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LEVANTINE LOG-BOOK 



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By the Same Author 

GONAUT LETTERS. The Jcsilee Pilobduok 

TO Ron AND THE " Holy Yeas." 
The Passioh Piav at OBEKAtaiEBOAU. 
The Fakis Expoeitiom of 190a. 

CONTINEHTAI. SXEICHZS IN THE LAST YeAK Ot 

theCentubv. 
um Svo. WHk tixty fuB-poge luUf-iant plelet. 
'ages i-xiv, 1-413, and Index. Clolk, gill lop, 
tckleedge. 

'O ARGONAUTS IN SPAIN. ' A Vtaw of Peotn- 
SDLAx People and CoNDinoHS as they appeae 

SINCE THE SPANISE-AHEKICAM WAB. 

vm Svo. Wilh ihirly-six iUiulroU«nt, mbrieaUd 
''itU, and cohnd map of Spain. Pages p-xU, i-»56, 
nd Index. Clatk, extra. 



\ 



A 



LEVANTINE 
LOG-BOOK 



BY 
JEROME HART 




<< ' 






LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 

LONDON AND BOMBAY 

1905 



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Copyrighi 1905 by 
Jeeoue Hart 



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The PlimpUm Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



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CONTENTS 



I 

n 
ni 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

xn 

XIII 

XIV 

XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 



VAOX 

3 



TOWARD THE LEVANT 

BY THE WAY 

ENGLAND'S LEVANTINE FORTRESS 
THE CITY OF THE VIOLET CROWN 
STAMBOUL SEEN FROM THE SEA 
THE SULTAN AND THE SELAMLIK 
THE BREEKS OF THE TURKS . . 
OF SMYRNA, AND OF BUYING THINGS 
BETWEEN JAFFA AND JERUSALEM . 

JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN 165 

GABRIEL AND URIEL 183 

"SPOTS WHERE" 195 

PIETY: GENTILE, JEWISH, MOSLEM .,. .209. -.•.:••: > 
DISAPPOINTMENTS IN PALESTINE-; V .V'^3 V '•-•".'* — 
CAIRO'S ROUTES AND INNS . . . .,':: Ji^ • ::*' 
'THE MIDWINTER CRUSH AT CAIRO .' .*' 'Vya ' '. " ' 



15 
6z 

77 

99 
X19 

141 
153 



• • • * . 



• • • • « 



» . • » 



EGYPTIAN JOURNALISM . . . 

UP THE NILE TO LUXOR 301 

FROM THEBES TO ASSOUAN 321 

THE EGYPTIANS' FOREIGN GUESTS . . 343 

ENGLAND IN EGYPT 363 

RETROSPECT AND FORECAST .... 387 



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ILLUSTRATIONS 

KAOB 

POMPEH AND VESUVIUS 3a 

MACARONI ALONG THE POMPEH ROAD .... 3a 
Fran phoCosnphs of SonuMr 

FORTIFICATIONS AND LIBRARY BUILDING, 

MALTA 67 

Rtm photofrapht by SonuMr 

RUINS OF THE TEMPLE OF OLYMPUS, ATHENS . 79 
Fran pliotosrapli by L£vy Frtm 

PORTICO OF THE ERECHTHEION. ATHENS . . 87 
Fran photogmpli by Livy Frtm 

TOMB OF ALEXANDER (SO-CALLED), CONSTANTI- 
NOPLE 104 

Fran photograph by the Author 

BOATMEN ON THE GOLDEN HORN lai 

¥nak photograph by SOah and JotiUlcr 

A MOHAMMEDAN CEMETERY ....••. 136 
Firon photograph by S^bah and JoaOHcr 

PARADISE AQUEDUCT, SMYRNA 143 

Fhn photograph by Sibah and JoaUttir 

INSIDE THE JAFFA GATE, JERUSALEM . ui -•; \. } UsS^J 
Fkon photog r aph * "t f ■*'* ** 

DAMASCUS GATE, JERUSALEM . . . ^ y /, ,.' /;^ ^ 
Fkon photograph by the Anther 1/^1 I ' ' ' 

ENTRANCE TO CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEFUi:' 
CHRE, JERUSALEM .••••.•• 
F^rom photograph by the Author 

DOME OF THE ROCK, JERUSALEM . . . . 'V : aoa 
Fron photograph 

INTERIOR OF KUBBET ES-SAKHRA AND THE HOLY 
ROCK aoa 

Fron photograph 

TOWER OF ANTONIA, JERUSALEM 317 

F^on photograph by the Author 

NATIVES AROUND THE ZION GATE, JERUSALEM . 231 
Ron photograph by the Author 

iz 



J •J 



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ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

COURT OF AN ARAB HOUSE WITH MUSHARABIYEH 

WINDOWS AND FURNITURE 257 

From pbotosraph by G. L^egian 

KASREN-NIL BRIDGE, CAIRO 261 

Fiom photograph by the Author 

ROAD FROM CAIRO TO THE PYRAMIDS . . . .276 
Erom photograph by G. Ldcegian 

GRANITE TEMPLE OF THE SPHINX AND PYRAMID 

OF CHEOPS 280 

Ftom photograph by G. Lekegian 

STUDENTS AT THEIR STUDIES, UNIVERSITY OF EL 

AZHAR, CAIRO 286 

From photograph by G. lAegian 

JUVENILE CAMEL DRIVER 296 

Firam photograph by the Author 

IN THE BAZAAR 296 

FhNn photograph by the Author 

DONKEY BOY AT LUXOR 996 

From photograph by the Author 

SOUDANESE MOTHER AND CHILD 296 

From photograph by the Author 

SHADOUF, OR BUCKET-AND-SWEEP DEVICE FOR 

LIFTING IRRIGATING WATER 307 

Firom photograph by P. Dittrich 

COLUMNS OF THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR .... 310 
FhMn photograph by G. Lek^;ian 

ARAB BOYS WATCHING A SAILING-RACE AROUND 

•.:••• .• • • • ELEPHANTINE ISLAND 315 

•': V: ; • *..• ; I SWiICl>»«lo«»ph by ^ Author 

•• • ETAI^VpJSjJEH OF EXPLORER DAVIS 315 

•*• * I •••• ^lyp photograph by the Author 

...•:^:Jli4^«IYEH OF EX-EMPRESS EUGENIE .... 315 
• ••• ••• •••pnia photograph by the Author 

JURYING WATER FROM 

321 



V ••• •*• •}ifU^ VILLAGE GIRLS CARRYING WATER FROM 
• •*•••••. .•;;.535g NILE 



Fma photograph by G. Lekegian 
TEMPLE AT KOM OMBOS AND BISHAREEN DRAGO- 
MANS 3*5 

From photograph by the Author 

SECTION OF THE GREAT DAM ON THE NILE 

ABOVE ASSOUAN 3«5 

From photograph by A. Marques 

BLUSHING BEDOUINS 330 

From photograph by the Author 

X 



1 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACK 

CAMELS KNEELING TO BE MOUNTED • ... 330 
F^om photograph by the Autlior 

SAKIA, OR BUCKET-WHEEL FOR LIFTING IRRI- 
GATING WATER 334 

From photograph by G. Lekegiaa 

A DIMINUTIVE DRAGOMAN 347 

Vnm photograph by the Aatbar 

A DESCENDANT OF RAMESES 347 

Ftan photograph by the Author 

A DWARF FROM DONGOLA 347 

FkoB photograph by the Anlhar 

A BEGGAR AT LUXOR 347 

FnMB photog ra ph by dM Antfaor 

A SHEIK OF DONKEY BOYS 347 

From pho t og f >plt by the Anthoc 

NATIVE FELUCCAS 351 

F^oo photog i apit by the Author 

A SAKIA IN THE DESERT 351 

Fram photograph by the Author 

GROUP ON THE NILE BANK 351 

FVom photopapii by the Author 

WOMEN GETTING WATER 3SX 

From photograph by the Author 

A MOSQUE IN THE PLAIN OF THEBES .... 364 
From photograph by the Author 

AVENUE OF SPHINXES LEADING TO TEMPLE OF 

KARNAK 37a 

From photog ra ph by G. LdcegieB 

MONUMENT ERECTED TO GENERAL GORDON AT 

KHARTOUM ^2 

Fkom photograph by A. Marques. 

DATE TREES ON THE NILE BANK 388 

From photograph by G. LekcgiaB 

ISLAND OF PHILiE BEFORE THE DAM WAS BUILT 393 
Fram photograph by G. T^rgian 

KIOSK AND TEMPLE. ISLAND OF PHILiE, NOW 

PARTIALLY SUBMERGED 399 

From photograph by A. Marquei 

« 



TOWARD THE LEVANT 



TOWARD THE LEVANT 




QUESTION often heard among Mediter- 
ranean travellers is, " Where does the Le- 
vant begin ? " This is not unlike the old 
paradox, "Where does the sky begin?'* 
The reply may be according to the temperament of the 
questioner, but the Levant seems always to be farther 
east. The Italians look toward Greece; the Greeks 
toward European Turkey; the Turks toward Asia 
Minor. What, then, is the Levant, and what com- 
prises it? Possibly Sidly and Crete, certainly Cyprus; 
probably Malta; beyond question, the coast of Turkey. 
"Beginning at Naples," some would say, "the Le- 
vant runs east." But how far east? And where does 
the return line begin? At Alexandria? But at Alex- 
andria the line of the Levant has already curved west of 
Syria. Shall the line continue west of Alexandria? 
And if so, where shall it stop? Shall it include the 
Barbary States? 

It seems paradoxical, but the southern shore of the 
Mediterranean is more Levantine — which means 
eastern — than the northern shore. Are Tunis, Tri- 

[3] 



Toward the Levant 

poliy and Morocco, therefore, Levantine ? Some people 
would say, yes. But if they are, why not Algiers ? It 
is Moorish like TripoU, Mohammedan like Morocco; 
why, then, is it not Levantine ? But here most people 
would grow doubtful, for Algiers is nearer to the Straits 
of Gibraltar than to the Golden Horn. Malta is Chris- 
tian; is it therefore to be considered as not Levantine? 
But Egypt is certainly Levantine, yet there were four 
Christian bishoprics there seventeen hundred years ago, 
and the Egyptian Copts were Christians when our 
ancestors in Britain were offering up human sacrifices 
on druidical altars to pagan gods and goddesses. Pales- 
tine is unmistakably Levantine; yet there are more 
Catholic sects in Palestine than in Italy; more non- 
conformists than in Great Britain; more Christian 
schismatics than in that land of religious freedom, the 
United States. Palestine is Christian, Jewish, and 
Mohammedan; yet so is it Levantine. So Greece is 
Christian, but Western nations look on it as Levantine. 
Therefore, "Levantine" does not mean a matter of 
latitude; therefore, to a Roman pontiff "Levantine" 
might mean "latitudinarian," as he is forced to allow 
some Catholic priests to many in the Levant. Nor does 
it depend on longitude, for Tunis lies just south of 
Sardinia, yet Tunis is distinctly Levantine in flavor, 
while Sardinia is distinctly Occidental. Morocco, 
although Occidental, is Mohammedan, while Palestine, 
although Levantine, is mainly Christian and Jewish. 
Nor yet does "Levantine" mean race, for the Ottoman 
Turks, the Syrians, the Cretans, the Cypriotes, the 

[4l 



The Levant not Continental 

Maltese, the Palestine Jews, are all Levantine^ are all 
of the great Aryan race, and are all white, while the 
natives of Tunis, of Tripoli, of Morocco, of Algiers, 
are all Occidental, are all of the Afro-Asiatic type, and 
are all dark. 

Nor is the Levant to be sharply defined by the flags 
which seem ascendant there, whether Christian or 
Mohammedan, for the blue and white cross of Greece 
is seen all through Levantine waters. Another flag 
with the Christian cross, the flame-colored ensign of 
England, is seen on every hand, — on merchant ships, 
on passenger liners, on ships of war. It floats over 
Malta. In Egypt it is almost as frequent as the cres- 
cent and star, and much more potent. It floats beside 
the Egyptian flag in the Soudan, where the two govern- 
ments have equal control. 

The Levant's boundaries cannot be continental, for 
all writers treat the coast of Asia Minor as Levantine. 
If Scutari, in Asia Minor, is Levantine, can its sister 
dty, Stambotd, across the Bosphorus, be called Occi- 
dental? Surely Constantinople is Levantine, but it is 
European. If Constantinople is Levantine, why not 
Greece ? Out of the Hellenic peoples sprang the great 
Elastem Empire; out of Hellas grew Byzantium. What 
is now the kingdom of the Hellenes, or Modem Greece, 
was at that epoch the westernmost part of the Empire 
of the East; then it surely is Levantine, yet it is Euro- 
pean. Certainly no one would deny that Egypt is of 
the Levant. Alexandria has been for centuries one of 
the greatest of Levantine cities. It was once the capital 

[5] 



w 






I 



Toward the Levant 

of Grecian letters, art, and trade. It was once the seat 
of a primitive Christian diocese. Over this bishopric 
ruled St. Cyril, one of the fathers of the early Christian 
Church. Yet Alexandria is in the Egjrptian Delta, 
the Delta is in Africa, and both are unmistakably Le- 
vantine. Thus we find that the Levant is not defined 
by continents, for it is divided between Europe, Asia, 
and Africa. 

It is evident that the Levant may not be defined by 
latitude or longitude, by nations or flags, by continental 
boundaries, by race or religion. What, then, are its 
boundaries? The Italians are the only people who 
even hint at a definition. They treat Genoa as a cen- 
tral point — probably of "Italia Irredenta" — calling 
what is west of there Riviera di Ponente, "Western 
Coast," east of there Riviera di Levante, "Eastern 
Coast." In default of any other definition, we may 
take the Italian one, supplementing it by individual 
preference guided by color and atmosphere. Thus 
influenced, the non-technical traveller would include I 

Naples in the Levant because Naples once was part of 
Greater Greece; because its people are Oriental in 
many ways; because Naples once had temples where 
the Neapolitans worshipped Egyptian deities. Sicily 
would be called Levantine for similar reasons, and 
because of the strong Arabic tinge to the Sicilian dia- 
lect. Malta would be placed in the Levant for her 
Oriental dialect, her Arab blood, and her geologic 
identity with Africa. Because of Oriental heredity, 
race, color, atmosphere, or religion, the same non- 

[6] 



France in the Levant 

technical traveller would in the Levant include these: 

• 

Crete; Cyprus; the kingdom of the Hellenes; all of the 
coasts of the Ionian and i£gean seas ; parts of the Balkan 
peninsula; those parts of European Turkey on the Sea 
of Marmora, the iEgean, and the Bosphorus; the coasts 
of Asiatic Turkey, including Syria and Palestine ; finally, 
the Levantine African coast, including Egypt, and 
possibly Tripoli and Tunis. Few would include Mo- 
rocco and Algiers, but no one can deny that the fringe 
of Far Eastern life and color struggles to Far Western 
points along the northern shores of Africa, even to 
points almost as far distant as the Pillars of Hercules. 

Probably "The Levant" may mean those parts of 
the Mediterranean coast which were Phoenician in the 
andent times or Mohammedan in the later times. 
Geographically, and in point of longitude, Spain is 
certainly Occidental and European; yet the long rule 
of the Moors has left much Oriental color there, and 
the southern coasts of Spain — not the Catalan coasts 
— certainly seem Levantine. 

An interesting confirmation of the elasticity of the 
term "Levant" is furnished by the official nomen- 
clature used by France. That country in its consular 
docmnents denominates the following points as " Echd- 
les du Levant": Constantinople, Smyrna, Aleppo, 
Cyprus, Cairo, Alexandria, Tripoli, Tunis, and Algiers. 
The word EcheUe — in Turkish, Iskde — may be a cor- 
ruption of the Italian, Scala, which is closely allied to 
the French, escalier; the term is appUed, all along the 
Levant, to the piers or jetties built on piles, with steps, 

[7l 



Toward the Levant 

stairs, or ladders running down to the water level, 
principally for the handling of merchandise. At each 
of these points known as '^Echelles" France has for 
more than two centuries had consuls clothed with cer- 
tain powers and vested with certain pecuniary and 
other privileges. For example, in a " Grande Echelle 
du Levant" the French consul would not only receive 
a large salary, but also a fixed sum per year to pay the 
bakshish due to the pasha and to his officers, the 
wages of the dragoman or kavass, those of the almoner, 
and to maintain a Christian chapel. These terms and 
usages are still kept up by official France, which is 
interesting as showing that the elastic boundaries 
of the Levant extend far to the West, conmiercially 
speaking. 



There are many ways of reaching the Levant, these, 
of course, depending on your point of departure. If 
from England, the "long-sea" route is preferred by 
those who are fond of ocean travel. This route crosses 
the Bay of Biscay, passes through the Straits of Gib- 
raltar, touches at various ports, the principal ones 
being Marseilles, Naples, Brindisi, Malta, and Port 
Said, which is the last Levantine port, most of the steam- 
ers then going on to the Far East. The "short-sea" 
route is across France by rail to Marseilles, or across 
Europe by rail to Brindisi, where passengers are picked 
up by the "long-sea" steamers. These routes are 
followed by the Peninsular and Oriental and the Orient 
Pacific lines. 

[8] 



New Levantine Lines 

The P. and O. leave London via Gibraltar and Mar- 
seilleSy or via Gibraltar and Malta, or via Brindisi, for 
Port Said The Orient Pacific leave London and 
Plymouth via Gibraltar, Marseilles, and Naples, for 
Port Said and Ismaflia. The North German Lloyd 
and Hamburg-American sail from American, British, 
French, or German ports on varying schedules. The 
White Star line sails from New York and Boston for 
Mediterranean ports. From Liverpool the Moss, 
Ellerman, and Papayanni lines sail for Alexandria; 
the Bibby, Hall, and Anchor lines for Port Said. From 
Marseilles the Messageries Maritimes line sails for 
Alexandria; their India and China ships touch at Port 
Said. From Genoa, Naples, Venice, and Brindid, 
the Navigazione Generale Italiana line sails for Alex- 
andria. From Brindisi and Trieste the Austrian Lloyd 
line sails for Alexandria. 

The foregoing list gives the initial points of departure, 
but Levantine passengers may book at many ports 
where the ships call. 

Travel to Egypt has so much increased of late years 
that new lines have been added to the old ones, and 
new steamers added to the old lines. In the winter of 
1905 the North German Lloyd put on a special line of 
fast steamers between Marseilles and Alexandria — 
this service being in addition to its two lines, Asian and 
Australasian, which call at Egyptian ports. The 
P. and O. Company also added a special service be- 
tween Marseilles and Alexandria, in addition to its two 
far-Eastern services, calling at Port Said. The White 

[9] 



Toward the Levant 

Star Company purchased the old Commonwealth 
steamers, and put them on as a direct line from Egypt 
to the United States. Thus there are now giving pas- 
senger transportation between Egypt and the Western 
World five German services, two first-class English, 
two Italian, one French, one Austrian, one Turkish, 
one Greek, and a number of miscellaneous lines of 
mixed freight and passenger service, such as the Moss 
line of Liverpool, the Anchor line, and the Papayanni 
line. The highest priced of all is the new North Ger- 
man line from Marseilles to Alexandria* 

The most convenient for Americans is the new White 
Star service from Alexandria to New York and Boston, 
touching at sundry cities en route. These ports of call 
are varied, differing on the New York and Boston ser- 
vices, and differing again on the inward and outward 
bound ships. The steamers are stanch and reasonably 
fast; the discipline is not quite so good nor is the table 
fare so choice as on the North Atlantic White Star 
steamers, but both are good enough. The White Star 
Mediterranean steamers carry Italian crews, which 
prevents their captains from flying the flag of the Royal 
Naval Reserve. I asked one of the officers why they 
carried Italian crews. He replied briefly: "We carried 
English crews at first, but they used to get drunk at 
every port, lick the dagoes, get into jail, and leave us 
short-handed. So now we ship Italians.'' A disagree- 
able feature of these west-bound White Star steamers 
is that at Naples, Genoa, and Ponta Delgada they ship 
fifteen hundred or two thousand emigrants for the 

[lO] 



Craising Steamers 

United States. These steerage passengers are allowed 
all around the main deck on the space between the 
superstructure and the bidwarks. As a result, those 
first-class passengers who pay high prices for the best 
rooms on the ship get the poorest; for the loud talk, 
concertinas, quarrels, cigarettes, and odors imder their 
cabin windows poison the air, and render life a burden. 

Passengers sailing from the United States may choose 
between a Hamburg- American, a North German Lloyd, 
or a White Star steamer; these run to Naples and Genoa, 
where passengers can trans-ship for Alexandria or other 
Levantine ports. These three lines run. a few ships in 
the winter direct from the United States to Alexandria. 
A pleasant way to go is by one of the cruising steamers 
of the White Star, or either of the German lines; these 
cruising steamers touch for one, two, or three days, 
according to importance, at such ports as Genoa, 
Naples, Algiers, Palermo, Messina, Tripoli, and Malta. 

But nearly every traveller will find that his ship goes 
to Naples, and he will also find that city worth a stay 
of a few days, whether or not he has been there before, 
once or many times. 



("] 



II 



BY THE WAY 




BY THE WAY 

|T was five o'clock in the morning. Our 
ship was steaming up the Bay of Naples, 
under a slow bell. A matinal mist 
wrapped the shore. 

Suddenly objects on land began to pierce the mist. 
"Look!" said the Old Traveller, "there is the Naples 
quay, and there is that celebrated medieval fortress, 
the Castel del Ovo." 

"Nonsense!" cried the Man-Who-Had-Been-To- 
Naples-Before, " that building is not on the water-front, 
but up on the hill — it*s the convent of San Martino." 

The rest of us, who were hanging over the rail, were 
also hanging on their words. We were perplexed at 
this difference between our oracles. • The first officer 
happened along, so we appealed to him. 

"That building?" said he, squinting at it with one 
eye as sailor men do; "no, that is not the Castel del Ovo, 
it is a macaroni factory ; and those houses are not Naples, 
that is Pozzuoli; Naples is on the other side of the 
point." 

Our two orades looked abashed, but only for a few 

[IS] 



By the Way 

moments. We had roimded the point, and were com- 
ing to anchor imder the lee of the mole. 

"Ah," said the Old Traveller, sentimentally, "what 
a pity that you have got in so early 1 Now, if you had 
only arrived in the evening," he went on, with his vox- 
humana stop, " the ship would be surrounded with boats 
full of picturesque Neapolitans singing 'Santa Luda.' 
I tell you what, you're not in luck. Now when / ar- 
rived at Naples before, we had 'Santa Lucia' the mo- 
ment the anchor touched bottom. I tell you^ it was 
grand I" And the Old Traveller gazed at us in a 
superior and compassionate manner. 

At this moment a twang sounded from the water. It 
came from mandolins, guitars, and harps; it was fol- 
lowed by squeaks from fiddles; and speedily, from port 
and starboard sides, there arose "Santa Lucia" in nine 
or ten different keys and in nineteen or twenty different 
voices — risotto tenors, spaghetti sopranos, macaroni 
baritones. It was rather early, and quite a cool 
morning, but it has to be a very cold day at Naples and 
very early when "Santa Luda" gets left unsung. 



It is difficult to write anything new about Naples. 
Its routine sights have all been described so many times 
that it would be wearisome to go over them again. But 
there are some new developments in governmental, 
offidal, and sodal drdes there, if not in guide-book 
sights. Offidal corruption is probably not new in 
Naples, but reform apparently is. There has been a 

[i6] 



A Boom in Naples 

lefonn movement going on in Naples now for some 
time, led by a Senator Saredo, who has conducted an 
investigation. Saiedo has been supported by the king, 
and all manner of thievery has been uncovered. A 
system of sale of municipal positions was exposed; 
supplies purchased for the city were diverted into 
private hands; when a mimidpal loan was floated 
himdreds of thousands of lire stuck to official fingers; 
large sums were paid to mimidpal offidals to secure 
gas, water, and street-railway franchises. At the very 
time when we were in Naples a famous novelist, whose 
books have been translated into many languages, was 
exposed as having acted as a go-between in the sale of 
positions on the police force and fire department. The 
newspapers were full of all manner of accusations, not 
only attacking prominent offidals, but also smirching 
private persons high in rank. Some two score were 
under indictment, and all Naples was buzzing with 
exdtement. 

It sounded like an American dty in the throes of a 
''munidpal reform investigation." Does not all this 
seem as if Naples were up to date ? 

While there are few or no changes in the sights of 
Naples, there are many changes in its life. The ven- 
erable Magna-Gredan dty is becoming modernized. 
It has a "boom." And the Naples "boom" is largely 
due to tourist travel. Every now and again you see a 
man with the legend "Pro Napoli" on his cap. He is 
not a guide, but the paid agent of a "boom" sodety 
started in Naples within the last year or so. Its ends 

[17] 



By the Way 

are to encourage travel, to look out for tourists, to 
direct them to hotels, theatres, public buildings, and 
other places of interest, and generally to see that they 
are not robbed by the cabmen, guides, touts, and other 
accomplished crooks with whom Naples swarms. I 
never saw a dty which needed such a society more. It 
is well managed, its officers being some of the best 
people in Naples. They are highly appreciative of the 
tourist boom, and of the vast amoimt of money it is 
bringing them. Naples at one time had almost no 
American travel. In former years most Americans 
went to Europe by the northern route; if they travelled 
southward, and got as far as northern Italy, they either 
grew homesick, or went broke, and were obliged to 
return. In the old days, many Americans who had 
often been abroad had never visited Italy at all. Now 
the Mediterranean steamers take so many Americans 
to Europe that Naples is often their first stopping place. 
As a result, it has gready changed in the last ten years. 
Now many cab-drivers speak English, practically all 
waiters do, and you find many little boys on the streets, 
selling flowers and other trifles, who speak English 
fairly well, having learned it in the night schools. The 
tourist boom has brought much money to Naples, and 
the effect is seen in the city. There are many new 
hotels and pensions there, as well as other new build- 
ings. 

People may smile at the idea of changes in so ancient 
a city as Naples, but even old cities change. The rapid 
movement of our time is shown by this incident of street 

[i8] 



Numerous Motor Vehicles 

traflSc: A few years ago, when the stream of vehicles 
was returning from the races, the police divided the 
Toledo into two zones, for vehicles bound north and 
south. This time we noticed a change. The police 
had divided the street into three zones, a wide zone in 
the middle, and a narrow one on either hand. We 
drove out to meet the returning race-goers. As the 
brilliant line came in from the races the carriages en- 
tered the Toledo near the Museum, thence descending 
the hill on the west side of the street. At the foot of 
the hill they turned and went up the other side, which 
round they continued for an hour or two in the child- 
like Italian fashion. We soon discovered the reason 
for the wide zone in the centre of the street. Within 
three years automobiles had become numerous in 
Naples. The other vehicles went at a walk, but the 
motor cars were not restricted to such a slow pace. 
Therefore, the wide zone was left for them, as well as 
for four-in-hands, tandems, and vehicles whose drivers 
wished to return at a rapid rate of speed. 



When you are travelling, always do things while you 
can. Never wait. Is it a fair day? Go and do the 
out-door things. Is it a rainy day? Do the in-door 
things — the churches, the galleries. Do you see in a 
shop window some trifle you want ? Stop and buy it. 
Don't put it off — you may never see it again. You 
will alwajTS want that trifle, and you will always be 

[19] 



r 



By the Way 

sorry you didn't get it. If your first day at Naples is a 
rainy day, go to the Museum immediately; if the first 
day is a fine day, go up Vesuvius at once. The next 
day the Museum may be dosed, or there may be an 
eruption on the mountain, or you may drop dead. 

On our last visit to Naples I had intended to secure 
a collection of the Naples newspapers and pictorials, 
which are numerous. I have rather a fancy for collect- 
ing newspapers. A newsboy sold papers at our hotel, 
but all he had were two Italian dailies and the Paris 
Herald. To secure the pictorials I had to go to some 
of the little news-stands in the centre of the city. I put 
it off from day to day, thinking I would have plenty of 
time. But the days passed. We barely succeeded, 
the third day before our departure, in going up Vesu- 
vius. The day after this we had allotted to the Mu- 
seum. True, we had been there before, but it is one of 
the great sights of Europe, and a visit there is never 
time wasted. But when we alighted at the door, they 
had just installed a force of workmen to begin repairs 
and renovations; visitors were not allowed to enter; 
they had begun only that morning; we were just one 
day late. 

We determined to walk back to the hotel, so that I 
could stop on the way and buy my pictorials, but it 
began to rain, and we took a cab. As the cabman was 
hired by the course, he returned by the shortest route, 
which did not pass the piazza where the pictorials were 
for sale. 

The next day we were out all day at Baia, leaving 

[20] 



4 






New Hotels of Naples 

the hotel just after breakfast, and returning about sun- 
set. We were to sail at midnight. We had intended 
to leave our hotel, go aboard with our luggage, ''get 
settled," and then return on shore to dine at the caf^. 
It was agreed that, after dining comfortably, we should 
sit outside the caf£, hear the band play, and watch the 
shifting, picturesque, Neapolitan crowd on the Chiaia 
and the Toledo. Then I was to buy my pictorials, and 
we would go on board. It was an excellent programme. 
But none of these things took place. When we took 
our luggage on board, darkness was falling. Dinner 
was ready on the ship. It had a savory aroma. We 
wavered. We looked at the distance between ship and 
shore. We reflected on the wrangling boatmen with 
their demands for tips. It began to rain. So we re- 
mained aboard, and I never got my pictorials. 



Another change in Naples is the number of new 
hotels. Several of them are situated in an elevated 
quarter, through which runs the Corso Vittorio Em- 
manuele. Some of these new hotels command much 
finer views than those down on the bay shore. Still, 
both quarters have their good points. Up on the hill 
the new hotels have finer view, better air, and less noise; 
down on the bay shore, on the Villa Nazionale, the Via 
Partenope, the Via Caracdolo, and similar localities, 
one is surrounded with the life of the Neapolitan people 
— likewise their noises and their smells. Still, the 

[21] 



By the Way 

scenes there are interesting — so, too, are the sights 
and sounds of the sea. On the bay shore you may 
from your hotel windows see the fishermen drawing 
their seines fuU of silvery fish. The fish repertoire at 
Naples is superb. 

To sum up the merits of the two localities: if you 
make a short stay in Naples, get quarters down in the 
dty; it is amusing and interesting for a litde while. 
But if you make a long stay, go up on the hill ; otherwise 
the noise and bustle will weary you. 

It is from this elevated quarter, where the new hotels 
are found, that the Posilippo drive begins. The road 
to Pozzuoli and Baia runs over the crest of the Posi- 
lippo hill. At its top you pass a lift which descends to 
the level of the Piedigrotta tunnels, nearly five hundred 
feet below. Instead of going over the hill, you may 
drive through the grotto, if you wish, simply as a new 
sensation. The old tunnel, which dates from the reign 
of Augustus Caesar, is now closed to traffic. A new 
tunnel, bored some years ago, is three quarters of a 
mile long. AU manner of legends ding around the old 
tunnel, some coming from the Roman times, some from 
the superstitious middle ages. The tradition that 
Virgil practised the black art is linked with this tunnel. 
His "tomb" is not far away. There is certainly food 
for ghost stories here — I wonder how many foul 
crimes have been committed in those dark and gloomy 
vaults ? 

The village of Fuorigrotta is at the mouth of the 
tunnd, and the carriage road runs from there to the 

[22] 



V 



J 



Alluring Amphitheatres 

lake of Agnano, an ancient crater. Here is found the 
famous choke-damp Dog Grotto, where the natives 
will asphyxiate a dog for you while you wait. From 
here the drive runs to Bagnoli, to Cum^e, to Pozzuoli, 
near which is a soljaUrra^ the crater of a half-extinct 
volcano. Many cracks in the earth are to be seen, from 
which sulphurous gases ascend. A hungry-looking 
volcano guide tried to inveigle me into walking over 
this crater, but after having nearly burned my shoes off 
at Vesuvius, I could not be tempted by a ten-centime 
crater like this. I entertained the same attitude toward 
the amphitheatre of Pozzuoli; when we reached the 
wire-barred gateway (admission, one franc), and an- 
other guide tried to allure me with the story of its 
beauties, I remarked: "Nay, nay, young man, nay, 
nay! Within a short time I have been dragged by 
guides around the Colosseum, the Stadium, the Pom- 
peiian Amphitheatre Within The Walls, the Pompeiian 
Amphitheatre Without The Walls, and a perfect job- 
lot of small assorted amphitheatres, even the names of 
which I can not remember. I have reached my limit 
in amphitheatres. This is the limit here — see? It 
would take a derrick to get me out of this carriage. Go 
chase yourself! Allez-vous en! Scat!" 

The guide was not fluent in English, but he under- 
stood my winged words. So did our coachman, who 
grinned broadly as he touched up his horses. I did 
not know why he grinned, but when we drove around 
a comer, up a slight ascent, and then saw the amphi- 
theatre spread out before us — without a guide, without 

[33] 



By the Way 

money, and without price — I understood why the 
coachman grinned. All we had to do was to look down 
the hill. There are many such small swindles to be 
found abroad. 

Apropos of amphitheatres, I once in Rome encoun- 
tered in the Colosseum a fellow-tourist who was seated 
like Marius on a broken column which looked like the 
sawed-off section of a redwood tree. He was trying 
to get his bearings with an Italian map of Rome. He 
had a look of such profound bewilderment that I 
stopped and asked him if I could be of any help to him. 
His countenance lighted up immediately at the familiar 
sound of American English, and he replied: 

"Why, yes, sir, you can, for a fact. Here's a map I 
bought from a pedler up street, and it's all in Eyetalian. 
I asked him to show me the Colosseum, and he said 
that this was it all right. But on the feller's map I see 
this place has another name — a-n-f-i-t-e-a-t-r-o 
F-L-A-v-i-A-N-o. Now what does that mean? Is this 
the Colosseum or ain't it?" 

"Yes," I replied, "you are in the Colosseum. But 
I believe the Italian map-makers generally call it the 
Flavian Amphitheatre." 

"The h — they do!" replied my aggrieved com- 
patriot; "why don't they call it by its c'rect name?" 

I had just been on the point of adding: " Don't you 
remember Macaulay's famous line about the gladia- 
torial combats and wild-beast shows here — *when 
camdopards bounded in the Flavian AmpkUheaire^? 
But after this blast, I concluded that my friend would 

[24] 



stone Walls and Roads 

not recall the Hne, so instead I said ''good-day." Ten 
minutes afterward I saw him trying to climb over the 
locked iron gateway which shuts off the public from 
the dark vaults under the arena, which are ** forbidden." 
When I left he was threatening the police officer who 
restrained him, with the vengeance of the United States. 



To return to the Pozzuoli amphitheatre. • One of 
the curiosities of Southern Europe — to a Western 
American — is the amount of stone-work one sees. 
Among the Italian immigrants there are large numbers 
classed as muraiori — "wall-builders"; they are forced 
to seek some new calling in the United States. Nu- 
merous as are wall-builders in Italy, thrifty proprietors 
are all the time utilizing old walls. Often you will see 
an ancient wall of Roman masonry used for one side of 
a house; the other walls will be modem, and of con- 
crete. A small farmer with five or ten acres of vines 
and olives will have his dwelling of stone, his stable of 
stone, his olive-press and wine-press house of stone, 
his out-houses of stone, and his wall or enclosure of 
stone. You drive for miles between walls of stone, 
and often over a roadway of solid slabs of stone. 

Sometimes these labors in stone are appalling to us 
dwellers in a land where labor is high. For example, 
in driving over the steep roads around Naples, you will 
often wind up a hillside. The villas are terraced, the 
roads circuitous, and, of course, there are many ** short- 

[as] 



i 



By the Way 

cuts" or ''goat-pathS|" as in all countries. But in this 
land of cheap labor and many stone-cutters, these 
"short-cuts" are nearly all elaborately executed steps 
in stone. Imagine our American short-cuts and goat- 
paths with stone steps! In the United States we gen- 
erally carve out our goat-paths with our own hoofs. 
Sometimes a progressive farmer or an irritated com- 
muter, who has slipped on a slide and nearly broken 
his neck, will sally forth with a spade and cut a few rude 
steps in the bank. Then his neighbors will jeer, al- 
though they do not scruple to use his primitive stair. 

In Italy, you may even see stone lips where streams 
fall over roadside banks; stone basins receive the waters 
at the bottom of the fall; stone conduits carry them all 
the way, if the bank slopes instead of being perpen- 
dicular; stone culverts lead the waters under the road- 
ways. In the Old World they do not seem to build, 
as we do, for a few years. They build for posterity. 
In so many generations all manner of solid improve- 
ments have remained, like the famous Roman roads. 
The Appian Way to-day is neariy as good as it was two 
thousand years ago. We modem men say: "This is 
all due to slave labor." In the old days diey did have 
slave labor in the Old World, but they left colossal 
ruins behind them. They left gigantic tombs, like the 
Pyramids; they left useful monuments, like the Appian 
Way. In the New World we had slave labor for a hun- 
dred years, but what permanent thing did it leave be- 
hind ? Slavery left us a good many things, but certainly 
not a roadway. I do not believe there is a good and 

[26] 



Cosmopolitan Villa-Owners 

durable road in all the Southern United States, with the 
exception of a few miles of ''shell-road,'' like those at 
Mobile and New Orleans, used principally by people 
mth fat purses and fine horses. 

I have sometimes thought that the ruin of roadways 
by electric car lines was peculiar to the United States. 
But Europe shows me that I am mistaken. They are 
ruining roads here with their electric trams, just as we 
do at home. Along the fine Comiche Road you find 
electric tramways running for many miles. So on the 
beautiful Posilippo Road around the Bay of Naples, 
the electric car line makes driving difficult and at times 
dangerous. A tourist agency is building an electric 
tram line from Naples to Vesuvius, but they have 
bought a private right of way, and do not use the public 
roadway. All electric lines should be forced to do the 
same. Some day the people of this and other countries 
will wake up and find that they have given away their 
birthright — their highways — and have received little 
in return. 



In driving out of Naples toward PosiUppo you pass 
all manner of beautiful villas. One with very hand- 
some grounds about it attracting my attention, I asked 
the coachman who owned it, supposing it was some 
Neapolitan nobleman. He told me that a German- 
Swiss, ex-manager of the Grand Hotel in Naples, re- 
tiring from business some years before, had purchased 
this beautiful villa across the hill from his old hotel. 



By the Way 

The coachman added that he had begun life as a waiter. 
From that to occupying a Posilippo villa on the shores 
of the most beautiful bay in the world is quite a transi- 
tion. It gives one an idea of the profits of hotel-keeping 
in southern Europe. Another beautiful villa is the 
property, so the coachman told us, of the "Duke" of 
Monaco. Probably he meant the prince. That royal 
person makes so much money out of his Monte Carlo 
gambling-hell that he owns palaces all over Europe. 
Next to this villa is the property of the Marchese Patrizi, 
a tract of several acres of land, enclosed by a high wall. 
This wall is surmounted by a tall paling or fence, on 
top of which is a network of wires with electric bells. 
The whole must be at least fifty feet high. Our coach- 
man said that all this elaborate contrivance was merely 
a protection against thieves. Near this villa is a still 
larger tract — over twenty acres — covered with vines, 
olives, oranges, lemons, mandarins, and bearing every 
evidence of thrifty husbandry. Our coachman nearly 
dislocated his jaw trying to pronounce the owner's 
name. I subsequendy found it belonged to a York- 
shire man named Strickland, and had been in his family 
for some generations. The foregoing apparendy un- 
important details are noted here to show how cosmo- 
politan are the villa-owners around Naples. Many 
of the modem villas are erected on the ruins of those 
once occupied by such famous persons of antiquity as 
Julius Cssar, Virgil, Horace, and Cicero. But in 
these our degenerate days the villas are not occupied 
by great warriors, great statesmen, or great poets. 

[28] 



Italy's Clever Beggars 

They are nearly all owned by millionnaiies whose sole 
distinction is their money. They come from all over 
Europe, and the most notable anoong the villa-owners 
is his highness, Albert, by the grace of God reigning 
prince of Monaco and lord of the Monte Carlo gam- 
bling-hell. Other times, other manners. In the early 
Roman days, the peoples' heroes were warriors, and 
out of them they made demi-gods. In these times our 
only demi-god is the millionnaire. 

The neighborhood around Baia is so thickly sown 
with ruined villas, ancient Roman tombs, and ruins of 
even more ancient Etruscan tombs, antedating the 
prehistoric Roman times, that this must be indeed a 
ghost-haunted coast. One ruin here was the villa 
where Nero planned the murder of his mother, Agrip- 
pina; in another lived LucuUus; still another belonged 
to Tiberius. 



At Baia we stopped and had an excellent a/ Iresco 
luncheon at the Hotel Vittoria, from the terrace of which 
we could gaze across the beautiful bay toward the 
islands of Procida and Ischia, and the opposite head- 
land, on which are Sorrento and Castellamare. When 
we were ready to leave Baia and resume our drive, I 
hailed our driver from the balcony, and bade him 
''hitch up." I was startled by the crashing chorus of 
Echoes which arose from the stone-walled courtyard 
below. But the Echoes soon became visible as well as 
audible — they came from half a score of small boys 

[29] 



By the Way 

who had rushed to call our coachman^ and thus to 
acquire a lien upon me for a fee. Unfortunately they 
hailed the wrong coachman. Our own man, hearing 
the noise, came forth from a comer of the courtyard 
where he was sleeping in the sun, and proceeded quietiy 
to harness up his horses, unnoticed by the voluble 
young Echoes. When, with much fracas, they had 
got their equipage all ready it turned out to belong to 
another party, who were not yet prepared to go. Re- 
sult — individual and aggregate perplexity of the 
coachman and the Echoes. When we descended to 
take our own carriage, the Echoes discovered their 
error, and immediately surrounded us in a serried 
phalanx. But they were doomed to disappointment. 
From the beginning, I had noticed one silent small boy 
who was busily engaged in helping the coachman to 
harness the horses. Doubtless he expected somethiiig, 
but if so he said nothing, and was still putting straps 
into buckles as we approached. I took a handful of 
coppers from my pocket, and bade the Echoes stand 
in a row. They had crowded in a little girl by this 
time. I counted the noses carefully, methodically laid 
out one copper for each nose, and then, when their eyes 
were sparkling with greed, I suddenly turned and pre- 
sented the whole handful of coppers to the industrious 
youth who was just putting the last buckle-tongue into 
the last strap. He was dazed by his good fortune, but 
his companions were indignant. We drove away 
covered with execrations from the Echoes. 
But it is hard to beat the beggar game in Italy. A 

[30] 



Road to Pompeii 

fleet-footed urchin grabbed the girl, and bounded like 
a chamois over an intervening short-cut, heading us 
off at the next turn. He and his maiden fell into a 
fox-trot by the side of the carriage. 

"Look, noble gendeman!" he began, "look, beauti- 
ful lady 1 See the litde ragazza — the poor girl — have 
pity on her! See, noble signor — you can not refuse to 
give her something — your heart is too good — you 
are too generous, too noble, too handsome, to refuse. 
Have pity on her dreadful state, for look — she has one 
gray eye and one black onel " 

We stopped the carriage. It was true. The maiden 
had indeed parti-colored eyes, in addition to which she 
rejoiced in a most appalling squint. I gave her one 
copper. Hereupon her escort set up a howl at being 
ignored. 

"But why shoidd you have anything?'' I asked. 

"You ought to give me two coppers," he replied, 
with a twinkle, "for I have two black eyes, and she has 
only one." 

I was vanquished. I gave him his two coppers. I 
don^t believe in beggars, but I think he earned them* 



Among the many drives aioimd Naples, the one next 
in interest to the Posilippo drive is that at the other or 
eastern end of the dty, leading toward the ruins of Her- 
culaneum and Pompeii. This drive passes through a 
poorer quarter of the city, where the natives live largely 

[31] 



y 



By the Way 

out of doors, and indulge in various functions of life 
usually conducted not only in-doors but behind doors. 
These sights do not cease with the limits of Naples, for 
the high-road is like a city street many miles long. In 
fsLCtf all the way to Pompeii, a distance of eighteen 
miles, there are houses and shops on both sides of the 
road for nearly every rod of the way. When going up 
Vesuvius by the funicular railway, you leave the main 
road at Resina, which is not far from Naples. When 
going to Pompeii, you follow quite closely the curving 
shore of the bay. 

At the boundary of Naples is the Octroi barrier, a 
point where the tax must be paid on foods, liquors, and 
other dutiable goods. Everybody is stopped, including 
tourists. But this morning we noted an exception to 
the usual rigid examination when we saw a herd of 
goats being driven into Naples, and a herd of soldiers 
being driven out Although the goats carried milk for 
sale, it was not yet in such shape that the government 
could tax it, so they were allowed to proceed. As for 
the soldiers, they were not going in the taxable direc- 
tion, so they, too, were not stopped. I was struck by 
some points of resemblance as the herd of goats and 
the herd of soldiers met at the Octroi barrier. Neither 
knew where they were going, but the goats knew what 
for — they did not know they were going to Naples, 
but they knew they were going to be milked. The 
soldiers neither knew where they were going, nor what 
for. 

All along the road the walls were covered with elec- 



Macaroni along H'l Pamprii Road 



» ^.- 



1 



'i. ' 



4. 



Election Placards 

tion placards. As we passed through the village of 
San Giovanni^ eyer3rwhere we saw copies of a staring 
poster addressed, "To The San Giovanni Electors 1" 
It was a bitter denunciation of the doings of the local 
town council concerning sewers. It was signed by a 
number of gentlemen who professed the purest, most 
elevated, and entirely disinterested motives, but who 
apparently wished to be town councillors themselves. 
When we entered the town of Resina, we saw many 
copies of a placard headed "To The Resina Electors 1" 
This denunciation concerned the delinquencies of the 
Resina officials, who control the roads up the mountain, 
the guides, the horses, and the tourists' fees. Mount 
Vesuvius is in the Commune of Resina, and these offi- 
cials evidently have choice pickings. Another placard 
was a personal one. It was signed by a certain Cava- 
lier Luigi Montanari. The cavalier, it seems, was a 
candidate for office, and some election slanders had 
been set afloat concerning his birth. We drove by so 
rapidly that I did not quite get the gist of these slanders, 
as they were printed in small type, but the cavalier, in 
order to refute them, had printed a notarial copy of his 
birth certificate in laige poster type. This momentous 
event dated from 1841. Surely the Cavalier Luigi is 
old enough not to get excited over election slanders. 

It is curious when one enters Pompeii, after reading 
these election placards all the way from Naples, to find 
exactly similar addresses to the populace, concerning 
the merits and demerits of Pompeiian ediles, cut into 
the stuccoed walls two thousand years ago. 

[33] 



By the Way 

The drive from Naples toward Pompeii, as already 
noted, is almost a continuous street. The first village 
is San Giovanni. Next comes Portici, a town of over 
ten thousand inhabitants; it touches the confines of 
Resina, a place of some thirteen thousand population. 
Resina is built on the lava beds which cover Hercu- 
laneum. Few tourists visit Hercidaneum — it is dark, 
damp, and gloomy. The doorway which leads to the 
ruins is on the main street of Resina. Over it is the 
sign "Scavi di Ercolano" — "Excavations of Hercu- 
laneiun." We stopped to gaze, and the gaunt and 
hungry Herculaneum custodians looked at us eagerly. 
They scented a centime or two, but we shook our heads, 
and they sank back again. Few people visit Hercu- 
laneum, and those who do so rarely return. It is imder- 
ground, and as Herculaneum was buried under "lava 
de acqua," a kind of mud, as well as ashes, it is difficult 
to excavate. It is now maintained that the city was 
not covered with igneous lava, or solid rock, as many 
believe. But Herculaneimi is cold, dark, damp, and 
subterranean, while Pompeii is light, bright, and in the 
open air. Furthermore, Herculaneum has always been 
rather a disappointment It was first discovered 
through a deep well or shaft, which was being sunk for 
water; this shaft tapped the theatre, and the bottom of 
the shaft dropped into the auditoriimi. Naturally, the 
first finds were very rich — the theatre, its lobbies, and 
its annexes were crowded with interesting material. 
Adjoining this, too, was the villa of Calpumius Piso, 
evidently a wealthy collector, for his villa was full of 

[34] 



To Excavate Herculaneum 

objects of great artistic interest and value. Here a 
number of charred rolls of papyri were found, and the 
learned world grew excited; visions rose before them of 
the lost love-lyrics of Sappho, the lost decades of Livy's 
books, the lost epics of Callimachus, ApoUonius, and 
the other Greek poets of Alexandria's golden age. But 
the charred papjrri were almost charcoal. An ingenious 
Italian priest invented a method of unrolling them, 
however, and they were slowly deciphered. The first 
turned out to be a dull treatise on algebra, the second 
a duller attack on music, so the excitement of the learned 
world abated. Since then interest in Herculaneum 
has languished. 

It is now reviving, and an attempt is being made to 
raise funds all over the world to continue the excava- 
tions. Italy is too poor to attempt the work alone. 
The projectors of the scheme say that Herculaneum is 
infinitely richer than Pompeii in works of art, libraries, 
and buildings of architectural interest, and that the dif- 
ficulties of excavating have been much exaggerated. 

Even in Pompeii, only about one half of the city has 
been brought to the light of day. When tourists from 
other lands complain of this, they should remember 
that United Italy is new and not rich, and that she has 
enough to do looking out for living interests rather than 
dead ones. Besides, if foreign tourists want Pompeii 
excavated more rapidly, they can have it done by paying 
for it. Only about forty thousand francs a year come 
in for admission fees at Pompeii. At Herculaneum 
the annual admission fees amount to almost nothing. 

[35] 



By the Way 

Beyond Resina is Torre del Greco, which contains 
over twenty-five thousand people. This town has been 
destroyed by the lava streams half a dozen times in the 
last three centuries. The next town is Torre Annun- 
ziata, with seventeen thousand inhabitants. Next we 
reach Pompeii. 

I have spoken of the changes in new Naples. There 
are few changes in Pompeii, but there are some on the 
road. When I drove from Naples to Pompeii, some 
ten years ago, I remember that macaroni drying in the 
sun lined the way for most of the distance; litde dogs 
frisked back and forth between the swaying curtains of 
macaroni, and occasionally a yellow pup would poise 
his head on one side and coyly gaze at us with the 
macaroni portifere hanging on either side of his shoid- 
ders. There and then I lost my taste for macaroni. 
Previously, I had been rather fond of it But never 
again in Italy did I touch that agreeable food. 

Travelling is paradoxical : this trivial thing impressed 
me more than some picturesque sights — the mighty 
mountain Vesuvius, with its black cone and its other 
peak, Moimt Somma; the buried cities over which we 
were driving; the sweep of the beautiful bay, with 
Capri, Ischia, and Prodda, and the headland of 
Posilippo — true, I remembered all of these things, 
but it seemed to me that I remembered more vividly 
the miles of macaroni and the little dogs. This time 
I saw very little macaroni and no dogs at all. Could 
I have dreamed my previous experience? 

These questions vastly puzzled me until I interrogated 

[36] 



Choo-Choo Charley 

our driver. His answers relieved me extremely: of 
recent years, he said, it has been found more profitable 
to manufacture macaroni by machinery. Hence it 
has largely disappeared from the dwellings of the poor, 
who used to hang it in the backyard to dry along with 
the family wash. 



Among the new things we noted in Naples, there was 
a newly arrived American family. We met them in the 
winter garden of the Grand Hotel. They had just 
reached town the day before, and were leaving the day 
after. Choo-Choo Charley (let us call him) had been 
dragging his ''women folks" up and down and around 
the hills of Naples till poor Mrs. Choo-Choo was as 
limp as a rag. But Choo-Choo Charley himself was 
in fine fettle. I asked him what he thought of Naples. 

"Naples," he replied oracularly, "is a fine town. 
We have not had time to do it as thoroughly as I could 
wish, for one day is scarcely enough, even for a small 
city. Still, we have been to Pompeii, went up the 
mountain far enough to say we had done Vesuvius, 
drove rapidly to Sorrento, spent ten minutes there, ten 
minutes at Castellamare, caught the little steamer 
NiociCy and got back just in time for dinner. The 
madam is a little tired " — indicating Mrs. Choo-Choo, 
who smiled faintly — " but the girly here is all right, 
and so is yours truly." 

"May I ask," said I, "what your movements are, 
after having explored Naples so thoroughly?" 

[37] 



By the Way 

"I propose," said Choo-Choo, "after we have done 
Greece, the archipelago, the blue iEgean Sea, the Ionian 
Isles, and that sort of thing, to which I have allotted 
four dsys — I propose to go to Egypt. We stop at 
Alexandria for four hours, and then go to Cairo, re- 
maining there over night. We shall go up the Nile as 
far as the third cataract — three days up, one day 
there, and three days down. I have allotted a day and 
a half for doing Cairo, the Sphinx, the Pyramids, the 
Boulak Museum, and old Cairo, leaving half a day for 
travelling to Port Said to catch the post-oflSce boat 
Osiris. I take her because she is much &ster than the 
ordinary P. and O. boats. We shall arrive at Brindisi 
at 4:25 P.M., March steenth, and I intend to do the 
Italian peninsula in about seven days. Skip Naples — 
one day and a half for Rome — one day for Florence 
— half a day for Milan — a day for the Italian lakes 
— the rest for train-time, loafing, sleeping, meals, etc., 
winding up with half a day for Venice, where we shall 
sail for Trieste. We then do the Balkan peninsula in 
about four days, reaching Vienna by March the umpty- 
umpt. Here," said Choo-Choo Charley gravely — 
"here we mayconsider that we have got fairly started, 
and we shall take up continental Europe." 

Mrs. Choo-Choo looked at him, sighed, and dosect 
her eyes. 

"From Vienna we go north," said he; "Munich, 
Nuremberg, Dresden, Hamburg — a day in each of the 
capitals, half a day in lesser towns. I think we can 
knock out continental Europe in about four wee£s, 

[38] 



Lightning Tourists 

and then I intend to tackle the Land of the Midnight 
Sun." 

At this moment a bell rang. Some gorgeous Gennan 
flunkeys and the plainer hotel lackeys lined up along 
the grand staircase; the porters rapidly unrolled a strip 
of crimson carpet from the staircase to the street. Down 
the staircase came the short and stumpy but majestic 
form of his Serene Highness the Grand Duke of Pum- 
pernickel, who was going forth in his chariot to take 
the air. 

Choo-Choo Charley rapidly coupled on the giiiy and 
Mrs. Choo-ChoOy blew a grade-crossing blast on his 
nasal whistle, threw the throttle wide open, and, with 
full steam on, dashed through the crowd to see the sight. 

I tried to flag him to say good-by, but my farewells 
were lost in the Choo-Choo whirl. 



To visit Naples does not always mean that one may 
visit Vesuvius. Although Vesuvius is generally at 
home, one may "visit" the volcano without being 
always received. I say "generally" at home, for when 
the volcanic monster comes forth from his igneous 
caverns, and goes calling on the cities and towns around 
the base of the mountain, I suppose he may be said to 
be "out." But that is a subtle point in volcano eti- 
quette. 

Yes, one may visit Vesuvius without being received. 
Such has been our experience. On our first visit to 

[39] 



By the Way 

Naples, the mountain was not receiving. A mild erup- 
tion had just taken place. As a result, the authorities 
had forbidden the ascent of the volcano. Soldiers and 
constabulary surrounded the base of the mountain. 
It is true that daring young tourists, American and 
English, were trying to break through the cordon, and 
were daily getting jailed. But as I had an imperfect 
appreciation of the delights of Italian prisons, it re- 
quired little persuasion from the police to keep me from 
ascending the mountain. 

When next we were at Naples, the weather in sunny 
Italy was not so sunny as it might have been. Clouds 
encircled the mighty mountain, and up above them the 
vast cone was covered with a cap of snow. For many 
days a cold, raw rain poured down upon sunny Naples. 
Occasionally the rain ceased for a few minutes, when it 
hailed. This time the authorities again forbade the 
ascent of the mountain — at least above the Observa- 
tory, down ib which the snow-cap ran; below the Ob- 
servatory nobody cared to go. Thus it happened that 
it was only possible for us to visit Vesuvius after having 
visited Naples several times. 

The road out of Naples toward Vesuvius is the same 
route that one follows to reach Pompeii. When intend- 
ing to go up the mountain the tourist leaves the Pompeii 
road at Resina, the modem city which overlies Hemi- 
laneum. Apropos of these two ancient towns, it is 
remarkable how many people seem to think them the 
only buried cities in the vidnity. In fact, there are 
many. Next to these two familiar ones, the one whose 

[40] 



Many Buried Cities 

name is most frequently heard is Stabiae. Then there 
is Cunue, the oldest Greek colony in Italy; Baia, a 
watering-place resort of the Roman swells in the first 
year of our Lord; Parthenope, Palaeopolis, and Neapolis, 
three buried cities Ijdng under modem Naples, from 
the last of which it took its name; Dikearkia (later called 
Puteoli, now Pozzuoli), another Greek city of large 
wealth and with much conmierce; Capua, one of the 
great military posts of ancient Rome, now covered by a 
modem city, also a garrison; and Suessola, whose medi- 
cinal springs held high repute among the gouty epicures 
of the Roman time. 

Cataclysmic have been the earth's throes around that 
laboring monster, Vesuvius, for some of these buried 
cities, which were great seaports two thousand years 
ago, are now far inland. On the other hand, off shore 
at Baia, you may look down from a boat when in smooth 
water, and discover ancient houses and streets far below 
you at the bottom of the sea. Some of these buried 
cities were much larger and more important places than 
either Pompeii or Herculaneum. Yet to many travel- 
lers their names seem unfamiliar. 

We quit the Pompeii road at Resina, just over the 
entrance to the gloomy ruins of Herculaneum. We 
soon leave the town of Resina behind us, but not its 
ofSidals, for the communal authority extends clear up 
to the crater. We wind up the mountain side, amid 
vineyards and olive orchards, and at every vineyard 
gate a hard-featured peasant woman, with an unpleas- 
ant smile, offers us the "genuine" Lacrimal Cristi wine. 

[41] 



By the Way 

Experienced mountain-climbers are said to avoid it 
when going up, or they never ''get there." I should 
avoid it coming down, for similar reasons. It is very 
fiery, strong, and heady; a Montague intending to stab a 
Capulet might find it useful as a stimulant, but I should 
scarcely recommend it as a table wine. 

Our road repeatedly crosses the great lava stream 
of 187 a. The government road ends at a point about 
2,400 feet above the sea, a quarter of a mile beyond the 
Observatory. Here a private road begins, running for 
about two miles to the lower station of the funicular 
railway; this road was built in 1880 by the French com- 
pany which constructed the wire railway. Since 1888, 
both this carriage road and the wire railway have be- 
longed to the Gx)k tourist agency. The lower end of 
the railway is 2,600 feet above the sea. The railway 
itself is 2,600 feet long, and the upper end is 1,300 feet 
higher than the lower. The altitude of the highest 
point on the cone of Mount Vesuvius varies. Up to a 
recent period it was 4,300 feet, but since the eruption of 
eight years ago the cone has been slowly sinking. It is 
now some 200 feet lower than in 1895. 

There is a good deal of grumbling among tourists 
over the "carriage-road monopoly," but I confess I do 
not see why. There can be no "monopoly" on a 
moimtain the size of Vesuvius. Besides, this turnpike 
is like any other private road — one must pay toll. The 
landlords of the Hotel Suisse and the Hotel Diomide 
at Pompeii have both constructed private bridle-paths 
up the mountain, for using which paths people have to 

[42] 



Vesuvian TolURoads 

pay. If the tourist does not like to pay toll on these 
private roads, he can blaze a trail of his own; there is 
certainly a good deal of mountain there for him to 
select from — it is about thirty miles around* The 
tourist agency takes a traveller from Naples to the 
top of the cone and back (carriage and railway fare and 
guide fees included) for 21 francs. If the tourist does 
not come in their carriages, they charge him 18 francs 
for the railway fare alone, and 5 francs toll for the use 
of the carriage road; this makes 23 francs to the tourist 
agency, in addition to what he pays for his non-agency 
carriage; this latter conveyance will cost him say 25 
francs, or a total of 48 francs. The tourist agency also 
chaiges pedestrians 5 francs toll over its carriage road. 
The mountain-climbers who are footing it, and are 
confronted with this toll, are thereby plunged into a 
state of frenzy. But if I were an ardent mountain- 
climber (which I am not), I think I would dimb ^' across 
lots," instead of taking the easy way of a tourist turn- 
pike. 

Lest this be construed as sneering at the ardent 
moimtain-dimber, I may explain that the Vesuvius 
ascent is probably fatiguing, but it is neither dangerous 
nor difficult. For that matter, it is fatiguing even to 
ascend the mountain in a carriage, for it is a long, dusty, 
and tiresome trip. Lest some one should cry out upon 
me for a Vesuvian vandal, let me add that I do not for- 
get the view. The view from Vesuvius is indeed mag- 
nificent, but to crawl up a steep and dusty mountain 
road for several hours behind two horses at a slow walk 

[43] 



By the Way 

does not strike me as exhilarating. The descent is 
infinitely more pleasurable ; the winding turns are made 
more rapidly, the view of mountains and islands, cities 
and sea, changes at every minute. In short, the ascent 
is not an unalloyed pleasure, but the descent is pure joy. 

In this matter of moimtain-dimbing I will admit that 
I am a non-climber without shame. I have such low 
tastes that I am glad there is a funicular railway up the 
volcano, or I never should have got to the top. If I 
were to go again, I would expect to travel the whole 
distance in forty minutes by an electric railway for a 
moderate sum, instead of spending four or five hours, 
paying thirty or forty francs, and crawling in a carriage 
behind two tired horses up the moimtain side. When 
I was there last, the tourist agency people were building 
an electric railway all the way from Naples to the foot 
of the funicular railway, which they already own. It 
was to be completed for the next season of tourist travel; 
it is, I believe, in operation now. Those horrified people 
who cry out in indignation at going all the way up 
Vesuvius by rail need not get excited: there are roads 
and trails there still. If you do not like the railway, 
you can drive on the turnpike. If you do not want to 
pay toll on the turnpike, you can travel by trail. If diat 
is too easy, you can hoof it across the lava beds. 

It must not be supposed that I advise tourists to join 
the "personally conducted" parties who are taken from 
Naples up to the crater, four in a carriage, at a fixed 
price. I have no doubt that they get good value for 
their money. Personally, I object to being jammed 

[44] 



Tourist Agencies 

into a carriage with job-lots of total strangers all day. 
Many people do not object to this, and with them I 
have no quarrel. I would rather pay more and have a 
whole carriage — less company and more room. Bad 
taste possibly, but I can't help it. But I do advise 
tourists to hire their carriages from the tourist agency. 
They will give you whatever you choose to pay for — 
from a one-horse victoria to a six-in-hand wagonette. 
Furthermore, they have the pick of the Naples horses 
and vehicles; if the tourist doubts this, and tries to hire 
something on ''his own hook," he either falls heir to 
the agency's leavings, or gets hold of drivers whom 
they have dropped for extortion. 

There is a good deal of cheap depreciation of tourist 
agencies. But I observe that those who sneer most 
loudly at them, when in London or Paris, are the most 
dependent on the agencies when in out-of-the-way 
places. And with reason, for it would be almost im- 
possible for the average tourist to make his way about 
at all in some Oriental countries without the aid of the 
agencies. In Palestine, even William the War Lord 
was obliged to rely for saddle-animals, and transporta- 
tion facilities generally, on a tourist agency. The 
British War Office also used them to transport troops 
from Lower Egypt to the Soudan. 

At Vesuvius the agency owning the funicular have 
completely revolutionized the conditions which pre- 
viously rendered the ascent intolerable. Not only have 
they also built a new electric railway, but they have 
shown great enterprise m operatmg the funicular laU- 

[451 



By the Way 

way, subject as it is to many accidents of various kinds. 
Three times when I have been at Naples the road has 
been temporarily stopped : once it hacf been buried by 
the drifting dnders, another time it was covered with 
snoWy and on the third occasion the upper end had been 
wrecked by an eruption. In addition to providing 
mechanical means for aiding travellers^ the tourist 
agency has also shielded them from the attacks of the 
natives. The various communes around and upon 
the mountain have always lived on the travellers. For 
generations they have despoiled tourists at their own 
sweet will, and they now resent their being protected. 
But the tourist agency has brought them into some sort 
of order, so that it is possible to ascend the mountain 
without being robbed. 



All the way up the moimtain side we were haunted 
by mysterious music. Whenever we approached a 
bend in the road, there would arise from behind a wall 
the sounds of *' Santa Luda," or sometimes ''Funiculae, 
funicula." When we got round the comer of the wall 
we would find a band of wandering minstrels, ener- 
getically scraping fiddles, plucking on harps, or blowing 
on brass horns; sometimes even the humble piano-oigan 
was lying in wait for us behind great blocks of lava, and 
would suddenly burst forth into volumes of more or 
less sweet soimd. But whenever I shook my head and 
waved a negative finger, saying, "Niente, niente" 
(Italian for *'nit"), there would be a sudden silence, 

•[46] 






Orpheus on Vesuvius 

and the musicians would disappear. The number of 
times I terminated the strains of ''Santa Luda" be- 
tween Resina and the Observatory would be almost 
beyond belief were I to emunerate them. So nimierous 
were these mountain musicians that I had my arm in 
the air nearly all the time. I began to fed like an 
orchestra conductor. In fact, considering my destina- 
tion, my orchestral occupation, and that I was bound 
toward the sulphur-and-brimstone hole on top of Ve- 
suvius, I might have been likened to Orpheus on the 
road to Hades. But on second thoughts the compari- 
son woidd not hold, for while Orpheus was moving the 
very rocks to music, I was moving the music back to 
the rocks again. 

At the top of the long drive up the moimtain is an inn 
where an excellent luncheon can be obtained. There, 
are the usual photographs for sale, and the usual regis- 
ter, or "album," in which nobodies have written noth- 
ings — "Thoughts on first seeing Vesuvius, by Mrs. 
Lemuel Aminidab Doolittle, Moosatockmaguntic, 
J^aine, U. S. A.," or, "Pens^ sur la bale de Naples, 
par Jeanne GroseiUe Poirier, en voyage de noces avec 
son cher mari. Hector Achille Poirier, epider en gros, 
Pont-k-Mousson, France." 

The funicular railway is like all mountain railways, 
and when you reach its top you are at the base of the 
cone. Here all must walk. Did I say all? Then I 
was wrong. Among the many queer things you see 
while travelling, not the least queer is the number of 
imperfect people you see doing things. It is not un- 

[47] 



By the Way 

common to see a rich blind man being led around and 
the sights described to him. As for the rich halt and 
the wealthy lame, they are legion. You see people 
carried in chairs by stalwart chair-men in all sorts of 
places abroad. You see old people and invalids in 
shoulder-slings hoisted around gigantic ruins in Egypt. 
You see them continually being borne about Pompeii. 
But I must admit I was surprised to see such people 
bolstered in chairs up to the very brink of the crater of 
Vesuvius. 

At the upper station of the funicular railway, at the 
base of the cone, the first obligatory charge for guides 
is made: you are forced to take a guide to the mouth of 
the crater at the fixed price of 3.50 lire per person — 
about 70 cents. This fee must be paid — the volcano 
is within the jurisdiction of the Commune of Resina, 
and the guides are authorized officials and wear com- 
mune badges. The tax is a little higher than it need 
be, but the Conmiune can scarcely be blamed for mak- 
ing the taking of guides obligatory. Many tourists 
would dodge the tax if they could — some through 
economy, some through bravado. But at times guides 
are beyond question necessary. Many lives would be 
lost every year were people to attempt ascending to the 
crater without guides. The cone is often covered with 
snow; at other times the smoke from the crater is blind- 
ing; the wind frequendy fills the air with fine cinders, 
so that one can not see. It woiild be an easy matter 
for a stranger to lose his way, and even to fall into the 
crater. A ticket issued by the Commune of Resina, 

[48] 



Pushedy Pulledy or Carried 

authorizing two travellers to visit the crater of Vesuvius 
with guide, reads as foUows: 

Datta Stazione Suferiore 

al 

Cono AUivo 

Per comitiva di 2 Viaggiatori L. 7.00 

Tariff a per le guide del Vesuvio, giusta U 

regolamento appravato con decreto detP III. 

mo. Signer Prefjeto della Provincia di Napoli 

Even here the tourist agency has an inspector to 
keep the guides in order. 

When I had paid for our tickets and chosen our 
guides, we began the ascent of the cone. It is only a 
fifteen-minute climb, but it is pretty hard work while it 
lasts. The loose cinders under foot make walking very 
difficult. You seem to slide back two feet for every one 
that you take forward. You can go in a chair; or you 
can hire two guides to take either arm, with a third to 
push you from behind; or you can cling to a stout strap 
hooked to the belt of a single guide; or you can go it 
alone. Most people start out to go it alone, and wind 
up by hiring assistance. 

The day we went to the crater a fierce gale was howl- 
ing around the top of the mountain. About two hun- 
dred yards to windward of us a group of men were 
climbing the cone by the Resina trail; from them, the 
wind blew clouds of ashes, which filled our eyes, our 
ears, our noses, which stung and blinded us. But at 

[49] 



By the Way 

last we reached the top, we stood panting on the brink 
of the crater, we looked into the awful depths below. 

How did it look ? Well, there are many disillusions 
in travelling. It is, of course, an interesting thing to go 
to the top of one of the great volcanic mountains of the 
world. It is a revelation to look into its crater. " How 
did it look?" you ask. Well, it looked exactly like a 
dimip of a mine or a smelting- works. I have seen many 
such dumps, where masses of heated cinders and slag 
lie at the bottom of a big pit. In these mine-dumps 
one may see smoke and steam pouring up in vast vol- 
umes from the heated cinders and slag. So was it at 
the crater of Vesuvius. The smoke was sulphurous 
and suffocating. It finished the work of blinding our 
eyes, already half-blinded with ashes. Soon we could 
see nothing at all. Yet in the midst of our cinder tears, 
we had the satisfaction of saying to ourselves that we 
had seen the crater of Vesuvius. Further to complete 
the parallel between the volcano's crater and a mine- 
dump, the crater looked as if it had been made by man 
— it was an irregular rectangle with sloping sides. Of 
course, this conformation was due to the talus falling 
down from the embankments of slag, lava, and old 
cinders on which we stood. The shape of the pit is 
continually changing. This particular crater was only 
a few days old, and was already approaching perilously 
near to the guardian's hut. 

We found the guides civil enough, but there is not a 
litde grumbling among the tourists whom they halt, 
forbidding the ascent of the crater without a guide. 

[so] 



A Battle of Guides 

But it is the law. When the crater is enveloped in 
smoke or steam, it is easy for strangers to lose their way 
and timible into either the main crater or some of the 
baby craters which lie around incubating. While a 
toimst or two would not greatly matter to the world, 
the Italian Government appears reluctant to lose one. 
Hence its loving care. 

Not only the Commune of Resina, but all the Com- 
munes jealously guard their privileges. How jealously 
is shown by this curious scene, which took place under 
our eyes while we were at the base of the cone. It was 
so absorbing that our own guides kept us waiting, and 
did not start to dimb the cone imtil the incident was 
ended. This was what interested them: a tourist 
suddenly hove in sight, who did not come from the direc- 
tion of the railway route. The Resina guides imme- 
diately spied him, for he was accompanied by two 
strange guides. Like birds of prey, all the guides 
gathered around. The wrangling which at once broke 
out was not unlike the clangor of contending gulls over 
a bit of oflfal. The tourist, it turned out, was accom- 
panied by guides from Pompeii. The Resina guides 
fiercely resented their appearance, and ordered them 
to depart. The Pompeiian guides with equal fierce- 
ness refused. Around the poor tourist the battle raged. 
He spoke no language save his own. Heaven knows 
what that was — Bulgarian, mayhap, or possibly 
Polish — but he would gaze dumbly from time to time 
at the circle of scowling faces around him, as though 
he would veiy much like to know what it was all about 

[SI] 



By the Way 

Just as the guides were on the pouit of coming to blows 
over their prey, two carabineers — rural police officers 
— appeared, of whom there are many on the mountain. 
With a magisterial air they restored peace if not silence, 
and then ordered the contending factions to state their 
case. It was done at great length and in vociferous 
Sicilian, Neapolitan, and Italian. When the cara- 
bineers had heard the case in full, they advanced gravely 
to a certain monument on the mountain, a stone cairn. 
Here one of them drew a line with his toe in the 
shifting, drifting cinders, just such a line as we boys 
used to draw when we had jumping contests or ran 
foot-races. 

" Here," said he, oracularly, to the Pompeiian guides, 
"here is your limit. You can come up this far with 
your tourist — beyond that you cannot go. Thus says 
the law." The other carabineer nodded with owlish 
gravity. 

With yells of joy the Resina guides fell upon the 
hapless tourist who came up the Pompeii traiL Two 
of them grabbed him by either arm, a third hooked a 
strap into his belt and pulled him from in front, a fourth 
pushed him from behind, and in the twinkling of an 
eye they hustled him up the trail toward the crater, 
while the baffled Pompeiian guides remained behind 
on the fatal line, gnashing their teeth. 

When this took place, our own guides, who had been 
interested spectators, acting as a very noisy gallery, 
also took up their line of march, and we, too, went up 
to the crater. 

[52] 



Her Old and New Shoes 

When we left our guides on the descent, and reached 
the funicular railway, a sharp-faced young woman, 
accompanied by a guide, got on to the same car with 
us. The cars are small ones, holding about six people. 
Noticing that we were speaking English, she asked 
whether we were Americans or English people, and 
being told that we were Americans, at once became 
extremely confidential She had climbed the crater 
in a pair of shabby, high-heeled slippers, which she 
proceeded to remove. She volunteered the remark 
that she had been advised not to wear her best shoes 
on the cone, as the hot ashes would certainly ruin them, 
hence she had worn these old ones. The guide was 
carrying her hand-bag, which she bade him open- 
Out of it she produced a pair of new and natty shoes; 
then she began to unbutton a long pair of doth gaiters, 
knee high; when she had removed these she began to 
button her shiny shoes — all this on the open car, with 
the fierce wind blowing her skirts about her shanks — 
to the amazement of the guide, who gazed at her in 
open-mouthed wonder. I must confess I shared his 
surprise. I have seen some odd things, but the spec- 
tacle of a young woman on Vesuvius taking off a pair 
of knee-high gaiters in a high wind in the presence of 
a Neapolitan guide and some total strangers was cer- 
tainly surprising. 



On our way down the mountain a beautiful Italian 
boy approached, put his hand on our carriage, and 

[S3] 



By the Way 

gave us a sunny smile (25 centesimi). He walked along 
a few yards, and then went forward and patted the near 
horse's flank (10 centesimi). He stooped down and 
presented to Madama a small piece of lava (15 cente- 
simi). I purposely put the price low, as Vesuvius is 
entirely composed of lava and is thirty miles aroimd. 
Again he walked along in silence a few yards, and then 
remarked " Fine day " (10 centesimi). He saw a yellow 
flower by the side of the road, which he gathered and 
presented to Madama with another sunny smile (35 
centesimi). 

Here I interfered. "Fair youth," said I, "waste 
not thy time upon heedless and unappredative travel- 
lers like ourselves. We need no little pieces of lava; 
our horses care not for caresses; we have no use for 
sunny Italian smiles. Here is a coin, fair boy; it is the 
smallest I have; had I a smaller it would be yours, but 
take it with my blessing," and here I handed him a 
soldoj which is about a penny. 

There used to be a small coin current in Italy which 
I have not seen of late years. It was worth about a 
fifth of a cent, and was called, I believe, a.baioccho, 
I have had the habit, when returning home after a trip, 
of keeping my uncurrent coin as souvenirs. The ex- 
perienced traveller always endeavors to cross a frontier 
with as little as possible of the coin of the land he is 
leaving. In this he is actively seconded by the natives, 
who do not confine their efforts to their own coin — they 
endeavor to relieve him of his own as well. They are 
generally quite successful. However that may be, the 

[54] 



Uncurreni Coins for Beggars 

seasoned traveller knows he will lose heavily in dealing 
with the money-changers on the frontier, so at his last 
stop — in France, let us say — he usually secures just 
enough French money to carry him to the German line. 
But there he may have a few sous left; correspondingly, 
when he leaves Germany, a few pfennig; when he leaves 
Austria, a few kretUzer; when he leaves Turkey, a few 
nickel piastreSj or metaUik. On returning home I have 
always deposited these imcurrent coins in the extended 
basket of a beautiful flower-girl in my room — a porce- 
lain girl, by the way, with turquoise eyes and a dazzling 
Dresden-china smile. She has a most remarkable 
collection in her basket, and among the coins I recalled 
distinctly several of these baiocchiy some bearing the 
head of Pio Nono, some the features of King Bomba 
of Naples, and all worth, as I said, about a fifth of a 
cent. How I yearned for one of them! It would have 
filled my soul with joy had I been able to present a 
baioccho to my Vesuvian youth with the siumy smile. 
But I gave him the smallest I had. 

The handsome boy gazed at the copper coin with 
the expression of a man who has just bitten into a bad 
oyster. He protested that he did not want it, and tried 
to give it back to me. He said he was not seeking 
money — that he desired to walk with us, partly for 
the pleasure of the promenade, and pardy for the pleas- 
ure of our society. 

"Hark ye, good youth," quoth I, "waste not your 
time on us. The coin which I have presented to you 
is all you will get Far down the dusty road behold 

[55] 



By the Way 

yon carriage. In it there is a Chicago millionnaire with 
his wife, his mother-in-law, and eke his wife's sister. 
He is rich and generous. I am poor and mean. Go 
— fly to the Chicago millionnaire. Give the ladies 
yellow flowers. Give them of the priceless lava of 
which the mighty mountain is composed. Give them 
your sunny smile, and then touch the Chicago man — 
I mean, touch the Chicago man's heart." 

The youth with the s\xnny smile understood me. 
He did not like my largesse, but he followed my advice, 
and over the lava blocks he bounded, like the mountain 
chamois, making a short-cut to the Chicago man's 
carriage. During the drive down the moimtain I 
noticed how assiduous he was in his attentions, and 
that the Chicago ladies' laps were covered with 
beautiful wild flowers, gathered by the roadside, and 
that the very air was perfumed with sunny Italian 
smiles. 

But when the Chicago man's carriage was at the foot 
of the toll-road, I heard a violent altercation going on, 
and stopped to see what was the matter. The youth 
with the sunny smile was demanding of the Chicago 
millionnaire the sum of five francs. He said he had 
been hired by that gentleman to walk along by the 
carriage, push it down hill, pick flowers, gather lava, 
and generally to make himself useless. The bystand- 
ers all agreed with him — they were all guides, carriage- 
drivers, and hotel-touts, and therefore utterly unpreju- 
diced. They showed the Chicago man that he was 
wrong in grinding the face of the poor, so he reluctantly 

[S6] 



1 



The Beautiful Boy 

dug up five francs, and presented it to the youth with 
the sunny smile. 

Ah, he was indeed a beautiful boy, with his jet-black 
eyes, his curling hair, and his bright and sunny smile. 
But I am glad I passed him up to the Chicago man. . 



[57] 



*> man's 
untain ^ 



Ill 

ENGLAND'S LEVANTINE 

FORTRESS 




m 



ENGLAND'S LEVANTINE FORTRESS 

[HEN your steamer touches at Malta and 
you view the harbor of Valetta the effect 
of the terraced buildings rising on rocks 
out of the sea is almost like a scene paint- 
er's fantasy. In the temple scene from ''Salammbo" 
at the Paris Opera, stair on stair rises from the water- 
gates to the lofty temple summits — * perfect vistas of 
staircases, seemingly from sea to sky. The view of 
Valetta at once brought this scene to my mind. The 
effect of human figures against this marvellous sky- 
line at sunset was most picturesque. Standing high 
up above us were groups of British redcoats, sharply 
outlined against the evening sky. They were on the 
lofty parapet among the great guns, yet they could 
easily toss a biscuit upon the big steamer's deck below. 
The appearance of Valetta, as seen from a ship, im- 
presses one as more Oriental than European. True, 
the prevailing style of architecture is Italian as well as 
Moorish. But the flat-roofed houses and their color 
irresistibly suggest the Moorish cities like Algiers. As 
we entered the harbor the town was flooded with sun- 

[6il 



» 



EnglaruTs Levantine Fortress 

shine, and the rich coloring of sea and sky made a 
brilliant setting to the unique dty; another color effect 
came from the bright yellow hue of the buildings, 
which lent a golden tinge to the landscape. Out of 
all the picturesque cities around the Mediterranean, 
Valetta and Algiers stick most in the memory. 

The city of Valetta lies on a small peninsula, at the 
head of which is the Fort of St. Elmo. To the right, 
between the mainland and the peninsula, is the Grand 
Harbor, at the entrance to which is Fort Ricasoli. To 
the left of the peninsula lies Quarantine Harbor, the 
head of which is guarded by Fort Manoel. Opening 
off of these two harbors are ten bays or basins, which 
have been turned into docks, or small harbors; heavy 
fortifications surround them on every side. Where 
the peninsula of Valetta joins the land begin the mas- 
sive fortifications of the suburb, Floriana. 

Numerous institutions are grouped in and around 
the peninsula, such as the army hospital, naval hos- 
pital, invalids' hospital, infants' hospital, central hos- 
pital, navy prison, army prison, dvil prison, barracks, 
factories for military stores, and warehouses for gov- 
ernment stores; here also are the shooting-ranges for 
musketry practice, while in the offing may be seen the 
floating taigets for naval gunnery. Valetta is thus a 
combination of an Oriental dty, an English garrison 
town, and EngUsh naval station. There is room in 
its harbor for over six hundred naval vessels. It is a 
port of call for many lines, and often ten laige steam- 
ships arrive and depart in a single day. 

[6a] 



Malta's Many Harbors 

The highest points in Valetta are the Strada Reale, 
near the Palace Square, and the garden with arcaded 
promenades called the Upper Baracca. Here you may 
look down into the enormous fosse cut out of the soUd 
rock by the labor of thousands of Mohammedan slaves. 
Beyond are the heights of Citta Vecchia; at your feet 
lie the many harbors, crowded with battleships, cruisers, 
troop-ships, torpedo-boats, destroyers, yachts, pas- 
senger liners, merchantmen, and hundreds of native 
craft; looking across the Lower Baracca, you see the 
entrance to the harbor. The open arched ranges 
called "Baraccas" once were roofed, but a knot of 
conspirators having been discovered there, the Grand 
Master ordered the roofs removed. 

Looking down from the heights of Valetta to the two 
harbors on either side of the peninsula, the flat roofs 
rise step by step from the sea to the tops of the arches 
of the two picturesque Baraccas. The streets are very 
picturesque — narrow, steep, and, like the houses, 
rising step by step. In the times of the Knights, the 
main streets were forbidden to women; now the women 
are so numerous that they outniunber the men, who 
emigrate largely. The Maltese women almost all wear 
in the street a curious black hood called the faldeUa, 
which is probably a survival of the Oriental veil. It is 
in the shape of a skirt turned up over the head, kept 
stiff by an arched piece of whalebone which can be 
managed by the hand. Ladies of position wear the 
faldeUa at certain religious festivals. 

The migration of the Maltese men is necessary. The 

[63] 



England's Levantine Fortress 

popiilation of Malta is very dense; a few years ago it 
was some fifteen hundred to the square mile. As the 
island has litde or no soil the population cannot be sup- 
ported from the land. The English government keeps 
enormous stores of grain on the island to provide for 
the wants of both garrison and people in case of war 
or other emergency. 

The Maltese climate is not agreeable. The wind 
which blows from the African desert, and which on the 
Riviera is somewhat mitigated by the Mediterranean, 
is in Malta a hot and humid wind, very trying to men 
and animals. Another unpleasant feature at Malta is 
the prevalence of a fine and disagreeable dust. While 
the wind at Malta is more trying than on the Riviera, 
the climatic alterations are not so great; usually, there 
is a difference of only three or four degrees in tempera- 
ture between night and day. 

Although Malta is only sixty miles from the Sicilian 
coast, it looks more like Africa than Europe. Geo- 
logical indications seem to show that the Maltese group 
of islands once connected Italy with Africa. But all 
question as to Malta's continental allegiance is setded 
by law, for Great Britain has declared by act of parlia- 
ment that Malta is a part of Europe, to whichever 
continent it belongs. But some day it will belong to 
neither: the island is slowly subsiding; in smooth rocky 
ways leading to the seashore wheeltracks are found 
disappearing under the water. 

When we were in Malta the Carnival was in progress. 
The population is a childish one, and the Maltese 

[64] 



The Maltese Language 

derive greater pleasure from hurling strings of colored 
paper at one another than their colder brethren of the 
north. Throwing strings of colored paper all over 
buildings, trees, telegraph-poles, and telephone-wires, 
where they hang limply through the day and night, to 
be collected next morning by scavengers, is a pastime 
pursued in Paris, the City of Light, as well as in semi- 
African Malta. Personally, I have never been able to 
see why this curious proceeding should be supposed to 
add to the gayety of nations. 

Sailing westward from Alexandria, traces of the 
Orient may be seen at Malta. Dates, for example, 
are for sale there on every hand. Once I used to like 
dates. But since I have visited Oriental ports I never 
eat dates. Never mind why. The things that happen 
to them have cured me. I have nothing to say. I cast 
no imputations on their fair fame. I do not wish to 
disquiet any person who is fond of them. But I never 
eat dates. 

If the Maltese seem volatile in their carnival customs, 
they are not fickle in their love of their language. The 
English have held Malta for a hundred years — they 
will doubdess hold it as long as their empire stands. 
But powerful as is the English nation, they have not 
succeeded in making the Maltese speak the English 
language. The masses of the people still speak the 
Maltese dialect, a mixture of Italian and Arabic. 
Italian is the official language of the law courts. There 
is a local parliament at Valetta, where the language 
used is Italian, as in the courts. When we were there 

[6S1 



EnglaruTs Levantine Fortress 

the English were endeavoring to displace Italian in 
courts and schools, but not with much success. The 
press and the populace were arrayed in organized oppo- 
sition to English speech. The people of the upper 
classes generally teach their children EngUsh, Maltese, 
and Italian. 

To show us around the fortifications we had an Eng- 
lish-speaking guide. He told us that English is by no 
means generally spoken among the lower orders. There 
are, however, many English sign-boards. On a road- 
side tavern I saw the sign "Wines and Spirits — 
Welcome to All — England Forever." But this 
Maltese mixture of thrift and patriotism was evidently 
concocted for the British tar. 

Very proud of his Anglo-Saxon speech was our Eng- 
lish-speaking guide. But his English was better in 
intent than in s}mtax, for he told us that "Malta is 
heavily fortificated," and also that "Malta produces 
much of rock." This was very evident. Never in my 
Ufe have I seen so much rock to the acre. One of Bret 
Harte's stories begins in the Sierra, with the words: 
"Snow. Snow. Everywhere snow." These words 
rose to my mind as I gazed around me in Malta, and I 
mentally modified them to "Stone. Stone. Every- 
where stone." I used to be surprised at the enormous 
stone-walls to be foimd in Southern Europe, but I have 
never seen anything on the Continent to equal Malta. 
The ordinary roadways running from Valetta to Citta 
Vecchia are lined with miles and miles of stone colon- 
nades made up of Roman arches. The openings in 

[66] 



; ^ ).. 



i:: 



AMC H, LCry.x ANO 
TlLDf N ret,'" i.'M'0 iS. 



Gigantic Fortifications 

these arches have subsequently been filled in with 
rubble masonry, for what purpose heaven only knows. 
The wild e£Elorescence of stone- work on every hand in 
Malta leads one to believe that when the natives had 
nothing to do they put up these long stone colon- 
nades along the roadway, and when they ran out 
of a job again they went to work and filled up the 
arches with rough stone to keep themselves out of 
mischief. 

How rich is Malta in stone is shown by the gigantic 
fortifications aroimd Valetta. They were constructed 
of enormous blocks of stone by the slaves of the Knights 
of Malta, and have been modernized by the British. 
These masses of stone-work are not so impregnable as 
in the ancient days, and the modem cannon which 
crown them are probably better defences than the stone 
walls. But the labyrinth of outworks, the maze of 
moats and trenches cut out of the solid rock, with the 
magazine chambers and modem bomb-proofs which 
supplement them, are by no means to be sneered at. 
Some English officers say that as a fortress Gibraltar 
does not compare with Malta, and they laugh at the 
Russians' claim that Kronstadt and the Neva fortifica- 
tions render St. Petersburg more impregnable than 
Valetta. 

Although it contains so much, the city of Valetta is 
small. Including the suburb of Floriana, it is a mile 
wide and two miles long. This suburb, by the way, 
was named after Pietro Paulo Floriane, the engineer 
who designed the elaborate fortifications, the demi- 

[67] 






England^s Levantine Fortress 

luneSy the curtainSi ditches, ravelins, and bastions 
which surround the city. The colossal fosse which 
shuts off Valetta from Floriana is intended to stop any 
invasion from the land side. It is almost three fifths 
of a mile long, sixty feet deep, thirty feet wide, and cut 
out of the solid rock. 

Floriane's fortifications were proof against siege, but 
not against treachery. While Napoleon was yet Gen- 
eral Bonaparte, Malta fell into the hands of the French. 
It was then Napoleon boasted that when he had sub- 
dued England he would erect his palace in Malta be- 
tween Europe and the Orient. 

During the stay of Bonaparte^s troops they robbed 
the Maltese churches of whatever came handy and was 
easy to carry. From the church of St. John they stole 
the twelve life-size silver statues of the Apostles. There 
still remains a solid silver balustrade, or chancel-rail, 
which the French did not steal, for the reason that a 
foxy priest of the period painted the silver black. Prob- 
ably the most petty theft ever committed by Bonaparte 
was when he robbed the Monte di Pietk, the govern- 
ment pawn shop of Valetta. From this institution he 
stole watches, chains, rings, and other gold and silver 
trinkets belonging to the poor of Malta, to the value of 
nearly a million francs. That Bonaparte was a brigand 
is generally admitted, but this is the first time I ever 
had it borne in upon me that he was a petty-larceny 
thief. Another of Napoleon's peculations was the 
abstraction of the jewel from the " Hand of St. John." 
This relic was enclosed in a splendid gauntlet of gold; 

[68] 



NapoleofCs Thefts 

with it was a heavy gold ring set with a large diamond, 
which ring Napoleon transferred to his own finger. 
Although the painted chancel-rail escaped Bonaparte's 
troops, they stole from the Chapel of Notre Dame a 
sanctuary lamp and chain of solid gold, weighing 
nearly two thousand ounces. 

It was in Napoleon's time that the last Grand Master 
of the Knights treacherously delivered up the fortress 
to the French. Thus, after some hundreds of years, 
the Knights Hospitallers, or Knights of Malta, came 
to an end. It was from their functions as hospital 
attendants that the Knights took their title, '^ hospital* 
lers." Before the First Crusade a hospital or hospice 
for pilgrims was established in Jerusalem, which was 
dedicated to St. John. The Hospitallers were organized 
into a semi-military, semi-monastic society. After the 
Christian Kingdom of Jerusalem fell and the Hospital- 
lers were driven out, they settled at Acre. Years later 
they were again driven out by the Moslems, and retired 
to C)rprus. This island they held for several centuries, 
largely controlling the Mediterranean. When they 
captured the Island of Rhodes, they moved their head- 
quarters thither, receiving much of the forfeited prop- 
erty of the suppressed order of Templar Knights. 
When Sultan Solyman besieged and drove out the 
Knights they wandered from place to place, finally 
settling at Malta, which was given them by the Em- 
peror Charles V. That crafty sovereign doubtless gave 
them this post as an advance guard of Western Chris- 
tianity. The Turks, so believing, made endless efforts 

[69] 



EnglancVs Levantine Fortress 

to destroy them. The story of that time is a record of 
stubborn sieges and bloody battles. 

The character of the warfare between the Knights 
and the Turks is shown by these incidents: When Mus- 
tapha Pasha was besieging Valetta, Knight Viperan in 
his chronicle spoke enthusiastically of the Christian 
Knights' success in poisoning the spring at Marsa, the 
main Turkish camp, by which clever device eight 
hundred Turks died horribly. Thereupon Mustapha 
beheaded all his prisoner Knights; crucifying their 
mutilated trunks on planks, they were thrown into the 
harbor, and floated with the tide to the Fort of St. 
Angelo. In retaliation, the Knights decapitated all 
the Turkish prisoners, and fired into the Turkish camp 
their bleeding heads as cannon-balls. 

Although the Knights were a monastic order, they 
lived anything but a pious life. Their piratical raids on 
land and sea — for they were both land and water 
pirates — gave them constantly prize-money to divide. 
Of their large nimibers of prisoners, they set the men 
to hard labor as slaves, and kept the women as their 
" house-keepers." Having nothing to do between raids, 
they spent most of their time in gambling and de- 
bauchery. In one expedition against the Turks, we 
find in the books, carefully set down in the list of their 
booty, eight hundred Turkish women and ^rls, whom 
they divided up. 

The character of the Knights is pithily indicated in 
this anecdote of the time : When Richard Cceur de 
Lion was in France, Fulco, a priest, bade him beware 

[70] 



The Knights^ Auberges 

how he bestowed his daughters in marriage* *' I have 
no daughters," said the king, "Nay, nay," replied 
Fulco, "all the world knows that you have three — 
Pride, Covetousness, and Lechery." "If these be my 
daughters," retorted the king, "I know how to bestow 
them where they will be well cherished. My eldest I 
give to the Bishops, my second to the priests, and my 
third to the Knights of Malta." 

The Knights, ruled over Malta for some centuries. 
As they were made up of recruits from different coim- 
tries, they were classified by langues^ or " tongues," of 
which there were six: English, Italian, Spanish, Portu- 
guese, French, and tierman. Subsequently, Auvergne, 
Provence, and Castile were added. Hence the odd 
names of the fine old palaces one sees in Valetta to-day. 
Among them are the " Auberge d'ltalie," now the quar- 
ters of the ofl&cers of the Royal Engineers; the "Auberge 
de Castile," now the quarters of the officers of the Royal 
Artillery; the "Auberge de Provence," now the Union 
Club, which has a ballroom with one of the only two 
wooden floors in the city; the "Auberge d' Auvergne," 
now the Courts of Justice; the "Auberge d'Arragon," 
residence of the general commanding. These auberges 
are all imposing palaces of the Italianesque order. 
They are naturally all built of stone, as are aJl Maltese 
houses. 

It w^ not until the French Revolution came that 
the rule of the Elnights of Malta came to an end. By 
its workings they were deprived of nearly all their vast 
revenues. The Grand Master tried every expedient 

[71] 



England's Levantine Fortress 

to raise money, such as melting down gold and silver 
plate and ornaments. But they had reached the end 
of their resources. It was at this time that the French 
were treacherously admitted within the city, and Valetta 
fell. Malta remained in the possession of the French 
for only a short time. The betrayal of the fortress to 
the French by the last Grand Master, Von Hompesch, 
so irritated the Maltese that they rose against the 
French, and were joined by the English, whose fleet 
had just arrived at Malta from its victory at Aboukir. 
The French took refuge behind the walb of the great 
fortifications, where they held out for two years. On 
September 5, 1800, however, they were starved out, and 
the English took possession of Malta, which they have 
ever since retained. 



As we sailed out of the harbor, past the fort, again 
did the view of Valetta with its artificial beauty recall 
to me the higher flights of scenic artists in the great 
theatres of the world. If there be those who may smile 
at likening reality to simulacrum, let me assure them 
that some of the architectural compositions of draughts- 
men are so grand, yet so impossible, that they bring an 
involuntary sigh to the architect that they cannot be 
realized. What are the colossal plans for great groups 
of buildings, universities, governmental palaces, or 
exposition structures, drawn by students at great archi- 
tectural schools — such as the prize plans of those 
architectural students in the Ecole des Beaux Arts who 

[72] 



Picturesque Valetta 

win the Prix de Rome — what is their work but gran- 
diose scene-painting? Such sketches are very beauti- 
fuly if impracticable; would they could be realized, and 
instead of scene-painting in wash and distemper, be 
carried out in steel and stone. What was the Court 
of Honor in the Chicago Fair of 1893 but glorified 
stage-setting and scene-painting? Yet fragile and 
ephemeral as was that creation of lath, plaster, and 
staff, it was one of the most beautiful sights at night my 
eyes ever rested upon. 

I had always con^dered Malta a barren rock — a 
grim and forbidding fortress. It is much more than 
that. It is a picture. The setting and the coloring 
are due to nature — the rest is due to the hand of man. 
It is very artifidal. But it is very beautiful as well. 



[731 



i 



IV 

THE CITY OF THE VIOLET 

CROWN 




IV 



THE CITY OF THE VIOLET CROWN 

[HEN I was a boy I used to tantalize my- 
self with the poetic names of the foreign 
cities that some day I hoped to see. There 
was "The City by the Golden Horn," 
Stamboul; "The Eternal City," Rome; "The City of 
Palms," Jericho; "The City of the Sun," Baalbec; and 
"The City of the Violet Crown," Athens. This last 
always appealed most vividly to my imagination. It 
had color, melody, and rhythm; and while the dty of 
Athens, quA Athens, did not appeal to me perhaps so 
strongly as did Rome, its sobriquet was even more 
fascinating. For there is an intrinsic magic in the 
sound of words. There is a sound-meaning as well as 
a verbal meaning. "Onomatopoeia" rhetoricians call 
it There is much of this sound-meaning in our Saxon 
speech — the "buzzing" of bees, the "hissing" of 
serpents, the "booming" of cannon — do not these 
words express their meanings by their soxmds? So 
with names; so with sobriquets; so with epithets. 

So whenever I thought of Athens I did not think of 
Phidias, of Lycurgus, of Pericles, of Aspasia — I used 

[77] 



The City of the Violet Crown 

to think of the sobriquet "The City of the Violet 
Crown." Naturally, the meaning of this poetic sobri- 
quet will readily occur to the reader — it comes from 
the purple and amethystine haze with which sunrise 
and sunset crown the Acropolis. 

Did we see the violet crown around the heaven- 
kissing hill? Welly no. It was morning when we 
ascended the Acropolis — a cold gray mom — for it is 
the fashion in Europe to ascend many high places to 
see the sun rise. Thousands every year go up the 
Swiss peaks to see the sun rise; it is nearly always foggy 
or cloudy on Pilatus and the Rigi; when it is not foggy 
it is raining. Therefore the thousands of Swiss tourists 
rarely see the sun rise, but when they come down, they 
always lie about it, and say they did. 

So on the Acropolis. We saw no sunrise; we saw 
a fog, but it was not violet; it was a dingy gray, and it 
was not shaped like a crown, but in large, shapeless gobs. 

There were other disillusions about our ascent to the 
Parthenon. As we drove up the road that winds around 
the Acropolis, we encountered a large drum-corps prac- 
tising in one place and a bugle-corps executing fantasies 
in another. These signs of modem militarism were 
our first impressions in approaching the Acropolis. 
The next most notable sight was the number of goats 
browsing at the base of the famous hill. Scattered 
among the goats were shabby gentlemen of leisure, 
some in petticoats, some in trousers; they were seated 
at scattered tables on the hillside. Not a few were bent 
forward, with their heads pillowed in their arms, lepos- 

[78] 






I , 



J-x. 



* -Y 









Solitary Tipplers 

ing on the little tables — asleep, although it was yet 
early in the forenoon. The sight of a number of gentle- 
men, slightly intoxicated, and asleep in the morning 
hours, seated, with table and chair, far from any visible 
house, and surrounded by nothing more companionable 
than goats — such a sight was certainly peculiar, even 
in Greece. As we wound our way up the road, how- 
ever, a turn over one of the flanks of the hill revealed a 
little roadside grog-shop. This was a ''caf£," and 
scattered in various directions for two or three hundred 
yards were other caf6 tables with solitary drinkers. 
This fashion of scattering caf^ tipplers over an acre or 
two of ground seems peculiar to Greece. We even 
saw one man seated at such a caf^ table in the middle 
of the dusty road. What a remarkable place, time, 
and manner in which to be convivial I 

These remarks must not be construed as limiting 
intoxication to set hours. In a free country every free 
man has an inalienable right to get drunk at the hour 
and in the way which best ple^ises hinL Still, even in 
convivial countries, there has always existed a slight 
prejudice against a gendeman showing up early in the 
morning with a jag. If it lasts over from the night 
before, it is not considered so bad. If, however, the 
joyous gentleman gathered it in the morning hours, 
it is frowned upon. If I am not mistaken, the fixing 
of the legal marriage-hours in England before twelve 
noon was because so many yoimg gentlemen of good 
family were apt to be intoxicated in the [afternoon. 
While in this condition they were apt to marry bona 

[79] 



I The City of the Violet Crown 

robaSf bar-maids, beggar-maids, and thieves. This 
gave pain to Benedict's lady-mamma, and eke to papa. 
As the most convivial of young Britons would generally 
have sobered up from last night by eight of the next 
day, it was deemed safe to fix the hour of tying the 
knot before twelve. But even with this paternal law, 
careful drunkards in Britain have often succeeded in 
evading the statute, and in enriching the thin blue blood 
of a himdred earls with a blend of the choicest gutter- 
blood from Whitechapel or Seven Dials. 

It is for a similar reason that the hour for courts- 
martial in Great Britain was fixed. In the good old 
days officers and gentlemen were usually drunk after 
dinner, which was the mid-day meal. But it was con- 
sidered inadvisable for a board of drunken officers to 
judge and condenm a sober private. 

I remember once in Honolulu being present when a 
court was adjourned to view the premises in a case on 
trial. They were received in the hospitable island 
fashion — at eleven o'clock in the morning they were 
given large "high balls" of Scotch and soda. This 
alcoholic juridical procedure shocked us colder-blooded 
northerners; we never before saw a court judicially 
taking a drink so early in the morning. 



From a mediaeval hamlet, Athens has grown to a mod- 
em city of over one himdred thousand. It was laid out 
by a German engineer, and is proud of its straight streets 
and its Occidental aspect. The main thoroughfares are 

[80] 



Newness of Athens 

Hermes Street and i¥x)lus Street, both of which start 
from Constitution Square. This is the centre of the 
city, and on one of its sides is the royal palace. 

Athens itself, as a city, is insufferable. It is raw, 
garish, new, staring, crude. It smells of paint. It 
reeks of varnish. It is redolent of last week. It is the 
newest city one sees in the Levant — or even in south- 
em Europe. It is dusty, it is noisy, it is vulgar. Every- 
thing in it is imitation. The palaces are imitation. 
The hotels are imitation. The army is imitation. 
The dty is a sham. It is a joy to leave the common- 
place streets, to quit the insufferable dty, and to climb 
the Acropolis. There, everything is calm and peaceful, 
and the magnificent ruins are restful. There only, in 
all Athens, do you find a spot which is not oppressively 
new and raw. 

The royal palace is one of the newest and the rawest 
of all the raw, new buildings. It is a plain structure 
on the packing-case order of architecture. It looks 
very much as if the upper three stories of one of Chi- 
cago's plain sky-scrapers had been sawed off by some 
Enceladus and set down in Athens. This royal palace 
has in front of it two acres of dusty gravel, with not a 
blade of grass or a solitary tree. Diagonally across this 
gravel-patch there run two intersecting X-like paths, 
where the natives "cross lots'* to save time in going 
home. In front of this royal park runs the roadway. 
On the other side of it is a scanty line of forlorn and 
dust-covered pepper-trees. These form the boundary 
of Constitution Square, the main plaza of Athens. 

[8i] 



The City of the Violet Crown 

This square is also mainly made up of gravel. There 
are no grass lawns, and only a few trees. It is beau- 
tified with iron caf6 chairs and iron gas-pipe arches, 
which doubtless burst forth into loyal fiame on King 
George's birthday. 

When King George drove through the streets of his 
loyal dty of Athens, little excitement was to be dis- 
cerned; the loimging officers saluted, and an occasional 
civilian took off his hat. But most of the throng re- 
mained indifferent. I could not but be struck by the 
difference between republican France and monarchical 
Greece. In monarchical Greece the King of the Hel- 
lenes moved to and fro almost unnoticed, like any other 
gentleman. Yet in Aix-les-Bains — the famous water- 
ing-place in Savoy, whither he goes annually to take 
the waters — King George is received with regal splen- 
dor. At the Casino a. part of the terrace is railed off 
for him and his suite. So on the terrace of the Hotel 
Splendide the royal apartments open through the low 
French windows on the terrace, and within a railed 
space the king and his courtiers sit, smoke cigarettes, 
lounge, and chat ; on the non-royal parts of the veranda 
Pierpont Morgan and other American millionnairesgaze 
enviously at Grecian royalty. Probably Pierpont 
Morgan could buy up Athens and not feel at all pocket- 
pinched. But at Aix-les-Bains he must keep off the 
Grecian grass. 



The antiquities, the historic spots, the venerable 
ruins, in and around Athens, are innumerable. Start- 

[82] 



I 

/ 



The Modern Stadion 

ing from the centre of the city, one of the first you see 
is the Arch of Hadrian, near the royal palace. It 
formerly cut oflf the old Greek city from the Roman 
town of Hadrian. Not far away rise some sixteen 
gigantic Corinthian columns, all that remains of the 
Olympieion, also completed under Hadrian. Within 
its precincts, there once stood one hundred Corinthian 
colimms; even the few that remain are imposing in their 
lofty grandeur. A short distance from the Olympieion 
is the Stadion, scene of centuries of athletic games. 
The Stadion was laid out by Lycurgus in a natural 
hollow, which was enlarged and made symmetrical by 
the hand of man. Part of the ancient walls remain, 
but the entire Stadion is now practically reconstructed 
in white marble. The work was still going on while 
we were there. In fact, it is already in use, and served 
in the recent great revival of the Olympian games, to 
which were bidden athletes from all over the world. 
The reconstruction is not the work of the state, but of a 
private individual, Mr. Averof, of Alexandria, who has 
already expended on the work over two millions of 
francs. Not far from the Arch of Hadrian there is a 
small, circular, temple-like building called the Monu- 
ment of Lysicrates; the victors in the great games of 
ancient Greece were in the habit of exhibiting on these 
monimients the prizes won by them at the Stadion. 

Leaving the lower ground of the city proper, one 
takes the winding roadway which climbs the Acropolis 
hill. First is encflbntered the Theatre of Dyonysius, 
which was brought to light from under heaps of rub- 

[83] 



1 

I 



The City of the Violet Crown 

bish some two score years ago. It is the typical ancient 
Greek theatre, consisting of stage, orchestra, audito- 
rium, and proscenium. The marble seats rise up in 
rows and tiers like those of the Stadion, or the Roman 
amphitheatres — or a modem tent-circus to be under- 
standed of the small boy. The seats are in the form of 
a semi-circle, facing the stage. This Theatre of Dyo- 
nysius — sometimes called the Theatre of Bacchus — 
seated thirty thousand spectators. On sitting down^ 
one notes that the theatrical syndicates of andent 
Greece provided plenty of room for the spectators' 
legs and feet. Would that the modem managers would 
be as generous. 

The next most conspicuous sight at the base of the 
Acropolis is the Oddon of Herod Atticus. It seems 
once to have been a roofed theatre, and bears every 
indication of having been partially destroyed by fire. 
Going up the winding road, it branches ofF here to the 
Thesdon. This is supposed to be a temple to Theseus, 
although some ascribe it to Hercules. It is a very 
beautiful building, and so well preserved that one finds 
it difficult to believe that it is two thousand years old. 
In this regard it is the finest min of andent Greece. 
Looking down upon it from the Acropolis hdghts it 
looks like a modem imitation of an andent building. 

Continuing our climb, we soon reach the Areopagus, 
or Hill of Mars. It is here that the andent court held 
its sittings. Soon we are at the top of the AcropoUs, 
which is a rocky plateau about five hundred feet high. 
Pisistratus built here a temple to Athena, but it was 

[841 



The Acropolis Top 

under Pericles that the splendor of the Acropolis began. 
The temple of Athena Nike is a beautiful little ruin 
constructed entirely of Pentelic marble. The name 
comes from the famous Nike fastening her sandal, 
which belonged to the frieze of which Lord Elgin ''con- 
veyed" four panels to Great Britain with the other 
Elgin marbles. Few of the originals remain; they have 
been replaced by terra-cotta reproductions. The Nike 
tying her sandal is in the Acropolis Museum. 

From the Temple of Nike the view is magnificent 
— one sees the Bay of Phaleron, the peninsula, the 
harbor and town of Piraeus, with Salamis, and other 
islands lying off the harbor, while around are seen many 
pinnade-like hills, and farther away the moimtains of 
Aigolis. 

A magnificent ruin is the Propylsa; it occupies the 
west side of the plateau. From here a footway climbs 
to the inner precincts of the Acropolis. At the right 
rise the ruins of the Parthenon; to the left the Erech- 
theion. Not far from here we see a large platform cut 
out of the rock, on which once stood a colossal statue 
of Athena, the work of Phidias. The statue was in 
bronze, sixty-six feet high, in full armor, and leaning 
on a lance. The gilded lance-point formed a land- 
mark to mariners. 

Nobody ever saw this statue, as it was melted down 
about two thousand years ago. But the exact height 
is accurately known — or imagined. 

The Parthenon stands on the highest point of the 
Acropolis hill. Ictinos and Callicrates were the archi- 

[851 



The City of the Violet Crown 

tects, Phidias was the sculptor^ and the promoter was 
PerideSi for he was the man who raised the money. 
It was open for business about 438 B.c.y when the 
chryselephantine statue of Athena was erected. The 
gigantic coliunns of the Parthenon are even more im- 
posing as they lie in segments on the ground than as 
they stand. If you walk up to one of these broken 
pillars and measure your height against it you will find 
that its diameter will be several inches greater than your 
height, even if you are a taU man. The drums of these 
colunms were so perfectly finished that they were fitted 
together without cement. 

While attending a dass, as a youth, where we listened 
to lectures on architecture, I remember my surprise on 
learning of the necessity for convex colunms, for swol- 
len rectangles, for diverging parallels, and for distorted 
right lines generally in dassic architecture, and of course 
in modem as well. These eye-puzzlers are plainly 
apparent in these gigantic Greek ruins. If you sight 
along the stylobate, or platform on which the columns 
stand, you can see how markedly it diverges from the 
horizontal. So with the steps — they are not exactly 
horizontal. So with the colunms — they swell in the 
middle. All the pillars lean a little toward the centre of 
the building. These apparent errors — except the last 
— are made to correct the inaccuracy of the human eye. 

In the ruins of the Parthenon the keen-eyed see 
color. The triglyphs are said to have been blue and 
the metopes red, while the drops below the triglyphs 
were probably gilded. It may be interesting to note 

[86] 



1 I 



V . i. i , I 






Models of the Parthenon 

that the Parthenon has Doric, the Erechtheion lonici 
and the 01)rmpieion G>rinthian columns. 

In the central aisle of the Parthenon is a dark quad- 
rangle of pavement, on which stood the statue of Athena 
Parthenos, also the work of Phidias. It was thirty- 
nine feet high, and is said to have been made of gold 
and ivory, and to have cost forty-four talents of gold, 
or about three quarters of a million dollars. 

Near the north margin of the Acropolis lies the 
Erechtheion, which contains the shrines of Athena and 
other deities. The Portico of the Caryatides is famous 
— six figures of maidens larger than life support the 
roof on their heads ; one of these is in terra-cotta, the 
original having been removed to London by Lord Elgin. 

After a visit to these magnificent ruins one can have 
some idea of what the Acropolis hill must have looked 
like in the days of "the glory that was Greece and the 
grandeur that was Rome.'' 

Many Americans have seen the beautiful colored 
model of the Parthenon in the Metropolitan Museum, 
New York. There are several such models to be found 
in the museums of European cities. I do not know 
whether any model exists in colors of all the Acropolis 
ruins, but after seeing the colored Parthenon model 
one can readily imagine what must have been the view 
of the Acropolis hill. Imagine passing through the 
Propylaea, seeing the Erechtheion on the left, the Par- 
thenon on the right, and the colossal statue of Athena 
in gold and ivory. Think of gazing upon these mag- 
nificent buildings in white and black and colored 

[87] 



The City of the Violet Crown 

marbles, bearing the masterpieces of such sculptors as 
Phidias, and all ablaze with colors and with gold. It 
must have been a very different sight from our modem 
ideas of cold marble buildings and statuary. 



There was a time when I believed that all ancient 
statuary was without color. True, at times I read or 
heard that there were fanatics who believed that the 
ancient Greeks used color on their marbles. But I 
looked upon these as heterodox persons, like the be- 
lievers in the Bacon-Shakespeare theory. I had so 
often heard the words "cold, calm, colorless marble" 
that I had come to believe the idea of colored statues 
to be barbaric. But on visiting Athens and viewing 
the many marbles in the Acropolis Museum, the The- 
seion, and the Erechtheion, no one can doubt that the 
old Greek sculptors rioted in color. 

I have since looked the matter up, and I find that I 
have lagged far behind the times. The art critics in 
but a few years have had a change of heart. Their 
fluctuating opinion might thus be sununed up : 

Thesis — The Ancients did not use 
CoLOK IN Marble Statuary 

FIRST AXIOM 

Circa 1883 — "It is preposterous to suppose that 
the great plastic works of antiquity were other than 
pure white marble." 

[88] 



Color on Ancient Statuary 

SECOND AXIOM 

Circa 1884 — "If the works of the ancient sculptors 
had any color, it was nothing more than creamy or 
ivory tints," 

THIRD AXIOM 

Circa 1885 — "If it be admitted that the ancients 
used color in statuary, they must have confined them- 
selves to flesh tints." 

FOURTH AXIOM 

Circa 1886 — "If, as is probable, flesh tints were 
used by the ancients in their statuary, no other color 
than metal was permitted, which would be needed for 
armor and weapons — probably gold and bronze." 

PIFTH AXIOM 

Circa 1887 — "If colors other than flesh tints and 
metallic hues were used by the ancient sculptors, they 
must have been neutral tints, such as dull reds, buffs, 
and browns." 

SIXTH AXIOM 

Circa 1888 — "No one to-day can refuse to admit that 
the colors used by the ancient sculptors were vivid 



ones." 



SEVENTH AXIOM 



Circa 1890 — "It is preposterous to deny that the 
ancient sculptors colored their statues. To state that 
they confined themselves to neutral tints is equally 

[89] 



The City of the Violet Crown 

preposterous. Vivid color would have been needed 
fitly to complement the great works of Phidias and to 
enable them to harmonize with the azure skies, the 
sapphire seas, the intense reds, the cobalt blues, the 
emerald greens of Greece." 

Ergo — To the Ancients, Marble Statuary 
Without Color was Unknown 

This seems to me a condensed table of the change 
in critical opinion on this color question. I frankly 
admit that I was behind the times. Now I am up-to- 
date. Now I am inclined to think that when the Acrop- 
olis was in all its glory, and when the great statue of 
Pallas Athena stood upon that famous hill, there must 
have been fully as much color on these magnificent 
marbles as one now sees at the Eden Mus6e or at 
Madame Tussaud's Wax Works. 

It occurs to me, however, that some readers may look 
upon the preceding paragraphs as being entirely whim- 
sical. It is true that they are not verbatim quotations 
from critics of standing. But they might easily be — 
they typify a tendency. To show that they have a very 
substantial foundation I append two genuine para- 
graphs from well-known writers on art, separated by 
forty years. 

From "A Handbook of Sculpture" by Richard West- 
macott. Professor of Sculpture in the Royal Academy 
(1856): 

" The rich quality of surface that appears more or less in woiIes 
of marble ... the andents appear to have completed by a process 

[90] 



Chromatic Recantation 

idiich may mean not only nibbing or polishing, but applying some 
oomposition, such as hot wax, to give a soft, glowing color to the 
surface. Many of the andent statues certainly exhibit the appear- 
ance of some foreign substance having slightly penetrated the surface 
of the woik to about one eighth of an inch, and its color is of a 
wanner tint than the marble below it. Its object, probably, with 
the ancients, as vdth modem sculptors, has been simply to get rid 
of the glare and freshness of appearance that is sometimes objected 
to in a recently finished work, by giving a general virarmth to the 
color of the marble, a process, be it observed, quite distinct from 
. . . painting sculpture with various tints, in imitation of the natural 
color of the complexion, hair, and eyes." 

From "Ancient Athens" (1902) by Professor Ernest 
A. Gardner, formerly Director of the British School at 
Athens, and Yates Professor of Archaeology in Univer- 
sity College, London: 

" The rich and lively effect produced by these statues [from the 
Temple of Athena] is in great measure due to the good preservation 
of their colouring, which has for the first time given us a dear 
notion of the application of colour to sculpture in early Greece. 
No gannent is covered with a complete coat of paint, • . . but 
they have richly coloured borders, and are sprigged with finely 
drawn decorations, the colours used being mosUy rich and dark 
ones — daik green, . . . dark blue, purple, or red. The effect of 
this colouring, whether on face or garments, is to set off and 
enhance by contrast the beautiful tint and texture of the marble. 
Those who have only seen white marble statues without any touches 
of colour to give definition to the modelling and variety to the 
tone can have no notion of the beauty, life, and vigour of which 
the material is capable." 



Not the least remarkable thing about the Acropolis 
is the vast amount of rubbish to be found there. Where 
did it come from? The propensity of the race to 

[91] 



/ 



The City of the Violet Crown 

'' dump rubbish " in all sorts of odd places is well known* 
This propensity has brought about the great disparity 
between andent and modem city levels. The Forum, 
for example, is far below the level of the modem Roman 
street Andent Jemsalem is over one hundred feet 
below most of the modem levd. But whence came 
the rubbish in the Acropolis? The hill is a high one; 
the climb fatiguing. Why lug mbbish to its top ? If 
the race is prone to indiscriminate dumping of mbbish, 
it is more prone to laziness. How then account for 
the Acropolis mbbish? 

The Acropolis is almost a solid mass of rock. There 
is a sparse covering of soil, out of which the rock crops 
at every turn. Remembering Bret Harte's happy title 
for the select verses of California's poets in the eariy 
quartz-mining days, I thought that the phrase "Acrop- 
olis Outcroppings " would make an excellent title for 
the sentimental musings of the many tourists who dimb 
that famous hill. In listening to them as they rave 
over the surroundings, it is easily to be seen that they 
rave to order. They are ready to admire ever3rthing, 
whatever it may be. One day I noted a particularly 
sentimental lady who was gushing over every object 
visible in the landscape. When she was shown the 
hideous modem building called the "royal palace," 
she gushed over that. When she was shown the other 
hideous building inhabited by the prince royal, she 
gushed over that too. 

" And what is that other large building — that one 
there on the hill? Is that another palace?" 

[9»1 



t 



1 



Acropolis Outcroppings 

"Dat? No — dat no palace — dat de lunatic asy- 
lum," replied the guide. 

But the sentimental lady was not to be squelched. 
'' Just look at that lovely circular building in the plain/' 
she said to her companion; ''it reminds me of the tomb 
of Cecilia Metella on the Roman Campagna. What 
is that round structure, guide — is that a tomb ? " 

''Dat round ting?" replied the guide, following her 
finger. "Dat not a tomb — dat de gas-works." 

But the view from the Acropolis is magnificent 
enough to inspire even the most stolid, not to speak of 
sentimental female tourists. So beautiful is the view 
that you always see loungers on the crest of the hill. It 
is a high, stiff climb, and it is surprising to find that 
these loungers are neither guides nor pedlers, but 
simply idlers, such as soldiers and other thinking men. 
It must be the beautiful view which takes them there, 
for the drinking-shops are all around the base of the hill. 

Above I have spoken of the absent panels in some of 
the Acropolis friezes. There has always been much 
difference of opinion as to Lord Elgin's rape of the 
famous marbles now in the British Museum. For a 
generation Grecophiles have roared over his "van- 
dalism." But in London the marbles may be seen by 
himdreds of thousands, while in Greece they would be 
seen only by scores. Then, too, had he left them in 
Greece, they would probably all have been stolen by 
private thieves. There is much to be said for Elgin. 
His chief crime would seem to be that he left any 
marbles at all. It was very careless of him — he 

[93] 



\ 



The City of the Violet Crown 

neglected to take much which he might easily have 
secured. Just think of that beautiful figure of Nike 
adjusting her sandal — he left that behind. For this 
neglect his memory should be covered with ignominy 
by a discriminating British populace. 



What was the most striking scene I witnessed in 
Athens — the city of Pericles, of Phidias, of Aspasia, 
the City of the Violet Crown? It was this. A gang 
of mountebanks drove their wagon into the main square 
in front of the royal palace. Two of them in grotesque 
garb, with red noses, painted faces, and wigs, mounted 
a wagon and began their horse-play; other mounte- 
banks beat the brass drum and rattled the tambourine. 
The two mountebanks in the wagon went through all 
manner of clownish tricks, one feigning to pull the 
other's teeth, to vaccinate him, and to set a broken 
shoulder, which he did by putting his foot in the other's 
arm-pit and pulling strenuously on the injured arm. 
This was interspersed by violent quarrels between 
doctor and patient, and belaborings with stuffed clubs, 
to the great delight of the assembled crowd, who were 
probably descendants of the men of Thermopyke. It 
is only fair to say that the crowd was made up of the 
lower orders, although more than once I noticed dap- 
per army officers approaching the outskirts of the crowd 
and listening for a few moments under the pretenoe 
of doubting in which direction to go. 

[94] 



) 



Warriors and Tramps 

By the way, you will have noticed that in our busy 
American cities the hurrying pedestrians never hesitate 
as to where they intend to turn. When they reach a 
comer, they turn sharply to the right or to the left. 
When you see a man reach a comer and stop — looking 
up and down doubtfully, as who should say ^' which 
way shall I wander?" — he is usually a tramp. All 
comers are alike to him. In Greece, the army officers 
remind^ me irresistibly of our tramps. They seem to 
have nothing to do. They spend their time sitting in 
front of caffe, or aimlessly wandering about the streets, 
and when they reach a comer they pause, hesitate, scan 
both directions, and finally drift doubtfully in one, 
exacdy like our American tramps. 

This is another scene I saw imder the windows of 
the royal palace. Into G)nstitution Square, one day, 
there flounced and flaunted a gang of merry maskers. 
It was, I believe, carnival day according to the Greek 
calendar. These mununers wore shabby, well-worn 
costumes, that had evidently done duty many times. 
They carried with them a pole mounted on an iron 
base; from the top of the pole depended multicolored 
ribbons. Soon they were whirling through the mazes 
of the merry May-pole dance, to the music of a barrel- 
organ, its crank turned by a masker. This was all 
done so quickly that for a moment it seemed spon- 
taneous — if masks and maskers ever are; even the 
May-pole with its practicable iron feet might have been 
forgotten. But when a masker, made up as a white- 
&ced clown, suddenly assailed the spectators with a 

[95] 



The Cify of the Violet Crown 

rattling money-box, the crowd melted away, and the 
merry masquerade became perfunctory and mechani- 
cal. Well, masquerades sometimes are in other places 
than Athens. 

The money of Athens is a little difficult for strangers 
to understand. The country is not yet on a coin basis, 
and most of the money is paper. The principal denomi- 
nations are "drachmas" and "leptas." All kinds of 
European money are apparently current, but the natives 
do not seem to be quite certain what they are worth. 
At a caf£ one day three Americans were seated next 
to us. They ordered two chocolates and one ice. After 
an animated pantomime they decided that the bill was 
sixty cents, which they translated into three francs. 

They gave the waiter an English half-crown, and he 
brought them back three Greek sixpences in change. 
He then modestly (and expectantly) drew aside. The 
trio then discussed whether they would give him a whole 
sixpence for his tip. As they did not know how to 
change it, they concluded to give him the sixpence. 
But presently the waiter returned in much excitement. 
He gathered up the three sixpences which still remained 
on the tray, and informed them that these coins made 
up the exact amount of their bill. The entire caf ^ then 
gathered and debated the question in seventeen or 
eighteen languages. The waiter turned out to be right 
— the half-crown was apparently about three Greek 
drachmae. But both parties to the transaction with- 
drew with injured feelings — the waiter because he got 
no tip, and the Americans because they got no change. 

[96] 



STAMBOUL SEEN FROM THE SEA 



/" 




STAMBOUL SEEN FROM THE SEA 

fT was a beautiful morning, and we were 
bound from the Piraeus to Constantinople, 
steaming along the waterway between 
Europe and Asia. We had left the iEgean 
Sea behind us, and were in the Dardanelles. There 
flashed into my mind the old joke about the new- 
rich family, who, on their return from Europe, were 
asked, "When you were abroad did you see the 
Dardanelles?" The family looked puzzled for a 
moment, but Materfamilias, with great presence of 
mind, prompdy replied, "Oh, yes; we met them 
in Rome." I thought of springing this aged story 
on my fellow-passengers, but it was so venerable that 
I refrained. At luncheon, however, I heard the 
story told by the ship's wit; it was greeted with 
roars of laughter, and was received by all hands as 
perfectiy new. 

Beside me, on the ship's deck, stood a European 
dragoman — one of those queer mongrels one meets in 
the Orient, the son of an English father and a Greek 
mother — speaking heaven knows how many tongues 

[99] 



>< 



\ 






Stamboul Seen from the Sea 

with equal fluency. His English, by the way, was 
flavored with a strong cockney accent. Him I asked, 
"What is the name of that town on the Asiatic side?" 
indicating a city on the starboard hand. 

" Better call it Dardanelles/' briefly replied the drago- 
man. 

At this I took some umbrage. Quoth I to myself, 
"Evidently this fellow thinks I cannot pronounce it, 
so he gives me the name of the waterway instead of the 
town." I determined to look it up, and did so when 
I went below. In the great atlas on the cabin table I 
found this pleasing variety of names, '* SuUaniyeh- 
Kalesiy or Chanak-Kalesi, generally called by Eun>- 
peans Dardanelles^* I did not wonder at the drago- 
man's laconidsm. 

I noticed that some of my fellow-passengers pro- 
nounced the name "Dardane^j," while their favorite 
pronunciation of "Bosphorus" did not rhyme with 
"phosphorus," but rather with "before us." 

Before being permitted to land at a Turkish port it is 
necessary to secure a " tezkereh " ; otherwise you may 
land, but you may not leave. We already had pass- 
ports vis6d by a Turkish consul in America, but "tez- 
kerehs" were necessary in addition — ten francs apiece. 
The blank forms issued for filling out these documents 
were in French on one side, Turkish on the other. One 
passenger went to the purser with his French form, and 
pointing to the phrase catdeur des cheveux, asked: 
"What does that mean?" 

"That?" said the purser; "that means color of hair,*' 

[lOO] 



^r 



Constantinople's Ideal Site 

"The h — it does," replied the passenger. "I 
s'posed it meant color of eyes, and I wrote blue.^* 

The dty of the Sultan looks much better from the 
water than it does when viewed ashore. The tourist 
who touches at the port, who remains on board, and who 
sees the city only from the sea, retains an entirely differ- 
ent impression from that of him who goes ashore. Seen 
from the water, Constantinople is very beautiful. Seen 
from the shore, it is the apotheosis of everything that is 
filthy and foul. He who stays on board will take away 
a much more picturesque impression. 

The site of Constantinople is ideal. There is prob- 
ably no finer site for a city in the world. It is situated 
on the Bosphorus, between the Mediterranean and the 
Black Sea; it lies between Europe and Asia, for Scutari 
is a part of Constantinople, and Scutari is on the Asiatic 
shore; it is cut off by natural boundaries into municipal 
divisions, for the Golden Horn divides Stamboul, the 
Mohammedan, from Galata, the Christian dty; so the 
Bosphorus divides Scutari, the Asiatic, from Constanti- 
nople, the European dty. Yet all of these places make 
one great dty under the general name ''Constantinople." 
And this great dty is guarded also by nature : it has the 
Sea of Marmora dose at hand, with fortifications at 
either end of this great water highway, rendering the 
dty tmassailable by sea; it has a peninsular conforma- 
tion which also renders it, when properly fortified, im- 
pregnable by land as well as by sea. With all these 
factors in its favor, no wonder that Constantinople has 
always been looked upon as an ideal site for a dty. 

[lOl] 



^ 

\ 



Stamboul Seen from the Sea 

That so many races should have battled over Byzan- 
tium for so many hundreds of years is not surprising. 

Beautiful, picturesque, though she may be, seen from 
the sea, Constantinople is unlovely from the land. What 
God has done at this meeting of the waters is entirely 
admirable. But the handiwork of man as there set 
forth excited sometimes pity, and sometimes scorn. 

The bridges across the Golden Horn are such ven- 
erable, patched-up wrecks that one wonders why the 
Turks use them so freely. One day, not long ago, a 
piece of the lower bridge fell into the water, carrying 
with it three or four dozen Turks, who went to the 
Mohammedan heaven sooner than they had intended. 

In the Golden Horn there lie rows of Turkish war- 
ships. These grim black monsters look formidable, 
but I was told that some of them had not been to sea 
for twelve years, and that their engineers do not dare 
to get up steam. 

It is said that in the old days the Turks extended a 
huge chain across the mouth of the Golden Horn, to 
prevent war vessels from entering. No such barrier is 
there nowadays; probably the Turks consider the Gol- 
den Horn bridges to be sufficient barriers against hos- 
tile ships. But they are such trumpery structures that 
a fleet of modem battleships could probably steam 
through them with very little jar. 

One of the striking features of Constantinople is its 
gigantic wall, parts of which date from the time of Con- 
stantine the Great. There are numerous towers along 
the walls, and the triumphal arch still stands, through 

[102] 



s 



\^' 



Harem or Hospital 

which the Byzantine emperors made state*^entries. A 
view of the massive walls is interesting, but the way 
around them is through the filthiest and most dangerous 
quarters of Constantinople. The street boys are in 
the habit of hurling stones at visitors, and often have to 
be driven away by the dragomans. In the great em- 
brasures and niches of the walls all sorts of huts and 
hovels have been built, and even some houses of a 
higher grade — for Stamboul. When asked, oiu: 
dragoman assured us that the dwellers were by no 
means destitute of title to their ground, for they had 
acquired ''permits" to build their houses there. Fancy 
holding real estate in fee-simple in a hole in a city's 
mediaeval wall. Probably these "permits" were given 
by minor officials, from the viziers down; that they 
received good bakshish for them is also probable. 

The wall of Constantine extends across the neck of 
the peninsula, and not along the sea-shore; it was in- 
tended as a defence against invasion from the land side. 
There is a wall along the water's edge, but it is called 
the ''Harbor Wall," and extends from about the point 
where the Byzantine wall begins, to the Old Seraglio. 
This "Harem" on Seraglio Point is inhabited prin- 
cipally by the wives and favorites of former Sultans. 
According to rumor, many of these ladies are extremely 
old; this rumor is probably true, as some of the inmates 
date back to periods before Sultan Abdul Aziz. Here 
is another illusion gone! According to the poets and 
the romancers the chief seraglio in the capital dty of 
the Grand Turk would mean a collection of beautiful 

[103] 



Stamhoul Seen from the Sea 

Circassians and voluptuous odalisques. In reality, 
it seems to be a cross between a hospital and an Old 
Ladies' Home, and the Grand Turk never goes there. 

Within the Seraglio grounds is the new Museum, 
erected in 1891 to house the sarcophagi of Sidon. Here 
may be seen one of the most beautiful productions of 
Greek art — the so-called "Tomb of Alexander," of 
Pentelic marble, unearthed with twenty-one other 
sarcophagi at Sidon, in 1887. Its form is that of a 
Greek temple and its carving and coloring are exquisite. 
Among its polychrome sculptures in relief, representing 
scenes of battle and the chase, there is a portrait head 
of Alexander the Great — hence the name, "Tomb of 
Alexander." 

In Stamboul, there are miles of markets in the streets. 
I do not mean the great bazaars, most of which are 
covered. But along the open streets are booths con* 
taining all manner of articles. Food and wearing 
apparel are the most conmion, and of these, bread, 
dates, and figs seem to be the staple articles. These 
eatables are exposed in the open, and considering the 
awful filth of the streets, it makes one shudder at the 
thought of eating them. I suppose the foreigners' 
hotels of Pera, the European quarter, get their supplies 
from other sources. As we put up in Pera, I sincerely 
hope so. 

There are markets of different nationalities in Stam- 
boul. The dty is divided into various quarters — the 
Greek quarter, the Jewish quarter, etc. — and each 
quarter seems to have its own market On the out- 

[104] 



\ 



s 

^ 




:. :\ 



Crowded and Filthy Streets 

lying streets, up toward the Sweet Waters ol Europei 
there are spaces of ground where other markets are 
held on certain days of the week. Among them you 
see old-clothes markets, like the '^ rag fairs " of England, 
and other markets in which are sold old kettles, worn- 
out pots, ancient pans, rusty ironmongery, decrepit 
tongs, broken-winded bellows, toothless curry-combs 
— objects that the poorest beggar in our land would 
not take the trouble to carry away. 

In some of these crowded market streets you often 
see a cobbler seated in a hole in the sidewalk, only his 
head protruding from the hole; behind him is a lifted 
trap-door, fastened to the wall. There are many of 
these cobbler-shops, and the cobbler shuts up shop by 
letting down the trap-door. Often I saw these cobblers 
working in their dens in filthy streets, where gutters 
filled with sewage trickled under their very noses. 

One of the peculiarities of Stamboul is the insolent 
demeanor of the horseman to the footman. Many 
times daily you will see some rascal of a cabman trying 
to drive down a well-dressed man on the street. The 
drivers rarely take the trouble to shout as they approach 
pedestrians. I was often filled with wonder at observ- 
ing the meekness with which well-dressed Turks on 
foot submitted to such treatment from shabby Turks 
on carriage-boxes. Even when no injury was done to 
such a pedestrian, he was often bespattered with mud. 
Stamboul must be an unpleasant place in which to 
live. Were cabmen in our country to treat pedes- 
trians so recklessly, there would be many cases of 

[105] 



Stambottl Seen from the Sea 

assault and batteryi and I think some mortality 
among the Jehus. 

One day I saw a uniformed Turk jncking his way 
across the street, using his sabre as a walking-stick. A 
carriage suddenly dashed down on him, and its driver, 
after nearly running over him, hurled at him a volley 
of what sounded like choice Turkish abuse. The uni- 
formed Turk retorted not; he scraped the mud off his 
xmiform, stuck his sabre under his arm, and waded 
ashore. In our country a man with a sabre wotdd havQ 
used it on the driver's back. By this I do not mean 
that the Turks are lacking in spirit — far from it But 
apparently it would seem to be the custom of the coimtry 
that the man on foot, as against the man on horseback, 
has no. rights. 

Generally speaking, the native populace obey the 
police with much more meekness than is the case in 
Occidental cities. They seem to fear the dreaded 
police magistrate even more than they do the police 
ojBker. 

The police in the Orient are frequently provided with 
whips with which they correct boys, and even men when 
necessary. These whips seem to be extremely usefuL 
It is odd that in America, a civilized and presumably 
peaceful country, police officers are armed with deadly 
weapons, while in the turbulent Orient the police seem 
able to control the populace with whips instead of 
pistols. 

In the streets of Oriental cities there are many rows. 
In Syrian and Egyptian cities I have often seen the 

[io6] 



Flimsy Tinder Houses 

natives burst into violent abuse, and dutch at each 
other's garments. But they did not often seem to 
strike — a great deal of abuse residted, but rarely more. 
In Stamboul I did not see any such encounters among 
the Turks; there were continual quarrels there between 
drivers and footmen, in which a vast amount of Billings- 
gate was exchanged, but these also were generally 
verbal rows. There and elsewhere ragged drivers 
often abused well-dressed pedestrians, which attracts 
little attention in the Orient. It must not be supposed 
that there are no bloody a£Frays in the streets of Oriental 
cities, for there are many. From my limited observa- 
tion they seem to be principally between Levantines. 
The Turkish police do not alwajrs display enthusiasm 
in separating belligerents who are not true believers. 
I have seen a couple of Turkish police officers gazing 
with apparent indifference on a bloody fight between 
two Greeks. 

The streets of Stamboul are made up almost entirely 
of little wooden houses, most of them one story high. 
Poor as they are, the Turkish houses can always be 
identified by their latticed windows. Galata and Pera, 
the Christian quarters of Constantinople, are largely 
built of stone, stucco-covered; in fact, the buildings are 
much like those of southern Europe. There are, of 
course, many wooden houses in Galata inhabited by the 
poorer classes. But all of Stamboul is built of wood — 
in the Turkish city one sees mile after mile of shabby 
wooden houses. They might be workmen's cottages, 
such as one sees in manufacturing towns in America, 

[107] 



Stamhoul Seen from ihe Sea 

but they are much inferior to the workmen's houses in 
most of the large towns of Europe. In European cities 
wood is little used for building houses: in fact, I can 
recall no city in Occidental Europe where its use is 
common. Constantinople, in that respect, is much 
like the cities of western America. Like them, too, 
vast amounts of money are made — and lost — in fire 
insurance. As you drive through the streets of Stam- 
boul you will notice that all the trumpery little houses 
have trumpery little tin insurance labels. I observed 
that these labels nearly all bore the names of French 
insurance companies. From the frequency of fires in 
Constantinople, the inefficiency of the firemen, and the 
fact that the fires nearly always result in total loss, the 
stockholders in these insurance companies must be 
desperate gamblers. 

In the insurance business there is said to be a '' moral 
risk" as well as a "fire risk"; certain communities in 
western America are looked at askance by insurance 
companies, who charge them high rates for their low 
morals and frequent fires. The risk from fire in Stam- 
boul is certainly very great — I wondered whether there 
is a moral hazard as well. 

The Turkish women of Constantinople go about in 
squads. The better class often go out to the Sweet 
Waters or to points on the Bosphorus in groups like 
large picnic-parties; the poorer seem to use the ceme- 
teries as their pleasure-groimds. This habit of going 
about in large bodies they extend to business as well as 
pleasure. On the street one day I saw a rabble of 

[io8] 



Sleep in the Orient 

women yelling and weeping in front of a laige building. 
I asked an explanation, and was told that they were the 
wives of government employ^, and that they were 
demanding their husbands' salaries which had remained 
unpaid for months. This ingenious expedient will 
frequently bring a skinflint minister to terms when 
nothing else will. The sympathy the stranger feels 
for these unfortunate women is somewhat mitigated 
when he learns that they are not always the injured 
wives, but that they are women who hire themselves 
out as such to any squad of unpaid employes. 

The dogs of Constantinople are by no means the 
fierce animals they are often reported to be. They are 
poor, mangy, shambling, yellow curs, imlike the smart 
and perky dogs of our western lands. They have an 
apologetic and masterless air, and slink around the 
streets as if in constant fear of the passers-by. They 
need not fear, for the Turks treat them very gendy, and 
when they lie in the middle of the roadway, footmen 
step over them and drivers go around them. In fact, 
the drivers in G>nstantinople are more careful of a 
sleeping dog than of a waking man. 

But the drivers sometimes find sleeping men in the 
roadways as well as sleeping dogs. When first visiting 
the Orient I used to wonder at the number of sleepers 
to be seen everywhere. One sees men and boys asleep 
on the footway, on the roadway, in doorways, on tops 
of narrow walls, in carts, in boats, and on the backs of 
camels and asses. I have finally, come to believe that 
the reason one sees so many daytime sleepers in the 

[109] 



Stamboul Seen from the Sea 

Orient is because they have so little chance to sleep at 
night. After trying to sleep for a number of nights in 
Constantinople I concluded that in the Orient one has 
to scatter his sleep over the twenty-four hours, and take 
it when he can. The dogs of Constantinople yelp, 
barky and howl under your windows all night long. 
The Constantinople paviers, although the streets are 
the worst paved in Europe, seem also to be the most 
industrious in Europe, and apparently carry on their 
noisy occupation all night. Belated Europeans meet 
in the streets imder your windows, and stop to talk 
things over loudly and at length. Turkish early risers 
meet each other at three or four o'clock, and stop to 
talk things over even more loudly and at greater length. 
To crown it all, dreadful piano-organs patrol the streets, 
beginning their blasts of sound before daybreak. After 
a short stay in Constantinople I no longer wondered 
why the Orientals sleep in the daytime or at any other 
time. They sleep in the daytime to even up. I had 
to do it myself. 



In Marion Crawford's cosmopolitan Constantino- 
politan story, "Paul PatoflF," he says, "I know of no 
fairer and sweeter resting-place in life's journey than 
the Valley of the Sweet Waters above the Golden Horn." 
When at Constantinople I was surprised at the slight 
foundation for much of the gushing of Gautier and 
De Amicis. Marion Crawford's book in other respects 
is a striking story of Stamboul, but in my opinion there 

[no] 



Unlovely Sweet Waters 

is nothing unusual about the Valley of the Sweet Waters 
except its name, and that merely means 'Afresh" water 
as opposed to '^salt." Going up the Stamboul side 
toward the Golden Horn you pass through the filthiest, 
most malodorous, and most repulsive quarters of Con- 
stantinople. Starting from the Galata side of the 
Golden Horn to reach the Sweet Waters you drive 
through a desolate country and over bare brown hills. 
The view is not particularly attractive and the road is 
monotonous. Occasionally one may see a Turkish 
patrol pricking over the hillsi and that is all. On 
Friday afternoons the Turkish ladies repair there in 
their carriages, but it is not etiquette to look at Turkish 
ladies, and they are not, as a rule, worth looking at 
anyway; they may be beautiful in their boudoirs, but 
these shapeless, balloon-like houris as seen in public 
are not attractive. On the banks of the Sweet Waters 
(a sluggish stream running into the Golden Horn) the 
Sultan has a kiosk in the valley, dignified with the term 
'' Palace." It is a very conmionplace wooden building, 
looking as if it might be a large boarding-school. A 
somewhat marshy looking pond is near it, around which 
are grouped a stable and a litde mosque with a little 
minaret and doubdess a litde muezzin to call the Sultan 
to prayer. Thus it will be seen that all the modem 
Turkish conveniences are to be fo\md there. 

As I gazed up the unattractive valley, at the bare 
brown hills and the dusty road over which we had 
come, at this very commonplace group of buildings, at 
the sluggish stream and marshy pond, I repeated to my- 

[m] 



Stamboul Seen from the Sea 

self mechanically Marion Crawford's words, "I know 
of no fairer and sweeter resting-place in life's journey 
than the Valley of the Sweet Waters above the Golden 
Horn." 
But I don't think so. 



Pera and Galata are the so-called Christian quarters 
of Constantinople. Galata, which was once a Genoese 
suburb of Byzantium, was even ruled by a Genoese 
syndic under the Byzantine protectorate. That the 
Genoese had their city strongly fortified is shown by 
what remains of the massive walls. Their tall tower 
is the most conspicuous object in Galata, and is now 
used as a watch-tower by the Turks to spy out Con- 
stantinople's numerous fires. 

Pera is the quarter laigely given up to the foreign 
embassies, the consular offices, and the residences of 
rich foreigners. Here are the shops frequented by 
foreigners, as also by the Turkish ladies, for we are 
told that one of the factors most fatal to polygamy is 
the taste of the harem ladies for costly silks, satins, 
laces, and jewels from Paris and Vienna. Apropos 
of this, it is said that Constantinople is a favortte rub- 
bish-heap or "dump" for dealers to dispose of their 
immarketable goods in the shape of last season's 
fashions. Occasionally — so the story runs — the 
modistes, couturiferes, and milliners of Paris and Vienna 
fail to hit off the feminine taste. Like Beau Brummd 
with his white ties, they say "these are oiu: failures," 

[112] 



Foreigners in Peru 

and at once ship them to Constantinople. From the 
appearance of the Turkish ladies there I am inclined 
to think this story is true. 

In Pera is to be found the only comfortable hotel in 
all Constantinople, the Palace Hotel. Its front looks 
out on the crowded Grande Rue de P^ra, its rear on 
vacant ground with a Turkish cemetery in sight. But 
so it is in Constantinople: filth, squalor, and open drains 
may be found side by side with palaces. An archaic 
survival may be seen on looking out from the windows 
of the Palace Hotel — it is a row of sedan chairs along 
the street. They are used by old ladies, invalids, and 
some old men, for many of the streets are impassable 
except to the young and active. 

Foreigners living in Pera miist resign themselves to 
semi-isolation. If their walls are high, their neighbors' 
walls speedily become higher. When a foreign family 
establishes itself on one of the hills of Pera the Turks 
around inmiediately erect tall wooden palings or lat- 
tices shutting off the view. This is partly on accoimt 
of the Turkish idea of seclusion, pardy on account of 
the extremely informal deshabille affected by Turkish 
ladies in the intimacy of their groimds and gardens. 

Pera, as I have said, is largely made up of the resi- 
dences of rich foreigners. Why any one should desire 
to live in Constantinople, except diplomats and others 
obliged to do so, seems a mystery. Still, this story, 
told of Lord Stratford de Reddiffe when he was Em- 
bassador at Constantinople, shows that there are 
peculiar people who reside there: An English widow, 

[113] 



Stamboul Seen from the Sea 

who lived at Pera, one day grew dissatisfied with her 
English maid. Following the fashion of the faithful, 
instead of scolding the maid she had the woman sewed 
up in a sack and thrown into the Bosphorus. When 
this came to Lord Stratford's ears he at once made 
complaint. But the Sultan replied that he "never 
interfered in domestic affairs^ and this was entirely a 
domestic affair." Without discussing the right of Tui^s 
to regulate their domestic affairs by drowning, Lord 
Stratford insisted on punishment, and the Sultan at 
last reluctantly consented to exile the English widow 
to Crete. 

Of the amusements in Constantinople, it might be 
said, like the snakes in Ireland — there are no amuse- 
ments in Constantinople. True, one often sees sketches 
of brilliant caf^s filled with picturesque people such as 
one reads about in "Paul Patoff." But the reality is 
disappointing. The Constantinople caffe are fre- 
quented chiefly by the cheaper order of Levantines, 
male and female. As for the performance, it consists 
mainly of ballads chanted by sharp sopranos and 
raucous contraltos. There is an occasional dramatic 
performance by a travelling company — Italian opera, 
French comedy, or Greek farce. 

While we were in the Levant, French artists were 
playing in some of the principal cities — Coquelin, 
for example, in Athens, and Sarah Bernhardt in Con- 
stantinople. Sarah brought with her six plays, three 
of which were by Sardou. To her amazement she 
found that all were prohibited by the Turkish author!- 

["4] 



Turkish Play-censorship 

ties; the reasons given were eminently Turkish and 
eminently peculiar. "La Tosca" was prohibited 
because a prefect of police is killed in the play. "Fe- 
dora," because it hinges on Nihilism and the overthrow 
of government. "La Sordire," because the Koran 
is mentioned in the text. Of the other three plays, 
Racine's "Phfedre" was tabooed because it is a Greek 
drama, and the Greeks are notoriously the most rebel- 
lious subjects of the Sultan. Rostand's "L'Aiglon" 
was forbidden because it satirized the treatment of 
Napoleon's son by Austria, and therefore was calcu- 
lated to give offence to a friendly government. Thus 
of the six only one piece passed the Turkish censors, 
and that, oddly enough, was Dumas's " La Dame aux 
Gammas," which for years the Lord Chamberlain has 
forbidden in England on accoimt of its immorality 1 



["5] 



VI 

THE SULTAN AND THE 

SELAMLIK 




VI 



THE SULTAN AND THE SELAMUK 

palace and grounds inhabited by 
Abdul Hamidy the present Sultan, were 
begun in 1832 by his grandfather, who 
built on a hill by the Bosphorus a small 
kiosk which he called " Yildez," meaning "star." By 
an odd coincidence this was afterward replaced by a 
larger kiosk inhabited by a Circassian favorite of Sultan 
Medjid, whose name was "Yildez." The place was 
successively enlarged, and, finally, about the time when 
the present Sultan grew too timorous to live longer in 
Dolmabagtche Palace, he removed to the Yildez estate. 
This he entrenched as if it were a fortress. It is an 
immense park, scattered over which are palaces, kiosks, 
pavilions, cottages, and watch-towers. New struc- 
tures are continually added, for the Sultan has the 
building superstition so common in the Orient. Sur- 
rounding the estate is an immense wall, which a few 
years ago the Sultan raised some thirty feet. Sentry 
boxes and barracks are found all along this wall. Within 
the main enclosure is a smaller wall some twelve feet 
thick, with iron doors; inside of this again is the Sultan's 

["9l 



The Sultan and the Selamlik 

private residence and his harem. It is said that he 
has underground communication from his residence to 
other buildings on the estate. At Yildez there is a 
subterranean structure built of concrete, ostensibly 
constructed to be earthquake-proof, although skeptics 
say that it was designed to be bomb-proof. There is a 
magnificent view of the Bosphorus from the hill where 
the Sultan's residence stands, and near his kiosk he has 
a small artificial lake on which he rows. For his boat- 
ing he has confined himself to this sheet of water for 
some years, fearing to go to the larger lake in the outer 
enclosure. For a long time he has not gone aboard 
his yachts, of which there are several, so-called, on the 
Bosphorus. Although presumably pleasure craft, I 
observed that the guns they carried were not the usual 
simple saluting battery, but business-like, quick-firing 
cannon, forward, amidships, and in the stem. 

Yildez is more than a palace and its grounds: it is a 
small dty, for it contains farms, vegetable-gardens, a 
porcelain factory, a saw-mill, a foundry, a machine- 
shop, a repair-shop, and an arsenal. There are several 
stables, a small one in the Sultan's private enclosure, 
and others in different parts of the estate. Near the 
Sultan's private stable there is a fine riding-school, 
where the young princes are carefully trained in horse- 
manship. The Sultan was once very fond of riding, 
and up to a few years ago rode daily around his im- 
mense parks; He is fond of animals generally, and 
there are many wild animals in cages at Yildez; there 
is a deer-park there, many deer and gazelles, several 

[ 1 20 ] 



I, C 1/ i' w^ 1^» »- . V '"*' • ' ^ 






His Private Mosque 

aviaries, numeious pigeon-houses, flower-gardens, and 
hot-houses containing rare orchids and other plants. 

According to Mohammedan law the Sultan, as head 
of the church, must make his formal prayer weekly. 
Friday, the Mohammedan Sabbath, is the day he goes 
to prayer. At one time the Sultan was in the habit of 
crossing the Golden Horn to the mosque at the Old 
Seraglio. But fear of assassination has caused Abdul 
Hamid to remain within the precincts of his own do- 
main, Yildez Kiosk. Here he has had constructed a 
little mosque of his own, called after him, the Hamid- 
yeh Mosque. It stands within the enclosure of the 
Yildez Kiosk groimds, and is visible from several places 
near at hand. One of these is a large parade groimd 
for the troops. On this parade ground the Moham- 
medan faithful are permitted to stand, and pilgrims from 
all over Turkey assemble there in crowds every Friday. 
There is another piece of rising ground whence a good 
view may be had; this is accessible to European travel- 
lers who are properly accredited with passports or 
recommendations from their legations or consulates, 
and therefore may not be bomb-throwers. At one time 
there was a large pavilion for members of the diplo- 
matic corps, their guests, and travellers provided with 
invitations. But the assassinations of royal and gov- 
ernmental persons of late years so terrified the Sultan 
that this privilege ceased. 

The most interesting phase of the Selamlik is the 
display of troops. There is a large garrison at Con- 
stantinople, from fifteen thousand to twenty thousand 

[121] 



The Sultan and the Selamlik 

picked soldiers of the Turkish army. Their brilliant 
uniforms are of every kind and color, and they come 
from Trebizond, Smyrna, Angora, Erzeroum, Bagdad, 
Bassorah, Aleppo, Beirout, Lebanon, Damascus, Turk- 
ish Armenia, Albania, Salonica, Roumelia, Koordistan, 
and Mesopotamia. They nearly all wear the fez, as does 
the SuUan himself. Every man of them is a Mohamme- 
dan. Although the Sultan has many Christian subjects, 
no Christian is allowed to serve as a soldier; Christian 
subjects are required to pay a special annual military 
tax, about equivalent to the cost of a substitute. The 
troopers of the cavalry squadrons are very well moimted. 
The officers bestrode the most handsome horses we saw 
in the Levantine cities of Europe, Africa, or Asia. The 
foot-troops wear the red fez; most of the cavalry wear 
a black fez; the zouaves of the guard corps and some 
artillery officers wear the green turban; while the fire- 
men, who also are represented at the Selamlik parade, 
wear a red helmet with a white crescent on the front. 
Among the various uniforms seen were those of generals 
of division; brigade adjutants; aides-de-camp; staff 
officers; zouave, infantry, cavalry, artillery, and uhlan 
officers of the guard; engineer, infantry, artillery, and 
cavalry officers of the line; mountain artillery; fortress 
artillery; light artillery; foot artillery; cadets of the 
military academy; officers and men of the marine and 
light cavalry. Among the light cavalry there are some 
striking looking squadrons; five of these (about sixty- 
five regiments) which are recruited from certain nomad 
tribes of Asia, are called the Hamidyeh cavalry, from 

[122] 



Imposing Military Display 

the name of the Sultan (Abdul Hamid) who organized 
this corps. On a peace footing Turkey has about 
255,000 men of whom 21,000 are officers; this does not 
include the militia, the gendarmery, the sanitary, the 
veterinary, the clerical, or the transportation corps. 
The number of troops that Turkey can mobilize is 
1,180,000 with 1,700 cannon. The infantry are armed 
with a Mauser rifle, model 1890; the cavalry with a 
carbine of the same model. The mountain artillery 
are equipped with rapid fire Krupp cannon. 



It is the day of the Selamlik. We are in a large en- 
closure overlooking the Palace groimds and the gardens 
of the Mosque. Around us are large numbers of 
tourists in carriages. They while away the time of 
their long wait by looking at the baskets of hucksters 
who go from carriage to carriage noisily hawking their 
wares. Scattered among the crowd are " secret police '' 
— that is, they are not in uniform, but very evidently 
of the detective class. They move about among the 
carriages, looking for cameras, opera-glasses, and 
lorgnons, and warning the owners against their use. 

A vast amount of vapid talk goes on among the 
tourists. But for vacuity and vapidity the talk between 
the tourists and their dragomans is astoimding. Here 
is a sample dialogue : 

"Does the Sultan pray every day?" asks a sharp- 
&ced female tourist of her dragoman. 

"Once a week, lady." 

[123] 



The Sultan and the Selamlik 

"Not oftener?" 

"No, not more." 

"Why not?" 

Dragoman gives it up. A pause. 

The sharp-faced tourist points her opera-glass at the 
Palace. 

"Must not use opera-glass, lady," mildly hints the 
dragoman. 

"Why not?" 

"It is forbid." 

"But why is it forbid?" 

"I not know, lady." 

" But I don't see why I can't use it." 

" Yes — no — I not see, but must not," monotonously 
drones the dragoman. 

"But what will they do if I use it?" 

"Police oflBicer make very much trouble, lady." 

" But won't you ask the officer if I can't use mine ? " 

"No use, lady, he not permit." 

" But I can't see the Sultan without my opera-glass.*' 

"Yes, but it is not permit, lady." 

"But I don't see why not." 

Thus the aggrieved lady continues her moan. She 
considers the restriction unreasonable, and takes it out 
of her dragoman, who probably chalks up his sym- 
pathy as labor performed, and takes it out of her 
bill. Yet all around her the detectives are alert, 
watching for levelled cameras and opera-glasses, per- 
haps for other things that might be levelled at the 
Sultan — who knows ? 

["4l 



Magnificent Troops 

They even peer under the seats of carriages, and if 
there is a particularly suspidous-looking elderly lady 
who looks as if she might have a bomb concealed, they 
make her rise while they examine her many rugs. 

Occasionally spans of handsome horses dash by, 
attached to fine carriages containing red-fezzed officials. 
Every few minutes troops of lancers and dragoons trot 
past, with mounted bands. They are fine-looking 
troops, and better mounted than any cavalry we have 
seen in Europe, except the crack corps in London. 
Still these are scarcely fair samples by which to judge 
the Turkish Army; they are hardly troops of the line, 
but special corps belonging to the garrison, of which 
there are some twenty thousand at Constantinople, 
although no such number of troops are present at 
this Selamlik. That the magnificent troops seen at 
the Selamlik are not typical of the Turkish army is 
plainly evident in the smaller cities of Syria; there 
one sees filthy, frowsy, ragged soldiers, utterly unlike 
the dashing troopers and trim foot-soldiers at StambouL 

The troops take their positions, and form a hollow 
square; they completely surround the mosque and the 
roadway leading from the Palace portal to the doorway 
of the mosque. His majesty is about to fare forth to 
pray; on his way he will be entirely circled by steeL 
The roadway runs from the imperial palace entrance 
down a slight hill to the entrance of the mosque. A 
gang of men appear, who carefully sweep and sprinkle 
this roadway. At exactly twelve o'clock a high-pitched 
musical voice rings through the air. It is the muezzin 

I"S] 



The Sultan and the Selamlik 

calling the Sultan to prayer. Simultaneously with 
his call a trumpeter sounds a blast, and the thousands 
of troops shoulder arms. 

Down the hillside from the Palace starts the advance 
of the S^ltan's procession. This is made up of the 
leading ladies of the harem, all in handsome broughams. 
On both sides of their carriages ride coal-black eunuchs; 
they wear long black frock coats, red fezzes, and are 
mounted on magnificent Arabian horses. First of 
these ladies is the Valideh Sultana, the Sultan's step- 
mother; she is followed by various wives and daughters 
of the Sultan. Behind the ladies of the iDsirem rides 
the Chief Eunuch, an old and fat Abyssinian negro. 
Next come the Sultan's sons, seven, eleven, and four- 
teen years of age, wearing officers' uniforms, and hand- 
somely mounted. The escort of the princes is made 
up of gray-bearded cavalry officers. Behind them 
comes the cavalry escort of the Sultan, picked soldiers 
on selected mounts. Several Arabian horses, blanketed 
and hooded, led by grooms, are next in the line; these 
are the Sultan's saddle-horses. Sometimes, when the 
whim seizes him, he rides to the mosque; sometimes he 
drives there and returns on horseback. He is fond of 
riding and driving, and used to be an active horseman 
before he shut himself up in Yildez Kiosk. 

Following the saddle-horses is an open space. There 
is a pause. Presendy a carriage appears which is 
greeted with a continuous and curious cry from the 
people gathered there, soldiers and populace. This 
cry, we are told, is *'Long live our Padishah !'* As be 

[126] 



The Sultan at Prayer 

descends the gentle slope, Abdul Hamid's face and 
figure are plainly to be seen in his open and roomy 
victoria. This day he does not drive to the mosque 
himself, but is driven. He is simply dad in a black 
frock coat and a red fez. His jet-black beard owes its 
color, of course, to dye. Amid the continuous roar of 
the cheering, the Sidtan's carriage turns into the gates 
of the mosque enclosure. It pauses at the stairs, up 
which the Sultan presently mounts with a vigorous step. 
As soon as he has entered, the crowd of courtiers, 
pashas, and other imiformed officers press into the 
narrow doorway, and for a time the brilliant suite is 
invisible. 

The Sultan remains less than half an hour at his 
devotions. When he emerges, the word of command 
runs around the thousands of troops, and with a sharp 
slap they shoulder their muskets. As the Sultan steps 
into his carriage he speaks a few words to the gold- 
laced group bowing low before him. He returns to 
the Palace by a different carriage, a phaeton, to which 
two beautiful white Arabian stallions are attached. 
He takes the reins himself, grasps the whip, and with a 
word his impetuous horses start up the incline. 

Now comes a curious sight. As his horses ascend 
the hill at a quick trot his generals, his pashas, his 
colonels, and his ministers keep pace with his horses. 
The courtiers are dad in scarlet and bullion, in blue 
and silver, in green and gold; they are gray, grizzled, 
and old, but they run like so many school-boys behind 
and on dther side of the imperial carriage. Fortu- 

[127] 



The Sultan and the Selamlik 

nately the run is not a long one, for many of the pashas 
are fat and scant of breath* But no matter how old 
or how faty all who are not absolutely disabled run by 
their master's carriage. Obesity is not an exemption; 
age is not a release. There is no apology but partial 
paralysis; no excuse but locomotor ataxia. This is 
perhaps the Oriental courtiers' way of indicating en- 
thusiastic loyalty. Courtiers have alwa3rs had to do 
humiliating things, with joyful faces, in monarchies. 
Perhaps they do still — perhaps even in republics. 
But what a fantastic spectacle — a lot of uniformed 
and elderly dignitaries running up a hill on a hot day 
— a troop of perspiring and pot-bellied pashas sprinting 
after their padishahl 



[128] 



VII 



THE BREEKS OF THE TURKS 




vn 



THE BREEKS OF THE TURKS 

BELIEVE in telling the truth about 
travel. It may not much matter what a 
traveller thinks, but it does matter that 
he should, if he tells it, tell it truthfully. 
Most travellers are apt to rave to order. Like the 
sheep of Panurge, they follow one another's tales. 
If they have been told that in Paris they should 
rave over the tomb of Napoleon, they rave over 
Napoleon's tomb. If tourists think it is the thing in 
London to gush over St. Paul's, they gush. Yet 
many tourists pass St. Paul's without noticing it 
at all; still, when stopped, they always obediently 
rave. 

The truthful traveller will often admit his disappoint- 
ment. ' When I first visited London I drove in a han- 
som for miles across that dreary desert of bricks and 
mortar, that forest of chimney-pots, between Euston 
Station and Piccadilly. I never dreamed there were 
so many dulU dingy, ugly brick houses in the world. 
Needless to say, I was disappointed in London. When 
I first visited Paris I drove from the Eastern Station 

[131] 



The Breaks of the Turks 

down that long and stupid street, the Rue La&yette, 
for what seemed miles, until we reached the criss- 
cross composer-named streets back of the Op^ra. 
The Rue Lafayette, in some respects, suggests New 
York's Seventh Avenue ; in others, it resembles London's 
Tottenham Court Road; but there was nothing about 
it to bring up before me the Paris of which I had read 
— the Paris of which I had dreamed. Paris was a 
disappointment — I was frank enough to admit it, 
even to myself. Later I saw other quarters of Lon- 
don, other parts of Paris, which more than compen- 
sated me for the Rue Lafayette and Bloomsbury. 

What most struck me at Stamboul? What were 
my first impressions of Constantinople, the famous 
dty seated on the Bosphorus and divided by the Golden 
Horn? Did I think of the Byzantine emperors? Of 
the many dynasties who occupied the thrones of the 
Empire of the East? Of Constantine? Of Helena? 
Of Justinian? Of Theodora? Did I think of the 
many dithyrambic word-paintings I had read? Of 
the many mosques? Of the countless minarets? Of 
the summer palaces which line the Bosphorus, from the 
Sea of Marmora to the Black Sea? 

No: to be frank, I did not think of any of these 
things. I did not weep, like Lamartine; nor did I 
rave, like Gautier; nor did I "turn hot and cold," as 
did De Amids. I first gazed in wonder at the famous 
bridge across the Golden Horn — a bridge repoang 
on rotting pontoons, and apparenUy fastened together 
with rusty wire, pieces of tin-roofing, old hoops, bed- 

[132] 



Umbrella and Sabre 

slatSi and weather-worn rope. Then what first struck 
me as I stepped ashore was the nether garment of the 
Ottoman. The first man I saw was an eldeily Turk, 
attired in a rich gold-laced uniform; girt by his sideiwas 
agold-hilted sabre with beautifully enamelled scabbard; 
as far as his knees he was trim, elegant , and point-devise ; 
but below the knees, his uniform trousers were frowsy 
and filthy. His feet were dad in aged '^ congress 
gaiters," or *' side-spring shoes," with gaping side-elas- 
tics; these gaping gaiters were thrust into still more 
aged rubber galoshes, which bore even more evident 
traces of the filth of Stamboul's streets. 

As I gazed at this gorgeous person, gold-laced above, 
frowsy and filthy below, a bulbous umbrella in his right 
hand, his left holding a gold-hilted sabre, he seemed to 
me to typify the Ottoman Turk. Peace and war, glit- 
ter and foulness. His umbrella symbolized peace, for 
your umbrella is the least lethal of weapons, and your 
Turk is peaceful if let alone. But his sabre meant war, 
for the Turk is a fighter, and is always ready to fight if 
he be attacked. His beard was gray — your Turkish 
soldier has no age-limit. Every male from sixteen to 
sixty is eligible as a recruit, and therefore potential 
food for powder. He was uniformed, and therefore an 
officer or official. He was either unpaid or poor, for he 
had to walk through the filthy streets, as was shown by 
his umbrella, his frowsy trousers, his galoshes, and his 
lack of a cab. 

Another point that struck me was that these same 
trousers were unlike any other trousers in sight. Every 

[133I 



The Bracks of the Turks 

man on the street wore a different kind of breeks. This 
showed the lack of unity, the absence of homogeneity 
in the Turkish Empire. 

In the Occident we all wear the same kind of trou- 
sers. In London one may see, of a fine spring morning, 
several hundred thousand men in sleek silk hats, fiock 
coats, and dark striped trousers — about three fourths 
of them going '* to the dty " in hansoms, and the remain- 
ing one fourth not city men, but idlers lounging along 
Piccadilly, Bond Street, or Pall Mall, but all in dark 
striped trousers. The only break to this monotony in 
England is the cyclist in stockings or the equestrian in 
boots and breeches. 

So in America. When President Roosevelt made his 
tour of our vast country, he wore exactly the same kind 
of trousers as every man he met. All were cut about 
nineteen inches over the knee, and about seventeen 
inches over the instep. This was true even of the 
President's favorite cowboys, with the purely super- 
ficial difference that they rolled their trousers up, or, as 
they would express it, " wore their pants in their boots," 

How different the variegated trousers of Turkey from 
the uniformly creased trousers of respectable Britain. 
How different the multiform breeks of the Turks from 
the neat pantings and trouserings of respectable 
America. Wherever I turned my eyes I saw a different 
kind of breeks. I saw the Montenegrin galligaskins 
— tight-fitting around the ankle and calf, looser 
around the knee, voluminous around the hip. I saw the 
Albanian breeks — tighter even than the Monten^rin 

[134] 



The Breaks of the Greeks 

breeks below, more voluminous above. I saw the Bul- 
garian breeks — so redundant that the wearer might 
easily carry a bushel of wheat in the seat. I saw the 
Roumelian pantaloon-like breeks — breeks much re- 
sembling the pantaloons of our great-grandsires, some 
of whose great-grandsons erroneously call their trou- 
sers "pantaloons." I saw young officers of the Sul- 
tan's guard in smart riding-breeks, looking as if they 
came from West End London tailors, which, perhaps, 
they did. I saw the cheap hand-me-down breeks of 
scowling, sour-faced, fanatic old Turks — Christian 
breeks, made in the sweat-shops of Germany, as evi- 
denced by tags upon these trousers — baggy brands of 
breeks made up specially in Christendom for the breek- 
wearers of Islam. I saw the smart creased breeks of 
the Greek clerks going to their Pera offices. I saw also 
the genuine Greek breeks, which are voluminous panta- 
looned petticoats, or petticoated pantaloons. I saw 
officers in all kinds of handsome uniform breeks, sand- 
wiched in with the coarse breeks of the common soldier. 
I saw the gorgeous gold-laced breeks of the kavasses or 
dragomans of legations. I saw all manner of laced, 
embroidered, and braided breeks, which had strutted 
their brief hour on wealthy Turkish legs, thence to 
descend to porters, to beggars, to donkey-drivers. And 
I even saw one poor Turk clad in ex-grain bags bearing 
a stencilled stamp in English on the dome. 

All of these remarks, be it understood, apply to the 
breeks of the Turks. As to the breeks of the Turkesses, 
I will say little. But the same indifference to their 

[I3S] 



The Breaks of the Turks 

nether-wear exists among the women as among the 
men. You will see a Turkish woman richly clad so far 
as concerns her yashmak and her silk feridjee, but de- 
clining in elegance and cleanliness as she descends. 
Below the knee all elegance disappears, and a pair of 
sleazy, alpaca, balloon-like trousers, ungartered socks, 
and old yellow slippers down at heel, shabbily finish 
off the lady who started so elegantly at the other end. 
Another peculiarity of the Turkish woman, with her 
shabby trousers and slipshod foot-gear, is her indiffer- 
ence as to exposing that end of her. While she is ex- 
tremely careful to keep her face covered, she is equally 
careless about her legs. It is not uncommon to see a 
group of Turkish women sunning themselves in a ceme- 
tery — they apparently affect graveyards as pleasure 
resorts; as they lie a-basking in the sun in these cheer- 
ful places, they have an infantile fashion of pulling up 
their trousers and scratching one bare leg with the hoof 
of the other. 

One day, while on the Grande Rue de P6ra — a 
busy street with European shops — I saw every now 
and again veiled ladies whose attire seemed to demolish 
my theory. They were bold, black-eyed beauties; 
they wore very thin veils, which they kept continually 
dropping; they were clad in the same black and ^^te 
garments as all the Turkish ladies. But in one respect 
they differed — they were very trim about their foot- 
gear. Most of them wore natty buttoned boots, vrith 
extremely high heels, evidently of French make, while 
their hosiery, of which they made a lavish display, was 

[136] 



■ \ .' '•' ' i '<\ 



If t 



>i 1 



1 4 Vy - - 



1 I 



Imitation Turkish Ladies 

of costly silk. Here was a diveigence from the shabby 
yellow sUppers and the ungartered socks. My theory 
seemed in danger. I made haste to confer with De- 
metrius Arghyropolos, our dragoman. 

"Demetri," said I, "are those ladies yonder Turkish 
ladies?" 

"Dose ladies?" he replied, following my finger; "ohl 
no — dose ladies not Turkish. Dose ladies sometimes 
Franch, sometimes Ingleez, sometimes Cherman, some- 
times Bulgarian — dat kind of lady is anyt'ing — but 
always Christian — never Turkish." 

From Demetri's manner, it was evident that these 
trimly shod damsels constituted a distinct class, and I 
made no further queries. But it was also evident that 
my theories about the Turkish women's neglect of 
their nether-gear were as well founded as my observa- 
tions on the breeks of the Turks. 



[i37j 



VIII 

OF SMYRNA AND OF BUYING 

THINGS 







vra 



OF SMYRNA AND OF BUYING THINGS 

;F all Levantine cities Sm3rma is probably 
the most prosperous but certainly the 
least interesting. Not that points of 
archaeologic interest are non-existent there 
— they fairly swarm. Enthusiastic dragomans point 
out to agitated tourists the place where the ancient 
Greek dty used to be when it was destroyed by the 
Lydians six hundred years before Christ; the place 
where Alexander the Great stood when he determined 
to rebuild the Greek dty; the place out in the water 
where the andent harbor used to be; the river which 
enthusiastic Smymiotes believe to be the river Meles, 
which Homer used to love; the cave near the river 
where he used to compose his poems; the spot on the 
river bank where his temple, the Homeriiun, used to 
stand. Over-scrupulous pundits point out that "the 
stream'' shown to tourists is a dry bed of boulders, 
except when torrential rain falls, and that the andent 
Meles was a mild-mannered river and not a torrential 
stream; but your resolute tourist pays little heed to a 
hypercritical antiquary. Another famous and better 

[141] 



Of Smyrna and of Buying Thirds 

identified river not far from Smyrna is the Meander, 
whose crooked course has given a word for the windings 
of countless rivers all over the world. 

If the enthusiastic tourist has not been chilled by his 
view of these exciting sights, he may take a railway trip 
of a few hours to see the ruins of ancient Ephesus. 
If when there he cannot see the ruins, he may look at 
the site. If he is unsatisfied with the site, I have no 
more to say to him. True, the Ephesian ruins are 
difficult to find, and when found hard to see. True, 
the traces of the Temple of Diana are visible only to 
the trained eye of the archaeologist or the telescopic eye 
of the dragoman. But no one can deny that you are 
shown a large tract of ground on which there are many 
pieces of stone and not a little brick. To the tourist 
who still retains his enthusiasm there will be shown 
the site of the prison where St. Paul was shut up; the 
place where the great theatre used to be, and the place 
where the mob gathered and shouted " Great is Diana 
of the Ephesians ! " He will also be shown the Cave of 
the Seven Sleepers. The mystic number figures in 
other ways concerning Smyrna: it was one of the Seven 
Cities addressed in Revelation by the fiery evangelist 
John and one of the Seven Cities claiming to be the 
birthplace of Homer. Probably had it been made 
in his lifetime the poet would have repudiated the 
charge. 

Of the modem city it may be said that it has two 
hundred thousand inhabitants, of whom one half are 
Europeans, principally Greeks. The Smymiotes, both 

[142] 



o . .. 



I i 






^ 



Bazaar Disillusions 

men and women, seem to be very good-looking, and 
many of them are remarkably handsome. The dty is 
picturesque when seen from the water, rising up on its 
amphitheatre of hills with lofty Moimt Pagus in the 
background. There are some fine views in the vicinity, 
and the Paradise Aqueduct traverses a beautiful land- 
scape* But the city proper is not picturesque or 
attractive in any way* The streets ate narrow, and 
very muddy after the frequent rainstorms. The 
bazaars, the sole attraction, are in the most unpleasant 
quarter of the dty. The prindpal artides one finds 
there are carpets, cotton, sponges, figs, raisins, opium, 
and other drugs, for Smyrna is the headquarters of the 
drug trade of the world. 

The mere mention of the Sm}niia bazaars will make 
many people think that Smyrna has at least the re- 
deeming point of being an excellent place in which to 
buy a few things. When asked "what things"? they 
would reply, "Why rugs and — and figs, I suppose." 
It may be that they are right. Many beautiful Oriental 
carpets and nearly all choice Levantine figs purport 
to come from Smyrna. But I doubt whether they all 
do. There are finer exhibits of Oriental carpets to be 
seen in Occidental cities than in Smyrna. Some- 
times I fear that commimities which have acquired 
a wide and centuiy-old fame for certain things do 
not always "make good," to use our picturesque 
American slang. 

Are there not enthusiastic travellers who dream of 
drinking genuine cura$ao in the little island where grow 

[1431 



Of Smyrna and of Buying Things 

the orange groves of Curasao? Of sipping the real 
Turkish coffee in Turkey ? Of smoking the authentic 
Egyptian cigarettes in Egypt ? Of eating rich, melting, 
luscious Smyrna figs in Smyrna? Of washing one's 
hands with the only original Castile soap castiled in 
fair Castile? 

In what wise do these travellers' dreams materialize ? 
Alas and alack I They are but clouds and shadows. 
They don't come true. 

For, on the beautiful islet in the Leeward Island 
group where grew the groves of Curasao orange-trees in 
the aforetime, there are now none. But the world, being 
used to the flavor of the Curasao oranges in its Curasao, 
will tolerate no other. So the world has its way. The 
liqueur Curasao is still made in large quantities, but it 
is not a Curasao liqueur. It is compoimded out of 
everything — as it is an orange liqueur, it is even made 
of oranges sometimes; but the Amsterdam houses that 
handle it largely are said to make it principally out of 
potato alcohol and prune juice. 

How about the delicious Egyptian cigarettes ? — the 
delicate Egyptian tobacco? Alas again I The native 
Egyptian tobacco is so bad that nobody smokes it but 
the natives, and not even they when they can get any- 
thing else. In Egypt, as in so many places, the tobacco 
comes from Somewhere Else. The highest grade of 
tobacco there is apparendy imported from Europe — 
from Roumelia. The next best comes from Northern 
Syria — the best-known grade of this tobacco being 
known to Europeans as ''Latakia," although not so 

[144] 



Turkish Coffee Dreams 

* 

called in Egypt. Persian tobacco is also imported into 
Egypt. In shorty Egypt imports the tobacco, the wrap- 
persi the boxes, and the smokers, and then you have 
the Egyptian cigarette. 

"But still," contends the enthusiast, "there can be 
no coffee like the genuine Turkish coffee. Ah, think 
of the Arabian Nights 1 And Scheherezadel And 
Lady What's-Her-Name, the English peeress who wore 
Turkish trousers, lived in Turkey for years, and sipped 
Turkish coffee with Turkish pashas. And of the 
bearded sheiks in the desert — with hubble-bubble 
pipes — and harems of beautiful black-eyed houris 
— all sitting on divans — and all sipping coffee — 
with all the comforts of a home — out in the desert! 
Come, now! You must give in on the Turkish 
coffee." 

To this I can only reply that they may have had good 
coffee in Turkey in the time when Sultan Haroun-al- 
Raschid walked his city's streets incognito, but they 
have none now. You can get better Turkish coffee (so- 
called) in Vienna than in Turkey; you can get much 
better Turkish coffee in London, Paris, or New York 
than you can in Stamboid, Pera, Scutari, Smyrna, 
Beyroot, Jerusalem, or Cairo. 

How about the luscious figs of Smyrna? My ex- 
perience was that the nearer we goC to Smjrma the 
poorer grew the figs. When we reached Beyroot they 
were pretty bad; when we were off Smjrma, the pedlers 
brought some aboard that were very bad; when we 
got ashore at Smjrma, we were offered some on the 

[145] 



Of Smyrna and of Buying Things 

quay that were worse; in the hotel they were wormy; 
and when we got into the heart of Sm3rma the figs were 
able to walk around the dealer's counter. It is a foct 
that we have purchased in the leading groceries of 
London, New York, and San Francisco very much 
finer Smyrna figs than we saw in Smyrna. 

If it be asked how Smyrna figs can be purchased in 
distant cities, which are superior to the Smyrna figs on 
sale in Sm3rma, the answer is that they are specially 
selected and specially packed. They are stamped in 
English on the boxes, "Washed Figs." This is wise, 
but from the fig-dealers and handlers I saw in Smyrna, 
I think it much more essential that the fig-handlers 
should be washed. 

I used to be very fond of Smyrna figs before I went 
to Smyrna. 

I have not eaten any since* 

I shall never eat any again. 

Never mind why. 

The subject of washing naturally brings me back to 
soap. Once when in Castile I found no Castile soap. 
They did not know what I meant; they had never heard 
of Castile soap. This irritated me, so I began investi- 
gating the Castile-soap problem. I learned — or was 
told — that Castile soap is not made in Castile; is not 
sold in Castile; is not used in Castile; that it is made in 
Marseilles out of olive oil imported from Palestine. 
Thus we note this strange anomaly — the name given 
to a well-known soap comes from a country which knows 
naught of this particular soap; it is manufactured in a 

[146] 






Measuring Wits in Shopi 

dty using little or no soap, out of materials coming from 
a country which uses no soap at all. 

When Americans indulge in "buying things abroad," 
do they get good value for their time, their labor, and 
their money? Time to an American in Europe is a 
costly item — most people spend several thousand dol- 
lars for not very many weeks abroad. Why, then, 
should they spend so much of their valuable time in 
haggling with dealers over things that they could buy 
as cheap or cheaper at home? — this has always been 
a mystery to me. Similarly, I have never been able to 
understand why Americans abroad should sit at hotel 
desks for so many hours (at five dollars or ten dol- 
lars per hour) writing letters home to Cousin Susan 
and Aunt Jane* 

American tourists seem to believe they can buy 
things better in foreign places than at home. I am 
inclined to doubt this about some things, and I entirely 
disbelieve it about others. When it comes to laces, 
jewels, rugs, and carpets, the judgment of an expert 
is indispensable. Yet what American woman will 
hesitate to measure wits with an Oriental in a Turkish 
bazaar? And what chance has she for coming out 
ahead? Very litde, in my opinion. In purchasing 
goods like Daghestan or Bokhara rugs, about the only 
guarantee is the dealer's honesty. People who buy 
from pedlers or shopkeepers in Oriental bazaars are 
apt to get fleeced, and they generally are. 

I believe that the man or woman who buys at home 
in the United States generally fares as well as — often 

[147] 



,-' 



Of Smyrna and of Buying Things 

better than — he or she who buys abroad. The time 
consumed in haggling in the Orient is something awful. 
It might much better be spent in sight-seeing, for ex- 
ample. Time is the most predous thing we have. It 
is the stuff of which life is made, said old Ben Franklin. 
Lost money you may recover, lost health regain, but 
lost time is gone forever. 

I have often looked with pity on an American woman 
exhausted by hours of haggling in a pimk-scented and 
foul-smelling Oriental bazaar, and neglecting himdreds 
of beautiful outdoor sights that she might never again 
have the opportunity to see. 

Think of the time consumed; the money spent; the 
nerve- waste; think of the transportation, which is justly 
chargeable against your purchases, for you pay for 
transporting your luggage when you buy your ticket 
by steamer or rail, even when you do not pay excess 
luggage, which you generally do; think of the risk by 
loss or damage in transit — a complete loss if not in- 
sured, which baggage rarely or never is; think of the 
mental worry over the United States customs inspec- 
tion, which is a terror; think of the United States duty, 
which must almost unquestionably be paid. If you 
look into the matter, you will often find it would have 
been cheaper to buy the things from a reputable dealer 
in your own town. He or his agents can select better 
than you can; they have more time and a larger variety. 
He will probably pay less than you for duties, knowing 
the classification of goods better than you. His profit 
will come to little, if any, more than you would pay 

[148] 



Dishonest Orientals 

with these extras added Last, but by no means least, 
you will have the assurance that you have bought what 
you paid for. Not so when you deal with the Orien- 
tal pedler or with the shopkeeper in a bazaar. You 
cannot even buy a five-franc sponge in the Orient with 
the certainty that it is an honest sponge and worth five 
francs. "^ 

These remarks, of course, have their limitations. 
They apply prindpaUy to the purchase of staples, so to 
speak, or things which are reproduced in large num- 
bers, or of which there are many replicas. They do 
not apply to antiquities, gems, intaglios, and things that 
are unique. They do apply, for example, to ordinary 
commercial bronzes — no matter how artistic, these 
are reproduced indefinitely; they do not apply to a cire- 
perdue bronze of which there is only one copy in the 
world. They do not apply to dwellers in Great Britain, 
whether subjects or denizens; for the customs-laws of 
that country are so liberal that those returning there 
may bring practically anything in duty free, except 
tobacco, liquor, and Tauchnitz novels. But they do 
apply to dwellers in the United States, for our customs 
dues are so high as practically to wipe out the lower 
price of goods purchased abroad. 

But waiving all these questions of price, of time, of 
trouble, there is another one. It is the question of 
what is fitting, of what is congruous, of what is apropos. 
The seeker after the congruous, the adorer of the apro- 
pos, is, when buying abroad, ever doomed to disap- 
pointment. It is indeed a disillusion to learn that 

[149] 



Of Smyrna and of Buying Things 

there is no Castile soap in Castile, no TuiUsh coffee in 
Turkey, no curajao in Curasao, no wormless Smyrna 
figs in Smyrna. And it came upon me with a distinct 
shock when I also learned that there were no Jerusalem 
artichokes in Jerusalem. 



[ISO] 



IX 

BETWEEN JAFFA AND 
JERUSALEM 




IX 



BETWEEN JAFFA AND JERUSALEM 

^T is not always easy to reach Jerusalem 
on schedule time. The traveller in the 
Levant must often resign himself to 
threats of possible quarantine, probable 
quarantine, actual quarantine. It is not feasible to 
make any hard and fast itinerary. All itineraries must 
yield to quarantine. No steamship company will agree 
to land its passengers at any port at any set time. All 
tickets read " subject to quarantine." JafiFa, the sea- 
port of Jerusalem, is continually quarantining against 
Alexandria for plague or cholera. Alexandria is con- 
tinually quarantining against Jaffa for cholera or plague. 
Then, when Jaffa is not qTiarantining, the seas on the 
Jaffa reef are frequently so rough as to render landing 
impossible for days or even weeks. Thus it is not in- 
frequent for a traveller bound for Jerusalem to spend 
his time steaming between Constantinople and Alexan- 
dria, hoping that the yellow flag may be hauled down, 
or the sea grow smooth long enough for him to disem- 
bark. But there have even been cases of officials, like 
consuls, finding it difficult to make their way to their 

[IS3] 



Between Jaffa and Jerusalem 

posts at Jerusalem. As some recompense, however, 
they have the charm of sailing back and forth along the 
Syrian coast. The atmosphere there is usually very 
clear, and the panorama of towns and villages along 
the sandy shore, with the sharply outlined mountains 
rising behind them, is picturesque. The steamships — 
at least in daylight — keep very dose inshore. 

When we landed at Jaffa, the sea was smooth, and 
the disembarking uneventful. The town is commer- 
cially important, but not particularly interesting to 
tourists. Furthermore, the accommodations for travel- 
lers are not good. The '^ hotels" ate few and small, 
and are in the habit of sending their overflow guests to 
a hospice kept by the German colony, or to the Francis- 
can monastery; there too the quarters are limited, and 
often the tourist will find not where to lay his head. 
Even in Jerusalem there is but one "hotel," properly 
speaking, and when that is filled travellers must seek 
second-rate inns, or the hospitality of the hospices. 

Going up through the filthy streets of Jaffa, you see 
mountains of luggage strapped in p]rramids on the backs 
of Arabs, for no wheeled vehicles are found in the streets. 
When you reach the limits of the town some venerable 
vehicles of the cabriolet type may be hired. We were 
weak enough to charter one of these vehicles, as we had 
already trudged some distance from the quay, and the 
railway station was still afar off. Scarcely had we 
started when our own driver and the drivers of several 
other vehicles began flogging their horses, and a wild 
race began. I believe the Orientals are the worst 

[X54] 



». k,/ i 



i-M< 



/ V 1 V 1 



r •< 



:j 



Imide Ihf Jaffa Gatr, JerusaUm 



Odd Sights of Jaffa 

drivers in the world — some of them seem to be crazy. 
Ours was the craziest in this lot, for he soon distanced 
the others, much to our relief, for the road was narrow. 
Ere long a crash behind us betokened disaster. We 
looked, and witnessed a complicated collision, in which 
several travellers were hurled from their carriages 
under the horses' feet, and some of them badly hurt. 
No drivers were smashed up, which seemed a pity. 
The natives paid little attention to the injured persons; 
to them the collision seemed a pleasant and exciting 
incident in a rather dull day. 

Among the odd sights of Ja£Fa is a collection of 
cottages constructed in Chicago. Several of these are 
now occupied as the "Jerusalem Hotel." It seems 
that these incongruous structures were transported to 
Jaffa some years ago by a Second Adventist colony 
from Chicago. Some of these colonists died of tropical 
diseases; others returned to America; very few remain. 

One of the things most remarked by Occidental 
travellers, when landing in Palestine, is the railway 
running from Jaffa to Jerusalem. It is not much of a 
road, as it runs but one train daily each way, and even 
its first-class carriages are poor; but any railway at all 
in that country seems an anomaly. The Jaffa station 
is quite a distance from the Jaffa seaport. The Jeru- 
salem station also is without the city walls, some dis- 
tance from the Jaffa Gate; the Turkish Government 
refused to permit the railway company to come within 
the walls. The distance from Jaffa to Jerusalem is 
fifty-three miles, and the trains make it in three and a 

[1551 



Between Jaffa and Jerusalem 

half hoursi dimbing from sea level to over twenty-five 
hundred feet. 

On the road from Jaffa to Jerusalem the amazing 
amount of work which has been done in this andent 
land is apparent in the terraces. For mile after mile, 
on right and left of the railway, you see the mountains 
terraced from the levd of the rails dear up to the top. 
I coimted the rows of terraces several times, and there 
was an average of seventy, from the bottom of the 
ravines to the top of the mountains, for twenty-five 
miles on both sides of the railway. The labor which 
these terraces represent is enormous — no one genera- 
tion could have accomplished it; this task has been the 
work of many centuries. Merely to amuse myself I 
made a slight calculation. The labor of constructing 
one of these terraces is about equivalent to that of 
making a rough roadway. Therefore, taking the 
twenty-five miles and doubling it for the two sides of 
the railway, we have fifty miles of mountain terraced 
seventy times, which gives thirty-five hundred miles of 
road constructed in this narrow strip. Yet this repre- 
sents only one ravine or pass in the mountains; every 
slope of this mountain range is terraced in the same 
way; as this chain of moimtains averages roughly in 
width about ten miles, this would give a total of thirty- 
five thousand miles of roadway! Think of this colos- 
sal labor accomplished by human hands. And think 
of the number of himian hands — dead hands now for 
ages. 

These terraces are not only planted with trees, such 

[156] 



A Blood-Drenched Soil 

as the olive, but many of them are also sown with grain. 
Fancy planting grain in so stony and sterile a country 
that it was necessary to make stone terraces and then 
put soil on top of them in which to sow the grain. Yet 
that is how thousands of miles of terraces are utilized 
in the Holy Land. 

It is remarkable that the soil of Palestine should be 
90 sterile. For forty centuries — who knows how 
many more ? — men have killed each other there in the 
name of all the gods. There, war has been waged in 
the name of Assjnian, Philistine, and Egyptian deities. 
There, foul crimes have been done in the name of the 
great Jehovah, the pitiless God of the ancient Jews. 
There, in the name of the gentle Nazarene, the Crusad- 
ers did dark deeds. There, in the Middle Ages, cruel 
Christians "converted" Jews by the rack, the stake, 
the torture by water, the torture by fire, in the name 
of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy 
Ghost. And now for a thousand years, in the name 
of the Triime God, in the name of the monotheists' 
AUah, men have been waging war. 

Palestine's soil is drenched with blood. Her rock 
tombs are filled with the bodies of the rich and great, 
her soil is fertilized with the bodies of the poor and 
lowly. This holy land has been saturated with the 
blood of millions of men and women killed in religion's 
name. Their bodies have gone to enrich the gigantic 
ddbris from her rock-ribbed hills. Yet it is still a sterile 
soil. 

Up to the terraces of stone, along the sterile hills of 

[1571 



Between Jaffa and Jerusalem 

Palestine, the soil has been carried from the valley lands 
below. Rocky as are the mountain sides, the passage 
of countless ages has washed away enough debris to 
form a deep soil in the valleys and ravines. Slowly, 
slowly, this soil has been dug out and painfully carried 
up by hand — sometimes almost to the mountain tops, 
for the villages are usually situated on the tops of the 
mountains. Many of these terraces are neglected now, 
and the soil is slowly washing out of the stones back 
into the valleys from which it was dug. The men who 
dug it, who carried it up the mountain, are now them- 
selves a part of the soil which they once carried. It 
may be that, in another four thousand years, yet other 
men, whose bodies are builded out of the same soil, will 
again be canying the decayed bodies of their remote 
ancestors, mixed with crumbled granite, up the moun- 
tain sides of Palestine. 



On the JaflFa and Jerusalem Railway, at every stop- 
ping place we were besieged by pedlers bearing 
oranges. Never have I seen such gorgeous golden 
apples: even California, favored land as she is, can 
produce nothing to compare with the oranges of Jaffa. 
We were told that these oranges are not exported in 
large quantities — why, I could not learn. K they 
were, they would prove formidable competitors for the 
large orange trade of Northern Europe. They are far 
superior to the oranges of Sicily, Greece, or Spain. 

These orange-pedlers were often smardy rebuked 



Palestine Train Travellers 

by a good-looking youth of some eighteen years. He 
had taken passage on the train in order to urge some 
passengers to hire his services in Jerusalem; hence hia 
zeal against the pedlers. He had been educated in 
an American mission school, and spoke very fair Eng- 
lish. Some of the passengers entered into conversa- 
tion with him. He was handsome, brisk in speech and 
manner, and generally attractive. But it is remarkable 
how these Orientals fail to improve on acquaintance — 
in ten minutes' time he became intolerably pert, flip- 
pant, familiar, and what is slangily called "fresh." 
Experienced travellers in the Orient always treat in- 
feriors with much severity, not to say contempt. At 
first this unpleasantly impresses an American, but it 
may be necessary by reason of the Oriental tempera- 
ment. 

Looking from the windows of the Jaffa- Jerusalem 
Railway one sees many stone walls and stone houses. 
In Palestine generally even out-buildings are largely 
made of stone, while in Jaffa and Jerusalem everything 
is of stone. Even the very cisterns, or tanks on the 
housetops, are of stone. But in the stony Holy City 
the stone does not stop with the street level — the 
dwellers descend, and burrow into the earth beneath. 
In many of the Jerusalem and Bethlehem buildings 
there are basements, sub-basements, crypts, sub-crypts, 
and dungeons. One may descend several stories into 
the bowels of the earth, amid dampness and slime, ooze 
trickling over the stone steps. Wherever you go you 
are taken to see various sights down in holes and bur- 

[159] 



y.' 



Between Jaffa and Jerusalem 

rows* I do not like these crypts and dungeons; I 
prefer to stay outside, and let those who will descend to 
gaze on corroded chains, mouldy bones, and historic 
stones. 



On the train between JafiPa and Jerusalem an elderly 
American woman objected to the smoking going on 
atoimd her. She grabbed at a uniformed railway 
guard who was passing through the carriage, and shrilly 
set forth her objections. He very civilly replied that 
there was no rule against smoking in the carriages. 

** Then there ought to be," she retorted, " when ladies 
travel on the trains." 

** But the Turkish ladies who travel on our trains all 
smoke themselves," replied the guard. 

" Do they, indeed?" replied the old lady acidly, "but 
American women do not smoke." 

"That may be, madam," replied the guard; "but 
you are not in America, you are in Turkey." StiU with 
much civility. 

"I don't care if I ami" hissed the old lady fiercely; 
"and I don't care if the Turkish women do smoke. 
They ought not to, so there I" 

" Perhaps they ought not to," said the guard, with 
unruffled courtesy; "but they do." 

The old lady looked at him hopelessly, gasped, and 
subsided. Probably she never before had known a 
man to have the last word with her. She had a kind 
of black alpaca make-up, and looked like a widow. 

[i6o] 



An Educated Train Guard 

A French wit once said that the insane asylums are fuU 
of men who argued with their wives. Perhaps she 
was only a pseudo-widow, and her husband in an 
asylum. 

I was so much interested in this incident^ and in the 
guard's insistent civility, despite his persistent dispu- 
tatiousness, that I engaged him in conversation. I 
found that he was a Smymiote, and had been educated 
at Roberts College, Constantinople. In this famous 
educational institution he had acquired his suavity of 
manner and his flueht English. But the faculty had 
failed to instil in him the belief, deep-rooted in the 
American mind, of the folly of arguing with an elderly 
lady. 



[i6i] 



X 



JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN 




JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN 

|ERUSALEM is not the largest city in the 
world, but it is one of the longest. Its 
area is not great, but it sticks back into 
the night of time like the tail of a comet. 
Therefore, to attempt to write, even superficially, about 
this long but little city, within the limits of a chapter, 
would be difficult. It is also difficult to decide how to 
entitle such a chapter. One might call it "The New 
Jerusalem," for there is a new and very modem Jeru- 
salem growing out of the ruins of the old. But such a 
title would smack of irreverence to many. 

"The Holy City" naturally suggests itself; but what 
I saw there was wholly unholy. "Jerusalem the 
Golden" would be a significant and telling title — not 
as an irreverent sneer at the Celestial City, but as sug- 
gesting the golden stream which pours into Jerusalem 
from all over the world — a stream of gold which is 
erecting churches, synagogues, mosques, monasteries, 
and hospices, and which maintains in comfort, and 
often in luxury, many thousands of idle himian beings. 
As you approach Jerusalem from JaflFa the railway 

[ i6s ] 



Jerusalem the Golden 

stops not far from the Jaffa gate. You see at once that 
there is a Jerusalem without the walls as well as one 
within. The new Jerusalem without the walls is larger 
than the inclosed city. It has numerous shops, many 
of them not unlike those of Europe. Without the walls 
are several Jewish colonies, a Syrian orphanage, an 
English agricultural colony, an American colony called 
"The Over-Comers," and several European consu- 
lates. The view of Jerusalem, both the inner and the 
outer cities, is best seen from the Mount of Olives. 

Without the walls one sees many cemeteries. The 
Jews lay flat tombstones over their dead. The Mo- 
hammedans erect marble slabs or headstones like those 
seen in our cemeteries, but for some strange reason the 
Mohammedan tombstones all seem to stand aslant, 
the effect of which is most forlorn. 

Not far from the railway station, and dose to the 
Jaffa gate, you are first struck by the great Russian 
reservation. It is difficult to fathom the designs of 
Russia in Palestine. The country around Jerusalem 
seems to be a worthless one from almost any stand- 
point, military or economic. From the religious point 
of view, it may be worth possessing. As the Russian 
peasants are probably the most bigoted and ignorant 
people in the Western world, Russia may find it profit- 
able to use the Holy Land as a place of religious resort 
for them. Pilgrimages are continually being brought 
here by Russia — the emigrant packets carrying the 
pilgrims are often convoyed by Russian men-of-war. 
The enormous Russian reservation at Jerusalem is like 

[i66] 



Land Values in Jerusalem 

a fortified camp. It is surrounded by a wall, has sen- 
tries at the gates, and is accorded extra-t^nitoriality. 
Within its walls are acres of buildings, from the one- 
story barracks designed for the peasant class to the 
more elaborate hospices intended for the pilgrims of 
superior station. It is practically a slice of Russia set 
down in the Holy Land, guarded by Russian arms, 
ruled by Russian law, and under the Russian flag. 

A short distance outside the Jaffa Gate are the Monte- 
fiore buildings. One of the first movements toward 
colonizing the Jews here was the erection in 1865 
of these almshouses; the first buildings outside the 
walls, they were erected by Sir Moses Montefiore, the 
English millionnaire, himself a Jew. These one-story 
buildings, which look like barracks, are absolutely free 
to poor Jews. Certain families among them have lived 
there for many years, one &mily for over a third of a 
century. 

The New Jerusalem without the walls has sent up 
the price of land. To show how land in Jerusalem is 
"booming," the following prices are quoted in a con- 
sular report Two acres sold in 1890 for 1,250 francs 
an acre, sold a year later for 3,750 francs. Twelve acres 
sold in 1890 for 2,275 francs, in 1892 for 10,890 francs 
per acre. Just inside the Jaffa Gate a piece of land 
which sold in 1865 for 5,000 francs was sold in 1891 for 
120,000 francs. 

There are, of course, later figures, but these are the 
only official ones I was able to secure. 

The most successful land speculators are apparently 

[167] 



Jerusalem the Golden 

the Russian monks, who are successful in snatching a 
few moments daily from their religious duties to attend 
to land-dealing. The Turks say that these monks own 
over one-fourth of the land in Jerusalem. It is evident 
that these Russians doubly love the Holy Land, partly 
because it is holy, but mainly because it is land. 



One's first impressions on entering any ancient and 
historic spot are worth remembering — perhaps worth 
recording. Therefore, it may be well to set down what 
first struck me on entering Jerusalem. It was evening 
as we drove from the station and entered the JaflFa Gate. 
Almost immediately on entering the city we left our car- 
riage, for there are few streets in Jerusalem where 
wheeled vehicles may pass. We descended from the 
carriage at the entrance of a long, vaulted passage 
leading to the hotel. This ran under the building for 
some fifty yards, and was packed with a motley gather- 
ing. As we made our way through this i!nass of hu- 
manity, our dragoman turned to us and said wamin^y, 
"Look out for your pockets." Then I knew that we 
were fairly in the Holy City. 

It has been my fortune to enter many cities where I 
knew nobody. In fact, I always expect to know no- 
body in strange cities, although (so small is the world) 
I often meet acquaintances in out-of-the-way places. 
But I was quite certain I had no drde in Jerusalem. 
I never had been there before, I knew few people who 

[i68] 



The Jerusalem Nose 

had been there, and I never knew any one who had 
gone there to stay. Fanqr, therefore, my surprise the 
morning after our arrival, as I emerged from the hotel 
door, snifl^g the rich and juicy Jerusalem air, to find 
myself accosted by a yoimg man with a fez and a hooked 
nose. ''Good morning," said he cordially. I was 
acknowledging his salutation, when I was suddenly 
greeted on the right, "How do you do, sir?" I looked 
around, and there was another yoimg man with a fez 
and a hooked nose. "It is a fine morning," came an- 
other voice. I looked behind me, and there was a new 
friend hurrying up. "I hope you are weU, sir?" cried 
a fourth, who arrived on a run. Bewildered, I turned 
around, when I was accosted by at least a dozen young 
men, all bowing, and asking about my health, and all 
with fezzes and hooked noses. 

At first I was a litde surprised at the extent of my 
circle of acquaintances in Jerusalem, but after they had 
broken the ice with remarks about my health and the 
weather, they came down to business. They turned 
out to be drivers, dragomans, pedlers, touts, and shop- 
keepers. I do not include among my list of acquaint- 
ances the shoe-cleaning boys of Jerusalem; they are as 
thick as mosquitoes. 

It must not be inferred from the foregoing that all 
these hooked-nosed gentry were Jews. Not so. In the 
Orient the hooked nose is by no means confined to the 
Jewish race. The Turks are, many of them, singu- 
larly Semitic in appearance; in Constantinople many 
of the officers of the Sultan's guard look like handsome 

[169] 



Jerusalem the Golden 

young Jews, while Sultan Abdul Hamid himself has a 
strikingly Hebraic face. In Jerusalem the predominant 
type of nose, among Oriental Jews, Occidental Jews, 
Turks, and Armenians, is what we call the Jewish nose. 
Only the Russians — of whom there are many in Jeru- 
salem — depart widely from this type: they have the 
flat, Calmuck, or Tartar nose. 

While I am on the subject of nations and noses, here 
is a curious fact about Palestine — apparency no man 
declares his race. Ask a dragoman of what country 
he is, and he will reply, "I am a Moslem." Another 
will say, "I am a Latin"; another, "I am a Jew." In 
every case I found that the man interrogated replied 
with his religion, rather than his race. There was 
one dragoman who hesitated several seconds before 
replying to me when asked, finally saying, ^'I am a 
Christian." He was a lame dragoman and easy to 
identify, so I determined to ascertain his pedigree. I 
was curious to see what manner of man was this who, 
in this religious land, was uncertain about his religion. 
I foimd that the lame dragoman was the son of a Judo- 
German father and an Arab mother. The ^father 
wanted to make him a Jew, the mother wanted to make 
him a Moslem, but as he grew up he became a drago- 
man, and made himself a Christian for business reasons. 



Our hotel was immediately within the waDs, near the 
Jaffa Gate, and naturally we saw much of the life there. 

[170] 



V 



fU: 



A' 



. n. I 



r f 



Street Scenes in Jerusalem 

It is one of the liveliest places in Jerusalem. Just out- 
side the gate, on the Jaffa Road, there is a multitude 
of hucksters' booths and rows of native csdis, where 
laborers sit on stools smoking. There are also large 
numbers of donkey-drivers waiting with their animals 
for hire. Although the wall is a massive structure and 
the gate some fifty feet high, the entrance is narrow, 
with a right-angled turn — one of the methods adopted 
in the old days for defence. Through this narrow gate- 
way there pours an endless stream of camels, donkeys, 
and footmen all day long. Without the gate you see 
jostling camel-drivers, and camels kneeling to receive 
their loads. Scores of hawkers are squatting on the 
ground behind their heaps of oranges, dates, lemons, 
onions, radishes, and other vegetables. There are also 
many venders of bread — a staple in Jerusalem, as in 
all the Eastern world; it is piled up in stacks, very much 
as we handle cord-wood, and with about as much 
attention to cleanliness. Many of these food-mongers 
have a stock so small as to be pitiable — some two or 
three poimds of wormy figs, for example, worth perhaps 
a few pennies. One sees bareheaded water-carriers 
everywhere, carrying their skins full of water, women 
carrying packages of fuel on their heads, other women 
with children '^pick-a-back" on their shoulders. Side 
by side with barefooted and barelegged natives, one 
frequently sees Russian pilgrims with heavy fur caps, 
heavy overcoats down to their heels, and heavy boots 
to the knees — quite a contrast Every now and again 
one sees a diminutive donkey with an enormous load 



Jerusalem the Golden 

of olive-tree orchard cuttings, for in this treeless land 
every scrap of fuel is valuable. 

Within as without the walls, the narrow ways of Jeru- 
salem are lined with stalls containing all manner of 
fruits and vegetables. Many of the venders are women; 
their garments are coarse, but they wear bright reds and 
blues, sometimes even party-colored gowns, thus giving 
much color to the scene. In many parts of the Orient, 
as in Egypt, women of the poorer class dress almost 
entirely in black. These female venders in Jerusalem 
sell eggs, oranges, lemons, melons, cucumbers, beans, 
tomatoes, onions, and other ^'garding sass." Along 
the streets are many cobblers' shops, on the shelves of 
which are rows of red and yellow slippers with tumed- 
up toes. Scattered along the shops are many caffe 
which set out small wooden tables in the street, pro- 
vided with wooden stools, and garnished with long- 
stemmed day pipes. 

Jerusalem is a small city, and has within it such laige 
inclosures, like the Citadel, the Turkish barracks, the 
Armenian monastery, and the great Temple Square, 
that the remaining portion is much crowded. It is a 
walk of only two and a half miles around the walls. 
The Temple Square is levelled oflE, but most of the dty 
is extremely hilly. That the Jerusalem of the Saviour's 
time has become so deeply buried is partly explained by 
the many gorges now bdng filled up immediately with- 
out the walls. Herod's mighty palace is entirely buried 
Its topmost portions are thirty feet below the present 
level, with the exception of parts of the north towers. 

[172] 



Subterranean Jerusalem 

It was always to me a matter of wonder how Jeru- 
salem came to be so far below the level of the modem 
dty. I can understand the buried cities of the Cam- 
pagna in Italy: some of them were overwhelmed by 
lava, some by mud^ some by ashes; on top of these the 
natural accretion of ages made a new soil. But there 
is nothing volcanic about Jerusalem except the Greek 
and Latin monks (who also, by the way, carry soil by 
accretion). How can one account for the great depth 
at which some of the ancient ruins are found? For 
that matter, there is many a house still inhabited, the 
level of which is far below that of the present street; you 
see people going down into these ancient houses as if 
they were burrows. Then again, there are ruins which 
have been discovered in the third story below the earth, 
so to speak. That is, there would be a Jewish building, 
on top of it a Roman building, on top of that a mediaeval 
building, and last of all a modem church. There are 
some who say that below the Jewish level there are still 
older mins. 

It was always incomprehensible to me how such a 
vast amount of rubbish could have accumulated there. 
If Jemsalem lay in a valley, or in a basin like London, 
I could understand it. But such is not the case — the 
city is twenty-five hundred feet above the level of the 
sea. You have to climb up from the plains of Palestine 
to reach Jemsalem, and even when you get to its 
immediate surroundings, you have still to climb to get 
into the city. The human race is a lazy one, and 
fond of dumping mbbish into easy places; but that they 

[173I 



Jerusalem the Golden 

should take the trouble to haul rubbish up twenty-five 
hundred feet into the air to discharge it there seems 
preposterous. 

One day in Jerusalem this mystery was solved. (I 
may remark parenthetically that as there are all manner 
of deep gorges and ravines in the modem city, doubt- 
less there were more in the ancient one.) One day we 
were not far from the Temple Square when we saw a 
number of carts busily at work filling up a depression. 
In this particular gorge or valley is the famous Pool of 
Bethesda. Now the Pool of Bethesda, according to 
the antiquarians, is a gigantic basin which was dug out 
of the solid rock. It is — or was — nearly 400 feet 
long, 120 feet wide, and over 80 feet deep. It got lost 
during the middle ages, some one, for unknown rea- 
sons, having filled it about half way up. This so 
changed its physical aspect that the &ithful ceased to 
identify it. 

But the lost pool was found, only to be lost again. 
The day we saw it several scores of Oriental workmen 
were laboring with asses, with carts, and with baskets, 
carrying earth to fill up this gorge. I do not know why 
they were doing it; probably they were levelling it to 
erect some building there. But the thought occurred 
to me that in fifty or a hundred years the new building 
will have fallen down; then some archsologist will with 
great pride locate the Pool of Bethesda. Thereupon 
some rich copper, oil, or steel magnate will furnish 
the funds for excavating. They will dig down some 
hundreds of feet into the gorge which we are watching 

[174] 



Quarrelling Christians 

the workmen fill, and they will discover the pool now 
fast disappearing before our eyes. 



One day we learned that certain Lenten festivities 
were to take place in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. 
According to our Gregorian calendar. Lent does not 
accord with the dates of the Julian calendar followed 
by the Greek, Armenian, Coptic, Syrian, and other 
Oriental churches. The enormous edifice was crowded. 
Every nationality under the sun seemed represented in 
the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There were almost 
as many Moslems as Christians, as could readily be 
perceived from the lofty balcony where we were perched; 
in the crowd below, the black, gray, and bald heads of 
the imcovered Christians were thickly interspersed with 
the vari-colored turbans and fezzes of the unbelievers. 

When I mention the fezzes I do not include those of 
the Turkish troops, of which there was a large force 
drawn up in various parts of the church. These Turk- 
ish troops are nominally there "to preserve order"; 
they are really there to prevent the Christians from 
cutting each other's throats. The bitterness existing 
between the various Christian denominations in the 
Holy Land is almost beyond belief. This hatred is 
not between Catholics and Protestants, for the Protes- 
tants are small in numbers, and the Catholics of all 
sects pay no attention to them. That they do not con- 
sider them Christians at all we learned one day when 

[175] 



Jerusalem the Golden 

conversing with a sweet-faced old nun, who presided 
over the French Convent and School of St Anne in 
Jerusalem. I asked her if the school was entirely for 
Roman Catholics, or "Latin Christians," as they call 
themselves there. "Oh, no, monsieur," she replied; 
"we admit not only Christians, but others as well, in- 
cluding Mohanmiedans, Jews, and ProtestantsJ* The 
italics are mine. 

The most bitter feeling prevails between the Greek 
Catholics, the Armenian Catholics, and the Latins. 
This year (1905) there was a bloody fight in the Church 
of the Holy Sepulchre between the various Christian 
congregations, which the Turkish troops were obliged 
to suppress with force of arms. But this was not a 
novelty — there have been many such battles. The 
disputed questions are those of priority : as to which is 
"the primitive church," of precedence in festivals, of 
the right to claim the Holy Sepulchre, and of the right 
to occupy certain chapels and sacred spots. 

Shortly after we were installed in our lofty perch the 
various Catholic denominations marched in, one after 
another, visiting the different points in the church. 
The Sepulchre itself, Mount Calvary (which is in the 
church), the "Centre of the World," the Chapel of the 
Finding of the Cross, the Chapel of the Crowning with 
Thorns, the Cleft in the Rock, the Place of the Scourg- 
ing — these are some of the places they visited. They 
travelled on a set schedule, which had been arranged 
by the Turkish military conmiander in order to avoid 
collisions. It was a remarkable spectacle, as the pa- 

[176] 



1 



Loving Your Neighbor 

triarchsy bishops, and priests swept by, swinging censers 
and dad in gorgeous vestments, through long lines of 
sneering Turks and weeping beUevers. The hand- 
somest vestments were those worn by the Greek priests; 
never have I seen anything to equal them, even in the 
most gorgeous sacristies, the richest treasure-chambers 
of the great cathedrals of the Western world. The 
handsomest men were those of the Armenian faith; 
both they and the Greek priests wear beards, and are 
tall and stately men. The beard lends dignity to the 
priesthood, and both Greeks and Armenians look better 
than the smooth-shaven Latin priests. 

As the gorgeously attired prints filed by, chanting 
their ritual, sometimes in Greek, sometimes in Syriac, 
sometimes in Latin, it was curious to watch the faces 
of the onlookers. There was every type among them. 
The sneering Moslems, of whom I have spoken, were 
principally of the better dass, wearing the frock coat 
and the fez. But there were other Mohammedans as 
well: coal-black negroes from Nubia; slave-traders from 
the Soudan; Mohammedan moUahs with the green 
caftan; Arabs from Aleppo, bearing the brown scars of 
the Aleppine boil; Bedouins from the desert; Turkish 
women in their yashmaks and feredjeeSj peering curi- 
ously through thdr thin veils at the dogs of imbelievers; 
nondescript Syrian peasants, bare-footed, bare-legged, 
and clad in sheepskins. One such was clad in a sheep- 
skin that had bdonged to several generations — an 
hereditary sheepskin, an heirloom in his family, as it 
were. He was my neighbor for a time, and was too 

[177] 



Jerusalem the Golden 

dose to me to be agreeable. Whenever I think of that 
hereditary sheepskin, I shudder. He was my neigh- 
bor, and being in Palestine I should have loved him. 
But if you think it is hard to love your neighbor in your 
own neighborhood you ought to try it in Jerusalem. 



One incident at this Lenten function in the Church 
of the Holy Sepulchre surprised us. When the Latin 
procession — that is, the Roman Catholic — entered, 
the French consul and his suite were following them; 
the consul and the vice-consul were in full uniform, the 
secretary and two or three clerks were in swallow-tail 
coats and white ties, and all were carrying large, fat 
candles, about four feet high. Why was the French 
consul attending this Roman Catholic function at Jeru- 
salem ? At that very time France was engaged in driv- 
ing out the religious from convents and monasteries in 
France. £v6n in Jerusalem some of the expatriated 
religious were to be found in the institution of the Soeurs 
R^paratrices, on the hill above our hotel. Why does 
France with one hand whip the religious from her fron- 
tiers, while with the other she piously holds candles at 
Roman Catholic functions in Jerusalem? 

And the French consular corps — how did they look? 
Well, it was rather droll. The consul was a good- 
looking man of about thirty, in a handsome uniform, 
and carried a gold-laced cocked hat under his arm. He 
was holding his candle listlessly, but stiU tilted forward 

[178] 



A Suite Flirtation 

so that the grease should not fall on his gold-laced 
trousers or patent-leather boots. The vice-consul had 
also fallen into a weak-kneed condition of boredom, 
andy with his head sunk upon his chest, was apparently 
thinking of his early loves. The secretaries and clerks 
of the consulate were yawning, and the general air of 
the party was one of extreme ennui. In front of them 
were the rows of prostrate priests rapidly mumbUng 
their ritual, while around them was the human mass of 
filth, squalor, and ignorance, Christian and Moham- 
medan. 

A Russian moujik had forced his way through the 
crowd, and, seeing the altar, flung himself on the dirty 
pavement and began kissing the stones with loud 
smacks, having first wiped his lips with his sleeve. I 
should think he would first have wiped the pavement 
and next his sleeve, but there is no accounting for tastes. 
As he was rising from one of his genuflections he took 
his eyes from the altar, looked at the priests, then at the 
consuls; with a scowl he withdrew — he was in the 
wrong shop — he belonged to the Greek Catholic outfit, 
and he made haste to shake from his shoes the very 
dust of the Latin Catholic procession. 

It was in the midst of this mass of people that the 
French consular suite were standing with their candles, 
when a group of six or eight young women appeared, 
their dragoman having made a way for them in the 
front rank of the crowd. The moment the consul saw 
them, he straightened up and threw out his chest; the 
vice-consul noted his superior, followed the direction 

[179] 



Jerusalem the Golden 

of his eyes, and, seeing the guide-book ladies, began to 
twirl his mustache. The clerks and secretaries obe- 
diently followed suit, and in about thirty seconds the 
entire stafiF were neglecting the Holy Sepulchre and the 
whole business, and trying to mash the girls. It was 
very human. 



[180] 



XI 



GABRIEL AND URIEL 



XI 



GABRIEL AND URIEL 




jN our second day in Jerusalem, when 
our dragoman, Gabriel (a Christian 
Armenian), took us into a Turkish 
bazaar, he explained that the Turkish 
shopkeepers were more honest than the Latin Chris- 
tians, the Greek Christians, the Syrian Christians, or 
the Jews. 

This rather surprised me. "How about the Arme- 
nians, Gabriel?" I asked. 

"They are the most bad of all," he replied. 

While Gabriel was trying to persuade the indifferent 
Turkish shopkeeper to show us his goods (Turks are 
not "hustlers"), I stepped across the street to look at 
some photographs in a window there. 

I was immediately beset by touts. I shook them off 
— all but one. Of him anon. Let me preface my 
experience with him by some moral reflections on anger. 
To begin with, never get angry when travelling. It is 
a grave error. Anger congests your cerebral blood- 
vessels, affects your nerves, gives you pipe-stem arteries, 
and seriously interferes with your digestion. Never 

[183] 



Gabriel and Uriel 

get angry, particularly while travelling — there are 
plenty of things which occur while travelling cal- 
culated to make you angry, but never permit them 
to do so. 

But sometimes you may permit yourself to pretend 
to be angry. In the Orient much business is transacted 
by means of personal abuse. For example, the man 
on horseback always abuses the man on foot; the man 
driving a carriage always abuses the pedestrian; the 
footman hurls back the abuse at the horseman, but 
takes care to get out of his way. The policeman in the 
Orient abuses everybody; true, he frequendy uses a 
stout cane to chastise, but he rules the populace prin- 
cipally by abuse. Therefore, it is often useful in 
Oriental cities to indulge in loud and noisy talk in order 
to accomplish whatever end you may have in view. K 
a tout annoys you by his loud importunities, abuse him 
even more loudly. If a dragoman or a boatman tries 
to impose upon you and begins to yell, always yell back 
at him, and in a louder yell. 

Jerusalem is infested by the most noisy and pestif- 
erous shop-touts I ever saw. Gangs of them lie in 
wait for the unfortunate tourist; they pester him, they 
dog his footsteps, they almost pull him into their shops. 
This particularly persistent tout buzzed about me as I 
was approaching his photograph shop. 

I immediately worked myself into a furious rage. 
"What do you mean?" I bawled, "I was about to go 
into your shop, where I would have bought at least 
twenty francs' worth of photos, when you get between 

[184] 



Jerusalem Shop Touts 

me and the window, and prevent me from seeing the 
very views I intended to purchase/' 

In Oriental countries most people seemin^y' have 
nothing to do, and a crowd speedily gathered. The 
proprietor hastened out of the shop; he was alarmed — 
he tried to pacify me. 

But I would not be pacified. "What sort of a 
shop do you keep, anyway?" I yeUed. "And what 
sort of shopmen? I woidd have bought fifty francs' 
worth of photos if it were not for this fellow's inter- 
ference." 

The proprietor again tried to moUify me. " But, sar," 
said he appealingly, "I beg you to overlook it." 

"Overlook nothing I" I replied. "I will not over- 
look it. I will warn all the other tourists in the hotel 
to keep away from your place, and I will tell them to 
go to the shop across the way." Here I started osten- 
tatiously for the rival shop. 

The proprietor played his last card. He pointed to 
the crestfallen tout, who stood, with almost tearful 
countenance, listening to my bitter indictment 

"Pardon the young man, sir, I beg of you," he said, 
" really, he did not mean it. He knows no better, sir. 
He is not from Jerusalem. He comes from Bethlehem." 



On our third day in Jerusalem, our dragoman, 
Gabriel, fell ill. I do not wonder at it. How any one 
can stay well in Jerusalem with its awful filth, its me- 

[i8S] 



Gabriel and Uriel 

phitic air, and its rainwater tanks full of the foulness 
of ages, is to me incomprehensible. 

At all events, Gabriel fell ill, and his son dragomanned 
in his stead. Like his father, the youth was named 
Gabriel. But in order to avoid mixing up young and 
old Gabriel, I concluded to call the youth "Uriel." 
Lovers of "Paradise Lost" will remember that Uriel 
slid down to Gabriel on a sunbeam — "gliding through 
the even swift as a shooting-star.'' Milton's simile 
seems to me a poetic way of indicating how old Gabriel 
acquired young Gabriel — much more poetic than is 
the old story of the stork. 

We found the youthful Uriel rather more interesting 
than his father, for these old dragomans get to be fright- 
ful bores. They are like music-boxes — jvhen once 
wound up they have to go through the whole tune with- 
out missing a note. If you stop the music-box by ask- 
ing a question, the mechanism clicks, and the dragoman 
goes back to the beginning of the music-barrel, and 
gives it to you all over again. Young Gabriel, being 
new to his business, had not learned his lessons thor- 
oughly, and therefore could answer questions. Fur- 
thermore, he was quite inteUigent, fairly educated, and 
spoke both French and English in a scholarly way — 
that is, a mission-scholarly way. I asked him where 
he learned his languages, and he told us that he had 
been a pupil at the Franciscan monastery. He offered 
to take us to his alma maters whither we went willingly, 
and were repaid with a fine view of Jerusalem from the 
flat roof of the lofty building. 

[i86] 



Franciscan School and Club 

Jerusalem is no longer confined within walls. As 
we stood on the roof of the Franciscan monastery, and 
surveyed the extensive prospect, we could not help but 
note how largely the ground covered with buildings 
outside the walls exceeded the area within. In fact, 
there has been a building boom at Jerusalem. This 
has brought about a vast deal of grading and filling 
outside the walls, for the country is mountainous and 
abounds in deep gorges. The physical changes taking 
place around Jerusalem to-day give one an idea of how 
the ancient dty has come to be buried. 

In reply to my questions, our young friend Uriel gave 
me some data about Jerusalem and the Jerusalem Jews. 
When it came to proper names, he very obligingly wrote 
them in my note-book. Unfortunately, he put Jewish 
names in Hebrew characters, Syrian names in Syriac — 
in fact, each language in its own character. When I was 
forced to admit that I could not read them, Uriel was sur- 
prised, but s)rmpathetic. Between us, we trans-literated 
them into English — with what success I do not know. 
Some of Uriel's facts and names are set down elsewhere. 

When we had finished our inspection and Uriel had 
finished his lecture, we descended from the roof of the 
Franciscan monastery to view the interior. 

Young Uriel took us all over the establishment, which 
includes a number of buildings. Among them there is 
a school conducted by the Christian Brothers. Hang- 
ing on the wall are specimens of the pupils' handwriting. 
A glance at this collection shows how curiously jumbled 
the nationalities are. The autographs are in Roman, 

[187] 



Gabriel and Uriel 

in cursivei in Arabic, in Hebrew, and in other Oriental 
alphabets. 

With great pride, young Uriel took us into the ** Qub- 
Room." It seems that the alumni of the institution, 
of whom he was one, had formed a dub, and the Fran- 
ciscan fathers had placed at their disposal quarters in 
the monastery. Here they had reading and writing- 
rooms, although I saw no facilities for drinking and 
smoking. In their dub-rooms they hdd assemblies 
at stated intervals, where papers were read, short plays 
acted, and other entertainments given. 

I complimented young Urid on the up-to-dateness 
of the Jerusalem youth. ''I bdong to several dubs," 
said I, with much gravity, "but I have never seen one 
exactly like this." This was stricdy true. 

Young Urid was much gratified by my implied flat- 
tery, and replied, " Yes, we are all very pride of our 
dub, but it has many of the difficulties." 

"What are they, pray?" I inquired sympathetically. 

" The prindpal difficulty," said young Urid severdy, 
"is that much of the members refuse to fill the offices 
at the dub, and when they do fill them, they refuse to 
perform their performances." 

"I don't understand," said I; "to perform ^ 

"To transact thdr acts," added Urid explanatorily; 
"to make thdr duties." 

"Ah, yes," I interrupted; "to do thdr doings, you 
mean." 

" Yes," said Uriel, " to do thdr doings. Thus all the 
work falls on the government committee, and the mem-* 

[i881 



Monks as Typographers 

bers hold the govenunent responsible for everything, 
and abuse at the government committee all the times. 
I ^appertain to the government committee/* added 
young Uriel, with a pained air, ''and we are all very 
much broken-hearted, and we have thought of resign- 
ing our functions so imgrateful." 

The good fathers, I learned, are exceedingly sur- 
prised at these hitches in the club; they think, that if 
dub-rooms are provided, a club should run smoothly 
and automatically. The worthy fathers are unworldly 
men, or they would know that indvic hypercritidsm 
is the weakness of all dubs. 

The most interesting sights in this monastery are the 
workshops, where aU sorts of crafts are followed. 
There are workers in iron and workers in wood, workers 
in leather and grinders of grain; all sorts of primitive 
crafts are taught in that primitive country — turning 
the berry of the wheat into flour, and making the flour 
into bread; tanning hides, and making the leather into 
shoes; weaving doth, and making the doth into gar- 
ments. The highest of the crafts here represented is 
the typographic art and kindred crafts, for we found a 
large establishment here devoted to type-setting, print- 
ing, engraving, lithography, and bookbinding. I in- 
spected the machinery with some curiosity; I found 
that it came fix>m Germany, Bdgium, and Italy — 
none from the United States or England. It did not 
seem to me to compare in workmanship and finish with 
the printing machinery made in Anglo-Saxon countries. 
In addition to type-setting and printing, there is also 

[189] 



Gabriel and Uriel 

a small type-foundry in operation. I talked with the 
youths who were being trained in operating the type- 
casting machines. They knew nothing of the linotype 
machine. When I described to them this machine, 
which casts a solid type-bar with letters on its face, 
their surprise was amusing. They none of them spoke 
English, but all spoke French, and some Italian. It 
was a little difficult for me to describe so complicated 
a machine in a foreign language, but I succeeded in 
describing something, for after I had gone to the other 
end of the long room the type-founders assembled in a 
body, talked it over, and sized me up. They either 
believe that the linotype is the boss machine of the 
twentieth century, or that I am the boss liar, and I am 
not quite certain which. 

As a souvenir of our visit we purchased one of the 
books printed by the Franciscan establishment. It 
is a French guide-book in three volumes, well printed 
and bound. Its author is one of the reverend fathers 
belonging to the monastery. The book begins with a 
sweeping retraction of anything the author might have 
said that could be condemned by the Holy See. Trans- 
lated, it reads at follows: 

" I, the undeisigaed, hereby declare that I am ready to retract 
and to strike out from my book anything which may have crept 
into it, without my intention, that might be contrary to the Chris- 
tian faith and to the teachings of the Holy Catholic and Apostolic 
Church. As I belong to the great Franciscan family, I have 
learned from its venerable Father the most dodle submission to the 
Church of Rome, mother and mistress of all churches. 

'* Father Lixvin ds Hammb." 

[190] 



Christian Women Veiled 

Next comes this: 

" Having had this book examined by two theologians » they have 
permitted its publication. Father Attreijus de Buja. 

" Custodian of the Holy Land/' 

And the third declaration is this: 

" Let it be imprinted. Father Ludovicus. 

" Patriarcha Hie]X)solymitanus." 

The last gentleman, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, 
thus officially permits its publication. Otherwise, it 
would be anathema. And yet it is only a guide-book. 



When we left the Franciscan monastery, and walked 
down one of Jerusalem's steep staircase streets, we 
met a veiled Turkish woman climbing up. I noticed 
an apparent movement of recognition on the part of 
Uriel, and the Turkish lady's balloon-Uke form undu- 
lated slightly all over, as if she noted the recognition. 

"Come, come, Uriel," said I severely, "this will 
never do. This thing of flirting with Turkish ladies 
is strictly prohibited by the Koran, Article Steen, Sec- 
tions 4, II, 44. You are young and heedless. I have 
often heard of foreigners being done to death by the 
indignant Turkish husbands of lady Turkesses at 
whom foreigners had winked. Much as it would pain 
me to think of your losing your young life, it would 
pain me more — infinitely more — to think of your 
losing mine. Prithee no more of this, good Uriel. If 



Gabriel and Uriel 

you are going to mash any more Turkish ladies, please 
do it when you are not taking us through Tiurkish 
towns." 

Uriel turned, and knocked me out with a phrase: 
"It is my mother, sir," he responded simply. 

I gazed at him and gasped. When I had recovered 
my breath, I cried: "Your mother! How is it that 
you, a Christian, a student at the Franciscan monastery, 
should have a Turkish mother?" 

"My mother is not Turkish," said Uriel, with a smile; 
"but many womans here, Christians, Jewesses, and 
others, wear the Turkish dress in order to avoid insult. 
Mohammedan womans are respected of alL But 
womans who are not Mohammedans are not respected 
of the Mohammedans. It is not proper for me to 
recognize my mother in public, but I could not help a 
slight motion. You will pardon me, will you not, sir?" 

"But how can you tell your mother? All these 
women in Turkish dress look alike." 

In truth they do. They may be any age from nine- 
teen to ninety, and they may be beautiful Circassians 
or Abyssinian women as black as charcoal — they all 
look alike, and they all look like — well, never mind 
what they look like, they all look alike. 

"I carmot tell," replied Uriel reflectively. "I not 
know every woman that I know, but I think every man 
he know his mother." 

It seems likely, on the whole, and I felt quite apol- 
ogetic toward Uriel for having suspected him of trying 
to make eyes at his mother. 

[192] 



XII 



SPOTS WHERE 



xn 



SPOTS WHERE 




[NY traveller who yearns to gaze on spots 
— sacred spots on the ground, legendary 
pools in the ground, and historic holes 
under the ground — need not hesitate 
where to go. Let him take a ticket for Jerusalem. In 
assorted spots — spots sacred, spots profane — Jeru- 
salem has no rival. As the spot where there are the 
most " Spots Where," Jerusalem is easily first. 

Still, Jerusalem has no monopoly of "Spots Where." 
In Egypt, as well as in Palestine, there are many '' Spots 
Where." On our first visit to Egypt, we were shown 
the "Spot Where" the Holy Family rested. On our 
latest visit the "Spot Where" was under a tree near 
Heliopolis. Yet I remember perfectly that on our 
previous visit the "Spot Where" the Holy Family 
rested was not under a tree: that time it was down in a 
dark hole. I always keenly remember dark holes — 
I have been led into so many when travelling. To see 
this particular "Spot Where" we had been taken into 
a deep hole — a dark hole — a malodorous hole — a 
hole so dark that it required candles to make the dark- 

[I9S] 



spots Where 

ness visible. Yet on a second visit we were shown the 
authentic "Spot Where" out in the open under a tree. 
Was my poor brain giving way? Had memory lost 
her seat in this distracted globe in consequence of 
seeing so many "Spots Where"? I was much re- 
lieved to find that I had remembered aright. One 
true "Spot Where" was at old Cairo; the other 
true "Spot Where" was in another direction, near 
the modem city, at Heliopolis. There were two true 
"Spots Where." 

The inexperienced sightseer may think that this plu- 
rality of "Spots Where" is due to the rivalry of dties. 
But this is not always so. True, we may find some- 
times several dties claiming a particular " Spot Where." 
But sometimes, even in a single dty, one finds this 
perplexing plurality of pools, this embarrassing rich- 
ness of "Spots Where." It is notably the case in 
Jerusalem. For example, I find in my note-book these 
memoranda : 

"The Tiwiftj of David." 

"The Gardens of Gethsemane." 

"The Pools of Siloam." 

These plurals may sound oddly, but to any one who 
has visited Jerusalem there is nothing strange about 
them. There are several Tombs of David, several 
Gardens of Gethsemane, and several Pools of Siloam. 
Each one is genuine, and each is the only one. I sup- 
pose there is more than one Jacob's Well, although to 
that I will not swear. But if, as I believe, there are sev- 
eral, I wiU swear that each is claimed to be the original 

[196] 



GordofCs Calvary 

Jacob's Well. And David is certainly buried in sev- 
eral places. 

To some the foregoing may soimd like irreverence, 
to others like jesting. But it is not irreverence. It is 
plain, sober truth. It is quite serious. It is so serious 
that much blood has been spilled to determine the 
genuineness of these ''Spots Where." Furthermore, 
sincere and earnest Western Christians — not to be 
mentioned in the same breath mth the frouzy, lousy, 
mangy monks of the Orient — have spent much time 
and money in determining the identity and locality of 
these ''Spots Where." The famous Gordon was one 
of these — the ardent Christian, the quixotic statesman, 
the gallant soldier who played so laige a rdle in Eng- 
land's recent history, political and military. Gordon 
discredited the spot revered as Calvary by the Greek 
and Latin monks for many centuries, and the one 
without the walls, which he selected — still known as 
"Gordon's Calvary" — is by many believed to be the 
genuine one. 

I may pause here to say to those readers who are 
shocked at shams unmasked, if they are "religious" 
shams; who wince at the stripping of sheep's clothing 
from pseudo-sanctimonious priestly wolves; who de- 
nounce truth-telling as "irreverence," if it be told about 
a sacerdotal lie; who cry out in horror at the sacri- 
legious hand that tears aside the veil shrouding the shal- 
low tricks of priestly charlatans, whether they be Latin, 
Greek, Armenian, Jewish, or Mohammedan — to 
such readers, let me say, this chapter had better remain 

[x97] 



Spots Where 

unread. For it will not try to be irreverent about 
sacred places, but it will attempt to tell the truth about 
sacrilegious shams. 



It is not strange, considering how time and war and 
creeds have juggled with Jerusalem, that there should 
be many "Spots Where." Jerusalem lies in layers. 
There are Jewish, Assyrian, Babylonian, Roman, 
Mohammedan, and Crusader strata. The average 
level of the present city is forty feet above the average 
level of the andent one. Shafts have been sunk, which 
in some places have struck ancient pavements a hun- 
dred and twenty feet deep. The present colossal wall 
— which impresses us modem Americans as looking 
so andent — is merely a modem Turkish wall. Far 
below its foundations lie the gigantic stones of the elder 
time. Some of these andent foundation-stones bear 
builders' marks in the Phcenidan character. 

The succession of the various races is told in these 
stories of stone. All through the Holy Land one sees 
Assyrian slabs with their curious bearded faces; one 
sees stones bearing Egyptian hieroglyphics. In the 
museum at Cairo are stones from Palestine with rough- 
looking Greek inscriptions, utterly unlike the elegant 
Romaic characters of modem Athens. Roman in- 
scriptions are seen everywhere in the Holy Land; one 
often sees slabs bearing such inscriptions built into the 
walls of modem houses. 

While there are some new buildings in Jerusalem, I 

[198] 



'I I J ■• •• • . ' '{ 






AFT r ♦' I 



^ ;d 



J 



urch oj Iht Holy Sepidchte, Jeruialem 



Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre 

think the pavements are Early Assyrian. What might 
be called the Boulevard of Jerusalem is David Street; 
it leads from the Jaffa Gate to the Temple entrance, 
running east and west. Across it runs Christian Street, 
leading to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. David 
Street is the dirtiest and roughest street I ever saw in 
any dty. It reqmres dose attention to one's feet in 
walking over it to avoid spraining an ankle. The 
streets of Jerusalem are not lighted by night, and every 
one stays home after dark* I don't wonder — walking 
along David Street after nightfall would put one in 
danger of breaking a leg. Even the four-footed don- 
keys make their way along it very carefully. 

You turn off David Street into Christian Street, which 
is the quarter of Christian craftsmen, and you turn off 
this again into a small square in front of the Church 
of the Holy Sepulchre. This is always crowded with 
pedlers of rosaries, crucifixes, pieces of the True Cross 
knicknacks fashioned out of the cedars of Lebanon, 
and all sorts of sacred souvenirs. Around this square 
are Armenian, Coptic, and Greek chapels. Just 
inside the door is a guard of Turkish soldiery. On 
holy days — which are often days of battle — the 
guard becomes a regiment. 

Not far from the entrance is a stone to mark the 
''Spot Where" the Saviour's body is said to have lain 
in preparation for burial after being anointed. A few 
steps to the left is the ''Spot Where" the women stood 
during the anointing. Thence you pass under the 
great dome, in the centre of which space is the Chapd 

[199] 



Spots Where 

of the Holy Sepulchre, whose front is decorated with 
artificial flowers, gilt ornaments, and blazing with 
lamps. There are two ''Spots Where" in this chapel: 
one is the "Spot Where" the angel stood at the resur- 
rection, the other is the "Spot Where" the Nazarene 
was buried. Two holes on either side of the entrance 
are the "Spots Where" the "Holy Fire" is sent from 
heaven every Greek Easter. On the evening before 
the "Holy Fire" the church is densely packed with the 
faithful, weeping as they stand, for they are too crowded 
to sit or squat. The next morning the Turkish troops 
open a narrow lane through the crowd, using heavy 
whips when the faithful are slow in moving. Through 
this lane the Greek patriarch makes his way to the 
"Spot Where" the "Holy Fire" comes out of the hole. 
When the sacred moment arrives the torch is miracu- 
lously lighted by Heaven, as it is held in the patriarch's 
hands. This is indisputable — thousands of people 
have seen it. The torch is passed to two priests, who, 
protected by Turkish soldiers, make their way through 
the adoring crowd, who fight like fiends to light their 
tapers at the holy torch. 

In this chapel, cased in marble, is the "Spot Where" 
the stone was rolled away by the angel — in fact, a 
piece of the stone is still there. At the west end of the 
chapel, down a low doorway, is the tomb-chamber of 
the Saviour. This "Spot Where" is only six feet by 
six. 

At the east of the church you go down some steps 
to the Chapel of St. Helena, the lady who discovered 

[200] 



Sacrilegious Shams 

the "Spot Where" Christ was buried, who founded the 
church on the "Spot Where," who also discovered 
the "Spot Where" Christ was bom at Bethlehem, 
and the "Spot Where" he ascended into heaven on 
the Mount of Olives, at both of which places she built 
churches. 

There is another chapel farther underground. It is 
so dark that you must carry candles to see it. In this 
chapel — which is called the Church of the Finding of 
the Cross — there are three "Spots Where": the "Spot 
Where" the True Cross was found, and the two "Spots 
Where" the crosses of the two thieves lay imtouched 
for several hundred years. The T-rue Cross was iden- 
tified by taking it to the bedside of a noble lady who 
was afflicted with chronic rheumatism; the other 
crosses had no effect whatever, but the True Cross 
cured her at once. 

Climbing out of these caverns you go up some fifteen 
feet above the level of the main church floor, and you 
are on Mount Calvary, where there are three chapels 
of different sects. There is an opening set in silver — 
this shows the "Spot Where" the cross of Christ was 
fixed in the rock. Near it is a deft in the rock set in 
brass — this is the "Spot Where" the rocks were rent 
at the crucifixion. 

Those readers who may think I am drawing the long 
bow are mistaken. This is only the beginning of the 
"Spots Where." Within a very small drde you are 
shown the "Spot Where" Abraham sacrificed Isaac, 
the " Spot Where " Christ appeared to Mary Magdalen, 

[201] 



spots Where 

the "Spot Where'' the woman stood at the prepara- 
tion for the tombi the "Spot Where" the angel stood 
at the resurrection, the "Spot Where" Joseph was 
buried, the "Spot Where" Christ was scourged, the 
"Spot Where" he was imprisoned, the "Spot Where" 
his raiment was divided, the "Spot Where" he was 
crowned with thorns, the "Spot Where" the cross was 
set, the "Spot Where" the cross was found, and the 
"Spot Where" Adam was buried. 



The Temple Enclosure, with the enclosed spots, is 
variously called Mount Moriah, or the Dome of the 
Rock, or the Mosque of Omar, or the Temple of Solo- 
mon, or Harem-esh-Sherif , according to taste and fancy. 
It is a level space of ground, enclosed by a wall with 
strictly guarded gates. The open space within this 
enclosure is some thirty-five acres. On entering this 
large space of groimd one experiences a marked sensa- 
tion of relief, after pushing through the crowds in the 
filthy, narrow streets of Jerusalem. The oddity of 
this open space in the crowded dty is added to by its 
physical contour, for while Jerusalem is anything but 
level, the Temple Enclosure looks like a parade-ground. 
This has been accomplished by cutting away rock in 
some parts, filling in deep goiges in others, and in stiD 
deeper gorges building huge arches of masonry, on top 
of which an artificial stone flooring has been laid. In 
fact, the whole substructure of this level enclosure is 
honeycombed with tunnels, vaults, and dstems. It is 

[202] 






Dome ol the Rock, JertuaUm 



Interior ol Kubbel ei-Sakhra and the Holy Rock 





A 



Turkish and English Names 

said that at one time over ten million gallons of water 
were stored in these rock dstems* 

It is only of recent years that it has been safe for 
Christians to enter the Temple Enclosure. Many an 
unbeliever has paid the penalty of intrusion with his 
life. Even now it is not easy to enter, although Mo- 
hammedan rigor has yielded to the golden key. But 
there must still be some danger from Moslem fanatics, 
for the foreign constdates will not permit any of their 
citizens or subjects to enter without being attended by 
the kavasses, or armed guards, of the consulate. As 
the fee is not small, it is customary for American, Eng- 
lish, or French travellers to make up parties at their 
consulates, divide the fee, and set forth together \mder 
the guard of the consular kavass. 

In the centre of this great open enclosure there is a 
raised platform of marble, reached by steps. On this 
stands the Mosque of Omar, as tourists call it, or 
Harem-esh-Sherif, as the Turks call it. By the way, it 
is amusing in Palestine to notice the disappointed air 
with which Anglo-Saxon tourists receive the Turkish 
names for streams, mountains, towns, valleys, and 
tombs, as delivered to them by dragomans and ka- 
vasses. In a cotmtry where neariy all the guides are 
Greek or Armenian, where most of the inhabitants 
speak Syriac, and where the official language is Turkish, 
tourists seem to expect that these Greek or Armenian 
guides should repeat to them the andent Hebrew place- 
names in the form familiar to us as transliterated into 
English. 

[203] 



Spots Where 

The Mosque of Omar, we are told, is built over the 
top of Mount Moriah. This is the "Spot Where" 
Mohammed is said to have begun his ascent to heaven. 
That Mohammed was carried up on this great rock 
like a chariot is unquestionably true. It is condusivdy 
proved to the most doubting mind, because you can 
plainly see the finger-marks of the angel who steadied 
the rock-chariot as it started. 

The Mosque of Omar is a very beautiful building. 
There may be grander mosques in other cities, but I 
know of none with such a wealth of veined and vari- 
colored marbles, of mosaics of colored and gilded ^ass, 
of enamelled tiling, of marble piers and arches, of 
wrought-iron grills and screens. In addition to all 
these vitreous, marmoriferous, and metallic marvels, 
there is a wealth of textile ornament as well. I do not 
think any modem Midas possesses a score of such rich, 
such unique, such priceless rugs as we saw by the hun- 
dred in this Mohammedan mosque on the site of Solo- 
mon's Jewish Temple. These rich carpets — rich 
singly, rich in nimibers — are so many and so beautiful 
that they almost bring tears to a rug-lover's eyes. 

This Judo-Mohammedan site is a kind of omnibus 
''Spot Where. " Here it is, as I said, that Mohammed 
started on his dirigible rock-balloon for Paradise. This 
is the "Spot Where" King David's Jebusite subject 
had his thrashing-floor. This is the "Spot Where" 
Abraham offered up Isaac. This is the " Spot Where" 
stood the sacred altar of the Temple of Solomon. This 
is the "Spot Where" the rock was anointed by Jacob. 

[204] 






Mohammedan Sacred Spots 

This is also the "Spot Where" the Ark of the Covenant 
stood. This is the "Spot Where" was written on the 
rock the Unspeakable Name of Jehovah. 

In addition to these Jewish " Spots Where/' there are 
a number of Mohammedan " Spots Where, " of which 
Mohammed's ascent is the principal one. The Mo- 
hammedans also show you the "Spot Where" David 
and Solomon used to pray; likewise the "Spot Where" 
Mohammed impressed his head on the rocky roof. 
Here is the "Spot Where" the great rock — having 
become balloon-like after its flight with Mohammed — 
hung in the air instead of resting on its base. The 
Angel Gabriel was obliged to hold it down, and you are 
shown the " Spot Where " his hand impressed it. Here 
is a jasper slab — it is the "Spot Where" Mohammed 
drove nineteen golden nails; one day the devil stole 
sixteen of them; when all are gone the end of the world 
will come. The Angel Gabriel caught and checked 
the devil, and you are shown the "Spot Where" he 
succeeded in holding back half a nail. This slab 
covers the "Spot Where" Solomon is buried. Here 
also you see the "Spot Where" Mohammed's foot was 
imprinted. But the Christian monks maintain that 
this was the "Spot Where" Christ impressed his foot. 

Elsewhere I have remarked that in Jerusalem there 
are many strata. Deep down, one may find the relics 
of those which antedated the ancient Hebrews. Rising 
up through the rubbish of past eons we come to the 
superincumbent or Quaternary rubbish of Jewry, 
Romanry, Crusaderism, Medievalism, Romanism, 

[205] 



spots Where 

and Mohammedanism. All of these strata of ruins 
and relics are like the geologic strata that one sees on a 
crevasse-ruptured moimtain side. But in addition to 
these material strata of rock and rubbish there are 
psychical strata of lies — Jewish lies, Roman lies, 
Crusader lies, Ronmnist lies, and Mohanmiedan lies, 
and the topmost or Mohanmiedan strata are the most 
foolish lies of all. After you have listened to the solemn 
folly snuffled to you with grave faces by Greek or Ar- 
menian, Latin or Maronite monks, or gabbled to you 
by Greek or Armenian guides, these lies seem like 
scientific truths compared to the preposterous non- 
sense told you by the Mohammedan priests in the 
Mosque of Omar. As Prince Henry said to Poios, 
''These lies are gross as a moimtain, open, palpable." 
Of a truth, Jerusalem lies in levels — lies in layers — 
lies in levels and layers -of lies. 



[ao61 



XIII 

PIETY: GENTILE, JEWISH, 

MOSLEM 




xm 

PIETY: GENTILE, JEWISH, MOSLEM 

quality of Palestine piety is not 
strained. But, like the Jerusalem watier, 
it needs straining badly. And the most 
pious stranger has his own piety over- 
strained when contemplating the curious manifestations 
of the Palestine kind of piety. I know of no place less 
calculated to inculcate reverence than Jerusalem. A 
religious man is to be congratulated if he can visit the 
place without some perturbation. I hope I may not 
be accused of irreverence for my point of view in these 
pages. If there is any irreverence, it is not mine, but 
may be laid at the doors of the various sects who make 
merchandise of what they claim to be holy places. 

The abject superstition, the race-hatred, the bloody 
ferocity, the childish gullibility of the Jerusalem Gen- 
tiles, Jews, and Moslems may not absolutely shake the 
faith of a visiting believer, but he must feel very un- 
comfortable when he reflects that he belongs to the 
same sect. No self-respecting Western Jew can gaze 
upon some of the Jewish ofifal who infect Jerusalem 
without a sense of shame. No trim Egyptian soldier 

[209] 



Piety: Gentile^ Jewish^ Moslem 

can meet the grimy loafers who make up Jerusalem's 
Tuiidsh garrison without a twinge when he thinks that 
their common commander is the Sultan. And it takes 
a stout and stalwart Christianity to stomach the mohs 
of monksi Greek, or Latin, or Armenian, who bawl 
and bellow about the streets where once walked Jesus 
of Nazareth, King of the Jews* 

Not the least remarkable thing about this andent 
dty — where people have been quarrelling over re- 
ligion for four thousand years — is that ardent prose- 
lytizers from modem dties are continually coming 
hither to convert the believers in these andent &iths. 

On our first day in Jerusalem we saw, striding along 
the dusty road outside the David Gate, a tall, slender, 
handsome man, evidently a European, and looking 
like an Anglo-Saxon. He had a curling brown beard, 
long brown hair falling on his shoulders, and generally 
rather a Nazarene head. He wore a brown Norfolk 
jacket, a slouch hat, brown knickerbockers, and car- 
ried in his hand a staff. Up to this point his attire was 
not imlike that of many pedestrian tourists; but below 
the knees his make-up was unique, for his legs and feet 
were bare. The spectade of this European, with his 
knickerbockers buttoned around his knees, below which 
showed his bare legs and feet, was certainly remarkable. 
No one seemed to know anything about him. 

But a day or two afterward I had my curiosity satis- 
fied. I found I had hired a pious dragoman. I am 
not particularly fond of converted Christians in the 
Orient. My observation is that of a Turic, a Greek, 

[aio] 



A Barefooted Briton 

an Armenian, or a Jew dragoman, the converted Chris- 
tian dragoman will steal more from you than all the 
others put together. This particular dragoman evi- 
dently took me for a more pious person than I am, for 
he rolled up his eyes, told me of his acute Christianity, 
said that his son had just been converted, and generally 
alarmed me so much that I instantly transferred my 
wallet to an inside pocket. As we went along we passed 
the curious person in knickerbockers, and I asked the 
dragoman about him. He replied that he was an Eng- 
lishman, and that he was ^'a good man devoted to 
Christian work." 

We lost our pious dragoman at the Pools of Solomon. 
I believe I lost him on purpose, but do not now re- 
member. I learned afterward from another source 
that he had told the truth about the barefooted person: 
he is an Englishman of some means, and spends his 
time and money in Jerusalem attempting the conver- 
sion of Mohammedans to Christianity. I wish him 
joy of his job. 



In outward manifestations at least, there is a marked 
difference between the piety of Christian and Moslem 
dragomans. Like driver, like dragoman. When we 
visited the Pools of Solomon, a mmiber of carriages 
had reached there before us» and all the tourists were 
inspecting those interesting dstems. As the drivers 
and dragomans amused me more than the dstems, I 
stayed out in the sunlight. I have thus missed a niun- 

[an] 



Piety: Gentile^ Jewish^ Moslem 

ber of vaults, dungeons, tanks, and hdes in the ground. 
Our pious dragoman had temporarily left us — he was 
tiying to inveigle some soft-hearted ladies into a ohi- 
tribution to a Christian mission school. I watched 
the movements of a devout Moslem near at hand, the 
driver of a carriage whose occupants had gone to in- 
spect the pools. He took off his shoes — or rather 
boots, for he wore a pair of high military boots, evi- 
dendy the cast-off foot-gear of some cavaliy officer. 
I mention this, as it is easier to kick off the ordinary 
Oriental slippers than it is to pull off a pair of cavalry 
boots. Then he took a horse-blanket, spread it on die 
grass for a praying carpet, and began his devotions. 
It took him some time, probably fifteen minutes. He 
pointed his head toward Mecca and went through the 
most elaborate genuflections and prostrations. When 
he had finished he put on his boots again, took up his 
horse-blanket, and returned to his carriage. This 
pious Mcdiammedan, I noticed, was thoughtful as well 
as pious, for he gave his horses a feed while he was 
praying. 

It is not at all uncommon to find a shop shut up in an 
Oriental city because the shopkeeper has ''gone to the 
mosque to pray." The strict attention of the Moham- 
medans to their religious rites is unique among denomi- 
nations, so far as my observation goes. When the 
hour of prayer comes, whether they find themselves in 
public or not, they go through their devotions. 

When returning from Solomon's Pools we saw a 
row of workmen on the raQway lining up just as 

[212] 



Workmen at Prayer 

the muezzin's call to prayer rang out from a distant 
mosque. 

''Look/' cried !• "There is another instance of 
Moslems' devotion to their religious rites." 

"How so?" I was asked. "What do you mean? 
What are they standing in a row for?" 

"To pray," I replied sententiously. "Don't you 
see they are facing toward Mecca?" 

Now they were all standing in a row. As I spoke — 
as if at a given signal — they all went down. 

"Seel" I cried. "They are prostrating themselves. 
In a moment you will see them begin to bow toward the 
Sacred City, and go through all the elaborate forms of 
Mohammedan prayer. Ah, is it not interesting to see 
a group of ordinary workmen interrupt their toil in the 
middle of the day and turn to their religion?" 

We were all much impressed. I was particularly so. 

But as we gazed on them, with reflex religious in- 
terest, the row of men arose. With a unanimous grunt 
they rose, bearing on their shoulders a long steel beam, 
which they proceeded to walk away with down the rail- 
way line. 

An awkward silence followed. I imagined I heard 
a faint snickering, but I affected not to observe it. 
There are moments when it is just as well not to be too 
observing. 



On our visit to Solomon's Pools our driver, who was 
a Moslem, did not like our pious dragoman any more 

I "3] 



Piety: Gentiley Jewish^ Moslem 

than we did. It was he who advised losing him. But 
his motives turned out to be interested, for he then 
insinuated that he could fill the dragoman's place for a 
small bakshish. It is rather unusual in Jerusalem 
to find a carriage-driver who speaks any European 
language. This one, however, when he accosted us, 
asked if we spoke French. He turned out to be a bright 
fellow, and quite amusing at times. I asked him where 
he learned to speak French; he replied that he was 
educated by the French monks at the Franciscan 
monastery in Jerusalem. He spoke no English, how- 
ever, saying that if he did he would be a dragoman 
instead of a coachman. In the midst of his conver- 
sation another carriage dashed up alongside and 
attempted to pass him. A wild race ensued, and our 
Jehu finally left the other far behind, after neaily caus- 
ing a spill by driving into his horses. The occupant 
of the other carriage was a coal-black negro, wearing a 
laige turban. He was driven by a white man, who 
favored our coachman with what sounded like choice 
abuse, receiving a large quantity in return. I asked 
our charioteer if he could tell us the nationality of the 
other driver; and, further, whether a white man in 
Palestine felt any humiliation at driving a negro. This 
he did not understand, but to the question concerning 
the other driver's race, he replied, "He is a Jew." He 
grew too familiar after having been indulged for an 
afternoon, so we did not hire him again. It is a weak- 
ness of many Oriental servants — if you permit it, 
they at once presume and grow too " fresh " for any use. 

["4] 



Bottled Jordan Water 

This wild race between a Jew and a Mohammedan, 
haiding the one a turbaned negro, the other two Western 
tourists, took place on the rough road between Jeru- 
salem and Bethlehem — certainly an odd mixture. 



There is quite a large business done in Jerusalem in 
the bottling of water from -the Jordan. It is sold in 
flasks all over the town, and pious people take it home 
to baptize their babies. I have no doubt that the water 
they carry with them sometimes comes from the Jordan; 
but, considering the character for veracity of the drago- 
mans and other Jerusalem gentry, I doubt it. It is 
easier to take the water from the Jerusalem tanks 
instead of from the Jordan, and, as the old song says, 
" Jordan is a hard road to travel." 

If it be profitable to botde Jordan water for export to 
distant Christian lands, what is the matter with bottling 
Jerusalem air? Nowadays when dealers can com- 
press air so easily and use it for conmierdal purposes, 
why not compress the holy air of Jerusalem and send 
it to the faithful at home? This idea strikes me as a 
valuable one, but I publish it to the world without price. 
I am convinced that any man taking it up and working 
it out practically could make a pot of money with it. 
It could be used for moral disinfection — not sanitary. 
The only possible objection I can see to the scheme is 
the hygienic one. If Jerusalem air, when compressed 
and raised to the ninth power, would smell nine times 
as bad as it does at home on its native heath, I am con- 



Piety: Gentile^ Jewishj Moslem 

vinced that uncorking a bottle of Jerusalem air in an 
American dty would produce a pestilence. 

When dry, Jerusalem is a dust-heap; when wet, a 
mud-hole. It is the filthiest dty ever inhabited by 
white men. Since I have visited it I am not surprised 
that the Creator once sent a great flood upon the eaith. 
It is my belief that the Deluge was intended to wash 
Jerusalem and make it clean. But it was a failuie. 



As France daims to be the protector of Latin Chris- 
tians in the Orient, so Russia daims to be the protector 
of the Greek Christians. The animosity between these 
two sects is infinitely more bitter than that existing 
between Christians and Jews, between Jews and Mos- 
lems, between Moslems and Christians. The Jews 
are disliked by the Christians, and are by them for- 
bidden to enter certain holy places; but the Moslems 
are on very amicable terms with the Jews and, naturally, 
being lords of the soil, enter any church, synagogue, or 
temple, as they please. While a Jew in a Jerusalem 
church would be looked upon with aversion merely, a 
Greek priest in a Latin church, or a Latin priest in a 
Greek church, would often be in danger of his life. 
Turkish soldiers are found constantly on guard at the 
Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and at the 
Grotto of the Nativity in Bethlehem. I have already 
spoken of them at the great Church of the Sepulchre. 
I do not think I shall ever forget the sight of a knot of 
Turkish officers indolently lounging on a divan inside 

[ai6] 



1 



' 1 






^ 



Greek and Latin Battles 

the Church of the Holy Sepulchrei talking, laughing, 
smoking; this group was made up of the chief officers 
of a strong force of Turkish troops which, under the 
charge of the subalterns, was posted at every point in 
the enormous church where outbreaks might occur 
between the mobs of fanatic monks. 

Russia and France were led into the Crimean War 
by a quarrel between Greek and Latin Christians, each 
claiming possession of the Church of the Nativity. At 
another time a battle arose between Latin and Greek 
Christians over the Virgin's tomb in the Valley of the 
Khedron. In this struggle the Turkish soldiers sided 
' with the Greeks, and forcibly removed the Franciscans. 
A recent outbreak (February, 1905), was also on Greek 
and Latin lines. As Russia for years has been pushing 
her way in the Holy Land, the Greek Christians, en- 
couraged by her attitude, are becoming very aggressive. 
For many centuries the Franciscan monks (of the Latin 
Christians) have swept the outside steps of the Church 
of the Holy Sepulchre; they thus symbolize their pos- 
session of the building. The Greeks determined to 
take away the privilege from the Franciscans, and thus 
destroy all their vested rights. They attacked the 
Franciscan monks in force, with stones and dubs. A 
bloody battle took place, in which many of the Fran- 
ciscan monks were severely injured, and in some cases 
their lives were despaired of. The Greeks were upheld 
in this high-handed proceeding by the Russian Govern- 
ment. 

In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre four monastic 

[217] 



Piety: Gentile^ Jewishj Moslem 

communities are domiciled: the Roman Catholic monks 
(Franciscan) have their convent and chapel to the 
north of the tomb; the Greek Catholics to the east; the 
Armenian Catholics to the south, in the gallery; and 
the Coptic Catholics have some small chambers to the 
west. Of these monks, the Father Superiors of the 
Greeks, the Franciscans, and the Armenians only have 
the ''right'' to demand of the Mohammedan door- 
porters the opening of the church, whether to celebrate 
their respective religious festivals, or for other purposes. 
This right, however, is not granted unless the Turkish 
keepers receive agreed payments, based on the time the 
doors remain open. As at all other times the doors 
remain locked, with the Turkish officials in possession 
of the keys, it follows that the Christian monks within 
are practically prisoners. However, they are permitted 
to hold conmiunication with the outer world by means 
of grills or wickets in the great door; thus through 
Turkish mediums they receive their daily bread and 
other necessaries of life. 

I can chronicle only a church duel instead of a reli- 
gious war. One day, while we were in the chief Ar- 
menian church, a violent row broke out between two 
men. I approached, and found that the combatants 
were a Jewish dragoman and an Armenian priest 
They did not exactly come to blows; true, they clutched 
at one another's clothing, but they did not strike. In 
the Orient I have rarely seen blows exchanged : I have 
often seen them given by superior to inferior, and then 
generally with a stick. Many times I have seen Orien- 

[218] 



A Jerusalem Vignette 

tals bitterly wrangling, even going so far as to clinch, 
but they usually "break away" without exchanging 
blows. In this Armenian church row I approached 
with the keenest interest — I thought it must surely 
be a religious rumpus, the cause dating back something 
like a thousand years. Fancy my deep disappointment 
when it turned out to be a quarrel over one piastre. It 
seems that the priest found his share of the tourists' 
bakshish was one piastre short, and he accused the 
dragoman of sequestrating that sum. This the drago- 
man repudiated with indignation; the dispute became 
envenomed, hence the noisy row. The Armenian 
priest, his black eyes blazing, his face framed in coal- 
black beard and hair, was pale with anger; the Jewish 
dragoman was red with rage. Their clamor rang 
through the great arches, the groined roof of the gloomy 
church. 

But what a disappointment! I thought it was at 
least a fight over sacred places and sacrilege, a row over 
the fiUoquCy or some genuine "Spot Where." Alas I 
It was only a money fight — a tuppenny-ha'penny 
quarrel — a row over five cents! 



In every place where I have ever been, some one pic- 
ture has always remained imbedded in my mind. It 
may have been incongruous, sometimes ludicrous, some- 
times childish. But that matters not — the picture 
always remained. Whenever I thought of that particu- 
lar place, there rose up before me its particxilar picture. 

[219] 



Piety: Gentilej Jewish^ Moslem 

What is my Jerusalem picture? You could not 
guess* Is it of the andent Hebrews? No. Of the 
Romans besieging Jerusalem? No. Of the Cru- 
saders, of Saint Louis, of Richard, of Saladin, of 
Godfrey? No. Of the modem rabble of ChristianSy 
Jews, and Turks who fill the filthy streets of the andent 
town? No. 

What is it then? you ask. It is this — here is the 
picture which rises before me when I think of Jeru- 
salem: A long and lofty sdhn in a Levantine hotd, 
furnished in rococo style, with gilded mouldings, with 
many mirrors, with many chandeliers filled with petro- 
leum lamps; a table in the centre, at which axe seated 
three people playing cards — two of them rosy, fresh- 
faced English girls, in low-cut gowns; the third a young 
man, an English curate, in the straight-cut coat and 
white stock a£fected by gentlemen of his doth; the 
curate is smoking a short black brier pipe. Lying on 
a horse-hair sofa near them is a stout, red-faced gentle- 
man, wrapped in sound and stertorous slumber; he also 
is in derical garb, with the addition of gaiters; he is a 
dean, and I learn later that the two florid girls are his 
daughters. At the other end of the long salon is a 
group of Americans gazing on this scene with horror. 

That is my picture. And I think almost any one 
will admit that a curate playing cards with a dean's 
daughters in a Jerusalem drawing-room, and smoking 
a brier pipe the while, b odd enough to be remembered. 



[320] 



XIV 



DISAPPOINTMENTS IN PALESTINE 




XIV 



DISAPPOINTMENTS IN PALESTINE 

f 

>OST travellersy as they sail from the 
western Mediterranean toward the Le- 
vant, become apprehensive of quaran- 
tine. Many who do not fear cholera or 
plague fear quarantine, and with reason. In travel- 
ling, it is very difficult to get truthful news about the 
prevalence of infectious disease. The people in the 
infected places are interested in suppressing the news; 
the people in other places have all manner of motives 
for directing passengers in various directions and by 
various routes; it is thus almost impossible to get at the 
truth. 

While in the quarantine zone I was much interested 
in observing the attitude of travellers toward the va- 
rious newspapers; the only journal in which they seemed 
to repose implicit faith was the London Times. Even 
French, Italian, German, and Austrian tourists looked 
with suspicion on Austrian, German, Italian, and 
French newspapers; they might read them for home 
news, for political gossip, and that sort of thing; but 
when they wanted to get at the truth about quarantine 
they read the London Times. 

[223] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

When you are bound for the Holy Land from a dis- 
tance of thousands of miles, Palestine seems a micro- 
scopic spot At first you ask, ''Is there any disease 
now in Palestine?" Or, "Are Western ports quaran- 
tining Palestine ports?" But as you approach the 
Holy Land, Palestine becomes more than a spot — 
near at hand it is a microcosm. You not only find that 
there may be epidemic disease there, and quarantine, 
but that the different spotlets of the spot quarantine 
against each other. Jerusalem declares a quarantine 
against Damascus, Damascus against Smyrna, Jeru- 
salem against Gaza, Jerusalem against Lydda, Jeru- 
salem against Hebron; last year Hebron actually 
declared a quarantine against the surrounding villages 
and maintained a cordon about itself reaching to the 
Pools of Solomon. 

That Jerusalem should quarantine against Alexan- 
dria, or Alexandria against Smyrna, may not seem 
peculiar; but for one small town in Palestine to quaran- 
tine against all the little hamlets around it seems rather 
absurd. 



In sailing along the Syrian coast, one is continually 
struck by the wealth of color. First comes the tawny 
sea-beach, then the white buildings with their red roofs, 
the copper domes, and the occasional minarets, all set 
in groves of green. Behind these rise the first ranges 
of hills, of a wann reddish color; back of these the hills 
grow brown; back of them again they melt into gray, 

[224] 



Filthy Towns 

and then in the distance amethyst mountain ranges are 
outlined on the brilliantly blue Syrian sky. Sailing 
along the Syrian coast the land looks incredibly beauti- 
ful, but beware of landing. When you land, all beauty 
disappears. The towns which, seen from the sea, are 
white and beautiful, seen ashore are filthy and squalid. 
The houses are a patchwork of all ages and of all styles 
of architecture — ruined walls of massive masonry with 
sheds and hovels of refuse boards and sheet tin leaning 
up against the ancient buildings. The narrow streets 
are crowded with surly men, shapeless women, and 
shrill children; through this mass of humanity burdened 
donkeys push their way. The shopkeepers sit in their 
litde shops, about six by six in size, and conduct loud 
conversations with their fellow shopkeepers up and 
down the street and across the way. 

It is amazing how human beings can breed in these 
filthy towns — or I should say survive, for the human 
race can breed anywhere. Probably the explanation 
is an old one — the country feeds as well as breeds the 
towns. In his remarkable booklet, ''The Town- 
Dweller," Dr. J. Minor Fothergill — that brilliant 
physician who died untimely — apparently proved 
that there is no fourth generation of Londoners. In 
the third generation, he says, the pure town-bred Lon- 
doner ceases to propagate. It is the red-faced rustics 
impelled thither, lured by the lights of London town, 
who renew the blood-stream of the gigantic city. 

So it is in Syria — the town dwellers soon die out; 
but they are recruited by intermarriages with CretanSi 

[225] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

Cypriotes, Hellenes and other Levantines, with Kurds, 
Circassians, Persians, and Africans. In fact, there is 
a distinct race in such towns as Sm]rma, which race is 
of the Hellenic type. The Smymiotes are continually 
recruited from the islands of the Grecian Archipelago. 



That travellers in a foreign land often overrate its 
merits, from the days of Marco Polo down to our own, 
is plainly proved by Palestine. For something like 
four thousand years both travellers and natives have 
been lying about it. Most of us have based our views 
of Palestine on the bragging of the natives in the dd 
Biblical times. It is hard to fit these tales to the mod- 
em Palestine, making every allowance for centuries 
of Turkish misrule. It is impossible to beUeve that 
this could ever have been a land flowing with milk and 
honey. How the natives of any era could believe thdr 
own bragging about Palestine it is difficult to under- 
stand. Probably the hypothesis of some Oriental 
traveller is the correct one, which is that Syria seems a 
paradise to the wa}rfarer coming from the desert. That 
explains it. '' In the kingdom of the blind," says the 
old proverb, "the one-eyed man is king." And so to 
the Bedouin and to the thirst-stricken traveller coming 
from the desert which bounds Syria on the east, it must 
indeed seem like a garden of Eden. 

Correspondingly, much of Palestine to the desert 
wayfarer must seem like an oasis. To the dwellers in 

[226] 



Subterranean Streams 

the Far West of America, a simple parallel may be 
found. When you cross the vast stretches of alkali 
desert in Nevada, Utah, or Arizona, and reach a garden 
spot like Humboldt or Indio, where the thirsty earth 
has dnmk up water piped from the distant hills, and 
thus refreshed has brought forth palm trees and flowers, 
how inexpressibly grateful are these green oases to the 
traveller's tired eye. So to the Bedouin, who is bom 
and lives and dies in the desert, all Palestine is a gigantic 
oasis. 

To a dweller in arid America the parched and baked 
appearance of the surface in Palestine does not seem 
strange. It may seem so to the pilgrims from moist 
lands like those of Northern Europe, where it rains all 
of the summer, and neariy all of the winter when it 
isn't snowing. But what strikes even a dweller in arid 
America is the aqueous topsy-turvydom in Palestine. 
There is apparently little subsoil water in the arid 
regions of Western America. There are a few shallow 
artesian reservoirs. What shallow ones exist are easily 
tapped and drained by too many wells, and about the 
only source of supply is in the streams fed by the melt- 
ing snows in the mountains, which streams, for the 
most part, flow uselessly to the sea. But in Palestine, 
while there is apparently litde or no water on top of the 
ground, there is a great deal of it immediately under 
the surface. There are subterranean springs and 
streamlets filtering everywhere through the solid rock. 
The people say they can detect the presence of water 
by putting their ears to the ground. They aver that 

[227] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

they can hear the murmur of water from the rocky 
depths below. 

The existence of natural subterranean streams seems 
to have given the natives a belief that artificial water- 
courses should also be subterranean. There is an 
ancient underground aqueduct which supplies Jem* 
salem with water, and which is fed by the Pools of 
Solomon. This aqueduct, which became choked up 
in the course of ages, has been cleaned out and again 
put in use. It is sadly needed. Jerusalem is a dty 
without water. Its principal supply is from rain-water 
dstems. Not only is water needed for drinking, but, 
if an adequate water supply were brought to the dty, 
it is not impossible that the inhabitants might wash 
and be dean. The most pious pilgrim, the most ardent 
palmer who worships at the holy dty's shrines, will 
admit that they need it. 

The many musical references in Holy Writ to springs 
and fountains arouse one's expectation in this thirsty 
land. Involuntarily you quicken your pace as you 
approach a well, or spring, or fountain. But there 
is nothing attractive about such places in Palestine. 
The women wash gahnents at the drinking-places till 
the waters are foul with filth; the men wash horses in 
them; and all classes seem to drink fredy of this foul 
water, and wonder at the squeamishness of the Euro- 
pean. 



When one thinks of the great events that have taken 
place in the Holy Land, the multitude of ddes, villages, 

[228] 



Holy Land Very Small 

and towns, the countless millions who have been bom 
there and whose bones now lie in its rock-ribbed hills, 
the small dimensions of Palestine are almost startling* 
West of the Jordan, where most of the historic events 
took place, there are only 3,800 square miles, including 
all of the geographical divisions now called Palestine; 
including die land both east and west of the Jordan, 
the total area is 9,840 square miles. The length of 
Palestine from north to south is about 150 miles. It 
varies in breadth from 23 to 80 miles. 

Perhaps the best way to realize its smallness is to 
compare it with other geographical divisions. Com- 
pared with European countries it is about one sixth the 
size of England (58,168 square miles); a little less than 
two thirds the size of Switzerland (151992 square miles); 
a little more than one third the size of Greece (25,014 
square miles); less than two thirds the size of Denmark 
(15,289 square miles). 

Coming to the western hemisphere, it is a little more 
than one third the size of Costa Rica (23,233 square 
miles); a little more than one half the size of Santo 
Domingo (18,045 square miles); and about one eightieth 
the size of Mexico (747,900 square miles). 

The term ''dty" as used in the Bible, when applied 
to the ridiculous little villages that one finds in Palestine 
to-day, shows what extreme importance an aggrega- 
tion of houses has to the tent-dweller. To a Zulu 
doubtless Capetown seems like a great city; to a Lon- 
doner it seems like a village. But everything is relative. 
Three thousand years ago, when nomadic Hebrews 

[229] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

approached a little village on the hither side of the 
Jordan, no doubt they were awe-strickeni called it a 
city, and dubbed its constable or pound-keeper a king. 
To-day in Montenegro Prince Nikita is looked upon 
with awe by his simple subjects — they believe him not 
only royal, but almost a demi-god. Yet his capital dty 
is smaller than a tenth-rate provincial town, and his 
''palace" is inferior to the average suburban villa. 

The villages in the Holy Land are all dingy and dust- 
colored. Many are on the tops of hills, and look like 
fortified places. All have flat roofs, and some are sur- 
rounded with olive orchards and cactus hedges. At a 
distance they are not unattractive. But as you ap- 
proach and enter them they become more and more 
repulsive. All sorts of filth may be found in the streets. 
Dirty and diseased children swarm everywhere, while 
ragged mothers gaze idly at them, squatting on their 
door-steps. Some of the houses are built of stones 
taken from ancient ruins, but most of them are con- 
structed of dried mud. As there are no trees and hence 
no wood in Palestine, the fuel is dried dung, and its 
acrid smell everywhere fills the air. There is little 
furniture in the houses, a bed and some water-jugs 
being about all. In some houses the floor is on two 
leveb — one half being several feet higher than the 
other. Qn the upper level the fomily live, and on the 
lower the beasts. The people who live in these houses 
are said by ethnologic authorities to be distinct from 
the Bedouin Arabs and from the Turks. They are 
believed to be descendants of the Canaanites, and 

[230] 






. I 



/■: ' i 






1 » « » 



i-j 



Force of 

philologists say that they remain as they weie when 
they talked with Jesus in Aramaic — which language, 
by the way. He is said to have used most. 

There are only about a dozen towns in Palestine 
(that iS| excluding the cities of Jerusalemi Damascusi 
and Beirut) with more than three thousand population. 
Some with the most sacred associations seem to-day to 
be the most insignificant. Bethlehem is particularly 
disappointing. It looks impressive from afar, but» as 
you approach, it loses its picturesque appearance, and 
to dash your anticipations still more, you find a number 
of staring new buildings there. Bethlehem, like Jeru- 
salem, seems to have a boom. 

I have often been struck by the force of tradition. 
In countries whose beginnings antedate history, the 
modem dwellers often resort to certain places and per- 
form certun acts without knowing why. Thus, for 
example, in Roman Catholic Italy to-day the peasants 
regularly go to the sites of andent pagan temples to 
indulge in menymakings at certain seasons of the year 
contemporaneous with pagan festivals in honor of 
Venus, of Jupiter, or of Apollo. The populace of 
modem Rome go forth every year about Easter time 
to a point on the Campagna where there once was a 
temple to Venus; now there remains scarcely one stone 
standing on another. Here they have rural sports, 
diversified with eating and drinking. They call the 
occasion "The Festival of the Divine Love" — which 
has a semi-reUgious sound. It is really a survi- 
val of a festival in honor of Venus, which was 

[331] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

celebrated two thousand years ago by the Plebs of 
ancient Rome. 

So in Palestine there stands upon the plain of Jeri- 
cho a wretched village called Eriha. It stands near the 
site, according to tradition, of the City of Sodom. It 
is a foul and filthy collection of hovels, and is of no 
interest whatever, unless it be for the fact that the 
morals of the villagers are as filthy and as foul as are 
their hovels. What seems unusual is that the women 
are more immoral than the men — things have got 
mixed since Sodom sinned and fell. How strange that 
of the Cities of the Plain, destroyed so many centuries 
ago, nothing should renuun but their lewd living. 



The views of the Valley of the Jordan and of the basin 
in which lies the Dead Sea are very striking. Looking 
to the eastward from elevated points near Jerusalem, 
the Dead Sea seems about half a mile away. Yet it is 
nearly four thousand feet lower than Jerusalem, and 
many hours' travel distant. These inland salt seas are 
all very remarkable. Many Americans have noticed 
the extraordinary characteristics of the Great Salt Lake, 
particularly when trying to swim in its waters. The 
Dead Sea has the same tendency to bring the bather's 
feet to the surface. There are no fishes in the Dead 
Sea — no life of any kind. The percentage of solids 
in the water is enormous — about twenty-six per cent 
The principal solid ingredients are the chlorides of 
sodium, magnesium, and caldum. 

[232] 



Many Sects of Catholics 

The deepest part of the Dead Sea's bed lies 3,600 
feet below the level of the Mediterranean; its depth 
here is 1,310 feet. Jerusalem lies 3,780 feet above the 
Dead Sea. Oddly enough, it has a cloud system of its 
own, for one may frequently see doud-banks lying over 
the Dead Sea, which are six or seven hundred feet below 
the level of the ocean. 

The Valley of the Jordan is in modem times but 
scantily peopled. The heat there is unbearable, the 
malaria mortal. In fact, a residence in the Valley of 
the Jordan is calculated to take a good Christian who 
covets eternity more rapidly into the other world than 
almost any other spot in the Holy Land, and there are 
a great many places in the Holy Land better fitted for 
holy dying than for holy living. 



Of all the disappointments of Palestine, probably 
the most disappointing is the religious question. Most 
of us imagine that in the Holy Land the Christians are 
a united band, leagued against the followers of Ma- 
hound. Error — gigantic, colossal, stupendous error. 
The Mohammedans are imited, but the Christians are 
rent and torn. They quarrel bitterly; they hate each 
other for the love of God; they often push their fanatic 
hatred to the extreme of murder. And the Turkish 
Government watches them carefully to prevent their 
cutting each other's throats. 

The Christians are divided into many sects. The 
"Orthodox Greeks" are the most numerous. They 

[233I 



Disappointments in Palestine 

are in two Patriarchates, xuider the Patriarch of Jeru- 
salem and the Patriarch of Beirut These Greek 
Catholics venomously hate the ''Latins," or Roman 
Catholics* 

The ''Latins" are affiliated with the Papal Church 
of Rome, although some of the sects do not recognize 
all the Papal dogmas. The Oriental Catholic Churches 
affiliated with the "Latin," or Roman Catholic, are 
the "Coptic Catholic," the "Armenian Catholic," the 
"United Nestorians," the "United Syrians," the 
"United Greeks." 

Some of these Oriental Catholic Churches depart 
from the Roman ritual and defy certain of its ordi- 
nances. Many of them celebrate the mass in Arabic, 
and most of them permit married men to be priests. 
This the Roman See winks at. All of these Catholics 
have Patriarchs of their own — at Damascus, at Aleppo, 
at Constantinople, at Mossid — and they seem to re- 
gard their Pontiffs as of equal dignity with the Pontiff 
of the Roman Church. 

The Maronite Catholics are also affiliated with the 
Roman Catholics. Their Patriarch is elected by their 
bishops, subject to the approval of the Pope of Rome. 
But they demand the right of their priests to many, 
and assert their right to read the mass in Syrian. 

The discordant Christian sects of the East hate each 
other so bitterly that they have little hatred left for the 
Mohammedans, with whom both Greeks and Latins 
are on better terms than with each other. As for the 
Protestants: the Latin and Greek Catholics rardy 

[234] 



Protestants not ^Christians' 

speak of them as Christians. And Latins hate Greeks, 
Greeks hate Latins, much more than they do the Jews. 



The curious attitude of France toward the Latin 
Christians of the Orient is due to her alliance with 
Russia. Not to offend her ally she tolerates much in 
the shape of Russian encouragement of Greek-Chris- 
tian aggression — aggression which she would not have 
permitted prior to 1870. In the days of the Second 
Empire, Napoleon III was famed throughout the 
Orient as the "Protector of Latin Christians." This 
tide began when the massacre of the Maronite Chris- 
tians was checked by French troops. 

These Maronites, by the way, are rather an odd sect. 
They are among the native groups of Christians who 
date from the earliest time; they claim to be ''Primitive 
Christians," and they are said to have existed before 
the split between the Church of Byzantium and the 
Church of Rome. In comparatively recent times they 
have been won over to recognize the supremacy of the 
Pope. Hence they are looked upon with bitter hatred 
by other groups of native Christians, who regard the 
Patriarchs of Jerusalem, Damascus, Constantinople, 
or Moscow as their religious heads. Nearly all of the 
European (Latin) missions, by the way, confine their 
attempts at proselyting to the Greek Christians; they 
do not try to convert the Moslems or the Jews. This 
probably is one of the causes of the intense hostility of 
the Greeks for the Latins. There are a number of 



Disappointments in Palestine 

Protestant missions in Palestine, but they do not seem 
to accomplish very much in the way of conversions. 
They have excellent schools, where young Greeks, 
Latins, Armenians, Syrians, Smymiotes, and Jews are 
educated in English and other branches. I talked 
with some of these students, and when I asked them 
their ''nationality" they invariably answered, as did 
the dragomans and drivers — ''I am a Jew," or "I am 
a Latin," or '' I am a Greek Christian." But I never 
heard one of them say ''I am a Protestant" On the 
other hand, there seemed to be no bitterness toward 
the Protestant missions. The various contending 
sects do not seem to take them seriously. In &ct, 
these ancient churches over here talk and act as if the 
Protestant churches were mere wayfarers, and not at 
all in the business to stay. They do not even speak of 
Protestants as '' Christians," and do not so regard them. 
I may say here that if the worthy people at home 
who contribute to ''foreign missions" think that the 
missionaries in Mohammedan countries are trying to 
Christianize Mohammedans, they are much in error. 
The missionaries have more discretion. Nowhere in 
European or Asiatic Turkey, in Syria or in Egypt, in 
Constantinople, Sm]nma, Beirut, Damascus, Jerusalem, 
or Cairo, in Roberts College or any Christian mis- 
sionary school, does any Christian missionary attempt 
to convert a Mohammedan to Christianity. The result 
woidd be bad for both missionary and convert. The 
Christian missionaries do not even attempt to make 
converts in these countries. Naturally, this phase of 

[236] 



RussO'FrancO'German Rivalry 

foreign missions is not much talked of at home, where 
the money is raised. But this statement is unquali- 
fiedly true. 



There is one particularly imposing Protestant insti- 
tution in Jerusalem, and that is the large and hand- 
some church recently erected there by the Kaiser. But 
I do not think the Kaiser built it purely as a place in 
which to worship God, for there are hardly enough 
German Protestants to fill it. I think he built it partly 
because Russia has so large a church and so large a 
reservation there, and partly because he wanted to 
show that if there was going to be anything doing in 
religion in Jerusalem, Germany must make a showings 

The secret motives underiying the action of the Euro- 
pean powers here in Palestine are difficult to fathom. 
I asked one of the consular corps in Palestine what was 
his theory as to their motives and intentions. He re- 
plied, but requested me not to quote him, so he shall 
remain anonymous. This is the gist of what he said: 

''France has for years striven to hold the post of 
protector of Latin Christianity in the Orient. Since 
i860, when French troops saved Christians from the 
massacre of the Druses, she has enjoyed that prestige 
in Europe. That prestige was augmented by Napoleon 
m, when he protected the Maronites from Moslem 
aggression. But of recent years French prestige has 
been suffering. Germany and Russia have been 
striving in every possible way to leave France in 

[237I 



t' 



Disappointments in Palestine 

the rear. It is difficult for one who has not been in 
Jerusalem to understand how the great powers of 
Europe strive for prestige in this ancient dty. It is the 
belief among many men here that Russia, for religious 
reasons, intends ultimately to make Jerusalem Russian 
territory. Since Emperor William's visit here, a few 
years ago, Germany also has taken many steps in 
her occupation of Jerusalem. A magnificent church 
has been erected here in honor of the Elaiser's visit. 
Formerly Germans were buried in the graveyard of the 
French monastery, regardless of their creed, but since 
the Kaiser's visit the Germans have a graveyard of 
their own. Germany has pushed herself forward in 
many other ways. Hence France is straining every 
nerve to impress the Christians, and particularly the 
Latin Christians, with her importance. Relying on 
their ignorance, she chastises them in the West, and 
then sends her officiab to honor their functions in the 
East." 

The remaris:s of my friend the consul were stron^^y 
corroborated by later happenings. The Kaiser not 
bng afterward conferred with some of the German 
Catholic cardinals as to the chance of the Pope turning 
over to Germany the position of protector of Latin 
Christianity in the Orient. This position France will 
necessarily have to vacate, owing to her separation of 
Church and State. This separation the Vatican con- 
strues as an attack on the power of the Church in the 
West, and it certainly will not allow France to remain 
protector of the faithful in the East. 



Jews in Two Groups 

That Gennany is not a Roman Catholic power goes 
for naught. There is no Roman Catholic power 
{Strong enough to assume the r61e of protector in the 
face of Russia's position in the Holy Land In fact, 
that is the chief stone in the Kaiser's path. For the 
fanaticism of the Russian peasants in Palestine over 
the holy places may lead to brawls more bloody than 
those of the Greek and Latin monks. The Kaiser- 
hating among the French maintain that the Pope would 
never consent to make the Kaiser protector over Roman 
Catholics in the Orient. The answer to this is that 
when France abandons the r61e they will have no other 
protector. The further hypothesis may be hazarded 
that if the Pope does not grant the right the Kaiser may 
seize it, and thus secure the perpetual right of inter- 
ference in Constantinople, Jerusalem, Smyrna, Da- 
mascus, and at all points in the Orient where Roman 
Catholics may be found. 



Like the Christians, even the Jews in the Holy 
Land are at war. The Sephardim and Ashkenazim 
are hostile. The Jews are divided into two groups — * 
the descendants of the ancient Israelites (Sephardim) 
and the new immigrants (Ashkenazim). There is no 
love lost between the Sephardim and the Ashkenazim. 
They differ radically in language and in customs. The 
Sephardim speak Oriental dialects, while the Ashkena- 
zim from Gennany, Poland, and Russia speak Yiddish. 
The Jewish immigrants from Asia and Africa consort 

[«39] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

with the Sephardim, and the two dans seem to be 
divided on Oriental and Occidental lines. The propor- 
tion of Spanish-speaking Jews is very large, and the 
Spanish Jews consort with the Oriental clan. They de- 
scend from the Jews driven out of Spain in 1497 ^7 ^^i** 
dinand and Isabella, and are ruled by a Rabbi. The 
Ashkenazim are under no particular Rabbi, but are 
protected by the different European consuls whose na- 
tionality they claim. The third group of Jews is called 
Cariates. They reject the Talmud and restrict their 
sacred books to the Old Testament. They are said to 
be superior to the others in education and morality. 

All of the Jews nominally obey a Grand Rabbi who 
looks out for their interests with the local Turkish 
authorities and the Porte. He has a council of six 
members: three of them rabbis, and three laymen. 

One of the causes of jealousy between the Jewish 
groups is the enormous charitable fund, called the 
Haluccaj which is sent to Jerusalem by Jews all over 
the world. Prior to the Jerusalem boom, and the 
advent of the new-comers, the Sephardim lived in 
luxury on the Halucca. They were well treated by 
the Turks, practised polygamy like them, and were 
quite friendly with the governing race. But with the 
arrival of the Ashkenazim all this was changed. The 
Ashkenazim brought to Jerusalem all manner of Euro- 
pean prejudices against the Turks, and the Turks 
speedily resented their attitude. Before long the Turks 
lumped the Jewish clans together, and treated the 
Sephardim as severely as they did the Ashkenazim. 

[240] 



Jews Flock to Jerusalem 

Thus the Sephardim have suffered both socially and 
financially. Prior to the boom, the Sephardim received 
from the Halucca enough to live on in comfort — some- 
times even in luxury. Since the arrival of the Ash- 
kenazim the Halucca has been so divided up that both 
clans are barely able to exist. Some of them have been 
forced to go to work. Playing on the feelings of chari- 
table Jews throughout the world, and thereby increas- 
ing the Halucca^ is quite a business in Jerusalem. On 
mail-day the various post-offices of the different Euro- 
pean nations are crowded with Jews sending off beg- 
ging letters. 

In addition to the thousands of Jews who are main- 
tained individually by the Halucca^ there are many 
colonies of Jews subsidized by foreign associations or 
individuals. Baton Rothschild supports one at Mount 
Carmel. There are other colonies in different parts 
of Palestine. They are not attractive places, and do 
not compare with the Russian and German settlements, 
where the colonists are self-sustaining. The acceptance 
of alms seems to cause atrophy of the moral fibre. I 
never saw a Jewish beggar in the United States, and 
I know of no race or religion that takes better care of 
its weaklings than do the Jews in our country. But the 
condition to which these pauperized Jews have fallen 
in these subsidized Palestine colonies shows the depths 
reached by him who has ceased to support himself. 

Of the vast influx of people to Jerusalem of late 
years, the immigrants are principally Jews. There are 
no census figures obtainable, but the foreign consuls 



Disappointments in Palestine 

estimate that there are about fifty thousand Jews in 
Jerusalem — about twice as many as all the other in- 
habitants combined. The new colonies of Jews are 
due to the Zionist movement inaugurated by Jewish 
millionnaireSy like the Rothschilds. Israel 2^angwill, 
the author, is one of the ardent advocates of a hegira of 
the Jews to (heir ancient home. Jews are certainly 
pouring into Palestine from all over Europe. But the 
consuls in Jerusalem doubt the desirability of this 
movement; they say that the Jewish colonists are fail- 
ures as agriculturists, and seem to succeed only as shop- 
keepers or money-changers. 

The Jews in Palestine certainly prefer shopkeeping 
to agriculture, and one certainly sees more Jewish 
money-changers than Turkish, although it would seem 
fitting for the business of changing Turkish money to 
be in the hands of Turkish money-changers. Perhaps 
the Turks do not understand the Turkish money as 
well as the Jews do. Here ds a brief risumi of some of 
its eccentricities: 

The Turkish gold unit is the lira, or pound, worth 
about $5; the Turkish silver unit is the piastre, worth 
about 5 cents. When we were in Turkey the lira 
was thus quoted: in Constantinople, 100 piastres; in 
Beirut, 123 piastres; in Jaffa, 141 piastres; in Jeru- 
salem, 124 piastres; in Damascus, 129 piastres. To 
this must be added the further fact that even these 
values fluctuated from day to day with the fluctuations 
in exchange of Turkish silver. If I add to the fore* 
going that the Turkish metallic currency {fndaUik) 

[242] 



Foreign Mails in Turkey 

current in Constantinople is uncurrent in every other 
Turkish dty; if I state that the value of the Turkish 
pound is quoted differently in buying different commod- 
ities; if I say that the foregoing is merely the govern- 
ment rate of exchange, and that there is a commercial 
rate of exchange, which is different; if I remark that 
the four foreign post-offices in Jerusaletn have a rate 
of exchange of their own, which is also different; if I 
set down the curious fact that the railway companies 
recognize none of these rates of exchange, but have a 
rate of their own also — I may not be believed, but 
nevertheless it is entirely true. 

That Jerusalem shoidd have four foreign post-offices 
may seem strange, but it is true. The Turkish post- 
office is so bad that the foreign legations in Turkey 
have been forced to create post-offices of their own. 
When a Turk in Constantinople wants to send a letter 
in a hurry, he sends it by the British, French, German, 
or Austrian post-office. Therefore one of the pecu- 
liarities of Constantinople, in addition to its dogs and 
its smells, is the variety of its post-offices. It is of 
record that a Turkish minister posted a letter in Con- 
stantinople addressed to Washington, another on the 
same day addressed to Smyrna. The Washington 
letter reached its destination, seven thousand miles 
away, sooner than the one sent to Smyrna, one day's 
sail away. 

The foreign post-offices in Turkey are very well 
managed, and are always used by foreign residents. 

Not only in Constantinople and Jerusalem but in 

[243] 



Disappointments in 

other laige cities of the Turkish Empire there are 
foreign post-offices. Thus, in Smyrna, Beirut, and 
Jerusalem, you can not only mail a letter, but a ten- 
pound parcel at a British, French, German, or Austrian 
post-office. This, by the way, is more than you can 
do at an American post-office in the United States. 



Among the agreeable disappointments of Palestine 
was the smooth landing we made at Jaffa, which port 
is notorious for its stormy seas. But that disappoint- 
ment was destined to be effaced when we left Palestine. 
The day we disembarked at Jaffa the sea was as smooth 
as a mill-pond, and the disembarkation was effected 
without any accident or discomfort. But the day we 
embarked, conditions were very different. A gale had 
been howling for days along the Syrian coast. Off the 
harbor there is a barrier reef, very similar to those 
which circle the South Sea Islands. A narrow slit- 
like entrance permits the passage of small boats. Out- 
side of this the larger vessels anchor when it is safe to 
do so, and lie to when it is not. On this particular day 
there were a number of ships in the offing, but they all 
had steam up and were ready to put to sea at a minute's 
notice. Such was the force of the sea and wind that 
the waves were breaking over the reef twenty feet high. 
The placid Mediterranean, that ''summer sea," as 
many people like to call it, can at dmes be as rude as 
the Atlantic. Even inside the reef the water was by 
no means smooth. 

[244] 



Russian Pilgrims 

Among the half score of big ships tossing and tum- 
bling about on the rough waves without, were three 
Russian ships of war and one Russian passenger vessel. 
From the men-of-war there streamed stiffly in the keen 
wind the blue and white banner of Russia. The port 
facilities at Jafifa are comparatively limited. There 
is a space of some fifty or sixty yards of stone quay, 
alongside of which row-boats come to embark and 
disembark passengers. When the number of passen- 
gers arriving and sailing is large, the boats wait for 
places at the quay, and the passengers also wait for the 
boats. When we were there a stream of boats was 
pouring in from the Russian passenger vessel. As 
they came alongside, there crawled, leaped, were lifted, 
or slung, according to age, sex, and condition, hordes 
of filthy Russian peasants. As soon as they landed 
they fell upon their faces, and with their blubbery lips 
kissed with resounding smacks the slabs of stone. Evi- 
dently they looked upon the pier as being the sacred 
soil of the Holy Land. I could not but smile when I 
reflected that, only a few moments before, this sacred 
soil had been occupied by gangs of Mohammedan 
porters passing boxes, bags, and bundles from one 
another to the boats. As they worked they indulged 
in a droning sing-song — what sailors call a "shanty" 
— to help them in their woik. As I listened to their 
rhythmical grunt I was curious to know what they were 
saying, and asked a dragoman. It sounded to me like 
**La-Allah-il-Allah," etc. — the weU-known saying 
which we all of us remember from the "Arabian 

[»4S] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

Nights." The diagoman corroborated my beliefi and 
added that the other words meant for the next man to 
hurry the baggage along. In short, from his transla- 
tion, I think their ''shanty" was something like this: 
" Come, get a move on. Allah is great Pass it along. 
Allah is great." 

A Russian friend once told me that it is the fashion 
in Russia for entire strangers to cry to those they meet 
on Easter Day, ''Christ is risen!" One particularly 
hairy Russian moujik was just arising from his oscula- 
tions of the stone pier when his eye caught mine. He 
rushed upon me with outstretched arms, shouting a 
greeting, and showing so friendly a disposition that I 
fled in terror. My Russian friend had told me that 
the Russian peasants not only greet strangers with the 
words, " Christ is risen," but frequently embrace them. 
I was afraid my hairy friend intended to embrace me 
— perhaps to kiss me with the same pious lips which 
he had just imprinted on the porter-defiled jner. So 
I did not hesitate. Discretion is the better part of 
valor. I did not think he intended to kiU me, only to 
kiss me; but I ran. 

The passage from the pier at Jaffa to the ship was 
not a pleasant one. The Jaffa boats are not imlike 
whale-boats: they are high in bow and stem, rowed 
with long sweeps, and steered with a sweep astern made 
fast to a thole-pin. The boatmen who handle them 
are skilful with their oars, and aside from the fatct that 
they are parasitic, dirty, and would cut your throat for 
sixpence, I have no doubt that they are very worthy 

[246] 



^ 



The Sea at Jaffa 

men. Still, raidy does one part from a set of ship- 
mates with so much joy as from these Jaffa boatmen. 
On our boat one barefooted mariner, who lost his toe- 
grip on the gunwale, fell overboard. His comrades 
paid not the least attention to him; he swam around, 
trying to dimb into various boats, but repulsed by all; 
the occupants feared he would shake himself like a wet 
dog, so he had to swim ashore. 

Our boatmen had made not more than three strokes 
with their long sweeps when our whale-boat began to 
poise herself alternately on bow and stem. Then she 
rolled, she pitched, she tossed, she made every move- 
ment possible to the laws of gravitation and flotation. 
As she did so, the countenances of the people aboard 
instantly changed. I have seen a great many sea-sick 
people in my time, and I may have seen more people 
sea-sick than there were in our boat, but I never saw 
people more sea-sick — that is, so sea-sick — that is, 
sea-sicker. There are stages of sea-sickness where 
ladies attempt to conceal the feet that they are under 
the weather. There was no such attempt in this boat 
Anybody who was sick was frankly sea-sick. We were 
right down to the plain, primitive man and woman 
and no nonsense about it. 

The extreme lack of formality in our boat reminded 
me of one of Keene's droll bits in Punch years ago — a 
picture of a sea-sick woman aboard a Channel steamer. 
A sea-sick man beside her has his head pillowed in her 
lap. A passing good Samaritan says: ^' Madam, look 
at your husband's awful pallor — you had better 

[247] 



Disappointments in Palestine 

have him taken below." To which the sea-sick lady 
replies with a dreadful calmness: "He's not my hus- 
band. I don't know who he is." There were occur- 
rences in our boat which strongly reminded me of this 
picture. 

When half-way to the ship we passed through the 
barrier reef and got into the open sea. Then we 
instinctively felt that inside the reef it had been com- 
paratively smooth. Outside the leef the boat really 
began to get a move on her, and here the boatmen chose 
to stop rowing. Any one who has ever sailed the seas 
knows that it is much easier to preserve one's com- 
posure and dinner when a vessel is under way than 
when she has stopped. There were some stem spirits 
in our boat who had hitherto maintained comparative 
calmness. But when we passed through the reef and 
the rowing stopped, most of them gave way. It was 
indeed a lamentable spectacle. As I gazed over this 
mass of men, women, and luggage it seemed that the 
percentage of sea-sickness was about ninety-seven out 
of a possible himdred. In fact, everything seemed 
to be sea-sick, except the boatmen and the boat. Even 
the baggage writhed uneasily — the very valises oped 
their clammy jaws. 

The rowing stopped because the boatmen had chosen 
this spot for InUishish. True, they had agreed to take 
us from shore to ship for a specified sum. Troe, they 
had agreed they would demand no bakshish. But 
all the same, when they got us past the reef a cry of 
^'bakshish^^ arose. One was selected as collector. 

[248] 



Sea-sickness and Bakshish 

He went aroundi and never in my experience in the 
Orient did I see a crowd of people yield up bakshish 
with so much alacrity. I will do the collector the 
justice to say that he was decent enough not to attempt 
to collect from those women who were in a state of 
coUapsei but any woman who could hold her head up 
had to pay, and all the men had to pay, sea-sick or not 
He also complied with the request of the gathering that 
he should ''make haste" and ^' hurry up;'' for he spoke 
a little English, and he informed them that the best 
way to accelerate matters was to have their money 
ready and expect no change. Everybody followed 
his advice. Nobody asked for change. Nobody got 
any. 

When we reached the ship's side, most of the ladies 
had to be lifted up out of the bottom of the boat, 
where they were in a heap; as the platform of the gang- 
way was sometimes fifteen feet in the air above our 
heads, and as we were sometimes fifteen feet above it 
and looking down, they had to be tossed by the boat- 
men into the arms of the brawny sailors on the gang- 
way. They came almost any end up, and the deadly 
nature of their malady may be inferred from the fact 
that they paid not the slightest attention to their ap- 
pearance, to their petticoats, or to whether their hats 
were on straight 



[249I 



XV 



CAIRO'S ROUTES AND INNS 




XV 



CAIRO'S ROUTES AND INNS 

(HE various steamship lines from Europe 
to Egypt are mentioned in detail in the 
first chapter of this book. As will there 
be observed, the nimiber of steamers has 
much increased during the past two or three years; even 
the number of lines has been increased. 

On our journey to Egypt in the winter of 1905, we 
sailed both ways tmder the British flag — one way by 
the Peninsular and Oriental, the other by the White 
Star line. On previous voyages between Egypt and 
the Occident we had sailed under other flags. It must 
be admitted that the passenger lists in such cases were 
more interesting than on the British ships. On one 
occasion I remember that we carried an Oriental pasha 
and his entire harem, together with a most remarkable 
assortment of Sicilian priests, Greek monks, French 
abb^s (they did not fraternize), English army officers, 
Anglo-Indian civilians, Italian actors, French officers 
from Madagascar, German honeymooners, Greek 
dandies, and Levantine ladies of various nationalities, 
including some Cypriote beauties with languishing 

[253I 



Cairo's Routes and Inns 

eyes. This winter, however, on both the P. and O. and 
White Star steamers, the passengers were made up of 
American and British travellers, all eminently respect- 
able, and entirely uninteresting. 

The P. and O. ships are very crowded in winter for 
the "short-sea'' route — that is between Marseilles 
and Port Said. At this latter port all the Egyptian 
passengers disembark, and only the Indian passengers 
remain. Even of these voyagers booked for the Far 
East many do not take the "long-sea" route from 
England across the Bay of Biscay and past Gibraltar, 
but join their ships either at Marseilles or Brindisi. 
As a result, the ship has a light passenger list at 
both ends of her run, and an overcrowded one in 
the middle. 

Between Marseilles and Port Said our ship was so 
crowded that the chief steward was forced to have 
"first" and "second sittings," as he called them, or 
"first" and "second tables," as they are usually de* 
nominated on American steamships. I was amused 
at the di£ference between the practical American and 
the more conventional Britisher. The Britons greatly 
preferred the late dinner hour at half past seven. But 
those who selected that hour for dinner were also 
obliged to take the late breakfast hour. As the British 
largely outnumbered the Americans, there was a grand 
rush for the "second sitting." The Americans thus 
found themselves with first choice of seats for the "first 
sitting." After the first day out many Britons began 
to suspect that they had blundered. As the 

[aS4] 



Box and Cox at Sea 

trooped in to dinner at half past six, the hungry 
gathered like Peris at the gates of Paradisei and greedily 
watched them eat. As they saw the tureens of soup, 
dishes of fish, and pyramids of hash borne in and out 
— all cooked at the same hour, and destined to regale 
them an hour or so later — they grew visibly perturbed. 
On the second day out, at the eight o'clock breakfast 
sitting, I was just about to take my seat, when I col- 
lided with another voyager, to whom I said sweetly: 
''Beg pardon; this is a hundred and six — my num- 
ber, please." He looked at me g^mily, and responded, 
''It's mine, too;'' whereupon he appealed to the chief 
steward to be allowed to breakfast then instead of at 
half past nine. But the steward was obdurate and 
refused, so Cox withdrew. For he was Cox and I was 
Box. He was my alter ego^ my doppdganger. Cox 
retired, and glared hungrily at me through the cabin 
skylight, while I lingered tantalizing^y over the break- 
fast delicacies. Only once during this sitting did I 
feel my serene sense of satisfaction disturbed. It was 
when I suddenly thought of the napkins. "Great 
heavens!" said I; "if Cox uses the same numbered 
chair as I do, does he use the same numbered napkin- 
ring?" I called my table*waiter to my side, and with 
a faltering voice asked him to shed li^t on this dark 
matter. He relieved me mightily by at once producing 
Cox's napkin-ring. True, it was numbered "io6," 
but it had a drde under it I, being Box, had the first 
napkin-ring, and mine was numbered "io6" straight, 
with no circle. The sight of these cryptic napkin-rings 

[^55] 



Cairo^s Routes and Inns 

relieved me greatly. Cox was an inoffensive-looking 
person, but one draws the line at napkins. 

For this and other reasons I was extremely glad that 
I had signed articles for the first sitting instead of the 
second. The sight of a breakfast battle-field, with its 
gouts of gravy, its awful grub-stains, its exploded egg- 
shells, and other signs of carnage, has always confirmed 
me in my preference for pictures of peace rather than 
war. 

I may remark here that the P. and O. boats land at 
Port Said, the White Star steamers at Alexandria. 
The special service of the North German Lloyd lands 
at Alexandria, the Adriatic service of that and the Ham- 
burg-American line at Port Said. I strongly advise 
travellers sailing for Egypt to go via Alexandria. It 
is a fairly interesting city and well worth a visit, while 
Port Said is dirty, dreary, uninteresting, and malo- 
dorous. The three-hour railway journey from Alex- 
andria to Cairo runs through the richest part of the 
Nile Delta, while that from Port Said presents few or 
no points of interest. Special trains are frequendy 
run between Cairo and Alexandria when the laiger 
steamers are sailing; rarely, if ever, from Port Said, as 
it is not always known when the west-bound steamers 
will arrive there. Travellers via Port Sidd, being on 
ships making long voyages, such as from England to 
India, or Germany to China, cannot tell the approximate 
time of their arrival. They cannot even tell the date, 
much less whether it will probably be by night or day. 
In fact, such passengers are sometimes obliged to dis- 

[256] 



I 



T ;'.!■: 1--. 



■^ • 



T T • ' 



t V-- 0»' 



/ .' .^ O 



r Musliafabiyfli WinAnvs ami Furn 



Cairo Dragomans 

embark at Port Said in the middle of the night, by 
means of small boats, in Cimmerian darkness, while 
their steamer goes on. 



The more enterprising among the Cairo dragomans 
do not wait for their prey in the Cairo hotels. Nor do 
they confine themselves to the railway station. They 
go far afield when a European steamship is due; they 
meet the traveller at Alexandria or Port Said. 

When we first visited Egypt we fell at once into the 
hands of Dragoman Achmet Mohammed. Achmet 
had recommendations from many of the great ones of 
the earth. Besides, he was no worse than any other 
dragoman. They all rob you, more or less; but they 
certainly prevent you from being robbed a great deal 
more by others. They get commissions on everything 
you buy, and steer you into high-priced places; but, 
generally speaking, they keep you out of places where 
you would get into trouble. So they are, perhaps, a 
necessary evil. 

On our second visit to Cairo we did not deem it 
necessary to see all the stock sights:— we had come 
to enjoy ourselves. So we rebuffed numerous Cairo 
dragomans at Alexandria. But when we alighted at 
the Cairo railway station, the first person I saw was 
Achmet Mohammed. My heart fell. I hoped he 
would not recognize me. No such luck. He knew me 
at once, hastened to my side, called a carriage, and 
assisted me to enter it with that deferential hand-cup 

[257] 



Cairo's Routes and Inns 

for my elbow which I knew so welL I made a feeUe 
attempt to explain to Achmet that we would not need 
him. He received this remaric with a trustful smile 
of incredulity. When we reached the hotel, Achmet 
swiftly paid and dismissed the cabman without asking 
me for the money. Then I knew that I was lost. I 
was no longer my own man. I belonged to Achmet 
Mohanmied. 

But what boots it to tell of my futile struggle ? Ach- 
met had ignored other wayfarers, had fastened himself 
to me, and had thus lost his chance for any other client 
tmtil the arrival of the next steamer. So he was deter- 
mined not to let me go. Did I seat myself on the ter- 
race? Achmet would come and stand behind my 
chair. Did I call a cab? Achmet would suddenly 
appear and abuse the cabman violently in order to 
impress him with my importance. Did I enter a sh<q>? 
Achmet entered it also from another door. He was 
proof against everything — abuse, entreaty, cursing. 
I assured him warmly that he was losing his time, for 
not a piastre would he receive from me. But Achmet 
soothingly replied that his motives were not mercenary 
— that he wished to serve me only in consideration of 
love and affection. 

But another steamer came with a new lot of travel- 
lers. Among them was a family I knew. I greeted 
them with an unholy gUtter in my eye. I was more 
than cordial — I was effusive. As soon as the oppor- 
tunity served — perhaps sooner — I took Pater&miUas 
aside and asked him if he had secured a dragoman. 

[358] 



Conscieniiotts Travellers 

No, he had not, and he needed one, for they weie going 
up the Nile. "Up the Nile!" My heart leaped for 
joy. I turned around and clapped my hands; I did 
not see Achmet, but I knew that he was near. In 
truth he was; he appeared like the Hindoostanee magi- 
cian who comes out of the ground. I presented Achmet 
to Paterfamilias. I told him that Achmet was the boss 
dragoman — that among Egyptian dragomans he was 
easily It. 

The next morning the family took Achmet up the 
Nile. I did not wish him any particular harm, but I 
could not help hoping that they would lose him some- 
where — in the First or Second Cataract, say. 



There are two sets of travellers in Egypt: the first 
are those who use Cairo only as a stopping-place on 
their way to other stations; the second, those who care 
naught for Upper Egypt, the ruins, or the Nile, and 
who consider Cairo the only point of interest in the 
whole of Egypt. The latter class is usually made up 
of those who have visited Egypt more than once. The 
traveller who has made a previous visit to Egypt may 
settle down in Cairo with the comfortable sensation 
that he is not obliged to do the Nile, to do Luxor, 
Thebes, or Memphis, to do the ruins of Kamak, or to 
do anything at all unless he pleases. 

But those travellers who are in Egypt for the first 
time enjoy no such delightful feeling of mild do-nothing- 

[259] 



Cairo's Routes and Inns 

ism. Such tiavelleis are slaves of duty. Conceimng 
them, an old Caiio devotee said to me one day: 

''Poor creatures! They want to stay in Cairo, but, 
driven by duty, they must move on. They would like 
to lounge along the ever shifting streets and bazaars 
of the Mouski quarter; instead of this, they let them- 
selves be dragged off to view tumble-down ruins in 
which they are not interested. They would like to sit 
among the brilliant throng on the hotel terraces, and 
look at snake-charmers and jugglers; instead of this, 
they let themselves be hauled around to mouldy old 
mosques which delight them not. They allow them- 
selves to be whisked up the Nile by tourist agents, in 
narrow stem-wheel boats with cell-like state-rooms 
where they are fried by day and frozen by night. They 
permit themselves to be driven off on donkey-back 
over sandy, dusty trails, across great stretches of desert, 
to gaze on gigantic ruins, taking four days to do things 
which it would require four weeks to do properly. And 
all this they call 'travelling for pleasure.**' 

While I do not agree with this Cairo devotee in his 
low estimate of everything Egyptian that is not Cairene, 
he is certainly right in his picture of these slaves of duty. 
Among them I once encountered a young woman who 
had only a week in Egypt and who wanted to spend 
it in Cairo. I heard her say in a melancholy tone: 
"How I wish I could stay in this lovely dtyl But it 
is my duty to go up the Nile!" And she went. An- 
other young woman, smitten with the Cairo charm, 
tried to sell her Nile ticket at a ruinous sacrifice. Fail- 

[260] 



r 



Unlike Constantinople 

ing in her attempted sale, this second slave of duty 
made the Nile trip, like Niobe all tears. 

This gives some idea of the charm of Cairo to the 
new-comer as well as to the old. It is, in truth, a fasci- 
nating dty. For some reason, the Cairo Moham- 
medans seem less hostile to strangers than they are in 
many Moslem cities. In some Turkish towns the true 
believers show plainly by their looks and demeanor 
that they hate Christians. Constantinople, for example, 
— outside of the European quarter, Pera — is not a 
pleasant place for Christian strangers. Sour looks 
and words that sound like curses come from the adults, 
while over-ripe fruit, imsalable vegetables, and even 
stones at times come from the little boys. In short, 
while Stamboul is sulky, grimy, and grim, Cairo is 
cheerful, light, and pleasant. 

In other ways Cairo differs markedly from Constanti- 
nople. When one compares the magnificent steel 
bridge across the Nile with the tottering, decrepit 
wrecks across the Golden Horn, he may note the differ- 
ence between modem Mohammedanism and Moham- 
medanism that is decaying. That venerable structure, 
the Galata bridge at Constantinople, looks as if it were 
composed of bed-slats, old tin roofing, rusty gas-pipe, 
and superannuated stair-rails. When it gets acute 
structural weakness, it is fastened together with cor- 
roded wire or old barrel-hoops. OccasionaUy the 
railing tumbles off for fifty or a hundred feet, carrying 
with it fifty or a hundred true believers into Paradise 
via the Golden Horn. If Abdul Hamid were to visit 

[261] 



Cairo's Routes and Inns 

the Khedive and compaie bridges, he would go back 
to Yildez Kiosk with a still stronger dislike than he now 
has for his wealthy vassal. 

A signal difference between Cairo and Constanti- 
nople is in the matter of light. After nightfall Stam- 
boul is as dark as a church is on a week-day, while 
Cairo is as brilliantly lighted as a saloon. The rules 
regulating vehicle lights are so stringent that not only 
hackney-cabs but private carriages, farm-wagons, and 
donkey-carts are obliged to carry lights. One evening 
while driving out to the Pyramids, we saw a fanner and 
his wife returning in a cart from selling their produce 
in Cairo. It was dusk, but I could plainly see the 
anxious look on the dark face of the farmer's wife, 
lighted by the candle which she held shaded by her 
hand. Thus the vehicle was provided with a light — 
thus she complied with the law. If toward evening 
you are driving in a cab, if the legal hour for Ughting is 
reached, your cabman stops at once, nimbly hops down, 
and quickly lights up. In this respect Cairo is better 
policed than many Occidental dties. 

Still another difference between Cairo and Constanti- 
nople is in the treatment of pedestrians. All over the 
Orient the footman has no rights. But at Constanti- 
nople he seems to be more brutally treated than else- 
where. There the drivers seem to try to run him down 
without warning. But in Cairo they have a series of 
curious cries with which they warn a footman. They 
specify the particular part of his anatomy which is in 
danger, thus: 

[362] 



street Cries of Warning 

"Look out for thy left shin, O uncle!" 
" Boy, have a care for the little toe on thy right foot 1" 
"O blind beggar, look out for thy stafiFl" 
And the blind beggar, feeling his way with the staff 
in his right hand, at once obediently turns to the left. 
"O Prankish woman, look out for thy left foot!" 
"O burden-bearer, thy load is in danger!" 
"O water-carrier, look out for the tail end of thy 
pig-skin water-bottle!" 

" O son of Sheitan, conceived in the Bab-El-Tophet, 
have a care and look to thy camel's left pannier, or it 
wiU be hurt!" 

"O fellah fanner, swing around thy buffalo so that 
his left buttock may not strike on my right wheel!" 

"O carter, why dost thou let thy cart project across 
the Khedive's highway?" 

" O group of four fellaheen standing in the roadway, 
if the gent on the left, him with the blue gown and the 
white turban, does not get a wiggle on him quick, my 
horse will send him where the black-eyed houris are 
comforting the true believers. Cluck! Git-ep! La- 
Allah-il-AUah! Wow!" 

A word about the Cairo shopkeepers. The tenn 
bakshish has meanings other than alms and tips. 
After a long and animated haggUng between shop- 
keeper and customer, the shopkeeper will sometimes 
refuse to concede say twenty-five piastres reduction 
demanded by the customer. If, however, the cus- 
tomer will agree to buy the goods at the fixed price, the 
shopkeeper will agree to give him a bakshish of twenty- 



Cairo^s Routes and Inns 

five piastres when the transaction is dosed. This is 
ahnost identical with the practices of the great American 
railways with large shippers of merchandise. The 
companies will make no discounts from their rates, 
but when the full rates are charged they will make a 
"rebate." 

This is exactly like the bakshish of the Oriental 
shopkeeper. Verily, there is nothing new under the 
sun. 



There is a Famous Caravansary in Cairo which has 
been so thoroughly advertised that its name is known 
all over the world. Young women in the Middle West 
who never were farther east than Buffalo have all heard 
of this hotel and hope to go there when they make the 
Grand Tour. They still think it is the haunt of the 
aristocracy, and that it is a social halo to stop there. 
But they are in error. This Famous Caravansary has 
not only deteriorated practically, but it has cheapened 
socially : other hotels now get the princelings, the dukes, 
and the lords. The last few seasons the one frequented 
by the royalty and nobility seemed to be the Savoy. 
Here stopped the Crown Prince of Germany and his 
brother, Archduke Ferdinand of Austria, the Duke and 
Duchess of Connaught, the ex-Empress Eugenie, the 
Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, the Crown Prince 
of Sweden, and many other lesser great ones. 

Personally I care nothing for the social standing of 
a hotel. I am much more interested in its cookeiy. 
But that at the once Famous Cairo Caravansary of 

[264] 



A Famous Caravansary 

which I speak is no longer good. Generally speaking, 
you must take the table d^hdu dinner at foreign hoteb. 
It is all very well to talk about '^ dining d la carU^^ but, 
as a matter of fact, the preparation of the table ffhdte 
dinner taxes the resources of any large Egyptian hotel. 
If you order a dinner d la carte you have to wait a long 
time for it, and then it is usually not so good as the 
table (Thdte dinner. The wise man, therefore, orders 
the table (ThSte dinner, but has it served at a separate 
table for a small extra charge. If the menu is not to 
his liking, he can order some supplementary dish. It 
is always possible, however, to make out a dinner by 
selecting from the menu at a good table d'hdte dinner. 
But it is not possible with a bad one, and that is the 
kind the Famous Caravansary served during the season 
before the last. 

At a good table d^hdte dinner there are always solid 
things — joints, chops, filets, fowb, birds, or game, so 
that all tastes can be catered to. But the cheap table 
d^hdte dinner shuns these more costly dishes, and 
garnishes its bill of fare with queer "croquettes,'' 
mysterious " cromesquis," anonymous "ragouts," "ka- 
bobs," and "pilaffs,'' which latter are made of musky 
muttonhash, disguised under Turkish names. All 
these weird composite things figured laigely on the bill 
of fare at this caravansary — likewise "bouchdes" and 
"pat&." There are said to be three great kinds of pi- 
laff — Turkish, Persian, and Grecian. There are four — 
the other kind is this Cairo caravansaiy kind. Avoid it. 

Of these various poetically named dishes, the "cro- 

[265] 



Cairo^s Routes and Inns 

quettes" are unmistakably hash; the '' ctomesqui " is 
an exotic hash; the ^'bouch^e" is a thinly disguised 
hash; the ''pat€" is frankly hash; the ''rissole" is a 
kind of doughy dumb-bell closed all round like an 
apple dumpling and filled inside with hash. Occa- 
sionally one found on the bill the appetizing legend 
''pain de volaille/' which turned out to be minced 
chicken and bread-crumbs — therefore also hash. 

But the most dreadful deception was when I saw on 
the bill one day the legend, "cdtelettes de volaille." 
There are two varieties of this dish — one consists of 
tempting slices cut from a fat fowl, and served some- 
times en papilloUe: these are the true chicken cutlets. 
This particular day I knew not which kind we were to 
have, but when it was served my spirits fell — it was 
the other kind. That kind of a chicken cutlet consists 
of yesterday's and the-day-before-yesterday's chicken, 
boiled down, chopped up, and ground through a minc- 
ing machine, including the viscera, the drumsticks, 
and the antennae of the chicken. This is then made 
into the shape of a lamb chop, cooked to a delicate 
brown, and a little white stick is stuck into one end of 
it, like the bone of a chop. The little stick is adding 
insult to injury — yet that is the kind of "chicken 
cutlet" they gave us one day at the Famous Caravan- 
sary in Cairo. 



There was an "Himgarian orchestra" at the Famous 
Caravansary winter before last. Like the poor, we 
have Hungarian orchestras always with us, so the fact 

[266] 



A Fascinating Fiddler 

is not notable. But the leader was. He played firsi 
violin as well as led. He was a beautiful creature : he 
had mustaches turned up at the ends, like those of 
William the War Lord; he wore the gorgeous gold-laced 
uniform of an Hungarian hussar; he wore high, glossy 
patent-leather boots, reaching midleg high on his 
beautiful blue gold-striped tights; long lashes shaded 
his fine eyes, with which he darted the most killing 
glances to left and right, inflaming feminine hearts. 

I have long been observant of the fascination exer- 
cised by European army officers over American women. 
I do not wonder at it. Only think of those gorgeous 
white-coated Austrian officers; just fancy the corps 
d^Sliie of the French, German, and Italian armies — is 
it matter of wonder that our countrywomen admire 
them? When these sons of Mars are compared with 
the lean, or globulous, or stoop shouldered, tired, worn- 
out, middle-aged American business man, he suffers in 
the comparison. The American is a fond husband, a 
doting father, a good provider, but he is not nearly so 
pretty as the European army officer. Fortimately for 
him, he stays '' tew hum," makes the money, and sends 
his wife abroad to spend it, so that he never knows of 
the comparisons that even the best wife must make 
between him and them. 

My omission of the British officers in the above list is 
not accidental. It is designed. Not that the gentlemen 
who wear King Edward's coat are lacking in manly 
beauty. Far from it. To my thinking, there are as 
handsome men in England as any in the western world. 

[267] 



Cairo's Routes and Inns 

But English officers affect mufti, and are rarely seen 
in uniform when off duty. Thus they lose the adven- 
titious aid which buttons, brass, and feathers give the 
soldier over the civilian. Therefore our American 
women gaze on them calm-eyed — not as they gaze on 
the gorgeous jack-booted gentry of the Continent, in 
tin cuirasses and pot-metal helmets. Yet the officers of 
the Guards in London — Coldstream, or Horse, or Blue 
— when decked for action, are easily worth a shilling to 
look at — which it sometimes costs the hurried tourist 
to be shown the way to the 'Orse Guards by an accom- 
modating person who would like to drink his 'ealth. 

A shilling, by the way, is the rumored rate charged 
by a foot-guardsman for walking with a servant-maid 
on a Sunday; a mounted guardsman chaiges the slavey 
eighteen pence. 

Here, too, buttons and brass wrought their fatal 
fa^ination. The hysterical Hungarian fiddler had 
his head completely turned by the open admiration of 
a number of young American women belonging to a 
large steamship-excursion. They gathered in front 
of his band-stand; they gazed up into his fine eyes; they 
applauded ecstatically; they made him yield to so many 
encores that his band — old, fat, bald-headed, and 
probably married — grumbled audibly. Still, he was 
determined to please the young American frauleins, and 
he did. But the poor devil almost dislocated his cer- 
vical vertebrae in attempting to bow to his victims in 
the midst of a fortissimo czardas with his fiddle stuck 
into his neck. 

[a68] 



BootSy BrasSj and Feathers 

Bowing with his head — bowing with his fiddle-bow 
— scraping with his feet — scraping on his fiddle — 
bowing and scraping, scraping and bowing: verily, the 
poor fiddler worked hard for our countrywomen's 
smiles. As for them, their frank admiration for the 
bedizened fiddler — not for his fiddling — reminded 
me much of the poor London scullions who save up 
their 'apennies all week to walk with a gold-laced sol- 
dier of a Sunday. 



It is only fair to add to my remarks on the Famous 
Caravansary that I had stopped there some years ago, 
and found the cookery and service excellent. When I 
found it so bad, it was run by a Belgian company. In 
the winter of 1905 the Belgian company relinquished 
its management, and it is now run by a local syndicate 
made up of Cairo capitalists. It may have improved 
under the new management. Very likely it has — the 
other hotels run by Cairo capitalists are excellent. The 
shares of stock in these hotel syndicates, by the way, 
are daily quoted on the Cairo Bourse, and pay large 
dividends. They pay so well that three large hotels 
are now in process of erection. Two of them are to be 
on the river — oddly enough, not a hotel in Cairo has 
yet been built on the Nile. It seems strange that these 
gigantic structures should pay so well when they are 
empty more than half the year. Yet such is the case 
— the first guests arrive about the middle of November, 
the last leave about the middle or end of April. 

[269] 



XVI 

THE MIDWINTER CRUSH 

AT CAIRO 




XVI 



THE MIDWINTER CRUSH AT CAIRO 

;HE prominence given to the hotels in all 
accounts of Cairo life — which may 
cause some wonder to those who have 
never been there — is because there are 
no villas at Cairo. There is absolutely no other shelter 
for the many thousands who go there every winter. In 
most winter cities there is a choice of residences — all 
along the French Riviera, for example, from Marseilles 
to Monte Carlo, and thence along the Italian coast, 
from San Remo to Naples, there are not only gigantic 
caravansaries, but small hotels, pensions, and villas 
without number. Not so at Cairo. Even the per- 
manent resident has great difficulty in housing himself 
outside of a hotel. As for the transient, he has no 
choice — he must go to a hotel. It may be said, how- 
ever, that the hotels, while high-priced, are excellent 
— among the best in the world. 

The hotel people, by the way, divide the dwellers in 
Cairo into three groups: i. Permanent residents — 
officials and others. 2. ^* Hivemants** — which con- 
venient French word, of course, means those who spend 
the entire winter in Egypt. 3. Tourists. 

[273] 



The Midwinter Crush at Cairo 

Toward Egypt, as the winter waxes, wayfarers flock 
from all over the world. From Egypt, as the winter 
wanes, they fly back again, much like birds of passage* 
At the beginning of the winter, Cairo is empty. As 
the weather in Europe gets worse, Cairo grows full; 
later, Cairo is jammed. Then the great crowd pours 
up the river; trains, tourist steamers, express steamers 
— everything is packed. Upper Egypt then becomes 
congested and Cairo much less crowded, except for a 
few days at a time, when excursion steamers arrive. 
As the winter wanes, the crowd pours down the river 
once more, and again Cairo becomes crowded. For a 
few weeks all the Cairo hotels are full; then the out- 
going steamships leave, with every cabin crowded, and 
through the great hotels of Cairo stalk brass-bound 
porters and swallow-tailed head-waiters, their foot£alls 
echoing loudly through the empty halls and lounges. 

At the beginning and at the end of this great hegira, 
one may observe in Cairo scores of the world's notable 
personages; it is only at these periods that they are 
numerous, for on arriving at Cairo they scatter all over 
Egypt, and on returning they scatter all over the world. 
There are among them representatives of all countries. 
During the season of 1905 there were in Egypt mem- 
bers of the imperial or royal families of Great Britain, 
Germany, Russia, Sweden, Austria-Hungaxy, Saxony, 
Wurtemburg, Baden, Italy, and Greece, together with 
diplomatic, literary, and dramatic notables, and hun- 
dreds of ordinary persons of title. On the Nile one 
sees the flag of nearly every nation fluttering from the 

[274] 



Royalties and Notables 

peaks of dahabiyehs^ and the identity of the charterers 
of these private boats, steam or sail, is often patent by 
the yacht-club burgees and private yachting signals 
which often may be seen flying with the foreign flags. 

In addition to the imperial and royal personages^ 
there are some of the sort whom Alphonse Daudet so 
happily dubbed ''Kings in Exile." One of the most 
notable of these was the lady travelling incognito as 
Countess of Pierrefonds, otherwise Eug^niei some- 
time Empress of the French. 

The presence of the ex-Empress in Egypt during the 
season of 1905 brought forth interesting recollections 
from many old residents in Egypt. In conversation 
with one of the Anglo-Egyptian department heads, he 
narrated some of the tales which have come down from 
the time of Khedive Ismail. Lord Houghton's accoxmt 
of the great festivals given by the Khedive at the time 
of the Suez Canal celebration in 1869 is a graphic one. 
In all these f£tes Eugenie was the central figure. She 
came to Egypt in an imperial yacht, escorted by French 
ships of war. For her arrival every one waited. She 
was the only imperial or royal lady, by the way, who 
accepted the Khedive's invitation to the celebration. 
More than once my informant saw her surrounded by 
a brilliant circle of royalties, including the present 
Emperor of Austria, the Crown Prince of Prussia, and 
other royal personages. 

What great changes have taken place in these thirty 
years! .Khedive Ismail fell from power, was forced to 
abdicate, and became a Mohammedan wanderer in 

[275I 



The Midwinter Crush at Cairo 

Christian lands. At last he took up his residence in a 
palace on the Bosphorus as a guest of his suzerain, 
the Sultan. There he died mysteriouslyi the gossips 
of the Stamboul bazaars whispering that he was poi- 
soned by order of the Padishah. The Austrian Em- 
peror's beautiful consort, Elizabeth, is dead, foully 
murdered in Switzerland by a fanatic assassin. His 
dashing son Rudolph is dead, either the victim of a 
mysterious assassin or of a more mysterious self-murder. 
The Crown Prince of Prussia is dead, victim of an 
incurable and loathsome malady, after having been 
Emperor for but a few weeks. Of that brilliant drde 
nearly all are gone into the other world. Eugenie's 
husband and her son are dead, and she is left old 
and alone. 

At that time her slightest wish was law. When the 
Egyptian ministers learned, in advance of her coming, 
that she wished to visit the Pyramids, the Khedive 
ordered a carriage-road to be constructed from Cairo 
to Cheops. It was done by forced labor. The mudir 
of the district ordered all able-bodied males to report 
for duty, and they constructed the present fine road 
without food or wage, not even being given tools. Most 
of them dug up the sand with their hands, and carried 
it on their backs in cloths or baskets. A magnificent 
palace sprung up on an island in the Nile, in which to 
house the beautiful Empress — a palace which is now 
turned into the Ghezireh Hotel. There was nothing 
that Oriental munificence and Khedivial pomp could 
not do for the French Empress. Eugenie was then 

[276] 



I T 



■ } 






Eugenie in Her Zenith 

at the very zenith of her womanly beauty, her conjugal 
pride, and her imperial splendor. Yet all this pre- 
ceded by only a few short months the Franco-Prussian 
War, when her gilded empire fell like a house of cards. 

The fall of Eugenie is a striking commentary on the 
evanescence of human grandeur. Not a trace of her 
remains in Paris — not a name, not an imperial cipher, 
not even an initial. The haughty title, '' Avenue of 
the Empress," was changed by the Government of the 
Fourth September to the bourgeois name, "Avenue 
Uhrich." I know of but two places in all France where 
her name endures — two little watering-places — 
Biarritz and Trouville. 

Biarritz is indissolubly connected with Eugenie. 
Wherever you go,«you hear her name. You pass by a 
picturesque diflF jutting over the sea — it was she who 
christened it. You drive through a forest of young, 
pines — they were planted by Eugenie's order. It was 
she who practically created Biarritz. Out of an obscure 
fishing-village, she made it a fashionable watering-place. 
It was entirely her personal influence and the prestige 
of her name which made Biarritz what it is. It is 
difficult to realize to-day how great that influence, how 
overpowering that prestige was. In addition to her 
beauty, Eugenie must have had some traits of character 
to make her the power that she was — social, imperial, 
political. The daughter of a doubtful Spanish grandee ; 
the bait of an angling mother; her beauty hawked from 
court to court of Europe; "her cradle a travelling 
tnmk, her boarding-school a tabk d?hdte^^\ her hus- 

[277I 



The Midwinter Crush at Cairo 

band's paternity so doubtful that Louis Bonaparte, 
his putative father, probably never knew who the 
pseudo-son's real father was; this husband a tinsel 
emperor as she was a parvenue empress — that with 
all these skeletons in the imperial closet Eugenie should 
have made herself the first lady in the world, first in 
personal beauty, first in imperial splendor, first in 
personal prestige; the warm friend of a queen noted 
for her domestic virtues, and lineal descendant of a 
long line of English kings; the arbiter of fashions; the 
maker or unmaker of kings, as in the case of the Hohen- 
asollem candidate for the throne of Spain and of Ama- 
deus of Savoy; the inciter of war, for the bloody cam- 
paign of 1870 was brought about by her — that Eugenie, 
once simply Sefiora de Montijo, should have reached 
such a lofty pinnacle shows the ups and downs of human 
Hfe. 

And its vicissitudes are further shown by her condi- 
tion to-day. While at Biarritz twoscore years ago, 
she reigned supreme, youthful, beautiful, an empress, 
a mother, a wife ; to-day she is old, broken, alone. Her 
husband laid down his sceptre when he surrendered 
his sword at Sedan; with the fall of his dynasty he 
yielded to melancholy and insidious disease, and died 
on the operating-table under the surgeon's knife. Her 
only son perished in a quarrel not his own, in far-away 
Africa, hacked to death by the assegais of savages who 
knew not who he was nor why he warred against them. 
To-day, with a handful of devoted attendants instead 
of a brilliant court, white-haired, wasted, wan, bent 

[278] 



The Ex-Empress Now 

double with years, hobbling with a crutchi one can 
scarcely believe that the decrepit old lady who calls 
herself "the Countess of Pierrefonds" was once the 

4 

beautiful, fortune-favored Eug6niei empress of the 
French. 

How changed, too, the conditions of her Egyptian 
visit after thirty years 1 When this whilom imperial 
lady revisited the scene of her former triumphs there 
were with her no royalties, no dazzling imperial suite. 
Two young ladies accompanied her, her secretary, and 
the son of a former imperial court official — that was 
all. More than once we saw the white-haired old lady 
dad in quiet black, bent, and sometimes walking with 
a cane. We saw her in Upper Egypt, whither she had 
gone, making the ascent of the Nile in a dahabiyeh with 
her small suite of faithful followers. We saw her again 
in Cairo at the Savoy Hotel, where she was domiciled 
just prior to sailing for her home on the Riviera at Cap 
Martin. It was a melancholy yet a touching spectacle 
to see this old lady on her way to the dining-hall, fol- 
lowed by her suite. It was the custom of the guests 
to draw up in two lines on either side of the corridor 
and salute her respectfully on her way. She returned 
these salutes most punctiliously. It was a kindly 
courtesy on the part of the guests, and I did not set it 
down to snobbishness, for I have noticed that much 
less attention seems to be paid to titles abroad than in 
America, and none at all to royalties incognito. But 
it seemed to me as if the guests of the hotel were moved 
more by a sympathetic feeling toward a stricken lady 



The Midwinter Crush at Cairo 

— old| widowed, and alone — than toward one who 
once had been an empress* 



There were a number of interestmg notabilities in 
Cairo toward the end of the winter, and one of the most 
remarkable to me was Sir Rudolph Von Slatin Pasha. 
Those who have read his book, ^^Fire and Sword in 
the Soudan," will remember the extraordinary hard- 
ships that he su£Fered during his fourteen years' im- 
prisonment; the mental torture to whidi he was ex- 
posed under both the Mahdi and the Khalifa; the traps 
which were set for him almost daily, which, less warily 
watched, would have led to his death, or what is worse, 
to torture; the hard and scanty fare and degrading 
tasks which were imposed upon him; the humiliating 
ordeal of becoming a convert to Mohammedanism; 
the hideous negresses and other unpleasant wives gra- 
ciously given him by his sardonic master; his increasing 
distrust lest those around him should be his master's 
spies — which many of them were; and finally the 
difficult and dangerous negotiations with the outer 
world, which led to his escape across the desert with 
an escort on swift camels, pursued by the bloodthirsty 
dervishes, until finally he dismounted in safety under 
the British flag at Assouan. 

There was a large dinner-party at the Savoy one even- \ 

ing, at which there were many diplomats and Eg]^ 
tian notabilities. Among them, I was told, was Slatin 
Pasha. I looked eagerly around me to see if I could 

[380] 



I u 






1 



. V 






Youthful Slatin Pasha 

detect this modem victim of the dungeon. Finally I 
picked out Slatin — a military-looking man, seemingly 
about sixty, with white hair, a dose-cropped white 
mustache, a stem and haggard face with weary eyes. 
But when I asked an acquaintance he laughed and 
told me I was wrong. 

''There is Slatin Pasha," said he. 

I tumed. Near me stood a handsome, red-cheeked 
man of apparendy less than forty, with brown hair, a 
long blond mustache, bright eyes, perfect teeth; his 
face lighted up with animation as he talked. He was 
clad in a brilliant uniform, and his breast was covered 
with orders. Litde did he look like a survivor of hair- 
breadth 'scapes by flood and field. Not his the dun- 
geon victim's face, seamed with wrinkles, circled with 
premature white hairs. If he looked like any famous 
fugitive, his handsome face and long blond mustaches 
would make my ideal of Blondel, the loyal troubadour 
who shared his royal master's misfortunes as he and 
En^nd's Crusader King fared back to Albion from 
the Holy Land after the astute minstrel had opened 
the doors of an Austrian dungeon to Richard of the 
Lion Heart. 

I gazed at Slatin in wonder. That any man coidd 
go through what he suffered, and still show no signs of 
mental or physical strain, was beyond my ken. Many 
an American business man, a Chicago pork-packer, a 
Pennsylvania coal baron, or a New York political boss, 
shows more signs of stress and strain at forty than Slatin 
Pasha does at fifty. And yet for twenty years of his 

[281] 



The Midwinter Crush at Cairo 

life he lived in the midst of honors which make the 
blood run cold even to read them — where men were 
killed with less compunction than slaughterers stick 
pigs, and where white men went to death as a lover goes 
to his bride, rejoicing that they were not to perish by 
the slow refinements of African torture. Later in the 
day I again saw Slatin Pasha. This time he had 
changed his brilliant uniform for the khaki service rig, 
and was accompanying Sir Reginald Wingate, Sirdar 
and Governor-General of the Soudan, back to Khar- 
toum. 

I wonder if Slatin Pasha ever thinks of that other 
soldier who perished at Khartoum. General Gordon 
would never speak to, or write to, or have aught to do 
with Slatin Pasha on account of his conversion to Mo- 
hammedanism. Yet Gordon is dead by British laches 
in Khartoum, and Slatin is living, with a palace given 
him by grateful Great Britain in Khartoum; with 
British and Egyptian titles and honors, happy, pros- 
perous, the curled darling of the world. The Christian 
soldier who remained faithful was chopped into bloody 
hash by a Mohammedan mob, while the Christian sol- 
dier who became a Mohammedan is heaped with honors 
by Christian kings. 

Well said Stephen Blackpool, "It's a' a muddle.' 



f» 



[283] 



XVII 



EGYPTIAN JOURNALISM 




xvn 

EGYPTIAN JOURNALISM 

T the newspapers of Egypt, it may be said 
that they seem to be mainly notable for 
what they do not contain. For example: 
The great Mohammedan institution of 
learning is the University of El-Azhar at Cairo. Here 
come Moslem students from Tangier to Singapore, 
from Stamboul to Dongola, from hither and from 
farther Ind. There are sects in Mohammedanism; 
the Persians, for example, belong to the Shiite branch, 
and even that was partly split off into Sufites. There 
are four sects in Islam which differ slightly. But I had 
supposed that their differences were purely academical. 
This belief grew upon me from the contempt expressed 
by the Mohammedans for the bloody fights of the brawl- 
ing Greek and Latin monks at Jerusalem. Secredy I 
had writhed under this contempt. The very looks of 
the Turkish military officers, seated smoking on their 
divan within the door of the Church of the Holy Sepul- 
chre at Jerusalem, are looks of contempt for all who 
can believe in the same creed as these brawling monks. 
Therefore, when I was in Cairo in 1905, I was much 

[285] 



Egyptian Journalism 

gratified to hear that there was often trouble in the 
University of El-Azhar. The pious person who pre- 
sides over El-Azhar — and who fills about the same 
office as our college presidents — found the dogmatic 
nut too hard for him to cracki so he "passed it up" to 
the Khedive. 

The Khedive took the matter under advisement, and 
finally issued a proclamation to the students, of whom 
there are many thousands. He told them that their 
quarrels caused great scandal among all true believers, 
and that these dissensions must cease. However, in 
order to see that his decrees were carried out, he pru- 
dently ordered a strong, high wall to be erected between 
the domain of the Syrian students and those next to 
them, who happened, I believe, to come from TiipoG. 
It seems that the Syrians could not get along with any 
students, but they were particularly prone to take a 
fall out of the Tripolitans. 

In the Egyptian newspapers I saw no mention made 
of these dogmatic disturbances in the heart of El Islam. 

The Khedive has not only dogmatic but domestic 
troubles, although he is reputed to have but one wife. 
While Great Britain kindly relieves him of most of the 
practical details of government, the remaining sodal, 
family, and ecclesiastical details are enough to keep 
him busy. For example, in December, 1904, an aged 
pasha died, leaving a fortune of many millions acquired 
in slave-dealing. He left but one heir, a son, who had 
been imprisoned for life as a punishment for treason. 
During all of our stay his friends were moving heaven 

[286] 



'J ii: 



PULL.. 



T . . 



A Plethora of Princes 

and earth to get the Khedive to pardon him that he 
might enjoy his large estate. If this were not done, 
it seems, the estate would escheat to the Khedive. 
What an extremely embarrassing dilemma! To be 
forced to choose between a fortune of millions on one 
hand, and, on the other, an altruistic act of mercy to a 
man who had attempted to destroy your dynasty. 

Concerning this Khedivial dilemma, such Egyptian 
journals as I saw preserved a discreet silence. 

Apropos of dynasties, one of the questions which 
greatly bothers the Khedive is dynastic. There is a 
horde of princes in the Khedivial family. Every male 
child of his grand-undes, uncles, brothers, nephews, 
and nieces was immediately on his birth styled '^ prince." 
As a result, the number of Khedivial princes in Egypt 
is so large that it is ludicrous. The Khedive saw that 
it was necessary to call a halt. Still, the Khedivial 
princesses were extremely fertile, and the output of 
princes could scarcely be checked. But their titles 
might. So a decree was issued declaring that the title 
of prince could only be considered valid with princes 
in being; that any child bom to any member of the 
Khedivial family after the date of the decree should 
be a plain Egyptian and no prince. No sooner was the 
decree issued than there was a howl. Uncles and 
aunts, brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, has- 
tened to pour their troubles into the Khedivial ear. 
Ladies who had fondly loved their lords sent word that 
it would be a bit of rank injustice to the coming little 
stranger to bar him when he was only six weeks behind 

1 287] 



Egyptian Journalism 

the decree. Such was the number of unborn infants 
to whom his decree did foul wrong that the Khedive 
was induced to modify it. He extended the time-limit 
on the ladies, making it, if I remember correctly, five 
years. After that time no more princes — that is, of 
course, outside of certain specified members of the 
family, such as the brothers of the sovereign. 

Touching these domestic and dynastic complications, 
the Egyptian press was again dumb. 

On the whole, the newspapers of Egypt are not very 
daring sheets. Possibly their birth and growth may 
have something to do with this timidity. Most Ameri- 
can newspapers, like Topsy, "jest growed"; the Egyp- 
tian newspapers seem to have been bom in financial 
incubators, and subsequentiy to have been "brought 
up by hand." During the winter of 1905, the death 
of Halikalis Pasha, founder of Le Phare d^Alexandrie^ 
brought forth in the Egyptian journals some columns 
of reminiscences concerning the deceased editor, all of 
the most kindly nature. They all agreed on one point: 
that Halikalis Pasha had founded his paper simply and 
solely because Khedive Ismail paid him for that pur- 
pose an annual subsidy of £7,000. There was no savor 
of satire in the comment — it had perhaps a slight ting^ 
of envy, that was all. Evidently, in the opinion of the 
scribes of Egypt, the jingling of the guineas healed the 
hurt honor of Halikalis Pasha. This subsidy he re- 
ceived for many years. But when the influence of the 
deposed Khedive became as naught, Halikalis Pasha 
was told that he would have to publish his paper with- 

[288] 



An Unsubsidized Editor 

out a subsidy. Confronted with this dreadful lot — 
menaced with the terrible task of meeting his expendi- 
tures with his receipts, what did Halikalis Pasha do? 

He ran his paper straight. In short, he published 
it unsubsidized. Probably this was the first time the 
feat had ever been attempted in Egypt. 

The other journals looked on with awe and admira- 
tion. All of the editorial fraternity expressed the high- 
est admiration for his nerve and pluck. One paper 
remarked that he 'Uost several thousand pounds the 
first year." In fact, all spoke of Halikalis Pasha's 
continuing to run an old-established journal after the 
cessation of its subsidy in the same tone of admiring 
deprecation that we in America would adopt in speaking 
of the demented editor who would attempt to publish 
a religious and temperance daily in any laige American 
dty. 

With these traditions clinging to the Egyptian press, 
it is easy to understand that the Egyptian editors speak 
rather guardedly, not only of persons in power, but of 
the great hotel syndicates and of the rich shopkeepers. 
Their caution is so extreme, however, that at times it 
becomes very droll. They are cautious in writing even 
about the weather, that non-committal topic so dear to 
us all; for in Egypt it is possible for a newspaper to 
injure itself with the great hotel syndicates and the rich 
shopkeepers by talking too freely about the weather 
when it is bad. In Egypt the weather during the winter 
of 1905 was by no means all that the tourists' fancy 
painted it. 

[289] 



Egyptian Journalism 

It is not only concerning subsidies that the Egyptian 
newspapers, from the American newspaper point of 
view, seem rather odd. I am speaking only of those 
printed in English and French; there are many journals 
printed in Arabic, but I know nothing of them. The 
newspapers published in European languages are 
mainly remarkable for excluding anything that could 
offend anybody. Not only do they taboo the weather, 
but other topics as well. As they depend largely for 
their income on the advertisements of a limited number 
of large hotel companies and business houses, they 
naturally find it inexpedient to print any impleasant 
news concerning them. Therefore they adopt the 
simple method of printing disagreeable personal news 
in a cryptic fashion without any names. Here is a 
sample item: 

Melancholy Dkath — Yesterday afternoon a deik, who is vaj 
well known, and in the employ of a prominent merchant, rngnpi{ft»H 
suicide in ike merchant's office by blowing out his brains with a 
revolver. His face was much disfigured. 

It woidd be difficult for the most sensitive person to 
find fault with that. Here is another in the same style: 

Painful Atfazr — A gentleman prominent in ^be Italian colony 
discovered recently painful facts concerning the relations of his wife 
with a gentleman friend. Circumstances rendered it impossible for 
him to demand that satisfaction on the field of honor which is cus- 
tomary among gentlemen in such cases. He has therefore bnnight 
suit for a separation in the Italian consular court. The co-respondent 
is an equally prominent Greek gentleman, a member of the Hellenic 
magistrature. 

[290] 



Newspaper Reserve 

This casCi however, assumed such magnitude in the 
courts that the newspapers were forced to break through 
their barriers of reserve and satisfy their shocked sub- 
scribers' demand for the disgusting details. One of 
them shrouded the "painful affair'' as much as pos- 
sible by printing the testimony in Italian^ although 
the rest of the newspaper was usually printed in 
English. 

This reserve over the peccadilloes of those in high 
station is, of course, not followed by the papers in dis- 
cussing the misdoings of the lowly. But the editorial 
habit is hard to lay aside, and the crim. am. cases of 
the populace are told with a brevity which is startling. 
The following paragraphs (grouped under "Tantah 
Notes") from a Cairo paper are certainly remarkable: 

Tantah Notxs — At Tantah 3resteiday, George Kantikopoulous 
retumed home unexpectedly to his wife and her paxamour, and 
chopped both their heads off with an aze. 

The Tantah authorities are enforcing the code of contraventions 
against natives who defile the streets. 

After next Wednesday at Tantah ownerless dop will be shot by 
the police. 

The same brevity is extended to items not in the line 
of conjugal revenge, such as the following: 

MusDER AND Robbery — Madame GalH and Madame Benetti 
were murdered by five ruffians night before last at Zagazig. The 
object was plunder. The murderers were arrested. 

Here is an excellent five-column story for an Ameri- 
can daily told in five lines: 

[291] 



Egyptian Journalism 

Girl's Body Found — Yesterday the body of a young native giil, 
daughter of Hassan Ali, was found floating in the Mahmoudieh Canal. 
Her parents say it was not suidde, as her rings had been torn from 
her ears. 

The arrival of the famous squadron, whose cruise 
began in the Baltic, became famous on the Dogger 
Bank, and ended fathoms deep in the Sea of Japan, 
is thus briefly chronicled: 

Russian Fleet — The division of the Baltic fleet commanded 
by Admiral Botrousky arrived at Port Said yesterday afternoon at 
two o'clock, and leaves this moniing. 

A fire in the largest mercantile house in Egypt is 
thus set down : 

Bio FniE — The enormous Walker-Meimarchi stores were de- 
stroyed by fire yesterday. Two firemen were killed and many injured. 
Loss £50,000. 

Imagine an American daily devoting a few lines only 
to a fatal fire involving the loss of a quarter of a million 
dollars. Really, Egypt is not the place for a hustling 
American city editor to visit for a rest. To read such 
items as these, and to think of the columns of '' stories" 
and the acres of pictures they would make in America, 
would drive such an editor into a highly nervous con- 
dition. 

But let us present a few more of these startling items 
told in this matter-of-fact way: 

The Mecca PojCRHis — Over three thousand persons have ar- 
rived since Wednesday from Algiers, Morocco, and Stamboul, en 

[292] 



Mild Paragraphs 



route to Mecca. Near Djeddah the last lot of pQgrims found a for« 
midable force of Bedouins awaiting them for plunder. After the 
fight the pilgrims withdrew, leaving fifty-two of their number dead 
on the field. 

The mild paragraph which follows is calculated to 
give travellers pause: 

Annoyances to Tourists — A party of twenty tourists went to 
Sakhara on Monday. The guardian of the ruins refused to recog- 
nize their tickets of admission. A heated debate followed, which 
was adjourned to Mariette's house. No satisfaction followed. On 
emerging, the tourists found a horde of threatening Arabs awaiting 
them. Their donkey and camel-drivers remained neutral, and the 
tourists fled amid a shower of stones. Some were seriously injured. 
The tourists were much annoyed. 

This will interest students of vital statistics: 

Infant Moktauty — From the report of Dr. Engd Bey we 
learn that the percentage of total deaths in Egypt of nadve children 
under five is forty-five per cent.; between five and ten, thirty-two per 
cent.; total under ten years of age, seventy-seven per cent. 

That three fourths of all the deaths in Egypt should 
be of children under ten years does not seem to disturb 
anybody. But let us turn to more exciting themes: 

Murder and Suictob — A Russian living in the Atbarin quarter 
shot his wife with a revolver, and afterward turned the weapon on 
himself, blowing out his brains. 

That tourists should take pot-shots at natives seems 
to cause but little surprise : 

Shot by Tottrists — The Mudir of Ghizeh reports to the ministry 
of the interior that two American tourists on their way down the river, 
shooting at birds from a steamer, shot an, inhabitant of Half, who 
has since died. 

[»93] 



Egyptian Journalism 

Here is another ill-mated husband who settles dis- 
putes with murder: 

Killed His Wipe — A public scrivener, a native, fiving at Ga- 
barri, had a conjugal discussion with his wife, which ended by his 
striking her over the head with an iron bar, killing her instantly. He 
fled, and has not been arrested. 

The incidental way in which the robbery of $40,000 
is just alluded to at the end of this paragraph is alto- 
gether delicious: 

The Mahmal [Holy Carpet] sailed from Suez this afternoon for 
Jeddah on its way to Mecca. 

A theft of £8,000 took place from the Mahmal train at Abassieh. 
All search for the culprits has proved fruitless. 

By committing suicide this young gendeman may 
have saved himself from committing uxoricide: 

Suicide — A 3roung native gentleman of Cairo committed suicide 
yesterday in order to avoid contracting a marriage which his family 
were bent upon. 

Here is another item calculated to play havoc with 
an American city editor's peace of mind: 

Ghastly Discoveky — The body of a woman with the head, 
hands, and feet cut off was found yesterday on the banks of the Blah- 
moudieh Canal near Ramleh. 

This paragraph is not without singular phases: 

Steanoe Mueder — At Assiout a saraf (money-changer) went 
to a dentist to have his false teeth repaired. The dentist's servant 
accidentally saw the contents of his purse, which contained £t6a. 

[294] 



pfinn«''o*^s C 



Tte denlirt ■«» "^^d* **"°^ 



I I 1 



t % 






Li"'- 



.1. 



, \ 



Queer Typography 

Apropos of native compositors, here is a ^'list of 
guests" from a Cairo journal which is the weirdest 
specimen of typography I have ever seen: 

Vitllort iwidlBg a* Svrof Hblal Af** 

OnfDifoliols I>ito«nMhalI. RtttBMl* 
■tor TOW WOTMbe Dr B. Qorti Colo- 
nel Un Tago Rtfow SehilUiis tow lut^ 
iMitedl, sir Roberto Himjr HUo Lidy 
BarrejTt HUM Mrs TMUe Qononl 
Tnhsr TOW RoraorlU OMrbleateaaiit 
Tnhwt TOW R«RiOTiti.< Hbio i^ O. 
CUtborpe Onfiw tow der Ostnew 
Lord boon, f^msnl H«bpb. Ane*' S. B. 
JUJiry Pasba, If onatoor U Barow Jbo- 
MaUa flUa, Dt »«. Makox, Berr 



Dr MUoaaliiaor, Harr nabbtnr, Sani- 
tatoraV Dr Wabar Jmu hofy Artur 
Rnaaal Mr and Un 8. Nontogn Ma and 
Ifm Jrafford, Mr .asd Mia Sraw, Mr and 
Mn BavbflMtt, Baron Fknl tow Saliseb 
Hbto Mr ana Mn OrhrlUe Nt^^t, Ce- 
Aoral iiornn» Mra WDUalv Slaooaa Mr 
and Mn WMnA Bnvpl, Bapl imd Mn 
Hoalk Jnsar Mn Hngb iDlUt Mr Bo- 
radbrd Mr a B. Gontlflli, Mr and Mra 
A. a Groalw and eovrmr Mr. and Mn 
Holt Jbomaa* Badt and Ma Seftow 
Pnrdflj, Mr ana Mn B. O. Leklamow. 
Mr and-Mn GbaBi Rbll and party, Mln 
BaQ Min Steranaow, Mr L. O. Daris.* 
Mr L. Rotb, Mln SOptar boopor Roth 
Mr Obawvarta, Mr a B. Roberto iir 
and Mn bocbnw and ooarfar.Mr B. 
J. Qemlaw, Dr mad. Oeorge laiarff t 
and iraw. Baron and Baroneaa tow 
Granewaldl, Mn Raid, Mpa ftiroaU 
Miaa Jaaato L. Manto, Prof Dr OoGUcli- 
inidt and Jnw, Dr Mr L. R. Mljrara, Mr 
Ladialad Niamekaaa, Mro andM. Mae- 
nniloB and Sow Harr and Jnv Hltdf 
Mn Mas SeliU, Harr loUiia Bfanogar 
Mr. Hoaaa. .Mr Sng; B. Waogar, Mr I* 
Wbatow Mn M. L. La^rw Dr Max Jho- 
WT, Mr Jiraderfa Daater Mr JaoMa Bae| 
Iba Ltord Homard Mr Blaberd Profia 
lEr «M Ite BpavMr. 



[297] 



XVIII 



UP THE NILE TO LUXOR 



xvm 



UP THE NILE TO LUXOR 




[URING the winter of 1905 items like this 
were by no means rare in the Cairo jour- 
nals: ''Yesterday a native, Hassan Yus- 
suf, was warming himself at a small fire 
he had made in the street, when his clothing caught 
fire, and, despite his frantic screams, he was burned 
to death." That it should be so cold in Cairo as to 
cause the natives to make fires in the street may sur- 
prise many. It is a common belief (outside of Egypt) 
that the Egyptian winter is always hot. True, it is 
often hot during the winter in Lower Egypt, but it is 
also frequently cold, and sometimes bitterly cold. The 
wise traveller takes with him at all times and every- 
where, in summer and in winter, both light and heavy 
clothing. He will find use for both during the Egyp- 
tian winter. 

The first time I visited Egypt I shared the common 
delusion concerning the Egyptian winter climate; when 
we went ashore at Alexandria I put on the thinnest 
garments I had, took with me a palm-leaf fan, and wore 
a Panama straw hat At the last moment some faint 

[301] 



up the Nile to Luxor 

^eam of lucidity pierced my darkened brain, and I 
took with me a railway rug. This, however, was 
scarcely ratiocinatic — it was probably automatic: 
"Rail, rug — rug, rail; going rail — take rug." It 
was fortunate for me that I did so, for I verily believe 
that without it I would have frozen between Alexandria 
and Cairo. Lest this remark be considered exaggera- 
tion, let me add that this particular winter a train broke 
down between Alexandria and Cairo; that no relief 
train was sent out; that the passengers speedily hired 
all the spare blankets in the sleeping-car; that the price 
rose from ten piastres to one hundred piastres per 
blanket; and that when morning brought a train the 
men with the most money were wrapped in all of 
the blankets, and the remainder of the passengers 
had to be thawed out by exhaust-steam from the 
engine. Jesting aside, the poor wretches when found 
were stiff with cold, and many of them were made 
seriously iU. 

In Cairo during the winter of 1905, there were many 
deaths from pneumonia among prominent members of 
the European colony there. The natives make no 
attempt to hide their fear of the climate. On a coU 
morning in Cairo you will see every carriage-driver, 
donkey-boy, pedler, dragomanj and natives generally 
so muffled up that you can see nothing of their heads 
but the eyes; they seem to fear particulariy "cold in 
the head," which with them frequently shades off mto 
laryngeal and bronchial inflammations, and then into 
pneumonia. 

[302I 



Bitter Winds in Winter 

It goes without saying that the Cairo journals talk 
little of low temperatures and bitter winds. Of late 
years these undesirable accompaniments of winter have 
driven thousands of profitable guests from the Riviera 
to Egypt. Hence there are more congenial topics for 
the Egyptian newspapers than meteorological data 
which might scare off intending tourists. Neverthe- 
less it is extremely amusing to note how the journals 
are forced to hint at the bad weather in their ordinary 
news columns. During the 1905 season, for example, 
a batde of flowers was in preparation for weeks. The 
papers were reluctandy obliged to admit that bitter 
winds and raw cold rains on the appointed day made 
it a failure. The regular race-meetings took place on 
the Ghezireh course, but the newspapers were forced 
to chronicle the fact that nearly every day the attend- 
ance was small on accoimt of the inclement weather. 
When a terrific blizzard blew, the newspapers would 
have softened it into a moderate breeze had it not blown 
down the trolley-poles between the Pyramids and 
Cairo, and thereby suspended the operations of the 
Mena House tram-line, which fact the papers were 
forced to chronicle in justice to their readers who 
patronized that line. I have spoken of the luckless 
natives, who, huddled ^ver the pitiful fires they had 
kindled to keep warm, burned themselves to death. 
The papers touched on these facts briefly. The death 
of an Arab or two is nothing in Egypt, but when they 
bum themselves to death in trying to keep warm it 
naturally excites the stranger's curiosity. 

[303] 



up the Nile to Luxor 

Another delusion entertained by many people is that 
the climate of Cairo is the Egyptian climate — that 
Cairo is Egypt. This is far from the truth. The 
climate of the Delta of the Nile — at the apex of which 
triangle Cairo may be said measurably to lie — is en- 
tirely different from the climate of Upper Egypt. The 
large cultivated area and the irrigation of the Delta 
have much modified the desert dimate, and meteoro- 
logical observers there all agree that it is rapidly chaiig- 
ing still. Here are some temperature figures: 

ALEXANDRIA 

Mean winter temperatUTe 60.7 degi. F. 

Maxinnim winter temperature 65.5 degs. F. 

Minimum winter temperature s6jo degs. F. 

CADtO 

Mean winter temperature 59.5 degs. F. 

Maximum winter temperature 704 degs. F. 

Minimum winter temperature 4Sx> degs. F. 

LUXOX 

Mean January temperature 59.7 degs. F. 

MaTJmum winter temperature ySjo degs. F. 

Minimum winter temperature 49.6 degs. F. 

ASSOUAN 

Mean winter temperature 68.3 degs. F. 

Mairimum winter temperature 82.0 degs. F. 

Minimum winter temperature 54.5 degs. F. 

Luxor is five hundred and forty-seven miles south of 
Alexandria, Assouan one hundred and thirty-three miles 
south of Luxor and six hundred and eighty miles south 
of Alexandria. 

People who have not visited Egypt seem to 

[304I 



Low Nile Temperatures 

that it has an equable climate. This is another error. 
In the Delta the range in twenty-four hours is often 
very marked. In Upper Egypt the morning hours 
are often very cold, while at midday it is extremely hot. 
Middle and Upper Egypt have a dry climate, but not 
an equable one. 

Many intending travellers to Egypt believe that on 
the Nile trip it is always warm, not to say hot. As a 
matter of fact, it is always colder on the Nile than it is 
away from the river. The alterations in temperature 
are also greater and more rapid on the river than else- 
where. People returning to their boats from donkey- 
rides over the desert often experience severe chills. 
The ordinary precautions against '^ taking cold" must 
be changed into extraordinary precautions in Egypt, 
for the "colds" there are often serious matters, and the 
chills are frequently followed by dangerous illnesses. 
Inflammations, arthritic, pidmonary, visceral — these 
are some of the things to be feared from chills in Egypt, 
and particularly on the Nile boats. Not only is the 
difference marked between the temperature ashore and 
aboard, as returning excursionists find, but the noc- 
turnal and diurnal changes are also very marked. For 
that matter, the different parts of the boats vary greatly. 
In a room on the upper deck, with only a thin roof be- 
tween it and the tropical sun, the temperature will 
sometimes risi to one hxmdred and fifteen degrees; if 
the perspiring occupant goes to the windward side of 
the boat, he may be exposed to a cold wind at a tem- 
perature of about fifty degrees; then if he does not 

[305] 



up the Nile to Luxor 

guard against this dulling wind, it will very probably 
lay him on his back. Many hundreds of travelleis 
have learned these things through the bitter school of 
sudden illness, but the new-comers pay little heed to 
the experience of those who have gone before. It 
seems as if they were all obliged to learn the lesson all 
over again. 

A recent instance of what often happens was expe- 
rienced by a notable American politLdan a couple of 
seasons ago. His name was known in two continents, 
and since his Nile experience it is known in three. He 
is an Irishman — eloquent, brilliant, witty, and wealthy. 
Although of Irish birth, he is an American dtizen — a 
Congressman, Tanmiany leader, orator, and man of 
the world. Although an American dtizen, he was 
talked of, when visiting Dublin, as a candidate for 
Parliament. He has been received by the Pope in 
spedal audience. Well, this man, favored of fortune, 
was on his way up the Nile. He was the life and soul 
of ^ merry party. He did not heed the precautions he 
was warned to take. Yet before he knew it the merry 
party had faded from his ken. When he returned to 
earth from his delirium he found himself in a strange 
hotel on the river bank, with a doctor whom he had 
never seen and two strange nurses guarding him. 
Nothing but a superb physique pulled him through 
from a dangerous attack of pneumonia. 



Few who have not ascended the Nile realize that its 
length is over forty-five hundred miles. This is five 

[306] 



r 



"v~n 



»,'.'■' I 



V Wj-^ 



Tourists at Khartoum 

times as far as from London to Rome; more than six 
times as far as from Berlin to Naples; over three times 
as far as from Paris to Petersburg; about as far as from 
Yokohama to San Francisco; about as far as from San 
Francisco to a point in mid-Atlantic between New 
York and Liverpool. 

Up this mighty river tourists now go farther every 
year. It is comfortable travelling now to Wady Hal&y 
famous in the bloody annab of the Soudan. In the 
season of 1905 hundreds of tourists went up as far as 
Khartoum, where the Duke of Connaught opened an 
agricultiural exposition — Khartoumi the dty that fell 
a few years ago before the fanatic dervishes of the 
Mahdi and where the brave Gordon met his death. 
Probablyi in a few years more, tourist steamers will 
pass the junction of the forks where Khartoum lies, 
and ascend the White and Blue Niles. 

The Nile journey is restful and soothing, but many 
find it monotonous. There is no scenery until you 
reach the First Cataract; nothing but the level plain, 
extending back to where the desert hills rise. Along 
the banks there is a succession of Arab villages made 
up of mud huts. One sees thousands of primitive 
water-lifters: jthe sakia^ a water-wheel driven by 
animals, and lifting an endless chain of buckets; the 
shadauff a bucket suspended on the end of a long well- 
sweep, and hoisted by man-power. Sometimes, where 
the banks are high, there will be three stories of sha^ 
doufs hoisting water from level to level, until it has 
reached the height of the bank. The shadouf men 

[307] 



up the Nile to Luxor 

tofl all day under the burning sun, nude, save for a 
cloth around their loins. 

About two hundred and forty miles by river above 
Cairo is Assiout, where there is a barrage — a masonry 
arch viaduct — twenty-seven hundred and thirty-four 
feet long. The Nile here is from a half to three-quar- 
ters of a mile wide. This reservoir delivers to the 
irrigation canals of Middle Egypt the additional supply 
of water provided by the great reservoir at Assouan, 
in Upper Egypt. Many people go from Cairo to 
Assiout by train, taking the boat there; others travel 
as far as Luxor by train. 

Luxor is the first point of marked interest in ascend- 
ing the river from Cairo. Here lies the plain of andent 
ThebeSy running back to the hiUS| where are found 
the Ramasseiun, the Temples of Medinet Habu, of 
Der-el-Bahriy of Der-el-Medinah, and the Tombs of 
the Kings. These hills look down on the two Colossi of 
Memnon, l]dng between the hills and the river. Across 
the stream are the colossal ruins of Eamak. Standing 
on the high pylon of this temple one may see plainly that 
in remote antiquity the Nile ran in a different channel. 

These ruins at Luxor are probably the grandest in 
Egypt. The temples of Seti, of Rameses, of Thotmes, 
the pylons of the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies, the 
obelisks of Queen Hatasu, and above all the grand 
hypostyle of Kamak, with its one hundred and thirty- 
four enormous columns, each over thirty feet in dr- 
ciunference, make a sight which impresses the least 
impressionable. 

[308] 



Climatic Effects on Stone 

Briefly, to give some idea of the size of the Temple 
of Kamak, it may be said that it would hold four build- 
ings the size of the Paris Notre Dame, and that its 
entrance (propylon) equals in breadth the length of 
many great cathedrals. 

We are told that Eamak was nothing but a suburb 
of the ancient city of Thebes. I permit myself to 
doubt this. Probably the vast plain on which the 
ancient city lay contained a few temples and some 
palaces belonging to royalty, while the rest of the 
'* metropolis" was very likely made up of mud huts, 
like those of the Arab villages to-day. 

At Lxixor, one sees the twin of the obelisk standing 
in the Place de la Concorde, Paris. It is curious how 
sharp and clear are the cartouches and the sculptiuies 
on the obelisks remaining in Egypt, contrasted with 
their mates in the bleak and inhospitable climes of 
London, New York, and Paris. Here the air is so 
pure and the climate so mild that the edge of the cut 
stone- work is sharp and dear after thousands of years. 
The face of the obelisk in Central Park, New York, 
is peeling o£F, although protected by paraffine and other 
mediums; near the base much of the incised work is 
already obliterated. New York's climate has destroyed 
in a third of a century what Egypt's climate failed to 
affect in three thousand four hundred years. 

The Temple of Luxor is not yet entirely excavated. 
The huts of an Arab village sprung up like toad- 
stools on the mounds of rubbish which centuries had 
heaped there. When the temple's mighty pillars and 

[309I 



up the Nile to Luxor 

pylons were brought to the light of day, the work pro- 
ceeded until stopped by the presence of a little mosque. 
This sacred structure could not be touched. Although 
years have elapsed since the excavation began, the 
village mosque still stops the work. It stands near the 
colossal statues of Rameses 11. The mosque is one 
of the poorest, pettiest, and paltriest in aU Egypt. The 
contrast between it and the gigantic pylons of the an- 
cient temple, its enormous colunms crowned with the 
lotus-bud capitals, is almost ludicrous. Yet the little 
mosque has behind it the power of Islam. And so it 
stands. 

Luxor is not a lai^e town, having some two thousand 
inhabitants ; but it is rather an important tourist place. 
During the height of the season all the hotels are 
crowded, and the river bank is lined with steam da- 
habiyehSf sail dahabiyehst and tourist steamers, fiom 
whose lantern-hung decks resound at night the pizzi- 
cato of the mandolin, the strains of the concertina, and 
the plunk-plunk of the banjo. The inhabitants gather 
on the banks and listen eagerly to this ravishing music, 
subsequently demanding bakshish for listening, which 
they probably deserve. They are an amiable if some- 
what unwashed populace, and spend their time, when 
not begging or sleeping, in manufacturing spurious 
antiquities. The simpler ones they make thenofielves 
— the more elaborate ones they import. For both 
there is a large sale. That tourists should so greedily 
purchase these mock scarabaei (made in Birmingham) 
or these ancient signet-rings (made in Germany) is 



n 



» 1 






Brummagem Antiquities 

rather curious when the law is placarded on every 
side. It is forbidden to sell antiquities discovered 
in the ruins, or to remove them from the country with- 
out the consent of the government, which law places 
most of the valuable discoveries in the great museum 
at Cairo. Therefore when an Arab offers a tourist a 
scarabaeus from the ruins, under the very nose of the 
gate guardian, it is quite evident that it is a worthless 
fraud. Were it of value, the Arab would be liable to 
fine, imprisonment, and confiscation of his treasure. 

A few miles from the river are the marvellous Tombs 
of the Kings at Biban-d-Muluk. These corridors and 
chambers are hewn out of the solid rock; the walls are 
covered with sacred pictures and texts. In many 
places where the walls are colored, the pigments are 
stiU bright. Sometimes false passages wind off into 
the bowels of the mountain; they were intended to 
mislead invaders of the tombs. Occasionally deep 
shafts were sunk, into which the intruder might be 
precipitated. All sorts of devices for concealing the 
sepulchral chamber are found in these tombs. They 
are now comparatively easy to visit, as the perils of 
darkness or of dim candle-light are removed; the tombs 
are now brilliantly lighted with electric light, which is 
generated there, as you may tell from the dry, hacking 
cough of the adjacent petrol-engine. 

Not far from the Tombs of the Kings is the Temple 
of Der-el-Behri, built by Queen Hatasu. She was 
driven from the throne by her husband, who was also 
her brother. He caused Hatasu's pictures and in- 

[3"] 



Up the Nile to Luxor 

scriptions to be obliterated, replacing them with his 
own trade-marks. Thutmoses II., who succeeded him, 
substituted his own royal brands for those of his pred- 
ecessor. When he died, Queen Hatasu again secured 
the throne and attempted to replace her inscriptions 
and cartouches, but died before the temple was finished. 
It has remained unfinished, but the successive oblitera- 
tions are still plainly to be seen on the walls. 

Near this temple is the Chalet Hatasu, a rest-house 
on the desert, belonging to the Cook tourist agency. 
Water and food can be obtained there only by those 
travellers who have purchased Cook's tickets thereto. 
The agency people strictly adhere to this rule. It was 
a very curious sight to see a well-dressed man turned 
away hungry and thirsty, his money refused because 
before leaving his hotel he had not secured a Cook 
ticket for the rest-house. 



In Upper Egypt the cultivable strip is so narrow that 
the desert comes fairly down to the Nile. Only a few 
hundred yards to ride, and you are in the desert. 

Riding over the desert has its charm. It is difficult 
to explain why. But there is something soothing in 
the solitude of the desert. True, your solitude may 
be only imaginary, for at any moment a camel caravan 
may wind its way over the hill which confronts you, 
or out of what looked Uke heaps of primitive rocks 
there may start hordes of Arabs, packs of yelping dogs, 

[3"] 



Desert Dust of Dynasties 

and gangs of greedy children^ shomng that amid the 
rocks are the huts of an Arab village. 

One day in the desert we met a camel caravan which 
included a beast with a gigantic load of cases towering 
above and on both sides of him; on the left flank of this 
mountain of cases rode a smaU Arab slung in a sling. 
The reason was obvious — the camel engineers had 
miscalculated in loading and had put too much on the 
off side, thus giving the camel a heavy list to star- 
board. Arab-like, being too lazy to repack, they had 
corrected the error by using a light Arab as trinuning 
ballast. 

I was curious to see what the cases contained, so I 
scrutinized the labels; they read, '' Moselwein." So 
it was sparkling Moselle that was being borne over 
these thirsty deserts to make glad the German heart. 

With all its heat and dust the desert has its charms. 
True, the desert dust is an affliction, for, when certain 
evil winds blow, the desert is shrouded in dust — vast, 
swirling douds, through which no eye can see. But 
when the dust-storms have blown over and the desert 
is calm again, you forget the dust. For the desert dust 
is dusty dust, but not dirty dust. Compared with the 
awful oiganic dust of New York, London, or Paris, 
it is inoi^nic and pure. On those strips of the Libyan 
and Arabian Deserts which lie along the Nile, the desert 
dust is largely made up of the residuimi of royalty, of 
withered Ptolemies, of arid Pharoahs, for the tombs 
of queens and kings are counted here by the hundreds, 
and of their royal progeny and their royal retainers by 

[313] 



up the Nile to Luxor 

the thousands. These desiccated dynasties have been 
drying so long that they are now quite antiseptic 

The dust of these dead and gone kings makes ex- 
traordinarily fertile soil for vegetable gardens when 
irrigated with the rich, thick water of the Nile. Their 
mummies also make excellent pigments for the brush. 
Rameses and Setos, Cleopatra and Hatasu — all these 
great ones, dead and turned to clay, are said when 
properly ground to make a rich mnber paint highly 
popular with artists. 



Around Luxor, on the vast plain of Thebes, the desert 
dust has been made to blossom, and a rich green carpet 
now circles the stony feet of the Colossi of Memnon. 
But greater riches have come out of the desert hills, 
where dead and gone dynasties repose in rock tombs, 
than out of the fertile plains below. 

After several visits to Egypt the wealthy ikraveller is 
often seized with a desire to dig — the excavation fever 
seizes him. Probably the spot which has tempted 
most travellers is the ground aroimd the Sphinx. Eveiy 
few years some new excavator takes up the task, spends 
a barrel of money, wearies of it, and lays down his tools. 
The drifting desert sands obliterate his work. In a 
few years more another enthusiast begins. But here 
around Luxor, farther up the river, four hundred miles 
from Cairo, the enthusiastic excavators find much to 
reward their quest. Here they find tombs that have 
not been touched for thousands of years. Such almost 
virgin soil must tempt the most hardened tomb-hunter. 

[314] 



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i: 



A Virgin Tomb 

It is here that an American enthusiast has brought to 
the light of day treasures which have dazzled veteran 
Egyptian archaeologists. 

The roan of whom I speak is Mr. Theodore M. 
Davis. When we first saw his beautiful dahabiyeh it 
was moored below the First Cataract, with the American 
flag floating at its stem. We were told that the boat 
belonged to an American who had just discovered a 
tomb of the Eighteenth Dynasty, and on inquiring found 
that the fortunate Davis was its owner. For some time 
Mr. Davis had been excavating in the Valley of the 
Tombs of the Kings. But it was not until February 1 2, 
1905, that he made his sensational discovery. His 
workmen found the descending steps of a tomb between 
those of Rameses IV. and Rameses XII. The rock 
door at the foot was blocked with large stones. On 
removing these, another flight of steps was discovered 
leading to a second door, also blocked with stones. A 
small opening was made, through which a boy crawled ; 
he speedily emerged, bringing a chariot yoke covered 
with gold, a wand of office, a pectoral scarab, and other 
objects. As this was the vestibule, it showed that the 
tomb had been entered by robbers ages ago; that they 
had taken alarm and hastily fled, leaving some of their 
plunder in the vestibule, and that the tomb had never 
since been visited. 

It happened that Professor Maspero, director of the 
Egyptian museums, and an archaeological authority 
of renown, was. at Luxor on the very day of the dis- 
covery; so also were the Dtike of Connaught and his 

[315] 



up the Nile to Luxor 

suite. It was therefore arranged that the tomb should 
be opened on the next day in the presence of these 
notables. They were fortunate in their accidental 
presence near Luxor. The tomb was found to be 
filled with the richest spoils ever uncovered in ancient 
Egypt. There were munmiy cases gold-incrusted, 
huge alabaster vases, a chariot inlaid with gold, many 
figurines of gold and silver, chests containing papyrus 
flaps, stools covered with gold and blue enamel, mir- 
rors in gold frames, chairs and stools incrusted with 
gold, golden collars and armlets, and a mass of other 
things of great value, intrinsic as well as antiquarian. 
The archaeologists say that the Eighteenth Dynasty 
was the most luxurious and ostentatious period of 
ancient Egypt; that vidgar display of wealth was char- 
acteristic of the time; that it was at this epoch that the 
Tel El-Amama tablets paint Egypt as being what Cali- 
fornia was to the rest of the world in 1850 — a place 
where gold, as the tablets say, was ''plentiful as the 
sands." 

■ 

Of course the tomb was filled with other objects not 
made of the precious metals, but of even greater in- 
terest. Among these were the papyrus flaps. A 
number of tablets and inscriptions were found, shed- 
ding much light on dark points of Egyptian history. 
The tomb was the burial place of Yua and Thua, 
parents of Queen Teie, wife of the third Amonhotep. 
They lived here at Thebes with their daughter, after 
she became the wife of one of the mightiest of the 
Pharaohs. 

[3161 



Footprints in a Tomb 

It is the belief of archasologists that Mr. Davis's dis- 
coveryi as a whole, is the most important ever made 
in Egypt. Single objects of greater variety have been 
brought to light in other finds, but the number and 
variety foimd by him in this tomb surpass any ever 
before discovered. Furthermore, the inscriptions and 
tablets will add largely to our knowledge of the Eigh- 
teenth Dynasty, which is one of the most interesting 
dynasties of ancient Egypt. It dates from 1545 to 1350 
B.C., and includes the notable reign of Thotmes III. 

After the discovery of the rock tomb, Mr. Davis and 
his servants were obliged to spend three days and three 
nights camped at its entrance until they could get the 
requisite authority from the government to continue 
the excavations — an indispensable precaution, other- 
wise the thievish Arabs would have made short work 
of the contents. 

At the time when Mr. Davis's discovery was re- 
ported, I had just finished re-reading Thfophile Gau- 
tier*s "Romance of a Mummy." His description of 
the young English lord and his scientist friend entering 
the virgin tomb, and finding on its floor footsteps in the 
dust, left by workmen — footprints left there three 
thousand years before — this I had always thought 
one of the most telUng flights of Gautier's fancy. But 
I had looked upon it as pure fancy. Yet, after reading 
the fantastic prose of the French romancer, I was forced 
to admit, when I heard the plain narrative of the Ameri- 
can explorer's discovery, that Davis's fact was more 
extraordinary than Gautier's fiction. 

[317] 



XIX 



FROM THEBES TO ASSOUAN 



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From Thebes to Assouan 

AU along the river are seen the native boats; diejr 
go under sail when there is wind; the crew pole the 
boat along when there is no wind and the water is not 
too deep; they resort to ^'tracking" when that is the 
only method feasible: then three or four of the crew 
go overboard, each with a line in his mouth, swim 
ashore, and haul the boat up stream. Occasionally 
they come to a projecting point on the bank, where 
there is no footing: then they go overboard again and 
swim until there is. 

South of Luxor, at the town of Edfu, is found the 
Temple of Horus, the most perfectly preserved andent 
building in Egypt — which means in all the world. 
Time and weather have done almost nothing to deface 
it, but the Coptic Christians, seventeen or eighteen cen- 
turies ago, spent years in scratching out the inscriptions 
on its walls. 

At Edfu, on our donkey-journey from the Nile to 
the temple, we were accompanied by Ali Yusef , a young 
Arab who beguiled the ride across the sands by reciting 
to us, in fair English, poems by Thomas Campbell^ 
Robert Bums, and Alfred Tennyson. He was a pupil 
of a neighboring mission school. The donkey-boys 
looked on him with mingled admiration, contempt, and 
envy — admiration for his accomplishment, contempt 
that he was not a donkey-boy, and envy because he 
received money for running by the donkey's side and 
doing nothing at all but talk, while they were not only 
obliged to run behind, but in addition to talk, to shout, 
to swear, and to belabor the donkey's hams. For his 

[322] 



^ 






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Rwitaiions by an Arab 

task| which they looked on as merely a picnici he gen- 
erally received a shilling; while for theirs, which is hard 
work, the sheik of the donkey-boys allowed them only 
a few pence. I asked Ali Yusef if he had no poems by 
Robert Browning in his repertoire. He admitted that 
he had not. I advised him to learn some, and eamesdy 
urged him to recite frequently "Sordello." For this, 
I told him, the average English-speaking tourist would 
readily pay from eighteen pence to two shillings, where 
they would grudge a shilling for Bums or CampbelL 
Ali Yusef listened to me with sparkling, greedy eyes. 
I am certain that even now, as I write, there is a youth 
in Edfu with corrugated brow still studying "Sordello." 



South of Edfu the Temples of Kom Ombos, which 
stand close to the river, were once some distance from 
its brink; but now their foundations are threatened by 
the river undermining them. Here one begins to see 
many more camels along the bank, as we are nearing 
the point where the camel caravans arrive from the 
Soudan, from Dongola, and from Central Africa. 

But it is at Assouan, where the railway line ceases, 
that traffic is confined to the river boats and the camel 
caravans. It is certainly singular to see camels kneel- 
ing down to be unloaded in the railway yards, their 
packs dischaxged into ordinary merchandise-cars, and 
vice versi. At this point on the river the First Cataract 
begins; here the stream divides into several arms, run- 
ning around rocks and islands. One of these, called 



From Thebes to Assouan 

''Sirdar's Island/' which belongs to Lord Kitchener 
became his property when he was Egyptian Sirdar. 
The principal island here is Elephantine Island, on 
which once stood a Greek dty. There are several 
ruins on the island and on the shores of the river, none 
of them very interesting. Granite and alabaster quar- 
ries lie near the town of Assouan, from which the 
ancient Egyptians got their building stone. Many half- 
cut blocks remain. There is an obelisk, over ninety 
feet long, partially cut from the living rock, whidi still 
lies just as it was when the masons struck work some 
thousands of years ago. 

Two or three miles up the river, to the south of As- 
souan, is the gigantic ''barrage," or dam, "inaugurated" 
over two years ago: it may perhaps be considered not 
yet completed. It is of granite masonry, one and a 
quarter miles long, and one hundred feet in height* 
It is designed to store water for irrigation. Within 
the reservoir lies the Island of Philae, now covered with 
water. Out of it rise the ruins of the Temple of Isis 
and other stately structures. This is generally con- 
sidered to be the most picturesque group of temples in 
Egypt. Most of the Egyptian temples are surrounded 
by squalid mud huts, or are only partially excavated, 
but this at Philae is isolated. The world had feared 
that Phike was doomed — that the contemplated raising 
of the Assouan dam would completely cover it But 
on March 17, 1905, Sir William Garstin, chief of the 
irrigation works, made a report on this matter to the 
government, accompanying a report of Sir Benjamin 

[324I 



} 



I 






Philae and the Dam 

Baker, the eminent engineer, who designed the Firth 
of Forth bridge. Both say that it is inadvisable to 
increase the height of the Assouan dam; it may there- 
fore be considered settled that Philae's temples will not 
be completely submerged. Much has been written 
about the stability of this dam; but Sir Benjamin Baker 
says of the dam in his report, ''You need have no 
anxiety concerning its stability for centuries to come." 
From this report it would seem that eminent engineers 
believe the dam, as at present constructed, to be sound, 
but that they also fear it would probably be dangerous 
to raise it. The barrage engineers are now constructing 
a masonry apron below the dam to prevent the water 
from "scouring." 

There are enormous locks connected with the As- 
souan barrage, south of the First Cataract, through 
which light-draught steamers go toward Wady Haifa and 
Khartoum. Here the cultivated area grows narrower, 
and the desert touches the river. There is little in 
the way of scenery, and there are few ruins. How- 
ever, there are at Abou Simbel two gigantic temples, 
one of them excavated out of the solid rock. At Wady 
Haifa a railway begins, which runs to Khartoum; 
although it is a military railway, ordinary travellers 
use it. 



If many travellers find even the Nile journey itself 
monotonous, many more readers would find the nar- 
rative of a Nile journey tiresome. So I will leave to 

[325I 



From Thebes to Assouan 

others the description of the voyage up the Nile. More 
interesting to me were the scenes and incidents at the 
important stopping-places, such as Assouan. So I 
will transcribe here some of my notes jotted down 
during our stay at and around the First Cataract, where 
the fertile fields disappear, where the Arabian and 
Libyan Deserts come down to the river's edge, where 
you begin to see natives from the Central African 
tribes, where you are on the rim of the desert. 

As we disembark at Assouan, other boats are making 
fast along the river bank, some coming down the Nile 
from Khartoum, some coming up the Nile from Cairo. 
The quay along the river is semi-European, or rather 
Levantine, its buildings with arcaded fronts like those 
one sees in Algiers and other Mediterranean dties. 
Germans in the latest damenimdherrentouristenkostiun 
fashions may be seen in numbers; likewise many 
American and English pilgrims pass along this boule- 
vard, on foot, on horseback, on donkey-back, and in 
carriages. Every combination of costume may be 
seen. 

Here comes an old man (a European) in a high silk 
hat and white kid gloves. 

Behind him skips a Bishareen boy of fifteen, wearing 
nothing but a breech-doth; his shiny Uack skin is ex- 
posed to the cool breeze, his curly hair lustrous with 
grease. 

Following him is an American girl in a thin muslin 
gown and a chip-straw hat, mounted on a donkey. 

At her heels rides an elderly Egyptian official, sour- 

[3*6] 



Two Mohammedan Women 

faced and fezzed> all crouched up on his donkey, and 
apparently shiveringi with a veiy heavy cloak gathered 
about his shoulders. 

Next we see a squad of Soudanese soldiers in khaki 
uniforms and khaki-colored fezzes, with riding-breeches 
and puttees on their powerful but lanky legs; they 
carry little "swaggpr-switches," like those of Tommy 
Atkins, and in other respects are modelled on him, but 
have feces so hideously ugly and so incredibly black 
that they make you fairly stare. 

Behind them again is another native group, this time 
of Bishareens; they hail from Nubia, and differ from 
both the Egyptian Arabs and the Soudanese. There 
is nothing of the Ethiopian about their faces except 
their skins, for they have the same rich, glossy, stove- 
polish black that the Central Africans have. In other 
respects they are utteiiy dissimilar, for they have straight 
noses, fine features, oval faces, kindly eyes, and are 
often very handsome, except for their color. They 
usually wear but one garment, a dirty cotton shirt, and 
are surrounded with a powerful stench. 

From a grim gateway there emerges a Mohammedan 
lady, richly attired, with immaculate gloves, and neat 
French boots. She wears a very thin veil, has large 
black eyes, and from her figure and her eyes is seemingly 
young and beautiful. A nurse accompanies her with 
a baby, and they step into a smart carriage behind a 
span of beautiful Arabian horses. A scowling black 
eunuch in a fez and a frock-coat seats himself on the 
box beside the coachman. 

[327] 



From Thebes to Assouan 

We see another Mohammedan woman in the same 
picture, also in black. But hers is not a handsome 
gown: it is patched, torn, dirty; it hangs in looped and 
winded raggedness; it is apparently the wearer's only 
garment; above it her skinny arms stick out, holding 
her baby; below it her shrunk shanks and bare feet 
protrude. She is extending a mendicant hand to the 
other woman in the carriage. Although still young, 
she is partially blind — probably strabismus and 
cataract. She peers dimly at her more fortunate sister 
to see if alms may be expected. The baby with her is 
so gaunt that it looks like a plucked crow. It has 
ophthalmia — probably pre-natal — and its eyes are 
covered with flies, which it does not even lift a listless 
finger to drive away. 

Here comes a carriage containing Blank Pasha, with 
his little daughter and her European governess. Blank 
Pasha is accompanied by a European lady, a guest of 
the big hotel. Blank Pasha is stopping at the hotel, 
and drives, rides, walks, and takes tea with various 
European ladies there, all of whom are much interested 
in his pretty little daughter. She has long brown curls, 
big hazel eyes, and is surroimded by men; yet in a year 
or two a yashmak will veil her face and she will be shut 
up in the harem. Mrs. Blank Pasha is never invited 
— it would be the worst possible taste to ask Mr. Blank 
Pasha after Mrs. Blank Pasha's health. He is evi- 
dently combining the best of European and Oriental 
life. In his domestic relations doubtless he is happy. 
No strangers intrude upon his home, and his harem 

[328] 



CamelSj KegSj Cars 

life is probably peaceful. On the other hand, his re- 
lations with European friends seem to be most agree- 
able, and Mrs. Blank Pasha does not interfere with 
them. Blank Pasha's plan seems to work better than 
the ''double life'' often attempted by Occidental hus- 
bands. 

Up the street comes a camel caravan laden with kegs. 
At the command of the drivers the cameb kneel down; 
the drivers imlash the kegs, which roll all over the road, 
until at last they are stacked up on end. Curious to 
see what the kegs contain, for, theoretically, the Mo- 
hammedans drink no liquors, we approach. A trimly 
uniformed native policeman politely warns us off. 
When I endeavor to ascertain the reason, the only 
English word he can muster is ''magazine." From 
this I gather that the kegs are powder-kegs, and I re- 
spect him (and them) accordingly. I heard of a French 
tourist who, similarly warned by a Soudanese sentry, 
did not obey. The sentry knew no French; the French- 
man no Arabic. As a result, the imfortimate tourist 
was collared by the sentry, and roughly used. He 
complained to his consul at Cairo, but got no redress. 
Probably he deserved none. Generally speaking, it is 
wise to obey the orders of sentries and police officers 
in a strange land — perhaps even at home. 

This railway station at Assouan is curious for the 
reason I have already noted — the transfer of mer- 
chandise from cars to camek, from cameb to cars. It 
is a curious contrast. Into the railway station stalk 
the long-legged, awkward, shambhng, crook-necked, 

[329] 



From Thebes to Assouan 

snarling camels, guided by their wild-eyed Soudanese 
or Bishareen drivers. They kneel, and from their 
backs their freight is dischaiged into commonplace- 
looking merchandise-vans, which presently steam away. 

Another curious contrast I note is the elevated steel 
bridge across the railway yard at Assouan. Even here 
between the Libyan and Arabian Deserts, between 
Egypt and Nubia, the European idea of the danger of 
grade-crossings is strictly heeded. To cross the lailway 
line the natives must moimt a stairway and go over a 
substantial steel bridge. When I see this in Africa I 
recall with amazement express-trains at fifty miles 
an hour dashing through the main streets of dties, 
towns, and villages at the street level, all over the United 
States. 

To-day there is a gymkana on the sandy beach near 
the barracks. Here come the native competitors Ic^ 
the donkey-races. In this gymkana the amateur Euro- 
pean competitors are diversified by natives in sack- 
races and greased-pole contests, which are more amus- 
ing than the Europeans' efforts. The Arabs are much 
more earnest and infinitely more excitable than thdr 
white-skinned brothers. For example, we see the 
fastest animal leaving the field of donkeys far behind; 
we see him tearing up the course, his rider getting more 
and more excited as he nears the finish; we see the rider 
slackening speed in order to yell and wave his arms in 
joy over his anticipated victory; we hear him yelling, 
'^Zagazig good donkey; me good donkey-boy"; we 
note that he is losing sight of his competitors; while he 

[330] 



Blushing Bedouins 



Camels kneeling to be mounted 



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Arab Idiosyncrasies 

is nearly falling off in his delirium over his victory, and 
falling behind in his blind joy. Number Two slowly 
forges ahead and beats him by a neck. It is amazingly 
Arabesque. It is exquisitely Oriental. 

Riding up the road, we pass by a little power-house 
with a pump lifting water from the Nile. The old 
sakia and the shadouf are slowly disappearing in 
Egypt before steam, electric, and other power-pumps. 
As we pass I hear the sound of loud talking, but on 
glandng through the doorway only one Arab is visible 
in the pump-house. Arabs are extremely fond of talk- 
ing, and when a group of them are gathered together 
the resulting noise is sometimes deafening. But this 
is the first time I have seen an Arab so extremely fond 
of talking that he is talking to himself: when alone they 
generally lie down and go to sleep. My curiosity 
impels me to stop. I investigate. It is a telephonic 
talk, and my Arab is having a wordy row over the tele- 
phone with another Arab, probably some miles away. 
They love to talk. They love verbal battles. How 
they must love the telephone 1 For an Arab to be able 
to dispute with a distant Arab must be inexpressible joy. 

At the south extremity of Assouan is a gigantic 
mound crowned with Roman ruins. Some lover of the 
dead past has preserved and propped up the gaunt and 
ragged remnants of these ruins, so that they stand pic- 
turesquely outlined against the western sky. Under 
these Roman ruins are Jewish ruins; under them again 
Egyptian ruins; heaven only knows what ruins of dead 
and gone peoples may lie in the lowest stratum of all. 

[331] 



r; 
I 



From Thebes to Assouan 

All around the mound are Arab ruins, while out of the 
ruins of dead and gone peoples — Roman, Jewish, 
or Egyptian — the modem Arab villages crop up like 
muddy mushrooms sprouting out of stone. 

Across the river is another mound of ruins, on Ele- 
phantine Island. Within this mound, we are told, lie 
the remains of the andent city of Elephantine. On 
the crest of this mound there crops up a bit of ruin — 
a column or two — all that is visible of the splendors 
of the buried city beneath. The edge of this mound 
pitches off straight to the water's edge, and day after 
day crowds of tourists, personally conducted, drago- 
man-instructed, and donkey-borne, stand on the edge 
of the dedivity, with dead dties under them, listen to 
the lecturers, and think great thoughts. 

Not far from the gigantic mound on Elephantine 
Island is a sakia. Daily, from dawn till dark, this 
water-wheel revolves, impelled by biillocks. This 
sakia budget provides for bullocks only, and as there 
is not enough money in the appropriation to pay for 
axle-grease, the wheels revolve unlubricated. A strange, 
weird, moaning sound is produced, which may be heard 
a mile or more, according to the wind. It is like the 
sound of many voices. Tradition says there has been 
a sakia at this particular point on Elephantine Island 
for two thousand years. Probably the moaning sounds 
that we hear are the ghostly laments of the phantom 
fellaheen who worked it for these twenty centuries. 

Looking up the river from Elephantine Island the 
rocky shores suddenly seem to meet. Yet it is only a 

[332] 



Absence of Advertising 

seeming, for it is here that the wild gorge of the First 
Cataract begins. That the river still makes its way 
through the rocks we can discern by noting the tall 
masts of the dahabiyehs cutting through the clefts in 
the rocks which make the gorge. 

One thing there is in Upper Egypt which gives the 
travelling American a painful sense of homesickness. 
It is the absence of advertising. The familiar signs 
one sees along the cli£Fs, the trees, the rocks, the fences, 
and the farm-houses of the United States, are missing 
in Egypt. Often in riding through the desert there 
would rise up a granite diff admirably adapted for some 
of the mammoth announcements of our patent-medicine 
millionnaires, but I saw them not. Not far from Shellal 
there is a Mohammedan cemetery, where a mighty 
sheik lies buried. Although dead, he is still a wonder- 
worker, for all day long you may see Arabs rubbing 
their backs against his tomb and casting small pebbles 
over their shoulders. This is intended to cure lame 
backs, which cures are miraculously effected. So 
long has this gone on that a mighty cairn of stones has 
been heaped up over the sheik's mouldering bones. 
What an admirable place to paint on the sheik's tomb 
the signs we so often see at home: **Have You A Weak 
Back? Try McStickem's Porous Plasters — They Never 
Come Off:' 

Leaving the desert and going to the Nile, the same 
painful paucity of advertising is to be noticed. All 
along the cataracts the Nile is a chaos of enormous flat 
cliffs and shiny, black bowlders, looking as if destined 

[333] 



From Thebes to Assouan 

from immemorial ages to bear advertisements of soap 
or pill. Yet we note no soap; we perceive no pill. The 
natives use very little soap, and as they have cholera 
nearly every year they need no pills. 

I saw a rectangular rock which would have done 
admirably for the legend, "Good morning — have you 
used S queers* Soap ?" a perpendicular rock which fairly 
pulsated to tell of "Pale Pills for Pink People"; and 
a beautiful curvilinear rock which in America would 
have borne this quatrain : 

"When Baby was well, she cried for Uproazia; 
When Baby was sick, we gave her Upioaria; 
When she grew up, she praised Uproaria; 
When she got married, she raised Uproaria." 

Yet these black rocks tell no tale of tooth-powders 
or typewriters, of cereals or sarsaparilla. They are 
silent. What a waste of profitable space I 

But perhaps there are sermons in these stones. 



One speedily grows used to the odd sights of Egypt, 
and that which at first surprises fails finally to bring 
forth an interested look. But the donkeys and their 
riders are a never failing source of amusement. All 
the long-legged men seem to be mounted on the short- 
legged donkeys, and all the short-legged men on the 
long. You see a personally conducted Don Quixote 
moimted on an asinine Rosinante, flanked by an adi- 
pose Sancho Panza of a dragoman squatting on a tall, 

[334] 



Donkeys and Their Riders 

mule-like donkey, dosely followed by a russet urchin, 
his shirt-tail flying to the breeze, belaboring the donkey 
with a club and breathlessly yelling, ''Hatt! Hatti 
Hatt! Huck-a-luckl Huck-a-luck P' Thus bellows 
the donkey-boy. Both tourist and dragoman seem 
perfectly grave, yet who can gaze on them without a 
smile ? There are other sights connected with donkey 
transportation which also bring a smile. Every now 
and again you will see an elderly gentleman on a 
donkey, wearing a pained expression on his face and 
a large rug on his stomach; this latter he has spread in 
front of him as a lap-robe, to keep o£F the chill desert 
breezes; it is fastened behind him with a safety-pin. 
Shades of Bucephalus I Of Pegasus 1 Of the sons of 
Poseidon and IzionI Shades of all horses and horse- 
men from the centaurs down to the cowboys! Think 
of using a saddle beast as a vehicle, and adorning it 
with a lap-robe I 

Another curious sight may be noted as the crowds 
of tourists gallop gayly by on donkeys, pursued by their 
yelling donkey-boys: this is the laige niunber of ladies 
— fat and thin, old and young, spinsters and widows, 
nouitrons and maids — who have turned Amazons for 
the nonce, yet who have done so without equipping 
themselves for the saddle: without preparing their 
dessauSf as the French call it. In the midst of the ex- 
citement engendered by the fear of collision with other 
donkeys; the awful sound of the blows which fall upon 
their own donkeys' flanks; the dreadful commotion 
produced by their donkeys wriggling eel-like to escape 

[335] 



■■ 



From Thebes to Assouan 

these blows from their own donkey-boys; the Aialnc 
yells of ignorant donkey-boys; the English curses of 
linguistic donkey-boys; the difficulty of steering their 
own donkeys past other donkeys when both donkeys 
know not what a bridle-rein means; the danger of 
colliding with all manner of persons and things, such 
as two-footed donkeys, four-footed donkeys, galloping 
camels, trotting camels, sitting camels, snariing camels, 
Arabs standing in the roadway, Arabs sleeping in the 
roadway, blind beggars walking placidly right under 
the animals' feet — it is small wonder that the mental 
confusion brought about by all this hullabaloo causes 
these unaccustomed Diana Vemons to forget their 
draperies. Of divided skirts, of riding-tights, of riding- 
boots, of riding-breeches, they show no sign. The 
result is a display which causes a modest scribe to turn i 

away his eyes and blush. But the innocent ladies, 
knowing naught of the cause of his confusion, flash 
noisily and polychromatically by. J 



One day, riding over the desert above the First Cat- 
aract, we drew near an Arab village. On the outskirts 
of the closely packed mud huts we saw two children 
approaching, each with a botde. When they reached 
a certain spot they sat down on the sand. Our curiosity 
being excited, we investigated, and found that the 
botdes contained water which they had evidently just 
brought from a sakia well in an adjacent oasis. What 
did they want with the water? To drink? No — 

[3361 



i 



Oasis Mud Pies 

guess again. You could not guess it in a thousand 
years. Well, they wanted it to make mud pies. For 
the desert is not all hopelessly sterile. There are in it 
vast areas of drifting sand, but much of it is sterile when 
dry, fertile when irrigated. As you approach an oasis 
you see a sharp line of demarcation — on one side is 
the rich emerald-green dover, on the other, the dry 
brown desert. 

Think of these little children in the desert. How 
profound must be the love of the mud pie in the heart 
of childhood when these little black sunbaked Arabs 
bring water in bottles from an oasis to pour on the 
thirsty desert in order to make mud pies I 

Outside of one of the mud huts was a group of some 
score of women holding a conversazione. They were 
all talking at once, and with that air of keen personal 
relish which showed that they were flaying their absent 
friends. It was the desert substitute for an afternoon 
tea, or for the daily paper's society column. As we 
passed them, one shiny black lady with a face like an 
orang-outang rapidly hid her fascinations from my 
gaze with a dirty black veil. 

"How different the customs of different countries," 
thought I. ''This lady evidently fears the effect of 
her beauty upon me. She thinks, as the Oriental poet 
says, that her eyes may turn my heart into burnt meat. 
Hence she mercifully spares me a further contempla- 
tion. In other lands — " 

At this moment the modest lady suddenly became 
vocal. We were passing the little boy and girl in the 

[3371 



V 



From Thebes to Assouan 

mud-pie business. Seeing that they regarded us not, 
she shouted to him who surely was her son: 

''Mohammed Hassan AbdaUahl Didn't I tell you 
always to yell ^Bakshish* whenever you see any of 
those Christian dogs coming along? — and there you 
are playing with that squint-eyed little Fatima Gazoo. 
And now you've got no bakshish. Just wait till I get 
hold of you, you naughty, naughty boy!" 

I know no Arabic save a few emphatic and necessary 
words. But I divined the maternal meaning from its 
effect upon the son. When I questioned our drago- 
man, he admitted with a grin that my interpretation 
was correct. 

This was the effect upon the son — Little Mohammed 
Hassan rose up as if he had been sitting on a pin, 
and began to bleat, " -B-fl-*-5- A- w- W B-a-k-s-hrirS-U 
Boo-hoo!" 

The latter part of the appeal was not directed to us, 
but was caused through fear of his impending bte. 
For, young as he was, little Mohammed Hassan was a 
fatalist, and he knew that his kismet was that when his 
Mohammedan mamma caught him there would be 
something doing. And there was. With a despairing 
wail he took to flight. 

Mohammed lifts his skiztlets up, 

And lays his bottle down, 
Full featly fly his little legs-— 

He flees his mamma's frown! 

But his legs were short and his mamma's legs were 
long. Soon she overtook him, and hovered over him 

[338] 



A Desert Tragedy 

like the angd Azrael, terrible, avenging. Little Mo- 
hammed Hassan's white petticoats were uplifted, and 
little Mohanmied Hassan's black body looked up to 
the pitiless Egyptian sky. His mamma's dark hand 
rose and fell regularly, remoiselessly. The thirsty 
sands drank up his tears. 

There on the Libyan desert 

Under the Afric sun, 
While dark-skinned infants gathered ronndy 

This black, black deed was done. 

I turned my head away, and kicked my donkey, 
Helwan, in the ribs. "Get up, Helwanl" cried I; "let 
us leave this scene. Gee-up 1" And I whacked him 
over the left ear, which meant "go to the right." But 
Helwan, who always thought little of my desert knowl- 
edge, disdainfully turned to the left instead, and soon 
we left this painful scene behind. 



[339] 



XX 

THE EGYPTIANS' FOREIGN 

GUESTS 




THE EGYPTIANS' FOREIGN GUESTS 

[E observations which follow concerning 
foreigners in Egypt and their attitude 
toward each other are not based on ex- 
periences in Cairo. In the Khedive's 
capital there are several foreign colonies, some many 
years and some even centuries old; their intercourse 
among themselves, with other colonies, and with the 
Egyptians is based on rule and precedent. Therefore 
I include under the term ^'foreigners" those people 
who come to Egypt for a stay of a few weeks or a few 
months — transient tourists, more deliberate travellers, 
and those winter residents who spend the season regu- 
larly in Egypt, for health, climate, or pleasure. Few 
of these, except the tourists, spend much time in Cairo; 
most of them ascend the Nile in a leisurely fashion, or 
pass the winter in Upper Egypt. Furthermore, those 
foreigners who stay long in Cairo do not have much 
opportunity to become intimate with the other national- 
ities at their hotels; Cairo is a laige and busy dty, and 
there are many ways of passing the time. Not infre- 

[343I 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

quently tourists spend some weeks in Cairo and ma]^e 
no acquaintances at all, unless, possibly, if they dine 
at the table (Phdte, they may become acquainted with 
their neighbors there. There are, of course, not a 
few travellers to Egypt who bring letters to officials, 
English or Egyptian, military or dvil, diplomatic or 
consular; but the intercourse which results, frequendy 
very pleasant, can scarcely be called spontaneous. Nor 
is it calculated to bring forth the sincerity of mental 
attitude aroused by the chance-medley meetings of 
Anglo-Saxons and Gauls, of Gauls and Germans, of 
Germans and Latins. 

Elsewhere in Egypt, on the other hand, conditions 
are utterly dissimilar to those in Cairo. At the fashion- 
able resorts in Lower, Middle, and Upper Egypt, the 
guests are very largely thrown on their own resources 
for amusement. This entails acquaintanceship among 
those who spend the whole or a part of the season, 
although they do not fraternize with the transient 
tourists who flit through on their hurried way. But 
their share in the games and sports which they arrange 
necessarily makes them acquainted. 

After observing these collections of wanderers, no 
one can doubt that Egypt is the most cosmopolitan 
of countries, for the people you meet here come from 
all over the world. After several visits here, and after 
observing the attitude of the various foreigners toward 
each other, I am inclined to doubt the ultimate brother- 
hood of man, concerning which optimists and poets 
have such high hopes. 

[344] 



Europeans Do Not Mix 

"For I dipt into the future, far as htiman tyt could see, 
Saw the Vision of the world, and aU the wonder that would be; 

"Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furi'd 
In the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the Worid." 

It may be that some day there will be a federation 
of the world; that the barriers of different languages 
and different flags will all have faded away; that the 
black-and-white posts on Germany's frontiers will 
disappear; that Switzerland will remove the dynamite 
mines from her end of the great tunnels between her 
and her powerful neighbors; that Great Britain will 
disarm Gibraltar and the Sublime Porte open the por- 
tals of the Dardanelles. 

May be so. I don't know. But I don't think so. 
The indications of an ultimate brotherhood of man 
seem to me small, and growing smaller. There cer- 
tainly seem to be no indications of it among the people 
one meets in Egypt. The various nationalities mix 
as little as water and oil. The English do not like 
the Germans, the Germans dislike the English, and 
the French dislike them both. The Germans and the 
Italians do not mingle; neither do the Italians and the 
French. The Russians do not affiliate with the Ger- 
mans, and not very much with the French, the only 
link between them being the use of the French language 
by the Russians. 

The Scandinavians appear to dislike both Germans 
and Russians; they seem indifferent to the English, 
and affiliate with the French only for linguistic reasons. 
The Dutch dislike the Germans, although most of them 

[345] 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

speak the German tongue. The Belgians consoit to a 
certain extent with the French, but only by reason of 
their common language. 

As for the affiliations of the Americans^ there seems 
to be an absence of hostility between the Americans 
and the English, and when circumstances so incline 
they ally themselves together as against all the others. 
Identity of language brings them together, and they 
meet on the ground of sports and games, as likewise in 
dances and such social affairs. But my observation is 
that in voice, enunciation, accent, inflection, com- 
plexion, religion, manners, dress, wit, humor, food, 
drink, views on business, views on society, views on 
rank, views on government, views on heredity, views 
on money, views on marriage, and views on sport, tfaej 
are as wide apart as are the poles. 

Egypt is a good place wherein to study these national 
likes and dislikes. Here all the European visitors — 
or, to be more inter-continental, let us say all the Chris- 
tian visitors — are on neutral ground. 

The Egyptians are Mohammedans; their guests are 
Christians. 

The Egyptians are Africans; their guests are Euro- 
peans. 

The Egyptians are of the Semitic race; their guests 
are of the Japhetic race. 

The Egyptians are polygamous; their guests are 
monogamous. 

The Egyptians are teetotalers; their guests are al- 
coholics. 

[346] 



r - 

I'- ' 









A diminMlh-t DraRoman A Diatrj frimt Dongela 

A Sheik oj Donkty-Boys 
A De^itendniil o/ Rameses A Bfggar al Luxor 



All on a Foreign Background 

In Egypt certainly the foreigner finds a fair field and 
no favor. In Egyptian eyes the foreign visitors, no 
matter what their religion or morals, are all tarred with 
the same brush. Toward their Christian guests, there- 
fore, tibe Mohammedan hosts of this country are 
absolutely impartial. Probably the vast mass of the 
Egyptians thus classify the European travellers — the 
men as lunatics, the women as trollops. 

In no other country with which I am familiar do 
similar conditions exist concerning strangers. In 
Europe, for example, the German when in France, the 
Frenchman when in Germany, the Englishman when 
in Italy, even the American when in England, are 
thrown in contact with a people who are at home. 

Every nation is different when viewed with a domes- 
tic or a foreign background. Personally, I think all 
nationalities appear to better advantage at home. But 
here in Egypt they all have a foreign background; here 
no nationality has a domestic background, for the 
Egjrptian masses do not meet their foreign guests, and 
the Egyptian classes meet them only in foreign ways. 
Even the English official class, who rule the Egyptians, 
are not much more at home here than are the other 
foreigners: they have their own domestic and social 
life, but it is against an Oriental background. 

Thus there is a fair field for all. It would not be 
possible for an English colony in Germany to manifest 
dislike or contempt for Germans. It is quite possible 
for such phenomena to take place in Egypt. 

Of the antipathetic nationalities, the most marked 

[347] 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

enmity seems to exist between the English and the 
Germans. This is odd, for there ought to be more 
acrid causes of hostility between Germany and other 
nations — France, for example. Yet, while the Eng- 
lish in Egypt do not consort with the French, they go 
even farther than the French in bitter dislike of the 
Germans. For that matter, the Germans seem to be 
generally disliked all over the Old World. At one 
time the English occupied the unenviable position of 
being the most unpopular people in Continental Europe. 
Now travellers generally agree in according that du- 
bious distinction to the Germans. 

Nowadays the wealthier Germans travel a great deal, 
and in most of the popular resorts of Europe the German 
tourists now outnuniber those of any nationality except 
the English. In some places they equal the English 
in number. Yet, according to my observation, the 
two peoples absolutely refuse to mingle. At the va- 
rious resorts in Egypt the Germans take no part in 
those entertainments which involve comparative in- 
timacy, such as golf, tennis, and croquet tournaments, 
which, as a rule, are got up by the English guests. The 
Germans are spectators at regattas and gymkanas^ 
are auditors at concerts, and ride in paper-chases, but 
they avoid the more intimate sports. The English 
do not mourn over this aloofness of the Germans, but 
they rather rejoice at it. They do not hesitate on 
occasions to stigmatize the Germans as '* unsportsman- 
like." One day, for example, a programme of aquatic 
sports was in progress on the Nile; it included, besides 

[348] 



Antipathetic Nationalities 

a regatta, native swimming races; the Arab competitors 
were strung out in a line across the river, swimming 
furiously. Suddenly a pleasure-launch, flying the 
German flag, steamed down upon them and whizzed 
through their bare bodies, driving many of the poor 
devils out of the race and scattering them to left and 
right 

The Englishmen conducting the regatta foamed at 
the mouth. When they testified at the trial that evening 
before the Grand Inquest in the billiard-room, the 
English jury's verdict was that the act was unpardon- 
able. ** But,'' said the court in an obUer dictum^ " what 
can you expect from Germans?" 

I have spoken of the fact that Americans and English 
come together a litde for the purposes of games. But 
even in this regard the cohesion is slight. The English 
games and the methods of playing them are often 
different from the American. (They would say " differ- 
ent /^.") The very terms used are different, and when 
they use the same words they pronounce them differ- 
ently. For example, the warning word in golf among 
Americans is pronoimced " Fo-r-r-r-e : " From English 
lips it sounds like '^Fawl" In croquet, what we call a 
"wicket" the English call a "hoop"; what we call a 
"stake" they call a "peg" or a "stick"; they coimt 
the "hoops" by "up" and "down," as golf-holes are 
counted, and not by "wickets made," as we coimt. 

At tennis they use the word "right" to indicate that 
a ball is played in the court, a phrase I have never 
heard so used in America. 

[349] 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

Not only in Egypt, but all over the Old World, the 
English are always the leaders in sports. It is so, both 
afloat and ashore. Their first move on the India- 
bound steamships is to elect an amusement conmuttee, 
which committee at once devotes itself to organizing 
sports. It is so in Egypt. It is a highly laudable plan, 
and might be followed to advantage in many American 
watering-places. In Egypt, the English visitors get 
up polo matches, tennis, croquet, golf, and bridge 
tournaments, fancy-dress balls, smoking concerts, and 
organize gymkanas. Those who know the difficulties 
of keeping up a golf -club in a green and well- watered 
country, where there are permanent residents to pay 
the dues, can readily conjecture what must be the 
difficulties in a dry and desert coimtry, where the only 
permanent residents are Arabs and donkeys, and where 
the golf-players come only three months in a year. 
Yet there are not a few golf-dubs in the land of the 
Pharaohs. 

There are many humorous things connected with 
golf in Egypt. There are what might be called extra- 
hazardous hazards: for example, at one links in Upper 
Egypt, the golf-course wound its desert way past an 
oasis on which was a luxuriant field qf clover. A 
sliced ball was extremely apt to hide itself in this clover. 
The following new rule was made by the Arabs: that 
nobody in boots or shoes could enter the oasis limits to 
search for balls; only barefooted people (otherwise 
Arabs) were allowed to enter. Every day we found a 
large population of Arabs around the oasis waiting for 

[350] 






1 



t.y . r 



•-) 



Extra Hazards at Golf 

golf-balls to go to grass. Sometimes, I fear, they were 
assisted there, and it required much bakshish to get 
them out. At last there were so many lost balls that 
an investigation was made by the green committee. 
An old woman was discovered hiding near the clover 
hazard. When you made a fine, long approach, the 
old lady grabbed the golf-ball and took to her heels. 
She regarded the balls as her legitimate spoil, and 
offered them freely for sale to the original owners at 
cut prices. It took an enormous amount of time and 
labor to convince her that she must give up her practice. 



What seems to surprise the English greatly is the 
propensity of Americans to go daft over titles. The 
littlest homimculoid princelet from almost anywhere 
will excite a bevy of American girls like a chicken-hawk 
in a barn-yard. One day I was seated on the terrace 
of a big hotel in Egypt overlooking the Nile. The 
Duke and Duchess of Connaught and their daughters 
were on their way down the river in a government 
dahabiyeh. They had come ashore for that solemn 
British function, afternoon tea; your true Briton, royal, 
ducah, or commoner, never misses his afternoon tea. 
I had not heard that we had distinguished guests, but 
presently I observed that something \musual was taking 
place. Yet the excitement was entirely among the 
Americans. All of my American fellow-countrymen 
had their tables drawn up as you see them in dinner- 
parties on the stage, with one side filled with the diners 

[351] 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

and the blank side pointed toward the footlights. In 
this case the tables were pointed toward the royal-ducal 
tea-party, while my American compatriots gazed 
goggle-eyed at the brother of the English king. So 
rapt were they in their scrutiny that many of them 
neglected their tea, toast, muffins, zwieback, cakes, 
bread and butter, orange marmalade, raspberry jam, 
strawberry jam, and blackberry jam, which kidcshaws 
constitute the slight snack taken at 5 P.if. by the true 
Briton. In my mind's eye I could see them when they 
got "back home,'' telling about ''the time when I took 
five o'clock tea right next to the Duke and Duchess of 
Connaught." 

How did the English behave? Well, they behaved 
— the men with British phlegm, the women with Eng- 
lish cakn. No woman neglected her tea, no man his 
jam. Some even finished their tiffin hastily to go 
donkey-riding or to play tennis or croquet. Many 
young men smoked openly and unashamed. I even 
saw some elderly men and women asleep. 

On another occasion I was stopping at an Egyptian 
hotel where a royal prince was domiciled. He was a 
grandson of Queen Victoria; yet he was as free to come 
and go as if he were John Smith, of Podimk, U. S. A. 
Nobody bothered him, no one intruded on him. He 
was a lad of seventeen or so, accompanied by a tutor; 
yet no young ladies made eyes at the tutor; even the 
head-waiter treated the prince just like any one else. 
We all had our tables reserved for limcheon and dinner, 
but not for breakfast. The prince took his chances 

[352] 



Americans Daft over Titles 

for a table at breakfast just like the rest of us. Among 
the many English guests nobody turned to stare at him* 
The assemblage in the dining-hall acted exactly as if 
he were of the same clay as the rest of us — which, by 
the way, he is. 

Only &ncy a royal prince at an American hotel. 
Let us not say a royal prince, but a princeling, or a 
royal dukelet, or even the seventeenth son of some 
pseudo-sovereign seventeen times removed. Why, 
if you trot out a king of the Cannibal Islands, a saddle* 
colored sovereign from Siam, a monarch of Boorioboola- 
gha, a Hottentot highness, a coffee-colored potentate 
like King Kalakaua — any old thing in the way of a 
king, and the great American public goes crazy. See 
how we acted over the Russian Grand Duke Alexis, 
or the Spanish Princess Eulalia, over whom Chicago's 
''society leaders" fought so bitterly that they nearly 
took meat-axes and cleavers to each other. When 
Prince Henry of Prussia was in the United States a 
year or two ago his presence in our large cities nearly 
caused a riot. And the American public has even 
raved over the job lots of Mongol princes who occa- 
sionally smile upon us with their almond eyes. 



When in Upper Egypt, we were approaching our 
hotel one day when we saw a colunm of black smoke 
pouring from the engine-room and electric power-house. 
Suddenly swarms of Arabs appeared, running out of 

[3S3l 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

the hotel. Two native policemen, whose post was at 
the entrance to the great compound, at once shut and 
guarded the gates to keep out thievish Arabs. On the 
surrounding hills hundreds of Arabs from the ndgh- 
boring villages gathered, and gazed at the fire over the 
compound walls. Within the compound the house- 
hold Arabs ran aimlessly hither and thither, yelling 
frantically: these were the table- waiters, cooks, cham- 
bermen, scullions, and such domestic servants. The 
outdoor Arabs were not so useless : perhaps half a dozen 
of them worked like Trojans. But all the rest weie 
almost worthless, only getting in the way of those who 
worked. There arose the usual difficulties in times of 
danger when white men — who are natural leaders — 
direct inferior and native races: they cannot imder- 
stand each other's language. 

The foreigners at this hotel were from all over the 
world, yet in strong contrast to the Arabs they seemed 
entirely calm. I noticed no excitement among them. 

The engine-room contained engines and dynamos 
for electric light and power. The fuel was a petroleum 
product, called "petrol." One of the natives, in carry- 
ing petrol in an open vessel to pour into the receptade 
feeding the engine furnace, slipped and spilled the 
petrol. In a moment it was ignited and the place in 
flames. Nothing but the absence of inflammable 
material in the engine-room prevented a great fire. 
But the walls were of concrete; they were a foot thick; 
the floor was of concrete; the engines and dynamos 
were of metal: thus there was scarcely anything to 

[3S4l 



Arabs at a Fire 

bum except the door-frames, the window- jambs, and 
the petrol in the tanks. Still, this made enough of 
a fire. 

After many minutes the shouting Arabs were in- 
duced to bring out from the hotel a canvas hose. They 
twisted it, burst it, and did everything with it that they 
should not do. At last they got it laid. By this time 
a hand-engine was coming from the town, which was 
followed by a steam fire-engine. By the time the Arabs 
had got the hose laid on and streams from the two 
engines were on the building, the fire was out. But 
only because it had burned out for lack of further 
material to bum. Two men were burned to death, 
and two men were fatally injured. 

A laif;e squad of police and a company of soldiers 
had arrived by this time, and order was preserved: 
that is, all were orderly except the Arab servants; 
they had completely lost their heads. Achmed, our 
dignified table-waiter, chose this particular time to 
have a fit. He wanted to hurl himself into the flames. 
It took three men to hold him; they were relieved regu- 
larly as fast as they became exhausted. Achmed 
stmggled violently with his guardians, and kept up an 
intermittent howling. Many counselors approached 
with sage instmctions to the guardians and with in- 
tended comfort to Achmed. One officious donkey- 
boy approached to give advice. The donkey-boy's 
words were unwelcome to one of Achmed's guardian's, 
and as he had both arms around Achmed's middle he 
stood on one leg and used the free foot to kick the offi- 

[3SS] 



TTiie Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

dous donkey-boy in the stomach, hiiiling' him cata- 
pult'likei howling. 

The spectacles at this fire, from the standpoint of 
our admirably equipped fire departments in America, 
seemed lamentable* But it may be well to point out 
this £act — that not even the engine-room in which 
the fire broke out was structurally injured, and the hotel 
VHU not burned dawn. There are few watering-place 
hotek in the United States of which this could have 
been said. Most of them are constructed of lath, 
scantling, weather-boarding, and shinies. There may 
be fire-proof watering-place hotels in the United States 
outside of St. Augustine, Florida (which contains three 
hotels built of concrete), but if so I do not know where 
they are. Most of the watering-place hotels of the 
United States are fire-traps and death-traps. When 
they bum they go with such rapidity that most of the 
guests could never reach the groxmd. After they are 
burned their destruction is so complete that you can 
see nothing remaining but twisted iron pipe and tangled 
wire. The American way of building watering-place 
hotels is to construct them of match-wood and then have 
the best of fire protection. The Old World way is to 
have inferior fire protection, but so to construct the 
hotels that they will not bum. 



I was standing on a hotel veranda gazing at a line of 
snarling camels, and wondering at their unvarying 
bad temper. 

"Ow//'* cried an \mknown French lady, suddenly 

[356] 



A Perspiring Lady 

turning to me, ''I don't do a thing but sweat." And 
she seated herself beside me imder an awning on the 
terrace. " Vraimeni^ je ne fats que suer." 

Be reassured, gentle reader, although the French 
lady was a total stranger to me, she was neither fair 
nor young. 

I replied hesitatingly, "Vous dttes^ madamef You 
don't do a thing but — ?" 

" But sweat," replied the frank French lady. " Cesi 
fa." 

I became all of a cold — I mean I perspired. For 
I remembered reading an anecdote of a young hoiden 
who remarked in the presence of her preceptress that 
she was ''all of a sweat." Miss Verjuice thus rebuked 
her: "Never use that word again. Miss Joy," said the 
prim preceptress. "Horses sweat; men ferspise; 
ladies GLOWI" 

This anecdote ran through my mind as I turned to 
the frank French lady. 

"Indeed," said I with polite interest, "then madame 
is warm?" 

"Wormy monsieur? Oufl je ne fais que suerl*^ 

"In effect, madame, the weather makes of a warm- 
ness enough warm." 

"Of a warmnesSf monsieur 1 Why the weather 
makes of a hotness enormous!" 

"You have reason, madame. One finds the heat 
indeed of a hotness." 

" Yes, monsieur, you have enormously reason. Ouf t 
I don't do a thing but sweat 1" 

[357] 



I 



The Egyptians^ Foreign Guests 

''But permit me to indicate to you, madame, that 
on the other side of the house, in the shade, it is quite 
cool." 

"True, monsieur, but it is too cool. On the other 
side of the house I freeze; it is terrible; it is gladal; it 
goes to me to the marrow. Yet on this side of the house 
I roast; it is terrible; it is tropical. OufI I don't do a 
thing but sweat!" 

It is only fair to say that the French lady was measur- 
ably right. The temperature on one side of the house 
was one hundred and tidrty degrees in the sun; on the 
other side of the house it was fifty degrees in the shade. 
When I suggested to the distressed and perspiring lady 
that she might find relief inside instead of outside the 
house, she replied: "Oh, monsieur, inside it is just the 
same; on the sunny side it is too hot, on the shady side 
it is too cold. I was advised to take a room on the 
simny side. There it is terrible. Ouf I I don't do a 
thing but sweat. I shall go back to that dear France!" 

And the French lady perspiringly withdrew from 
the terrace. 

Yet when she thus expressed her dissatisfaction with 
the Egyptian climate, "that dear France" was covered 
with snow. At Paris it was ten degrees below zero, 
centigrade. Even on the Riviera it was cold — the 
entire flower-crop was destroyed. In Lyons the water- 
pipes were all frozen, and there was no water; the 
water-power being tied up, there was no electric light. 
Vesuvius and the hills around Naples were covered with 
snow. There was skating on the Amo at Florence. 

[358] 



Arctic or Tropical 

In Milan there were fourteen fires in twenty-four hours 
owing to frozen citizens lighting unaccustomed fires in 
unusual places. Yet the French lady wished to return 
to Europe. Truly we are never satisfied. We always 
rail against our lot — when it's cold we want it hot; 
when it's warm we fret and scold; when its's hot we 
want it cold. 



[359] 



XXI 



ENGLAND IN EGYPT 




ENGLAND IN EGYPT 

'N my first visit to this country I was more 
interested in its ancient history and an- 
cient ruins than in more modem things. 
On subsequent visits the life in Cairo, 
the amusements of foreigners and Egyptians, the 
voyagers on the Nile, the irrigation systems, ancient 
and modem, the gigantic dams or "barrages" — these 
things engrossed my mind. 

It is only during this recent visit, when our stay has 
been much longer than before, that my attention has 
been turned to the English occupation of Egypt. Read- 
ing, conversation, and observation led me to conclu- 
sions differing from the vague and general impressions 
I had held before. 

These impressions I shared with most Americans 
and many Englishmen — to wit: that England? 5 occu- 
paHon of Egypt has been a long-considered and deliberate 
plan; that from the first England had the settled end of 
permanently occupying the country and of making it an 
imperial colony. 

I have now come to the conclusion that this belief 

[3631 



England in Egypt 

is an erroneous one, and that it has no foundation in 
fact. The further conclusion is forced upon me that 
the British occupation of Egypt has been entirely unde- 
signed; that it has been largely the result of accident; 
that it has been against the wish of successive British 
cabinets; that it has not been the desire of the British 
people; and that the British occupation to-day is almost 
entirely the result of chance rather than of design. 

Let me summarize briefly the curious chain of cir- 
cumstances which led the British Government un- 
willingly to follow the path of occupation and conquest 
Omitting the long story of the promoting of the Suez 
Canal; of Khedive Ismail's magnificent and Micawber- 
like financiering; of the touching confidence with wfaidi 
the usurers of Europe hastened to lend him money at 
high interest on low security; of the floating of loan 
after loan by the Egyptian Govenmient; of the final 
fears of the European usurers as to the security of their 
loans; of the tightening of their nets around the Khedive; 
of his struggle against impending bankruptcy; of the 
danger of Egypt repudiating her bonds; of his forced 
loans extorted from bankers and wealthy tradesmen 
in Egypt; of the desperate straits which forced him to 
offer his Suez Canal shares to England; of the quick 
decision of Lord Beaconsfield to borrow £^000,000 
from Rothschild; of the sagacity which led that finan- 
cier to lend it on an hour's notice on no security except 
Beaconsfield's word; of this canal purchase leading the 
financial world to believe that Great Britain was about 
to finance Egypt ; of the Khedive's request for an Ed|^ 

[364] 



^ 



' ! : 1 



. r 






Anglo-Franco Control 

financial adviser; of the sending of Mr. Cave, a member 
of the ministry, on a mission of financial investigation 
to Egypt — these were the simple yet fateful circum- 
stances which first led Great Britian into the Egyptian 
tangle. 

Shortly after this time Ismail attempted to consoli- 
date the vast Egyptian debt, bonded and floating, into 
a single seven per cent loan. English bondholders 
opposed this scheme; French bondholders were in 
favor of it The Khedive requested France, Italy, 
Austria, and England to nominate Conmiissioners of 
the Public Debt. England refused. 

Here we have the firs^ aiiempi by England to evade 
Egyptian entanglements. 

However, the Khedive on his own initiative appointed 
Major Evel3ni Baring, now Lord Cromer, as a British 
member of the Commission. This Commission was 
succeeded by another, which was succeeded by two 
Permanent Controllers, to be nominated by the French 
and English Governments. The British Government 
again declined to appoint. 

This was England's second aUempi to keep out of 
Egypt. 

Thereupon the British Controller was nominated 
without the approval of the British Government. The 
floating-debt creditors, being ignored by the new Con- 
trollers, brought suits against the Egyptian Government 
before the International Egyptian Tribunals. This 
threatened the interests of the European bondholders, 
as the creditors of the floating-debt were principally 

[3651 



England in Egypt 

Egyptians and Levantines. The danger to the Euro- 
pean bondholders led to the proposing of a Commission 
of Inquiry by France. Lord Derby at first refused 
to cooperate. 

Thus we see that here Great Britain made a Mrd 
attempt to avoid Egyptian responsibilities. 

At last, under pressure from British bondholders, 
Lord Derby gave way, and the Khedive appointed a 
Commission consisting of a French president, one 
Egyptian and one British vice-piesident, and Italian 
and Austrian members. This Commission endeavored 
to unravel the tangle between the Khedive's individual 
debts and those of the State; also to account for the 
whereabouts of some ^£50,000,000 borrowed from 
European creditors, of which there was no trace. The 
Khedive, in order to baffle inquiry, threatened to de- 
fault on the current interest on the bonds; but he finally 
reluctantly consented to permit that it be paid. The 
Conmiission at last discovered that the missing moneys 
were invested in over a million acres which Ismiul had 
purchased and improved as cotton and sugar planta- 
tions and otherwise. They demanded that he hand 
over these ill-gotten goods to the Egyptian Government, 
which was done. 

About this time an Anglo-French ministry was urged 
on the Khedive's premier, Nubar Pasha. Mr. Rivers 
Wilson was suggested as the English candidate. The 
British Govenmient consented reluctantly only on the 
stipulation that the French minister was to have equal 
authority, in order thus to render English intervention 

[366] 



r 



German Intervention 

in Egypt less conspicuous. It must be understood that 
Mr. Rivers Wilson was appointed not by the English 
Government but by the Egyptian Government, and 
that the British Cabinet contented itself merely with 
"raising no serious objection to Mr. Wilson's appoint- 
ment." 

Matters continued tmder this Anglo-French ministry 
for some time, until the holders of floating-debt claims, 
who had secured judgment before the International 
Tribunals at Cairo, attempted to levy execution upon 
property already mortgaged as security for bonds. 
This brought about a financial crisis. As a result, the 
Khedive, for lack of funds, was forced to dismiss a 
number of officers from the Egyptian army. A mob 
of some four hundred of these officers assembled in 
front of the Ministry of Finance, hustled Mr. Rivers 
Wilson and the Minister of Finance, insulted them, and 
shouted ''Death to the Christians!" The English and 
French ministers sent requests to their Governments 
to protect them and other Christians from the muti- 
nous officers, but the British Govenunent declined 
to land any forces, and merely sent a naval vessel to 
Alexandria. 

Thereupon the Khedive, emboldened by British in- 
action, dismissed Mr. Rivers Wilson. Yet the British 
Government did not enforce his restoration. 

A totally imexpected move now brought about im- 
portant developments. Germany, hitherto entirely 
aloof, suddenly threatened intervention. Some Ger- 
man subjects, creditors of Egypt, had obtained judg- 

[367] 



England in Egypt 

ments against the Treasury before the International 
Egyptian Tribimals. The Khedive refused to execute 
these judgments. 

As Germany was a party to the international agIe^ 
ment by which these tribunals were established, she 
therefore threatened that if her subjects' judgments 
were not executed she would herself take action to en- 
force them. Bismarck was at that time head of the 
German Empire, and England was forced to join in 
intervention lest the Iron Chancellor should conduct 
matters alone. Thereupon England, France, and 
Germany demanded that the Sultan depose Khedive 
Ismail. This was done, and Tewfik, his son, was 
nominated in his stead. 

This, in brief, was the financial crisis in Egypt at Ae 
time — an empty treasury, European bondholders 
pressing for their interest, Egyptian creditors clamoring 
for their principal. Some drastic measure was needed. 
France therefore uiged England to join with her in 
demanding the appointment of two Controllers, with 
the right to be present at Cabinet meetings, the Con- 
trollers to be nominated directly by their own Govern- 
ments. This was the beginning of the Dual Control 
Far-reaching as were its functions, its beginning was 
unquestionably due to the threatened intervention of 
Germany, seconded by the demands of the French 
bondholders through their Government, for the regu- 
lation of Egyptian finances. It was only indirectly due 
to the Briti^ Government. The British Controller 
was Major Baring. Under the Dual Control a Com- 

[368] 



Arabys Conspiracy Begins 

mission of Liquidation was theoretically appointed by 
the Khedive, but in fact selected by England, France, 
Germany, Austria, and Italy. This Commission, after 
some months, effected a settlement between Egypt, the 
European bondholders, and the creditors to whom the 
floating debt was owed. This arrangement involved 
placing the various revenue-producing departments of 
Egypt under certain bureaus of the Dual Control. 
The railway earnings, the telegraph earnings, and the 
customs dues of Alexandria went to pay the Preferred 
Debt. Other customs dues, the tobacco tax, and the 
revenue of some of the fertile Delta provinces, went to 
pay the Unified Debt. A special Anglo-French Com- 
mission was placed in change of the enormous estates 
which Ismail had been forced to disgorge. The income 
from these estates went to pay the Khedive's portions 
of the loan, which the Commission had succeeded in 
disentangling from the purely governmental debts. 

It is needless to go farther into this complicated sub- 
ject; it is only mentioned here to show that this financial 
arrangement forced Great Britain and France to rule 
Egypt comprehensively and in detail. How compre- 
hensively, may be understood if we were to imagine 
some foreign power ruling the United States so abso- 
lutely as to take in every dollar paid for taxes, customs 
dues, railway charges, and telegraph tolls. Here again, 
as will be seen, this duty was forced upon Great Britain. 
Her reluctance to enter on the task alone was shown by 
the &ct that the two Anglo-French Controllers at once 
nominated a Commission of the Public Debt to share 

[3691 



England in Egypt 

their functions, which Commissioners were appointed 
by England, France, Germany, Austria, and Italy. 

Up to this time a peaceful country confronted Great 
Britain. But the Dual Control insisted on economy. 
Therefore Isnu^'s army of forty-five thousand men 
was reduced to eighteen thousand. This involved the 
retirement of two thirds of the officers. There existed 
great jealousy between the Egyptian and Circassian 
officers, and one Achmed Araby — a fdlah officer who 
was dismissed to give place to a Circassian — oiganized 
a wide-spread conspiracy against the Khedive. To 
placate these officers, Araby and a number of others 
were reinstated and promoted. But this evidence of 
weakness on the part of the Khedive emboldened them, 
and they demanded that the Minister of War be dis- 
missed and replaced by a native Egyptian. Araby 
with three regiments marched to the Khedive's palace, 
and the mutiny ended by the Khedive's yielding to their 
demands. 

Following this, various intrigues resulted in the 
making of Araby Assistant Secretary of War. He then 
led a movement called ''Egypt for the Egyptians." 
The end sought was the expulsion of foreigners. He 
availed himself of his power to have some fifty officers 
of the Egyptian Army arrested on the chaige of a 
conspiracy to assassinate him. He had them all 
deported. 

The movement against foreigners was gaining sach 
strength that it alarmed many Europeans, and a^Mals 
were made to Great Britain for protection. But Un 

[370] 



Alexandria Massacre 

Gladstone, then the head of the Government, strongly 
disliked any foreign intervention, and was particularly 
opposed to intervention in Egypt. France, however, 
urged Gre^t Britain to join her in armed intervention, 
which that power finally consented to do, but expressly 
reserved the right to say that she ''did not commit her- 
self to any particular mode of action." 

In order to avoid even this feeble indorsement of 
intervention, Great Britain tried to foist upon Turkey 
the disagreeable task, and suggested that the Sultan 
land a Ttirkish army to restore order in Egypt. But 
to this France positively refused to consent. There- 
fore Great Britain resigned herself to the inevitable. 
An English ironclad accompanied a French warship to 
Alexandria, but the British admiral was ordered only 
"to protect British subjects and Europeans," and was 
authorized only ''to land a force if required; such force 
not to leave the protection of ship's guns without in- 
structions from home." 

Again we see that Great Britain makes a futile stand 
— her fourth aUempt at keeping out of Egyptian occu- 
pation. 

The rumors as to threatened attacks on Christians, 
and the open encouragement of these attacks by Araby 
and his co-conspirators, impelled the English and the 
French consuls-general to demand the resignation of 
the Araby ministerial clique and the withdrawal of 
Araby himself from Egypt. The Khedive yielded, 
and dismissed the Araby clique. Under fear of their 
threats, however, he reinstated them the same day. 

[371] 



England in ^ypt 

This weakness emboldened the Araby conspirators, 
and there suddenly broke out in Alexandria a riot which 
resulted in the brutal murder of some scores of Euro- 
peans. While Englishmen were being shot and stabbed 
in the streets of Alexandria, the British naval officeis 
in the harbor there were prevented by their orders from 
landing forces to defend their coimtiymen. But the 
fierce outburst of popular indignation in En^and, 
when the news reached there, forced Mr. Gladstone 
to give way. He was compelled to consent to armed 
intervention on Egyptian soil. But with the curious 
tortuous turn of Gladstone's mind, this object was 
veiled under the verbal guise of "obtaining compensa- 
tion for losses sustained by British subjects." Driven 
by the importunities of his ministerial colleagues, and 
goaded on by the popular wrath, Mr. Gladstone there- 
upon ordered the Channel squadron to be diq)atchcd 
to Alexandria. 

Again the stars in their courses conspired to force 
England to occupy Egypt The French Cabinet be- 
lieved that Araby's National Egyptian Party was much 
stronger than it proved to be; that its suppression woold 
tax the resources of Great Britain's small army; that 
at the psychological moment France could intense 
between England and Egypt with great profit to her- 
self. So believing, the French Govenmient ordered 
its admiral to abstain from any share with Great Britain 
in armed intervention. Therefore, on the morrow of 
the Alexandria massacres, and on the eve of the fateful 
bombardment of June, 1881, the French fleet hoisted 

[ 372^1 






"1 

I 



J 



British Take Cairo 

anchor and sailed from Alexandria, leaving the English 
admiral alone. 

Araby immediately began manning the fortresses of 
Alexandria. Admiral Seymour ordered the forts to 
be abandoned and their guns dismantled. This was 
refused. Thereupon the bombardment began. The 
subsequent attempts of Araby to cut off Alexandria's 
water supply forced the British Government to land 
an army to protect British subjects. This was pre- 
ceded by a protocol in which Great Britain bound her- 
self ''not to seek any territorial advantage in Egypt." 

Here was the fifth aUempt on the part of England to 
prevent occupation, developing into annexation. 

Araby now threatened the Suez Canal. England, 
instead of defending it alone, requested a conference 
of all the Powers to determine how it should be de- 
fended. On all the Powers refusing. Great Britain 
proposed to France a joint expedition to protect the 
Suez Canal. France refused to join. Great Britain 
then was forced to defend the canal herself, being justi- 
fied in so doing as being the largest stockholder. 

The first military use of the canal was made by Great 
Britain when she landed a British army at Ismallia. 
From there the troops advanced on Cairo. Araby's 
forces first made a stand at Tel d-Kebir, but were 
routed. Araby next attempted to hold Cairo, but the 
British took the dty without diffiodty. W\ih the 
surrender of Araby, the National Egyptian movement 
collapsed. 

Two days after the Battle of Tel el-Kebir, Lord 

[373] 



England in Egypt 

Dufferin was ordered by the British Government to 
inform the Sultan that, as the insurrection was now 
over, the British Government intended to bring about 
an early withdrawal of the British troops. Consideriog 
Mr. Gladstone's strong reluctance to military occupa- 
tion, there can be no doubt of the good faith of this 
assurance. 

But note the inevitable chain of circumstances. The 
Conunission of Liquidation could not carry out its 
financial measures unless Egyptian credit was restored; 
Egypt's credit could not be restored if the British troops 
were withdrawn, unless some other military force were 
provided to maintain order, as the Egyptian Army had 
been in open mutiny. There could be no miUtaiy 
force to rely on unless it came from some other Euro- 
pean power; hence Great Britain was forced to remain 
until the Egyptian Government was able to maintain 
order alone. An agreement was therefore drawn up 
by which Great Britain consented to reduce her Army 
of Occupation to twelve thousand men, and to bear 
the expense of the campaign. In this document Eng- 
land not only agreed to reduce her army in numbers, 
but to withdraw these troops as soon as possible. 

About the time of the Araby mutiny the British 
Government uriged the Khedive to abolish slavery in 
Egypt. Most of the slaves in Egypt came from the 
Soudan. General Gordon had already attempted to 
abolish slave-trading there before his first incumbency 
as Governor terminated. At once there appeared in 
the Soudan a '^Mahdi" — a holy man who, the Mo- 

[374] 



Evacuating the Soudan 

hammedans believed, would lead them to victory over 
the infidek. He proclaimed himself the Messiah, and 
was at once believed. Gordon's successor as Governor 
attempted to suppress him and his followers, but his 
military expeditions against the Mahdi were all de- 
feated. The Governor demanded fifteen thousand 
men from Cairo, saying that if they were not sent he 
would be forced to evacuate the Soudan. The ELhe- 
dive requested assistance from the British Army then 
in Egypt. The British Government peremptorily 
refused. They feared being drawn more deeply into 
permanent occupation of Egyptian territory. 

Note here the sixth aUempt of Great Britain to avoid 
further entanglement in Egypt. 

The Egyptian Government then sent ten thousand 
men to the Soudan under the conunand of Hicks Pasha, 
an English officer, but no longer in the British Army. 
Hicks Pasha set out against the Mahdi. His army 
was utterly wiped out. His ten thousand men, with 
their officers, guns, and ammunition, disappeared from 
the face of the earth. They have never been heard of 
since. 

Just before this time the British Government had 
again assured the Great Powers in a circular note that 
''its forces remained in Egypt only for the preservation 
of order, and that the British Government wished to 
withdraw its troops as soon as the authority of the 
Khedive could be properly protected." It might be 
thought that the disaster to Hicks Pasha's army would 
fire Great Britain with a desire to revenge him. Not 

[37Sl 



England in Egypt 

so. On the contrary, Great Britain refused to help 
Egypt in the Soudan; announced that the British Army 
of Occupation would be reduced to three thousand 
and removed from Cairo to Alexandria. Further, the 
British Government intimated that Egypt must abandon 
the idea of retaining the Soudan, and must prepare to 
withdraw her garrisons. This move was evidently 
inspired by the idea of avoiding the slightest possildity 
of Great Britain being entangled in these Egyptian- 
Soudanese complications. 

This was the seventh aiiempt of the British Govern- 
ment to avoid further Egyptian occupation. 

The Egyptian Government, panic-stricken by the 
British action, at once ordered its garrisons to evacuate 
the Soudan. This emboldened the Mahdi and his lieu- 
tenant, Osman Digma, and they invested the Egyptian 
garrisons so actively that evacuation was impossibie. 
The Egyptian Government sent to the Soudan a mili- 
tary force under another English officer, Valentine 
Baker, formerly of the British Army. Like the army 
of Hicks Pasha, the army of Baker Pasha was destroyed 
at the Battle of El-Teb. 

About this time the British Government decided to 
send General Gordon as envoy to the Soudan to bring 
about the evacuation of the Egyptian garrisons. This 
move was heartily approved by the Egyptian Govern- 
ment, as they hoped that Gordon's mission would ulti- 
mately bring about armed intervention by the British 
Government. In this forecast they were right. While 
on the way to Egypt, Gordon changed bis mind about 

[376] 



Gordon's Gallant Death 

acting as the envoy of Great Britain, and telegraphed 
ahead, suggesting that he should be nominated by the 
ELhedive as Governor-General of the Soudan. This 
was done. Note the residt: By this appointment, 
Gordon ceased to be under the orders of the British 
Government; his position gave him a free hand; he 
acted according to his own judgment; his course ulti- 
mately resulted in forcing the British Government to 
send a relief expedition to Khartoum. 

It is needless to relate here the various expeditions 
against the dervishes and the gradual investment by 
them of Khartoum. The position of Gordon in the 
beleaguered city excited the sympathies of the British 
pubUc to such an extent that the Gladstone Govern- 
ment was most reluctantly forced to send a British 
army to rescue him. The attempt at relief by this 
expedition under Lord Wolseley, and its arrival at 
Khartoum only a few hours after Gordon had been 
brutally murdered — these facts are fresh in the mem- 
ory of most men. Gordon's long defence and gallant 
death made a profound impression in England. The 
Government was forced by public opinion to prepare 
to send armies both up the Nile and by the Suakin- 
Berber route to destroy the power of the Mahdi. The 
trouble on the Indian frontier with Russia temporarily 
diverted the public mind, and Mr. Gladstone, taking 
advantage of this, made haste to withdraw all British 
troops from the Soudan. 

With the advent of a Conservative ministry under 
Lord Salisbury, a further attempt was made to with- 

[377] 



England in Egypt 

draw the British Army from Egypt A convention was 
begun with Turkey to replace the British army with 
a large force of Turkish troops in Egypt. Before 
these negotiations were finished, there was a change 
of ministry in Great Britain; still, even under the new 
ministry this convention was concluded, and by its 
terms England bound herself to withdraw her Aimy 
of Occupation within three years. But the French 
bondholders became alarmed, and pressure was brought 
to bear in influencing the Sultan to qxiash the An^o- 
Turkish Convention. Again was England baffled in 
her attempt to withdraw from Egypt. 

Here was the British Government's eighth attempt to 
escape from Egyptian entanglements. 

An insurrection led by the Khalifa, after the death 
of the Mahdi, again forced the British troops to go 
south into the Soudan. The forts standing around 
Assouan were erected by the English and Egyptian 
armies. Starting from Wady Haifa, they made raids 
which crushed the dervishes under the Khalifa. 

By this time Great Britain evidently considered her- 
self more than an adviser to the Egyptian Govemmait, 
as was shown when Nubar Pasha, the Premier, at- 
tempted to transfer the Department of Police from 
British to Egyptian officials. This Lord Salisbury 
vetoed. The Khedive felt mortified by this rebuff, 
and Nubar Pasha was forced to resign. With the dose 
of his administration the attempt to govern Egypt by 
native officials was practically abandoned by Great 
Britain. This was in 1888. 

[378] 



Kitchener Destroys Dervishes 

The last attempt of the Egyptian Government to 
assert its freedom of action was under the present 
Khedive, Abbas II., abeut ten years ago. A review of 
troops was held by the Khedive at Wady Haifa. The 
troops were commanded by the Sirdar (the tide of the 
Commander-in-Chief of the Egyptian Army), then 
Sir Herbert Kitchener. After the review the Khedive 
expressed his dissatisfaction with the manoeuvring. 
The Sirdar immediately sent in his resignation. There- 
upon LfOrd Cromer, British Plenipotentiary, at once 
informed the Khedive that the censure upon the Sirdar 
and the British officers under him must be retracted, 
and the Sirdar induced to withdraw his resignation. 
This was done. Since that time it may be considered 
that the Khedive and the Egyptian Government are 
not free agents. 

In 1896 General Elitchener headed a British-Egyp- 
tian army against the Mahdists, who had again become 
active after having been unmolested since the defeat 
of Baker Pasha. In two years' time the dervish armies 
were driven out of Khartoum, and their capital, Om- 
durmann, was taken. It was during this campaign 
that the historic slaughter of the dervishes took place, 
when they were mowed down by the British Army's 
machine-guns. Nearly eleven thousand dead dervishes 
were counted on the field of batde, and twenty-eight 
thousand were found wounded. According to official 
figures, the casualties of the English and Egyptian 
troops were forty-eight killed and three hundred and 
eighty-two woimded. It was after this campaign that 

[379] 



England in Egypt 

Sir Herbert Kitchener was made Lord Kitchener of 
Khartoum. 

Only three days after the capture of Khartoum 
General Kitchener learned that Major Marchand had 
hoisted the French flag at Fashoda, a town on the White 
Nile, three hundred miles to the south. Khartoum 
at the time was full of newspaper correspondents.' 
Among them was Randolph Churchill^ who in "The 
River Campaign" relates with some humor how Gen- 
eral Kitchener carefully bottled up the scribes before 
going to the Anglo-Franco front, thus anticipating the 
Japanese attitude toward the press. When he was 
certain that he was cut off from cablegrams to Europe 
— except his own — Kitchener at once hastened to 
Fashoda and hauled down the French flag and hoisted 
the Egyptian. This caused great ill-feeling in France, 
and for a time the friendly relations of England and 
France were endangered. But the incident served to 
prove plainly the fact that Great Britain now was in 
the Soudan to stay. 

Since then the Soudan, under the Convention of 
1899, has been ruled jointly by the British and the 
Egyptian Governments. Its Governor-General by 
this Convention must be Sirdar of the Egyptian Anny 
and a British officer. The Soudan is under militaiy 
law, and there are no dvil tribunals there. This con- 
dition of things will endure until the various European 
Powers who have large colonies of their subjects in 
Soudanese towns demand the erection of international 
courts and the reception of consular officers. 

[380] 



The Destiny of Empires 

To recapitulate — the British Government encoun- 
tered the following curious chain of circumstances: 

Ismail's bankruptcy. 

It precipitates demands by the European bond- 
holders. 

This forces Great Britain to intervene with France. 

Thereupon repudiation of the bonded debt is 
menaced. 

An utterly unforeseen threat of intervention comes 
from Germany. 

This results in the Khedive's deposition and the 
Dual Control. 

The Dual Control causes official economy. 

War Office economy causes the military mutiny of 
Araby. 

This leads to the Alexandria riots. 

The resulting massacre of Europeans brings a British 
fleet. 

Alexandria and Cairo occupied, and Araby insur- 
rection suppressed. 

Egyptian Government requests British aid to sup- 
press the Mahdi insurrection. 

British Government sends Gordon to Khartoum. 

His sudden determination to cease to be the British 
envoy and to become a free agent. 

His refusal to obey British orders. 

Public opinion in England forces a reUef expedition. 

Kitchener's capture of Khartoum. 

Sudden appearance of the French flag at Fashoda on 
the Nile; hauling down of the French flag by Kitchener. 

[381] 



England in Egypt 

Of all these fateful events, not one could have been 
foreseen by Great Britain. 

Another matter concerning which I have been forced 
to change my opinion is the defence of Khartoum by 
Gordon. My opinions were based on the reports in 
the English newspapers at the time. Like many men 
who read those ministerially colored statements, I be- 
lieved that Gordon was a brave soldier but a fanatic; 
there were even charges made that his mind was sli^dy 
affected. But while going up the Nile, above the Fiist 
Cataract, with the names of Soudanese battle-fields 
and camping-grounds, of islands and bends in the river, 
daily sounding in my ears, I read Gordon's journals 
of the siege of Khartoum. I withdraw my previous 
opinion of Gordon, based on garbled testimony, and I 
apologize to the shade of that brave soldier. In his 
journals Gordon says repeatedly that he could not 
evacuate the Soudan and abandon the soldiers and 
civilians. who trusted him, leaving them at the mercy 
of the hordes of bloodthirsty dervishes; that even if the 
British Government refused to rescue them he could 
not leave them without being discredited as a soldier 
and dishonored as a man. 



What goes before is the narrative of some thirty years 
of effort on the part of Great Britain to avoid entan^ing 
herself in Egypt — efforts which have resulted, in my 
opinion, in fixing her so firmly in that country that she 
will never leave it. Our occupation of the Philippines 

(3821 






i I 

r 

■ 
■ 

j T.c. t I. K" • . I 



A Reign of Order and Law 

was quite as accidental, but much more sudden. Since 
it began there has been no attempt at all by the Admin- 
istration to evacuate the islands. In a minority of both 
the great political parties there has been a movement 
in favor of evacuation, but the Administration and the 
people of the United States have never shown any such 
desire. Even had they made the attempt, it is probable, 
with Great Britain's experience staring us in the face, 
that it would have failed. Now, however, this may 
be considered settled: Great Britain will not evacuate 
Egypt; the United States will not evacuate the Philip- 
pines. 

A brief record of what England has accomplished 
for Egypt would include, in general, increase of revenue, 
development of Nile traffic, expansion of foreign com- 
merce, construction of great pubUc works, furthering 
of sanitary reforms, and vast increase in general pros- 
perity. In detail, it might be added that the Soudan 
has been completely pacified; slave- trading has been 
broken up; the natives are being educated; taxes have 
been diminished, yet the revenues increased; the area 
of cultivated land has been greatly augmented; the 
railway between the Nile and the Red Sea has been 
pushed nearly to completion; a new harbor, superior 
to Suakin, has been begun; the Assouan dam has 
brought one and a quarter million acres under irriga- 
tion; it has added largely to the value of tributary lands; 
it will, it is believed, add another half million acres to 
the irrigable area in the near future; Anglo-Egyptian 
garrisons in the large towns have rendered Eim>pean 

[383] 



England in Egypt 

interests absolutely secure; as a result, European 
capital is pouring into Egypt; the native population, 
with cotton, sugar, and other agricultural products, 
is doing better than ever before. 

In her reluctant occupation of Egypt, Great Britain 
has brought to the fertile valley of the Nile what never 
was known there before — peace, justice, order, law. 
But this admirable administration has cost her much 
in money and men. True, the cost is nominally borne 
by the Egyptian Government, but he would be a bold 
man who maintained that the Egyptian occupation has 
cost England nothing. It is probable that in the yeais 
to come the great natural wealth of Egypt, her fertik 
soil, her sugar and cotton fields, and above all the great 
reservoirs in which the waters of the mighty Nile axe 
stored, devised and built by British energy and English 
money — that all these things will lead to paying back 
to England what she has spent in Egypt 



[384] 



XXII 



RETROSPECT AND FORECAST 



1 




RETROSPECT AND FORECAST 

FIRST visit to Egypt and the Ddta makes 
an indelible impression on the traveller's 
mind. For hundreds of miles, as the ex- 
press-train whirls and shrieks past the 
toiling fellaheen in the fields, you see them using the 
same primitive methods their forefathers used when 
Pharaoh reigned. They still plough with a simple 
wooden implement dragged by patient buffalo oxen; 
they still laboriously lift water with a well-sweep to the 
head-level of irrigating ditches; they still use the sickle 
as they did in the days when Ruth followed the reapers 
of Boaz. And they still carry their bimdles of fodder 
upon the backs of patient asses, or, in default of asses' 
backs, upon their own. 

Of course, all agriculture in Egypt is not on such 
rudimentary lines. Rich men and syndicates, as well 
as peasants, own land; many tall chimneys testify to 
the existence of sugar- works; many steam-pmnps and 
pipe-lines point out extensive irrigation-works. The 
Egyptian govenmient has danuned the Nile at Assiout 
and at Assouan, and is engaged in other water-storage 

[387] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

schemes at various points along the great river. These 
plans will greatly widen the narrow strip of irrigated 
land on both banks of the river, and thereby enlarge 
the resources of this wonderful country. 

For it is a wonderful country. The story of its 
temples, its pyramids, its ruins, and its dead cities, is 
a thrice-told tale : it no longer causes wonder. But no 
man can gaze on this flat and fertile river valley without 
being amazed at its productiveness. In America we 
have lands which, tilled for two or three centuries only, 
yet are exhausted by wheat or tobacco-raising; but here 
in Egypt there are fields still seemingly as fertile as 
when the First Dynasty began, althoug^i they ha^ 
been tilled for four thousand years. 

Some historians believe that Egypt was the cradle of 
our Aryan civilization. Here, they say, nomadic man 
paused at the great river when wandering from Arabia 
Felix into Africa. Those who were tired of wandering 
settled on the fat and juicy banks of the Nile, and hegan 
a fitful husbandry of the soil. Tickled with a stick, it 
laughed with a harvest, as the old saw says. Grad- 
ually villages grew up, and thrift brought peace and 
prosperity. The rich lands were divided among the 
thrifty villagers. This was the beginning of Real 
Property. When the lands were divided they had to 
be measured, the lines run, the boimdaries set off. 
This was the beginning of Mensuration, of Mathe- 
matics, of Geometry. The property boimdaries were 
obUterated each year by the rise of the Nile; regula- 
tions were made to settle disputes concerning thenu 

[388] 



Tl-it. ^• 

FUBLlt : 



CI • '> 



Retrospect and Forecast 

This was the begmning of Law. Wise men among 
the villagers^ seeing that the sun, moon, and stars had 
much to do with the volume of the Nile flood, carefully 
observed and noted their movements. This was the 
beginning of Astronomy. The simple villagers looked 
with awe on these wise men who spent their time com- 
muning with the stars. The erection of an official 
class followed. This was the beginning of the Priest- 
hood. The priests claimed supernatural knowledge 
of the celestial bodies. They imposed rules regarding 
the manners and conduct of men. They ordered the 
villagers to follow these rules, and to erect temples 
wherein they should be expounded. This was the 
beginning of Religion. But the fierce nomads of 
the desert found profit in harrying and plimdering 
the weaker villagers by the riverside. Therefore, the 
priests chose from among the villagers those who were 
not only brave, but crafty, cunning, and leaders of men. 
These bold and cunning villagers succeeded in defeat- 
ing the fiercer nomads by ambuscade and stratagem. 
This was the beginning of the Science of War. To 
protect their cities they erected walls, fortresses, fortifi- 
cations. Thus grew up Engineering and Architecture. 
At last a bolder leader among the bold parleyed with 
the priesthood, terrified the mass of men, mastered 
Priests and G>mmons, and made himself lord over all. 
Thus grew up Monarchy, and thus there resulted 
Church, State, and King. 

Long-forgotten bits of reading — faint recollections 
of Draper, of Harrison, of ^nwood Reade — came to 

[389] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

my mind as I looked out from an expiess-train oa mj 
first visit to Egypt. We were going up the Delta, akii^; 
the valley of the Nile. It was towards evening, and 
the peasants were returning from the fields to their 
homes. Primitively dad, they reminded one irre- 
sistibly of old Bible pictures. You would see what 
was evidendy a family — father, mother, grown chil- 
dren, and little ones, some mounted, some on foot, and 
with nondescript collections of animals, all burden- 
bearing. In one group I noted a camel, several asses, 
a buffalo bull, and a herd of sheep placidly pursuing 
their homeward way, all the animals except the sheep 
bearing the fodder for their supper on their backs. 
And the mild-eyed peasants looked up at the express- 
train with much the same gaze as did their animals. 



The Delta region is not rich in visible ruins. " PtM&- 
pey's Pillar" is all that stands at Alexandria, and there 
is nothing at Cairo. The Pyramids, which are out in 
the desert ten miles from Cairo, still stand, it is true, 
but they are so constructed that they will continue to 
stand, until removed stone by stone. There used to 
be an andent dty of Memphis not far from Cairo, but 
it has vanished so completely that doubt and dilute 
prevail over the exact sites of its streets and squares. 
The climate of the Delta region differs markedly from 
that of Upper Egypt, and the condusion is inevitable 
that the difference of climate must have much to do 
with the absence of visible ruins. For the Delta is full 

[390] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

of hidden ruins. All through this region there are low 
mounds looking like sand-drifts covered with Nile 
mud from the river's rise. They generally indicate 
the sites of large cities and towns. Yet of these ancient 
dwelling-places of man there are no ''ruins" left — 
nothing but broken potsherds and a few burnt bricks. 
The sun-dried bricks have gone back to their original 
form. So have the other contents of the ancient cities, 
including their citizens. For each mound is made of 
a mass of cement consisting of the Nile mud of count- 
less overflows, imbedded in which is the rich dust of 
men and animals, of temples and dwellings. These 
mounds are fertilizer-quarries for the fellah farmers; 
they dig up their predecessors, whom they spread out 
to enrich their fields; this fertilizer, which they call 
coufri, contains salt, saltpetre, soda, phosphates, am- 
monia, and other constituents found in the costly arti- 
ficial chemical manures so much used in the old world. 
To show how much this soil-enricher is used I may 
add that the principal commodity carried by the net- 
work of railways in the Delta region is this coufri fer- 
tilizer. 

The utter disappearance of these andent cities in 
the Delta shows the effect of irrigation and cultivation 
on climate. But the cultivated area is extending with 
greater rapidity than ever before. Less than half a 
century ago, Mehemet Ali ordered the planting of vast 
nimibers of trees in Lower Egypt. IsmiJl continued 
the policy. In forty years some of these shade-trees 
have attained a height of over eighty feet; among them 

[391I 



/ 



Retrospect and Forecast 

are eucalyptus, acada, sycamorei tamarisk, mulbenj, 
and lebbek. In addition to the shade-trees, the enor- 
mous extension of the cultivated area in cotton, sugar- 
cane, and other modem crops, and the thousands of 
miles of new irrigating canals in addition to the old 
ones, and to the great area covered by the Nile flood, 
have aided to affect the meteorology of Egypt. Goud- 
less skies were common in LfOwer Egypt in Mehemet 
AU's time, so old men tell us; now not only douds bat 
rain-douds are common; during the winter of 1904-5 
there were many heavy rain-storms throughout the 
Ddta region, and for days the sim did not shine in 
Cairo and Alexandria. 

The lack of drainage is another potential bctor in 
the ditnatic question. In nearly all dry, hot countries 
in which irrigation is introduced, surface or sub-soS 
drainage is found to be necessary. There is no such 
drainage in Egypt, and while the evaporation resulting 
from the Nile inundation doubtless has caused a gradual 
climatic modification, the enormous evaporation now 
resulting from the vast area affected by both iirigatioa 
and inimdation is rapidly changing the dimate of the 
country. 



The impressions left on the mind of a casual tiavdier 
on a first visit to Egypt differ much from those left 
when one has had his vision dulled and blunted by 
several visits. The things which at first seemed ex- 
traordinary have then grown commonplace, and the 

[392] 









\ r 



Retrospect and Forecast 

old traveUer to Egypt looks with a languid eye on the 
picturesque processions which so thrilled him a few 
years before. 

On a second visit, it is generally the less objective 
things which occupy the traveller's mind — the social 
and moral condition of the people; how they were 
governed in past times and axe governed now; how 
Occidental methods, manners, machinery, civil gov- 
ernment, and miUtary occupation are affecting them; 
the yielding of the Egyptian ladies to foreign fashions 
in attire; the effect on polygamy of Paris prices for 
women's gear; the propensity of the natives to travel 
by rail and tramway; how Occidental teaching in the 
mission schools is affecting the native mind — these 
and similar topics generally interest the traveller on 
his second visit. 

The traveller will have seen the ruins on his first 
visit, but his view will have been an unsatisfactory one, 
for they are too numerous, too gigantic, too impressive, 
to be appreciated fully at first. On subsequent visits 
the traveller may become an enthusiast over the ruins; 
he may develop into an amateur archaeologist, perhaps 
even an excavator, if he have the time and means. Or 
he may remain indifferent to the ruins — many so 
remain. Or he may be deeply impressed — not by 
their grandeur, but by their danger, for the ruins of 
Egypt, like all of man's creations, are soon to pass 
away. "Soon" does not mean this year or this cen- 
tury, but ''soon" as measured by the ages they have 
stood there — ''soon" as measured by Egyptian time. 

[393] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

Egypt has hitherto been one of the few spots on the 
planet where man's work seems to have endured. What 
is most melancholy in human life is its evanescence. 
Of the work of the artist, whether of him who works in 
colors, in metals, in stone, or merely in words, the last, 
which seems the most fleeting, often is the most endur- 
ing. Great paintings perish by fire, by insects, or by 
decay. Great statues sink into the ground or aue 
destroyed by vandals. Great buildings fall, either by 
the elements or by the hand of man. Yet the written 
word often remains — sometimes the spoken word, 
for Homer's winged words, tradition says, were ^"dH 
down by word of mouth for many ages before they were 
set upon the page. Yet even of this work of man, at 
times, little endures. It is only by tradition that we 
know of the fame of Sappho as a poet. How much 
will be left of Shakespeare in a thousand years? How 
much of the lesser bards of our own time in a hundred? 

We are taught to believe that the most enduring 
work of human hands is the building, the edifice, the 
monument. Nothing in the elder time was wrought 
with greater care than the creation of the mason — the 
hall, the castle, the palace, the tower, the temple, the 
tomb. But even these structures do not endure. 
Nothing human can. Every creation of man, whether 
it be a mighty dty or a mighty state, must, in the long 
procession of the ages, pass away. All things human 
are fleeting. All the works of man are ephemeiaL 
Those things builded by the hands of men pass, as did 
their builders. Great cities have been bom, have 

[394] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

lived) have died, and men know not where they stood. 
To-day antiquarians squabble over the sites of Car- 
thage and of Sidon, of Troy and of Tyre. 

Where now the great buildings of London and 
of Paris stand, some day there will again be lonely 
marshes. Where once the Grand Louvetier, or Royal 
Wolf Ward, guarded the Louvre park and its pavilions, 
there again dense forests will come down to the river's 
bank, and out of the wilderness wolves will sally forth 
to prowl once more over the site of what is now the 
palace of the Louvre. Where now the vast tides of 
human millions roar through London's Strand and 
pour over Thames's bridges there will some day be 
silence. Far down below the foundations of the Tower 
Bridge, built but yesterday, there are Roman ruins* 
Below these Roman ruins there are the stilt foundations 
of Lacustrine dwellers in the mud. Where New 
York's stately structures of steel and stone make arti- 
ficial sky-lines on the backbone of Manhattan Island 

— where to-day is heard the tramp of busy millions 

— where Trinity's chimes ring out above the roaring 
of the bulls and bears — where hoarse blasts from 
steamer- whistles sound ever on the river and the bay 

— some day there will be no sound on the land save 
the hum of insects and the twittering of birds; no 
sound from the water save the plash of a fish and 
the lapping of the tide. Manhattan Island, which 
once was swamp and rock, will again be rock and 
swamp. 

Man's cities, his monuments, his buildings, do not 

[395] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

endure. Out of his handiwork^ tombs and temples 
have melted into the sands from which they sprung. 
In Farther India one may see stately temples, niins 
that once were temples, mounds that once were ruins. 
So rank and luxuriant is tropical vq;etation that the 
powerful plants grasp at the stones with roots and 
boughs, and pull them from their places. Who has 
not seen a ruin in the humid tropics does not know 
what a ruin is. 

If the ancient peoples who builded as if for all time 
have left so little trace behind them; if the sites of such 
cities as Carthage and Tyre are uncertain, how littk 
will be left of our trumpery modem dties. The statdy 
Houses of Parliament, which make the City of West- 
minster an architectural oasis in the brick-and-mortar 
desert of London, are already crumbling, although 
built only half a century ago. Not only is the soft 
stone fast yielding to the elements, but there have been 
even fears as to the structural stability of the buildings. 
Parliamentary commissions have worked upcm the 
problem; millions have been expended in addition to 
the initial millions; yet still the beautiful buildings are 
fast hastening to decay. All this in less than a hundred 
years. So at Oxford — the stone in the college build- 
ings is perishing so rapidly that many structures dating 
from Tudor or Jacobean times look older than Egyp- 
tian temples erected a thousand years before Christ 
was bom. 

Hitherto Egypt would seem to have defied these laws 
of ruin, these edicts of decay. Althou^ she has not 

[396] 



^ 



Retrospect and Forecast 

had that rank luxuriant vegetation which in more 
humid dimes puUs down huge masses of stone, she, too, 
has her enemies* She lies between desert and ocean, 
a slender strip, and desert and ocean are ever gnawing 
at her sides. But in the face of ocean and desert her 
mighty structures have stood. Where other dynasties 
repose only on tradition, her haughty Pharaohs have 
left their bodies in colossal tombs, their histories graven 
on stone. Where other rulers' very names have been 
forgotten, the Egyptian monarchs have left their records, 
their names, their ciphers for after ages to read. For 
forty centuries these gigantic ruins have stood in the 
shifting sands of Egypt, pecked at by Coptic Christians, 
scratched at by European Christians, buried under the 
rubbish of village Arabs, hidden by the kitchen-midden 
of Bedouins. Yet still have these stately structures 
stood, defying decay, the work of the elements, and the 
vandal hand of modem man. 

But not in all of Egypt. Where the humid Delta 
b^ins, there begins also decay. Cairo stands at the 
apex of the Delta, an ancient dty, but with no 
andent monuments. A dty stood there when history 
began; there was another dty when Christ was bom; 
there was a new Cairo when Mohammed uplifted the 
crescent against the cross. In tmth, Cairo can scarcdy 
be called "an andent dty," but rather a succession of 
dties. Probably there is nothing in it dating back of 
the middle ages, and its oldest monument is Saladin's 
dtadd. 

So with the dty near the andent Canopic mouth of 

[397] 



r-* 



Retrospect and Forecast 

the Nile. Under the modem Alexandria lies the Alex- 
andria of Alexander; for the modem city is but a mast 
room of yesterday. What remains of the andent dty? 
Nothing but its name. Of the magnificent temple of 
Serapis, of the Cesareumy of the four thousand palaces 
of which contemporaneous historians wrote, what now 
remains ? Nothing — not even their ruins — not even 
their foimdations, for no man knows where they stood. 
Excavations reveal nothing. Even boring shows so 
sign of the ancient city; it shows only rubbish, 
and imderlying the rubbish it shows subtenanean 
water. 

Some archaeologists explain the utter absence of 
any vestige of the palaces and temples of andent 
Alexandria by the subsidence of the sandy scnl, and 
the encroachment of the Mediterranean. Others hdd 
that the hxmiid cUmate of the Delta has wrought the 
usual ruin found in all humid lands; that had Alexan- 
dria possessed the rainless winter and the dry atmos- 
phere of Upper Egypt, many of her ancient monuments 
would still be standing. 

However that may be, there is no trace left of ancient 
Alexandria, save its name. Perhaps not even its site 
is certain, for archaeologists are not agreed that the 
ancient dty lay on the same spot as modem Alexandria. 
A little Greek fishing village was selected by Alexander 
as the site of his dty — a village called Rhaootis. 
Tradition points out a certain spot on the Alexandrian 
quays where Rhacotis lies buried. It may or may not 
be true. If the tradition be trae, the little fishing rir 

[398] 



I 4 V. 



^ JH . J 



' / I 



i ^V 



^ 



Retrospect and Forecast 

lage has left fully as much to after ages as did the 
mighty city — nothing but its name. 

ThuSy when it has seemed as if Egypt were an excep- 
tion to the universal, the melancholy rule of the eva- 
nescence of human things, it was only a seeming. Again 
is modem man engaged in tearing down what andent 
man had built. So massive are the ruins of Egypt that 
man has as yet been unable to accomplish this task of 
destruction with the work of his puny hands. For 
ages he has used the ruins for quarries, but still they 
stand. Even what he is doing is imconscious, for he 
is laboring in other ways. Now as always it is nature 
which is working, with man as her medium. The 
gigantic Egyptian ruins which have defied man for so 
many centuries will at last yield to the elemental 
forces of nature, those forces set loose by man. The 
colossal irrigation system due to modem engineering is 
already changing the climate of theJower Nile. Where 
once the climate in Lower Egypt was hot and dry it is 
now hot and humid. Where once rain was almost 
unknown, now it falls heavily through the winter. 
Violent alterations of temperature are now quite fre- 
quent throughout the region of the Delta. This 
climatic change is slowly creeping up the great river. 
Many himdred miles above the Delta, where once rain 
never fell, where from century to century no drop of 
water dampened the parched bosom of the desert, now 
light showers are not imknown. As the land grows 
moister, showers will become more frequent. As it is 
turned into a garden, rain will &11 plentifully, as in 

[399] 



Retrospect and Forecast 

other humid lands. The rapid destruction of ruins— 
as is happening at Phils by the construction of the 
great dam — is a mere incident. That is as nothing 
compared with what will occur when the cfimadc 
changes caused by irrigation will bring about a regular 
rain-fall. Then the great ruins will be subject to the 
same climatic cataclysms as in other lands. Then 
the sharply chiselled edges of the royal cartouches, the 
dynastic histories on tomb and temple and obdisk, 
will be dulled, crumbled, and finally obliterated. And 
at last, yielding to the same causes as in other landsi 
tomb and temple and obelisk will falL 



[400] 



INDEX 



Abbas n., 379. 

Achmed, 355. 

Abdul Hazud, Sultan, 119, 170. 

Achmet Mohammed, 957. 

Acropolis, the, 78, 81, 83, 91. 

Affnano, 23. 

Aiexanderj Tomb of, Z04. 

Alenndria, 39^; riot in, 372, 381. 

All, Mehemet, 391. 

Ali Yuaef, 322. 

Amphitheatres, 23. 

An^o-Turkish Convention, 378. 

Araby, Achmed, 370, 381. 

Areopagus, 84. 

Azmy of Occupation, 374, 376, 

Asnkenazim, 239. 
Assiout, 308, 387. 
Assouan, 323, 378, 383, 387. 
Athens, 77, 80, 8x; mountebanks 
in, 94; mooey of, 96. 

Baia, 29, 41. 

Baker, Valentine, 376, 379. 

Baring, Major Evdyn, 365, 368. 

Beaconsfield, Lord, 364. 

Bernhardt, Sarah, 1x4. 

Bethesda, Pool of, X74. 

Bethlehem, 231. 

Biarritz, 277. 

Bismarck, 368. 

Bonaparte, 68. 

Bosphorus, xoo. 

Cairo, 257, 397. 
Calvarv, Gordon's, 197. 
Capitulations, 295. 
Capua, 4X. 



CaraTansaty, Famovis, 264. 

Castile soap, 146. 

Cataract, First, 323, 333. 

Cave, Mr., 365. 

Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre, 

200; of St. Helena, 200* 
Chiaia, the, 21. 
Choo-Choo Charley, 37. 
Christians in Jerusalem, 175, 

3i6, 233. 
Churdi of the Holy Sepulchre, 

X7s; of the Finding of the 

Cross, 20X. 
Churchill, Randolph, 380. 
Citadel, the, Jerusalem, 172. 
Commission of Inquiry, 366; of 

Liquidation, 369. 
Commissioners of the Public 

Debt, 565. 
Constantinople, xox, 26x; dogs 

of, X09; amusements in, X14. 
Control, the Dual, 368, 381. 
Controllers, Permanent, 365. 
Convention of 1899, 380. 
Countess of Pierrefonds, 279. 
Cromer, Lord, 365, 379. 
Cunue, 41. 

Dardanelles, the, 99. 

Davis, Theodore M., 3x5. 

Dead Sea, 232. 

Debt, Public, Commissioners of 

the, 365. 
Delta, the, ^87, 399, 
Derby, Lord, 366. 
Diffma, Osman, 376. 
Diiearkia, 4X. 
Dome of the Rock, 202. 



I 



[401] 



r 



Index 



Dual Control, the, 368, 381. 
Dufferin, Loid, 374. 



"EchcUcs du Levant," 7. 

Edfu, 323. 

Egypt, newspapers of, 985; gov- 
ernment of, 395; dimate of, 
301 » 35S; Upper, 313; excava- 
tions in, 314; foreigners in, 
343; England in, 363, 383; 
France in, 365; Germany in, 
367; agriculture in, 387. 

El-Azhar, University of, 385. 

Elephantine, dty of, 333; Island, 

324, 332. 
El-Teb, Battle of, 376. 
England in Egypt, 363, 383. 
Ephesus, 143. 
Erechtheion, 87. 
Eriha, 333. 

Eugenie, ex-Empress, 375. 
European poweis in Pidestine, 

337. 

Famous Caravaosaiy, 364. 

Fashoda, 380, 381. 

Fire, Holy, 300. 

First Cataract, 333, 333. 

Floriana, 67. 

Floriane, Pietro Paulo, 67. 

Fort, of St. Elmo, 63; Ricasoli, 

63; Manod, 63. 
Fothergill, Dr. J. Minor, 335. 
France in the Orient, 335, 337; 

in Egypt, 365. 
Funicular railway on Mount 

Vesuvius, 43, 47, 
Fuorigrotta, 33. 

Gabriel, 183. 

Galata, xoi, X07, iis; bridge, 

361. 
Gennany in Palestine, 337; in 

Egypt, 367- 

Ghezireh Hotel, 376. 
Gibraltar, 67. 

Gladstone, Mr., 371, 374, 377. 
Golden Horn, the, Z03; Inidge 
across, 133. 



Gordon, Genend, 197, sSs, 307, 

374. 376, 3S1. 3*2- 
^'Goidon's Calvary/' 197. 

Halikalis, 388. 

Halucca, the, 340. 

Hanud, Abdul, 119, 170W 

Harem-esh-Sherif, 30a. 

Hassan, Mohammed. 338W 

Hatasu, Queen, 311. 

Herculaneum, 34, 41. 

Herod's palace, 172. 

Hicks Pasha, 375. 

HiU of Man, 84. 

"Holy Fire," 300. 

Holy Sepulchre, Church of die, 

175; Chapel of the, aoo^ 
Horn, Golden, the, los; bridge 

across, 133. 

Inquiry, Commissloii of , 365. 
International Egyptian Tdba- 

n^. 3^. 3^» 368- 
Island of Phils, 334. 

iMttall, 37s, 364, 381, 391. 

Italian map, 34; atone walls, 35; 

roads, 35; besgais, ^o; boy, $3. 

Jaffa, 153, 344; Gate, 170. 
affa and Jerusalem RaSway, 

155- 
Jerusalem. 153, 165, 187, 309; 

Franciscan school ia» 190; 

streets of, 199; sects id, 170, 

175, 309, 3x6; Jaffa and, ItaS- 

way, 155. 
"Jerusalem Hotel," 155. 
Jews in the Holy Land, 3J9. 
Jordan, water from dbe, 2x5; 

Valley of the, 333. 

Kamak, 308. 

Khalifa, the, 378. 

Khartoum, 307, 377, 379, 381, 

3»2. 
Khedive, 375, 386, 364, 370, 378, 

379. 
Kings, Tombs of the, 3x1, 3x5. 



[402] 



1 



Index 



Kitchener, Lord, 324, 379> 380, 

381. 
KnighU of MalU, 69. 
Kom OmboB, Temples of, 323. 

Lacrinue Crisd wine, 41. 

Levant, the, 3, 5. 

Levantine lines, 8, 253; ciews on. 



10; passengers on, 11, 3^3. 
Liquidation, Commission of, 369, 

374. ^ 
Luxor, 308, 314. 

Mahdi, the, 374, 377» 381. 
Malta, 61, 64, 66, 67, 72, 73; 

Knights of, 69. 
Manod, Fort, 62. 
Marchand, Major, 380. 
Maronites, 235. 
Mars, HUl of, 84. 
Maspeio, Professor, 3x5. 
Mehemet Ali, 391. 
Mohammed, Achmet, 257. 
Mohammed Hassan, 338. 
Montefiore, Sir Moses, 167. 
Mosque of Omar, 202. 
Mount Moriah, 202. 

Naples, x6; reform movement in, 
17; changes in, 17; hotels of, 
21; villas of, 27. 

Napoleon, 68. 

Neapolis, 41. 

Nike, Temple of, 85, 

Nikita, Prince, 230. 

Nile, the, 305, 321. 

Nubar Pasha, 366, 378. 

Occupation, Army of, 374, 376, 

378. 
Octroi barrier, 33. 
Old Seraglio, 103. 
Omar, Mosque of, 202. 
Omduxmann, 379. 

Paleopolis, 41. 

Palestine, 226; sofl of, 157; 
Russia in, 166, 237; piety. 



209; quarantine in, 224; Prot- 
estants in, 236; Gennany in, 
237; European powers in, 237. 

Parthenon, 85. 

Parthenope, 41. 

Pera, loi, 104, 107, 112. 

Permanent Controllers, 365. 

Phile, 400; Island of, 334. 

Philippines, United States in, 382. 

Piedigrotta tunnels, 22. 

Pierrefonds, Countess of, 279. 

Pompeii, 35, 40. 4i. 

Pool of Bethesda, 174. 

Port Said, 2^6. 

Posilippo dnve, 22, 27. 

Pozzuoli, 41. 

Propyltta, 8j. 

Protestants in Palestine, 236. 

Public Debt, Commissioners of 
the, 365. 

Puteo4i, 41. 

Railway, funicular, on Mount 
Vesuvius, 42, 47; from JafiFa 
to Jerusalem, 155. 

Redcuffe, Lord Stratford de, 113. 

Resina, 32, 40, 41; guides of, 48, 

SI- 
Rhacotis, 398. 

Ricasoli, Fort, 62. 

Roberts College, 161, 236. 

Rock, Dome of the, 202. 

Rothschild, 364. 

Russia in Palestine, 166, 237. 

Sakia, 331, 332. 

Salisbury, 377, 378. 

** Santa Lucia," 16, 46, 47. 

Saredo, Senator, 17. 

Scutari, zoi. 

Sects in Jerusalem, 170, 175, 

209, 216, 233, 239. 
Selamlik, Z2z; troops at, 125. 
Sephardim, 239. 
Seraglio, Old, 103. 
Seymour, Admiral, 373. 
Shadouf, 331. 
Sir Rudolph Von Slatin Pasha, 

280. 



[403 1 



Index 



Smynia, 141; bazaars of, 143. 

Solomon, Temple of, aoa. 

Soudan, the, 374, 380. 

"Spots Where," 19s, 204. 

St. Elmo, Fort of, 6a. 

Stabile, 41. 

Stamboul, loi, 104, 107, 361. 

Stratford, Lord, 113. 

Suessola, 41. 

Suez Canal, J64, 373. 

Sultan Abdul Hamid, X19; 170. 

Sweet waters, 105, no. 

Syrian coast» 154, 324. 

Tel d-Kebir, Battle of, 373. 
Temple of Nike, 85; of Solcmion, 

902 ; Square, 173; Enclosure, 

203. 
Tewfik, 36S. 
Thebes, plain of, 314* 
Toledo, the, 19. 
TimeSf London, 333. 



"Tomb of Alexander," 104. 
Tombs of the Kings, 3x1, 31$. 
Tourist agencies, 45. 
Town-Dweller, The, 335. 
Tribunals, International Egyp- 
tian, 3^, 367, 368. 
Turkish money, 343; post-offioeii 

243- 

University of £1-Ashar« 285. 
Uriel, 186. 

Valetta, 61, 65, 67, 73. 
Vesuvius, 39, 41 ; fumcular nil- 
way on, 42, 47; crater of, 50. 

Water from the Jordan, 2x5. 
Wilson, Mr. Rivexs, 366. 
Wolsely, Lord, 377. 

Yildez, XX9. 
Yusef, Ali, 333. 



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