and the MPLA: The Ethical Evolution of a Revolutionary Writer
(Oxford: Legenda, 2019).
⁴² Boulanger, Fiction as History, pp. 16–17.
14 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
Mutimati Barnabé João (chapter 5). I argue that, with due modification and
contextualization, Quadros’s works stand as a useful contribution to reflect
more broadly on the themes discussed in this book: identity, canonicity,
representation, and readership. These topics overlap with the fundamental
factors of power and authority with which Quadros insistently grapples.
⁴³ Where I use the terms ‘postcolonial’ and ‘post-colonial’, I deploy them according to the
distinction made by Jane Hiddleston: ‘Post-colonialism is [ … ] narrow in scope and names a
specific, identifiable moment. Postcolonialism, with no hyphen, is larger and more problematic.
[ … ] Overall, it can be agreed that postcolonialism names a set of political, philosophical or
conceptual questions engendered by the colonial project and its aftermath’. Jane Hiddleston,
Understanding Postcolonialism (Stocksfield: Acumen, 2009), pp. 3–4.
⁴⁴ Noémia de Sousa, Sangue Negro (Maputo: Associação dos Escritores Moçambicanos,
2001).
INTRODUCTION 15
thereafter as the DGS) in 1965 and remained in incarceration until the Car-
nation Revolution of 1974.⁴⁵ Honwana was jailed in 1964, the same year his
short story collection, Nós Matámos o Cão Tinhoso (subsequently translated
as We Killed Mangy Dog and Other Stories by Dorothy Guedes), was pub-
lished and the year in which the struggle for independence officially started
in Mozambique.⁴⁶
Quadros’s experiences of political persecution were mild compared to
those of Sousa, Craveirinha, and Honwana. He experienced little inconve-
nience from the colonial authorities, who do not appear to have considered
him a threat.⁴⁷ Although Caliban (1971–1972), the literary magazine that
Quadros ran under the name Grabato Dias with Rui Knopfli, was closed by
the DGS in 1972, Quadros was not imprisoned. In the post-Carnation Rev-
olution period, Quadros had informal connections to the intellectuals and
writers who were part of the Frelimo party machinery.
In the cases of Sousa, Craveirinha, and Santos, the use of pseudonyms
functioned to protect their identities from the colonial authorities. In
Quadros’s case, there was less of a need to hide his identity from the author-
ities given his privileged position within colonial society. Indeed, it appears
that Quadros’s pennames were never intended to conceal his identity. In
contrast to the coyness displayed during the Lourenço Marques town hall
poetry competition, Quadros sold copies of Grabato Dias’s first collection,
40 e Tal Sonetos, door to door.⁴⁸ Grabato Dias’s, Mutimati’s and Garabatus’s
texts are littered with references to their status as fictional authors and signs
pointing to Quadros’s hand in the production of the texts. When Cortez,
in her prefatory essay to Laurentinas, writes that Grabato Dias’s embedding
himself in a dense textuality allows him to appear ‘devidamente escudado’
⁴⁵ For more details of Craveirinha’s imprisonment and trial see Fátima Mendonça, ‘José
Craveirinha, o Sonhador de Sonhos’, in Poemas da Prisão, edited by José Craveirinha (Lisbon:
Texto Editora, 2004), p. 7; note 2, p. 16.
⁴⁶ Howana was released in 1967. Luís Bernardo Honwana, Nós Matámos o Cão Tinhoso
(Lourenço Marques: Sociedade de Imprensa de Moçambique, 1964); Luís Bernardo Hon-
wana, We Killed Mangy Dog and Other Stories, trans. Dorothy Guedes (London: Heinemann
Educational, 1969).
⁴⁷ According to records held in the Torre de Tombo, Quadros was interviewed by PIDE
agents on one occasion before he moved to Mozambique. He was misidentified as the co-author
of a manifesto co-signed by António Quadros Ferro, the son of António Ferro, a former head
of the Estado Novo’s propaganda service. In a letter dated 4 September 1968, from a PIDE sub-
director in Lourenço Marques to the director-general of the secret police in Lisbon, Quadros is
identified as a member of a group of leftist intellectuals. Lisbon, Torre de Tombo, PIDE/DGS,
SC, CI(2) 10,941 NT 7608; PIDE/DGS, SC, SR-3015/56 NT 2783.
⁴⁸ Interview with Eugénio Lisboa, Lisbon, August 2019.
16 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
(duly shielded) before his readers, she is not referring to the kind of pro-
tection that Craveirinha’s, Sousa’s, and Santos’s presudonyms offered.⁴⁹ The
notion that the construct Grabato Dias—as a fictional identity—acts as a
shield to protect the author from his readers refers to a Barthesian-inflected
coyness whereby authors anonymize themselves through the creation of a
textual persona.
The constructs Grabato Dias, Garabatus, and Mutimati have been
described as Quadros’s ‘heteronyms’—a reference to the literary personae
under which Portuguese writer Fernando Pessoa published much of his
work. I contend that Quadros’s pennames combine features of heteronyms,
pseudonyms, and anonyms and, for this reason, I deliberately do not refer
to them as pseudonyms or heteronyms. Instead, I describe Grabato Dias,
Ioannes Garabatus, and Mutimati as pennames or fictional authors. As
noted above, his pennames perform a function very different from that of
the pseudonyms used by several of his contemporaries in Mozambique.
Furthermore, his usage of fictional authors is distinct from Pessoa’s trin-
ity of heteronyms: Alberto Caeiro, Álvaro de Campos, and Ricardo Reis.
In contrast to Pessoa, who, as Richard Zenith and Fernão Cabral Martins
note, rarely hesitated in the attribution of texts to his various heteronyms,
Quadros deliberately plays on the indeterminacy of his speaking subjects’
identities.⁵⁰ Furthermore, Quadros never attempted to schematize his fic-
tional authors into a heteronymic universe. Pessoa, in contrast, fleshed out
his heteronyms with texts, many of them attributed to the heteronyms,
documenting the biographies, belief systems, physical appearances, and
temperaments of Caeiro, Campos, and Reis. Where Quadros furnishes bio-
graphical information, he ludically nudges and winks at his readers, pointing
to the artificiality of the pennames.
Quadros’s publishing under the name of Mutimati Barnabé João, whose
name invites readers to consider him a mestiço or black author, raises
ethical questions over representation. Is Quadros’s creation of Mutimati lit-
erary blackface? What are the ethics of a Portuguese writer’s elaborating a
Quadros’s works have never had a sizeable readership, owing to the marginal
literary context in which he published them and the difficulties that his
poetry presents to readers. Most of his works had small, single print runs
and many have been historically difficult to access.⁵² Little of his work has
been translated into other languages.⁵³ António Cabrita has described Gra-
bato Dias as a ‘poeta intratável’ (inaccessible poet) for critics.⁵⁴ There is
a paucity of critical studies on Quadros, limited to the works of Maria
⁵¹ Where I refer to ‘the people’ or ‘the Mozambican people’ I use the term as it is deployed
in Frelimo discourses; that is, a nationalist construct.
⁵² This issue has been alleviated recently by the welcome publication of an anthology of
Grabato Dias’s work, organized by Pedro Mexia, which includes extracts from 40 e Tal Sonetos,
O Morto, A Arca, Laurentinas, Pressaga, Facto/Fado and SagaPress. João Pedro Grabato Dias
[António Quadros], Odes Didácticas (Lisbon: Tinta da China, 2021). A pocketbook edition of
Eu, o Povo (Lisbon: Cotovia, 2008) is also still in print.
⁵³ All the poems from Eu, o Povo were translated by Chris Searle into English, in Sun-
flower of Hope: Poems from the Mozambican Revolution (London: Alison and Busby, 1982),
pp. 84–109. Frederick Williams translated select stanzas from As Quybyrycas and five poems
from Eu, o Povo (‘Relatório’, ‘Camarada Inimigo’, ‘Eu, o Povo’, ‘Venceremos’, and ‘Pés da Mesa’)
into English. The translations appear in his bilingual anthology, Poets of Mozambique/Poetas
de Moçambique: A Bilingual Selection (New York, New York: Luso-Brazilian Books; Provo,
UT: Brigham Young University Studies; Maputo: Universidade Eduardo Mondlane; Lisbon:
Instituto Camões, 2006), pp. 276–287.
⁵⁴ António Cabrita, ‘Tudo é Escrita e até Certas Coisas Escritas’, in António Quadros,
O Sinaleiro das Pombas (Porto: Árvore, Cooperativa de Actividades Artísticas, 2001), p. 213.
18 DISSIDENT AUTHORSHIP IN MOZ AMBIQUE: ANTÓNIO QUADROS
The games of hide and seek that Quadros’s pennames play with his readers
establish a perverse relationship of resistance and dependence with them
that is subtly distinct from that envisaged by Ciuraru for the author hiding
Siebentes Kapitel.
Deutsche Artillerie auf dem Wege
nach Bagdad.
Der-es-Sor.
Diesem Ziel der heutigen Tagereise hatte ich mit Spannung
entgegengesehen. Denn hier war eine Telegraphenstation. Welche
Nachrichten aus der lärmvollen Welt mochten dort vorliegen?
Keine Siegeskunde empfing mich zum Osterfest 1916, wohl aber
eine erschütternde Trauerbotschaft: Vor drei Tagen, am 19. April,
war Feldmarschall von der Goltz, nach der Rückkehr von einer
Inspektionsreise nach Kut-el-Amara, in Bagdad am Flecktyphus
gestorben! —
Straße in Der-es-Sor.
Der-es-Sor ist der offizielle türkische Name der Stadt; gewöhnlich
sagt man nur Ed-Der, d. h. das Kloster. Sor bezeichnet das Land
zwischen Palmyra, Ed-Der, Chabur, Sindschar, Nesibin und Rakka.
Nach Sachau beträgt die Einwohnerzahl gegen 5 bis 6000, nach M.
von Oppenheim gegen 6 oder 7000 Mohammedaner und 700
Christen. Die Stadt, deren Straßen in besserem Zustand waren als
die Bagdads, und das ganze Gebiet zwischen Rakka und Ana wird
von einem Mutessarrif, einem Gouverneur, regiert, der unmittelbar
dem Ministerium des Innern in Konstantinopel untersteht. In
Friedenszeiten lagen in Der-es-Sor ein Bataillon regulärer, auf
Mauleseln berittener Infanterie und eine größere Abteilung Saptije zu
Pferd; diese Truppen mußten die Anese-Beduinen in der syrischen
Wüste und den Schammarstamm in Mesopotamien im Zaume
halten. Das hinderte nicht, daß mit diesen ein lebhafter Handel
getrieben wurde, und Der-es-Sor ist ein wichtiger Knotenpunkt auf
den Karawanenstraßen zwischen Aleppo und Bagdad, Damaskus
und Mosul.
Nachdem ich ein Telegramm und einen Brief nach Hause auf die
Post gegeben hatte, suchte ich einen der größeren Hans der Stadt
auf, wo, wie ich erfahren hatte, eine Landsmännin, Frau Major
Erikson, wohnte. Ich fand die junge, liebenswürdige Dame in
Gesellschaft von vier deutschen Herren aus Persien, die sie von
Bagdad auf der üblichen Karawanenstraße den Euphrat entlang
nach Konstantinopel begleiteten. Die Reise bis Der-es-Sor war sehr
beschwerlich und langwierig gewesen. Überschwemmungen hatten
zu weiten Umwegen auf ungebahntem Gelände gezwungen, und an
einigen Stellen hatte man die Pferde, Maulesel und Wagen auf
Fähren über hindernde Wasserläufe befördern müssen. Frau Erikson
pflegte die Nächte in ihrem wohlverschlossenen Wagen
zuzubringen, auf dessen Kutscherbock ein großer kluger
Rattenfänger grimmig Wache hielt.