UC-NRLF 
 
 $B ETO fiSS 
 
 mm 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
DOWN THE STREAM 
 OF CIVILIZATION 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/downstreamofciviOOdonirich 
 
DOWN THE STREAM 
 OF CIVILIZATION 
 
 BY 
 
 WORDSWORTH DONISTHORPE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "INDIVIDUALISM," "LAW IN A FREE STATE' 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 With One Hundred and Eight Illustrations 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED 
 
 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND 
 
 1898 
 

 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Com. . 
 
 The Commodore of the S.Y. "Maria 
 
 Len . 
 
 . Hon. Sec. of the B.Y.C. 
 
 Jus 
 
 A Literary Failure 
 
 Clare 
 
 A Young 'Varsity Man 
 
 Cassius 
 
 . A Rich Banker 
 
 Orlando . 
 
 A Wily Warrior 
 
 RiT . 
 
 . The Legal Luminary 
 
 Jacko . 
 
 . A Midshipmite 
 
 w>Ra9.^^R 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. In the Bay of Biscay, O i 
 
 11. The Riviera 23 
 
 III. Napoleon's Nursery . . . *. . . 47 
 
 IV. "What of the Ships, O Carthage?" , . 56 
 V. The Knights of Malta 80 
 
 VI. Papyrus Land 93 
 
 VII. The Pyramid Builders 121 
 
 VIII. Temple and Tomb ...... 149 
 
 IX. Islam . . 180 
 
 X. Turkish Welcome at Joppa .... 196 
 
 XI. The Stronghold of Zion 221 
 
 XII. The Jewel of Constantine . . . . 260 
 
 XIII. Athens 271 
 
 XIV. The Voice of Vesuvius 296 
 
 XV. The Eternal City 309 
 
 XVI. Homeward 323 
 
X 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Sfeam Yacht "Maria" . . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 The only Passenger on Board ....... 4 
 
 Le Chateau d'lf . . 24 
 
 With Apologies to the French Navy 27 
 
 Loafing about Cannes 30 
 
 Pro Rege, lege Grege ! . 31 
 
 A Cafe in Monte Carlo 33 
 
 Virtue its own Reward 36 
 
 Mentone from Italian Side 38 
 
 Flowering A loes . . . . . ' • . , . • . 39 
 
 A peep in La Turbie . . 4J 
 
 Foutitain in La Turbie . .- .• . . . 42 
 
 View from Corniche Road . 43 
 
 "Not half a bad Corner" 44 
 
 Monaco Bay 45 
 
 Napoleon's House . . 48 
 
 Vietv from the Bey's Palace .... • • 57 
 
 French Gunboat in El Bahira 60 
 
 The honest Merchant ........ 63 
 
 Cactus , , , 66 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Cathedral on the Ruins of Carthage . . . . . 67 
 
 To Saint Louis 70 
 
 Museum Garden 72 
 
 On the Horns of a Trilemma ...... 73 
 
 Arsenal Quay, Malta . . . . . . . . 83 
 
 She means to keep it 85 
 
 A more modern Weapon of War 89 
 
 Don Quixote . . .91 
 
 Some big Holes 96 
 
 Policeman Pompey's Pillar 97 
 
 Lord Cromer calls on the Gaekwar ..... 103 
 
 Khedive's Palace at Alexandtia ...... 105 
 
 Selim Gazziri . . . . . . . . .108 
 
 A young Nubian . .111 
 
 A Funeral . . . . ■ . . . . . .112 
 
 Marching past Shepheard's Hotel 114 
 
 The " Nitocris " . . . 122 
 
 Sailing down 125 
 
 The oldest Building in the World 129 
 
 Ninety years in the Desert 131 
 
 The Triumph of Mind over Matter 134 
 
 The great "City" of Memphis! 137 
 
 An island Home 141 
 
 Singing "Daisy Bell" 144 
 
 HuP 145 
 
 Children of the 200th Generation 147 
 
 Ibrahim Pasha 151 
 
 Pastoral Scene at Beni-Hasan 152 
 
 The Composer 15,5 
 
 The Man at the Wheel .... . . 157 
 
 xii 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 Mahomedan Cemetery 
 
 Asyut Market-place 
 
 Shopping in Asyut 
 
 Bedouins at Qeneh 
 
 Bedouins at Home 
 
 Cleopatra 
 
 " Rather like a broken-down Cotton Factory 
 
 Cambyses beheads the Statues 
 
 Hatshepsefs Obelisk at Karnac 
 
 Tombs of the Kings 
 
 In the Tomb of " The Rosy Belle 
 
 Pylon at Luxor . 
 
 True Arabs are scrupulously clean 
 
 Ploughing . 
 
 Ships of the Desert 
 
 Cargo of Water-jars 
 
 Arab Hut . 
 
 Mosque at Asyut 
 
 A Child of the Desert . 
 
 Village on the Bank . 
 
 The Desert as it really is 
 
 At PhilcB . 
 
 " Ver good Donkey. I am your Friend ' 
 
 Shooting the Cataract 
 
 Entrance to Cataract 
 
 Aswan 
 
 Edfu from the Ply on 
 
 Kom-Omho . 
 
 Kom-Ombo . 
 
 Poem, Goddess, and Chocolate Cream ! 
 
 xiii 
 
 PAGE 
 161 
 
 165 
 166 
 167 
 168 
 169 
 170 
 171 
 
 181 
 
 185 
 
 . 188 
 
 189 
 
 193 
 194 
 197 
 198 
 199 
 200 
 201 
 202 
 
 204 
 205 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Convicts at Aswan 207 
 
 Ancient Memories 208 
 
 jfoppa 211 
 
 Street in Jerusalem 223 
 
 Colonnade on the Platform 227 
 
 Dome of the Rock 231 
 
 The Rock 235 
 
 The "Tower of David" 239 
 
 The Jews' Wailing-place 243 
 
 Gethsemane 249 
 
 Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives 253 
 
 Gordon's Calvary 257 
 
 A Turkish Man-of-war 265 
 
 The Piraus 275 
 
 Temple of Theseus and Acropolis 281 
 
 The Erechtheum 283 
 
 Caryatides • 285 
 
 The Parthenon 287 
 
 The Areiopagus 289 
 
 Temple of Jupiter 292 
 
 In the Gulf of Corinth 294 
 
 A House in Pompeii 299 
 
 Vesuvius from Pompeii 303 
 
 Daughters of Rea Silvia ^ 311 
 
 The Vatican Gardens 317 
 
 Galileo's Post of Vantage 325 
 
 Mentone from the Sea 327 
 
 The last Committee Meeting 329 
 
 XIV 
 
 
DOWN THE STREAM OF 
 CIVILIZATION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN THE BAY OF BISCAY. O 
 
 " Do you know I have been thinking it wouldn't be a 
 bad idea just to sail quietly down the stream of civiliza- 
 tion," said the Com., poking the fire, as it were to cast 
 a ruddier gleam on the pictures in his mind's eye. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " inquired the Literary Failure, 
 looking up from the chess-board on which he was 
 struggling with rather a nasty attack—" down the stream 
 of civilization? I suppose we are always doing that, 
 eh?" 
 
 "You don't quite follow me," continued the Com. 
 meditatively ; " what I mean is, why not let you and me 
 and a few more go off and have a peep at what is left of 
 the cradle of history in Egypt, and then slip over to 
 where the Hebrews carried on the work at Jerusalem, 
 and then run over to Athens and see for ourselves, at 
 first hand so to speak, what the Greeks made of it ; we 
 might drop in, on the way in or out, at Carthage or 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Tyre, and glance at the Plains of Troy, and then finish 
 up at Rome. After Rome, I suppose Paris and London 
 may be said to illustrate how the ball was kept rolling : 
 but we are pretty familiar with them." 
 
 "That is a heavy order," said the Literary Failure ; 
 'but if you are really serious it is a grand idea. How 
 do you propose to do it ? " 
 
 "Oh, to take it easy," replied the Cora., as though he 
 contemplated a stroll in Epping Forest. " Suppose we 
 join the yacht at Marseilles, and potter about the Riviera 
 for a week or ten days, and then cross over by Corsica 
 to Africa — say Tunis ; from there we might nip across to 
 Malta, and so on to Alexandria. The Maria could wait 
 for us there, or at Port Said, while we went to Cairo, 
 chartered a good dahabieh, and went up the Nile to the 
 first or second cataract and back ; after which we could 
 rejoin the yacht and steam across to Joppa for Jerusalem. 
 How would that do ? " 
 
 " Splendid, of course ; but " and Jus paused for 
 
 breath. For just as we speak of the mind's eye, so we 
 may speak of the mind's breath ; and, truth to tell, the 
 scheme, so suddenly sprung upon him, had taken his 
 breath away. " What about time ? " he continued. 
 
 " Well," said the Com., " the fact is, I mean to take a 
 holiday, and I fancy a look round would do me a lot of 
 good. I am not particular to a month or so — and you ? " 
 
 The Literary Failure smiled. " Oh, I am all right ; 
 I can easily spare the rest of my natural life for such a 
 trip^ as you call it; you know I belong to that much- 
 misrepresented class, the Unemployed ; but what about 
 the others ? Whom do you propose to ask ? " 
 
 " So far I have sounded Cassius — you know whom I 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 mean : the Devonshire banker — he is ready to come ; and 
 I don't think our friend, the Wily Warrior, will raise 
 insuperable objections ; then what about the Hon. Sec. ? 
 He is a good sort. And I will take my nephew Clare." 
 
 "Good," exclaimed the Literary Failure ; "we must 
 see the effect on the ' opening flower ' as the poet hath 
 it : you and I are getting into the fogey stage." 
 
 " Speak for yourself," retorted the Com., with the air 
 of one who was quite prepared to conduct an expedition 
 to the South Pole, "I am all right ;" and then, after a 
 pause, " I wonder whether the Legal Luminary could 
 find time to come." 
 
 " What tonnage is your yacht ? " asked Jus. 
 
 " Eight hundred and thirteen, and thirteen knots, but 
 she can do eighteen at a pinch." 
 
 " Rather large for a small party." 
 
 " All the more room," was the reply : " I like plenty of 
 elbow-room." 
 
 "Certainly, I hate a crowd: it is like a big com- 
 mittee : too much talking — divided counsels ; seven or 
 eight make a pleasant party." 
 
 And so it was settled. There was to be a banquet at 
 the club on October 22nd, and on the following day the 
 rendezvous was at Victoria Station at eleven in the fore- 
 noon. Meantime the yacht was sent round from South- 
 ampton to Marseilles with one passenger on board, 
 named Jacko. How it came about that the party was 
 so small, so extremely small at starting (for Jacko stood 
 only one foot six in his stockings), was due to a chapter 
 of accidents. It happened in this wise. On the night 
 of the banquet it became manifest that, although the 
 eight members of the party (eight counting Jacko) 
 
 3 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 differed in opinion on many points, political, religious, 
 scientific, and artistic, as parties of eight always do if 
 they have any grit in them, yet on one point they were 
 
 THE ONLY PASSENGER ON BOARD 
 
 unanimous : they aril longed to go round by the Bay of 
 Biscay. 
 
 Said the Legal Luminary, "There is nothing I should 
 enjoy more, but unfortunately I have some very im- 
 portant business in Paris ; so I must kill two birds with 
 one stone, and join the yacht at Marseilles." 
 
 " Ah," said the Wily Warrior, " there is nothing equal 
 4 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 to it ; but you see I have done it once, when I was in- 
 valided home from Egypt, after bleeding for my Queen 
 and country, and, as I have never seen Lyons, I think I 
 will go overland, just for a change." 
 
 " To cross the Bay of Biscay in a good yacht has been 
 the dream of my life," said the Literary Failure," especially 
 about the end of October, but really I have such a lot of 
 things to settle up before leaving home that I shall 
 never be able to reach Southampton in time to start. 
 It is a great nuisance, but there is no help for it." 
 
 " I had quite decided to go by the Bay," said the 
 'Varsity Man mournfully, " but my aunt is such an awful 
 funk : she- firmly believes that nine persons are drowned 
 out of every ten who cross the Bay of Biscay ; and she 
 made me swear I would join at Marseilles : it's fearful 
 rot, but what is a fellow to do ? " 
 
 " How I envy you fellows ! " said the Rich Banker. 
 "You can take as much time as you like, but my 
 time is limited; and I think it is my duty to take 
 it out at the other end — that is to say, in Egypt — rather 
 than at the beginning, even though I have to miss that 
 glorious cruise in the Atlantic." 
 
 "Well, of course," said the Com., "if you are all 
 determined to go overland, I suppose I must do so 
 too. You know what those fellows are. They will 
 be so much more free and easy by themselves that 
 it seems a pity to put them on pipe-clay for the sake 
 of one. But there is nothing like the Bay, so long as 
 you keep a stiff upper lip." 
 
 So we all went to Paris, and the Maria went round 
 by the Bay with the crew and Jacko. Nothing eventful 
 occurred at Victoria, except that the Wily One encountered 
 
 5 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 a fellow he had not met for fifteen years. We afterwards 
 discovered that he did this at every place we stopped at, 
 not only in Europe, but in the hills of Judaea and in the 
 Libyan Desert. 
 
 "Most 'strornary thing I ever knew in my Hfe," he 
 said, " meetin' that man. Would you believe it, I have 
 never seen him since I left Llanwyddlanelliponty- 
 fechan." 
 
 " It seems to me," said the Hon. Sec, " it would have 
 been still more extraordinary if you had not seen him, 
 considering you were both struggling to take tickets at 
 the same booking-office at the same moment." That is 
 what I do not like about the Hon. Sec. — he always throws 
 cold water upon one's bubbles of enthusiasm. It is not 
 right. 
 
 I forget the precise moment at which the train got 
 under way — as Cassius expressed it — but as all the 
 others have it down, I must refer the reader to them. 
 I have got a watch. Make no mistake about that. It 
 is only a silver one, but it keeps time — within reason. 
 Otherwise how could I keep a regulation narrative of 
 this voyage ? You all know how to do it : " Up at 6.15 ; 
 breakfast at 8; arrive at Stick-in-the-mud at 11.27; go 
 ashore; back at 6.20 for dinner at 7.0; bed at 10.30." 
 
 This, which I regard as the highest order of traveller's 
 journal, is one to which, I cannot aspire, because, as I 
 have said, my watch is only a silver one. But other 
 members of our party kept proper journals, like the 
 above, and they will be published in due course. 
 
 Again, a watch is absolutely necessary if you wish 
 to take part in the wrangle which invariably develops 
 whenever you arrive at or depart from a place. 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, 
 
 " Moving at last," quoth the Rich Banker. " Eleven- 
 three ; that is three minutes late." 
 
 "Excuse me," said the Hon. Sec, "I make it 11.2, 
 and I set my watch by Greenwich yesterday. What do 
 you say, Com. ? " 
 
 The Com. carefully examined his timepiece, and ex- 
 pressed an opinion at variance with both ; and at the 
 end of ten minutes' debate all three disputants fell 
 asleep, while their watches went on ticking angrily in 
 their pockets till Rochester was reached. This place 
 was rendered memorable by being the first at which 
 the Wily Warrior told us the cemetery story. It is a 
 capital yarn, and we all laughed. He told it again in 
 the Bois de Boulogne, and several of us laughed. And 
 then, after leaving Toulon, he told it a third time and 
 laughed heartily. But he never told it after that, which 
 is a pity, for it is a good story. We reached Dover 
 precisely thirty-seven seconds after the moment predicted 
 by the punctilious Bradshaw. So I believe, but the Com. 
 said thirty-nine. 
 
 " You will be good enough to observe," he continued 
 severely, "that my watch is of gold, eighteen, if not 
 nineteen, carats fine, whereas yours is apparently of 
 pewter, and certainly never passed the sixth standard." 
 
 "What does it matter?" the Hon. Sec. interposed; 
 " we are in plenty of time to catch the boat, anyhow." 
 But the Hon. Sec. is un homme serieux. 
 
 Sir Edward Watkin's tunnel having been nipped in 
 the bud by trembling Englishmen fearful of a French 
 invasion, and there being no regular balloon service 
 across the Channel at present, we were constrained to 
 make the passage by water. Fortunately we are all 
 
 7 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 excellent sailors. Our party was broken up, and at 
 one time we feared the boat would suffer a like fate; 
 but it managed to hold out as far as Calais. The Legal 
 Luminary took up a strong position amidships, and 
 seemed absorbed in introspection. Like little Mary, 
 "he had his little porringer," but, unlike her, "he eat 
 no supper there." There are times when the carnal 
 indulgence of eating is repugnant to the contemplative 
 mind of poet and philosopher. The Rich Banker was 
 everywhere. With his yachting cap cocked jauntily on 
 one side, and with a complexion which seemed to 
 borrow a pale green hue from the reflection of the 
 waves, he lurched about in search of his sea-legs, 
 whistling "Tom Bowling," to the intense envy and 
 admiration of the 'Varsity Man, who stood ankle-deep 
 in a puddle of salt water without apparently being 
 conscious of it. The Com. was forward, playing his 
 accustomed role of figure-head and drinking in the briny 
 breeze; while the Hon. Sec. and the Literary Failure 
 took root-hold near the stern of the vessel — which the 
 reader will be good enough to pronounce " starn " w^hen 
 reading aloud. For three parts of the journey they 
 exchanged congratulations on their respective possession 
 of cast-iron stomachs ; they chaffed the 'Varsity Man ; 
 they wondered what had become of the Wily Warrior ; 
 they glanced at the Legal ^Luminary and winked signifi- 
 cantly. But at length silence supervened ; the Hon. Sec. 
 ducked mysteriously under a rope on to forbidden ground. 
 
 " Come out of that ! " cried a red-faced sailor, and 
 the Hon. Sec. came out. 
 
 "What were you trying to do?" asked the Literary 
 Failure with a limp smile. 
 
 8 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 *' Nothing," faltered the Hon. Sec, and the conversa- 
 tion flagged again. 
 
 We were, of course, all sorry to reach Calais. English 
 people do not as a rule drink brandy with their lunch : 
 but when in Rome, do as Rome does. Now the people 
 of Calais — or at any rate a majority of those in the 
 Calais refreshment room — do drink brandy with their 
 lunch, and so, not to be eccentric, we did the same. 
 After the customary wrangle about luggage, which I 
 mention merely in order to drag in the Com.'s pun, we 
 started for Paris punctually at — well, we started for Paris. 
 The " exact time " debate was already beginning to pall, 
 so the conversation took the form, the usual form, of 
 capping each other's recollections of dodging the douane. 
 One man had smuggled ten pounds of honeydew into 
 France by the artful device of stuffing it into an un- 
 locked hatbox and losing the key of a suspicious-looking 
 bag. Naturally the bufifle-headed prepose declined to ex- 
 amine any of his baggage except the bag of the lost key. 
 This being found, after an exhaustive search, the tobacco 
 romped in triumphantly. Another had successfully pi'oted 
 a hamper from Cologne to Charing Cross, containing 
 eight soda-water bottles, one of which was open and 
 half full of soda water, while the remaining seven were 
 well wired down and full of eau-de-cologne. After these 
 stories had reached the point at which nobody believed 
 a word of them, as they always do— the Legal Luminary 
 trotted up his little lot. He had never done anything 
 very brilliant in that line himself, he said, but a friend of 
 his once did a smart thing. This gave the smuggling 
 yarn a new lease of life ; until the nefarious, albeit thrill- 
 ing adventures of friends, cousins, and aunts had also 
 
 9 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 reached saturation-point. Finally, even the friends 
 dropped out, the reflected glory of knowing the hero 
 was cast to the winds, and-all the old smuggling chestnuts 
 ; rolled down the slippery hour, till the Com. suggested 
 poker as an agreeable change. Poker, with the assist- 
 ance of cold chickens, claret, and big pears, lasted till the 
 straggling lights of the outskirts of Paris increased in 
 number and intensity and the " Gare du Nord Station " 
 (as Rit pointed out) could not be far off. 
 
 As luck would have it, we all lost at poker. Some say 
 this cannot be, but I have observed it on so many occa- 
 sions that I feel bound to admit the force of the old 
 saying, "One ounce of fact is worth a ton of theory." 
 Another pleasing feature of this game is the witticisms to 
 which it gives rise. For example, the Wily One per- 
 sisted in addressing the Rich Banker and the Hon. Sec. 
 as Bryant and May, and they retorted by calling him 
 Griffith, Of course, everybody roared at these sallies ; 
 but I have never been able to fathom them. The 
 Literary Failure was of opinion that beggar-my-neigh- 
 bour and old-maid are in some respects more satis- 
 factory games than poker. " Anyhow," said he, "I 
 should have been more lucratively employed sowing 
 corks on the seashore." This gentleman was always 
 asking why the game is called poker. One day in the 
 hall of Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo (if I may be allowed 
 to "get afore my tale") he endeavoured to obtain an 
 answer to this question from an American, who looked 
 as though he might know. 
 
 *' I believe," said he, " that poker is a game which is a 
 good deal played in America ? " 
 
 " Some," was the laconic reply. 
 
 lO 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 " In that case, perhaps you can tell me why poker is 
 called poker ? " 
 
 " What ails you, sir ? " answered the Yankee. " If you 
 are trying to get your latest off on me, I'm not dealing." 
 
 " Of course not ; that is obvious," persisted his inter- 
 locutor. "I am not inviting you to play, but merely 
 asking whether you can assign a reason for the jiame." 
 
 "Why," came the answer in crescendo tones, " why 
 is cricket called cricket ? Why are cocktails called cock- 
 tails? Why is anything called anything ? I recommend 
 you to consult a doctor, sir." 
 
 And he did ; but the doctor could not tell, because he 
 did not know. 
 
 Of course we drove off at once to the Hotel de 
 I'Athenee. When I say " of course," I mean that there 
 were no reasons why we should not, and several reasons 
 why we should. To begin with, it is as unlike the 
 monster hotels of London and New York as a lady's 
 boudoir is unlike the waiting-room at a railway station. 
 You are known, not by your number, but by your name. 
 Again (and, as I expect to be read by more millions of 
 English than of foreign readers, perhaps I should have 
 put this first) the cuisine is the best in Paris ; the wines 
 are excellent, and even the cigars are good. But to me 
 the chief charm of the hotel is the absence of all furniture 
 and fittings of the railway-director type — no mammoth 
 scagliola columns ; no Brobdingnagian chimney-pieces ; 
 no Cyclopean clocks, like the sarcophagi in the Sera- 
 peum. My own bedroom, with its drapery of heliotrope 
 and glaucus-blue cunningly blended, and its air of re- 
 finement and repose, was in itself a work of art — com- 
 plete without fussiness. The previous night I had slept, 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 or tried to sleep, at one of the billionaire barracks in 
 Northumberland Avenue. There, my bedroom had been 
 "undertaken" by a contractor. The barren acres of 
 hideously papered walls were rendered still more oppres- 
 sively bare by a couple of crude chromos over the wash- 
 stand and mantel-shelf. The latter funereal structure 
 was relieved by a pair of cast-iron vases and a composite 
 match-box and ash-tray of sham bronze. On the dress- 
 ing-table was an elegant assortment of illuminated cards 
 in brilliant colours and variegated type, setting forth the 
 virtues of the wares in the neighbouring shops. The 
 rooms on each side of me differed from mine only in 
 having another number on the door. I need hardly say 
 that the change from the English to the P'rench hotel 
 did not greatly stimulate my insular pride. 
 
 I have said that it was our intention to pass through 
 Paris on our way to Marseilles : but what need was there 
 for hurry ? 
 
 " Why hustle ourselves ? " asked the Hon. Sec, with 
 the air of a man who does not fear contradiction. 
 
 " Ah ! why ? " chimed in Rit and the Wily One in 
 chorus. The Rich Banker smiled. 
 
 "Upon my word," said the Com., as though a new 
 light had broken in upon his soul, " now that we are here, 
 we may as well have a look round for a day or two. 
 The Maria will want some doing to, and then there is 
 the coaling. Of course the Bay would have been 
 my " 
 
 "Of course, of course," echoed every man of the 
 party. 
 
 " Still," added the Literary Failure, " we are not bound 
 to break our necks just because we are not yet drowned." 
 
 12 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 And so it was settled, and the next four days were spent 
 in Paris. 
 
 Meanwhile the Maria encountered some very foul 
 weather in the Channel and in the Bay ; and what the 
 solitary passenger, Jacko, must have suffered will never 
 be known. By the time he arrived at Marseilles he had 
 forgotten all about it, or at all events he never referred to 
 it. Perhaps he was a little bit ashamed. 
 
 What we did in those days forms no part of this 
 treatise, which, as we know, is of a strictly scientific 
 nature. What we left undone is better worth mention. 
 We visited no tombs, churches, picture galleries, nor 
 catacombs — not even the dear old Morgue. We did not 
 attend the race meeting at Chantilly, neither did we 
 ascend the Eiffel Tower. In short, we did just what 
 other people do when they do not happen to be British 
 tourists. 
 
 There were two exceptions to this rule. The 'Varsity 
 Man went to the Musee Grevin, and came back with a 
 fixed conviction that the murderer's lot is an unenviable 
 one. He registered a solemn vow never to tread the 
 downward path, and, what is more, he kept it — for days, 
 if not for weeks. 
 
 Then the Wily One had never visited the last resting- 
 place of his brother warrior. Napoleon the Great ! He 
 therefore inveigled the Literary Failure into a pilgrimage 
 to the Hotel des Invalides. From him, and from an 
 ancient veteran who sits at the door of Ihe tomb, he 
 learned much that may be of great use to him in after 
 life — all about the French Revolution and the Napoleonic 
 wars ; all about St. Helena and the depth of the Atlantic 
 Ocean ; all about embalming the dead, and how it was 
 13 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 done by the early Egyptians (he afterwards bought a 
 mummy of his own), and all about the strained relations 
 presently subsisting between England and France in the 
 matter of modern Egypt. On all these matters Jus told 
 him all he knew and a great deal more. The veteran at 
 the door told him the precise weight of the said door. 
 I think it was 2300 kilogrammes. The Warrior was a 
 bit staggered at this. "Dear, dear," he said, "that 
 must be tremendously heavy; by the way, what is a 
 kilogramme? " "Half a ton," answered his companion 
 promptly in English, and the veteran did not contradict. 
 That door will be heard of in Wales. 
 
 Once upon a time three soldiers were walking 
 together. "We always dine at eight," remarked the 
 Hussar languidly. " Do you really ? " drawled the 
 Guardsman, drawing himself up to his full height; 
 " we never dine before nine." " Haw, demmy," said 
 the militiaman, not to be beaten, "?£/<? never dine at 
 all, don't you know." This venerable wheeze reminds 
 me that we had all contracted a habit in our mother 
 country of dining somewhere every evening; and 
 as each one of us knew where to go better than 
 any other member of the party, the result was that we 
 never dined twice in the same place. It was on 
 October 25 that the Com. invited us all to dine at 
 Joseph's, or, more accurately, at the Restaurant de 
 Marivaux. We had just sat out a billiard-match at 
 Vigneaux', who seemed to be in training for the post 
 of stoker in some future state of existence; and we 
 had also spent a mauvais quart d'heiire in that compound 
 of Babel and Pandemonium called the Paris Bourse ; 
 and consequently were in a humour to appreciate both 
 14 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 cooling streams and also the sweet silent sigh of music 
 far away — 
 
 " Music which gentlier on the spirit Hes 
 Than tired eyeHds upon tired eyes." 
 
 After the best dinner conceivable — in my opinion, 
 and, indeed, in "all of our opinion" — we heard pleasing 
 strains issuing from an adjoining room. It turned out 
 to be a select company of instrumentalists from the 
 Conservatoire retained to entertain a party of his friends 
 by Prince Henri d'Orleans. The Prince was good 
 enough to allow them to come in and play to us. 
 They were all arrayed in the costume of the Louis 
 Quinze period ; and it would be impossible to over-praise 
 the skill, taste, and feeling of the performers. Although 
 music all through dinner is apt to distract the conver- 
 sation — and, after all, as Cicero observed, the main object 
 of a feast is, or should be, convivium non concoe?iatio—^ 
 yet nothing is more sensuously delightful than a blend 
 of perfect music, excellent wine, and (forgive me, my 
 port-sipping friend) a good cigar, immediately after 
 dinner, provided always that somebody else pays for 
 them. 
 
 It was a happy accident that furnished us with such a 
 blend. When the repast was over, M. Joseph, as usual, 
 presented himself, and expressed a hope that his labours 
 had not been in vain. 
 
 "Ah," said the Com., "there is no cook like a French 
 cook." 
 
 "Except an English one," added Joseph urbanely, 
 with a bow. 
 
 " Not in it," protested the Warrior, and the sentiment 
 was endorsed by all. Joseph's eye twinkled. 
 15 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 "As for myself," he remarked slowly, "I had the 
 honour to be born in Birmingham ! " 
 
 " That's a bit of a knock-out," said Orlando. There 
 is a report that at one time M. Joseph was permanently 
 retained at a very large salary by an American million- 
 aire; but one day his patron went so far as to add a 
 pinch of pepper to the soup. This was more than our 
 artist could bear. He broke off the engagement, and 
 returned to his beloved France, where people thoroughly 
 understand that the precise quantity of pepper added to 
 soup by M. Joseph is the correct quantity. And so it is. 
 Meissonier once accepted an American offer for one of 
 his masterpieces on condition that he would add a foot 
 or two to his canvas and paint in a bigger crowd. But 
 some artists are more accommodating than others, and 
 I am disposed to agree with Joseph. Oh that divine 
 duck! 
 
 "Oh, memory, fond memory," sang Cassius long after- 
 wards between his sips of Burgundy, " when all things 
 fail, I fly-y-y-y-y to thee ! " 
 
 If I thought that any one of my readers was a gourmet 
 I would append the menu ; but anyhow, when next he 
 has occasion to run over to Paris (of course strictly on 
 business) let him hie him to Joseph's, and order the 
 identical dinner that we had.* He can take this Tome 
 with him, as a guarantee of good faith, and if he is not 
 satisfied with the dinner and himself and all mankind, I 
 will undertake to send him a copy of my work on 
 " Esoteric Therapeutics." 
 
 Prince Henry's duel with the Count of Turin was then 
 
 * Since this was written, M. Joseph has introduced the Art of 
 Cookery into the adjoining island of Great Britain. 
 i6 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 fresh in the public mind, and it was significant to con- 
 trast the languid and even contemptuous tone adopted 
 by his countrymen towards their self-appointed champion 
 with the enthusiastic interest taken in the encounter by 
 all classes of Italians. 
 
 Some months later we had an opportunity of making 
 the comparison, when the Count arrived at Naples during 
 our stay there. He had just received promotion, and 
 was the hero of the hour. One Italian gentleman went 
 so far as to exclaim, " If the Frenchman had been 
 victorious, it was all up with Italy ; " — a sentiment worthy 
 of the days of Ivanhoe. 
 
 On the following day came the first wrench in a cruise 
 of vicissitudes. Circumstances over which he had no 
 control required the immediate return of the Legal 
 Luminary to England. 
 
 " Lives of great men all remind us we may make our lives 
 sublime, 
 And departing leave behind us footprints." 
 
 Having no spare footprints about him, he reluctantly 
 surrendered into the hands of the Literary Failure his 
 Portfolio of Law. In short, Rit's recall occasioned a 
 partial reconstruction of our Cabinet. And this seems 
 to be the proper place in which to explain the real nature 
 of our enterprise and the division of the labour which it 
 entailed. The Com. was told off to inquire into the 
 Industrial Organisation of the various countries to be 
 visited — both Ancient and Modern. The Wily Warrior 
 undertook their Military Organisation. The Rich Banker, 
 of course, occupied himself with their Financial position. 
 The Legal Luminary was entrusted with the analysis and 
 17 B 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 classification of the Laws of All Nations, from those of 
 Mena to those of the Principality of Monaco. The Hon. 
 See's Portfolio was that of Art, for which purpose he had 
 armed himself with a photographic camera of no mean 
 order, afterwards known as Len's lens. The 'Varsity Man 
 was retained to report on the state of Sport in Memphis, 
 Jerusalem, Carthage, and other sporting centres. While 
 naturally to the Literary Failure fell the province of 
 Literature and the Drama. It would be invidious to 
 forestall the publication of the voluminous and interesting 
 Reports of this representative Commission ; but I may be 
 permitted to remark that our Minister of Sport found 
 traces of golf balls in the Mountains of Judaea, and what 
 he believes to be the remains of an extinct tennis racquet 
 at Pompeii ; while the Minister of Art took an excellent 
 photograph of Menephtha as he appeared before his little 
 accident in the Red Sea, and another as he appeared after 
 that disaster. However, as I have said, it fell to the lot 
 of the Literary Failure to combine the Portfolios of Law 
 and Literature ; for the former of which he was held to 
 be qualified by having at some remote period been called 
 to the Bar, or something of that kind. At any rate there 
 was a tradition to that effect. So the Legal Luminary 
 departed. "Adieu," he said. '■'■ Comme ca vaV and 
 then, in broken accents, " mais n'importe" And before 
 we had time to hunt out suitable responses in "The 
 Traveller's Manual of Conversation " he was gone. We 
 brushed away five tears, and hastened to the Folies 
 Bergeres in search of distraction. 
 
 Next day we had to catch the early train to Marseilles. 
 Catch the train ! What a flood of turgid memories the 
 phrase revives! Society may be divided into three 
 i8 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 genera, distinguished by their mode of catching the 
 train. Regard well that elderly lady, whose carriage was 
 ^ at the door a full hour before the time deemed necessary 
 by her coachman. After a sleepless night, and many 
 columns of anxious converse with her maid, she reaches 
 the station in ample time, but hardly in a fit temper, to 
 read through "Paradise Lost" before the train is due. 
 She devotes the agonising interval to comparing her own 
 watch with the station clock; to making barren pilgrimages 
 to the unopened booking office ; to interrogating sundry 
 porters, a stray postman and a uniformed volunteer as to 
 the platform on which she should stand ; and to counting 
 and recounting her heterogeneous packages. At length, 
 the tickets having been taken, the change counted and 
 returned to the purse, an inventory of her goods and 
 chattels made and certified by the obliging porter and 
 weary maid, for the twentieth time, and her place in the 
 still empty first-class compartment secured, she sinks 
 back into the cushioned seat ten minutes before the 
 train starts, with a deep sense of relief which lasts inter- 
 mittently till within half an hour of her destination. 
 Then the curtain rises on Act II. of what is really and 
 truly a harrowing drama. Dear Lady Reader, have you 
 ever been one of the dramatis persofia. in such a tragedy ? 
 If so, take your pen and sit down quickly and send the 
 present writer a postcard testifying to the fidelity of his 
 picture. You have no idea how a little kind apprecia- 
 tion encourages a struggling author. By the way, if you 
 think it will run to a proper letter with a penny stamp on 
 it, you might address it "Care of Publisher " ; and you 
 might enclose an order for a few copies of this WORK. 
 But don't mind me. . . . However, to wake up from 
 19 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 this dream of sympathy, Genus Two of those who catch 
 the train is well represented by the City Man, who, with 
 shiny hat and unruffled expression, saunters up the plat- 
 form as the minute hand is on the point of time, and 
 steps into the moving train with a pleasant nod to the 
 porter, and the air of one who takes his seat on a garden- 
 chair because he thinks he will, and for no other reason 
 whatever. By the time the train is well out of the 
 station and the old lady's heart has almost ceased to 
 palpitate, he has read through the best part of the latest 
 telegrams. 
 
 Our party belongs to the third Genus of those who 
 catch the train. It is by far the most objectionable. 
 Hence it was that at a quarter to ten of that eventful 
 morning, in the peaceful hall of the Athenee, the Rich 
 Banker might have been heard casually asking the Hon. 
 Sec. whether perhaps we had not better be thinking of 
 starting. " What time is the train due ? " drawled that 
 gentleman, cutting off the end of a cigar. 
 
 " Messieurs," interjected the hall-porter anxiously, 
 "the carriages are waiting." 
 
 Then the Manager came forward, watch in hand. 
 "There is no time to spare," said he, "if you mean to 
 catch the lo.io." The fat was now in the fire : serenity 
 was suddenly transformed into panic. 
 
 " Where's the Com. ? " roared Cassius. 
 
 "That Warrior is always late," muttered the Hon. 
 Sec. : " I wonder what the deuce he is doing." The 
 cockers took fright and waved their arms, and even the 
 street boys outside seemed to catch the alarm fever. 
 Waiters swarmed like bees. Bags, portmanteaus, rugs, 
 porters, and men in miscellaneous uniforms and caps 
 
In the Bay of Biscay, O 
 
 whirled about like leaves in a maelstrom. The staircase 
 resembled Jacob's ladder. The hope of the whole 
 human race appeared to hang upon our catching the 
 train. The very visitors caught the Zeitgeist. Each 
 asked his neighbour the cause of the commotion, and 
 one nervous lady inquired whether the Revolution had 
 again broken out. 
 
 "What's the French for 'I can't find a damned 
 thing'?" shouted the Warrior from over the ban- 
 nisters. 
 
 " Tutto e sciolto^^ responded the Banker in a ringing 
 tenor. And the Warrior's voice was heard echoing along 
 the corridors, ''''Tutto e sciolto ; .where, on earth is my 
 hatbox? Confound it ! tutto e scioltoJ^ And the nervous 
 lady's worst fears were confirmed. 
 
 At last the Com. appeared, hot and red. And five 
 seconds later the 'Varsity Man strolled into the hall 
 with an expression of surprise at the din and hubbub. 
 But those five seconds cost him dear. The others had 
 already assembled, and the pent-up impatience of all 
 burst forth upon him — more especially of those who had 
 only just preceded him. He afterwards became imper- 
 vious to imprecations consequent on his being the last, 
 but at that time he felt it bitterly. Unfortunately he 
 began to argue. Never argue. It was and always is 
 fatal. Even the gentle Cassius rounded on him furiously : 
 "If we are late," he said, "as we are sure to be, it will 
 be all your fault." But we were not late — that is to say, 
 we were late by the clock ; but, having secured a saloon 
 carriage in advance, we and our baggage were swept into 
 it on the billows of a Erench tempest, to which the com- 
 motion at the hotel was but as a storm in a teacup. 
 
 21 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Having recovered our breath and lighted cigars, we all 
 became abnormally good-humoured, and even the in- 
 famous 'Varsity Man was quite popular. Such is the 
 third, last, and worst mode of catching the train. 
 
 Nothing eventful occurred on the journey, except that 
 the Wily One encountered a man on the platform at 
 Lyons whom he had not met for fifteen years. 
 
 " Dear, dear," said he, " it's the funniest thing I ever 
 knew in my life. Would you believe it ? That fellow's 
 name is Williams. He was born within twenty miles of 
 my own home at " 
 
 " Never mind the name of it," interposed the Hon. 
 Sec. 
 
 "Originally he was intended for the Church," con- 
 tinued the Warrior, disregarding the interruption, " but 
 he got into a mess at Oxford, and had to clear out of the 
 country ; and then he started journalism or somethin', 
 and now he is a most respectable man." 
 
 " Originally intended for the Church," the Hon. Sec. 
 repeated slowly, "but now a most respectable man. 
 Most extraordinary ! " 
 
 " Most ' strornary ! ' " echoed the Warrior. 
 
 Between Lyons and Valence we travelled on the 
 dining-car, and finally we reached Marseilles in plenty of 
 time to sup and sleep on board the Maria. (N.B. — The 
 name of the yacht is pronx)unced Mareea.) 
 
 22 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE RIVIERA 
 
 Marseilles is certainly one of the handsomest seaports 
 in the world. I am not going to furnish the reader 
 with a rehash of Murray, to whose useful handbooks I 
 gladly refer him. I merely wish to record my own per- 
 sonal surprise at the glorious colouring of the place. 
 The harbours, new and old, cover an area of about one 
 hundred and seventy acres, and the great jetty is two 
 miles long, very nearly. One is not compelled to admire 
 the huge cathedral on the quay, nor yet the clumsy 
 Hotel de Ville, in order to appreciate fully the whole 
 view, with the hill of Notre Dame dominating the town. 
 From where we lay in the steam-launch it resembled a 
 glittering white marble city in a setting of sapphire. 
 The 'Varsity Man was much attracted by the Chateau 
 d'lf, which stands on a small island apart. But then he 
 had probably read " Monte Cristo " more recently than 
 most of us. The Literary Failure made a few rambling 
 remarks about Mirabeau, who was locked up in that 
 formidable dungeon ; but Monte Cristo was clearly first 
 favourite. " The Palais de Longchamp is certainly the 
 finest building in Marseilles," we are told ; and it may be 
 so. The name recalls the race-course of that name near 
 23 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Paris. Last century, when Anglomania was at its height, 
 the " upper scum " (as our socialist friends call them) 
 used to picnic on the race-course in English fashion, 
 taking with them dainty hampers of wine and victuals. 
 
 LE CHATEAU D'lF 
 
 These came to be known as Longchamp baskets. They 
 are now known in England as luncheon baskets; and 
 the light meal between breakfast and dinner is shortened 
 down to lunch. Referring to this period, Carlyle says, 
 " Now, no man on a level with his age but will trot 
 a rAnglaise^ rising in his stirrups ; scornful of the old 
 sitfast method, in which, according to Shakespeare, 
 butter and eggs go to market. YXijokeis we have seen ; 
 24 
 
The Riviera 
 
 but see now real Yorkshire jockeys, and what they ride 
 on and train : English racers for French races. Prince 
 d'Artois also has his stud of racers. Prince d'Artois 
 has withal the strangest horse leech : a moonstruck, 
 much-enduring individual named Jean Paul Marat." 
 However, I digress. I have given the acreage of the 
 harbours round and about which we prowled in the 
 launch. But what is an acre ? Have any of us a very 
 clear idea of such a measure ? The best way to form 
 such an idea is to picture a small field, long enough for 
 a couple of football goals, and just wide enough for a 
 cricket-pitch. There are still thousands of such acres 
 dotted about over England. And it is a fact (note- 
 worthy perhaps) that the form of these old acres, and 
 notably of God's-Acre, gave the measure to the games. 
 A cricket-pitch is still exactly twenty-two yards long, or 
 one chain. After service, the parson used to pass into 
 the consecrated play-ground, and take part, according to 
 the weather, in football or cricket, on Sundays. John 
 Knox prided himself on his skill in the former sport. 
 And I am glad to see that a clergyman of San Francisco 
 has adopted the practice of concluding his sermon with a 
 challenge to his parishioners to a bout with the gloves. 
 But he will box with those only who have attended the 
 service. The innovation dates from the celebrated fight 
 between Corbett and Fitzsimons. On the church door 
 at Hurley is, or was, a notice requesting boating men to 
 attend service in their flannels. This sign of the times 
 is one which should be carefully watched ; but it has 
 nothing whatever to do with Marseilles : whence we pro- 
 ceeded to Toulon. 
 
 Here we were fortunate enough to fall in with the 
 25 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 greater part of the French Mediterranean squadron : and 
 a magnificent fleet it was. 
 
 " Don't do that," said the Com. anxiously to the 
 'Varsity Man, who was taking a Kodak-shot at one of 
 the ironclads; "for Heaven's sake, don't do that." It 
 transpired that the previous year, when he and one of 
 the naval constructors to the British Government were 
 cruising in the same neighbourhood, some one had 
 actually photographed a ship. This was more than the 
 French navy could stand, and the results were appalling. 
 I cannot just now remember how many of the party were 
 put in irons, but, at all events, the consequences were 
 such that the Com. sought to shun a repetition of them. 
 But the Banker and the Hon. Sec. were too many for the 
 French fleet. They had rigged up a camera at one of 
 our portholes in such a way as to resemble a Nordenfelt 
 quick-firing gun. It is a singular thing that, although the 
 French navy has no fear of any gun afloat, it has a 
 morbid dread of a camera. Personally, I would rather 
 be pointed at with a Kodak than a thirty-six pounder — 
 but there is no accounting for taste. So we got some 
 photographs, and good ones too. And we are still at 
 large, and far enough away from the Chateau d'If. I 
 will not record the Com.'s pun on the name of that 
 prison, because every one on board made it indepen- 
 dently at least three times on the way to Toulon ; and I 
 am getting tired of it. 
 
 On our left (my nautical friends will pardon the ex- 
 pression), as we enter Toulon Harbour, rise the heights 
 de Caire, from which scowls the Fort Napoleon. Alto- 
 gether this formidable naval port is horribly well fortified, 
 and Sir Sidney Smith would have his work set to repeat 
 26 
 
The Riviera 
 
 his little variation of a century ago. As it was, he had 
 better have let the place alone. But who could at that 
 time foresee that a young gentleman from Corsica was 
 coming to teach the English and all other fighting 
 peoples what not to do. When it became clear that 
 
 WITH APOLOGIES TO THE FRENCH NAVY 
 
 there was nothing for it but the retreat of the British 
 ships, their commander wisely determined to set fire to 
 the French fleet and arsenal. 
 
 "At eight a fireship was towed into the harbour : at ten 
 the torches were applied, and the flames arose in every 
 quarter. Notwithstanding the calmness of the night, the 
 fire spread with rapidity, and soon reached the fleet, 
 where in a short time fifteen ships of the line and eight 
 27 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 frigates were blown up or burnt to the water's edge. 
 The volumes of smoke which filled the sky, the flames 
 which burst as it were out of the sea and ascended to 
 the heavens, the red light which illuminated even the 
 most distant mountains, formed, says Bonaparte, a 
 subHme and unique spectacle." * 
 
 It would be difficult to find surroundings more 
 picturesquely adapted to so grand a conflagration. And 
 when we remember that this was Napoleon's first really 
 great exploit, one can form some idea of the effect of 
 such a scene on his mind : a wild admixture of awful 
 beauty and martial glory ! How different from the blood- 
 thirsty exultation of that Revolution fiend Freron, who 
 was sent to torture the fallen city for its defection. 
 Here is his own paean of triumph — the beast ! " Tout 
 va bien : j'ai requis douze mille magons pour demolir et 
 raser la ville : tous les jours je fais tomber deux cents 
 tetes : et deja huit cents Toulonnais ont ete fusilles " — 
 his own fellow countrymen ! One of them was an old 
 man of eighty-four, deaf and half blind, whose only crime 
 was his wealth. " When I beheld this old man executed," 
 said Napoleon, " I felt as if the end of the world was at 
 hand." Napoleon did his utmost to arrest the carnage, 
 but he was not then in supreme command. This was 
 our second point of contact with the story of that greatest 
 of all conquerors. The tjiird was at Ajaccio a few days 
 later. 
 
 Before leaving Toulon we wended our way in single 
 file through the market-place, a veritable remnant of 
 the old world, cheek by jowl with the latest products 
 
 * Alison's " History of Europe." 
 28 
 
The Riviera 
 
 of modern military civilization ! Amongst the miscel- 
 laneous cheap wares of the quaint mart, herrings^ bales 
 of calico and coloured cloths, ribbons, pots and pans, 
 slices of melon and pumpkin — I was surprised to see 
 hundreds and hundreds of robins and sparrows and 
 linnets, all laid out like pigeons and plovers at an English 
 poulterer's. I well remember when the agitation was 
 first set on foot in favour of a Wild Birds' Protection Act 
 that France was pointed to as the shocking example, 
 whose reckless destruction of what our children very 
 properly call " the dear little dicky-birds " had resulted 
 in their total extinction. I should be sorry to weaken 
 any argument in favour of our twittering little friends, 
 but I must say my own eyes did not strengthen that 
 argument. The fact is, people do not want to extermi- 
 nate the "dicky-birds"; and they may safely be left, 
 without State dragooning, to take care that their numbers 
 are kept within proper bounds, having regard to the crops, 
 without utterly destroying them. 
 
 We next proceeded to Cannes, but did not tarry there. 
 Time for a drive along the " West End " was all that we 
 could allow ourselves, as we were naturally anxious to 
 get over the ground and settle down to our great work. 
 There is an old saying attributed to Solomon or Shake- 
 speare — I forget which — "All work and no play makes 
 Jack a dull boy." This old saw may not be rime (never 
 write rhyme, like an ignorant pedant), but it is reason. 
 Therefore, although we savants set out with the deliberate 
 purpose of finding out whether (as the Wily Warrior put 
 it) the human race is of any use; and whether its 
 history is or is not merely " the tale of an idiot, full of 
 sound and fury, signifying nothing," nevertheless we 
 29 
 
Down the Stream ot Civilization 
 
 took none of the usual philosophical precautions against 
 enjoying ourselves. 
 
 We took our labours easily; we loafed about and 
 enjoyed the weather. We had a peep at the Chateau 
 Eleonore, built by Lord Brougham, the father of Cannes — 
 
 LOAFING ABOUT CAXXES 
 
 not of the little French fishing- village, but the fashionable 
 suburb of London. I well remember the old man 
 pottering about the garden, with his grand, rugged face, 
 and his check trousers four inches too short for his legs. 
 But I was a little boy then. Philosophers all begin life 
 as little boys. Even Socrates was a little boy once, 
 playing at marbles. "Now, Socks," his schoolfellows 
 would cry, "no fullocking." Shakespeare, too, was a 
 boy in his youth. Nature had endowed him with rare 
 30 
 
The Riviera 
 
 abilities, and his parents had given him a good education, 
 "//w/'^«^<?/'z£//^zV/^," as Sir Thomas Lucy is said to have 
 observed, " he went about stealing ducks." Says one of 
 his biographers, " He was much given to all unluckiness, 
 in stealing venison and rabbits, particularly from Sir 
 
 PRO REGE LEGE (JREGE ! 
 
 Lucy, who had him oft whipt, and sometimes imprisoned, 
 and at last made him fly his native county — to his great 
 advancement. But his revenge was so great that he is 
 his Justice Clodpate ; and calls him a great man, and 
 that, in allusion to his name, bore three lowses rampant 
 for his arms." This certainly was a great revenge, and 
 must have made " Sir Lucy " wish that he had never 
 been born. But, personally, I would rather be called 
 31 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Justice Clodpate than whipped and clapped into gaol. 
 It is all a question of temperament. I often wonder 
 what Mr. Herbert Spencer was like when he was a boy. 
 If his eye should chance to roam over these poor leaves, 
 he would be doing a real brotherly act to forward a 
 portrait of himself as he was — 
 
 " When he played 
 In his free field, and pastime made, 
 A merry boy in sun and shade. 
 A merry boy they called him then ; 
 He sat upon the knees of men, 
 In days that never come again." 
 
 Even Society itself was a boy once. In its youth, 
 when it lived at Rome, it could not reach much further 
 than Pompeii, whereas now, like an old octopus, it 
 stretches forth its tentacles from London as far as Monte 
 Carlo ; whither we repaired. Being unable to retrace 
 our steps in Time, we decided to move forward in 
 Space. Shall we never be able to glide back up the 
 stream of Time, and peep into the old home, and gaze 
 on the old faces ? Perhaps when the phonograph and 
 the kinesigraph are perfected, and some future worker has 
 solved the problem of colour-photography, our descen- 
 dants will be able to deceive themselves with something 
 very like it : but it will be but a barren husk, a soulless 
 phantasm and nothing more. " Oh, for the touch of a 
 vanished hand, and the sbund of a voice that is still ! " 
 
 The Wily Warrior declares that Monte Carlo is the 
 hub of the civilised world. The Literary Failure says 
 that it is the cesspool of the scum of civilisation. They 
 are both right, and both wrong. Anyhow, the place 
 itself is picturesque and gay. There are no rates or 
 
The Riviera 
 
 taxes to pay. Mark that, my poor, dear London rate- 
 payer ! The Merry Monarch of Monaco pays them all 
 out of his own pocket. And that pocket is plentifully 
 replenished, " under the Providence of the Devil," as the 
 sour old sage of Chelsea phrases it, by the Casino. And 
 
 A CAFE IN MONTE CARLO 
 
 where does the Casino get it all from ? you ask. Now 
 this is trifling. You are pushing your curiosity too far 
 back. You remind me of that stupid missionary who 
 wanted to know how the earth was kept from falling. 
 " It is supported by the Great Elephant of course," re- 
 plied the Indian. " And what supports the Elephant ? " 
 asked the missionary. " It stands upon the Great Tor- 
 33 c 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 toise," answered the Indian, with a pitying smile. " But 
 on what does the tortoise stand?" persisted the mis- 
 sionary. Then the Indian waxed wrath. What impious 
 probing into the secrets of the Unknowable ! I once 
 heard a diabolically inquisitive boy ask who made the 
 stars and everything. " God, my dear," replied his 
 mother solemnly. " And who made God ? " blurted out 
 the irrepressible urch'n. I felt quite uneasy. This was 
 clearly a manifestation of Original Sin. Take warning 
 by this, not to ask where the Casino gets the money. 
 
 We did not frequent the Casino for the purpose of 
 gambling — of course not. We merely wanted to study 
 the life, for the sake of science. Besides, nobody goes 
 there to gamble. They go to meet friends who happen 
 to be there. When you are there, hang it all ! you may 
 as well put a bit on, don't you know? Just to see what 
 will happen. True, the Wily One plunged a little ; but 
 that was doubtless for psychological reasons. He wanted 
 to know at first hand what the gambler feels. If 5'ou 
 ask one, he either will not or cannot describe his sensa- 
 tions. Moreover, " what's the use of living," asked 
 Orlando, "if you never do anything?" Jus evaded 
 the point. He made no effort to show that life under 
 such conditions is of any use. Nevertheless, he would 
 not gamble. " It is wicked," he said. " What ineffable 
 rot ! " shouted the Warrior; "you talk hke a lay-reader." 
 "Lay-reader or not," replied Jus with great dignity, "I 
 never do anything wicked." " Great Scott !" thundered 
 the Warrior, " did any one ever hear such stuff? Don't 
 you play poker every day ? Don't you back yourself at 
 chess and billiards ? Is that wicked too ? " " Not at 
 all," answered Jus very calmly, " quite the reverse. You 
 34 
 
The Riviera 
 
 see when I play billiards with you, the odds are five to 
 four on me. Now, if Monsieur Blanc (copimonly called 
 The Tables) would bet me one hundred to ninety-six on 
 the even chances, instead of ninety-six to one hundred, 
 I should be as inveterate a gambler as you are." " What 
 difference can a beggarly four per cent, make when you 
 can plank your money on a thirty-five to one chance ? " 
 "Very little," Jus admitted: "merely the difference 
 between virtue and vice. I regard the Casino as one of 
 the most virtuous of institutions, because the odds are in 
 its favour. It is the idiots who play there whose wicked- 
 ness I deplore." The Warrior, though disconcerted, was 
 not going to give in. "You are all theory," he ex- 
 claimed; "you never take the world as you find it. 
 People will gamble, and my advice is, don't lose your 
 head ; stick to your system, whatever it is ; pouch your 
 winnings, and walk out. That's a bit of all-right. But 
 if you lose your head, you haven't a dog's chance. As 
 for all your averages and your algebra, it isn't worth a 
 guinea a box." 
 
 So the Warrior went off to the Casino and won a pot 
 of money ; and the Literary Failure walked out in the 
 beautiful moonlight, and had his pocket picked. For 
 Virtue is its own Reward ! 
 
 Later on, the Warrior emerged with a face as radiant 
 as the Tower Clock. "Well," he said, "I have relieved 
 them of a few ponies." 
 
 " Ah," said Jus, " you tnay have won this time, 
 but 
 
 "There is no 'maying' about it: I have won," the 
 Warrior interposed. 
 
 " Never mind," persisted Jus gloomily ; " mark my 
 35 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 words, next time you will lose. Depend upon it, you 
 are subject to the same natural laws as your fellow men, 
 and you will end like them." 
 
 " That reminds me," said the Com. ; " let us try if we 
 can find the Suicides' Cemetery : it is an out-of-the-way 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 an^ 
 
 M. 
 
 * ...v 
 
 .J 
 
 ii^_^ 
 
 WP" 
 
 
 k 
 
 
 '^0^-\ 
 
 
 ^mmrn^-- 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD 
 
 spot, but I succeeded in discovering it last time I was 
 here ; and it is worth a visi-t." 
 
 " It might be the means of saving Orlando ; let us 
 go," said Jus, still harping on the Warrior's good luck 
 with ill-concealed envy. 
 
 We did, and, in spite of the efforts of the authorities to 
 make the place as inaccessible and invisible as possible, 
 we succeeded under the Com.'s guidance in finding it. 
 36 
 
The Riviera 
 
 A more depressing spot is unimaginable. An oblong 
 enclosure surrounded by a rough stone wall, without 
 tree or shrub or flower, without a single name to mark 
 the last resting-place of the once " gay gamboleer " — 
 nothing but a number on a plain stone slab : such is the 
 Suicides' Cemetery. And, worse than all, there is a 
 grisly tradition that, ever and anon, the authorities do a 
 little amateur body-snatching, and carry off the bones of 
 those who have lain there long enough, lest the warning 
 blue hghts should multiply and the devil be cheated 
 of his prey. 
 
 " There is a little unoccupied corner just there," said 
 Jus grimly, pointing to a spot where a recent spade had 
 been at work : " I wonder whether I should be allowed, 
 next time I come here, to place a wreath there, dedicated 
 to ' A nameless friend who would not listen ' ? " 
 
 The Warrior gave a slight shudder. " You should 
 not talk like that," he said, more seriously than was his 
 wont; "let us get out of this gloomy hole." 
 
 But the " gloomy hole " is balefully eloquent all the 
 same, while you are there. Its spectral image quickly 
 fades away, when later in the day you make your way 
 from the grey moonlit sea to the Temple of Luck wilh 
 its glittering hghts, its green tables spotted with scarlet 
 and gold, its palatial halls full of gaily dressed women and 
 ghoulishly dressed men, and the feverish excitement 
 depicted on many faces. 
 
 We did not spend all our time in the Casino. After 
 a very slight attack of "the tables," we pulled ourselves 
 together and looked about us. We roamed about 
 Mentone, and sampled the fresh green figs. There are 
 few things in this world to touch fresh figs. I prefer 
 37 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 them to Browning's poetry. We crossed the Italian 
 frontier, and invaded Mr. Hanbury's beautiful garden. 
 
 Crossing the frontier is no easy matter. You have to 
 satisfy the Custom-house officers, not only that you 
 have no dynamite, cigars, or other contraband concealed 
 
 MEXTONE FROM ITALIAN SIDE 
 
 m your caliche (the Frenchman's supreme effort to pro- 
 nounce the EngHsh word carriage!), but also that your 
 horses are not suffering from glanders, tuberculosis, 
 staggers, or chicken-pox. As a rule the glitter of a five- 
 franc piece is a conclusive proof of the negative on both 
 counts. One day (some months later — but no matter) 
 we galloped from Mentone to Ventimiglia in exactly one 
 38 
 
The Riviera 
 
 hour and ten minutes, starting from the Cap Martin 
 Hotel at 9.27 and reaching Ventimigila Station at 11.32. 
 
 FLOWERING ALOES 
 
 Those of my readers who are "good at sums" may 
 cavil at this statement, but it is accurate nevertheless. 
 
 "What a nuisance it is," murmured the Wily One, 
 " having to alter your watch every time you pass from 
 one country to another ! Why can't the idiots all keep 
 the same time?" 
 
 39 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 " Just because they are idiots," the Hon. Sec. replied 
 for them, without consulting his clients. 
 
 "What time would you have them keep?" queried 
 the Com. 
 
 " Greenwich time, of course," said the Warrior. 
 
 " Why Greenwich ? " asked Jus. 
 
 " Well, of course, every one knows that Greenwich 
 time is the right time," urged Orlando with an air of 
 superior wisdom. 
 
 " Well," rejoined the Literary Failure meekly, " I 
 should have thought North Polar time would have 
 caused the least jealousy amongst the nations. Besides, 
 you would never have to wind your watch up." 
 
 The Warrior stared. " What the deuce do yi)U 
 m.ean ? " he asked. 
 
 " I mean that you could buy a watch without any works, 
 and that would be cheap, you know. You would then 
 set it at twelve, and it could not go wrong, don't you see?" 
 
 " Oh, you talk too much with your mouth, you do," 
 exclaimed Orlando, not to be had on ; " you have got a 
 whole swarm of bees in your bonnet ; that's what's the 
 matter with j6»?/." 
 
 And perhaps he was right when you come to think of 
 it — if ever you do — and there is no particular reason 
 why you should, when you come to think of it— if ever 
 you do — and there is no particular re . . . 
 
 Now, no man should try to write a book —especially a 
 learned book like this — straight off the reel, without sleep. 
 If he does not go to sleep, as the saying is, sleep will come 
 to him. It is a case of Mahomed and the Mountain. 
 And it so happens that, after penning the last paragraph, 
 I fell asleep and dreamt I had invented perpetual motion. 
 40 
 
The Riviera 
 
 Then we went up to La Turbie by the new funicular 
 railway. It is about two thousand feet above the sea, 
 and is one of the quaintest villages in Europe. The 
 
 A PEEP IN LA TURBIK 
 
 very dialect of the inhabitants is archaic, and, in fact, the 
 short journey is like making a trip from the nineteenth 
 to the fourteenth century. Moreover, the climate is 
 different. At the top it is bracing ; at the bottom it is 
 relaxing — except when the mistral comes down, and then 
 41 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 — but don't mention it ; the very thought of it makes the 
 flesh creep and the bones ache. From La Turbie we 
 drove along the Corniche Road to Nice. This is 
 probably the loveliest drive in Europe ; and, if hard 
 pressed, I will chuck in Asia and Africa. I draw the 
 
 FOUNTAIN IN LA TURBIE 
 
 line at America, as I have no wish to damage the sale 
 of this Treatise in the United States ; and I am, there- 
 fore, prepared to admit that there is a drive somewhere 
 in that country which can give the Corniche Road the 
 odd-? of pawn and move. Nevertheless, Fitzsimons 
 the Cornishman did floor Corbett the Californian ; and 
 there the matter rests at present. Moreover, Blackburne 
 of London did checkmate Pillsbury of New York in their 
 42 
 
The Riviera 
 
 last chess encounter, and there I am content to leave it. 
 And although Lord Dunraven— still I give way about 
 the Corniche Road. 
 
 Nice is superb. Not being a good hand at word- 
 painting, I will not trust myself to describe this stateliest 
 
 VIKW FROM CORNICHE ROAD 
 
 of all watering-places. I will take the liberty of copying 
 from the notebook of our Minister of War his own im- 
 pressions of the place. " Nice," he writes, " has got 
 more tip-top houses in it than you can shake a stick at. 
 The promenade in front all along the seashore is a 
 regular scorcher. Llandudno isn't in it. I should say 
 when you get to know the ropes, it wouldn't be half a 
 bad corner to mouch about in when London is getting 
 43 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 a bit too warm." I have reason to believe that the last 
 word has no reference to the state of the thermometer. 
 But let that pass. Rightly understood, this eloquent 
 passage is a noble tribute to the charms of the Queen of 
 the Mediterranean. 
 
 "XOT HALF A BAD COUXKIJ ' 
 
 " I rather admire your style," said Jus to the Warrior 
 one day in the kindest manner. 
 
 " That is more than I can say for yours," was the rude 
 reply ; " I should think it was the stile that Mary sat 
 on." 
 
 Who Mary was, or why she should sit on the style of the 
 
 Literary Failure, I have not been able to ascertain ; but 
 
 I suspect she may be one of those London critics who 
 
 have done so much to impede the circulation of his 
 
 44 
 
The Riviera 
 
 works (and those of Marie Corelli) — one of those detest- 
 able creatures made, as O. W. Hohiies says, out of the 
 chips left over after the creation of authors. 
 
 At last we succeeded in tearing ourselves, and espe- 
 cially Orlando, away from that beautiful, fascinating, and 
 
 MONACO BAY 
 
 yet dangerous anchorage, Monaco Bay ; and at eight 
 o'clock in the evening headed S.S.E. direct for Ajaccio. 
 
 I think Neptune was not very well that night : he was 
 restless and tossed about a good deal, and, like most 
 selfish gods and men who cannot get rest, he took jolly 
 good care that nobody else should. The Com. was 
 pacing the deck " upstairs " (I am a landsman and deter- 
 mined to write pure English undefiled). He and Boreas 
 45 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 were having it out ; and I think the Com. had rather the 
 best of it— at least he suffered nothing worse than a 
 bruised knee and a bang on the side of the head. The 
 Rich Banker was roaming about between the fore and 
 aft saloons, and all round the engine-room, like a learner 
 on a roller-skating rink, and roaring with glee every time 
 he unexpectedly sat down, or skidded from one end of 
 the saloon to the other. Jacko was chattering in a 
 cubberd opposite the chart-room. Nor was he such an 
 ape as to spell it " cupboard," as most human beings do, 
 just as they spell lantern " lant-horn," and sovran " sove- 
 reign " ; as if cups, boards, horns, and reigns had anything 
 to do with these things. These are the people who turn 
 Livorno into Leghorn, and call assafoetida " asses' fat." 
 They ask an Italian driver the name of an insignificant 
 mountain lake, and come away with the notion that its 
 proper name is Leg of Mutton. A plague on them ! 
 
 The Literary Failure was playing divinely on the piano, 
 and wondering why the infernal music-stool had not got 
 its sea-leg. It had only one leg, you know, to attend to, 
 and yet it could not keep that. 
 
 As for the other fellows, the Warrior, the crockery, the 
 Hon. Sec, the poached eggs, the broken glasses, and the 
 'Varsity Man, they were all churned up together into a 
 sort of omelette in the middle of the floor. But in the 
 midst of all this confusion, Clare's brain was not idle. 
 He was hatching a great invention, of which we shall 
 hear again when we reach Sardinian waters. It is in 
 periods of social convulsion that geniuses are floated to 
 the surface like cream. 
 
 As Napoleon was the Child of the Revolution, so Clare 
 was the Child of the aforesaid Omelette. 
 46 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 NAPOLEON'S NURSERY 
 
 "Get up, you lazy beast — Ajaccio is in sight, and the 
 clock has just struck six," shouted the Hon. Sec. at 
 Orlando's door. 
 
 " Why don't they strike him back ? " groaned the 
 Warrior, and turned over for another wink. 
 
 Meantime Jus and ihe Com. swallowed some break- 
 fast and jumped into the launch ; and from the quay 
 made a bee-line for Nap's house. Neither the house 
 nor its situation are particularly impressive, but its 
 associations make up for everything. There is the little 
 bed on which the King-maker was born. There is the 
 nursery where he played at soldiers with his brothers 
 and sisters, to the martial strains of a penny trumpet and 
 a one-franc drum. Forty years later, other little children 
 might have been seen playing at soldiers, a long way off, 
 and Napoleon still taking part in the game. 
 
 The nursery is just as it was when he left it ; even 
 the tea things were laid out ready for tea. One could 
 picture the beautiful Letizia, nee Ramolino, the belle 
 of Corsica, at the head of the table, pouring out the 
 milk and dealing round the thick bread-and-butter. 
 What were her day dreams ? Not unlike those of other 
 47 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 proud and happy mothers, I suppose. There sat the 
 little Emperor that was to be ; there sat Joey, the future 
 king of Spain ; next to him was Louis, the future king 
 
 XAPQLEOX'S HOUSE 
 
 of Holland, and then came little Jerry, the king of 
 Westphalia. And three little queens sat between, with 
 sticky fingers and jammy pinafores. 
 
 So the visitors pictured them, as they were bidden to 
 do by the good lady who showed them round. They 
 48 
 
Napoleon's Nursery 
 
 had forgotten all about the queens until she referred to 
 them, 
 
 "Three kings beat three queens, eh?" inquired the 
 Com. incorrigibly. 
 
 " Without counting the Joker," replied Jus. 
 
 I am ashamed to record this untimely jest, but since I 
 have done so I may inform the non-poker-playing reader 
 that the Joker is a card which can be anything it likes. 
 And if ever such a card lived and breathed surely it was 
 Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 It seems a sin to spoil a pretty picture, but modern 
 scepticism is inexorable. Alas ! little Jerome was not 
 born till four years after his brother Nap had left the 
 nursery for Brienne. 
 
 Another nasty bit of scepticism has reference to the 
 age of Napoleon himself. He used to say that he was 
 born in 1769; and his baptismal register confirms the 
 statement. Unfortunately this document doth protest 
 too much. There be those who say they k?iow that he 
 was born in 1768. Now the submission of Corsica to 
 France did not take place before June 1769. Hence, if 
 Napoleon was to have been born a French citizen, his 
 birth ought to have been in August 1769, and not in 
 August 1768. That was quite clear. But with all the 
 power at his disposal, nothing could be easier than to 
 tamper with, or fake, the register. And while he was 
 about it, why not knock the " u " out of his name, so as to 
 make it Bonaparte instead of Buonaparte, which has a 
 decidedly Italian ring about it ? Old Charles, his father, 
 never signed his name otherwise than Buonaparte, and 
 why he should sign it Bonaparte on this solitary occasion 
 calls for explanation. When Talleyrand unearthed the 
 
 49 i^ 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 forgotten boyish prize-essay, written by Napoleon at 
 Valence, that Emperor, after glancing at it, pitched it 
 into the fire. Would it, I wonder, have thrown any 
 light on the spelling of his name or the date of his 
 birth ? 
 
 Talking of Italian, I was always of opinion that the 
 
 Corsicans spoke Italian, or at best a French dialect of it. 
 
 I was surprised, therefore, when a Corsican assured me 
 
 that it was neither one nor the other — but Corsican. I 
 
 could not get any further information. Is it possible 
 
 (I ask in all ignorance) that, like the Maltese tongue, it 
 
 is based on a substratum of Phoenician, dating from the 
 
 days before Hannibal, when it was a dependency of 
 
 Carthage? If so, who knows but that through some 
 
 collateral branch or other the blood of a Hannibal may 
 
 not have found its way into the veins of a Napoleon ? 
 
 There is nothing improbable in this. I was speaking to 
 
 a tradesman in Newbury, the other day, whose name is 
 
 Hannibal Hill. "Droll name," I remarked, "for a 
 
 christening: what led your parents to choose such a 
 
 name?" "Excuse me," said he, "I am a Cornishman, 
 
 and the name has been handed down in my family ever 
 
 since the Carthaginians discovered the Cassiterides and 
 
 came to fetch away our Cornish tin." And, pray, why 
 
 not ? The pedigrees of those peaceful families, which 
 
 have remained rooted to^ the soil, are many of them. 
 
 longer, aye, and better, than those of the turbulent and 
 
 restless barons and swash-bucklers whose incessant 
 
 internecine struggles resulted in their own mutual 
 
 extermination ; while they swept as harmlessly over the 
 
 heads of the busy traders and husbandmen as the billows 
 
 on the surface of the sea roll above the tranquil depths 
 
 50 
 
Napoleon's Nursery 
 
 below. The extermination of a race is not so easy a 
 matter as its permanent subjugation and even the sup- 
 pression of its language. And I believe there is more 
 British blood and more Roman blood in the composition 
 of an Enghshman than is usually supposed. And I say 
 this despite the high authority of Niebuhr, who says, 
 " In no part of Europe has the ancient population been 
 so utterly atmihilated as in England by the Conquest of 
 the Saxons." 
 
 Not far from the house is Napoleon's Grotto, where he 
 used to linger for hours, indulging, as we may well believe, 
 in those visions of future greatness — those airy castles — 
 which so many boys imagine but so few realise. In the 
 Place du Diamant stands the monument of the great 
 Corsican hero. He, himself, is on horseback, while his 
 four brothers stand at each corner, all dressed in ancient 
 Roman costume. Why Roman ? Does not the uniform 
 of the Old Guard lend itself to artistic treatment as 
 readily as that of Caesar's legions ? I am no sculptor, 
 but " I know what I like," as the ladies say at the Royal 
 Academy Exhibition. And I like truth — within reason. 
 Charles James Fox, attired as Gracchus, may have 
 charmed my grandfather, but it does not please me. I 
 say, with the Princess Chimay, let me have a suitable 
 dress or none. Then, on the other hand, there is a 
 statue in Reading which goes to the opposite extreme of 
 realism. The costume of this figure was possibly well 
 adapted to the avocations of the wearer, but, ahem ! 
 could not the carver — I beg pardon, the sculptor — have 
 tried the effect of a little idealisation ? 
 
 But I am taking the wind out of the sails of our 
 Minister of Art, the Hon. Sec, whose voluminous 
 51 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 report on all these and kindred matters is eagerly 
 awaited by an expectant public. Let us pass on at 
 once to the magnificent journey from Ajaccio to Vivario 
 by the mountain railway. All lovers of <:5olour and 
 form in landscape would do well to undertake this 
 expedition, even at the cost of going all the way from 
 England for the sole puri)ose. Corsica is the centre 
 where all the glories of the northern and southern 
 flora meet, blend, and outvie each other. Fairyland 
 was surely never quite so fair. 
 
 As the train threads its slow way through leafy de- 
 files, and over craggy precipices to a height of two 
 thousand feet, the eye is gladdened by the rich autumnal 
 tints of flame-hued chestnuts, dark green pines, and 
 orange beeches ; by groves of grey olives, and patches 
 of sunburnt bracken and emerald moss. Far below 
 dashes the torrent from the hills of snow, and leagues 
 away glitter the peaks of Monte d'Oro. Grandeur of 
 outline and brilliance of colour, here and there mellowed 
 by opalescent mists, and shading off into deep purple 
 distance, together form a kaleidoscopic diorama such as 
 would dazzle the eye and baffle the art of a Peter Graham, 
 much more of this poor scribbler, who can but gaze in 
 mute adoration upon Nature in her bridal dress. Well, 
 we saw it and left it. Left it, do I say ? No, Keats is 
 right. 
 
 As we glided by some house where Paoli had once 
 lodged or sought refuge from the French in the good old 
 days when Corsica was Corsican, the Literary Failure, 
 with that absence of tact which characterises him, re- 
 marked to a nitive, "Ah! in those days Corsica was 
 free." The man stared in amazement. It had never 
 52 
 
Napoleon's Nursery 
 
 entered his head that she was not free to-day. It is a 
 noteworthy fact that every Corsican feels and believes 
 that Corsica annexed France, not France Corsica. 
 And so she did : just as Jersey and Guernsey annexed 
 England in the eleventh century, and have held it ever 
 since. May it be long before England shakes off the 
 yoke ! But they lost the rich province of Normandy 
 later on in a fair fight. May it be long before they 
 recover it ! As we re- embarked on the steam launch 
 the Corsicans hissed us. We had come to worship at 
 the shrine of their hero, and they returned the compli- 
 ment by hooting us out of the island. We English are 
 not beloved in Corsica. I wonder why ? 
 
 Here, in proper order, should follow the chapter by 
 our Minister of Sport, entitled " Round Sardinia on a 
 Dinner Table." But I do not think I should be justified 
 in inserting it before the publication of that gentleman's 
 report. I must say I do not like the way in which 
 these departmental reports hang fire. I like despatch. 
 Look at the Reports of Our Royal Commissions. It is 
 said that a very young member of one of those com- 
 missions once lived to see the proof-sheets of the 
 report on his ninety-fifth birthday. Then there is the 
 report to which we are all looking forward, " On the 
 Present State of the Woad Trade," by the Royal Com- 
 mission originally appointed to inquire into that burning 
 question by Caractacus. Why can't our reports go 
 ahead like that ? The fact is, our fellows do not con- 
 fine themselves strictly to business. The Banker, for 
 example, was staring about him all the way to Vivario, 
 instead of making inquiries as to the price of coal and 
 the quantity of fuel consumed by the engine, and count- 
 53 ■ 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 •ing the first and second class passengers. Indeed, to 
 •speak the plain truth, he knows a great deal more about 
 botany than is compatible with sound finance. While 
 the Bank of England was shoving up the bank rate to 
 three per cent, he was actually gazing at a copse of 
 myrtles and orange-trees, like a boiled owl of the wilder- 
 ness. He was encroaching on the province of the Hon. 
 Sec. and ought to have been cautioned. I beg to move 
 a vote of censure on him now. All those in favour of 
 this motion will signify the same in the usual manner, 
 by holding up one hand. Carried ?iem. con. Thank 
 ■ you ! 
 
 I think it was Mr. Herbert Spencer who once lost a 
 game of billiards to a young stranger at the Athenaeum 
 Club. He did not like it. Some people say they do. 
 I don't believe them. However, Mr. Spencer turned 
 upon his assailant with these words: "Young man, a 
 reasonable proficiency in games of skill argues a liberal 
 education ; but dexterity such as yours is conclusive 
 evidence of a misspent youth." So it is with our Banker- 
 botanist. 
 
 But to Sardinia. It will be remembered that when 
 Neptune was fidgety, Clare was sad — very sad. In what 
 appeared to be nothing but an omelette-chaos there 
 was a constructive mind. Could nothing be done, he 
 pondered, to counteract' the senseless heavings and 
 contortions of this inconsiderate Titan ? At last his eye 
 fell on a decanter full of yellow brandy, apparently 
 skating about with complete equanimity. There is no 
 need to carp at the word "equanimity," which means 
 literally, " having an equable spirit " ; and that is just 
 what the decanter had. The brandy hardly swayed 
 54 
 
Napoleon's Nursery 
 
 about at all. "Now," reasoned the 'Varsity Man, "if I were 
 to lie on that swinging dinner-table till Neptune re- 
 covered from his colic, I should be even as that decanter." 
 Some inventors invent, but never carry their inventions 
 into practice. Alas ! yes. Not so the 'Varsity Man. 
 No sooner thought than done. And that is how the 
 world became possessed, or hopes soon to be possessed, 
 of " The Observations of a Traveller on the Topography 
 and Geology of Sardinia, from a Swinging Table in the 
 Saloon of the Yacht Maria.^^ 
 
 But, as I have said, I must not poach on my learned 
 colleague's preserves. After passing through the Straits 
 of Bonifacio, and putting in at Terra-Nova pendetite 
 fempestate, we enjoyed a delightful passage across the 
 Mediterranean to Tunis. 
 
 55 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 "WHAT OF THE SHH^S, O CARTHAGE?" 
 
 Most of our party were glad when we sighted Cape Bon, 
 and glided into the Gulf of Tunis ; so called, although it 
 is really only a Bay, to distinguish it from the Bey of 
 Tunis, which is Monarch of all he surveys — or fondly 
 thinks so. In truth he occupies a somewhat similar posi- 
 tion to that of the Khedive of Egypt. But although 
 most of the party were glad to reach terra-firma for the 
 first time since leaving Terra-Nova, the 'Varsity Man was 
 not glad ; for one reason because he was fast asleep in 
 his little bunklet. Presently, on the starboard bow, the 
 knowing ones pointed out Carthage — or rather the spot 
 where Carthage once stood ; for, alas ! Tunis is built up 
 of the stones of the old Phoenician city. Carthage, as 
 any one with a smattering of Phoenician can see at a 
 glance, means " the new city," Karth-hadtha, which the 
 Greeks naturally pronounced Karchedon, and the 
 Romans quite as naturally Carthago. And, therefore, 
 I am disposed to agree with Niebuhr, that for several 
 centuries before the supposed date of its building by 
 Dido, there was an old city — a. statement which would 
 doubtless have greatly delighted the great ethnographer, 
 if he had lived to see this day. This old city was pro- 
 56 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? " 
 
 bably a squalid fishing village nestling under the shadow 
 of the Byrsa, or citadel. The facts that Bozrah is the 
 Hebrew for a citadel, and Karth is the Hebrew for a 
 city, furnished our first clue to the kinship of the ancient 
 merchant-princes whose ships sailed all over the known 
 
 VIEW FROM THE BEY'S PALACE 
 
 world, from Britain on the north to the Cape of Good 
 Hope on the south ; and from Gibraltar on the west to 
 India on the east. Our second clue is the discovery 
 that the Hebrew and Phoenician alphabets are one. Not 
 that the Carthaginians were Jews— far from it. They 
 were Canaanites, the Jews' bitterest enemies. Nor did 
 they call their native land Phoenicia, which simply means 
 " palm-land," and was the name given to it by the Greeks. 
 57 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 St. Augustin asked them what they called themselves, 
 and they answered promptly, " Canaanites, of course." 
 
 Now these Canaanites were a race akin to our good 
 friends the Arabs. like them they were a peaceable 
 people, thirsting not for dominion nor gloire, but civilized, 
 rich, sensuous, and happy. We all remember what the 
 five spies, " men of valour," found when they came to 
 spy out the land ; how they saw the people of the land 
 dwelling "careless after the manner of the Sidonians, 
 quiet and secure." So they went back to their tribes- 
 men of Dan and told them, saying, " When ye go, ye 
 shall come unto a people secure, and to a large land ; a 
 place where there is no want of anything that is in the 
 earth." So they got together six hundred men with 
 their weapons of war, and they came up "unto Laish, 
 unto a people that were at quiet, and secure ; and they 
 smote them with the edge of the sword ; and burnt the 
 city with fire." These victims were of the people whose 
 ships sailed unto Tarshish (Carthage) and founded 
 colonies all along the Mediterranean coasts, who brought 
 tin from Britain and gold from India, and embroidery 
 from Babylon, who made glass and Tyrian purple, and 
 w^ho circumnavigated Africa, while the Hebrew free- 
 booters of Palestine were raiding about in all directions, 
 pillaging and stealing what they had neither the ability 
 to make nor the industry, to buy. 
 
 The founding of Carthage (New Carthage) by Dido in 
 the ninth century B.C. is interesting as being the very first 
 point where Homeric legend, Bible story, and secular his- 
 tory converge and meet. After the brilliant reign of King 
 Hiram of Tyre, who, with his Phcenician artificers, built 
 Solomon's Temple, a dynasty of Priest-kings was founded 
 58 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '^ 
 
 by Ethbaal. His daughter was Jezebel, the wife of 
 Ahab ; and she is chiefly remembered as the painted 
 lady who was flung out of the window; but from what 
 one can make out, she seems to have been the good wife of 
 a bad husband. Ethbaal's great-grand-daughter was Dido, 
 whom we have seen making love to the Trojan ^neas. 
 Her real name at home was El-issa, which explains 
 Pope's rather funny line, 
 
 " Eliza, stretched upon the funeral pyre." 
 
 There is nothing very comical about the name Eliza, 
 but one does not readily associate it with the Homeric 
 heroes. The line forcibly reminds one of that martial 
 couplet, 
 
 " ' What are they feared on ? Fools ! Odd rot 'em ' ! 
 Were the last words of Higginbottom." 
 
 There was plenty of time to let off all this gas while 
 the Maria glided over the blue and white waves between 
 Cape Bon and Goletta — the gullet, or harbour-entrance. 
 A few years ago it was impossible for anything drawing 
 more water than a barge to pass through the canal joining 
 the sea with the Lake of Tunis — El Bahira, or the Little 
 Sea, as it is called ; but now we had no difficulty in 
 effecting the passage in the yacht, thanks to the noble 
 engineering works accomplished by the French since 
 their occupation. Having entered the Little Sea, the 
 Maria swung round on her anchor and took up her 
 allotted station alongside a French gunboat, and we 
 all went ashore in the launch. This was no easy matter, 
 for we found ourselves surrounded by a small fleet of 
 rowing boats filled with smiling Arabs anxious to make 
 our acquaintance. Nor did our landing rid us of our 
 59 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 new friends. They escorted us everywhere— all through 
 the new, ugly, and Christian suburb ; all through the 
 handsome modern French quarter with its air of Parisian 
 smartness ; and all through the quaint old Arab city, 
 with its mosques and bazaars. Several of these fellows 
 
 FRENCH GUNBOAT IN EL BAHIRA 
 
 were handsome and very showily dressed. But all were 
 eclipsed by an impudent^ youth of about fourteen, in 
 bright yellow slippers, who ruthlessly exposed the sordid 
 motives of his companions, and appointed himself our 
 "guide, philosopher, and friend." How mortally sick I 
 am of that trio — guide, philosopher, and friend ; but the 
 public will have it. It is as bad as Castor and Pollux. 
 Who ever heard of Pollux ? Or of Castor ? They must 
 60 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '' 
 
 detest one another as much as Moody and Sankey, or 
 Marshall and Snelgrove, or Tate and Brady. Wherever 
 we went, our guide, philosopher, and friend, supple- 
 jointed, skipped round us, laughing, chatting, and occa- 
 sionally exchanging blows with his rivals. It is surprising 
 what a fund of information, true or false, he contrived to 
 impart, considering the small command of P'rench at his 
 disposal. Most of the Tunisian Arabs speak a little 
 French, but not quite so well as the Arabs of the Nile 
 speak English. Arabs are quick linguists — perhaps the 
 readiest in the world, hard pressed by Poles and Russians : 
 English and French bring up the rear, being probably the 
 worst except Chinese. 
 
 Strangers are absolutely prohibited from entering and 
 so defiling the mosques — and rightly so. Not even the 
 slipper compromise, tolerated in Cairo and Jerusalem, is 
 permitted in Tunis. From what I have myself seen and 
 heard in Mahommedan mosques where foreigners are 
 allowed to go inside I am not surprised nor offended at 
 the punctiliousness of the Tunisians. Englishmen, in 
 particular, raise their voices, titter, and point derisively 
 at objects regarded by their hosts with deep veneration, 
 and behave altogether in a way they would themselves 
 be the first to resent if the tables were turned — if, for 
 example, the scene were Westminster Abbey, and the 
 amused visitors were advanced Japanese, with a simulated 
 sense of the ridiculous. Besides, we must not forget 
 that the Arabs, though far from fanatical, are honestly 
 religious. With them a reverential demeanour is not a 
 question of " good form," as it is with the professors of 
 the faded and skin-deep creeds of Western Europe : it is 
 a question of jrood taste. I cannot do better than quote 
 6i 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 the Com.'s words on this point. Says he : " Besides 
 attending mosque, the Mahommedan has his other hours 
 of prayer : and in the midst of his work, in his shop, in 
 the street, anywhere, before any number of people, you 
 will see him suddenly falling on his knees, swaying up 
 and down, looking towards Mecca, and praying. He 
 does not think it necessary to isolate himself, as the act 
 of prayer is so reverenced that he is quite free from any 
 risk of disturbance." But to atone for his exclusion from 
 the mosque, a double welcome is accorded to the stranger 
 in the bazaars, and notably those of the perfumers, of 
 the vendors of embroidery and textile fabrics, and of the 
 gold- and silver-smiths. The occupants of these tastily- 
 stocked dens sit cross-legged and impassive as you pass 
 by; but not a look of covetousness, not a sign of 
 appreciation escapes their vigilance. It is said that they 
 know who will return, what he will buy, and how much 
 he will pay for it, before he knows it himself. Should 
 one of us halt, as though contemplating a purchase, our 
 guide, philosopher, and friend (have I said this before ?) 
 was at his elbow. ^^ Non, non ; tres mauvais homme^^^ 
 he exclaimed, ^'' tricheur ! ''^ and then in English (the 
 only English he knew), " No good, no good." 
 
 The whole surroundings — buildings, streets, dresses, 
 and faces — recall the pictures of Bagdad in the " Arabian 
 Nights," and probably neither in Egypt nor elsewhere 
 can Arab life and setting be found less Europeanised 
 than in Old Tunis. 
 
 Whether the motives of our yellow-slippered gui — 
 
 companion were purely altruistic, or whether we never 
 
 reached the particular bazaar presided over by the honest 
 
 and good merchant (for whom, as some suspicious people 
 
 62 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? " 
 
 say, he acted as decoy), is still a mystery. The fact 
 remains that he mightily amused and entertained us, 
 and we are grateful. 
 
 THE HONEST MERCHANT 
 
 Next day we made a pilgrimage to Carthage, under 
 the guidance of a resident Phoenician, or Maltese as 
 he called himself, named Cimiotte — afterwards named 
 Steam-Yacht, to his complete satisfaction. Ignoring the 
 modern railway as a product of civilisation quite out of 
 63 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 harmony with cur expedition and its hallowed memories, 
 we took the launch as far as Goletta, where a couple of 
 carriages were to be in readiness. For a minute or so 
 nothing was visible, when suddenly a couple of Jehus 
 at a break-neck gallop dashed round a corner like 
 infuriated Roman charioteers, to the imminent peril of 
 all and sundry. It seems to be an established article of 
 Arab faith that Englishmen love headlong horsemanship 
 (perhaps they do) ; but the Com., who narrowly escaped 
 the honours of martyrdom in the cause, took a sombre 
 view of the situation ; and had it not been for the inter- 
 cession of the Literary Failure (who is a merciful man), 
 we should all have been put on trial for homicide — 
 perhaps murder. In the latter event we might have 
 been mulcted to the tune of twenty pounds. " Twenty 
 pounds!" exclaims the reader; "why, you would have 
 been hanged." Not at all. We attended a murder trial 
 in the High Court of Tunis ; so we may be supposed to 
 know all about it, especially as the proceedings were 
 conducted in plain Arabic, and not in a medley of 
 Norman French, archaic English, and dog Latin, as 
 in England. It appears that when the prisoner is con- 
 victed, he offers a sum of money to the murdered man's 
 next-of-kin. If this is accepted, there is an end of the 
 matter. But if the murderer is short of cash, and unable 
 to raise the needful amongs his friends, the Bey of Tunis 
 intervenes with an offer of twenty pounds, for he hates 
 shedding blood. This sum usually suffices to salve the 
 wounded feelings of the bereaved, and the prisoner is 
 discharged. Occasionally, but rarely, the next-of-kin 
 declines all compensation ; in which case, as the Warrior 
 explained, "the villain has his knob off." And the Bey 
 64 
 
 V. 
 
'' What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '' 
 
 sheds a silent tear. To be quite accurate, I ought to 
 add that blood-money is allowed only in cases of hot 
 blood, and not in cases of cold, premeditated murder. 
 
 The difficulty of getting at the truth in Arabian 
 Courts of Justice is well illustrated by an anecdote 
 which appeared in the Morning Post last May : 
 
 "An Arab was travelUng through the interior with his 
 wife : he was on donkeyback, and she was afoot. By 
 came a rich Arab on horseback, and offered her a lift 
 behind him. She accepted, and presently, in the course 
 of the journey, confided that she was unhappily married. 
 Her companion proposed a plan by which she might 
 elope with him, and she agreed to it readily. Accord- 
 ingly, when they came to a branch road they increased 
 their pace, and paid no heed to the protestations of the 
 husband, who was soon left behind. He succeeded in 
 tracking them to the horseman's village, only to find 
 that precautions had been taken against his arrival, for 
 everybody asserted that they had known the runaway 
 pair for many years as man and wife, and that the 
 real husband must be an impudent impostor. The 
 unfortunate man had recourse to the French, who were 
 at first puzzled how to act in the face of the village's 
 unanimous testimony. At last a happy thought occurred 
 to the judge. He placed the real husband's dogs in one 
 room, those of the other man in another, and confronted 
 the woman with both. Arab dogs are very faithful to 
 their own households and very fierce towards all strangers; 
 so, though she did her utmost to irritate her own dogs, 
 they could not be restrained from fawning on her, and 
 though she kivished every blandishment towards the 
 dogs of her new home, they barked and showed their 
 65 E 
 
 A^ 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 teeth with ever increasing fury. The judge thereupon 
 ordered her to be given back to her husband, and he 
 placarded the village with the following notice : ' The 
 testimony of one dog is here more to be believed than 
 that of ten Arabs.' As a dog is one of the Arabs' worst 
 
 terms of opprobrium, this notice was deemed a worse 
 punishment than fines or imprisonment. I commend 
 this idyll to any novelist who may be in search of a 
 plot." 
 
 The road from Goletta to Carthage is hedged by rows 
 
 of cactus from three to ten feet high. Nothing could 
 
 well be imagined better calculated to damp the ardour 
 
 of trespassers than these dagger-pointed, grey-green, cast- 
 
 66 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '' 
 
 iron vegetables. Arrived at our goal, the barren scene 
 which met our gaze was surely one to strike Dido dumb 
 — if she revisits still the glimpses of the moon. Save 
 the foundations of a few walls, and some holes supposed 
 to have been tombs, not a vestige of the grand old 
 
 p 
 
 ; 
 
 
 
 J i 
 
 *'nn 
 
 
 ■K^S 
 
 <" 4',,. 
 
 
 \ 
 
 '" ■' tl 
 
 d 
 
 i^^i^Sfi 
 
 1 iiii|l]UM||fl 
 
 Uf^M^^^- ■ .^.«s^ 
 
 
 1 
 
 =— :==^i^= 
 
 CATHEDRAL ON THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE 
 
 Phoenician city, with its million inhabitants, remains. 
 On an eminence, overshadowing all, stands the brand- 
 new cathedral, like a huge vampire exulting over the 
 scene of desolation wrought in the name of Christianity 
 — the utter annihilation of a city and a nation. It 
 remains on record that during the second and third 
 centuries of our era, the finest buildings in Carthage 
 were wantonly destroyed by the Christians, with the 
 67 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 avowed object of obliterating every trace of paganism — 
 in other words, of civilization. 
 
 The mind of the traveller is irresistibly urged to the 
 contrast between the generous Hannibal— his humane 
 efforts to bring about the exchange of prisoners of war, 
 together with his tender and reverent treatment of the 
 bodies of his enemies, Flaminius and Marcellus (admitted 
 by the Roman Livy himself) — and the fanatical Cyprian, 
 the runaway bishop of Carthage — his fiendish intolerance 
 of the "lapsed," and his inane vapourings about the 
 washing of feet. One would fain believe that the 
 degraded bishop and his degraded flock lived at least 
 five centuries before the noble general, instead of five 
 centuries later, as the fact is. Tertullian, in his De fuga 
 persecutione, maintained that flight is a form of apos- 
 tasy ; but the slippery Cyprian appealed to his dreams to 
 justify his conduct; and declared that his flight was 
 " by command of God " ; thereby proving that he was 
 not only a coward, but also a liar. 
 
 This second destruction of Carthage, Rome's resplen- 
 dent rival, is one of the most remarkable instances in 
 history of the Nemesis which seems to pursue and 
 avenge the crimes of nations as well as of individuals. 
 It was in the terrible year 146 B.C. that the Roman 
 Senate pronounced the curse of Scipio, as it is errone- 
 ously and unjustly styled, for Scipio himself, though 
 he executed the decree, was foremost in opposing it. 
 Delenda est Carthago ! So it is decreed by the Roman 
 Senate. The entire city, together with the rich and 
 beautiful suburb of Megara, shall be levelled to the 
 ground ; the ploughshare shall be driven over her soil ; 
 and he who dares to cultivate it or build upon it shall 
 6Z 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '' 
 
 be accursed. For over a hundred years this grisly vow 
 was kept. And then from the ashes of the old town 
 sprang up a Roman Carthage to vie in splendour with 
 Rome herself. Long afterwards, but inexorably, came 
 the Nemesis, in the form of that strange intellectual 
 blight known as Early Christianity. And Roman Car- 
 thage in its turn utterly perished. And there it lay 
 stretched before us like the skeleton of a prehistoric 
 giant, or like some deserted wild-bird's nest wrecked by 
 wind and storm. 
 
 Not far from where we stood cowered a wretched den 
 of no particular style of architecture, called the Chapel 
 of St. Louis, over the entrance to which is inscribed in 
 French : 
 
 *' Louis Philippe I , King of the French, built this 
 monument in the year 1841, on the spot where expired 
 St. Louis his ancestor." 
 
 That Louis IX. expired somewhere is incontrovertible; 
 that he died not a day too soon may be safely affirmed ; 
 that the plague carried off one of the most truculent 
 bigots of a bigoted age in the neighbourhood of Tunis 
 is probable ; but that this important event (certainly the 
 most commendable act of his life) took place on the site 
 of the Byrsa is at best open to doubt. Louis is the 
 worthy whose Christian charity and logic are both 
 summed up in his own declaration that " a layman 
 ought not to dispute with infidels, but strike them with 
 a good sword across the body." For this sentiment he 
 consistently was canonised by Pope Boniface VIII. And 
 there stands his monument to this day. The Arabs, 
 who gave him a well deserved hiding, and who may be 
 supposed to know as much about his end as Louis 
 69 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Philippe, say that he lies buried in a little village two 
 miles off, after becoming a convert to Islam under the 
 name of Sidi-boo-said. 
 
 ro S,AIXT LOUIS 
 
 However, whether St. Louis died or St. Cyprian was 
 born here or not is of less interest than tlie fact that a 
 better man than either was interred in the English 
 cemetery hard by in 1852. By a strange irony of fate, 
 John Howard Payne, author of the words of the most 
 70 
 
*' What of the Ships, O Carthage ? " 
 
 popular song in the English language — " Home ! Sweet 
 Home ! " died on African soil, a self-condemned exile 
 from his beloved American home. For he was twice 
 American Consul at Tunis. A generation later his 
 fellow countrymen bore away the body, leaving a monu- 
 ment to mark the spot. Why cannot we content our- 
 selves with erecting memorials of those who have done 
 nothing ? They need them. Payne's epitaph is engraved 
 on eighty million hearts. And milHons more are forth- 
 coming. Three years later, poor Henry Bishop, the 
 composer of the air, sank into his grave in his native 
 England — at Home — but amid surroundings which 
 might have warranted him in exclaiming with the Cynic, 
 " There's no place like Home— thank God !" " Look 
 here," said Cassius to the member of the party who had 
 given vent to these melancholy reflections ; " look here : 
 we are abroad at present for the purpose of enjoying 
 ourselves ; and if your breakfast has disagreed with you, 
 you had better go home." 
 
 So we drove off to the old amphitheatre, which is still 
 in course of excavation. It is an elliptical hollow some 
 thirty or forty feet deep, and has already yielded some 
 valuable finds, with a fair prospect of more to come. 
 Most of the antiquarian treasures discovered at Carthage 
 have unfortunately found their way to Paris ; but there 
 is an excellent museum on the spot, and the collection is 
 proceeding apace. 
 
 Here I must pause for reflection. I have a terrible 
 confession to make, and I do not know how to do it. 
 Murder will out ; and as a slave to truth I am impelled, 
 against my will, and against my obvious interest, to make 
 a clean breast of it. In short, I mean to tell the truth 
 71 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 about our visit to the museum. Reader have mercy ! 
 have pity ! we never entered it ! Let me explain. You 
 see I plead guilty, but with extenuating circumstances 
 
 MI'SEUM GARDEN 
 
 The museum does not open till half-past two. Now we 
 all know that in one respect a hot lunch resembles 
 Time and Tide. Our lunch was ordered for half-past 
 one. In vain the Com.'s frantic efforts to get the doors 
 opened an hour earlier ; in vain all offers of bribes ; in 
 72 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '* 
 
 vain all threats of violence. It could not be. The 
 monks in charge take a siesta in the heat of the day. 
 Therefore, three courses were open to us. (i) We might 
 forego the inspection altogether. (2) We might take 
 the museum on our way back from Jerusalem, or the 
 
 ox THE HORNS OK A TKILEMMA 
 
 North Pole, or wherever we might be going. (3) We 
 might let our lunch get cold. What a trilemma for 
 English savants! The first course was painful. The 
 second was too serious an undertaking. And the third 
 was — well, out of the question. And so it came to pass 
 that — but I need not repeat it. There ! I have donned 
 the white sheet and humiliated myself. It remains only 
 to clear the 'Varsity Man and the Literary Failure. 
 73 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 They really made a very decent show of protest, but 
 were overruled. Even the most enthusiastic antiquarians 
 are sometimes baffled by circumstances. Somebody told 
 us (was it Murray ?) that the Amphitheatre was the scene 
 of the Martyrdom of St. Perpetua and her companions 
 on March 7, a.d. 203. Who she was or what she had 
 been up to the present writer cannot tell, because he 
 does not know; but Roman Governors were not in the 
 habit of putting quiet, decent people to death without 
 good cause ; and when we remember that the city was 
 about that time visited by a loathsome plague, and that 
 the new sect lived in a most filthy and pestilent condi- 
 tion, we may perhaps hazard a guess. " Ah ! " sighed 
 the 'Varsity Man with emotion, "what heroism ! how I 
 should like to have been there!" "So should I," mut- 
 tered the Hon Sec. under his breath. But there was a 
 look in his eye, and a curl on his lip, which rather dis- 
 tressed me. He does not often gush. 
 
 The air at Carthage even in November is hot, breezy, 
 and bracing. Under the wholesome and genial, albeit 
 somewhat officious, rule of the French, there is room for 
 hope that in a not remote future a new Carthage may 
 yet arise, which shall be no mean successor to the 
 beautiful daughter of Tyre. It is marvellous, as has 
 frequently been pointed out, that this unique site should 
 be allowed to lie unoccupied ; and so fine a field to lie 
 fallow. What a strange story is engraved on this dreary 
 stretch of stones ! Eight and twenty centuries have 
 rolled over it since ^neas and his weary mariners 
 caught sight of its welcome shelter; and twenty cen- 
 turies since Virgil penned the lines describing their 
 landing : 
 
 74 
 
What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '' 
 
 " Within a long recess there Ues a bay ; 
 An island shades it from the rolling sea, 
 And forms a port secure for ships to ride : 
 Broke by the jutting land on either side, 
 In double streams the briny waters glide 
 Betwixt the rows of rocks : a sylvan scene 
 Appears above, and groves for ever green. 
 No halsers need to bind the vessels here, 
 Nor bearded anchors ; for no storms they fear. 
 Seven ships within this happy harbour meet 
 The thin remainders of the scatter'd fleet. 
 The Trojans, worn with toils and spent with woes 
 Leap on the welcome land and seek their wish'd 
 repose." 
 
 Virgil although a Frenchman (for he was born in Gaul), 
 was pedantic enough to write his /Eneid in the form of 
 Latin hexameters, for which he has incurred the execra- 
 tion of generations of schoolboys, and it was reserved 
 for John Dryden to rescue the work from deserved 
 oblivion by turning it into proper English ; it is from 
 his translation that the above is taken. I am indebted 
 to Clare for this note. 
 
 Visitors to Carthage hear a good deal about ^sculapius 
 and Hercules and other Greek and Roman deities. But 
 in truth the Phoenicians of the days of Hannibal and 
 Hasdrubal knew nothing of these gods, beyond the fact 
 of their worship by barbarians ; just as we English have 
 heard of Juggernaut and Jumbo. They had centuries 
 before grown out of such childish beliefs. They 
 worshipped one god, Baal-Ammon, or the Lord of 
 Heaven, the Amen-Ra of the civilized Egyptians. 
 Like the Egyptians, too, they worshipped him, the Sun, 
 the Giver of all Life, in several of his manifestations ; at 
 75 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 his rising, at noon, and at his going down ; and under his 
 different names. He was Moloch or Melek, the King. 
 He was Asmon, the Healer. Their poet^ gave him the 
 Moon to wife, as ours do to-day, without fear of being 
 charged with polytheism or anthropomorphism. She 
 was called Ashtaroth, the Queen of Heaven, wMth 
 crescent horns. When the Carthaginians spoke of God 
 as the Healer, the Romans naturally confounded him 
 with their own ^^^sculapius, and mistook him for a 
 separate deity. Similarly, as Melcarth or Moloch, the 
 King, the Strong One, he was confounded with Hercules; 
 and the sites of the temples of these deities are pointed 
 out to us to-day. 
 
 It is grossly unfair to accept the garbled accounts of 
 their mal gnant Roman conquerors, or of Philo the 
 forger, and his copyist Eusebius, as authentic descrip- 
 tions of the creed of such highly civilized people as thie 
 Phoenicians. Doubtless, when the creed of a cultured 
 people becomes engrafted on savages, the creed itself 
 undergoes a corresponding degradation. Appalling 
 accounts of the way in which Christianity is practised 
 among certain cannibal tribes at this day have from time 
 to time come to us through the missionaries. And it is 
 therefore not surprising to find the following gruesome 
 description of the ancient w^orship of Moloch at Jeru- 
 salem. Says the Rabbi Simeon, "All the houses of the 
 idols were in the city of Jerusalem, except that of 
 Moloch, which was out of the city, in a separate place. 
 It was a statue with the head of an ox, and the hands 
 stretched out as a man's, who opens his hands to receive 
 something. It was hollow within. The child was 
 placed before the idol, and a fire made under it till it 
 
" What of the Ships, O Carthage ? '* 
 
 became red-hot. Then the priest took the child and 
 put him into the glowing hands of Moloch. Lest the 
 parents should hear his cries they beat drums to drown 
 the noise." 
 
 Another of the names of Ashtaroth, or Astarte, the 
 Moon-goddess, was Tanath; whence the name Tunis 
 From being the Queen of the Sun, the Giver of Life, she 
 naturally came to be regarded as the symbol of the 
 feminine principle; and was consequently worshipped 
 by the lower races adopting the Punic creed, much as 
 Venus was celebrated by the Romans and Aphrodite by. 
 the Greeks. I low would Christians like their creed to 
 be interpreted by the light of their mummers, their hot- 
 cross-buns, their Easter eggs, their Shrovetide pancakes, 
 and their Christmas trees ? 
 
 After the utter destruction of Carthage by Scipio, not 
 only were the people massacred and the city burnt to 
 ashes, but it was ordained that their very name and 
 literature should be completely obliterated and expunged, 
 in order that Roman liars and distorters of history might 
 paint their fallen foes in the blackest colours, without 
 lear of contradiction. All the Punic books were publicly 
 burnt, with the exception of Mago's treatise on agricul- 
 ture, of which the Romans had need : for the Cartha- 
 ginians knew much more about such matters than their 
 savage conquerors. Having thus paved the way, and 
 made a tabula rasa for their detestable calumny, they set 
 to work and wrote upon it. And this is how they began 
 with the character of the indomitable hero who held out 
 against them until he was almost single-handed : 
 
 " On the seventh day Scipio had taken up his post on a 
 lofty place which commanded the whole view, when a 
 77 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 deputation appeared before him, to beg tlie lives of those 
 who had taken refuge in the Byrsa. The request was 
 granted for all except the Roman deserters ; and, of that 
 teeming population of 700,000 persons whose prosperity 
 had excited the jealousy of Ca'to, a miserable remnant, 
 30,000 men and 25,000 women, marched out through 
 the burning ruins of their houses over the heaped-up 
 corpses of their fellow citizens. There remained the 900 
 Roman deserters, with Hasdrubal, his wife, and his two 
 sons. They retreated to the temple of Asmon, the heart 
 of the citadel." * 
 
 So far we have history. Here we see the brave 
 Hasdrubal, like the captain of a sinking ship, standing at 
 the post of duty till every other Carthaginian had safely 
 retired. His devoted wife and two boys only remain 
 with him to share his fate. Now listen to the malignant 
 bit of Roman spite : — "No sooner was the temple set on 
 fire than Hasdrubal rushed forth, deserting wife, children 
 and followers, and came into Scipio's presence with an 
 olive-branch in his hand. In utter scorn the victor 
 granted life to the abject wretch, but compelled him to 
 prostrate himself at his feet in sight of the deserted 
 garrison, who overwhelmed him with execrations. Above 
 them all the wife of Hasdrubal showed herself on the 
 topmost story of the temple, holding a child in either 
 hand. ' To thee, Roman,' she exclaimed, ' I wish nothing 
 but prosperity ; for thy acts are according to the laws of 
 war : but I beseech thee, as well as the gods of Carthage 
 to punish that Hasdrubal as he deserves, for having 
 betrayed his country, his gods, his wife and children.' 
 
 * " History of the World," by P. Smith. 
 78 
 
"What of the Ships, O Carthage?" 
 
 Then, having reviled her husband, she cut her children's 
 throats and threw them one after the other into the flames, 
 into which she then leaped down herself." 
 
 The object of the manufacture of this cock-and-bull 
 story is obvious. Some excuse must be found for violating 
 the laws of war and for torturing Hasdrubal. Picture 
 the stentorian woman, with a heavy boy in each hand, 
 yelling amid the clash of arms and the roaring and crack- 
 ling of the conflagration from the summit of a high tower, 
 • — yelling in Punic to a Roman who knew only his own 
 mother-tongue. Picture the hero^ hitherto deaf to offers 
 of bribery and to threats of torture, so unbending in the 
 hour of defeat, so disdainful of the opportunity of retreat 
 just held out to all but Roman deserters, electing rather 
 to perish with foreign mercenaries than to desert them in 
 the moment of extremity— picture this man, against whose 
 record of deed and daring not a single act of pusillanimity 
 could be set, suddenly transformed into a whining cur, 
 deserting the followers with whom he had just sworn to 
 perish and the noble woman who had chosen to die with 
 him ! 
 
 And yet this is what youth is taught in our public 
 schools. It is a libel not only on the name of a great 
 man, but on Humanity itself. And I mention the in- 
 famous fabrication merely as a warning to all students of 
 Carthaginian history not to attach the slightest credence 
 to anything which comes to them through Roman 
 channels. The history of Carthage is yet to be written, 
 perhaps by some scion of the great race whose civilization 
 has smouldered for four hundred years, well-nigh stifled 
 by that deadening blight, the rule of the Turk. 
 
 79 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA 
 
 The voyage from Carthage to Malta was an agreeable 
 change to those who love a blue sky, a blue sea, and 
 a contemplative pipe on deck in a basking sun. It 
 was not ''such manly weather," to adopt the 'Varsity 
 Man's expressive phrase, as that which we had ex- 
 perienced on the Sardinian coast ; but it afforded the 
 party an opportunity of making headway with the 
 chess handicap which had been organised by the 
 Hon. Sec. Before Malta was sighted, Jus had suc- 
 ceeded in vanquishing all his opponents except the 
 Hon, Sec, whose game was still unfinished. This 
 undue haste had only the effect of convincing every 
 competitor except himself that, after all, chess is not a 
 very athletic sport, and that deck quoits is vastly its 
 superior in that respect. Whereupon it was resolved 
 by a thumping majority of Hve to one that the handicap 
 should be allowed to lapse. The minority, strange to 
 relate, consisted of the Literary Failure. And that is 
 what came of losing the Legal Luminary, whose acquired 
 sense of justice would surely have revolted against such 
 perfidy. However, Jus vov\ed he would have his revenge 
 by communicating the facts to the present writer, and 
 80 
 
The Knights of Malta 
 
 through him to the great British PubHc, to whom he 
 looks for, not redress, but sympathy. " Never mind 
 the stakes," he writes, his pen quivering with emotion : 
 " give me but a sympathetic sigh, and a silent hand-grip, 
 as they do it on the Adelphi stage, and I ask no more." 
 Knowing the B. P. as I do, I feel confident that this 
 appeal will not be made in vain. 
 
 When a man has been unjustly convicted of a heinous 
 crime in free England; when, owing to mistaken identity 
 or the wilful false witness of foresworn knaves, he has 
 been sentenced to five years' penal servitude for what he 
 has never done or dreamt of; when he has served three 
 of those years, and is lound to be innocent — ^what is the 
 behaviour of his sorrowing and remorseful compatriots .'* 
 Do they, like the sordid and earthly Chinaman, cry: 
 " We have wronged this man ; we have ruined his 
 business ; injured his health ; curtailed his liberty ; 
 besmirched his reputation, and cursed his kindred ; come, 
 let us make reparation; let us make a public apology; 
 let us grant him a life annuity; let us make his future 
 the happier as we have made his past the more wretched." 
 No : a thousand times no. At such a moment English- 
 men rise superior to all such mundane considerations. 
 Say they: "Let us grant him her Majesty's most 
 gracious pardon; let us set the prison-door ajar, and 
 silently and gently push him out into the street. ' Let 
 the dead past bury its dead : Act, act in the living 
 present, heart within and God o'erhead.' " Yes, a very 
 long way o'erhead, thinks the the victim of insolent 
 injustice. 
 
 Should the eye of the gentle lady who sits upon the 
 throne of England chance to fall on the words I have 
 8i F 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 written, she would not deem it unbecoming in me to 
 suggest that she has it in her power by a single word to 
 put an end to this cruel mockery once and for ever. 
 " May it please your Majesty to sign the pardon of this 
 innocent man ? " " No.'' 
 
 " But that," objects the carping democrat, " would be 
 unconstitutional." Then to shreds with a Constitution 
 which upholds iniquity! Not Caesar with his Roman 
 legions, not Xerxes with his million slaves, were more 
 resistless than Victoria's " I will," thus justice-winged to 
 the uttermost parts of the British Empire. 
 
 We steamed along the cliifs of Malta and entered the 
 port of Valetta at sunrise. The climate of Malta agrees 
 with the sun. He rose rejoicing as a strong man to run 
 a race. And nothing was hid from the brightness 
 thereof. Malta is simply the summit of a mountain 
 peeping out of the sea. And as she lay there, bathed in 
 amber light, she looked like a sleeping amazon in golden 
 armour. 
 
 Deserting the yacht (after breakfast) we cruised round, 
 in and out of the two great harbours on each side of 
 Valetta, and over several others between the fortress of 
 St. Elmo and St. Paul's Bay — so called because it is 
 believed to be the creek where Paul landed after being 
 tossed about for fourteen days on his way from Crete to 
 Rome. It is said that he found the people of Melita 
 very hospitable. Probably they were of Phoenician 
 nationality, but under Roman rule. The names of most 
 places on the island have an Arabic or Phoenician ring 
 about them. Valetta presents an appearance of impreg- 
 nability : so the civilian members of the party agreed ; 
 but the Wily Warrior said he would undertake to reduce 
 82 
 
The Knights of Malta 
 
 it in a week — with the assistance of Nelson and Napoleon 
 and the present British fleet. 
 
 The country beyond Valetta appears from the sea to 
 be nothing but a macadamised moor; but really it is 
 fertile and fruitful, producing in abundance not only the 
 
 *-.«-«i^. 
 
 
 M 
 
 ARSENAL yUAY MALTA 
 
 figs and pomegranates of the south, but also the apples 
 and strawberries of the north. Its stony appearance is 
 due to the walls, which everywhere surround the gardens 
 and fields to protect them from the fury of the winds, 
 and especially from Euroclydon, which drove the unwill- 
 ing evangelist to these shores. We may be permitted 
 to smile reverently at Paul's opinion of the weather before 
 starting. Indeed, the whole description of the voyage is 
 one of the most realistic touches in the New Testament. 
 83 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 " Sirs," said he, looking apprehensively at the waves, " I 
 perceive that this voyage will be with hurt and much 
 damage, not only of the lading and the ship, but also of 
 our lives." How often have we heard this advice 
 proffered to the captain by a cautious passenger, and 
 received in like manner ! " Nevertheless the centurion 
 believed the master and the owner of the ship more than 
 those things that were spoken by Paul." Alas ! so it is ! 
 And then after the baleful fulfilment of his prognostica- 
 tions, could anything be more human than the following ? 
 ^'- After long abstinence^ Paul stood forth in the midst of 
 them, and said, Sirs, ye should have hearkened unto me, 
 and not have loosed from Crete." It is these touches of 
 nature which make the New Testament so captivating. 
 Which of us would not have taken this natural and legiti- 
 mate little revenge — " I told you so " ? The narrative is 
 one for all time. 
 
 Malta has from time immemorial been rightly regarded 
 as one of the strongest posts in the Mediterranean AVhen 
 first heard of, it was in the occupation of the Phoenicians. 
 Some 700 years b.c. it fell under the sway of the Greeks. 
 In the fifth century the Carthaginians came and put the 
 Greeks in their proper place. Two hundred and fifty 
 years later it was captured by the Romans. In 87c a.d. 
 it was conquered by the Arabs, under whose benign rule 
 it prospered exceedingly. ^Tolerant almost to a fault, the 
 Khalifs permitted those disguised freebooters and swash- 
 bucklers, the Knights of St. John, to obtain a footing 
 here; and they, like the mythical cuckoo invented by 
 the charlatan Jenner, gradually elbowed the rightful pos- 
 sessors out of the nest. The island was formally presented 
 to the Knights by Charles V. in 1530. The deed of gift 
 84 
 
The Knights of Malta 
 
 is dated March 24, a day which the present writer, for 
 private reasons, regards as the most important day in the 
 year. In 1798 Malta was seized by NapoJeon Bonaparte, 
 but two years later the French were starved out with the 
 aid of the British fleet; and in 1814 the treaty of Paris 
 
 SHE MEANS TO KEEP IT 
 
 was signed, according to Article VII. of which "The 
 island of Malta with its dependencies will appertain in 
 full authority and sovereignty to his Britannic Majesty " : 
 in simpler language, " The English have got Malta, and 
 mean to keep it." Napoleon's soldiery behaved them- 
 selves very badly in Malta. It is not needful to enter 
 into details ; but the ladies of the island deemed it neces- 
 sary to go into mourning for a hundred years. Conse- 
 85 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 quently the mourning comes to an end this year (1898). 
 I do not know the precise day : but it will be interesting 
 to learn whether the Maltese girls look any prettier in 
 Paris costumes than they did when we saw them attired 
 in the faldeite—2, black fluttering mantilla of silk, which 
 gave them the appearance of very sparkling and fascina- 
 ting Sisters of Mercy. Landing near the Custom House, 
 and passing under an old arch, we climbed a long alley 
 of steps, and soon found ourselves in the Strada Reale. 
 After lunching at the Union Club, where we were kindly 
 welcomed as temporary members, we sallied forth to 
 visit the grandest church in the world — the Church of 
 St. John. There is nothing about the outside of the 
 building to attract notice, but the magnificence of the 
 interior is unequalled. The wealth of its art treasures 
 was augmented by a law requiring every knight, on pro- 
 motion, to make a present to the church, called "gioja " : 
 the Grand Master's contribution being limited to fifty 
 ounces of gold. No wonder that in the two hundred 
 and sixty-eight years of their rule the church increased 
 in riches and in splendour. " How is it," inquired the 
 Rich Banker, " that we never succeed in decoratinir our 
 English cathedrals and churches to such a point of 
 exquisite finish?" "Try gioja," answered the Com. 
 The Banker made no reply ; but I do not myself see how 
 such a forced kind of contribution could be levied in 
 England. 
 
 Of course, I could, an I were so minded, give a 
 graphic description of the paintings, and extol the 
 masterly sotto in su of Matthias Preti ; but I am not so 
 minded : for of all beggarly futilities nothing is so utterly 
 futile as a description of a picture by a penman. As 
 86 
 
The Knights of Malta 
 
 hopefully might a painter essay to portray on canvas, 
 " in oils, three coats of the best quality," one of Aristotle's 
 syllogisms, or a sonata by Beethoven. Besides which, 
 the 'Varsity Man has warned me that if he catches me 
 cribbing from any of the guide-books he will rnercilessly 
 expose me in the Westminster Gazette. A third and 
 conclusive reason for my abstention is my dread of the 
 Hon. Sec, upon whose art department I should be 
 unfairly trenching. But if any of my readers will take 
 my word for it, that the treasures of the Church of St. 
 John are priceless and " worth a visit," I will give him 
 one bit of useful advice. Let him go and see them. If 
 he cannot find time (or money) to do this, the next best 
 thing he can do is to follow the advice of the elder 
 Coleridge, when his son asked him for a hundred pounds 
 with which to pay a visit to Rome. " What for ? " asked 
 the father. " Oh," said the son, " one naturally likes to 
 be able to say one has seen Rome." " In that case," 
 replied Coleridge, ^^ say it! but don't waste the money." 
 Obviously, gentle reader, there is nothing to prevent 
 your saying that you have seen the Church of St. John ; 
 but before saying it too loud you would do well to learn 
 off by heart the eight columns which Murray devotes to 
 the subject. He also gives what I have no doubt is an 
 admirable plan of the church, plentifully sprinkled over 
 with letters of the alphabet. How I used to loathe those 
 plans at school — ground-plan of the -Temple of Minerva ; 
 plan of the battlefield of Cunaxa; and so on. Why 
 boys should be set to pore over such dreary details can 
 be explained only on the principle that they ought to 
 become reconciled in this world to what they may have 
 to endure in the next. To me it seems that a good 
 87 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 rousing picture of Artaxerxes killing Cyrus (if he did, or 
 even if he did not) would be far more stimulating to the 
 youthful mind. " But," argues the stalwart defender of 
 the old classical curriculum, " boys must learn to labour 
 at what they do not like." So they must, my dismal 
 friend, so long as you and your fossil brigade have your 
 way — but not a day longer. 
 
 Our next visit was to the Chapel of Bones, a grim 
 vault whose walls are covered from floor to ceiling with 
 human bones, some of them arranged in geometrical 
 patterns and others in such sort as to resemble pictures 
 of Time, Death, and other cheerful subjects. The 
 effect is altogether too grotesque and Iberian to suit 
 Aryan taste, or to arouse the sentiment of awe. '■'' De 
 mortuis^'' the Com. was heard to mutter as he went 
 out, " nil nisi bomim''' " What does that mean ? " in- 
 quired the Warrior. " Of the Dead, nothing is left but 
 the bones," the Com. answered with assumed gravity. 
 " To be sure," assented Orlando solemnly ; " we are all 
 of us skeletons at heart, when you get the blues ; but 
 what's the good of meetin' your end half way? Life's 
 a bit of all-right as long as you can hang on to it. All 
 this charnel-house business is not in my line : let us clear 
 out." 
 
 So we went to the Governor's palace, originally the 
 palace of the Grand Masters of the Order. It is in 
 the severe but luxurious taste of the baronial age, and 
 redolent of heraldry. Quaint old portraits of armour- 
 clad warriors line the walls of the marble-paved corridors, 
 and the council chamber is hung with Gobelin tapestry, 
 which the British officer who courteously accompanied 
 us over the building told us had been presented by 
 88 
 
The Knights of Malta 
 
 Louis XIV., but which, there is good reason to believe, 
 was paid for in hard cash by Grand Master Perellos. 
 The armoury contains some very interesting rehcs of a 
 happily bygone age : the silver trumpet which sounded 
 the Knights' retreat from Rhodes, after their gallant stand 
 
 
 A MORE MODERN WEAI'ON OF WAR 
 
 against the Turks ; the axe and sword of Dragoot, one 
 of the Turkish commanders ; Charles V.'s original deed 
 of gift of the island ; the papal bull founding the Order ; 
 and a number of Masters' batons, weapons of war, and 
 ancient trophies of various kinds. 
 
 Here, if anywhere, the study of heraldry is possible. 
 Not that it is or ever was a science, but as an art it had 
 some pretension in the thirteenth and two following cen- 
 
 89 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 turies. Since then it has become the laughing-stock of the 
 judicious and the happy hunting-ground of the snob and 
 the dryasdust. A study which once formed part of a 
 prince's regular education, and which occupied the atten- 
 tion of some of most learned men of Europe, has now 
 been relegated to coachbuilders and undertakers. At the 
 same time, with all deference to the Heralds' College, and 
 also to Ye Boke of St. Albans, it is not true that the bearing 
 of heraldic devices dates back only to the twelfth century. 
 It had its origin in the remotest antiquity. In our own 
 time the Australian aborigines are divided into families 
 distinguished by the name of some animal or vegetable, 
 which serves as their crest or kobofig ; and Red Indians 
 are classed in clans, each having a crest, or totem, of its 
 own, such as Jaguar, Bull, Bear, which also suffices for 
 a surname. Amongst them the totem is held to be such 
 good proof of descent that a man and woman bearing 
 the same totem are not allowed to marry. A very cursory 
 inspection of the Egyptian tombs suffices to show that 
 the germ of heraldry must be sought tens of centuries 
 back, and not in the recent period of the Crusades, 
 when it had lost all practical meaning and was of little 
 use except as a rallying sign on helm, banner, pennon, 
 and gonfalon. At the present day armorial bearings are 
 still very useful, as Mrs. Midas will tell you, to enable 
 you to distinguish " nice " people from people who are — 
 " well, not very nice, don't you know ? " Otherwise, how 
 can you possibly tell ? If it were not so, what would be 
 the use of earls marshal, of kings-at-arms, of heralds, 
 of pursuivants, and of several other important function- 
 aries ? All things in nature have their uses, as we were 
 taught in the nursery ; and of all things in heaven and 
 90 
 
The Knights of Malta 
 
 earth the most natural is a donkey. By the way, the 
 donkey dates from the days of chivalry. You will never 
 find one mentioned by a single writer before the days of 
 Cervantes. Indeed, the first donkey ever heard of was a 
 two-legged one — Don Quixote ; which name, when pro- 
 
 DOX OI-IXOTK 
 
 nounced by a Spaniard, is Donkeyhoty. That is as near 
 as it can be written in English; and this is the real 
 origin of the word. The name of the Spanish knight 
 so mercilessly lampooned by Cervantes was afterwards 
 bestowed on the four-legged ass, not because he lacks 
 intelligence, which he does not, but because he is stupid 
 and obstinate, or, as we say when we admire those 
 qualities, firm and determined. I am quite aware that 
 91 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 this is not the dictionary derivation of the word ; but 
 that is distinctly in its favour. 
 
 When at length we steamed out of the Grand Harbour 
 and waved farewell to Fort St. Elmo, we felt that, after 
 all, perhaps the construction of a tunnel under the 
 Straits of Dover might not reduce England to the 
 position of a seventh-class Power ; that English arms 
 and English heads might still be trusted to hold their 
 own, even though not locked up in the nursery, or 
 separated from bullying neighbours by the silver streak. 
 
 92 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 PAPYRUS LAND 
 
 "Len, 5'ou seem to be suffering from some secret 
 sorrow," said Orlando one day on deck, as the Maria 
 breasted the grey waters ; " let me share it, and weep 
 with you." 
 
 " That will do," replied the Hon. Sec. gruffly. " Look 
 here, I want to finish that adjourned game with Jus ; but 
 they tell me the whole thing is off." 
 
 " Never finish an adjourned game," chipped in the 
 Com. sententiously ; " it is a great mistake." 
 
 " How so ? " inquired Len. 
 
 " Because," explained the Com. philosophically, " I 
 have never yet known an adjourned contest in which 
 each player had not got a won game. In the present 
 case, both you and Jus have privately informed me of 
 the fact. So that two men are made happy by an 
 unfinished game, whereas, if played out, only one can 
 rejoice." 
 
 " Unless it is a draw," said Orlando, with strict atten- 
 tion to the law of chances. 
 
 " In that case," the Com. replied, " one cup of happi- 
 ness is divided between two; and you have two half- 
 happy men, instead of two wholly blissful." This 
 93 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 specious bit of sophistry destroyed the last flickering 
 hope that the tournament would be played out to a 
 conclusion. Deck-quoits is a game which, with all its 
 attractiveness — zinc bucket, chalk marks, hemp discs, 
 and all — fails to rivet the attention after a spell of one 
 hour. We had twenty-four to occupy somehow every 
 day. The longitude makes no difference to the number 
 of hours in a day ; although the direction in which you 
 are steering lengthens or shortens both the day itself 
 and the hours of which it is built up. As the day itself 
 shortens, the hours shorten in proportion, so that at 
 midnight there is never a bit of unfinished hour left 
 sticking out. This is part and parcel of that beneficent 
 design everywhere visible in the Cosmos, for which we 
 have so much reason to be thankful. Suppose, for 
 example, that, when the day lengthened, the hours 
 remained of the same length. You would go off to your 
 berth in plenty of time before midnight, and then you 
 would find that the twenty-fourth hour had expired 
 before the day was over. You would have literally no 
 time to go to bed, and you might catch your death of 
 cold. But it is otherwise ordained. Even while care- 
 less man sleeps, and while his watch goes on ticking 
 regardless of longitude, the silent hours expand and 
 contract imperceptibly but precisely. AVho can probe 
 the mysterious powers of nature ? 
 
 Hence, quoits being insufficient, and chess being 
 tabooed, there was nothing for it but argument. Argu- 
 ment is a grand resource. It is an excellent intellectual 
 gymnastic. It clears the mental atmosphere, and im- 
 proves the mind. It makes good debaters and orators, 
 and chastens the soul. 
 
 94 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 Between leaving Malta and entering the harbour of 
 Alexandria we were at sea three days and three nights, 
 an interval of time which is invariably associated in the 
 mind with the voyage of Jonah from Joppa to Nineveh. 
 Which way did the whale go? It is clear that if, as 
 some writers assert, the Suez Canal was at that remote 
 period open to traffic, he would have selected that 
 course. But, if not, no choice was open to him but the 
 journey through the Straits of Gibraltar and round by 
 the Cape of Good Hope to the Persian Gulf. Historians 
 are now agreed that the old canal connected the Red 
 Sea with the Bitter lakes, but not with the Mediterranean. 
 In that case the whale must have taken the longer 
 route, and have performed the journey at the rate of 
 about three thousand miles a day, or \yell over a 
 hundred knots an hour. This is three times as quick as 
 the fastest cruiser afloat. But I must not stay to 
 examine this profound theme and its bearing on human 
 conduct. 
 
 We reached Alexandria at 9 a.m., but it was 4 p.m. 
 before we succeeded in crossing the bar. During 
 all these seven wasted hours we could see the pilot- 
 boat flitting backwards and forwards at the harbour 
 entrance, but either unable or unwilling to come to our 
 assistance. It appears that, after all the enormous 
 sums spent on the construction of the harbour, it is 
 dangerous for any unpiloted ship drawing more than 
 fourteen feet of water to cross the bar. More 
 especially is she liable to break her back in a lumpy 
 sea. However, at last our gallant Commodore, weary 
 of the delay, and perhaps a bit sceptical as to the 
 danger, advised running the blockade. Our intention 
 95 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 being made clear through the captain to the pilot, he 
 guided us by signals from afar through the tortuous 
 windings of the channel, and we glided into tranquil 
 waters. A fellow sufferer, a cargo-boat, was left kicking 
 about outside all that day and the following night. 
 
 SOME ISKi HOLES 
 
 We did not waste much time over the most disap- 
 pointing of all cities, with ^ts filthy and billowy apologies 
 for streets, its squalid suburbs and its motley and 
 draggled population of disreputable Greeks, low-caste 
 Arabs, abject Jews, and nondescripts, all taken together 
 a novel but otherwise repulsive crowd. The Warrior 
 insisted on showing us the wreckage wrought in the 
 fortifications by the English ironclads in 1882, much of 
 96 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 which is still left untouched as a terror to evil-doers. 
 The Hon. Sec. photographed a hole through which an 
 elephant might easily be flung by any one strong enough 
 
 n 
 
 
 POLICEMAX POMPEV S PILLAR 
 
 to fling it. And then we drove off to inspect Pompey's 
 pillar, a fine red granite column a hundred feet high on 
 the highest eminence in Alexandria, and historically 
 interesting as having nothing to do with Pompey. When 
 I say Pompey, I mean Pompey. That the policeman 
 97 G 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 who looked after its erection three centuries after the 
 death of Pompey happened also to be named Pompey 
 is a matter of no importance. The pillar seems to have 
 been put up in honour of Diocletian. 
 
 The city itself was built six centuries earlier by 
 Alexander, called the Great because of the stir and 
 racket that he made all the world over. Even a great 
 nuisance is great. Here he was buried in a golden coffin. 
 Gold and silver make excellent coffins for a short time. 
 Some years later it occurred to Ptolemy Kokkes, whom 
 we may call Cocky Ptolemy, that whereas a glass coffin 
 would do just as well for the dead Alexander, the gold 
 one might conveniently be converted to better uses by 
 the living Cocky. And it was so. 
 
 I need hardly say that the Pharos lighthouse, which 
 was once looked upon as one of the seven wonders of 
 the world, has long since vanished. A generation ago 
 the traveller could see two beautiful obelisks of syenite, 
 fetched by Tiberius from the city of On ; but they have 
 both disappeared, and now one is to be seen on the 
 Thames Embankment in London, and the other in 
 Central Park at New York, where amid uncongenial 
 surroundings they are both crumbling away at a greater 
 rate per decade than they did per millennium in their 
 old home. Those patriotic rulers, Mahomed AH and 
 Ismail, presented them respectively to the British and 
 American Governments. Like Pompey's pillar, they 
 are called ^'Cleopatra's needles " because Cleopatra had 
 nothing whatever to do with them. Twenty years ago 
 the English one (by adoption) enjoyed a few days' 
 tossing in the Bay of Biscay "mit itselbe" after bting 
 abandoned by the tug in tow of which it set out. 
 98 
 
' Papyrus Land 
 
 One of the most lamentable events in all history is the 
 burning of the priceless library founded by Ptolemy 
 Soter three hundred years b.c, which occurred during 
 the capture of Alexandria by Julius Caesar — certainly not, 
 we may rest assured, with his consent. It then contained 
 about half a million manuscript books, including pro- 
 bably the ancient and trustworthy histories of Ancient 
 Egypt by native authors from the earliest dates. When 
 Alexandria was taken in 640 a.d. by the Saracens under 
 the Khalif Omar's general Amru, another enormous 
 library was devoured by the flames, equally to the sorrow, 
 we may be sure, of that potentate. The loss of the books 
 which then perished is less to be regretted, consisting as 
 they doubtless did, in the main, of the wranglings and 
 vapourings of the Fathers, who out of the seething cauldron 
 of old-world fables fashioned the eclectic creed of the 
 Dark Ages. Concerning which disputations and their 
 like another and a greater Omar sang eight hundred 
 years ago : — 
 
 " Myself when young did eagerly frequent 
 Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument 
 About it and about : but evermore 
 Came out by the same door where in I went." 
 
 About this second (or third) great book-fire there is a 
 fanatical utterance usually attributed to Omar the Khalif. 
 " If the books agree with the Book of God, they are use- 
 less ; if they disagree, they are pernicious." Of course 
 Omar never said anything so foolish, but Cardinal 
 Ximenes did — nearly a thousand years later ! 
 
 The Literary Failure was expatiating on the irreparable 
 loss occasioned by these conflagrations to a bright youth 
 in an Eton jacket and turned-down collar. " Ah ! " 
 99 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 replied the youth with enthusiasm, " there is a special 
 providence which watches over schoolboys. With such 
 an appalling addition to classical literature school life 
 would be unendurable." The Literary Failure was 
 shocked, but chastened. After all, he reflected, if the 
 library of the British Muaeum and all the other great 
 libraries were consumed, should we know much the less 
 of all that is worth knowing ? If all the books in the 
 world, and all the papers, were piled up in a heap 
 on the sands of Gizeh, they would form a pyramid 
 vastly bigger than the pyramid of Cheops ; but if all the 
 words of true wisdom were extracted from the heap, and 
 reprinted in a single big volume, it would not be more 
 than a camel could carry. I am not going to re-open 
 the " hundred best books " controversy ; but, with the 
 exception of the present work, the " Arabian Nights," 
 Aristotle's "Ethics," "Alice in Wonderland," Spencer's 
 "Synthetic Philosophy," Punch, "Gulliver's Travels," 
 Bacon's " Plays," " Struwwelpeter," the Koran, and the 
 Pi?ik Ufi, what books, I ask, would contribute much 
 to that grand volume ? 
 
 But away with all these depressing speculations ! The 
 bell rings. The train is about to start for Cairo, the 
 Capital of the Four Worlds — of the East and the West, 
 the Ancient and the Modern. " Tickets, please." And 
 away we go, through fields of cotton, of durra, of wheat 
 and of sugar-cane. Date-palms drop their golden fruit, 
 and the people catch them in bags of net. Camels and 
 asses and turbaned men with swarthy faces proceed in 
 single file along the battened paths from one group of 
 mud huts to another ; and tiny village mosques peep out 
 from groves of acacia and sycamore. It is a unique 
 
 lOO 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 landscape, unlike anything seen in Europe, excepting 
 the pictures in the old Bibles illustrating the wanderings 
 of the Israelites in the desert of Sinai. 
 
 When we reached Cairo it was quite dark ; so, under 
 the cover of the wing of ebon night, we trundled in a 
 'bus to the Gezireh Palace, which was built by the late 
 (but hardly lamented) Khedive Ismail, not so much for 
 our accommodation as for his own. It is situated some 
 distance out of the town, and on the other side of the 
 Nile bridge, which is a quarter of a mile long. Talking 
 of 'buses, I hold that a 'bus is the safest of all sanctuaries 
 for the hunted felon or persecuted martyr. If I were 
 " wanted " by Sherlock Holmes, or pursued by Thugs, 
 or members of a secret society, I should take my seat on 
 the knife-board of a London 'bus with a complete sense 
 of security. I have tried the experiment repeatedly in 
 Piccadilly and have invariably succeeded in effecting the 
 journey from the Circus to Hyde Park Corner without 
 being observed by a single lady of my acquaintance. 
 
 "How is it you all cut me to-day?" I inquired one 
 afternoon of a galaxy of duchesses, empresses, and 
 sultanas, at a garden party. 
 
 "Oh, really," they replied in chorus, "we never saw 
 you." And one of the youngest and fairest of them 
 added, " But you have no idea how ridiculous you looked 
 perched up there." 
 
 This fully confirms Edgar Allan Poe's theory that the 
 safest place for a stolen State paper is in an open envelope 
 on your library chimney-piece. Indeed, that is exactly 
 where I always keep them now. 
 
 As a palace, the building may have had advantages, 
 but as an hotel, its halls and rooms are too spacious for 
 
 101 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 the sparse visitors, at all events before Christmas, and it 
 is too "far from the madding crowd." The gardens 
 by the riverside are pleasant enough, especially to the 
 European, unused to strolling among baobabs and aloes, 
 and banyans and palms. There stands the pretty kiosk, 
 in which to shelter from the sun. And there is the 
 harem, which we explored ; but, alas ! the houris had all 
 fled. Where are they all? " It does not much matter," 
 muttered the Warrior: "they must be getting on by 
 this." 
 
 Anyhow, they cannot be as old as the baobabs, which 
 live to the age of six thousand years — so we have it on 
 the high authority of De Candolle. If ladies lived as long 
 as baobabs, Eve might now be relating to her great-great- 
 great . . . grandchildren some of her early experiences 
 in a still more beautiful garden. How she would loathe 
 the sight of apples ! How wistfully she would look back 
 at the good old days when the lion lay down with the 
 lamb, and the school-girl with the earwig ; and when 
 snakes used to hop on the points of their tails like 
 animated walking-sticks, instead of having to shuffle 
 along on their — ahem ! — stomachs. Even these reflec- 
 tions soon lost their savour ; so we left the desolate 
 palace, and took up our abode at the livelier and more 
 comfortable Shepheard's Hotel, in the midst of all the 
 fun of the fair. 
 
 Before we left, and while we were still lingering on 
 the doorsteps, a carriage dashed up to the door, pre- 
 ceded by a couple of handsome " sais " in their comely, yet 
 manly cpstume. How these splendid specimens of the 
 human species contrive to keep ahead of thorough-paced 
 carriage-horses without losing their wind, and this for 
 
 102 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 mi'es at a spell, is a puzzle to those whose youth is spent 
 "with blinded eyesight, poring over miserable books." 
 
 Out of the carriage stepped Lord Cromer. He had 
 called to take the Gaekwar of Baroda for a diive with 
 the King of Siam. 
 
 LORD CROSIER CALLS OX THE GAEKWAR 
 
 " There goes the King of Egypt," said a stranger near 
 us. And he was not far wrong. What significant hand- 
 shakings are these, between East and West, in the 
 Capital of all Nations ! They recall some of the gather- 
 ings in Rome in the glorious days of Marius and Jugurtha. 
 If Britain has learnt much from Rome, she has also 
 bettered the instruction. A couple of millenniums 
 affords time for reflection. But it is not fifty years 
 103 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 since Baroda and Sattarah saw the seamy side of the 
 Union Jack ! 
 
 Thanks to such Enghshmen as George Washington 
 and WilHam Gladstone, tributary States are now un- 
 known within the vast boundaries of the British Empire. 
 The very word "tribute" is as dead as "slavery." 
 
 The present Gaekwar is an amiable^ polished gentle- 
 man without Oriental ostentation — "without any side 
 on," as the Warrior put it. 
 
 The "King of Egypt " presents the appearance of a 
 man firm of purpose, and kindly of disposition, whom 
 one would expect to find conducting affairs of state 
 suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. Such is the king de 
 facto. Of the king de Jure, as we must still continue to 
 regard the Khedive, I would prefer to say nothing, 
 except that he and his kinsfolk have too many palaces, 
 having regard to the taxable value of Egypt, and that he 
 appears to be unpopular with the poorer classes. He 
 and all his belongings represent the crumbling fabric of 
 Turkish rule. He is the centre round which gyrate the 
 discontented remnants of Pashadom, with all its venality, 
 licentiousness, and oppression. Still, I prefer to say 
 nothing. I might say, with a former Bishop of Gloucester, 
 " Don't nail his ears to the pump" — but such advice might 
 be misinterpreted by my Arab friends. 
 
 The view from the citadel is vast, but, except for the 
 pyramids on the horizon, not grand, nor even pic- 
 turesque. It might be some large European town spread 
 over a flat plain, but bristling with mosque-minarets 
 instead of church-spires — that is all. 
 
 Far the most striking feature of Cairo is its populace. 
 In no spot on the surface of the globe is there to be 
 104 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 found such a heterogeneous concourse of men and 
 women, differing in race, in complexion, and in dress. 
 Coffee-coloured Arabs, coal-black Nubians, fair Saxons, 
 grey-skinned Bedouins, dusky Turks, bronze Syrians, and 
 pallid French jostle each other in the streets. The pro- 
 
 KHEDIVES PALACE AT ALEXANDRIA 
 
 perty-room of Drury Lane Theatre could not turn out 
 such a raree-show of raiment — such a medley of turbans, 
 straws, fezes, tall hats, caps, and cork-helmets ; of caftans, 
 white and blue burnooses, breeches, calico pants, and 
 cloaks ; of black and buff shoes, red and yellow slippers, 
 sandals and *•' neekes." The like is nowhere seen. As 
 for languages, surely Babel was not in it. What the 
 resultant of forces will be, no one can foretell. Well, I 
 105 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 withdraw that. There are plenty who can foretell, but 
 none who can foresee and foreknow. 
 
 " What language will be eventually spoken in Cairo ? " 
 inquired Clare. 
 
 " English," I suppose, answered the Hon. Sec. 
 
 "Arabic, I should say," remarked the Banker. 
 
 "A jumble of the two perhaps," suggested the Com., 
 " with a substratum of Latin and a dash of Chinese : 
 what dp you say, Orlando ? " 
 
 " Well," replied the Warrior with even more than usual 
 of his characteristic wiliness, " next time they ask you 
 tell them you don't know." 
 
 Perhaps he was right ; but it is always unpleasant to 
 have to confess that you don't know. Some people 
 think it is better to have a shot at it and risk it. If they 
 hit the mark, it is remembered ; if they miss, it is for- 
 gotten. Look at dreams and presentiments. Ninety- 
 nine out of a hundred remain unfulfilled. Nobody ever 
 mentions them. One comes true, and everybody racks 
 his brain, or his batter (as the case may be), to account 
 for the marvel. 
 
 The real marvel would be if one of these premonitions 
 did not occasionally turn out to be prophetic. The 
 Psychical Research Society, I believe, publishes what I 
 may call the lucky " warnings." Let me supply them with 
 two from my own personal experience. A lady friend of 
 
 mine, a Mrs. B , heard one night, or dreamt she 
 
 heard — she could not be sure which — a dog howling out- 
 side her window as though in distress. Next morning 
 dear httle Toby was no more. He had wagged his last 
 tail at the very identical moment at which she had 
 heard, or dreamt she heard, the howl. How do you 
 1 06 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 account for that ? My friend, Professor Sidgwick, will 
 tell us that it was a case of unconscious cerebration. 
 But other authorities maintain that it is simply hyper- 
 aesthetic ganglionic activity rhythmically synchronous 
 with external actualities : simply that and nothing more. 
 I incline to the latter hypothesis. 
 
 But I must get on with my second case, which is still 
 more remarkable and sensational. One day I met an 
 old schoolfellow whom I had not heard of for twenty 
 years. He told me that he was married — that is all. He 
 did not describe his wife in any way. That very night I 
 dreamt that I met him again on the towpath. He was 
 accompanied by his wife. When I woke up I remem- 
 bered her distinctly. I got up and dressed (one usually 
 does), called upon my friend and related my dream. 
 He was much interested. " Now tell me," he said, 
 "what is she like?" I did so without the slightest 
 hesitation. I said : " She was tall, dark, slim, with large 
 hazel eyes : she spoke with a slight French accent ; she 
 was dressed in a blue serge matelot costume, and wore a 
 straw hat with an Oxford blue ribbon : her auburn hair 
 was cut into a short curly fringe, and kept close to her 
 forehead by a little invisible veil ; and she had a yellow 
 rose in her waistband." 
 
 As I proceeded his wonder increased with every word. 
 His eyes dilated. He caught his breath. When I had 
 concluded, he seized me by the hand. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he gasped, " this is the most 
 remarkable thing I have ever known. You have 
 described my wife in no less than a dozen particulars; 
 and I assure you they are in every single respect abso- 
 lutely — wrong^ 
 
 107 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 If the Psychical Research Society care for the story, 
 they are welcome to it; and my friend is prepared to 
 make an affidavit as to its truth. 
 
 SKLIJI GAZZIRI 
 
 The University Mosque, over which we were conducted 
 by our Syrian friend and dragoman, Selim Gazziri, is not 
 a bit like either Cambridge or Oxford. Upon that Clare 
 and Jus were agreed. To begin with, the students all sit 
 on the floor, and, what is still more remarkable, the Dons 
 1 08 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 (or whatever the preceptors are called) do the same. The 
 ten thousand or so who were at lessons when we entered 
 seemed to be trying to get the Koran off by heart. In 
 order to avoid the distraction of hearing his neighbour's 
 muttering, each student mutters, or tries to mutter, a 
 shade louder still, just as every Londoner in the Park 
 tries to walk an inch taller than his co-pedestrians, and 
 with the same result — the pre-ordained relation is pre- 
 served. 
 
 This is one of the laws of nature; but there are 
 others worth knowing. The Com. in his haste kicked 
 off one of the roomy slippers in which the feet of 
 visitors are encased at the entrance, whereupon some 
 muezzin or fakir rushed up and flung a stick violently on 
 the ground, to witness in the sight of heaven that he 
 was no party to the sacrilege. The Com. put his slipper 
 on again, and the great globe went on " spinning down 
 the grooves of change," just as though nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 To what race these young and studious fellows 
 belong it is difficult to say. They seem to be decidedly 
 a mixed company. That a few of them, perhaps a 
 good many of them, are of the same race as Rameses 
 and Seti seems highly probable. A mixed race does 
 not necessarily imply a race of mixed individuals. 
 For example, you may have a mixed poultry-yard, in 
 which every one of the fowls is a thoroughbred 
 Leghorn or Orpington or Wyandotte. Or you may have 
 a poultry-yard in which all the fowls are barn-door 
 mongrels. So it is with nationalities. The Austrians are 
 a mixed people, but as a rule the inhabitants are either 
 thoroughbred Hungarians, or thoroughbred Czechs, or 
 109 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 thoroughbred Germans, autcetera. The half-breeds are 
 probably an insignificant minority. This tendency to 
 purity is more marked in some races than in others. 
 If you left horses and asses together in perpetuity you 
 would always find some mules among them, but most of 
 the animals would run to purity of breed. You would 
 never have a race of mules. On the other hand, when 
 numerous varieties of pigeons are left together un- 
 selected by man, their differences tend to disappear, 
 and you have a uniform race of blue rocks. In Egypt 
 there has been a great admixture of races from time 
 immemorial, but I see little evidence of blend — of the 
 formation of a new Egyptian type. The Nubian is, 
 and the Cushite was, the black-skinned, broad-faced, 
 handsome fellow we see on the walls of the temples 
 and in the bazaars of Assouan. The thoroughbred 
 Arab, again, is the same rich coffee-coloured, wiry, 
 long-limbed athlete we see in the portraits of the Rame- 
 sids. Again, the statues of the Hyksos are as unmis- 
 takably Hebrew as the Jews in the bazaars. The 
 Mizraim, or twinlands, were united, now under the Arab, 
 and now under the Hyksos ; and both were overrun by 
 the black warriors of Cush ; but all three have preserved 
 their identiiy to this day. Therefore, in this sense of 
 the words, the Egyptians are 7iot a mixed race, but a 
 mixture of distinct races-^a very different thing, as any 
 poultry-breeder will at once admit. There are mules 
 among them in plenty, as in England, but these ever 
 tend towards elimination. The true Egyptian still 
 predominates in Upper Egypt between Cairo and 
 Assouan, the Nubian, or Cushite, to the south of him, 
 and the Semite, or Hyksos, to the north of him, in 
 no 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 Lower Egypt. This may help to explain why the 
 women of the Delta are so remarkably " plain," whereas 
 the women of the two other divisions of the Nile 
 
 A YOUNG NUBIAN 
 
 country are so extremely good-looking. There is no 
 mistaking these three chief historic races. The Bedouins 
 seem to be a really mixed race — a cross between the 
 Arab and the old Berber. The qualities of the several 
 races are as markedly distinct as their appearance and 
 
 IIT 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 anatomy. The half-bred Berber of the desert is as 
 surely destined to die out before the advancing tide of 
 civilization as the Red Indian of North America. But 
 whether a corner will be reserved for the handsome 
 Nubian, with his large glittering eyes, his curly black 
 
 A FUNERAL 
 
 hair, and his teeth of immaculate ivory, is harder to 
 predict. Possibly the equatorial regions will prove too 
 warm for the conquering Aryan, even under gradual 
 acchmatisation ; and thither the ebon sons of Cush may 
 be driven, and left in peace. 
 
 We Englanders have much to learn from our Egyptian 
 brethren. Their taste, not only in dress but in deport- 
 ment and in ceremonial, is incomparably superior to 
 H2 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 ours. Their funerals, of which we witnessed several of 
 some circumstance, are stately, solemn, and impressive 
 without being ghoulish — no vulgar plumes, no paid 
 mutes, no reek of the crypt about them. Their 
 weddings are bright and picturesque, and consequently 
 unlike our Hanover Square processions, or the ridiculous 
 wedding parties one meets in the Bois de Vincennes. 
 Bridegrooms are not expected to look comic. 
 
 Joseph's Well, which is a deep shaft, reaching from 
 the top of the citadel to below the river-level, furnishes 
 another of those misnomers in which Egypt abounds 
 and seems to take a positive delight. The tourist is 
 told that this well was sunk by Joseph, the Jewish 
 patriarch ; but, apart from other considerations, Joseph, 
 if ever he had sunk a well in Egypt, would have done it 
 some seventeen miles higher up the river, at Memphis. 
 In his days Cairo was non-existent. The Blue Nile 
 itself must be added to the list, since it appears to derive 
 its name from its colour, which is of a distinctly brown 
 hue. What with the Blue Nile, Joseph's Well, Pompey's 
 Pillar, and Cleopatra's Needles, the hasty traveller is apt 
 to get a little mixed. Another source of confusion is 
 the double or optional name, not only of every Egyptian 
 god, but of nearly every Egyptian town. Of this we 
 shall take note as we proceed up the river. 
 
 In one respect Cairo resembles Paris under the 
 Empire. The rolling of drums and the tramp of 
 soldiers never cease. As we sat in the verandah of 
 Shepheard's, hardly an hour passed without the sound 
 of military music. There go the buff-skinned Egyptians 
 in their buff uniform ; there go the Cameron Highlanders 
 with their yellow hair ; after them come the Lincolnshire 
 113 H 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 and Warwickshire Regiments with their bonny English 
 faces. To the ofificers of the 21st Lancers we were much 
 beholden for their right British hospitality, both at the 
 Turf Club and the Khedivial. They introduced us not 
 only to the gayest, but also to the shadiest scenes of 
 
 MARCHING PAST SH?:PHEARD S HOTEL 
 
 "Outcast Cairo." The low-fast life of the place may 
 fairly be described as beastly without being seductive. 
 It was a refreshing change to repair to the Theatre Royal, 
 and witness the boxing tournament of the Soldiers' Club. 
 Some of the men showed capital form. 
 
 To describe the religion of the modern Egyptians 
 is no easy task. Speaking roughly, it is a variety of 
 Christianity called Mahommcdanism. They believe in 
 114 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 one God, the Maker and Ruler of the universe, and 
 the Rewarder of good and evil ; in the immortality of 
 the soul, and in special divine revelations to mankind. 
 They believe that certain holy men, or prophets, were 
 particularly commissioned, or inspired, to convey the 
 truth from Allah or Jehovah to his people. Of these 
 the chief were Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Solomon, 
 Elijah, Jesus, and Mahomed. So far there is little to 
 distinguish it from the Christianity of Western Europe, 
 But when we descend to the detailed corruptions which 
 have crept into the simple gospel of Monotheism on 
 both sides of the Mediterranean, we find a marked 
 contrast. While the Northern or European form of 
 Christianity called Catholic has gravitated towards ex- 
 ternal idolatry, the Southern or Mahommedan form 
 has gravitated towards internal ecstasy. If the im- 
 becilities of Lourdes, the inanities of the purgatorial 
 staircase at Rome, the painted statuettes, winking idols 
 and jewelled bambinos, and the mummeries of the Vatican 
 excite contempt on the one hand, the maniacal whirlings 
 and the bestial antics and gruntings of the dancing and 
 howling dervishes excite disgust on the other. In so 
 far as the two religions are pure, the outcome of noble 
 strivings towards virtue and towards a knowledge of the 
 spiritual side of nature, they are practically one and the 
 same. In so far as they are the degraded offspring of 
 priestcraft and carnality, they differ widely. The one 
 shows us Monotheism tricked out in the childish trinketry 
 of a dead mythology — Greek, Latin, and Teutonic. The 
 other shows it steeped in the sensuous and intoxicating 
 mysticism of decadent Alexandrian philosophers and 
 Persian dreamers. There is no health in either. 
 115 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 There are numerous monastic orders of the Mahomme- 
 dans, perhaps thirty or forty. The particular sect of 
 dancing dervishes whose gyrations we witnessed was 
 founded by a Fakir named Mevlana (and hence they 
 are called Mevlevi), about the time that Simon de 
 Montfort was founding the English House of Commons, 
 that is to say, about six centuries ago. Their doctrines 
 are very peculiar, and their customs and ceremonies 
 more so. They wear long drab fezes or cylindrical hats 
 of unbleached material. Their undercoats are white, and 
 so constructed that when the wearer spins round on his 
 heel they spread out in the form of a candle-extinguisher. 
 This- spinning is kept up for two hours at a stretch, till 
 some of the dancers drop down with fatigue or dizziness. 
 Long practice is required ; and the noviciate's term of 
 probation is exactly one thousand and one days. This is 
 the mystic number of the Mevlevios ; it is also the 
 number chosen by the author of Sheherazade's won- 
 derful Arabian tales. It is not chosen by caprice, as is 
 commonly supposed. At least, I think not. We all 
 know the veneration which the Orientals attach to the 
 numbers 7 and 12. The choice of 12 is based on 
 mathematical reasons connected with ancient weights 
 and measures, but being an even number, it was held 
 to be unlucky by the superstitious. " With the duo- 
 decimal system," writes Mr. P. Smith, speaking of the 
 early Roman Kalendar, "there had come in a super- 
 stitious regard for the good luck of odd numbers." This 
 belief he traces to the Etruscans, who probably derived 
 it from the East. So that Rory O'More cannot claim 
 originality in the matter. Instead, therefore, of dividing 
 the year into months of 30 days each, Numa divided 
 116 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 it into full months of 31 days and hollow months of 
 29 days. Similarly the holy men of the East selected 
 the prime numbers 11 and 13, instead of 12. Now, if 
 you multiply together the odd numbers 7, 11, and 13, 
 you obtain the mystic number looi. This accounts for 
 the thousand and one nights, and also for the Mevlevi 
 noviciate. There are other points of similarity between 
 the famous stories and the customs of the dancing 
 dervishes, which, so far as I know, have not received 
 notice. 
 
 "The place," says Dr. Taylor, " vvhere the candidate 
 receives instruction in spiritual knowledge is none other 
 than the kitchen of the convent. During his noviciate 
 he is called the scullion ; and it is by the head cook that 
 he is presented to the superior, as worthy of full admis- 
 sion. The cook assists at the ceremony of initiation, 
 and holds the head of the novice, while the superior 
 pronounces over him some verses. The prayer called 
 Tekbu is then chanted, after which the superior places 
 upon the head of the novice the cylindrical cap." Surely 
 this will recall to the mind of the reader of the " Arabian 
 Nights " the scene in the Sultan's kitchen when the fisher- 
 man brings in the white, red, blue, and yellow fishes, 
 which he had caught in the mystic pond in obedience to 
 the command of the Gin. When the cook thought they 
 were enough fried on one side, she turned them over in 
 the frying-pan ; " but, ob, monstrous prodigy ! scarce 
 were they turned, when the wall of the kitchen opened, 
 and in came a young lady of wonderful beauty and 
 comely size. . . . Striking one of the fishes she ex- 
 claimed, 'Fish, fish, art thou in thy duty?' . . . And 
 the four fishes lifted up their heads and said to her, 
 117 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 * Yes, yes ; if you reckon, we reckon ; if you pay your 
 debts, we pay ours ; if you fly, we overcome, and are 
 content.' As soon as they had finished these words, the 
 lady overturned the frying-pan." You remember, after 
 that, the extraordinary spectacle was witnessed again ; 
 this time in the presence of the Vizir ; and again, in the 
 presence of the Sultan himself. Finally, the fisherman 
 was loaded with wealth and lived happily ever after. It 
 is strange that, although music and d^fncing were both 
 forbidden by Mahommedan tradition, this singular sect 
 embodies them in its rehgious services. The flute or 
 nei is a windy, gasping kind of instrument, and the music 
 which proceeds from it is distinctly dismal and weird. 
 By the dervishes it is believed to be sweet and lovesick. 
 According to them God is Love, in the human sense — 
 Eros. Human beings are but detached portions of the 
 Eternal Spirit, v/hose whole earthly career is one long 
 patient yearning to return to the great fountain of bliss 
 from which they emanated. Sir William Jones has given 
 us a translation of one of their sacred hymns, from which 
 I extract a characteristic portion : 
 
 " Hear how yon reed, in sadly-pleasing tales 
 Departed bliss and present woe bewails ! 
 
 ' With me from native banks untimely torn 
 Love-warbling youths and soft-eyed virgins mourn. 
 O, let the heart by fa^al absence rent 
 Feel what I sing, and bleed when I lament : 
 Who roams in exile from his parent bower 
 Pants to return, and chides each lingering hour. ' 
 
 'Tis love that fills the reed with warmth divine 
 'Tis love that sparkles in the racy wine 
 Il8 
 
Papyrus Land 
 
 Me, plaintive wanderer from my peerless maid 
 The reed has fired, and all my soul betrayed. 
 
 " Hail heavenly Love, true source of endless gains ! 
 Thy balm restores me, and thy skill sustains. 
 O, more than Galen learned, than Plato wise ! 
 My Guide, my Law, my Joy supreme, arise ! 
 Love warms the frigid clay with mystic fire ; 
 And dancing mountains leap with young desire. 
 Blest is the soul that swims in seas of love ; 
 And long the life sustained by food above. 
 With forms imperfect, can perfection dwell ? 
 Here pause my song ; and thou, vain world. Farewell." 
 
 It is hardly necessary to point out that all this is clearly 
 Persian in sentiment. Indeed, the founder of the sect 
 lived in Asia Minor. Doctor Taylor's comment upon it 
 is almost amusing : " This hazardous mixture of luxurious 
 imagery with ascetic sentiments is not without a parallel 
 even in Europe : the life of St. Catherine may be cited 
 as an example; but the subject is too painful to our 
 feelings to be examined at greater length." 
 
 It is surely needless to point out that the vagaries 
 of the grotesque dervishes, who "perform" on Fridays 
 only, are looked down upon by the great majority of 
 Mahommedans with as much scorn as that which 
 Englishmen lavish on the tambourine brigade of militant 
 Christianity, and Frenchmen on the pilgrims to Lourdes. 
 Indeed, without counting curious spectators, I doubt 
 whether the "services" at either of the mosques are 
 attended by a hundred serious worshippers. I observed 
 but one thoroughbred Arab at the howling pandemonium. 
 The seats at the vulgar exhibitions are, of course, paid 
 for, which may account for the persistence of the cult. 
 119 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Europeans usually laugh at these corybantic fooleries ; 
 but they would do better to look at home. 
 
 However, I feel I am getting serious; and a serious 
 man is an intolerable anachronism in this age of fin- 
 de-sieck cynicism. Let us therefore to the polo match 
 in the grounds of the Khedivial Club. Wherever you 
 see English cavalry you may see good horsemanship. 
 Touching this word an inquiring Frenchman once 
 observed, "The horse I see, and the man I see; but 
 where is the ship ? " I was surprised to observe, though 
 I probably exhibit my own ignorance by saying so, that 
 there was not a single bay horse on the ground : they 
 were all chestnuts, greys, whites, and blacks. In the 
 Row or the English hunting field, I suppose you will see 
 as many bays as all other colours put together. Is it 
 that the Arab horse has no bay variety? "The Arabs 
 themselves do not run to carrots," the Warrior remarked 
 with brilliant intuition. But what has that got to do 
 with their horses ? 
 
 1 20 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE PYRAMID BUILDERS 
 
 Exactly five thousand years ago there hved a beautiful 
 lady named " Rosy Belle." This, as the reader knows, 
 is in Egyptian Nit-aqert, a name which the Greeks 
 very properly pronounced Nitocris. (The printer is quite 
 certain to put a u in between the ^ and the e, but if he 
 does I shall strike it out again.) This princess being so 
 lovely was made the Queen of Egypt, and that is just 
 about all we know of the history of the country between 
 the thirty-first and twenty-fifth centuries, when Amen- 
 emhat came to the throne. 
 
 The name Nitocris has more recently been conferred 
 upon a pretty little steam dahabieh, about one hundred 
 feet long and fifteen broad. She has a horse-power of 
 eighty, and she steams at ten knots an hour. Not 
 really ; because she is always going either up or down 
 the Nile (except when she is lying still), and when she is 
 going up stream she makes only seven knots ; but when 
 she is going down stream she does thirteen. This will 
 give the mathematical reader some clue to the speed of 
 the Nile itself. And when I tell him that it is four hun- 
 dred and fifty miles from Karnak to Cairo, he will be in a 
 position to calculate how long it would take him to 
 
 121 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 accomplish the journey in a tub, without any paddle. 
 Six days and six hours I believe, is the answer. 
 
 The Nitocris, we were told, is " specially fitted and 
 adapted for a small family, invalids, or shooting expedi- 
 tions." We were not a small family; we were certainly 
 
 THE NITOCRIS 
 
 not invalids ; but we were in a sense a shooting expedi- 
 tion, for we were firmly bent on shooting the cataract. 
 Hence the Com. promptly chartered the dahabieh 
 Nitocris^ and we left Cairo on November i8, on our 
 great expedition to the cradle of civilization. It must 
 not be supposed that we had not previously visited the 
 pyramids and the Gizeh Museum and many other places, 
 but from this point I propose to treat of all we saw in 
 
 122 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 this wonderful country in its proper place — just as I 
 spoke of Cleopatra's Needle when we were at Alexandria, 
 and not when we were at the club on the Thames 
 Embankment. 
 
 It was on November 24 that we lay-to for the night 
 at a place called Girgeh, about three hundred and forty 
 miles from Cairo, as the river winds. 
 
 " Where are we now ? " inquired the Warrior, sauntering 
 up to the Com. on deck before breakfast. 
 
 "Girgeh," was the reply; "that is the present name 
 of the place : This is its ancient name." 
 
 " Which?" asked Orlando. 
 
 " This," replied the Com. provokingly. 
 
 "What, Girgeh?" 
 
 " No, that is the modern name : This is the ancient 
 name." 
 
 Orlando was puzzled. " Whom are you trying to get at 
 now ? " he said after a pause. 
 
 The Com. looked grave. " Either you cannot under- 
 stand plain English," he observed, " or I cannot speak 
 plain Egyptian. THIS (t-h-i-s) is the name which the 
 Egyptians gave to the oldest town in the worlds the 
 first of which we possess any knowledge. Mena, the 
 first human king of Egypt, lived at This. You are now 
 staring at his birthplace, and at the birthplace of civilisa- 
 tion. He afterwards built Memphis." 
 
 Orlando saw, and was pacified. " Dear, dear," he 
 said, " what a devil of an old place it must be ! but 
 surely Noah and Abraham and Adam, and those fellows 
 lived in towns of some sort long before that." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said the Com., " Mena lived nearly 
 a thousand years before Adam." 
 123 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 The Warrior looked at his companion, said nothing, 
 and walked away to where the Hon. Sec. was adjusting 
 his camera for a shot at Town One. 
 
 " I say, Len," he whispered, " what ought we to do ? 
 The Com. is going dotty. Do you think it is safe to 
 leave him alone ? He says there was a fellow walking 
 about here before Adam was born." 
 
 "Adam never was born," muttered the Hon. Sec. 
 without looking up. " I advise you to take a pill, followed 
 by half an hour of -' Ermann's Ancient Egyptians ' ; it 
 might clear the cobwebs out of your attic." 
 
 Orlando went below and tried hot coffee. " I must 
 be dreaming," he said. 
 
 The Literary Failure had selected a berth on the pert 
 side with " a little window where the sun came peeping 
 in at morn. It never came a wink too soon nor brought 
 too long a day ; " but the Rich Banker had chosen his on 
 the starboard side, where the sun did not come peeping 
 in at morn. 
 
 " We get plenty of it all day on deck," he said ; " I can 
 dispense with its company during my beauty sleep." 
 
 Some people's ideal of dreamland is Nirvana ; others 
 prefer the wild imaginings which follow opium-smoking ; 
 there are some who hold that a snooze in a gutter with a 
 pint of hot Scotch inside is the acme of bUss. For my 
 part I ask for nothing belter than to lie half-wake and 
 half-asleep hemmed snugly in by snow-white mosquito 
 nets all gilded by the rays of the rising sun ; to listen to 
 the lapi)ing of the water and the creaking of the 
 shadoofs ; to watch the palms glide by and the yellow 
 cliffs with the black alluvial carpet at foot, spotted over 
 with strings of camels and goats and asses and merry 
 124 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 brown boys ; to follow the flight of the inquis'tive wag- 
 tiils, as they dart round the dahabieh; and, above all, to 
 feel that All will not come banging about in the bathroom 
 
 SAILING DOWN 
 
 next door for another hour at least ; and that when he 
 does come, as come he must, the labours of Youssouf 
 will afford an ample consolation. Youssouf was our 
 cook, and I never sat for any length of time to a better. 
 Where SeHm contrived to find all the good things, and 
 125 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 how Youssouf worked them up into joys for ever, is a 
 mystery. Perhaps appetite is the cook's best ally. The 
 Nile is the father of appetite, and also the father of all 
 good things demanded by .appetite. The bath-water 
 itself is cold, and perhaps a trifle too "rich" for the 
 ablutor's purpose. The Arabs bathe in the river ; but 
 Europeans have a creepy recollection of strange stories 
 of crocodiles : and although those monsters are now 
 never (or hardly ever) met with below Aswan, we pre- 
 ferred to tub on board. 
 
 The crew and the staff of the Nitocris were cheerful, 
 amiable fellows, and not only their dress but their names 
 recalled those wonderful stories of Sheherazade which so 
 bewitched the Sultan — Mahmood and Mustafa, and 
 Youssouf and Masoud and Ali. The Com. persisted 
 in addressing the last-named as Voozong, which always 
 made Cassius laugh ; though none of us could ever see 
 the reason of it. Voozong is certainly neither Arabic 
 nor Turkish. Most of the crew were half-bloods, and 
 some of them nearly black. The pilot, a dusky young 
 fellow of about a hundred, sat all day long plying his 
 long pole down in the bows ; for you never know, in this 
 shifty river, when you may run on a sandbank^ even 
 though you draw but a foot or two of water. When you 
 do strand, you may be in for a night of it ; and twice we 
 stuck for a matter of six or eight hours. On these occa- 
 sions the Arabs drop overboard and wade about, up to 
 their middles in water ; and sometimes they have to send 
 ashore for a score or so of hands to help to get the boat 
 off again. It was therefore not without a smile that we 
 read in the Morning Post one day : " The Maria is a 
 fine new vessel of 815 tons. She will, according to 
 126 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 present arrangements, visit a number of ports on the 
 African side of the Mediterranean, and then proceed up 
 the Nile as far as the Second or perhaps the Third 
 Cataract." The idea of a big yacht proceeding up tlte 
 Nile as far as the Second or perhaps the Third Cataract 
 is both original and suggestive. Between Aswan and 
 Philae the cruise would be distinctly exhilarating. 
 
 It is a pity that Mena's name should so strongly 
 resemble that of Menu, the son of Brahma, and also that 
 of the great mythical law-giver of Crete, Minos, and also 
 the word Man : because the resemblance has led many 
 learned philologists and sceptics to maintain that the 
 name simply means the Measurer, which also they say 
 is the meaning of the Moon. 
 
 " Moon," writes Professor Max Muller, " is a very old 
 
 word. It was Mo?ia in Anglo-Saxon In Gothic 
 
 it is Mena. In Greek we find men for month, and mejie 
 for moon. In Latin we have the derivation niensis for 
 month ; and in Sanskrit we find mas for moon and masa 
 for month. This mas in Sanskrit is clearly derived from 
 a root ma to measure." 
 
 A ruler, or measurer^ it is said, would naturally be 
 called Mena or Manu or Minos. To me it does not 
 seem much to matter whether the gentleman's real name 
 was Mena or not. Let it be his nickname ; still, there 
 he was. He sailed or rowed down the river, and dis- 
 covered a place which if the Nile could be diverted 
 would make a capital site for a city. He therefore 
 diverted the Nile and built the city, which he called 
 Men-nefer (" the beautiful home "). The Arabs call it 
 Menuf, and we call it Memphis. That is about all we 
 know of Mena. 
 
 127 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 " Don't you suppose," the Warrior suggested with 
 dififidence, " that perhaps he also built the Mena Hotel 
 at Gizeh?" 
 
 Concerning the doings of his successors we are left in 
 darkness. One of them is said to have written a book 
 on anatomy. His name is Teta on the tablets, but I 
 am quite prepared to hear that Teta sirriply means *' The 
 Doctor," or something of that kind. 
 
 Then Hesep-ti wrote Chapter 64 of " The Book of the 
 Dead," a somewhat lugubrious performance, worse than 
 Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy." For four hundred 
 years we hear little ; but in the reign of Ba-en-neter, the 
 Nile for some reason or other ceased for eleven days to 
 run water, and supplied honey instead. That this 
 incident escaped the notice cf contemporary and sub- 
 sequent chroniclers for forty-four centuries is of little 
 importance, when we reflect that we have it on the 
 authority of no less a personage than John of Antioch. 
 Surely he who knew more of the mystery of the two 
 natures in the days of Theodosius than any man alive 
 does at the present day could not easily be mistaken on 
 so simple a matter as whether water or honey flowed 
 between the banks of the Nile in the days of Ba-en- 
 neter. 
 
 Sailing down the stream of history, we come to what 
 Manetho called the fourth dynasty — I know not why. 
 Of Sneferu, of Chufu, of Cha-ef-Ra, and of Men-kau-Ra, 
 there still exist monuments which require no testimonials 
 from either John of Antioch nor his dearest foe. Saint 
 Cyril, the murderer of Hypatia. The last three kings 
 are better known as Cheops, Chephren, and Mycerinus. 
 Little wooden statuettes of this period are shown at the 
 128 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 Gizeh Museum, which bear so strong a resemblance in 
 feature to the modern peasants of Eastern France 
 
 that However, not the boldest of sceptics will 
 
 pretend that the three pyramids of Gizeh are the work 
 of men like Blind Jack of Knaresborough. Older than 
 
 THE OLDEST BUILDING IM THE WORLD 
 
 any — perhaps the very oldest building still standing on 
 the earth — is the Step Pyramid at Sakkarah. Sakkarah 
 was the great necropolis, or burial-ground, of Memphis. 
 The Step Pyramid, which we did not climb, is said to. 
 have been built by Ata, the third king after Mena. It is 
 built in six steps, and is not square based, but oblong. 
 It is not correctly oriented, from which fact we may 
 some day know more of its precise age. For it is true 
 129 I 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 that buildings which faced due east thousands of years 
 ago no longer do so. This is variously accounted for by 
 astronomers and others, but the true explanation, in the 
 opinion of the present writer, is that the mass or substance 
 of the earth is continuously and spirally shifting its position 
 with respect to its astronomical axis ; so that the particular 
 acre of ground which now lies at the North Pule may at 
 some remote period have lain at the Equator. This theory 
 accounts for several apparently inexplicable phenomena : 
 such as the Glacial Period, which never could have been 
 universal ; such as the direction of the mountain chains 
 in the Eastern and Western hemispheres, and such as 
 the false orientation of the Egyptian pyramids. 
 
 Be this as it may, we went ashore at a liitle village 
 called Bedrashin, where the sheikh promptly provided us 
 with asses for our expedition. These donkies all have 
 names, with which their drivers are anxious to make the 
 riders familiar. One was called Hermonthis, another 
 Telephone, another Lovely- sweet. Jus's donkey at 
 Gizeh rejoiced in the peculiar name of So-and-so, 
 
 After riding through another small Arab village we 
 came upon a colossal recumbent statue of Rameses the 
 Great. It was for years buried in sand, and when 
 discovered, some seventy years ago, the finders gene- 
 rously presented it to the British Museum. But seeing 
 that it was not theirs to present, and that it was too 
 heavy for the Museum to take away, it lies there still. 
 This great king appears to have been no less than forty- 
 two feet high, which is tall even for a Pharaoh. But 
 I am quite prepared to believe it ; for by the side of 
 another statue of the same monarch at Karnak stands 
 his wife, the Queen, and she does not quite reach up to 
 130 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 his kneecap. We were glad to find engraved on the 
 colossal statue his real prenomen — what we should call 
 his Christian name — for it is always pleasant to speak of 
 
 NINETY YEARS IN THE DESERT 
 
 people by their right names, and now we always speak of 
 Rameses as Rausrmatsetepenra. There is more local 
 colour about it ; and besides, it conveys its own meaning, 
 as all old Egyptian names do. Somebody has fitted up a 
 little wooden bridge right across the chest of Ra ra, 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 to enable visitors to have a good look at his handsome 
 face. And it is extremely handsome — so handsome as 
 almost to damp the ardour of those who believe in the 
 perfectibility of the human race by natural selection. 
 We must alter our system of selection if we wish to make 
 any* rapid progress. It is said that Captain Dreyfus 
 would not have fared much better under this king than 
 under the French Government of " Liberte, egalite, et 
 fraternite ! " Personally I have lost interest in these three 
 " e's." Give me liberty, equality, and fraternity instead. 
 In outward appearance they look much alike, but in 
 inward essence, Holy Humanity ! what a difference ! 
 .... We did not find much evidence of the anti- 
 Semitic proclivities of Rameses. A few Hebrew captives 
 march along the painted walls of the tombs and temples, 
 together with other prisoners of war — nothing more. I 
 believe they had been bundled out by Aahmes three 
 centuries before. If any remained in the days of Seti 
 and his glorious successors it must have been from 
 choice, and not from coercion, 
 
 " Rameses, beloved of Amen," the Architect King ! 
 how grandly he reposes there under his native palms, 
 " like a warrior taking his rest " ; and how unlike him as 
 he is I — yes, as he is; for we saw him, met him in the 
 flesh, touched him, at Gizeh. There he lies, and near 
 him, also in their coffins, lie his father Seti and his son 
 Rameses III. I have experienced nothing more awe- 
 inspiring than the spectacle of these three great rulers 
 of Egypt lying there side by side, oblivious of the three 
 thousand years that have rolled over their heads since 
 they built the temples that were to live for ever. 
 
 132 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 " His palms are folded on his breast, 
 There is no other thing expressed 
 But long disquiet merged in rest. 
 His lips are very mild and meek ; 
 Tho' one should smite him on the cheek 
 And on the mouth, he will not speak. 
 High up the vapours fold and swim, 
 About him broods the twilight dim ; 
 The place he knew forgetteth him." 
 
 There in Gizeh, clothed in mummied flesh, Rameses 
 is imposing ; but here in Memphis, carved in hard lime- 
 stone, he is glorious. Why cannot some wealthy 
 antiquarian raise up this fallen statue ? 
 
 After roaming around the Pyramids of Unas, of Teta, 
 and of Pepi, we proceeded to the Serapeum — the vaults 
 of the Sacred Bulls. This huge burial-place is the most 
 wonderful monument of an extinct religion in the world. 
 Here lie the sacred bulls, whose worship seems to have 
 been introduced into Egypt by the Semitic Hyksos, and 
 to have become permanently engrafted upon the older 
 ancestor-worship. Serapis is a contraction of Osiris- 
 Apis. " Apis," says Herodotus, " is a black calf with a 
 square white spot on its forehead." His mother was an 
 ordinary cow upon which lightning descended from 
 heaven, whereupon she bore Apis. This extraordinary 
 incarnation of the divine element (Osiris) in the mortal 
 nature (Apis) was probably held to be symbolic of 
 human nature with its spiritual and carnal element. 
 The calf grew up and was worshipped, and then in obe- 
 dience to the laws of its mortal nature it aged and either 
 died or was killed by the priests. 
 
 We saw four and twenty huge granite sarcophagi lying 
 on each side of a long subterranean gallery. They were 
 ^33 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 discovered by the greatest of all Egyptologists, M. Mariette, 
 in 1850, and with them were discovered the dates of the 
 bulls buried in them. The slabs, or stelae, on which 
 these particulars are inscribed give also the names 
 of the kings reigning at the time, and so furnish us 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF RHXD OVER MATTER 
 
 with invaluable historical material. One is forcibly 
 reminded by this strange worship of other similar 
 traditions. Once upon a time Minos of Crete prayed 
 Posseidon that a bull might come up out of the sea, 
 in order that he might offer him up as a burnt offering. 
 The animal appeared, but Minos was so struck with his 
 beauty that he spared him, and offered up another bull 
 instead. Infuriated at this breach of faith, Posseidon 
 134 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 inspired Pasiphae, the wife of Minos, with a passion for 
 the bull. The Minotaur, a monster with the body of a 
 man and the head of an ox, is none other than Baal, the 
 Phoenician form of Apis. The sphinxes of Egypt have 
 the body of a lower animal and (usually) a human head. 
 Again, we recall the following : " The people gathered 
 themselves together unto Aaron and said unto him. 
 Up, make us gods which shall go before us . . . and 
 Aaron said. Break off the golden rings which are in the 
 ears of your wives and of your sons and of your daughters 
 and bring them unto me. And all the people brake off 
 the golden rings which were in their ears, and brought 
 them unto Aaron. And he received it at their hand, 
 and fashioned it with a graving tool, and made it a 
 molten calf; and they say, These be thy gods, O Israel, 
 which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt. And 
 when Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it." No 
 sooner had Moses (the Egyptian priest and philosopher) 
 turned his back, than the people relapsed into their old 
 worship of Apis, or Baal, or Moloch, the ox-god. All 
 throughout their history we find them backsliding in this 
 fashion. It is to the educated classes of the superior 
 Egyptian race — to men like Amen-hetep IV. and Moses 
 — that we must look for the first strivings towards a pure 
 form of monotheism. It is said that the Druses to this 
 day worship the image of a calf. And what is more 
 interesting in this connection is that the Knights Templars 
 were themselves charged wiih the offence by Philip the 
 Fair and by the Pope himself as late as the fourteenth 
 century, showing the immense vitality of this weird 
 Semitic creed. 
 
 After exploring the Serapeum and visiting the shanty 
 
 135 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 of its eminent discoverer, we sat down on the sand and 
 devoured sundry good things provided by the foresight 
 of Selim, who well knew that man cannot live on hiero- 
 glyphics alone. And he was right, for judge of our 
 astonishment when the Com. himself arose, as we sup- 
 posed to urge us on to the pursuit of knowledge in the 
 Tomb of Thi, and thus addressed us : "Well, I vote we 
 skip Thi and make a bee-line for the boat." Clare fell 
 down ; Selim's eyes filled with tears ; Jus looked grave : 
 he was not prepared for such levity from such a quarter. 
 But the sun was already within shouting distance of the 
 horizon, and the beautiful winding road through the 
 inundations is not very safe riding in the dark ; and the 
 others thought that — no matter, we all rode back to the 
 Nile.' The Literary Failure, anxious to reach the da- 
 habieh by daylight, galloped on ahead, to the great grief 
 of Telephone, who was unused to a weight of fourteen 
 stone, and consequently came a fearful cropper about a 
 mile from her destination. Fortunately, Jus's cork hat 
 received the brunt of the shock, and so preserved for 
 further use the valuable cranium within. 
 
 The ride from Bedrashin round Memphis and Sakkarah 
 is typically African — African at its best. It is like riding 
 through a hothouse of exotics reaching for miles. But 
 the air, though quite as hot, is fresh and exhilarating. 
 By " skipping Thi " we missed all the beautiful paintings 
 and sculptures in his Mastaba, as the Arabs call these 
 queer long tombs; but at the Gizeh Museum we saw 
 many similar works in a far better light. They represent 
 all the crafts and industries over which the good man 
 presided in his day — that is to say, about fifty-four cen- 
 turies ago. The bas-reliefs of this period are most lively 
 136 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 and entertaining. They depict the everyday life of the 
 people : boatmen squabbling, women kneading dough, 
 sheep crossing the river, bulls going to the butchers, 
 men botthng wine, corn-grinding, and even a monkey 
 biting a man's leg. One of the stelae actually depicts 
 
 THE GREAT "CITY" OF MEMPHIS 
 
 the process of glass-blowing. It seems to date back to 
 the fifth dynasty. This effectually disposes of the notion 
 that the Egyptians borrowed that art from the Tyrians. 
 There is a little statue of a dwarf named Khnum-hetep. 
 Dwarfs appear to have been fairly common in old times. 
 The Queen of Punt is one of the ugliest little women of 
 history. Punt is where the spices come from (not the 
 Brazil nuts), and it is now caled Somali-land. It com- 
 137 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 prised the southern coasts of the Red Sea, and may be 
 the Put mentioned as one of the sons of Ham. I saw 
 a number of Somali braves who came over to the Crystal 
 Palace three years ago, and they were not unlike the 
 warriors of the Lady of Punt represented in the 
 tombs. 
 
 An excellent bit of sculpture is a statute of King 
 Chephren in green stone. He has a roll of papyrus in 
 his hand, which shows that he could not only build, but 
 also read and probably write. The hawk above his head 
 with wings outstretched is his crest, his surname, and his 
 god. You remember what I said in Malta about heraldry. 
 Papyrus reminds us that we are indebted to the early 
 Egyptians not only for glass but for paper. The old 
 paper which they invented held the market till quite 
 recently. Indeed, the very oldest modern or cotton- 
 paper document extant is dated 1050 a.d., or only 
 sixteen years before the Norman Conquest of England. 
 Before that the papyrus of Egypt was used. It consisted 
 of the stalk of a plant which was cultivated in that 
 country, and which was the emblem of one of its two 
 divisions ; the other division being represented by the 
 lotus. These stalks were ripped into strips and plaited 
 together like a cane-bottomed chair, but more closely, 
 and then squeezed till they presented a smooth surface. 
 We have two words in our language both derived from 
 papyrus, but otherwise in appearance unlike. One of 
 these is " paper," the other is "bible." The Greeks turned 
 the Egyptian "p"into "b,"and the "r" into "1." It was just 
 like them. You would have done the same if you had 
 been a Greek, in obedience to a law laid down by a rascally 
 German who lived centuries later, and who was known 
 138 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 as Grimm. Hence they called " papyrus," " byblos " or 
 "biblos"; from which we get "bible," The Book. 
 
 Another good example of the way in which a word 
 gets mangled in various ways according to the route it 
 adopts in making its way to our shores is the sad story 
 of the Sanskrit ghar?na. This unfortunate word has 
 come to us through four or more channels : and it now 
 appears among us as dry^ warm, fervid, and thermic, 
 perhaps torrid 2Lr\d feverish may be added to the list. 
 
 It must be admitted that the antiquarian treasures of 
 Egypt are bewildering ; and any attempts to build up, by 
 their aid alone, a clear conception of the ancient 
 Egyptian religion is likely to end in discomfiture. Long 
 before historical times, their original ancestor-worship, 
 the vestiges of which are everywhere conspicuous, had 
 been so overladen with the high-sounding verbiage of 
 adulation that it was difficult to distinguish between 
 truth and hyperbole ; between fact and myth. Osiris, 
 the first ancestor, gradually assumes all the titles and 
 attributes which humanity can invent and bestow, and is 
 finally confounded by his worshippers with Ra, the Sun- 
 god, the Giver of Life and the Creator of All Things. 
 In some of its minor developments the worship of the 
 people may be described as the religion of the charnel- 
 house. The beetle, the bat, and the earthworm, all 
 figure as divinities to be propitiated. Chepera has a 
 beetle for a head ; and most of the mummies of the great 
 are found with artificial beetles or scarabs on their breasts. 
 
 The final evolution of the mixed ancestor-worship and 
 
 nature-symbolism into pure Monotheism, with the Sun 
 
 as the simple emblem of perfection and eternity, seems 
 
 first to have been formulated as a distinct creed by 
 
 139 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Amen-hetep IV., about the year 1450 b.c. For it can 
 hardly be said that the religious system carried away by 
 the Hyksos was Monotheistic. Among a crowd of in- 
 ferior deities, Jehovah was the greatest, but not the only 
 god. Amen-hetep was the first of whom we know to 
 conceive the idea of One God, the Creator and Bene- 
 ficent Ruler of the world, who was under no necessity to 
 do battle with other gods, nor to express jealousy of 
 them. 
 
 That good Mahommedan ruler of India, Akbar, the 
 contemporary of our Queen Elizabeth, seems to have 
 endeavoured to purge Mahommedanism of its modern 
 corruptions, and to reduce it to the form of pure Mono- 
 theism, by precisely the same cautious compromise as 
 that adopted by Amen-hetep — namely, by denouncing all 
 forms of idolatry except the worship of the sun's disc. 
 This step having been accomplished, he then en- 
 deavoured to convince his people that even the sun 
 itself must be worshipped only as a symbol of God, and 
 not as itself divine. Let me cite Akbar's own words : 
 "It is evident that for remembering and praising God 
 no visible medium is at all requisite ; but if it is impos- 
 sible for some to adore God without any visible medium, 
 then the most proper objects on which to fix the view are 
 the sun and planets." 
 
 The three pyramids ofsGizeh are situated within a 
 pleasant drive of Cairo. After crossing the Nile bridge, 
 and passing the palace museum on the right, we pre- 
 sently found ourselves in the long acacia avenue specially 
 planted by Ismail for the reception of the Empress 
 Eugenie. On each side of it were boundless tracts of 
 water (it was November) dotted over with small villages 
 140 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 or island homes. Here and there were seen peasants 
 driving oxen and camels through the shallower fords. 
 Finally we emerge at the foot of the great Pyramid of 
 Cheops, the grandest specimen of brute- force architecture 
 in the world. 
 
 AN ISLAND HOME 
 
 Some members of our party straightway ascended to 
 the top to enjoy the vast view. Others guessed the 
 view, and saved their breath to cool their porridge. By 
 so doing they evinced a sad lack of the traveller's 
 enthusiasm and " go," which, though deplorable, must 
 nevertheless be recorded against them. The climb is not 
 difficult to those with "good heads," especially as a 
 couple of nimble Arabs insist on pushing the climber up 
 with indecorous haste. 
 
 141 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Eight centuries ago the ascent was well-nigh impracti- 
 cable. The sides were then smooth and carved with 
 inscriptions ; and the worst chaige that can be brought 
 against the great Saladin is that he carried off the casing- 
 stones to build his citadel at Cairo. One idiot about the 
 same time did his best to destroy the third pyramid ; but 
 it was too much for him, and he gave it up after strip- 
 ping one of the sides. 
 
 Dr. Wallace Budge, in his excellent " Notes for Travel- 
 lers on the Nile," says — perhaps a little dogmatically — 
 " It is well to state at once that the pyramids were tombs 
 and nothing else. There is no evidence whatever to 
 show that they were built for the purposes of astronomical 
 observations ; and the theory that the Great Pyramid was 
 built to serve as a standard of measurement is ingenious 
 but worthless." 
 
 That it is what is called a tt pyramid is admitted ; that 
 is to say, the ratio of its height to its perimeter at the 
 base is exactly that of the radius to the circumference of 
 a circle. That it measures exactly one thousand Egyptian 
 yards (double-cubits) round its base is surely significant. 
 This equals 1014.2 EngHsh yards. But that such cubit, 
 however originally ascertained, should be, as it is, pre- 
 cisely one thousandth part of the ground traversed by 
 the sunlight in one second in the plane of the ecliptic is 
 either a stupendous coincidence or a fact which cannot 
 be thrust aside with a shrug of the shoulders.* We 
 require something stronger than Mariette's statement that 
 pyramids are only found in cemeteries, to crush the 
 astronomical theory of the pyramid utterly and for ever. 
 
 * I express it thus in order to show how the discovery of the 
 earth's circumference was probably made. 
 142 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 These measurements and the orientation of the huge pile 
 seem altogether out of keeping with a mere mummy- 
 chest ! 
 
 " Oh, confound the pyramid cubit," said the Hon. 
 Sec, " here are the camels ; let us go and have a look at 
 the Sphinx." 
 
 "What about the Pyramid of Chephren?" inquired 
 the Com., "and the httle one over there?" 
 
 " Oh, they will keep," replied Len : " they can't get 
 away. We have had enough pyramid for one day. And 
 besides, I have snapped the lot while you have been 
 talking all this fustian about cubits." 
 
 So we mounted our camels and lurched forward to the 
 Sphinx. On all sides we were thronged by Arabs, gesti- 
 culating and protesting their individual merits as show- 
 men. One of them kept on repeating, " I am your daisy, 
 I am your daisy ; " and it was not until he had been 
 allowed to sing " Daisy Bell " twice through that he could 
 be silenced. And even then not without bakshish. 
 
 Two others were burning to show us how fast they 
 could mount to the summit of the pyramid and back. 
 This they accomplished in about eight minutes — a most 
 creditable performance. But the feat of the day was 
 performed by a tall athletic fellow who actually climbed 
 up the side of the Sphinx and stood on the top of its 
 head. He seemed for the greater part of the ascent to 
 be clinging on with his eyelids. He will come to grief 
 one of these days. 
 
 The Sphinx is like the hundreds of other sphinxes in 
 
 which Egypt abounds, except as to size. Its body is 
 
 fifty yards — that is one hundred cubits long. And even 
 
 as it crouches, its head reaches up to a height of about 
 
 143 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 fifty cubits. The width of its face may have been about 
 ten cubits, but it has been badly battered about. It is 
 carved out of the solid rock ! When was the colossal 
 work effected ? And by whom ? The old name for it 
 was Hu. " And that," says the Com, " is the question 
 
 SINGING "DAISY BELL" 
 
 men have been asking ever since." All we can say for 
 certain is that it is older than any of the three pyramids 
 of Gizeh. In their day it was already venerable and 
 buried in the sand. Thothmes the Fourth dreamt that 
 the Rising Sun (Harmachis) appeared to him, and offered 
 to give him the throne of all Egypt if he would clear 
 away the sand and put the Sphinx in a condition of 
 thorough repair. This he did, and painted its face red, 
 144 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 a work which had previously been carried out by Chephren. 
 Harmachis was as good as his word. Chephren and his 
 royal brother Cheops are gone, and Thothmes is gone, 
 no one knows whither; Mycerinus sleeps ignobly in a 
 glass case in the British Museum ; but the Sphinx with 
 
 impassive gaze watches the ages glide by, and will go on 
 watching for millenniums to come. 
 
 A learned theological friend tells me that I have 
 expressed myself badly above. Instead of saying 
 " Thothmes dreamt that Harmachis appeared to him," 
 I ought to have said : " Harmachis appeared to Thothmes 
 in a dream " — which is, he tells me^ a very different thing. 
 145 K 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 So it is ; but I think I have my learned friend this time. 
 For the stela which records the event distinctly states 
 that it was while Thothmes was enjoying an after-dinner 
 siesta that Harmachis appeared to him. Now it is not 
 probable that Thothmes dined before daybreak ; and it 
 is impossible that the Rising Sun could actually have 
 peeped in after a dinner taken at a rational hour. 
 Whereas it is quite reasonable to suppose that the king 
 dreamt he saw and heard the Rising Sun at any hour of 
 the day or night. This gloss may throw light on similar 
 narratives. 
 
 The tombs, or mastabas, of the great, of men like the 
 " skipped " Thi, show what careful precautions the 
 Egyptians took against the disturbance of the revered 
 dead. The corpses were lowered down into a pit of 
 prodigious depth : not six or eight feet deep, like our 
 graves, but sixty or eighty feet. From the bottom of the 
 pit proceeds a passage into the sarcophagus chamber, 
 where the embalmed body was deposited : after which 
 the pit was filled up with earth. Above stood the 
 sacrificial chamber for the worship of the deceased, the 
 walls of which were inscribed with records of his good 
 works. 
 
 These pits recall the strange experience of Sindbad the 
 Sailor in the country of cocoa-nuts and pepper, where 
 there were fair people like himself. These eight-century- 
 old Arabian stories are clearly based on travellers' tales 
 containing a substratum of truth. "They put on the 
 corpse," he says, " her richest apparel, as if it had been 
 her wedding-day, and dressed her with all her jewels ; 
 then they put her into an open coflfin, and, lifting it up, 
 began their march to the place of burial. The husband 
 146 
 
The Pyramid Builders 
 
 walked at the head of the company, and followed the 
 corpse. They went up to a high mountain, and, when 
 they came thither, removed a great stone which covered 
 the mouth of a very deep pit, and let down the corpse 
 with all its apparel and jewels." He says the pit might 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE 200TH GENERATION 
 
 be some tifty fathoms in depth, and that they also 
 lowered a vessel full of water, and seven loaves. 
 
 After sleeping under the lee of Bedrashin we steamed 
 up the river as soon as daylight appeared. We put in 
 at Wasta in the hope of finding letters from home. 
 Wasta is the railway junction for the Fayyum, or Phiom, 
 an immense district of eight hundred and fifty square 
 miles reclaimed from the desert by Amen-emhat III., 
 147 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 who cut a passage through the hills for a branch of the 
 Nile to flow through. These Pharaohs were mighty 
 engineers. " The post is not very regular," said Selim. 
 " That's the Wasta vit," replied the Com. Some of us 
 looked at the river, others at the sky. The Hon. Sec. 
 peered into his camera. After a silence of some minutes 
 the Rich Banker exclaimed, "How blue the sky is." 
 Every one admitted it : even the Com., who declared he 
 had never seen the sky so blue ; and the conversation 
 got on the lines again, and we all inwardly thanked the 
 Banker. This was the worst crisis of its kind through 
 which we passed, except once, on the yacht in the Archi- 
 pelago ; but that was long afterwards, and I mention it 
 here in order to get it off my mind. We had just 
 decided to steer straight from Constantinople to the 
 Piraeus, instead of putting in at Volo, as we had 
 originally intended. The Com. was heard to mutter. Sic 
 jubeo^ when something providential happened ; and when 
 he emerged from beneath a haystack of maps, guide- 
 books, dictionaries, and Bradshaws, under which he seems 
 to have slipped, he had forgotten what he was about to 
 observe. We were all thankful for that. Where the 
 Com. had caught this most dangerous and painful of 
 complaints we did not discover for some time. It 
 appears, however, that according to Ermann, the Egyp- 
 tian hieroglyphics bristle with this species of wit, and it 
 is probably to a too prolonged study of the temple 
 writings that the Com.'s affliction must be attributed. 
 Passing the Bird Mountain and Minyeh, we arrived at 
 Beni-hasan, where we debarked. 
 
 148 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TEMPLE AND TOMB 
 
 The history of Egypt is variously divided into periods, 
 empires, and dynasties. In the absence of Manetho's 
 History, which was probably destroyed in the fire at 
 Alexandria when Julius Caesar took the place, the division 
 into dynasties is meaningless. For the traveller the best 
 division would seem to be the following : 
 
 I. From the earliest days to the reign of Nitocris 
 ('•Rosy Belle") This may be called the Pyramid 
 Age, and it is best studied from Memphis, the 
 capital from which Egypt was ruled. The most 
 famous names of this period are . Mena, Cheops, 
 Chephren Menkau-ra, Unas, Teta, and Nitocris. 
 
 II. When the curtain rises, after a blank interval 
 of six centuries, we find the Amenemhats and Usert- 
 sens ruling from Thebes. This period of about 
 three centuries (2500 to 2200) is best studied at 
 Beni-hasan. The last king of the Egyptian line is 
 then overthrown by the Semitic Hyksos, or Shep- 
 herd Kings, as they are called, who dominate the 
 country for four or five centuries. 
 
 HI. The third period extends from the reign of 
 Aahmes (who drove the Semites northwards and 
 149 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 restored Egyptian supremacy) to the Persian Con- 
 quest by Cambyses (1700 to 528). The great 
 names of this period include the four Thothmes, 
 Hatshepset, the four Amen-heteps, the Ramesids 
 Nekau, and the Psemtheks. This period should be 
 studied from Thebes. 
 
 IV. The Persian period, from 528 to 335 b.c. 
 
 V. The Macedonian period, from 335 to 30 b.c. 
 
 VI. The Roman-Greek period, from 30 b.c. to 
 638 A.D. 
 
 VII. The Arabian period, from 638 to 151 7. 
 
 VIII. The Turkish period, from 1517 to 1882. 
 
 IX. The English period (the shortest so far), since 
 1882. 
 
 Thus the history of Egypt consists of nine periods, of 
 which the first three only can be regarded as falling 
 within the province of Egyptian history proper. 
 
 However, all this is wofully dry — in fact, it is merely 
 a sort of precis cribbed from the notes of the 'Varsity 
 Man, who should not have left them lying about in the 
 saloon. 
 
 At present we are at Beni-hasan, seated on donkeys. 
 On our right, at a slight elevation, are the ruins of a 
 fairly modern village, which was utterly destroyed in the 
 present century by its humane ruler, Ibrahim Pasha, on 
 the ground that its inhabitants were thieves. There are 
 plenty of thieves in Putney, in fair Kintbury of Berk- 
 shire, in lovely Lynton, in far Tamworth, and even in the 
 saintly purlieus of Llanwyddlanellipontyfechan. But 
 we should be surprised, and perhaps a little hurt, 
 if Qaeen Victoria came at the head of a British army 
 and razed them all to the ground. They manage (or 
 150 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 managed) these things bstter in Egypt. After a short 
 donkey ride we reached the Cave of Sechet, the divine 
 lioness. Pedants and guide-books persist in calHng it 
 
 IBRAHIM PASHA 
 
 Speos Artemidos. But as this simply means the Cave of 
 Artemis, and since the Greeks somehow confounded 
 Sechet with Artemis, the name is likely to lead to 
 confusion. The cave dates back to the time of 
 Thothmes III., who, it will be remembered, put to 
 death the great Queen Hatshepset. 
 151 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 The tomb" of Ameni is extremely interesting, furnish- 
 ing us with a fair sample of early Egyptian morals. 
 Ameni lived in the reign of Usertsen I. It is not neces- 
 sary to believe that he actually said all that is put into 
 his mouth on the inscriptions which adorn his tomb. 
 
 PASTORAL SCENE AT BEXl-HASAX 
 
 This may be but a tribute of respect written after his 
 death by his bereaved relatives. Nor is it necessary to 
 believe that it is true. For our purpose, as students of 
 morality, it is enough that Ameni or his contemporaries 
 had in their minds an ideal of virtue such as is here set 
 forth. Amongst other things, Ameni is recorded as 
 saying, " I have done all that I have said. I am a 
 gracious and a compassionate man, and a ruler who 
 152 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 loves his people." Lying, therefore, was regarded as 
 bad ; and a humane ruler was esteemed. 
 
 " I have given to the overseers of the temples of the 
 gods three thousand bulls with their cows." Generosity 
 to the priests was clearly appreciated— especially by the 
 priests. But the following is really tender and beautiful : 
 
 "I have never made a child grieve; I have never 
 robbed the widow ; I have never repulsed the labourer ; 
 . . . there was never a person miserable in my time ; no 
 one went hungry during my rule ; I made no distinction 
 between the great and the little in all that I gave." 
 
 Ameni's ideal, whether he acted up to it or not, is 
 clearly of a high order, and compares favourably even 
 with the spirit of, say, Nestorius, bishop of Constanti- 
 nople, who, preaching before the devout Emperor Theo- 
 dosius, thus expounds his ideal of Christian charity : 
 
 " Give me, O Cresar, the earth purged of heretics, and 
 I will give you in exchange the kingdom of heaven. 
 Exterminate with me the heretics, and with you I will 
 exterminate the Persians." It would seem that morality 
 did not make great strides in the three thousand years 
 that elapsed between Ameni and Nestorius. 
 
 But there is one species of vice discernible in these 
 tombs which Mr. Ruskin would deeply deplore, and 
 which fills me with shame. Shams (as well as armorial 
 bearings) must look for their originals, it would seem, in 
 the temples and tombs of the great dead in Beni-hasan. 
 The columns and walls of several are made of plaster so 
 coloured as exactly to resemble red granite. " False- 
 hoods in stones ! " Alas ! so old. 
 
 Another tomb, that of Chnemu-hetep, contains a 
 famous picture on one of its walls, representing thirty- 
 153 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 seven Hebrews, bringing presents and doing homage to 
 Chnemu-hetep, in the reign of Usertsen II. These 
 foreigners wear beards and carry bows and arrows. It is 
 but natural that many persons should regard the painting 
 as a contemporary record of the arrival of Joseph and 
 his brethren in the land of the Pharaohs. It would, 
 however, serve equally well for the visit of Abraham and 
 his retinue. That it actually represents one of the 
 earliest appearances on the scene of a race which two 
 hundred years later made themselves so extremely objec- 
 tionable to the Egyptians is probably the truth. Whence 
 these strange people came is one of the most difficult 
 problems the ethnographer has to solve. I propose to 
 return to the subject when we reach Jerusalem. 
 
 As works of art, these early pictures are not easy to 
 place. Some say they are worthy of a fourth form school- 
 boy. And their greatest admirers must admit that the 
 perspective is ridiculous, the colouring flat, and the com- 
 position childish. At the same time, there is great truth 
 of detail, and the general effect is stately and powerful. 
 For mural decoration their conventionality gives strength 
 rather than weakness ; and as such they may lay just 
 claim to our regard as works of high art. Their great 
 antiquity of course enhances their sombre though crude 
 grandeur. 
 
 We were accompanied throughout our pilgrimage 
 among the tombs by a crowd of pretty little Arab girls, 
 who had already learnt the magic power of the word 
 bakshish. Visitors will also find a kind of musician very 
 attentive to them if he has not been killed in the interim. 
 He performs on an old gun-barrel, which he has con- 
 verted into a flute, and upon which, after much practice, 
 154 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 he has succeeded in playing what he doubtless regards 
 as a tune. And for all I know it may be one. The 
 Banker took it down in black and white, and reproduced 
 
 THE COMPOSER 
 
 it on the piano on deck. How often he would have 
 soothed our savage breasts withal I cannot tell, for 
 somehow the piano fell over, and he and the Warrior 
 were afterwards extricated from the wreckage. 
 
 A voyage of three hours brought us to Haggi-Kandil, 
 155 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 near the ruins of Chut-ate.n (" splendour of the sun "), a 
 city built by Amen-helep IV., the great Monotheist, 
 when his so-called heresy had created such a hubbub 
 that he found it expedient to found for himself a new 
 city wherein to dwell in peace with his Syrian mother Ti, 
 and his wife and daughters. But priestcraft was too 
 strong for the new cult, and after a stubborn resistance 
 it succumbed to the old worship of Amen. 
 
 " If you please, my lord," said Selim, that evening at 
 dinner-time, "the crew wish to give you a concert on 
 deck to-night." 
 
 " The deuce they do ! " said the Com. in some con- 
 sternation : "give them a sheep instead." 
 
 " But, my lord," urged Selim, " you have given them 
 one sheep last Thursday." 
 
 "Then give them another; give them two," protested 
 the Com., "but for heaven's sake do not let them 
 sing." 
 
 " Oh, you can't do that," broke in Clare : " the poor 
 fel'ows will be awfully disappointed." 
 
 "Let them be disappointed," snarled the Warrior. 
 " Are we to sit and listen to their infernal caterwauling 
 for fear of offending a pack of silly niggers? " 
 
 "They are not niggers," said Clare with some heat: 
 "they are Arabs with feelings li':e ourselves." 
 
 " Ally-zo, Ally-zo," droned the Warrior, in imitation 
 of the Arab chorus ; " did any one ever hear such 
 drivel?" 
 
 However, the end of it was that we all went and sat 
 
 out that concert. It developed into a sort of musical 
 
 drama with much horse-play ; scene, a barber's shop. 
 
 The Arabs have many virtues, but as musicians it is a 
 
 156 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 neck-and-neck race between thern and the cats on the 
 wall. 
 
 Unfortunately for you, dear reader, we survived it, or 
 you would not now be yawning over this book. 
 
 In this part of Egypt the crocodile was once 
 
 THE MAN AT THE WHEEL 
 
 worshipped, and about three hours south of Chut- 
 aten there are some crocodile mummy-pits. But 
 religions vary with locality, and a couple of hundred 
 miles further south the ancient inhabitants of Tentyra, 
 which is opposite Qeneh, detested the crocodile, and 
 actually carried their hatred to such a pitch as to make 
 war on its devotees. So far from taking sides with its 
 worshippers, the crocodile, according to Strabo, ate 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 them, while it respected its haters of Tentyra, and 
 permitted them to swim about in the river without 
 molestation. 
 
 We spent the day at Asyut. Here Anubis was 
 worshipped. " Hail, Anubis of the Tomb, Great 
 God ! " we read in the "The Book of the Dead." This 
 god is usually called the jackal-headed, but the Greeks 
 took it for a wolf and called Asyut " Lycopolis." In 
 my opinion it resembles neither one nor the other, but 
 the vampire bat. 
 
 " In that day," writes the prophet Isaiah, " shall they 
 cast away their idols to the moles and to the bats." Our 
 bats are harmless little creatures enough ; but the temate, 
 or Oriental bat, the Vespertilio va??i_pyrus, is a formidable 
 brute, quite able and willing to suck a man to death 
 while he sleeps. Says Captain Stedman, a truthful and 
 observant traveller: "Knowing. by instinct that the 
 person they intend to attack is in a sound slumber, 
 they generally alight near the feet and bite a piece out 
 of the top of the great toe, so very small, indeed, that the 
 head of a pin could scarcely be received into the wound, 
 which is consequently not painful ; yet through this 
 orifice he continues to suck the blood, and the sufferer 
 has often been known to sleep from time to eternity." 
 He himself lost twelve or fourteen ounces of blood before 
 he discovered what was going on. 
 
 Here is a significant passage from Mr. Herbert 
 Spencer's " Principles of Sociology " on the origin of 
 animal worship : " That a creature found in the place 
 of the dead ... is assumed to belong in some way to 
 the dead need no longer be entertained (merely) as an 
 hypothesis. That among the possible relations between 
 
 158 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 the tomb-haunting animal and the deceased person 
 metamorphosis will be supposed by early peoples is 
 clear. And that hence results the identification of 
 owls and bats, and possibly scarabcei, with souls, can 
 
 MAHOMMEDAN CEMETERY 
 
 no longer be doubted." It would take me too far afield 
 to follow up this train of thought. 
 
 I will, however, here notice Mr. Spencer's subtle 
 observations on the worship of the lotus, which, as we 
 have seen, is a symbol of Upper Egypt, as the papyrus 
 is a symbol of Lower Egypt. He says : " I do not 
 believe any early usage ever arose through symbolisa- 
 tion." And he expresses the opinion that lotus-worship 
 159 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 arose in the same way as did soma-worship in the East — 
 namely, through the toxic qualities of the plant. There 
 is no doubt that the early Greeks believed themselves 
 and were believed by others, to be inspired, when they 
 were under the influence of those nervous stimulants 
 which produce a state of blissful indifference. Hence 
 the worship of Bacchus. The tree in the Garden of 
 Eden has been identified with this class of plant. 
 Although the lotus has no intoxicating qualities, never- 
 theless it has a sweet root ; and this, says Mr. Spencer, 
 might be used, like beetroot, for the manufacture of 
 sugar and of alcohol. This puts a rational and moral 
 construction on the warning addressed to Adam not to 
 eat of the fruit of the tree, instead of the usual one of 
 mere caprice. That the substance of the holy books, 
 papyrus, should also be worshipped by the masses will 
 surprise no one who has observed the jealousy with 
 which the modern Moslem keeps the Koran out of the 
 hands of the unbeliever, as though touching the paper 
 on which it is written could in any way injure the 
 author. 
 
 At Asyut, after exploring the bazaars and the old 
 market-place, we entered the law courts and followed 
 the trial of several causes. Outside I had found a little 
 boy with a blue-black cross tattooed on his wrist. His 
 companions laughed, and, pointing to the mark, said, 
 " Christian ! " An Arab gentleman, a barrister in the 
 court, to whom I mentioned the circumstance, explained 
 that a great many of the inhabitants of Upper Egypt 
 bear the mark. " Some years ago," he said, " there was 
 a scare that the Russians and Abyssinians were about to 
 organise a crusade, when they would kill all Mahom- 
 i6o 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 medans, and spare only such Arabs as could prove they 
 were Christians. Many Egyptians, therefore, adopted 
 the precaution of tattooing their wrists in this fashion — 
 not only Copts but Mohammedans." And then, to my 
 surprise, he showed nie a similar mark on his own wrist. 
 
 ^: . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 pg 
 
 pP — — ^^ 
 
 1 
 
 ASYUT MARKET-PLACE 
 
 How the scare arose I do not know; but the Yezids 
 kill all Mahommedans who fall into their hands, sparing 
 only the " Franks," which is their general name for 
 Christians. 
 
 The proceedings in the law courts were not unlike 
 
 those of an English court of justice, except that the law 
 
 appeared to be based on the Code Napoleon, with a 
 
 substratum of Mahommedan law. Anything must be 
 
 i6i L 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 better than unadulterated English law, if such a thing 
 can be said to exist as an independent entity. My 
 barrister friend was good enough to interpret for me as 
 the trials proceeded. 
 
 The disfigurement of the tombs of Asyut dates, says 
 Dr. Wallis Budge, " from the time when the Christians 
 took up their abode in them." At Ahmin we went 
 ashore and visited the bazaars, where we bought some 
 very tasteful woven fabrics from the makers. As usual, 
 the god Amsu (a form of Amen-Ra) of this place was 
 mistaken by the Greeks for their Pan ; and the place is 
 consequently called Panopolis. But all Greek names 
 should be avoided in Egypt as far as possible. Even by 
 the guides, the Semitic or Hyksos god. Set, is usually 
 spoken of by the name of Typhon, to whom he bears 
 no resemblance. After the expulsion of the Shepherd 
 Kings, Set fell from his exalted position, and was subse- 
 quently known as the God of Evil. Like Sebek, he 
 sometimes figures as a crocodile; but he seems else- 
 where to have appeared as a serpent. He has outlived 
 most of the Egyptian deities. According to Plutarch, 
 Set, the brother and equal of God (Osiris), inveigled him 
 into a chest, and, fastening down the lid, flung him into 
 the Nile. When Isis, the wife of Osiris, heard what 
 had happened, she wandered about everywhere in search 
 of the chest, which she eventually discovered in the sea 
 near Byblos, whence she took it back with her to Egypt, 
 and hid it in a secret place while she went to look for 
 her son, Horus. During her absence, however, Set 
 discovered the chest by the light of the moon, cut the 
 body in fourteen pieces, and scattered them in different 
 parts of the country. Then Isis made a paper boat in 
 162 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 which to search for the fragments of her beloved spouse. 
 Whenever and wherever she found one she buried it, 
 which accounts for the number of temples to Osiris. 
 
 SHOPPING IN ASYUT 
 
 Meantime Horus made war on Set, took him prisoner, 
 and handed him over to the custody of his mother. And 
 here is shown the fickleness of woman : for Isis loosed 
 Set from his bonds and set him free. Horus was 
 naturally so incensed against her that he knocked off 
 163 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 her crown, and substituted for it a helmet in the shape 
 of an ox's head. In the next war Set again got the 
 worst of it — so we are told ; but since Horus appears to 
 have been himself cut in pieces, and Isis to have had 
 her head off, it is difficult to see where they scored over 
 Set. As for Osiris, he re-appeared from the nether 
 world, and took his seat on the throne of Egypt and of 
 heaven. According to another version Horus did not 
 knock his mother's crown off, but her head, and Thoth, 
 the God of Justice, put it on again, after transforming it 
 into the head of a cow. 
 
 In this connection it is worthy of note that the sacred 
 history of Sweden commences with "Once upon a time 
 there was a big cow." The ox-god has long ago dis- 
 appeared, except among the Druses, but Set still goes 
 about, as the negro preacher said, "seeking whom he 
 may devour somebody." It was not far from here, at a 
 place now called Abu-tig, that the great battle between 
 Set and Horus took place. 
 
 We slept that night at Girgeh, to which I referred out 
 of place intentionally, in order that my reader might 
 begin his tour at the beginning of Time, which we could 
 not. Girgeh, it will be remembered, is the modern 
 name of This. After a very cursory view of Abtu, which 
 the Greeks called (and which is still called) Abydos, 
 from the resemblance ofs its name to that of their own 
 Abydos, we proceeded to Qeneh ; whence, after provid- 
 ing ourselves with camels, we penetrated into the 
 Arabian desert, to visit the Bedouins in their own 
 homes. And then, crossing the Nile in a rowing boat, 
 we visited the temple of Denderah (Tentyra), where the 
 Hon. Sec. had the satisfaction of taking a photograph 
 164 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 of Cleopatra from a contemporary portrait. Although this 
 temple is one of the most picturesque in Egypt, it hardly 
 falls within the scope of the Egyptologist, having been 
 built at a very late period — that is to say, about the time 
 of the Roman invasion. 
 
 I5ED0UIXS AT ^EXKH 
 
 Next day we reached Thebes, the mighty city of a 
 hundred gates, which stretched for miles on both sides 
 of the Nile. Its real name was Uast, and how it came 
 to be named after the Greek town of Thebes I do not 
 know. In the Hebrew Bible it is called No. 
 
 We landed at that part of Uast where now stands 
 the little town of Luxor, on the east bank of the river. 
 The necropolis is on the opposite side. " Rather hke 
 165 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 a broken-down cotton-factory," remarked the Warrior, 
 pointing to the ruins of Karnak ; and in truth, at first 
 sight, viewed from the river, the temple is a httle dis- 
 appointing. On closer acquaintance the effect is very 
 much the reverse. The temples of Luxor and Karnak 
 
 ^_.. 
 
 
 
 tk <^ 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 BEDOUINS AT HOME 
 
 were formerly joined together by a magnificent avenue 
 of sphinxes, well over a r^iile long and fifty-five cubits 
 wide. The priests of the temples, we are told by Sirabo, 
 were astronomers and philosophers. And there is no 
 reason to doubt it. While other nations measured time 
 by the moon, they reckoned by the sun, and divided the 
 year into three hundred and sixty-five days of twelve 
 months, each month having thirty days, and five days 
 i66 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 over. The odd bit of day still left was held over, as it 
 now is, and stuck in at the end of every fourth year. 
 This will to some appear a better system than our own. 
 
 with its months of thirty and thirty-one days, and its 
 " slow month February alone." I have seen a young 
 lady's diary with the third of March carefully entered as 
 February 31. 
 
 The esoteric worship of Amen would not greatly have 
 167 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 shocked the late Prof. Huxley "nor our present en- 
 lightened Bishop of London. But it seems to have been 
 expounded to the masses in the garb of an ancient and 
 magnificent symbolism. 
 
 One can find no words to express abhorrence of the 
 
 'RATHER LIKE A BROKEX-DOWN COTTON FACTORY" 
 
 Persian Cambyses and the stupid barbarity with which 
 he smashed everything • he came across, and, amongst 
 other things^, these grand monuments of an age and a 
 people he could not understand. 
 
 On the other side of the Nile we found a huge statue 
 
 of Rameses II. forty cubits high (or sixty feet, if my 
 
 readers insist on using our stupid English measures). 
 
 This he overthrew and mutilated. At Karnak he be- 
 
 i68 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 headed as many statues as he could lay hands on. But 
 the granite statue of Rameses II. in the Luxor temple 
 eluded his spiteful vigilance, and there it stands to this 
 day. There also stands one of his beautiful obelisks, 
 but its twin-brother, as everybody knows, stands in the 
 
 CAMBYSES BEHEADS THE STATUES 
 
 middle of the Place de la What-shall-we-call-it ? — Con- 
 corde? I believe: that. is the present name of the great 
 square in Paris, but it once bore another name — and it 
 will again. Place Zola would sound quite as well as 
 Place de la Revolution ! 
 
 The grandest part of the Karnak temple is the Hall 
 of Columns. These sombre ruins we desecrated by 
 spreading out a white cloth and covering it with the 
 169 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 flesh-pots of Egypt, all arranged in the best style of 
 Selim Gaziri, and then removing them again — but not 
 back into the hampers in which they arrived — we drank 
 
 HATSHEPSET'S OBELISK AT KARN'AC 
 
 to the memory of Rameses the Great; and just one 
 bumper to the Lady Hatshepset, whose obelisk towers 
 np some little way off. The top of it bears traces of 
 having been at one time gilded, as some say, to cause 
 it to glitter far and wide. This queen may be regarded 
 170 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 as the prototype of " the new woman," for we are told 
 that " scarcely had her royal brother and husband closed 
 his eyes, when the proud queen threw aside her woman's 
 veil, and appeared in all the splendour of Pharaoh as 
 a born king : for she laid aside her woman's dress and 
 
 TOMBS OF THE KINGS 
 
 clothed herself in man's attire." I may add that I saw a 
 contemporary portrait of her wearing a man's beard. . 
 Our new woman has not got so far as that yet. So, 
 after all, she is thirty-five centuries behind the time, 
 and not in advance of the age, as she is pleased to 
 suppose. On one of the walls of the temple is inscribed 
 a poem by one Pen-ta-urt, celebrating the victories of 
 Rameses the Great. This poem must be the oldest 
 i/i 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 in the world. It was written more than three centuries 
 before King David w^as born, and at least eight centuries 
 before "his" Psalms were written. And giving Homer 
 his earHest possible date, he could not have written or 
 even composed the Iliad till many centuries after the 
 death of Pen-ta-urt. 
 
 Crossing the river in a rowing boat — our donkeys and 
 Arabs crossed in another — we mounted and rode off to 
 visit the Temple of Kurneh, and the Ramesseum, and 
 the Tombs of the Kings. Of the latter, the only one we 
 thoroughly explored was that of Seti I., the father of 
 Rameses the Great. This tomb, which is a gradual 
 incline 500 feet long, ends at a point 150 feet deep, and 
 its walls are covered with pictures showing the life of the 
 dead in the under-world. Some of these paintings are 
 grotesque. To modern eyes they are unquestionably 
 indecent. Unless they were intended to be merely 
 symbolic, the Egyptian ideal of an after-life would appear 
 to have been a state of intense sensual, but thoughtless, 
 bliss. But I regard them as merely symbolic. 
 
 On our return from the tombs to the river we passed 
 the Colossi. Their present appearance, sitting in the 
 midst of a wide unpeopled plain, and staring straight in 
 front of them, is weird and eery. Two huge monoliths, 
 sixty feet high, without a tree or a rock within miles of 
 them, are well calculated to inspire the inhabitants with 
 wonder and dread. Strange stories are told about them. 
 In the olden time, the northern one used to groan or 
 sigh at sunrise. But two thousand years ago it received 
 a shock of earthquake, and has not spoken since. There 
 is nothing at all improbable in this. Strabo himself 
 heard the voice, but not very distinctly. He could not 
 172 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 be sure whether the sound proceeded from the mouth of 
 the statue, or from some one standing at its base. His 
 scepticism is delicately expressed — "from the uncertainty 
 of the cause, I am disposed to believe anything rather 
 than that stones disposed in that manner could emit a 
 
 IX THE TOMB OF "THE ROSY 15ELLE 
 
 sound." His visit to Thebes was about a generation 
 before Christ. If he had described the noise a little 
 more particularly, one could have made a better guess at 
 the cause. If, as some said, it resembled a sigh, it might 
 be caused by the breeze, which always springs up at sun- 
 rise and sunset, blowing through an orifice in the statue. 
 This orifice might be accidental, or it might have been 
 intentionally made. But if the sound was, as others say, 
 173 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 more like the note of a 'cello than that of an ^{olian 
 harp, it might be caused by the sudden expansion or 
 contraction of one stone grating on another. That the 
 vocal Colossus was cracked is likely enough, seeing that 
 very shortly after Strabo's visit the head and shoulders 
 fell off and were smashed. 
 
 Dwellers in England can form no idea of the regularity 
 of the breezes and the changes of temperature on the 
 Nile. You can foretell to a minute precisely when the 
 wind will rise, and the thermometer fall, and how much. 
 The air of the barren hills in which the tombs are hewn 
 out of the solid rock (Strabo says there were forty of 
 them) is the finest and most invigorating in the world. 
 One who feels weak and weary after a walk of five miles 
 in England, or two in the Riviera, will find himself as 
 fresh as paint after a fifteen-mile go-as-you-please 
 scramble over these hills and valleys. Try Luxor. If 
 you can persuade Amineh and Fatima to accompany 
 you on your rambles and amuse you with their pretty 
 Arabic -English, they will in no wise detract from your 
 enjoyment of the scenery, to which they are in all 
 respects adapted, both in dress and complexion. 
 
 One day the British and Russian Consular Agent, 
 Achmet Effendi, invited us to dinner. " Perhaps," said 
 he, "you would find it a novel experience to dine in 
 Arab fashion, utterly regardless of European manners 
 and customs?" We jumped at the idea. It was a 
 mid-day dinner. We sat on the ground round a large 
 embossed brass tray, or legless table. An Arab youth 
 clad in white burnouse with yellow sash, a red fez and 
 red slippers, placed before each visitor a small brass 
 basin of water, a napkin (or knapkin, as the Warrior 
 174 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 spells it), and a loaf of bread. Presently a large dish of 
 soup or stew is planted in the middle of the tray, and 
 into this all the members of the party dip chunks of 
 
 PYLON AT LUXOR 
 
 bread, or help themselves with spoons. There are no 
 knives or forks. Six or eight courses follow, consisting 
 of different joints and preparations of the animal which 
 has been slain for the feast. On this occasion it was not 
 a fatted calf but a fine sheep. The dishes were variously 
 175 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 dressed, and served with rice, durra, herbs, and spices. I 
 may mention en passant that Egyptian beef is atrocious, 
 and Egyptian bacon infinitely worse ; but the mutton is 
 excellent. The Com. was somewhat taken aback when 
 the Effendi, dipping his fingers in the stew and fishing 
 out a piece of the breast, tore it asunder and presented 
 him with a choice morsel. But apart from prejudice, 
 having regard to the thoroughness of Oriental ablution 
 before meals, there is nothing objectionable in the 
 custom, to which all but the fastidious easily become 
 reconciled. When the last course appeared — the sheep's 
 head roasted — and our host plucked out one of its eyes 
 and swallowed it, a sense of incongruity (shall I call it ?) 
 overtook more than one of his visitors. Clare was more 
 stoical. " Is it a delicacy ? " he whispered to the Wily 
 Warrior. " Rather," was the emphatic reply ; " I was just 
 going to sneak the other eye, but if you have not tried 
 it, I will yield to you." The self-sacrificing offer was 
 promptly accepted. 
 
 Whether the memory of that friandise still lingers in 
 the gullet of the young philosopher is known only to 
 himself; but his expression was — well, not one of un- 
 alloyed bliss. 
 
 Cigarettes and coffee rounded off the repast, and we 
 sallied forth to inspect the antiquarian treasures of a 
 neighbouring curiosity, shop, the proprietor of which is 
 retained by the authorities of the British Museum to 
 look out for any valuables that come his way. The 
 Com. bought, inter alia, the mummy of a little girl. 
 The Warrior bought another. " It will give my clerical 
 brother a bit of a knock," he said ; "■ I'll tell him it is 
 Potiphar's wife when she was a little girl." 
 176 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 That evening at table d'hote in the Luxor Hotel the 
 following conversation was overheard : 
 
 Hon. Sec. Oh, yes ; two of our party bought a couple 
 of Egyptian girls this morning. 
 
 Elderly Lady \in a confidential undertone\ How dis- 
 
 TRUE ARABS ARE SCRUPULOUSLY CLEAN 
 
 graceful ! Besides, I thought the slave-trade was abolished, 
 and all that sort of thing. In any case, it is not a thing 
 to be talked about, is it ? What can their parents be 
 about ? 
 
 Hon. Sec. Dead. 
 
 Elderly Lady. Poor dears— orphans ; how sad ! But 
 have they no friends to look after them ? 
 
 Hon. Sec. All dead. 
 
 177 M 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Elderly Lady. But surely there must be some society 
 to take up cases like this. How old are the poor 
 things ? 
 
 Hon. Sec. Oh, very old. 
 
 Elderly Lady \take?i aback]. Then why did they 
 buy — I mean — I thought you called them girls. 
 
 Hon. Sec. They are none the worse for being old. 
 
 Elderly Lady \archly\ Still, there is a limit, I sup- 
 pose. 
 
 Hon. Sec. T don't know that there is, provided they 
 are well preserved. 
 
 Elderly Lady [glancing down at a well- nourished 
 arm, and favouring her co?npanion with a blush she had 
 had by her, unworn, for decades]. Exactly. Of course. 
 Provided they are well preserved ; but why did you call 
 them girls ? 
 
 Hon. Sec. Ah ! perhaps I should have said little 
 children. They are quite small, you know. 
 
 Elderly Lady [perplexed]. Really, you are either 
 confused or confusing. Little children, and yet very 
 old. Oh, you mean they look old and wizened, poor 
 dears. 
 
 Hon. Sec. Very. 
 
 Elderly Lady. But really, they are quite young and 
 frisky ? 
 
 Hon. Sec. Not frisky — dead. 
 
 Elderly Lady [nervously, but with a mental resolve to 
 remain calm]. Dead ! what do you mean ? 
 Hon. Sec. [sepulchrally]. Corpses. 
 Elderly Lady [moving her chair slightly]. Corpses? 
 Hon. Sec. [capriccioso]. Yes — mummies, you know. 
 178 
 
Temple and Tomb 
 
 " They spoke no more that day." Had the Elderly 
 Lady been Cleopatra or Nitocris or Hatshepset, the 
 Hon. Sec. would not have survived "many hours. He 
 really has very little tact with elderly ladies, considering 
 his age. 
 
 179 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 ISLAM 
 
 In a weak moment we had come to an agreement that 
 once a week each member of the parly should read a 
 paper suggested by the scenes and experiences of the 
 journey. Thus it came about that one evening in the 
 cosy saloon of the Nitocris, the Literary Failure got 
 an opportunity of delivering himself of the following 
 diatribe, which the reader is respectfully advised to 
 skip : 
 
 Fellow martyrs to science, and exiles from home, he 
 began ; I propose to lay before you to-night a few 
 hasty reflections on the present religion of the manly 
 and charming people by whom we are now surrounded. 
 The old cataclysmic theory of jumps is as dead in the 
 domain of social evolution as the special creation 
 hypothesis in the field of natural history. It is only the 
 bigot's eye which sees differences where none exist. It 
 is, therefore, with the greater pleasure that, before 
 offering any conjectures of my own, I submit a passage 
 from "The History of Mohammedanism" by that 
 learned Christian divine, Dr. W. C. Taylor. " That 
 Mohammedanism was an imitation of Christianity was 
 not merely the confession, but the boast of its founder." 
 i8o 
 
Isl 
 
 am 
 
 I go further. I say it was and is a form of Christianity, 
 and, compared with the reHgion of Mahomet's day, a 
 reform, in the highest sense of the word. Dr. Taylor 
 continues, " Mahomet declared that he preached to his 
 countrymen no new doctrine ; that the tenets of Islam 
 
 were the same that God had originally revealed to Adam, 
 to Noah, and to Abraham ; which Moses had received 
 amid the thunders of Sinai, and which the Incarnate 
 Word had taught in Judsea and Galilee. Neither do the 
 modern Moslems assert the originality of their creed ; 
 on the contrary, they declare that nothing but wilful per- 
 versity could prevent both Jews and Christians from find 
 ing the doctrines of Islam in the Bible." In fact, the 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 new sect was to the seventh century what the Protestant 
 Reformation was to the sixteenth — a revolt against idolatry. 
 To us it is best known through its modern exponents, 
 the Turks, whose Tartar fanaticism and lack of intelli- 
 gence have corrupted it beyond recognition ; just as 
 early Christianity was saturated with the imbecilities of 
 the Northern barbarians after the fall of Rome in the 
 Dark Ages. Islam ought to be studied as a new and 
 living creed in the days of Harun al Rashid : and not in 
 the Turkish mosques of the present century. 
 
 What would be thought of an Oriental writer who 
 should maintain that Christians are a gay, volatile, 
 and capricious race ? *^ To which Christian race do you 
 refer?" he would be asked. And we may suppose him 
 to answer, " Well, of course there are slight differences 
 among Christians, but practically what I have said 
 describes them all." Yet this is not unlike the average 
 Englishman's treatment of Mahommedans. They are, we 
 are told, a fanatical, superstitious, intolerant, and un- 
 speculative people. Of the Turks, this may be a correct 
 description, but of the Arabs it is the precise reverse of 
 the truth in every particular. They are a gay, amiable, 
 quick-witted, tolerant, genial, and intellectual race. Most 
 of Mahomet's Arab companions, as Renan points out, 
 hardly believed in his supernatural mission ; incredulity 
 was rife during the first six centuries ; and it was not 
 till the creed had been embraced by Spaniards in the 
 West and Turks in the East that stern aggressive fanati- 
 cism was manifested. 
 
 As far back as the twelfth century we find the celebrated 
 Ibn Roshd dismissed from Court for daring to assert 
 that truth is based on reason alone. There is nothing 
 182 
 
Isl 
 
 am 
 
 very Turkish about that. After surveying the writings 
 of Algazzal of Bagdad, Renan exclaimed, " Even Hume 
 has said no more." And Lewes declares that Algazzal's 
 great work on the science of religion bears so remark- 
 able a resemblance to Descartes' Methode that, had any 
 
 SHIPS OF THE DESERT 
 
 translation of it existed in the days of Descartes, every 
 one would have cried out against the plagiarism. 
 Abubacer rejected the Ptolemaic theory of the heavenly 
 bodies three centuries before Copernicus was born. 
 
 Again, " it is eminently probable," writes Lewes, " that 
 Kepler borrowed his optical views from Al Hazan.' This 
 great Arab philosopher, who lived, be it remembered, 
 before the first Crusade^ refuted the Greek theory of 
 light, explained refraction, and actually pointed out the 
 183 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 reason why we can see the stars before they rise and 
 after they set. 
 
 Earher still, at Bokhara, lived Ibn Sina, better known 
 as Avicenna, the gay and learned physician. What 
 light, I pray, emanates from Bokhara now? Every 
 evening, we are told, "he lectured on philosophy or 
 medicine to a large and attentive audience. The lecture 
 over, he ordered musicians to appear, and being of a 
 festive disposition, fonder of the pleasures of the table 
 than became a philosopher and physician. ..." I do 
 not see why a philosopher should not be fond of the 
 pleasures of the table and all other rational pleasures, 
 and I mention the detail merely to show that this great 
 thinker had risen above the vulgar notion that wisdom is 
 necessarily gloomy and ascetic. Avicenna was fond of 
 wine, and, on being reproached for his defiance of the 
 Koran, replied : " Wine is forbidden because it excites 
 quarrels and bad passions, but I, being preserved from 
 excesses by my philosophy, drink wine to sharpen my 
 wits." This passage may be commended to those who 
 persist in regarding Mahommedans as morose and bigoted. 
 It is interesting to note that its author was the founder of 
 the modern classification of the faculties into Sensation, 
 Ideation, Reason, and Will ; and further, that he died 
 before the Norman conquest of England, and conse- 
 quently some years befor^e the bishops had quite decided 
 how many angels could stand on the point of a needle. 
 A century earlier Al Farabi, the Arab mathematician, 
 wrote a treatise on music, containing a complete theoiy 
 of the art, treating of sounds, concords, intervals, 
 rhythms, and cadence. Of Al Kendi we read that he 
 lived in the ninth century at Bagdad, and that he was 
 184 
 
Islam 
 
 entrusted by the Khalif, Al Rashid, with the translation 
 of Aristotle into Arabic. It was of men like these, and 
 of rulers like Haroun himself, and Al Mamoon, and Al 
 
 CARGO OK WATER-JARS 
 
 Mansur, that Sophronius, the Bishop of Jerusalem, 
 exclaimed, when that city fell into Arab hands, " Now, 
 indeed, is the abomination of desolation on the Holy of 
 Holies." Meantime, "the aspect of learning in Christian 
 Europe was piteous." 
 
 185 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 But this is merely the opinion of an English philoso- 
 pher, G. H. Lewes, and he may have been prejudiced. 
 I prefer, therefore, to appeal to the high authority of 
 the Church itself, as expressed at one of the great 
 Councils : " We all believe, we all assent, we all sub- 
 scribe. This is the faith of the Apostles ; this is the 
 faith of the Church ; this is the faith of the Orthodox ; 
 this is the faith of the World. We, who adore the 
 Trinity, worship images. Whoever does not the like, 
 anathema upon him ! " Well, the great Khalifs of 
 Bagdad did not the like, neither did the philosophers 
 whom they encouraged, nor the attentive audiences who 
 sat at the feet of Ibn Sina. Anathema upon them all ! 
 We must organise Crusades in order to change their 
 opinions. 
 
 Nevertheless, all through the black centuries, the 
 Arabs, and the Arabs alone, kept the light burning. 
 They translated the works of the Greek philosophers 
 and mathematicians, many of which would otherwise 
 have been lost to us. They improved upon them. 
 They observed nature, widened the domain of science, 
 cultivated art. They invented new astronomical instru- 
 ments, and a new mathematical notation. In short, they 
 carried on the work of civilisation all through those grim 
 ages during which Europe groped in a darkness which 
 could be felt — a darkness compared with which the 
 worship of Amen-Ra was as a blazing torch. 
 
 Talking of the Arabic notation, it may be interesting 
 to point out 1 ow the Arab who invented it set about his 
 task, and how our numerals reached their present forms. 
 At first sight they look rather arbitrary and conventional. 
 We shall see. He drew one line to denote One : two 
 i86 
 
Islam 
 
 lines to denote Two; three lines to denote Three; a 
 square to denote Four; a five-lined figure to denote 
 Five ; and so on up to Nine : thus : 
 
 By writing these signs rapidly they assumed these 
 forms : 
 
 and finally in process of time they became what we 
 know: 
 
 I zi i\s ei %i 
 
 Compare this with the clumsy Roman notation and 
 the equally awkward Greek. 
 
 " Oh yes," the Hon. Sec. interjected, " you will tell us 
 next that some ancient Egyptian called Pil-Lu invented 
 a system of telegraphing chess-moves by means of two 
 letters only. We were not born yesterday." 
 
 Disregarding the interruption, the lecturer continued. 
 
 With respect to Arab rule, we are told by Hallam that 
 " the Moslem conquerors were mild and liberal in com- 
 parison with those who obeyed the pontiffs of Rome and 
 Constantinople." Speaking of Tyre, Mr. Philip Smith 
 says, " The Arab conquest secured for it new prosperity 
 under the gentle government of the Caliphs, till it finally 
 succumbed to the dominion of the Turks (a.d. 1516)." 
 " Regard the Arabs of to-day," writes Dozy ; " although 
 Mussulmans by name, they care but little for the precepts 
 
 187 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 of Islamism. The European traveller who knows them 
 best will bear witness that they are the most tolerant 
 people of Asia." "In Spain," writes Lewes, "they per-, 
 mitted Jews and Christians to retain their religious rites 
 and daily customs. So successful was this policy of 
 
 HHI^HLiiJi^^MHK^^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ■H 
 
 ^^^^^^' ^pHmt 
 
 Iv^^ 
 
 
 1^^ ' 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^Hk°^ 
 
 m 
 
 Bpl'"?' 
 
 ■ ^--Jir^ 
 
 ARAB HUT 
 
 conciliation that Christians and Mahommedans not only 
 lived together amicably, but often intermarried. And 
 it is worthy of note that from Spain Arabian culture 
 slowly penetrated Europe." During the very worst 
 period of darkness, he points out, Andalusia, under the 
 Mahommedans, was the centre of light. It was the 
 market where all the literary treasures of the East found 
 ready sale. 
 
 i88 
 
Islam 
 
 Too much stress is usually laid on the dogmatic beliefs 
 avowed by a people. The truth is, that the professed 
 religion of a race has very little bearing on its tempera- 
 ment or behaviour. When Togrol Beg embraced 
 Mahommedanism with all his soldiers and subjects, it 
 
 MOSQUE AT ASYUT 
 
 must not be supposed that he thereby remodelled the 
 intellectual and moral nature of the Turk. That remained 
 just what it was. New shibboleths only were adopted. 
 The Mahommedan and Christian Arabs of Asyut get on 
 admirably together. They smile at the mistaken (as they 
 suppose) opinions of each other ; and the educated Arab 
 smiles at both. But there is no intolerance, no ill-will, 
 no anathematising. I remember offering a glass of wine 
 189 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 to an Arab at Tunis, chiefly with the mischievous object 
 of seeing how he would refuse it. Quaffing it off, to my 
 surprise, he drank my health. " I thought," said I, 
 " that wine was forbidden by your religion ? " " Drunken- 
 ness, not drink, is what is meant^^ he replied with a 
 smile. 
 
 Nations are not much affected by their creeds. Athe- 
 nian civilization flourished alongside an airy polytheism. 
 If Mahomet II. had embraced Christianity as he was 
 urged to do by Pius II. in the most futile letter ever 
 penned by mortal man, the Turks would now be dull, 
 sensual, fanatical Christians, instead of dull, sensual, 
 fanatical Mahommedans. That is all. And if England 
 had accepted the Koran in the tenth century she would 
 wear her Mahommedanism as lightly as she now wears 
 her Christianity. 
 
 The religion of a country is no clue to its intellectual 
 and moral condition ; neither, as we are gradually begin- 
 ning to see, is its language at all a sure test of its racial 
 origin. The fact that Hebrew, Arabic, and Phoenician 
 are varieties of the same Semitic tongue is no longer held 
 to be conclusive evidence of the near kinship of the races 
 speaking them. One can single out a Jew in the Egyptian 
 bazaars as easily as on the London Stock Exchange; 
 and I shall be much surprised if anthropology does not 
 reveal the fact that, despite their common language, the 
 Hebrews and Arabs are racially as distinct as Englishmen 
 and Esquimaux. In my mind there is no doubt that the 
 thoroughbred coffee-complexioned Arab is the lineal 
 descendant of the Egyptian pyramid-builders. I have 
 walked out of the tombs at Beni-hasan and at Thebes, 
 and have met outside the very men and women who are 
 190 
 
Islam 
 
 depicted on the walls within. In form, feature, and com- 
 plexion the modern Arab working his shadoof or driving 
 his camels is the exact counterpart of the men and gods 
 of thirty and forty centuries ago. What have these 
 architects and painters of Memphis and of Thebes in 
 
 A CHILD OF THE DESERT 
 
 common with the people who for a thousand years 
 flourished at Jerusalem, and who never, during the whole 
 of that period, erected a single building better than a 
 hut? The Great Temple was of course built by the 
 Phoenicians. What have the inventors of writing and of 
 mathematical notation, the pioneers of astronomy, the 
 engineers of the Fayyoum, the circumnavigators of Africa 
 in common with a race which never added a new truth 
 191 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 to science nor enriched art by so much as a painting or 
 a statue? Of the Arabic-speaking Egyptians we may 
 say, " Truly the voice is the voice of Shem, but the blood 
 is the blood of Mena." 
 
 Surprise has been expressed, not only by Hallam, but 
 by many other historians, at the extraordinarily and 
 almost miraculously rapid growth of Arabian civilization. 
 That a few nomad and half-savage tribes in Arabia 
 suddenly sprang into the front rank, seized half the 
 Roman Empire from Gibraltar to Bagdad, and held aloft 
 the lamps of truth and justice, at a time when Europe 
 was fast sinking into savagery, is at first sight inexplicable. 
 But we must bear in mind that at the death of Mahomet 
 in 632, neither his cult nor his arms had overleaped the 
 narrow bounds of Arabia itself. Not until Egypt had 
 been subjugated by Amru do we detect so much as a 
 glimmer of the higher light that was to burn steadily all 
 through the long night between the sunset of Rome and 
 the dawn of Italy. That the people of the Arabian 
 peninsula were, like the Bedouins of to-day, a mixed 
 race, partly descended from the Egyptians, is probable. 
 That they had adopted the religion and possibly the 
 language of some early Semitic conquerors, like the 
 Hyksos, is likely enough. But that the womb of Arabia 
 held the germs of the great Saracen Empire is well-nigh 
 inconceivable. Shall w^ not rather say that the sudden 
 splendour of Islam was in truth the Ancient Flame of 
 Mizraim blazing up once more from the embers where it 
 had smouldered since its apparent extinction by the 
 legions of Rome? — in short, the Fourth Egyptian 
 Empire ? 
 
 That this is the true solution of the riddle I myself 
 192 
 
Islam 
 
 have no doubt. There stands the Great Pyramid, the 
 emblem of eternal mind — at all events, the realist emblem 
 on this planet — and there at its foot dwell the sons of its 
 builders. Crushed by the Shepherd Kings, worshippers 
 of the Ox-god ; crushed by Cambyses, the wrecker of Art ; 
 
 VILLAGE 0\ THE BANK 
 
 crushed by Alexander, still thirsting for more blood to 
 spill ; crushed by Octavius, the despot of decadent Rome ; 
 crushed by Selim, the fratricide Turk— Egypt still lives. 
 Not dead, but sleeping, like a prostrate warrior she lies, 
 nursed by a kindly sister. The history of the Pyramid 
 is not ended yet. 
 
 " Bravo Jus ! " cried the Wily One, " you have been 
 burning the ship's oil to some purpose." 
 
 J93 K 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 "A more elaborate tissue of tommy-rot it has never 
 been. my lot to listen to," said the Com. 
 
 "It seems to me," added the Hon. Sec, "that you, 
 are a bit gone on that girl Amineh, and your head is 
 
 turned." ... > 
 
 THE DESERT AS IT REALLY IS 
 
 '' I don't know about that," the 'Varsity Man said 
 thoughtfully ; " I think your theory of the sudden spread 
 of Arabian philosophy sounds rational enough. But are 
 you not flying in the face of all the authorities ? " 
 
 " He always does," the Wily One replied for him. 
 
 ^'Well," said the Literary Failure, moistening his lips 
 with hot water carefully diluted with a drop of Dewar's 
 194 
 
Islam 
 
 best whisky,* " them's my sentiments — take 'em or 
 leave 'em!" 
 
 The said sentiments were forgotten, but the example 
 was carefully followed, though not with that exactitude 
 due to the example of a prophet. The 'Varsity Man 
 ordered a lemon squash. The Hon. Sec. got outside 
 (as he expressed it) a pint of bitter. The Wily one pre- 
 ferred a glass of dry champagne ; and the Com. thought 
 a little light wine might do him good. Whereupon they 
 all retired to their respective bunks, and the 'Varsity man 
 dreamt that he was being cornered by the Ox-god with 
 red-hot horns ; the Hon. Sec. that he was being " preached 
 to death' by wild curates " ; the Wily One dreamt that the 
 pyramid had six sides to it, with a number on each side ; 
 the Com. slept the dreamless sleep of the just, while the 
 Literary Failure dreamt of Amineh and her beautiful 
 eyes. So they say. 
 
 * The reference to Dewar's whisky is a mere advertisement 
 reluctantly inserted by the writer at the urgent request of the 
 Literary Failure, whose stock is running rather short. 
 
 195 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 TURKISH WELCOME AT JOPPA 
 
 The Nttocris, unlike the yacht of the Mor?nng Post, 
 could proceed no further than Aswan ; so mounting our 
 gallant steeds — if asses can be called steeds — we went 
 off at a smart gallop through the sandy and rocky desert 
 to Philae. Yet we did not far outstrip our Arab escort, 
 who, though on foot, covered the ten miles in very little 
 over the hour. The ruins of Philae are the most beautiful 
 in the world. If a single one of my numerous and ac- 
 complished readers doubt it, let him get himself rowed 
 over to the island — the frontier-island, as it was called 
 in the days of the Amen-heteps. It is the smaller of the 
 two which lie just south of the Cataract. The larger 
 one is called Biggeh — " most appropriately," the Com. 
 observed. Let him stretch a rug in "Pharaoh's Bed," as 
 one of the little temples is called, or, indeed, in any other 
 part of the ruins; but not before whispering to Selim 
 that he wishes to dream away the afternoon where Cleo- 
 patra dreamed. Let him obey the injunctions of that 
 modern y^^sculapius to the very last drop of Liebfrau- 
 milch, or " fizz," as the case may be. And then let him 
 resign himself to contemplation and reverie. 
 
 We did these things, and more also. And then we 
 196 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 pulled ourselves together for the anti-climax — the hurry- 
 scurry and headlong rush back through the Cataract. 
 It is a glorious experience. While we reclined beneath 
 
 AT PHIL^ 
 
 a canopy in the strong, quaint boat in which the passage 
 of the rapids is effected — the choregus sits on the gun- 
 wale, armed with a species of tom-tom, to the accom- 
 paniment of which he sings wild chants, urging the 
 oarsmen to redoubled exertion. They all join in the 
 197 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 chorus, a minor strain synchronising with the strokes of 
 the oars, while the old pilot, hand on tiller, gazes with 
 solemn (perhaps affected) anxiety at the rocks ahead 
 and the raging surf around. After each point of danger 
 successfully passed, Allah is loudly thanked, and the last 
 
 'VER GOOD DONKEY. I AM YOUR FRIEND" 
 
 of thein is the signal for a lusty Hip, hip, hurrah ! It is 
 most inspiriting to watch jthe young Arabs on the banks 
 fling themselves into the roaring torrent from a rock 
 twenty-five feet high. Down they go, one after the 
 other, laughing and cheering, and away they are swept 
 by the current, like corks in a mill-race. Not one of the 
 twenty or thirty who performed the feat for our delec- 
 tation sustained any injury; but it is said that if a 
 
Turkish Welcome at Jopp^ 
 
 stranger were to attempt it he would inevitably be 
 dashed to pieces. And I can well believe it. Some 
 of these fellows come whirling down the rapids on 
 chunks of wood and in tubs, but they never forget 
 the reward which such exploits deserve. 
 
 » 1 1 
 
 
 ^^^^^KKmt/f^o'ij/l^^^r Jt/tfr^^^^m ^ .^H 
 
 W^^Bt^kz 
 
 P^l^^9v2^fl 
 
 i^Hh 
 
 SHOOTING THE CATARACT 
 
 On arriving at Aswan we found our Rosy Belle with 
 her head resolutely facing northward, and after sticking 
 on a sandbank for six hours, just beyond the Isle of 
 Elephantine, we set off down-stream. The temples of 
 Kom-ombo, of Esneh, and of Edfu all date — as [to 
 their main buildings — from the comparatively recent age 
 of the Ptolemies. Kom-ombo, both as to position and 
 199 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 preservation, is the most picturesque of the Egyptian 
 temples north of Philae. 
 
 I think it is Baedeker who relates a legend picked 
 up from a native of Kom-ombo. I wish I had the book 
 at hand to refresh my memory, because I wish to point 
 
 ENTRANCE TO CATARACT 
 
 to it as a shocking example of legend-weaving. The 
 bad prince kills his good brother; the people are grieved 
 and refuse to work for him ; thereupon he summons the 
 dead to rise up and to plough and sow his fields. This 
 they do, but by the pale moonlight the ploughs and 
 their phantom bullocks can be seen skimming in the 
 air a foot or so above the surface. And then, when the 
 harvests should be at hand, the bad prince finds that 
 200 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 instead of wheat the dead had sown only sand. This 
 story is so thoroughly Teutonic in tone, so absurdly un- 
 Egyptian, that it is surprising how it should come to be 
 served up as an authentic legend on the bare testimony 
 of some half-Berber donkey-boy, and at second hand. 
 
 ■^'-JY'^^ 
 
 At Asyut our mirth was turned to melancholy. The 
 Rich Banker was suddenly recalled to England on affairs 
 of State which could brook no delay. He went to the 
 piano as usual, and in plaintive tones made a rambling 
 statement to the effect that he was off to Philadelphia 
 in the morning. Then the Warrior declared that he also 
 was off to Philadelphia in the morning. But when the 
 Com. chimed in, and they all made the same untrue 
 
 20I 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 statement together, the lights went out ; the Arabs fell 
 on their faces and sued for mercy, and Selim rushed in 
 to find out whether the rats had got into the piano, or 
 something had gone wrong in the engine-room. Then 
 we went ashore and supported Cassius to the station, 
 
 
 ^MMMjii^^.'^^f^^tt^Hn 
 
 iHt 
 
 
 ^KSm^^^B •'^i^.:r..:.j-' 
 
 ^'^- 
 ^^% 
 
 
 
 - ^.^ 
 
 
 EDFU FROM THE PYLON 
 
 and lifted him tenderly into a comfortable carriage, for 
 his fourteen-hour railway journey to Cairo. Whether he 
 ever reached Philadelphia I have not yet heard. 
 
 On returning to the dahabieh it became evident that 
 something very serious was the matter with the 'Varsity 
 Man. We tried boiled banana poultices inside, and 
 Capri lotion, and everything we could think of, but all 
 in vain. At last he owned up. In the waiting-room at 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 the station he had met the loveliest creature in the world. 
 She was a poem, a goddess, and a chocolate cream, all 
 rolled into one. He was beside himself. He could 
 talk of nothing, think of nothing, dream of nothing but 
 his divinity. Could he but survive till morning he was to 
 
 KOM-OMBO 
 
 meet her again on the river bank. What rapture ! Oh, 
 those ten long, long hours ! But they came to an end ; 
 and the Idyl appeared on the bank. The flowing white 
 burnouse was gone; gone the saffron sash and the 
 many-hued head-dress. And the young Arab merchant, 
 attired in his workaday raiment, stood before us. Clare 
 was petrified. The shock was a severe one ; however, 
 he bore up wonderfully. But he never loved again — for 
 203 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 several days. And he will never forget — he will never 
 be allowed to forget — his first Arabian sweetheart. 
 
 We did not touch at many points on the downward 
 journey. We lounged all day on deck, watching the 
 life on the dark-brown level banks, with the cinnamon- 
 
 coloured hills beyond, all as level on the top as though 
 they had been mown with a scythe. The shadoofs 
 were always at work with their creaking see-saw. 
 Ibises, buffaloes, myriads of pigeons, camels, asses, 
 wagtails, and goats marched, flew, ran, and flitted 
 everywhere. Little green paroquets glinted like eme- 
 ralds amid the tall durra. Boys with slings, like that 
 with which David slew Goliath, flung stones at the 
 204 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 winged thieves who do not respect private property ; 
 a full furlong and more they flung them, with a crack 
 like the report of a pistol. And then the sun set. Long 
 
 PUKM, .GUUUKbS, AXD CHOCOLATE .CREAM ! 
 
 bands of carmine streaked the western sky, broken 
 by the black outlines of hills and palms. But the 
 Eastern panorama was even more wonderful. Mys- 
 terious iris hues, like a long horizontal rainbow, rise in 
 strata from the hills to the green sky above. I believe 
 205 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 these prismatic tints are due to the sarid, which, in vary- 
 ing densities, fills the air. It is caught up by the rising 
 breeze, which always accompanies the fall of the sun. 
 This seems to me to be the explanation of that unique 
 tone of Egyptian sunsets which has fascinated travellers 
 from the earliest times ; and which when reproduced on 
 canvas usually produces an effect of unreality. I now 
 and then recall the whole scene as in a lotus-eater's 
 dream. 
 
 " Coats, gentlemen," rose Selim's warning voice, just 
 five minutes before the precise moment of time when 
 scorching day gives place to chilly eve ; and then, after 
 watching the stars come out and the moon glimmer 
 through the palm branches, we would one by one 
 descend to the cosy saloon, and end the day with — con- 
 found sentiment ! — with whisky and poker. 
 
 After lingering for another fortnight at Cairo, we bade 
 farewell to the Nile, and went off, via Ismailia, and the 
 Bitter Lakes, and the Suez Canal, to Port Said ; where 
 we re-embarked on the Maria, bound for Joppa. 
 
 At the Warrior's urgent request, we broke our journey 
 at Tel-el-Kebir and at Ismailia. From the former we 
 proceeded to the little cemetery where the English 
 soldiers who fell in that battle lie buried among palms 
 and cypresses. It seems to be carefully tended. All 
 about the sands of El \\(ady we sought in vain for the 
 missing heel of Orlando, which was blown off fifteen 
 years ago in this neighbourhood. "You are searching 
 in the wrong place," said the Com. "How so?" asked 
 the Warrior. " You would have been more Hkely to 
 find it at Heliopolis," was the reply. Clearly the Com.'s 
 case is quite hopeless. At Ismailia we drove round 
 206 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 Egypt's youngest city, with its fine avenues, its bridges 
 and hotels, its lake and its fresh-water canal. The 
 Warrior pointed out the little window in the Viceroy's 
 Palace from which he used to gaze with glittering eye 
 and fevered brain, wondering whether he would ever' 
 
 CONVICTS AT ASWAN 
 
 again see the rocky glens of his native land. The 
 memory of past sufferings is not in itself painful, and, 
 strange to say, we rather envied him his reflections. 
 
 But I am going back on my track, for the Maria is 
 now threading her way between the green and red lights 
 at the ends of the two breakwaters of Port Said, and we, 
 having supped on board, are asking, " Watchman, what 
 of the night ? " for we have heard disquieting rumours 
 207 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 of Neptune's little doings ever since we reached Cairo. 
 Indeed, the Clyde had not been heard of for forty-eight 
 hours, and a search party had put out from Malta to look 
 for her. The managers of the Cairo hotels make capital 
 out of these telegrams, which they post in conspicuous 
 
 
 
 '' i^w^^^^^H^Mtt ^ * 
 
 ^J 
 
 
 \ 
 
 ANCIENT MEMORIES 
 
 places, as a warning to yachtsmen. However, we found 
 the sea settling down again and in a tolerable humour. 
 
 It was in the early morning of December 1 2 that the 
 Com. knocked us all up out of our beauty sleep with the 
 intelligence that if we wanted to land at Jaffa, now was 
 the moment. " The wind is rising," he said, " and the 
 Captain is dead against our making the attempt as it is, 
 so hurry up." It was a chilly grey morning and a heavy 
 208 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 sea was running. " What about breakfast ? " wept the 
 Wily One. " No time for that," answered the Com. ; " it 
 is now or never. We must breakfast in Joppa." 
 
 We romped into our " things " * and instructed the 
 stewards to stuif what was necessary for a four or five days' 
 absence into bags and pitch them after us into the gig. 
 Jus will not easily forget what the third steward regarded as 
 necessary for such a trip. His bag was as big and bulgy 
 as any one's, but he had no knowledge of its contents 
 until he opened it at Jerusalem. It contained two dozen 
 linen shirts, a bulky dressing-gown, a smoking-jacket, a 
 filled camera, an evening-dress suit, a Nubian scarf, and 
 a Coptic dictionary, some opera glasses, and several suits 
 of pyjamas. It did not contain a boot, a shoe, a sock, a 
 collar, a coat, or a handkerchief, neither did it contain 
 razor, sponge, soap, comb, nor brush of any kind. 
 Altogether it was a specimen kit. However, it helped 
 to fill the boat, and it looked well. 
 
 In fifteen minutes, empty, unkempt, half awake, and 
 none the better for a night's rocking, we were all in the 
 gig and off. " She will break her back in the surf, and I 
 shall jump for it," growled the second mate as a sea 
 broke over the gunwale and left us over the ankles in 
 water. The Warrior and the Hon. Sec. removed their 
 shoes and coats and prepared for the worst. Unfor- 
 tunately, it soon became obvious that the boat was leak- 
 ing pretty quickly. She had been out of water and in a 
 blazing sun for two months. But it was too late to 
 return to the yacht with the wind and sea against us, 
 and we might have been breakfast for the fishes but for a 
 
 * Victorian English for " clothes." My French translator is 
 earnestly requested not to construe this word as " choses." 
 209 O 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 French cargo-ship which happened to catch sight of the 
 pHght we were in, and which lowered a boat and came to 
 our rescue. With difficulty we transhipped ourselves, 
 and then discovered that it was impossible to land with- 
 out a surf-boat. 
 
 At this moment rose a friend in need. A Hungarian, 
 named Halle, the proprietor of the Hotel du Pare, had 
 been looking out to sea, as is his wont, when he 
 descried the operations just recorded, and, with the 
 promptitude and indifference to personal risk and dis- 
 comfort which ever distinguish the sterling man of 
 action from ihQ felts farta or stuffed cat (worthily repre- 
 sented on this occasion by Messrs. Cook's agent), he 
 rapidly manned a surf-boat, and, springing into it himself, 
 piloted her through the breakers and between the reefs 
 to the little cargo-boat in which we were tossing — safe 
 enough, but not very clear as to our next step. Tran- 
 shipped again, not without difficulty, we rounded the 
 reef, keeping as close to the rocks as possible, and 
 eventually gained the quay and landed. But our troubles 
 were by no means ended. The Turkish officer of cus- 
 toms with a posse of underlings barred our way. Un- 
 fortunately, in the hurry of departure we had forgotten 
 our pratique. Moreover, Jus had stupidly lost his pass- 
 port. Land, we must not. Were the people of Jaffa to be 
 decimated by plague for the sake of a handful of English- 
 men ? Allah forbid ! We must return to the yacht, or, 
 for the matter of that, to the bottom of the sea. 
 
 One of the party — I think it was Clare — shouted 
 " Beauseant ! " at the top of his voice, but the cry seemed 
 to have lost its old rallying-power. Not a soul arrayed 
 himself on our side. We looked in vain for the white 
 
 2TO 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 mantle and the red cross. What has become of the 
 grand old vow of the Knights Templars to maintain free 
 and open passage for all pilgrims visiting the sacred land 
 of milk and honey ? Where are the Pauper Soldiers of 
 the Holy City ? Alas ! five hundred years ago, and more, 
 they lapsed into the ancient worship of the Golden Calf, 
 or, what comes to the same thing, they sank under the 
 charge. The Knights of St. John, the warrior-priests 
 with the black mantle and the white cross, they too are 
 gone. Did they also worship the Golden Calf? He 
 would be a bold man who would acquit them, after 
 exploring the Church of St. John and the Palace of the 
 Grand Masters at Malta and all the proceeds of " gioja." 
 Let them rest in peace down in Limbo among the 
 remnants and wreckage of battered superstitions and the 
 debris of moribund creeds. The Temple stronghold in 
 Paris, and our own little Temple in London, which was 
 built by Henry II. in imitation of the temple near the 
 Holy Sepulchre, remain to us as monuments of a strange 
 bygone age — the age of Caliphs and Crusaders and 
 Assassins ; of Godefroy de Bouillon, of Saladin, of 
 Richard Lion-heart, of Saint Louis, and of the Old Man 
 of the Mountain. 
 
 Leo now dozes and mumbles in the chair in which 
 Clement V. raged and thundered, and the throne of the 
 genial Harun the Just lies trampled under the feet of 
 Abdul the Assassin. So we must shift for ourselves. 
 Clare was in favour of signalling for our six and thirty 
 mariners bold, and at once driving the Turk out, bag 
 and baggage. But Jus counselled patience. " Give him 
 still five years' probation," he pleaded. "We require 
 reinforcements." And his counsel prevailed. 
 213 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 "Cannot one man fetch the papers from the yacht, 
 and the rest remain on shore ? " demanded Halle. " Cer- 
 tainly not ; they must all remain in the sea," replied the 
 obdurate official. " Besides," thought each man of the 
 party, " who is the one ? " There rode the Maria, a 
 good mile and a half off. The wind was still rising. 
 Then came a voice uttering words more blessed than the 
 balm of Gilead, and falling like the sweet South on the 
 seared hearts of the wet and weary Britishers. It was 
 the voice of Halle. " Look here," he cried : " one is 
 better than all ; I will go and fetch the pratique, and you 
 can all tumble into that barge until I return." There 
 rocked the dirty barge, moored by the head. Into the 
 surf-boat we all stepped, and so to the barge, where, damp 
 and ridiculous, we rose and fell till Halle and his men 
 returned triumphantly with the proof that we were none 
 of us afflicted with plague or leprosy. The passport was 
 still missing, but, by dint of a little ducking and dodging, 
 one passport was made to serve for two, and we reached 
 the Hotel du Pare and imbibed caloric in the form of 
 yellow wine. 
 
 Meantime, our deliverers were promptly flung into 
 prison, one and all, and it was not until the Com. had 
 signed a solemn affidavit before the British Consul 
 testifying that we were in peril of our lives when Halle 
 and his men put to sea that they were released, with a 
 caution never again to be too zealous in succouring 
 Englishmen without first examining their papers. Only a 
 few days before, another Englishman had under similar 
 circumstances been himself confined in a Turkish 
 prison for twenty-four hours. I do not think any of 
 the crew had cause to regret their temporary incar- 
 214 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 ceration, for the Com., as the saying is, has his Uttle 
 ways. 
 
 If it was an unhappy accident that brought us to the 
 Hotel du Pare, it was at all events a happy circumstance 
 that we were there. It commands the finest views of 
 Joppa, and stands in the best position. The brothers 
 Halle turned out to be great travellers, not only in 
 Europe, but in America, and they thoroughly understand 
 what English and American travellers appreciate. The 
 hotel is furnished with comforts and conveniences, for 
 w^hich as a rule one may look in vain in Oriental houses, 
 and the cooking is excellent, as we had good reason to 
 know, and to be thankful for. 
 
 Mr. David Halle, our deliverer, as we called him, after- 
 wards accompanied us to Jerusalem, and his local know- 
 ledge was of great service to us, pressed as we were for 
 time. The brothers, like most Hungarians, are good 
 judges of horses, and they rattled us over the undulating 
 Syrian roads at a pace that would make an English 
 coachman's hair stand on end. 
 
 I ought to mention that our luggage had in the mean- 
 time got into the hands of Messrs. Cook's Syrian agent, 
 who, having done nothing to help us, carefully hurried it 
 off to the Jerusalem Hotel, presided over by his friend 
 Mr. Hardegg, who discharges the duties of American 
 Vice-Consul at Joppa. Oddly enough, that gentleman, 
 whom the Warrior most improperly christened Mr. Hard- 
 boiled Egg, took a very different view of the Syrian's 
 conduct from that taken by the British Consul — a fact 
 which cannot be explained by reference to his nationality, 
 since the brothers Halle are both American citizens, 
 upon whom American travellers will do well to call, if 
 215 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 they wish their sojourn in Palestine to be rendered pro- 
 fitable and pleasant. I believe they contemplate building 
 a good hotel in Jerusalem. There is certainly room for 
 one. 
 
 Talking of Americans, Orlando one day remarked, 
 "These Yankees are all over the show, bragging and 
 swaggering as if the world belonged to them. They 
 quite forget that they were once only a pack of runaways 
 and rebels." " Rot ! " ejaculated the Literary Failure, 
 utterly regardless of that classical English which charac- 
 terises his utterances when in classical company, " rot ! 
 do you expect the descendants of the Mayjlozver to 
 knuckle down to the descendants of those who stayed at 
 home and paid ship-money ? " 
 
 "Oh, you are always against your own country when it 
 suits your argument, but none can be more patriotic on 
 occasions. What were you saying only yesterday about 
 the English occupation of Egypt, and the glorious 
 British flag ? What were you saying about the Sandwich 
 Islands ? " " Quite so," replied Jus ; " I'm solid on the 
 Union Jack, because it is the flag of freedom, of free 
 trade all the world over, of a fair field and no favour. 
 That is why ; and not for any paleozoic reason whatever. 
 If the star-spangled banner meant freedom, as it some 
 day will, I would fight under it as readily as under the 
 Union Jack." 
 
 " Ah, free trade, that's another of your fads : you would 
 see every farmer in England starve for the sake of that 
 cranky notion. Why, it's out of date. Ask the Com." 
 "Will be," the Com. interjected, ''when water flows up 
 hill." " You are all against me, of course," pleaded the 
 Warrior ; " but I say the British flag has nothing to do 
 216 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 with free trade ; it means the orderly and honest govern- 
 ment of all the races that come under it." 
 
 It was now the 'Varsity Man's turn to cut in. " And 
 what right have you, what right have the English, to 
 force weaker races to conform to British ideas of law and 
 order ? I call it downright bullying." " Nonsense," 
 shouted the Warrior ; " don't you believe it — they like it'' 
 " Well, you ought to know, you are one of them," retorted 
 Clare with a malicious allusion to the Warrior's birth- 
 place at Llanwyddlanellipontyfechan. "Go hon with 
 you," replied that gentleman with his sweetest smile ; for 
 to tell the truth he was rather proud of the gallant little 
 principality. And then the subject dropped; but the 
 Union Jack went on flying all over the two hemispheres 
 just as though nothing had occurred. 
 
 Says Baedeker : " The meaning of the ancient name 
 Joppa is doubtful." Don't you believe him. It means 
 nothing of the sort. It is the name of the daughter of 
 ^olus, the King of the Winds ; and her daughter, the 
 famous Andromeda, was chained to a rock on this very 
 spot, for a horrible sea monster to devour. But Perseus 
 came and saved her. That was very nice of Perseus. 
 So thought the Warrior. " Now, was it ? " asked the 
 Hon. Sec. ; " suppose the lady bound to the rock had 
 been the one that sat by you at dinner last night — the 
 one with the leather face and projecting tusks — would 
 Perseus have risked his life for her then ? " " Lord 
 knows," growled Orlando : " I'll take my oath I 
 wouldn't." " I think he would," said Clare. " I have 
 no doubt the leather-faced lady does quite as much 
 good, and is alogether as worthy a person as ever 
 Andromeda was, and why should she not be saved ? " 
 217 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 ' That is just where you make a mistake," chipped in 
 the Literary Failure with his detestable, cold-blooded 
 philosophy; "it is Man's duty to preserve and protect 
 Beauty, on the principle of the survival of the fittest. If 
 heroes risked their lives for the sake of hideous hags as 
 readily as for beauties like Andromeda, then you ought 
 to marry the ugliest girl in the parish." " Well, I 
 always make a point," persisted Clare, " of dancing with 
 the plainest girl in the room, because she gets so few 
 partners, poor thing." " In that case," replied Jus, " you 
 selfishly gratify your own sympathetic faculty to the detri- 
 ment of the race; you ought to leave the plain girl 
 severely alone; and so you all do when it comes to 
 marrying and not merely galumphing round the ball- 
 room." " But if everybody made beauty a sine qua -non 
 the plain girls would never get husbands at all." " Quite 
 so — the elimination of the unfit," was the reply. " And 
 what right have you to call people unfit who may be 
 clever, or self-denying, or accomplished, merely because 
 they are not good-looking ? " "Because, ex hypothesi, 
 they are woifit to be seen. Look here, my dear fellow," 
 he continued, " I feel as you do ; I am irresistibly drawn 
 towards ugly people : pity is akin to love ; it is with the 
 greatest difficulty that I tear myself away from them, 
 and seek the company of the fair ; but I am sustained in 
 my efforts by a consciousness of rectitude." "That will 
 do," the Warrior interrupted, " about your blooming 
 rectitude." "Confound Andromeda," said the Com. 
 " Are you all ready to go and see Tabitha's house ? " 
 " No," replied Clare doggedly. 
 
 "I see from the guide-books that there's a place 
 called Yafa near here that we ought to see," the Warrior 
 218 
 
Turkish Welcome at Joppa 
 
 said, looking up from his Baedeker. He did not often 
 consult Baedeker, whom he regarded as a bit of a 
 dullard. The rest of the party looked at him to make 
 sure that he was pulling no man's leg, and then they 
 looked at one another, and then they gave way to 
 unseemly hilarity." Orlando turned red. " What's 
 the matter now ? " he exclaimed, but the laughter only 
 increased in violence. 
 
 To do Baedeker justice, he devotes a good deal of 
 space to the German Colony, as it is called. It consists 
 of a crowd of broken-down Teutons who some thirty 
 years ago emigrated to Joppa with the object of 
 regenerating society, but who, after failing in their 
 laudable object, and splitting up into as many sects 
 as there were individuals among them (viz., about one 
 thousand), drifted into the orange business, in which they 
 are fairly successful. You can buy Jaffa oranges on the 
 spot at the rate of about half a dozen for a penny, 
 whereas the converts they manufactured were not worth 
 a guinea a box, as the Hon. Sec. pointed out with his 
 accustomed eye to business. 
 
 The so-called " places of interest to the tourist " are 
 not numerous. After driving through some slums to the 
 Jerusalem Gate, or rather the place where the Jerusalem 
 Gate was, and after passing a varied assortment of ceme- 
 teries and seminaries, hospices and cafes, churches and 
 nondescripts — French, German, Russian, English, Arab, 
 Jewish, and Armenian — we finally arrive at Tabitha's 
 house, or again (as one is compelled to say) the place 
 where Tabitha's house was, or may have been. 
 
 '•Who was Tabitha?" whispered the Com. to the 
 Hon. Sec. " Heaven knows," whispered the latter in 
 219 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 return; "ask me another." Other members of the party, 
 lacking the requisite moral courage, maintained a discreet 
 silence, but resolved to look her out on the earliest 
 opportunity in a biographical dictionary. Another 
 equally famous house is pointed out by the inhabi- 
 tants — namely, that of Simon the tanner. Unfortu- 
 nately, they are at variance as to the precise spot. 
 Some say the Latin Hospital stands on the site, while 
 others maintain that the tannery originally stood on the 
 plot of land now occupied by a shady little mosque 
 near the lighthouse at the other end of the town. In 
 neither place is there a vestige of a house or a tannery, 
 but careful excavation may some day reveal the sar- 
 cophagus of Simon himself. The long and the short of 
 it is that Joppa contains many relics of the days of the 
 Crusades and of other stirring times, but nothing whatever 
 dating back to the Year One. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE STRONGHOLD OF ZION 
 
 The journey from Joppa to Jerusalem, says the guide- 
 book, " can be done by carriage or on horseback." 
 Excellent well ! That was in 1890. We decided to do 
 it by rail, and thanks to the French we succeeded. One 
 cannot sufficiently admire the engineering energy of the 
 French. Wherever we go we meet with the enduring 
 testimonies of their generous labours. Whether it be 
 Corsica with its mountain railway, or Tunis with its 
 renovated Goletta Canal, or the still grander canal from 
 the Mediterranean to the Red Sea, or the enterprising 
 railway through the rocky hills of Judaea, the track of 
 these true sons of Rome is strewn with their noble 
 works. Englishmen are far too apt to magnify their 
 own enterprise at the expense of their neighbours. As 
 political and commercial pioneers Englishmen may 
 justly claim the first place. But a couple of thousand 
 years hence the future historian will have some difficulty 
 in pointing to any evidences of English rule comparable 
 with the noble monuments of the French. In truth, if 
 we are the Phcenicians of the nineteenth century, the 
 French are the Romans. I do not say that our labours 
 are not so beneficent : all I say is that they are not 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 so enduring or so manifest to the eye. I have the 
 fullest sympathy with our Gallic brethren in regard to 
 the African and Syrian shores of the Mediterranean, 
 They have done far more than we have to reclaim 
 that vast territory to civilization. We, represented by 
 Lord Palmerston, did our utmost to obstruct the building 
 of the Suez Canal, and now we control it and profit by 
 it. The Frenchman's dream of a Greater France is a 
 rational and righteous one. Like Russia, France desires 
 elbow-room for legitimate expansion. From Morocco 
 on the west to the shores of the Red Sea on the east 
 stretches her heritage, facing her own southern coast. 
 She claims it by the right of occupancy and honest work 
 done. And if it were not for the selfish and shortsighted 
 obstinacy of her politicians, none could better than she 
 be entrusted with the peaceful development of that fair 
 region. Alas, the tricolour does not yet mean Freedom ! 
 And it must not be. 
 
 After five hours' journey through barren, rocky, and 
 desolate scenery, we reached Jerusalem. This de- 
 scription does not of course apply to Joppa and its 
 immediate vicinity, which is a rich and smiHng garden 
 of orange-trees, whose fragrance is wafted for miles 
 inland and across the sea. You can scent Joppa from 
 afar, like the bean-fields of England and the mignonette 
 of Cahfornia. But Jeriisalem stands on the summit of 
 a stony plateau about as high as Skiddaw, and the 
 change from Egypt's sunny sands to the wet and windy 
 heights of Jebus was somewhat sudden and unpleasant. 
 
 "At four," as the Com. recorded in his journal, "it 
 ceased raining and began to pelt ; at five it ceased 
 pelting and began to pour in torrents ; at six it ceased 
 
 222 
 
STRPET IN JERUSALEM 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 pouring in torrents, and then there was no name for it." 
 Heaven help the wretches who were out in it ! " They 
 hadn't a dog's chance." But apart from the weather, 
 I suppose the city of Jerusalem is the filthiest in the 
 world, with the single and doubtful exception of 
 Constantinople. The Turk and the Syrian Jew are 
 not clean animals, and the Armenian is little better. 
 The streets are ankle-deep in the foulest mire, and so 
 narrow that when the donkeys and mules come along in 
 single file with their burdens the pedestrian must stand 
 with his back to the wall to let them pass. There seem 
 to be no sanitary arrangements of any kind. Most of 
 the houses have neither windows nor chimneys. I need 
 hardly say that wheel traffic is out of the question, not 
 only because of the straitness of the way, but also 
 because many of the principal streets are a long suc- 
 cession of steps. 
 
 Let me say at once, that from the point of view 
 of the Christian antiquarian, the scenes and sights of 
 Jerusalem are, almost without exception, vulgar, gro- 
 tesque, ridiculous, and even disgusting. Saving the 
 ground on which it stands, there is not a single authentic 
 relic or memorial of the days of Christ. True, there are 
 several Golgothas or Calvaries, a couple of Pools of 
 Bethesda, two Holy Sepulchres, two sites of the Pre- 
 torium, and a dozen or so of most of the houses and 
 places mentioned in the New Testament. Most of them 
 are impossible, and badly selected even for the purposes 
 of a pious fraud. Then you are shown the tomb of 
 Lazarus, and the house of Mary and Martha at Bethany, 
 and the footprint of Christ in the solic} stone. At 
 Bethlehem is the manger — made of marble ! Even your 
 225 P 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 guide soon wearies of saying, "Thiis is supposed to be 
 so and-so," and he settles down by your permission 
 into the dogmatic affirmative, after premising that there 
 is not a word of truth in all he is about to relate. And 
 this is the proper spirit in which to approach the sacred 
 spots of the Holy City. By the way, the Arabic name 
 of the place, " El Kuds," also signifies the Holy Place ; 
 and there are as many vestiges and monuments of the 
 life of Mahomet as of the life of Jesus. 
 
 Pointing one day to the Mount of Olives, I inquired 
 of a picturesque old Jew whether it was the hill of the 
 Ascension. 
 
 " One of them," he replied. 
 "Which is the other?" I asked. 
 
 "Mahomet," said he with a smile, "ascended from 
 Mount Moriah." 
 
 On reaching the platform called the Haram, we were 
 treated by a chance tourist to the following passage from 
 his guide-book : " We now stand on one of the most 
 profoundly interesting spots in the world ; it was about 
 this spot where David erected an altar." " Dear me," 
 said the tourist, burning with enthusiasm, "only think 
 of it ! " Having only just left Thebes, where Rameses 
 and his predecessors had erected the still majestic 
 temples of Karnak and Luxor some five centuries earlier, 
 our hearts did not respond to the thrill : more especially 
 as not a splinter of the supposed altar remains, nor is 
 the precise spot known to within a furlong. 
 
 Still the Haram claims attention for other and better 
 reasons. Here once stood the gorgeous temple built 
 by Hiram of Tyre for his wealthy friend Solomon. And 
 here stands to-day one of the most remarkable buildings 
 
 726 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 in the world, both in appearance and by reason of its 
 associations — the Dome of the Rock, or, as unbelievers 
 call it, the Mosque of Omar. I prefer to err with the 
 faithful for once, for there stands the dome, and beneath 
 it lies the rock, whereas there is no evidence that the 
 Khalif Omar had anything to do with it. Nor had he 
 either the power or the will to erect such a building. If 
 we can attach any credence to the statements of the 
 Emperor Constantine, this is the real Holy Sepulchre of 
 Christ. It was built in the fourth century, and its 
 sombre magnificence is unsurpassed by any building 
 of post-classical times. It is an octagon of i6o feet 
 in diameter, supported by pillars of the rarest marbles. 
 The rock itself stands about five feet above the level of 
 the surrounding pavement of marble, and on one corner 
 of it is still to be seen the footprint of Mahomet as he 
 he left the world on his famous visit to heaven. The 
 Warrior was irreverent enough to call it his "kick-ofi"." 
 I was myself a little perplexed by it, for I was always 
 taught that the prophet ascended on ass-back, whereas 
 the print is that of a human foot. In another part of 
 the rock we see the hand-print of Gabriel, who, when the 
 rock, in its anxiety to follow Mahomet, was rising out of 
 its place, thought fit to hold it down by force. I do not 
 wish to be irreverent, but I must protest that a rock 
 which showed such noble aspirations and such a spirit 
 of daring should not have been thrust back to earth at 
 the mere caprice of an archangel. 
 
 Whether this grand temple is really the work of Con- 
 stantine, or whether it owes much of its magnificence to 
 Khalif Abd-el-Melik, is an unsettled point. There is 
 certainly much Arabic art in it. 
 229 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Some members of our party were prevailed on to 
 cast a few piastres into a basin as the price of eternal 
 happiness — for so we were told ; but Clare scoffed, and 
 Jus said he thought he would save his pocket-money for 
 poker, and risk it. 
 
 It is a melancholy reflection, and a humiliating one, 
 too, that after all the blood and treasure lavished on the 
 Crusades, the tomb of Christ (or, at all events, the oldest 
 tomb which can lay any claim to the distinction) should 
 form the site of a Mahommedan mosque ; but it is still 
 more painful to know that Turkish soldiers are com- 
 pelled to keep guard at the Bethlehem Manger to prevent 
 the rival sects of his worshippers from cutting each 
 others' throats. Yet so it is. The Christians of the 
 Holy City are far the most degraded fraction of the 
 populace, and we actually met Turkish troops entering 
 the town in readiness for the customary riots by which 
 Christmas Day is signalised. The Jews hate the Mahom- 
 medans ; both hate and despise the Christians ; but 
 their united hate is as charity itself compared with the 
 hatred with which the Christians hate one another. 
 Latins, Greeks, and Armenians alike seem to wallow in a 
 slough of religious bigotry and intolerance fouler even 
 than the mire in which their bodies stew. The jangle of 
 bells, by which they announced their rival festivals, 
 became at one time such an intolerable nuisance to 
 peaceful citizens, who cared for none of these things, 
 that the authorities were compelled to step in, and now, 
 outside the Armenian church, hangs a gigantic gong, 
 which Armenian ingenuity substituted for the prohibited 
 bells. It booms away to the annoyance and envy of the 
 Greek and Latin Christians, who, however, meditate 
 230 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 reprisals in the form of steam sirens and monster clatter- 
 rattles. No wonder respectable citizens hate the pork- 
 eating canaille I 
 
 The history of Jerusalem is not the history of art, 
 science, or civilization. It is the history of bloodshed 
 and fanaticism. When first heard of, it is in possession 
 of a Phoenician tribe by whom it was called Jebus. 
 David, the king of the Hebrews, came up and laid siege 
 to it. But the Jebusites called to him from the walls, 
 " So long as there is a blind man or a cripple left within, 
 you cannot enter." " Nevertheless, David entered and 
 took the stronghold of Zion ; the same is the City of 
 David." This stronghold seems to have been regarded 
 as impregnable by its successive occupants : 
 "But John P. 
 
 Robinson, he 
 
 Says, ' They didn't know everythin' down in Judee, ' " 
 
 And the truth is that no stronghold was ever much less 
 defensible than that of Zion. In the days of David's 
 grandson it fell before Shishak, king of Egypt. A cen- 
 tury later it was stormed by the Philistines. After another 
 sixty years Jehoash and the Israelites entered in triumph. 
 Some years later it capitulated to Nebuchadnezzar of 
 Babylon, when the Temple of Solomon was burnt to the 
 ground. In the fourth century B.C. it yielded to 
 Alexander the Great. Afterwards Pompey, the Roman, 
 forced his way in and desecrated the new temple ; and 
 in the memorable year 70 a.d. Titus stormed the town, 
 burnt Herod's third temple, crucified a number of Jews, 
 put many to the sword, and sold the rest into slavery. 
 On this occasion the town was utterly annihilated. On 
 the ruins of its foundations Hadrian built the city of 
 233 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Aelia, which Jews were forbidden to enter. It sub- 
 sequently fell before the Persians, and again before the 
 Byzantine Greeks ; and in 637 |it was captured by the 
 Arabs under Omar. The Franks, as the Crusaders were 
 called, held it for about eighty-eight years, from 1099 to 
 II 8 7, when it was retaken by Saladin, only to fall a prey 
 to the Turks in 1244. 
 
 Who were these Hebrev;s who lived at Jebus for over 
 a thousand years ? Manetho, the Egyptian historian who 
 lived in the time of the Great Alexander, calls them 
 Arabs. He also calls them Phoenicians. On the high 
 authority of Mr. Poole, we learn that Abraham's visit to 
 Egypt coincides with the Hyksos invasion. The most 
 probable derivation of Hyksos seems to be from Huk, a 
 foreigner, and Sos, a shepherd. Though Huk originally 
 meant a slave or captive, it came to be used as a term of 
 contempt for foreigners in general. This was about a 
 thousand years before David. When we remember how 
 the migrations of ancient peoples were narrated by the 
 earliest chroniclers as the travels of individual heroes, 
 we shall have little difficulty in identifying the Hyksos 
 with the patriarch Abraham. 
 
 This Semitic people appears to have come from the 
 shores of the Red Sea and Persian Gulf; but earlier 
 still, judging from their religion and their mental traits, 
 rather than from their language, one would surmise that 
 the Hebrews, who bear a strong resemblance to the 
 Turks, were a tribe of invaders from the North — one of 
 the early waves of the migratory hordes which ever and 
 anon burst the boundaries of Central Asia, and poured 
 down into the richer and happier lands of the south : 
 just as in later times we have seen Genghis Khan with 
 234 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 his Mongol myrmidons invading Syria and Persia, 
 through Samarcand and Bokhara ; and a century later 
 Tamerlane the Terrible. Similarly, in the thirteenth and 
 fourteenth centuries, Solyman, Othman (the founder of 
 the Ottoman Empire) Amurath, and Bajazet, with their 
 Turkish soldiers, became the terror of the peaceful and 
 prosperous inhabitants of Southern Asia. Between 
 these warriors, with their black eyes and hooked noses, 
 their ferocity and sombre sensuality, their suspiciousness 
 and intolerance of foreigners, and, above all, their grim 
 fanaticism — between them and the Hebrews there is a 
 remarkably strong affinity. From Tartary they brought 
 with them their worship of the yak or primitive ox. As 
 herdsmen rather than agriculturists, their totems would 
 naturally be Apis, Baal, Moloch^ or Yakh, the Ox-god. 
 During a sojourn of some centuries among the highly 
 civilized Egyptians, their superstitions would undergo 
 considerable amendment and purification ; and, while 
 they left the worship of Apis as a legacy to the Egyp- 
 tians, they no doubt carried away with them, on their 
 expulsion by Aahmes (Amasis the Great) a highly con- 
 ventionalised and elevated form of their pristine religion ; 
 one which so able and learned a leader as Moses might 
 reasonably hope to convert by degrees into a simple 
 monotheism. This noble goal seems never to have 
 been actually reached ; and throughout the entire history 
 of this dismal race in Palestine, the old worship of Baal 
 held its own with varying success against the newer and 
 purer religion of the great lawgiver. If the worst vice of 
 the Jew was his fanatical hatred of the foreigner, his 
 greatest virtue was its natural concomitant — strong and 
 even maudlin patriotism. To this day we may find (and 
 237 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 we did find) a posse of blubbering old men bewailing the 
 fall of the temple, at a place called the Jews' Wailing 
 Place, where three or four layers of stones may possibly 
 have once formed a part of Herod's Temple, or even 
 of the second temple built after the Babylonian Cap- 
 tivity. We were told, I cannot say with what truth, that 
 a certain number of Jewish families are even now on 
 the road between Babylon and Jerusalem — a month's 
 journey — having only just discovered that the Captivity 
 is over, and that they are at liberty to return to their 
 native land. But it seems hardly credible. At all events, 
 there does not appear to be any very marked tendency 
 among the Jews of Western Europe to follow their home- 
 sick example. The fleshpots of Egypt were magnetic 
 even in 1500 b.c. ! 
 
 We do not look for the old Latin cosmogony among 
 the beliefs of the Romans after their conquest of Greece, 
 but among the ancient fables of the days of the Kings, 
 when dancing priests propitiated Mars and the Vestal 
 Virgins kept alight the holy fire. Similarly we must look 
 for the original Hebrew legends, not to the books of 
 Ezra and Nehemiah, but to the older traditions of the 
 Arabs. The former are manifestly toned down into the 
 semblance of historical events, and woven into the beau- 
 tiful fabric of pure monotheism, which had been engrafted 
 on an older faith by Moses and Amen-hetep IV. The 
 latter are wilder and more extraordinary, and bear all 
 the marks of greater antiquity. They were preserved in 
 their original form by the uncivilized nomad tribes of 
 Arabia, for centuries after they had come to be regarded 
 as too grotesque to suit the taste of the more cultured 
 people of Judaea. Mahomet took them as he found 
 238 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 them, and embodied them in the Koran. There were 
 five archangels : Gabriel, Michael, Azrael, Azraphel, and 
 Satan. Below them was a whole hierarchy of angels. 
 Between angels and men were two intermediate races — 
 the Gins and the Peris. The Gins (Chinese ?) ruled for 
 seven thousand years ; and the Peris (Persians ?) two 
 thousand years. Then came Adam. In riches, power, 
 and magnificence the Gins and Peris surpassed every- 
 thing that Adam's race experienced, but their pride at 
 last provoked the wrath of the Almighty. Satan was 
 ordered to exterminate them. He destroyed many, and 
 drove the rest to the caves beneath Kaf — the mountain 
 which supports the sky. One of the Gins carried off with 
 him the enchanted shield, graven with seven mystic signs, 
 which entitled its holder to the throne of the world. Adam 
 pursued him into his cave, wrested from him the magic 
 shield, and hid it away in the island of Serendib (Ceylon ?), 
 where it was long afterwards discovered by Kaiomers, 
 king of Persia, who therefore became the ruler of the 
 Eastern world. So far, the Persian and Arabian legends 
 seem to agree. Then the shield was lost, and both Gins 
 and Persians were conquered by Solomon, the son of 
 David, who forced them to build his mighty forts and 
 walls. And from that day to this the Gins have ceased 
 to trouble mankind. In all this there is clearly a 
 legendary history. 
 
 To return to Adam. Satan, being puffed up with his 
 victory over the Gins, refused to do homage to Adam, 
 the holder of the shield, whereupon he was driven from 
 heaven, and the faithful angels threw great stones after 
 him. Hence the Moslem prayer, " God preserve me 
 from Satan the Stoned." A nimbus beamed from the 
 241 Q 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 brow of Adam, which has ever since played round the 
 head of the successive prophets of God. When he died 
 he was buried at Mecca, but Noah took the body with 
 him into the Ark, and it was afterwards taken to Jerusalem 
 by Melchizedek. The nimbus descended upon Seth, 
 and then upon Edris (Enoch). This great prophet 
 invented pens, needles, mathematics, and magic. Noah 
 succeeded to the nimbus. Eighty persons (not eight) 
 were saved in the Ark, but they did not include Noah's 
 wife, Waila, who perished in the flood. 
 
 H^re follows a statement of great interest for the 
 ethnologist. All the vices of the world were practised 
 by the sons of Japheth ; while all the virtues were pre- 
 served by the descendants of Shem. Seeing that the 
 Arabs were themselves what was understood by " sons of 
 Japheth," that is, they were descendants of the old 
 Egyptian race, this doctrine must have been imposed 
 upon them from without, by the conquering Hyksos, or 
 " sons of Shem." They would not have invented it of 
 their own accord. 
 
 Then arose Shedad, the wicked king of Arabia, who 
 planted a garden and filled it with every delight. His 
 subjects were so intoxicated with the pleasures of the 
 garden that they gratefully worshipped Shedad as a god. 
 But the prophet Hud came and reproved them, and they 
 laughed at him and drove him out ; whereupon a black 
 cloud came, and out of the cloud a pestilent wind that 
 raged for seven days, and utterly destroyed all the people, 
 except those who believed in Hud. The ruined city of 
 Shedad is still sometimes, but rarely, to be seen. After 
 Hud came the prophet Saleh ; but when he announced 
 himself, the people asked for a sign, whereupon he smote 
 242 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 a rock, and it was rent asunder, and a she-camel came 
 forth. Then the incredulous people hamstrung the she- 
 camel and her young ones, and mocked Saleh, so an 
 earthquake swallowed them up; all except those who 
 believed in Saleh ; and they went and settled at Mecca. 
 Abraham was the next prophet, and certainly one of the 
 most remarkable. When he was a baby, we are told, he 
 sucked two of his fingers. There is nothing very re- 
 markable about that, but what is really extraordinary is 
 that out of one finger flowed rich milk, and out of the 
 other honey. He was brought up to worship the starry 
 host, as all his fellow countrymen were, but he thought 
 that one must needs be stronger than any of the others 
 and fit to be worshipped more than they. Venus 
 appeared to be the biggest, so he worshipped her, until 
 he observed that she set; when he exclaimed, "I like 
 not gods that fade away." He then asked his father for 
 advice in the matter, and that prudent courtier recom- 
 mended him to worship the king — Nimrod. Abraham 
 therefore called at the Court, and beheld an old man, 
 horribly deformed. He felt sure that such a being could 
 not have created a world full of beauty and grandeur, 
 and so returned home and worshipped the Unknown 
 God. The prophetic nimbus immediately beamed from 
 his brows, and he preached the doctrine of Islam — that 
 is. Resignation. 
 
 His first act of devotion seems to have been what we 
 should call a lie. Having smashed all the idols in the 
 house during his father's absence he was called to 
 account for the wreckage. An old woman called, said 
 he, bringing an offering of fine flour, and the idols fell to 
 quarrelling over it, and knocked each other to pieces. 
 245 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Azar, his father, beHeved in the idols, but not in their 
 power to fight ; so he haled his impious son before the 
 king, who had him flung into a fiery furnace ; but the 
 furnace turned into a bower of roses, and Abraham 
 walked out unsinged. This was at Babylon. God then 
 told Abraham to go to Jerusalem, and there, in order to 
 try his faith, he commanded him to offer up his son 
 Ishmael, who is always called " The Offering." Here the 
 Arabs and Jews differ, the latter maintaining that Isaac 
 was the Offering. The prophetic radiance passed from 
 Isaac to Jacob and from Jacob to Joseph, of whom the 
 Arabs tell us much more than the Jews. Potiphar's 
 wife w^as named Zuleikha. When she was upbraided by 
 the ladies of the Court for falling in love with a slave 
 she took her revenge by inviting them all to a feast, 
 to which she also invited Joseph ; and so agitated were 
 they all by his wonderful beauty that their hands shook, 
 and they cut their fingers instead of the pomegranates. 
 After Potiphar's death Joseph married Zuleikha, and all 
 was well. The sacred nimbus passed through Shoaib to 
 his son-in-law Moses, who had been adopted when an 
 infant by the Pharaoh himself and his wife under 
 peculiar circumstances. His mother, Nagiah, a kins- 
 woman of the Pharaoh, mistrusting her suspicious 
 relative, put her child into a little ark of papyrus, 
 covered with pitch and lined with cotton-wool, and 
 committed him to the Nile; by whom he was washed 
 up into a fish-pond in the king's garden. After his 
 adoption the infant behaved rudely to his adoptive 
 father, pulling him by the beard. Whereat the king 
 was wrath and would have killed him, but the queen 
 said : "How can you blame a babe which could not tell 
 246 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 a ruby from a red-hot coal ? " " Try," retorted the king, 
 and this being done, Moses chose the red-hot coal, and 
 put it in his mouth — a circumstance which is said to 
 account for the impediment in his speech. Modern 
 critics attribute it to the fact that, although he spoke 
 excellent Egyptian, his Hebrew was not good. He was 
 afterwards condemned to death on another occasion, but 
 when the executioner brought down the axe, Moses' 
 neck was suddenly turned to ivory, and the axe re- 
 bounding slew the executioner. After this the Hebrew 
 and Arabic accounts of his doings tally fairly well, till 
 we come to the episode of the Golden Calf. In the 
 biblical narrative, as we all remember, Aaron melted the 
 gold and fashioned it into the form of a calf with a 
 graving tool, but according to the Arabs, when the gold 
 was melted it moulded itself in the form of a calf 
 without any assistance from Aaron. This seems the 
 more probable version, for what need was there for a 
 graving tool after the calf was moulded ? 
 
 Of Kedher, upon whom the prophetic aureole next 
 descended, the Jews have nothing to tell us ; the Arabs 
 a great deal, but he is believed by many to be no other 
 than Elijah. Of Job the two accounts agree in the 
 main, except that, according to the Arabian chroniclers, 
 he appears to have been guilty of what we should call a 
 shuffle. It seems that Satan told Rhamat, Job's wife, 
 that if she would fall down and worship him, all their 
 prosperity should at once return. Job was so much 
 enraged when Rhamat proposed to do this that he 
 vowed he would scourge her with a hundred stripes if he 
 got better. When the time came, however, he tapped 
 her once with a palm-branch having a hundred leaves, 
 247 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 and so fulfilled his vow. We may admire his humanity 
 more than his probity. 
 
 From Job, after long obscuration, the holy light fell 
 upon David and then upon Solomon, of whom the most 
 astonishing stories are told. Most of these are un- 
 mentioned in the Hebrew historical books. Here the 
 genuine Arabic legends seem to come to a stop. The 
 light passed on to Jesus, after whom no prophet arose 
 till Mahomed. So all good Mahommedans assert ; and 
 this period is called the Interval. From that day to 
 this there has been a succession of Imams, from whose 
 temples the light has radiated, though the sects disagree 
 as to their number (the Shiites say twelve). But the 
 controversy, having passed entirely out of the hands 
 both of Arabians and Hebrews, does not concern us 
 here. I believe the present Mahdi is the last holder, 
 according to the Arabs of Upper Egypt and the 
 Soudan. 
 
 I will conclude this meagre summary of Hebro- 
 Arabian traditions by reminding my anti-vivisectionist 
 friends that a corner has been found in heaven for five 
 of the lower animals, of whom three are asses, one a 
 ram, and only one a dog. They are Balaam's ass, the ass 
 on which Jesus rode to Jerusalem, the ass Al-borak, 
 which carried Mahomet to heaven, the ram which 
 allowed itself to be caught and sacrificed in the stead 
 of Ishmael, and the good old bow-wow Katmir, who 
 watched over the Seven Sleepers for two hundred 
 years. 
 
 I have indulged myself in this digression at the 
 imminent risk of wearying some readers and offending 
 others, because I believe that the earliest history of races 
 248 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 and their migrations is more likely to be found in their 
 traditionary legends than in their language. In all the 
 above there is nothing that bears much resemblance to 
 Greek or Roman mythology; but those who are con- 
 versant with the mythical stories of the Turks and 
 Tartars — of Buzengir and his mother Alancona, of the 
 Niron, or Children of Light, and the Dirlighin, or human 
 Moguls — will mark some striking parallels between the 
 Tartar and Semitic legends. Genghis Khan himself, the 
 ninth in succession from Buzengir, claimed to be de- 
 scended from Noah, through Japhet, Turk, Mogol, 
 Kara, Oguz, Tchoubine, and Alancona, Beloved of the 
 Sun. However, having offered my apology, I must leave 
 this interesting field of inquiry to the serious student 
 and proceed with my own trifling observations, for what 
 they may be worth. 
 
 As I have said, there is nothing whatever in Jerusalem, 
 beyond the configuration of the earth's surface, to show 
 that it was ever in the possession of the Hebrew nation. 
 They have left not a single monument of their most 
 uninteresting career save the crumbling foundations of a 
 fortress that succumbed to every invader, and some sad 
 tales of the sordid and sensual rulers of a spiritless and 
 uninventive people. At the same time, the traveller 
 who. is prepared to subdue the rebellious and sceptical 
 spirit of modern criticism will find, as we did, much to 
 interest him. In the mosque of El Aksa, not far from 
 Christ's footprint, he will see two columns, through which, 
 it is said, no one born out of wedlock can pass. The 
 reader may smile at this, but I can assure him that it is 
 true ; for between the two columns some one has erected 
 an iron screen. Then at Easter Eve, if he is fortunate 
 251 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 enough to be in the Holy City on that day, he will 
 witness an extraordinary phenomenon. The lamps of 
 the Church of the Holy Sepulchre are on that occasion, 
 to this day, lighted not by human agency, but by fire 
 from heaven. It does not appear to be visible from 
 outside above the roof, but inside there is no doubt 
 about it. Here the visitor is shown the precise spot 
 where Abraham attempted to slay his son Isaac. We 
 had already seen another spot (the Rock under the 
 Dome) where the ordeal took place. The Warrior him- 
 self expressed doubt. 
 
 " I thought," said he, " that this happened on the big 
 rock." 
 
 "That is just where you fellows are so absurdly 
 sceptical," replied Jus; "there is no evidence that he 
 did not make the attempt twice." 
 
 " I never thought of that," Orlando meekly admitted ; 
 " naturally he would try again, of course." 
 
 The tree is also shown in which the ram was caught 
 by the horns. 
 
 " It must be very old," observed the Warrior. 
 
 " Four thousand years old ! " said the guide. 
 
 One of the most interesting spots in Jerusalem for the 
 man of science is undoubtedly the Centre of the World. 
 It is surprising that Sir Isaac Newton makes no mention 
 of it. Coupling the facts that he was born on Decem- 
 ber 25, and that he propounded the theory of gravita- 
 tion, one would have expected him to have referred 
 to it. 
 
 An ancient arch in Jerusalem goes by the name of 
 Robinson's arch. Now I respect Robinson as much as 
 (even more than) Jehoshaphat or Sennacherib ; but the 
 252 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 three names do not run well together. I was re- 
 minded of Campbell's tomb at Gizeh. Discoverers 
 deserve to be remembered, but some other means 
 should be found of associating their names with their 
 discoveries. 
 
 Of all spots on the earth the most woful and, to the 
 truly reverent spirit, the most shocking is surely the 
 Garden of Gethsemane. Over a squalid quad, sixty 
 yards long, surrounded by railings, traversed by vulgar 
 little paths of the cottage-garden order, and surrounded 
 by fourteen childish and tawdry paintings of the fourteen 
 Stations, the visitor is shown for a few piastres by a 
 shabby Franciscan monk. 
 
 The walk up the Mount of Olives is a refreshing 
 change. The view from the top, or, better still, from 
 the Belvedere Tower which the Russians have built 
 there, is expansive and picturesque. There, at a con- 
 siderable depth below sea-level, glitters the Dead Sea. 
 There meanders the river Jordan ; and beyond stretches 
 a chain of hills some three thousand feet high, over the 
 top of which Moses is said to have had his first and last 
 peep at the land of milk and honey. The mount is well 
 wooded with olives, figs, almonds, and other trees ; and 
 alas ! in a most conspicuous place some nineteenth- 
 century Philistine has built himself a villa of the most 
 modern type, doubtless " fitted throughout with all the 
 latest appliances, and thoroughly adapted to the require- 
 ments of a genteel family." 
 
 On the way up we entered the Chapel of the Thirty- 
 two Languages, in which the Lord's Prayer is printed on 
 tablets hung all round the cloisters. Orlando was 
 mortified to find that, although the tongues of Brittany 
 255 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 and Provence figured in the thirty-two, that of the gallant 
 little principality of Wales had been omitted. Whether 
 the omission is due to the fact that the founders of the 
 chapel had not heard of Wales, or to the fact that the 
 Cymri of Jerusalem somehow could not recollect the 
 Lord's Prayer, or to the more probable fact, that the 
 tablet on which it was printed went to pieces under the 
 strain, I cannot say. The young women of this gruesome 
 convent lie in their coffins for three hours each morning 
 to meditate on the mutability of mundane affairs. And 
 in the midst of the quad stands a pomegranate, the 
 emblem of abasement. Poor girls ! this world is not 
 a paradise, but it has its bright side for all but 
 you ! 
 
 We were pursued by lepers near the foot of the hill : 
 loathsome and pitiable beings who ought to be kept in 
 comfortable confinement, instead of being encouraged to 
 ply their vile trade of mendicity with menace. Most 
 passers-by give for fear of pollution, but a resident who 
 accompanied us threw stones at them. It seemed a 
 drastic measure, but he declared there w^as nothing else 
 for it, such importunate beggars had they become by 
 long practice. 
 
 The tombs of the kings and the tombs of the prophets 
 are all paltry frauds ; and the Castle of David dates 
 from the fourteenth century of our era. We wandered 
 through the narrow lane now called the Via Dolorosa, a 
 modern slum built on the debris of three cities; we 
 explored Gordon's Calvary, the only one which can be 
 made, by any stretch of the imagination, to correspond 
 with the possible scene of the Crucifixion ; we inspected 
 the numerous mediaeval gates of the city ; and then, 
 
The Stronghold of Zion 
 
 bidding farewell to the off-scouring of all nations and 
 the cesspool of all sects, we shook off the dust of our 
 feet as a testimony against them, and returned, sadly dis- 
 appointed, to Joppa : and thence through the smiling 
 islands of the ^gean to Constantinople. 
 
 259 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE JEWEL OF CONSTANTINE 
 
 There can be no doubt whatever that Constantinople 
 stands on the finest site in the world, not only for com- 
 mercial, but for military purposes. Six and a half cen- 
 turies B.C. it attracted the attention of the early Greek 
 navigators, who founded a small town there, under Byzas 
 — hence the name Byzantium — which was afterwards forti- 
 fied by the Spartan Pausanias. But it was not till the 
 fourth century of our era that Constantine the Great 
 discovered and appreciated its stupendous advantages. 
 One night he fell asleep. An old woman appeared to 
 him in his dream. Suddenly she was transformed into a 
 bewitching maiden (they are in dreams), and he imme- 
 diately proceeded to decorate her with all the imperial 
 symbols and knick-knacks he could lay hands on. He 
 was quite sorry to wake up ; nor could he shake off the 
 memory of the entrancing creature. What could it all 
 mean? A modern English schoolboy would have told 
 him at once. "Clearly the old woman is withered 
 Byzantium, a thousand years old. Under your care she 
 is to be regenerated, and to bloom into the fairest and 
 noblest city in the world." But Constantine was an 
 experienced soldier and statesman, and it took him much 
 260 
 
The Jewel of Constantine 
 
 serious reflection to discover the correct interpretation 
 of his dream. Having done so, he set to work without 
 delay. He devoted two and a half million pounds 
 (English value) to building the walls and laying out the 
 town. In marking out the boundaries, which he did 
 with his own hand, he was preceded by an invisible 
 guide, and in a few years a glorious city arose which 
 could vie with, and in some respects outshine, Rome 
 herself Unfortunately, in his zeal and impatience, he 
 beautified his new idol with the art treasures of Greece, 
 which he ruthlessly transplanted from their ancient 
 homes. From Athens he stole the colossal bronze 
 statue of Apollo by Phidias. From the temple of Delphi 
 he took the most memorable monument of all time — 
 a pillar of brass composed of three serpents twisted 
 together to commemorate the glorious victory of the 
 Greeks over Xerxes. And there it stands until this day 
 to witness if I lie. Turkish guardianship has not im- 
 proved it. Indeed, Mahomed IL, anxious to show his 
 prowess, smote off the under jaw of one of the serpents 
 with his battle-axe. This was very clever of Mahomed, 
 and it is typical of the reverence for art and antiquity 
 which those sombre and uninteresting barbarians have 
 ever evinced. 
 
 For a thousand years Constantinople grew in 
 splendour, but from the memorable year 1453, when 
 the redoubtable serpent-smasher wrested it from the 
 last of the Constantines, not an original building, not 
 a scientific truth, not a single noble work of any kind 
 has sprung up in the benighted city. Greek churches 
 have been converted into Mahommedan mosques, and 
 many similar ones have been erected on Greek plans 
 261 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 and by Greek architects. Nothing new has seen the 
 light, and all that was noble in the old is crumbling 
 away. The artistic textile fabrics and costumes of the 
 Turks are Persian, their religion is Arabian, their archi- 
 tecture is Byzantine, their ships are English — their morals 
 are their own. 
 
 The streets are filthy — the Grande Rue de Pera would 
 disgrace a London slum ; the houses are ugly and dirty, 
 and the inhabitants are worse. Even the dogs are surly 
 and suspicious, and I never saw one wag its tail. More- 
 over, they are all of exactly the same size, showing the 
 absence of human care and affection. 
 
 Yet the Turks are warlike — barbarians usually are; 
 and they possess some of the barbaric virtues. They 
 are truthful and fairly honest. They are not cheats or 
 sneaks, like the Armenian parasites who prey upon them. 
 Moreover, they are hospitable and generous, and faithful 
 in friendship. 
 
 As we steamed up the Hellespont, through the Sea of 
 Marmora and into the Bosphorus, the wind was cold 
 and laden with sleet. After the tropical weather of 
 Egypt, we not only felt the change keenly, but were 
 possibly rendered less capable of appreciating what 
 little enjoyment Constantinople has to afford. The first 
 view of the triple-city is dazzling. The Maria lay-to a 
 little to the east of the Arsenal quay. 
 
 Our station commanded an excellent outlook. On 
 our right lay Scutari with its cemeteries and cypresses. 
 Before us lay Galata and the rising heights of Pera, and 
 behind us was Byzantium, now called Stamboul, which 
 is said to be a Turkish corruption of the Greek phrase 
 for "up to Town." So says Gibbon, but I do not 
 262 
 
The Jewel of Constantine 
 
 believe it. Stamboul is separated from Galata and Pera 
 by the Golden Horn, an arm of the sea seven miles long, 
 and affording excellent anchorage for the largest ships. 
 Both are separated from Scutari by the Bosphorus, which 
 in its narrowest part is not more than half a mile wide. 
 
 Which of the great nations of the future is the heir of 
 the Sick Man? Here Europe and Asia meet. Here 
 the Mediterranean and the Black Sea are connected 
 by a narrow streak of water no wider than a respectable 
 river. Whoever holds the keys of this gate will com- 
 mand the trade of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and 
 dominate all the inland seas. As a naval and military 
 stronghold, vastly superior to Gibraltar, Constantinople 
 stands at the crossways of the two great trade routes — 
 the land route between India and the West, and the 
 sea route between the shores of the Euxine and the 
 Atlantic. Cowardice alone stands between Britannia and 
 the jewel of Constantine. Neither ignorance nor want of 
 enterprise can justly be laid to her charge. Meantime 
 Russia is doing yeoman service on the vast Asiatic 
 continent, and as a land power we may wish her god- 
 speed. 
 
 We took the opportunity of calling on the officers of 
 H.M.S. Nymphj which was lying at no great distance 
 from us, with a view to learning something of the social 
 attractions of the place. They received us with British 
 courtesy, and seemed mightily sick of the station. Clare 
 inquired of one of them what was his opinion of the 
 place after so long a sojourn in it. "Awfully slow," was 
 the reply, " and all the fellows wear goloshes, don't you 
 know ? " " But," he added, " I don't recommend you to 
 smoke any of their cigarettes." 
 263 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 All this, I need hardly say, threw a flood of light on 
 the past history, present condition, and future prospects 
 of the capital of Turkey. And I am bound to add that 
 all three statements were perfectly true, and were fully 
 borne out by subsequent experience. Should the officers 
 of the Nymph desire to know to which of their number 
 this work is indebted for the information just recorded, 
 I will tell them frankly that it was the one in dark blue, 
 with the English physiognomy and the jolly nautical 
 gait. There can be no mistaking him, but if further 
 identification is needed, I may say that it was the one 
 who has not yet bought and read this treatise. 
 
 Having no goloshes, we picked our way as well as we 
 could through the filthy alleys leading up to Great Pera 
 Street, accompanied by a Turk, who told us there were 
 no fewer than eighty thousand Greeks in Constantinople 
 — all murderers ! It afterwards transpired that by 
 " murderers " he meant what we should call " cut- 
 throats." 
 
 After lunching at the Pera Hotel we took carriages 
 and drove round, over the bumpy road, to the Yildiz 
 Kiosk. At the drill-ground we saw some soldiers 
 manoeuvring, and were surprised to find them nearly 
 all Albanians or Africans of one kind or another. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said one guide, " you see the Sultan cannot 
 very well trust his own countrymen : among his own 
 bodyguard there is not a single Turk." 
 
 " Can we see the Sultan ? " we asked. 
 
 "Only on Fridays," he replied, "when he crosses over 
 to the mosque to say his prayers, well guarded." 
 
 Everything along the route, except the Imperial 
 Palaces, is squalid and tumble-down beyond descrip- 
 264 
 
The Jewel of Constantine 
 
 tion. both in the city and in the suburban country. 
 And the Turkish warships in the Golden Horn are a 
 laughing-stock. We met the Minister of War, not 
 riding, but crouching in something very like a four- 
 wheeled cab; ard several other dignitaries of State, 
 
 A TURKISH MAN-OK-WAK 
 
 similarly huddled up away from the gaze of the Young 
 Turkish party or the snaky Armenian patriots. 
 
 The wounded from the war seemed to be well taken 
 care of, but they did not wear the jubilant air of 
 conquerors ; and the music played by the military bands 
 was not Oriental, but German. 
 
 One of our party was anxious to ascertain on the spot, 
 and at first hand, the truth about the numbers who fell 
 in the recent Armenian massacres. A handsome young 
 265 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Greek, who could have given long odds to Baron Munch- 
 hausen, assured us that not fewer than twelve thousand 
 five hundred fell. A solemn Turkish official said he 
 had no doubt there might have been between fifty and 
 sixty of the conspirators killed. And a Jew named 
 " Charley Bates," a hawking merchant, whom yachts- 
 men will remember as a persistent and plausible invader, 
 told us, after looking round to see that no one was 
 listening, that the precise number of victims was eleven 
 hundred and twenty. Clare had no difficulty in accepting 
 the Greek's estimate. The Hon. Sec. thought the Turk 
 had erred, if at all, on the side of exaggeration, while 
 no one attached the slightest credence to the Jew, from 
 which circumstance we may conclude that his version 
 was most likely the true one — or, at any rate, the truest. 
 
 When Togrul Bey and his pastoral warriors dwelt 
 in their Tartar tents they were a race of hardy and 
 worthy savages. Steeped in the uncongenial luxurious- 
 ness of Persia and Greece, their descendants are still 
 savages, but no longer entitled to esteem. Constanti- 
 nople may be summarily described as the squalidest 
 town on the noblest site in the world — a fertile garden 
 covered with locusts. 
 
 Of its inhabitants, the horses are bad, the dogs worse, 
 and the people worst of all. Yet even the Turks them- 
 selves are not so bad but that they are surpassed in 
 depravity by the stranger within their gates. The cheats 
 and cut-throats of all nations seem to thrive like vermin 
 in this putrescent community. Travellers who base their 
 estimate of Greek character on the specimens they meet 
 in Turkey would do well to postpone judgment, and 
 first to pay the Hellenes a visit in their own lovely and 
 266 
 
The Jewel of Constantine 
 
 orderly home in Athens, where private enterprise and 
 private munificence may well serve as an example to all 
 nations. Whither, bidding farewell (or ill) to the sleet 
 and the mud and the dogs and the Yahoos of a moribund 
 city, we now set forth. 
 
 "Terrible thing, the despotic rule of the One," said 
 Clare thoughtfully. 
 
 " It all depends which One," Jus remarked with a 
 sardonic smile, as noveHsts say. 
 
 " Not at all ; the rule of the Many is better than that 
 of any One," replied Clare. 
 
 " What do you mean by the rule of the Many ? " 
 
 " The majority, of course," was the ready response. 
 
 " Oh, I see ; the rule of King Odd-man. I don't think 
 much of him. / have seen him^^ said Jus. 
 
 "Now it is you who are talking parables; who on 
 earth is King Odd-man ? " Clare inquired. 
 
 " Let me explain. There was once a great democracy : 
 they had universal suffrage, male and female, adult and 
 infant, prince and pauper. The population was forty 
 millions and one. It was the day of the general election. 
 I remember it well. The people were divided into 
 blues and yellows. Every man, woman, and child had 
 voted except one youth, and the votes were exactly 
 equal — that is to say, there were twenty million blues 
 and twenty million yellows. The unpolled free and 
 independent elector was the aforesaid youth. I met 
 him coming to the poUing-booth. He was a barman in 
 a suburban public-house. He was seated in a nobleman's 
 carriage drawn by his horses gaily caparisoned. He 
 seemed weighed down by the responsibilities of his 
 position, so much so that he was supported by the 
 267 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 noble owner of the carriage on one side and an election- 
 eering agent on the other. A calm and tranquil smile 
 played over his otherwise unattractive features. His 
 hair was hanging over his glittering eyes, and his head 
 drooped on his chest reflectively. The carriage was 
 accompanied by a huge surging crowd of cheering and 
 howling ruffians, decked out in blue and yellow ribbons. 
 These people, I was told, were the electorate, thirsting 
 for justice and good government. At last the polling- 
 booth was reached, and King Odd-man (for such he was) 
 alighted, or rather was lifted out of the carriage. He 
 was immediately assailed by two perspiring gentlemen 
 with large tickets in their hats— blue and yellow respec- 
 tively. They both deferentially asked the King for 
 something or other, I could not clearly make out what. 
 He replied with dignity, and perhaps some slight im- 
 patience, "Ain't gonno tiksh ; lemme lone; go shoo 
 devl," and then passed out of sight into the school-house 
 to register his vote. The whole country during the few 
 minutes of his absence stood in breathless suspense. 
 King Odd-man was settling the destiny of a great nation. 
 I was reminded of the battle of Marathon. It was 
 indeed a thrilling moment. The immediate future of 
 civilization hung upon the King's decision. What preg- 
 nant thoughts were surging through his brain ? We 
 cannot tell. He voted. ^ The news was bruited abroad 
 in wider and wider circles, like the ripples that follow one 
 another when a stone is dropped into smooth water. 
 The welkin rang with tumultuous cheers and answering 
 groans. The King had spoken 1 " 
 
 The pause which followed this mendacious narrative 
 was broken by the Warrior. 
 
 268 
 
The Jewel of Constantine 
 
 " I don't believe that yarn," he said, " but it is quite 
 true all the same. Anything is better than the rule 
 of the rabble, and that is what we have got now in 
 England and Wales. Give me Julius Caesar or Bismarck, 
 or even Oliver Cromwell, rather than a set of howling 
 dervishes like our mob of electors. We are nearly as 
 bad as America, and are going from bad to worse. 
 Stick to the good old Monarchy, I say, and knock the 
 agitator on the head." 
 
 *' I always thought," the Hon. Sec. remarked, address- 
 ing himself to Jus, "that you were a sort of Red 
 Republican ; and here you are backing up the Sultan 
 against the democracy." 
 
 "I am doing nothing of the sort," rephed Jus; "it 
 does not follov/ because I object to be governed by 
 King Odd-man that I want to be governed by some 
 other tyrant. Away with the lot of them ! I prefer to 
 govern myself." 
 
 "Oh, that is Anarchy," interjected Clare, glad of 
 an opportunity of putting the Literary Failure in his 
 proper place. 
 
 " Quite so," replied Jus, " or, more correctly speaking, 
 Individualism." 
 
 Clare was silent and sad. The Com. smiled pityingly 
 and took up a newspaper. The Hon. Sec, personally 
 hurt and offended, sauntered off, followed by Orlando. 
 The latter was overheard to mutter just outside the door, 
 " You never know where to have that man ; he will- talk 
 good sense one minute, and the most abject drivel the 
 next." 
 
 Which is quite true — but on the present occasion he 
 may have been talking sense. 
 269 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 At Gallipoli we were beset with a snow-storm, which 
 compelled us to put in for the night. This was in one 
 respect fortunate, for, on the following morning the sun 
 rose brightly and illumined the broad plains of old Troy. 
 The weather and the season were against us, and we 
 were unable to gratify our curiosity by exploring the 
 classic region, because of the torrents, which render all 
 the roads impassable in winter. But it was something to 
 single out Mount Ida draped in snow, and to see with 
 our own eyes the two promontories where Ajax raved 
 and Achilles sulked in his tent. Not far from New 
 Ilium we descried the masts of a big ship, which, bolder or 
 less fortunate than ourselves, had run upon rocks during 
 the snow-storm of the previous night, and lay some 
 fathoms deep in a troubled sea. 
 
 Our second voyage across the blue ^.gean was fairly 
 lively, so far as the sea was concerned, but the descrip- 
 tion of the lovely islands I leave, as in honour bound) 
 to the Hon. Sec, our Minister of Art, well assured that 
 my confidence will not have been misplaced. 
 
 270 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 After passing between Andros and the south coast of 
 Euboia, a dense mist settled down upon the sea, and our 
 cautious captain deemed it advisable to mark time all 
 night long at the entrance to the Gulf of Athens. There 
 are really too many islands in this sea. They want thin- 
 ning. Most of them are picturesque, and many of them 
 are fertile, as we know from the names of the old Greek 
 wines. Touching wines, it must strike a modern wine- 
 bibber as hardly credible that such artists as the Athenians 
 should actually have desecrated the juice of the grape, 
 not only with copious water, but also with honey and 
 spices. Yet so it was. Alkibiades and Sophocles never 
 sipped their Chian neat, but in the form of negus. When 
 we look at the price they paid for their vin ordinaire^ 
 say a bottle of Mendaean — one farthing, or, to be quite 
 accurate, twopence a gallon — it becomes less surprising 
 that they sought to improve its flavour by the addition 
 of herbs, gums, spices, and even resin. Next to Chian 
 wine, the Lesbian and Thasian were the most highly 
 esteemed ; but nowadays, I was pained to find, the 
 decadent descendants of the heroes of Marathon and 
 Salamis are content to imbibe the wines of the Rhine 
 271 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 and the Rhone, and of the vineyards of Champagne. 
 Even at the British Legation, despite the otherwise genial 
 hospitality of our British and Russian host and hostess. 
 Sir Edwin and Lady Egerton, not a drop of cinnamoned 
 Lesbian or be-musked Coan was forthcoming. Horace 
 described Lesbian wine as " innocens," and Pliny says 
 that it naturally tasted of sea-water — from which we may 
 draw our own conclusions. It is nevertheless a fact that 
 not only sea-water, but also lime and turpentine, were 
 used to give the wine a bit of a fillip. And before the 
 girls could be allowed to drink it, they had to cut their 
 nails. Otherwise, says Catullus, they were liable to 
 scratch their friends. 
 
 Either the ladies or the liquors have undergone a 
 change since those classic days ; for I myself have never 
 once been scratched by any lady whom I have had the 
 honour of taking in to dinner — not even in Greece, where 
 they are allowed no time to smooth their ruffled feelings 
 (as in England) before being rejoined by the non- 
 scratching sex. Whether this danger is the origin of the 
 British custom I do not know. I have heard it attributed 
 to our grandfathers' hygienic custom of taking a nap 
 under the table as an aid to digestion after dinner. 
 
 But all this has nothing to do with the Piraeus, into 
 which we steamed next morning, after the sun had dis- 
 pelled the mist. We .were accompanied by a fellow 
 sufferer who had rocked about at a respectful distance 
 from us all night. She turned out to be a Greek battle- 
 ship conveying the prisoners of war from Constantinople, 
 where they had been well provided for, and even new- 
 clad, but, oddly enough, in black. The crowd was not 
 allowed to give them a welcome nor to make any demon- 
 272 
 
Athens 
 
 stration ; but, slipping into our launch, we succeeded in 
 watching them land. 
 
 Athens was visibly depressed at the time of our visit. 
 The cost of the war was weighing heavily upon the Greek 
 treasury. Buildings stood half completed and neglected, 
 and the usual gay diversions of the prettiest city in the 
 world were suspended. The entrance to the Piraeus is 
 not in itself very striking — " not a patch on Constant!," 
 as the Warrior phrased it, quite weary of using five 
 syllables every time he mentioned the place. The Long 
 Walls have entirely disappeared from view, though here 
 and there the foundations may be found, and the harbour 
 is neither vast nor well hemmed-in by beautiful buildings, 
 nor crowded with fine ships. Its main interest lies in its 
 vicinity to Athens, and in the old world scenes which it 
 recalls from the dim past. 
 
 Two days in particular will ever be associated in the 
 mind with this historical port ; two days which are them- 
 selves linked together, and also linked with the name of 
 the strangest figure of all time — Alkibiades. The first 
 was the day of his departnre in joint-command of the 
 Athenian fleet, and the second was the day of his re-entry 
 into the city. 
 
 It was in the spring of the year 415 B.C. that the whole 
 population of Athens swarmed down the broad road 
 between the Long Walls, to watch the embarkation of 
 the troops for the Sicilian battle-fields, on forty transport 
 ships convoyed by sixty triremes of the fleet. At day- 
 break the whole town seemed crowded together all round 
 the harbour ; the army marched down in a body from the 
 city, and before embarking, the men took farewell of their 
 fathers, brothers, and friends, for it was a citizen army. 
 275 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 The trumpet sounded, the herald offered up prayers to 
 the gods and sang the paean ; bowls of wine were circu- 
 lated, and the officers poured out libations from gold and 
 silver goblets. Then the Keleustes chanted the oarsmen 
 into motion, and, the signal being given, the fleet quitted 
 the Piraeus in single file ; and, to testify their enthusiasm, 
 started off" with a speed race as far as ^gina. 
 
 The three commanders were men of very different 
 stamp. Poor old Nikias may best be described by the 
 echo of his name ; like the Burgomaster of Oberwesel on 
 the Rhine. " Wer ist der Burgomeister von Oberwesel ? " 
 shouts the German student as he glides down the river. 
 And the echo supplies the answer. A like method will 
 furnish a correct description of that good old woman 
 Nikias. Lamachus was a born soldier, but nothing more. 
 Alkibiades alone of the three was a general of the highest 
 order. Destined by fate and fanaticism to fight for 
 Athens and against Athens, for Sparta and against Sparta, 
 for both combined and against both combined, this great 
 warrior-philosopher, brave, handsome, athletic, clever, 
 profound, and gifted with inexhaustible resource, never 
 once lost a battle either by land or by sea. Yet hardly 
 had he waved farewell to his fellow countrymen, and put 
 to sea, full of his noble scheme of Pan-Hellenism and 
 burning with patriotism, than political envy, priestly 
 cunning, and parochial buffle-headedness, set to work to 
 compass his ruin. He had made fun of the Eleusinian 
 mysteries; the Hermae had been mutilated. He who 
 had done the one was clearly capable of the other. He 
 had attended the Olympic games, and taken the first 
 prize in the chariot race. His tent was more magnificent 
 than that of any other. He was worshipped by the 
 276 
 
Athens 
 
 Athenian ladies, and, what was worse than all, he had 
 out-manoeuvred all the old parliamentary hands and 
 brought about the Argeian alliance. 
 
 As for the Hermae, they were merely a number of 
 sacred sign-posts, about the height of a man. The upper 
 half was roughly carved into the head and bust of Hermes, 
 and the lower half was a quadrangular column peculiarly 
 decorated. Handed down from a barbarous antiquity, 
 they were a vulgar anachronism in a civilized city, and 
 whoever mutilated them was worthy of praise. One of 
 these figures has lately been unearthed and set up in 
 the new Stadion; but it should be removed to the 
 Museum. 
 
 One fine morning while Alkibiades was pacing the 
 deck of his trireme and maturing his grand plans before 
 Syracuse, a summons was brought requiring him to 
 present himself at once for trial before the High Court of 
 Justice for sacrilege. Several other suspects having 
 already been put to death under similar impeachmentsj 
 he judged it prudent to decline the invitation. So, while 
 affecting to comply, and setting forth in his ship with the 
 bearer of the summons, he and a few companions quietly 
 slipped off the vessel as they were rounding the corner 
 of Italy, and eluding search, made off. 
 
 And now the extraordinary determination and resource 
 of this brilliant Athenian are brought prominently to 
 light. On being informed that he had been tried and 
 condemned to death in his absence, he exclaimed : " I 
 will show them that I am alive." 
 
 Athens had virtually declared war against the in- 
 dividual Alkibiades; and the individual Alkibiades 
 accepted the challenge. They had " the ships, the men, 
 277 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 and the money too," but he had the brains. And the 
 brains won. The Syracusan expedition fell hopelessly 
 to pieces in the hands of dear old Nikias. Lamachus 
 fell in battle, as brave soldiers do, and as wise generals 
 do not — as a rule. The army was well-nigh annihilated. 
 The fleet was captured, the colonies and islands were cut 
 off, Attica itself was invaded, and Athens licked the dust. 
 Every move in the game was the direct work of Alkibiades. 
 The proud democracy which had condemned him to 
 death now implored him to return, as the only man alive 
 capable of extricating them from their miseries. His 
 reply stands on record as the most magnificently insolent 
 rebuff ever administered by an individual to a State. 
 Said he, " The democracy which condemned me to 
 death is now by me condemned to death." Firm as a 
 rock under every temptation to comply — weariness of 
 exile, the entreaties of friends, his yearning to revisit the 
 old home, and his true patriotism — he would not cede 
 an inch. The democracy must die. The Athenians 
 must drain the last dregs of humiliation, or the convict 
 would not return. So the democracy was abolished and 
 an oligarchy set up in its stead. 
 
 Thus did the haughty Republic grovel at the feet of 
 its extraordinary citizen. And the Piraeus witnessed 
 another spectacle in which Alkibiades, after an exile of 
 eight years, was for a second time the central figure. 
 The sun shone on a trireme covered with gold and 
 silver, wafted by sails of Tyrian purple, and followed by 
 two hundred captive ships of war taken from the 
 enemies. The chief Athenian actor pronounced the 
 rowers' chant (perhaps not unlike the chant with which 
 our young Keleustes urged his Arab oarsmen through 
 278 
 
Athens 
 
 the Cataract), the ablest minstrels played the homeward- 
 bound air, and the whole populace of Athens again 
 swarmed down between the Long Walls to accord the 
 Convict a national welcome. The sentence of death 
 against him was of course cancelled, even the saintly 
 Eumolpidae were forced to revoke the curse they had 
 pronounced on his head eight years before, and to pitch 
 into the sea the slab of lead on which it was engraven. 
 His confiscated property was all returned to him, and 
 more also, and finally he was proclaimed Commander- 
 in-Chief of the Athenian forces with full powers. 
 
 Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. No trial of 
 strength between an individual and a nation has ever 
 before or since ended in such an overwhelming victory 
 for the One over the Many. And the story of Alki- 
 biades would be resented as an exaggeration even of the 
 bare possibilities had it emanated from the brain of a 
 romancer. 
 
 As we wended our way along the road to Athens all 
 through the quiet streets of the sorrowing city these 
 thrilling scenes of twenty-three centuries ago were vividly 
 recalled. Suppose that, untrammelled by petty jealousies 
 and by the devious machinations of cancerous priestcraft, 
 this great Wielder of Men had been permitted to 
 complete his design, and to weld all the Greek States 
 into a Pan-Hellenic Confederacy; would Philip of 
 Macedon then have broken them like scattered arrows ? 
 Would even the Roman legions have prevailed against 
 the vanquishers of Xerxes ? Above all, would the early 
 blossoms of Pure Reason have withered before the 
 freezing blast from the East, and lain blighted and 
 sapless for a thousand years ? 
 279 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 All these vain reflections were cut short at a turn in 
 the road where the little Temple of Theseus came sud- 
 denly in view. A short ascent to the Areiopagus, and 
 then — the Acropolis ! 1 will make no attempt to 
 describe this the most hallowed spot on the surface of 
 the earth. Beautiful, almost faultless, the ruins stand, 
 majestic in death. The Parthenon, the Propylsea, the 
 Erechtheum, the little Temple of Wingless Victory (for 
 had she not come to stay ?) are not the herculean and 
 sombre strength-feats of the Aryan race in its raw youth, 
 like the pyramids of Gizeh and the Temples of Karnak 
 and Luxor : they are the finished productions of its full 
 manhood. Mind rather than muscle was the architect 
 of these graceful structures. And the setting is worthy 
 of the jewels. The view from the summit of the rock, 
 even apart from its associations, is lovely, with the fair 
 city stretched on the plain at its foot, and the far 
 encircling hills. 
 
 The distant glimmer of Akro-Corinth across the water 
 reminds us how small these Greek City States really 
 were. And their lamentably short though glorious 
 history is another proof, if proof were needed, of the 
 instability of communal government. For administrative 
 purposes decentralisation is excellent, but for legislative 
 purposes it is fatal. When the old Amphictyonic Council, 
 lost its vitality, and the small Hellenic States had each 
 its own College Green Parliament (if I may use the 
 expression to save time), independent of central control, 
 Hellas was foredoomed, as none foresaw more clearly 
 than Alkibiades. On the other hand, the intense local 
 patriotism fostered by administrative independence gave 
 an immense stimulus to art. A large socialistic 
 280 
 
Athens 
 
 community will never create anything worth pre- 
 serving. 
 
 Whether the music of this imaginative people was on 
 a level with its architecture, its poetry, and its philo- 
 sophy I do not know. The score of a hymn to 
 
 THE ERECHTHEUM 
 
 Orpheus is said to have been discovered and rendered 
 by modern executants, but I have never heard it ; and 
 much doubt whether the modern performance would 
 rejoice the soul of the ancient composer if he could 
 listen to it. Certain it is that some of the older 
 melodies and recitatives to be heard at St. Peter's in 
 Rome vividly recall the weird wailings of the dwellers in 
 the desert. Moreover, our own Arabs confessed they 
 283 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 could find no pleasure in the European piano recitals 
 of Orlando and the Banker : but there might be another 
 explanation of that ! Music, such as we know it — what 
 may be called the music of harmony — is probably of 
 recent and comparatively local growth. 
 
 "Come along,"' said the 'Varsity Man one day: "let 
 us go up Hymettus." 
 
 " I think," said the Hon. Sec, " that I shall go up 
 Lycabettus." 
 
 " Like a what? " inquired the Warrior. In the end — 
 for it was wintry weather, and the heights were covered 
 with snow — Clare had to accompHsh the ascent of 
 Hymettus alone. But the pre-Homeric cricket-balls 
 which he collected near the summit turned out, on 
 further inquiry, to be mere modern imitations, manu- 
 factured by shepherds out of a substance which abounds 
 in the district. The material of which these balls were 
 made is white, and possesses the singular property, when 
 brought down into the plain, of transmuting itself into 
 water. This is no traveller's tale. I witnessed it with 
 my own eyes, and am convinced there was no deception. 
 It seems to lend colour to a long discredited story of the 
 days of DeukaHon, when stones are said to have been 
 transmuted into flesh and blood. Whether is it more 
 probable, I ask, that this simple although unusual pheno- 
 menon should have taken place, or that the thousands 
 of spectators present, including the ladies and gentlemen 
 themselves who had passed their early days in the form 
 of stones, should all of them have been liars? What 
 motive had they for palming off an untruth on unborn 
 generations ? And, after all, is the metamorphosis really 
 more wonderful than the transmutation of a hard white 
 284 
 
Athens 
 
 ball, without visible agency, into running water ? The 
 fact is, modern criticism is becoming far too captious. 
 Hypercriticism and scepticism are dangerously rife in 
 all departments of inquiry. 
 
 The story of the Sphinx is older than Greek history 
 
 CARYATIDES 
 
 itself. By a strange coincidence, this monster with the 
 face of a woman and the body of a lion, took up her 
 dreadful abode at Thebes. Her modus openifidi was to 
 ask a riddle. This in itself is a most vexatious pro- 
 ceeding. Failing a correct solution, the Sphinx devoured 
 the citizens one by one. Nowadays it is the propounder 
 of the riddle who usually dies ; then it was otherwise. 
 When at length CEdipus found the correct solution he 
 285 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 of course married the princess — at least he thought she 
 was the princess, but really she was his mother; and the 
 Sphinx, flinging herself headlong from the Citadel, was 
 heard of no more. Why cannot chess-problem composers 
 follow her noble example ? 
 
 The stories of the Minotaur and the Sphinx point to 
 very early Egyptian invasions of Greece, but otherwise 
 there is very little similarity between the ancient religions 
 of the two peoples. Both were based originally on 
 ancestor-worship, and both eventually developed, by the 
 hyperbolic adulation of the dead, into the worship of the 
 powers of Nature, and especially of the Sun, the Giver of 
 Life and Happiness. Finally, as the thoughts of men 
 were widened, the Sun itself came to be regarded rather 
 as a symbol of the Deity than as the Deity Himself. 
 And naturally on each step forward somebody had to 
 be poisoned or exiled or crucified or burnt. This is 
 the ransom which Ignorance invariably extorts from 
 Wisdom. 
 
 It is unsafe to draw hasty conclusions from pre-historic 
 legends; but the fact that the heroes of Greek myth 
 were adored and idealised by their mortal successors 
 seems to show that they were regarded as of the same 
 race ; whereas the Semitic peoples refer to the precursors 
 of men as Giants and Chins, or Jins (they are called 
 Genies in the fairy boo^s), who are described as having 
 yellow faces and elephants' ears. Who else can these 
 Chins be, yellow-skinned and elephant-eared, but the 
 Chinese, who drove them out of their native paradise to 
 prowl for a living among the peoples of the southern 
 climes? Again, the name Hellenes means, I think. 
 Whites as opposed to Darkies. The word "Greek" 
 286 
 
Athens 
 
 possibly refers to the older inhabitants — but this is mere 
 conjecture. i\ristotle says the inhabitants of Hellas 
 were in old time called Greeks. 
 
 Among primitive tribes, even in our own day, when the 
 youngest son attains to man's estate, it falls to his duty 
 
 THE PARTHENON 
 
 to "tap the governor on the knob," as the Warrior ex- 
 plained; in other words, to put a stop to the father's 
 unduly protracted career. In the kindlier age this 
 custom takes the form of proximogeniture, or the succes- 
 sion of the youngest son to the government of the house- 
 hold. A relic of this custom still prevails in England 
 under the name of borough-English. It seems to have 
 been pretty extensive among our Aryan ancestors, and 
 287 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 therefore it may be worthy of note that Uranos, the first 
 of the gods, was succeeded by Kronos, his youngest son, 
 and Kronos was succeeded by his youngest son, Zeus. 
 This was the natural order of succession in the domestic 
 circle, before Houses became aggregated into Gentes or 
 Clans. Afterwards the need for a fighting leader led the 
 Clans and Tribes to select, not the youngest, but the 
 ablest member ; and the eldest male relative succeeded 
 to the deceased chief ; and so, through all the variations of 
 Tanistry, we come down to the modern custom of primo- 
 geniture. The Turks still adhere to this transitional form 
 of succession by the eldest surviving brother. Hence the 
 necessity under which a new Sultan labours of having 
 to assassinate most of his brothers and uncles. To us 
 it seems a rather cruel proceeding ; but " needs must 
 when the devil drives," and, as the Hon. Sec. pertinently 
 inquired, " What would jj^^?/ do? " 
 
 It is pleasant to find Athens and her priceless treasures 
 in the safe keeping of the Greeks, who regard them as 
 heirlooms. There is hardly a stone on the Acropolis 
 which does not date from the golden age. Yet, not 
 many years ago, the classic rock was half-choked with 
 Frankish, Venetian, and Turkish ruins, all jumbled 
 together with those of Greece. Were the modern pro- 
 prietors justified in eradicating all traces of intermediate 
 history ? 
 
 To some it may appear that the relics of Early Chris- 
 tianity, of the Crusades, of the great trading Republics, 
 of the Ottoman conquests, and of the spread of Islam, 
 are as well worthy of preservation as those of the age of 
 Perikles and Phidias. Then let such persons select 
 typical places where each and all these predominate. 
 288 
 
Athens 
 
 Let them weed out of such places all things calculated 
 to distract the attention from the particular structures 
 which illustrate and commemorate the selected type. 
 Let them set apart Carthage for the study and worship 
 of the Phoenician period. Let Venice be kept sacred to 
 the age of the Doges. If a Roman bath should be found 
 in Stonehenge, let it be dug out and cast away as a 
 modern intrusion. Let the stones of St. Margaret's ugly 
 church, with all its irrelevant associations, be reverently 
 carted away and deposited in the dustbin, leaving West- 
 minster Abbey free from its jarring disconformity. Malta 
 might well be dedicated to the militant Catholicism of 
 the Middle Ages, just as Pompeii is and ever will be 
 maintained without addition as a souvenir of the early 
 Roman Empire. Ismail's hideous incongruity at the 
 foot of Cheops' pyramid will probably fall ere long before 
 the blast of public opinion. The whole plain of Thebes 
 (in Egypt) should be swept clear of all buildings of date 
 later than the Ramesids ; right round by the old walls 
 with their hundred gates. And, above all, nothing should 
 be left standing on the Acropolis of Athens which was 
 not there before the invasion of Philip of Macedon. 
 Most cities are associated, not more with one age than 
 with another or many others. Rome, Paris, and London 
 recall no particular period, or rather they recall many 
 stirring times, and the deeds of many races and many 
 ages. Let them alone. 
 
 Some enthusiastic wiseacre had been airing these 
 admonitions to our matter-of-fact party, as we were 
 sitting on the Areiopagos, when Clare, with a view to a 
 diversion, and not without malice, asked, " And what 
 would you do with Llanwyddlanellipontyfechan ? " 
 291 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 " Oh," chipped in the Hon. Sec, " that is a simple 
 matter enough. I would build a high wall round it, fill 
 it with bards, fit up a museum for old harps, invite the 
 Eisteddfod to a session within, put Orlando at the head 
 of the lot, and forbid any one of them to show his nose 
 outside the walls again, on pain of instant death." 
 
 ^^^^MMHliHHjInn. 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 TEMPLE OF JUPITER 
 
 "Dear, dear," said the Warrior in consternation; 
 " wouldn't you allow us to take in the Fink Un or the 
 Rules of the B.V.C., or any other decent brain-wash — 
 nothing but Y Werin? I think I should commit /^/<9-^(?- 
 somebody elseT 
 
 That is the worst of our fellows. You can never start 
 a respectable, far-reaching, bed-rock argument, but 
 it settles down into something like that. 
 292 
 
Athens 
 
 One day shortly after the above inane conversation we 
 were dining in Athens, when by chance the Com. asked 
 how it was that a British cruiser was left rocking about 
 outside in a choppy sea instead of running into the 
 shelterof the Piraeus. " Don't you know ? " replied our 
 host; "why, British ships are not allowed to enter 
 on account of the typhoid which has been raging there 
 for weeks." 
 
 This news required washing down with copious Chian, 
 and next morning before daybreak we were steaming out 
 of the old harbour, and making for the new Corinth 
 Canal. A train dashed right over our mast as we passed 
 beneath the bridge. The walls or cliffs, which are nearly 
 as smooth and regular as school slates, would have 
 offered a great temptation to our old friends the temple 
 decorators of King Seti ; and even our modern mural 
 artists, Pears and Beecham and Nestle and the rest 
 of them, will not long leave them tabulce rasce. Ere long 
 I expect to find Hector running round Troy pursued by 
 Achilles in a pair of Waukenphast's boots, and Sappho 
 quaffing nectar from an old Chelsea cup with a boiled ox 
 in it. Even the Ten Commandments done on stone in 
 Stephen's ink will not take my breath away; and if 
 Cincinnatus is not discovered in the act of sowing 
 Sutton's seeds I shall be positively disappointed. 
 
 " For I dipped into the future far as human eye could see, 
 Saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that would be." 
 
 The cruise from Corinth to Patras is what modern 
 writers would, I suppose, call a symphony in blue and 
 white. If they do not, they ought to be ashamed of 
 themselves, for that is exactly what it is. 
 293 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 On both sides the glittering white snow-peaks pierce 
 the blue sky and the blue waves shake their white crests. 
 Everywhere blue and white meet the eye, and no other 
 colour disturbs its spiritual freshness — so different from 
 the sensuous, iridescent glories of the Nile. Some- 
 
 IN THE GULF OF CORINTH 
 
 body made the usual remark about "nought but man 
 being vile," and then we touched bottom off Cepha- 
 lonia. 
 
 The shock was only just enough to remind us that 
 there was but a plank between us and eternity — just 
 as though a plank were not as good as a hundred 
 feet of granite on the top of an awakening earthquake 
 —and to string up our nerves for the games which filled 
 294 
 
Athens 
 
 our saloon life, when " the curfew tolled the knell of 
 parting day." When Jacko manipulated the curfew— 
 which he frequently and joyfully did— both passengers 
 and crew would look at their watches and shake their 
 doubtful heads. 
 
 295 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE VOICE OF VESUVIUS 
 
 It was dusk when the Maria glided between Scylla and 
 Charybdis. Scylla is a projecting rocky headland on the 
 Italian side of the Straits of Messina, and Charybdis is a 
 whirlpool near the Sicilian side. They do not now face 
 each other precisely as in the days of Odysseus ; and the 
 width of the Straits at the narrowest part is now over two 
 miles across ; so that modern navigators smile at the 
 Homeric bogie. But when the south east wind blew, 
 Captain Smyth said he had himself seen several men-of- 
 war whirled round on the surface of Charybdis; nor 
 must we forget that straits are always widening or 
 narrowing, and that whirlpools shift their positions 
 considerably. It is, therefore, quite possible that in 
 the Homeric age the straits were less than a mile in 
 width, and that consequently Charybdis, nearly, or per- 
 haps quite, faced Scylla, in which case the perils of 
 the passage for ships of the period would have been 
 formidable enough. The distant smoke of towering 
 Etna, which we saw for miles, would lend an additional 
 terror to the voyage, when you remember who was lying 
 beneath. 
 
 When we passed Stromboli, like a shadowy black 
 296 
 
The Voice of Vesuvius 
 
 pyramid standing in the sea, either it was closing-time 
 among the giants, or Typhoeus, who owns the workshop 
 below, had retired from business. No smoke was issuing 
 from his furnace. 
 
 One of the advantages of yachting is that you can 
 choose your own time for arriving at a port, which 
 you cannot do when you travel by the regular liners. 
 Accordingly we contrived to enter the Bay of Naples at 
 sunrise. The eastern sky was blood-red, and Vesuvius 
 was a black silhouette outlined upon it. 
 
 The volumes of smoke which issued from its summit 
 were also black as jet. The pale green vault of heaven 
 was still sprinkled with fading stars. Gradually the light 
 increased and the colour changed. The island of Capri 
 was bathed in a pink glow, and then the bay lay before 
 us like a sea of sapphire. 
 
 " Not bad," said the Hon. Sec, as he leaned over the 
 gunwale. And it wasn't. 
 
 "Duty first and pleasure afterwards," shouted the 
 Com. some hours later. "Pompeii to-day and Vesuvius 
 to-morrow." 
 
 There is something inexpressibly mournful and eerie 
 in wandering through the streets of this dead city. 
 There stand the houses and shops on each side of 
 the narrow lava-paved streets, the wineshops with holes 
 in the counter for the pointed amphorae, the barbers', 
 the bakers', the silversmiths', and the private residences 
 of the rich. 
 
 Pompeii was the Brighton of Rome. The waves of 
 
 the sea once bathed its walls, now a mile away. Here is 
 
 the house of Sallust; there stands the seaside villa of 
 
 Cicero. This little temple was built by a gentleman 
 
 297 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 named Celsinus, after the earthquake of 63 a.d. He 
 dedicated it to Isis (heaven knows why), and sixteen 
 years later he and his temple and the whole town 
 were overwhelmed and buried by the boiling streams 
 of water, ash, sand, and cinders which burst out of 
 Vesuvius in the terrible year 79. 
 
 Here we enter the Forum. It is paved with marble 
 and adorned with marble statues. Near it stands the 
 Temple of Venus— so it is called. Yonder is the Temple 
 of Jupiter. In the oven of one bakehouse are some 
 loaves of bread, still uneaten after 1820 years. Some 
 people prefer stale bread. Many of the walls of the 
 private houses are tastefully painted. Others are curiously 
 painted ; but the fastidious are permitted to wait outside 
 till everybody has passed, when they usually peep in 
 alone. These are the County Councillors who feel it 
 their duty to examine the backs of Zazel and Zeo in order 
 to see that they are in proper repair ; and who put 
 Boccaccio on the top shelf to keep it out of reach, but 
 who forget to put the regulation layer of dust on its 
 upper edges. 
 
 Although Pompeii was covered only about fifteen feet 
 deep in what the Italians call " lapilli," it is nevertheless 
 true that its very site was absolutely lost sight of for many 
 centuries, and was only rediscovered one hundred and fifty 
 years ago. And it is even still more remarkable that the 
 younger Pliny, who actually witnessed the eruption, 
 nowhere mentions in his writings the destruction of this 
 fashionable and populous place. Herculaneum, through 
 which, or rather over which, we drove on our way from 
 Naples, is never likely to be excavated, being covered 
 with modern houses and warehouses. The very streets 
 
The Voice of Vesuvius 
 
 of all the towns in the neighbourhood are paved with 
 large quadrangular blocks of lava; and with such a 
 reminder ever before their eyes, one would expect the 
 inhabitants (if, indeed, there were any) to wear a sombre 
 and anxious air, instead of which the Neapolitans are the 
 
 A HOrSEIN POMPEII 
 
 gayest people in the world. Yet why should dwellers 
 near Vesuvius quake ? One old hermit lives in a hut on 
 the very slope of the mountain. 
 
 The mathematical chances against an eruption in his 
 lifetime are far greater than against his death by old age 
 or accident. 
 
 The most ghastly and awful sight in Pompeii is the 
 collection in what is most inappropriately called the 
 299 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Museum. Here the bodies discovered among the ruins 
 are laid out just as they were found. They are of two 
 kinds— skeletons and casts. At first, only the skeletons 
 were exhumed; but it was afterwards found that the 
 hollows from which they were abstracted remained intact 
 in the lapilli, and that by pouring suitable plaster into the 
 cavities through a small aperture, it was possible to obtain 
 an accurate cast of the body with all its features and out- 
 lines as completely modelled as on the day when it suc- 
 cumbed to the cataclysm. Within these casts I need 
 hardly say the skeletons are embedded. An old man 
 lies on his face convulsively clutching at the rug on which 
 he fell. A mother embraces her terror-stricken daughter. 
 A little dog lies on his back writhing in agony. This 
 model has frequently been used by sculptors. One 
 figure stands there as sublimely grand as the burning 
 mountain itself. It is that of a young Roman sentinel 
 071 duty, erect, unflinching, dauntless. The sculptor's art 
 may give us numberless statues of fictitious heroes, but 
 here is a petrifaction of living heroism, immortal as the 
 gods. 
 
 Although the streets of Pompeii were very narrow, the 
 houses appear to have consisted of only one story, or at 
 most of a stone ground-floor with a small wooden super- 
 structure or garret for the slaves. Hence they were not 
 gloomy. Equestrians, pe|-haps, might make their way 
 along them, but for carriages it was impossible. At each 
 crossing large stepping-stones are provided for foot- 
 passengers, showing that streams of water probably flowed 
 down the streets. 
 
 We saw an old trough much worn away where the 
 hands of many generations of water-carriers had leaned 
 300 
 
The Voice of Vesuvius 
 
 to draw water. The excavators were at work, well over- 
 looked by officials to see that no new treasures find their 
 way into wrong channels. But hardly half the town has 
 yet seen daylight, and many more relics and mementos 
 of the first century have still to be laid bare : though not 
 perhaps the gold and silver which whet ihe appetite of 
 the seekers. For there is reason to believe that the more 
 valuable and portable works of art were exhumed shortly 
 after the catastrophe by those who knew where to find 
 them. And certainly no bodies have been discovered in 
 the theatre, although it was full of spectators, when so 
 dreadfully overtaken without a moment's warning. 
 
 "Where was the tobacconist's?" asked the Warrior, 
 looking ruefully at the fag-end of his last cigar. " The 
 Romans did not smoke, sir," replied Louise : for that 
 was the name of the intelligent and courteous gentleman 
 who conducted us through the labyrinths of the city. 
 
 " Why not ? " inquired the Warrior. " They had 
 something better to do, sir," our guide answered, as he 
 conducted us into a gaudy kind of tavern with a peculiar 
 sign over the door. 
 
 " Here, you see chalked up on the wall the score of 
 some young Roman, who seems to have had a thirst 
 somewhat longer than his purse." And there it was : 
 and, what is still more realistic, on the walls outside may 
 still be read the scribblings of the little vulgar boys, who 
 then, as now, expressed their feelings and opinions on 
 their neighbours' doorposts, but in Latin and Oscan. 
 
 Centuries hence some spectacled archaeologist will be 
 
 endeavouring to elucidate, with what knowledge of 
 
 English he may possess, the meaning of " Bobby Smith 
 
 is a cowrd an a orful bully," scribbled in charcoal on the 
 
 301 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 recently unearthed portico of what is believed to have 
 been the B.Y.C. or the Temple of Caissa. The curator of 
 the Timbuctoo Museum will express the opinion that the 
 last word clearly points to the worship of Apis in the 
 England Isles ; and that Bobby was the mythical being 
 supposed in those days to preside over the maintenance 
 of law and order. A learned professor of ancient English 
 will bring up his contingent, with the ingenious sugges- 
 tion that " cowrd " is merely another form of the word 
 crowd, and that the meaning of the whole passage is, 
 " The God of Law and Order will disperse the crowd or 
 populace to the glory of Apis." And there the matter 
 will be left to rest. 
 
 Next day was set apart for the ascent of Vesuvius — by 
 launch across the bay to the nearest point on the coast ; 
 by carriage as far as we could get ; then on horseback 
 till the recent lava flow had rendered the bridle path im- 
 passable ; then a short way on foot ; and finally (name it 
 not in Gath !) by the funicular railway ! At the foot of 
 the railway there is a refreshment-room, commodious and 
 well supplied. But let that pass. We did not. Arrived 
 at the summit, about 4000 feet above the sea, the pano- 
 rama is said to be extremely fine. I say "is said to be," 
 for on the occasion of our visit, though the mountain 
 itself was bright and sunny, the far distance was dim and 
 clouded. Vesuvius was distinctly restless, and vomited 
 forth huge volumes of sulphurous smoke, or rather steam 
 laden with scoriae and ash. The seismograph, however, 
 indicated no immediate eruption. 
 
 " By the way," said the Warrior, addressing the Lite- 
 rary Failure, " that is your invention, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I am not sure," replied Jus, " but if so, it must have 
 302 
 
The Voice of Vesuvius 
 
 been in a former existence ; for it is older than I am, 
 in my present embodiment ; but perhaps you refer to the 
 kinesigraph ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Orlando, " I knew it was some kind of a 
 graph. What is a seismograph when it is at home ? " 
 
 VESUVIUS FROM POMPEII 
 
 Jus kindly undertook to enlighten him. 
 
 " I will tell you, if you will listen. It is a kind of 
 instrument by which earthquakes forewarn people in 
 time to make their escape. Man invented the instru- 
 ment, but Vulcan obligingly makes use of it, I suppose 
 Professor Milne knows as much about earthquakes as 
 anybody; indeed, he may be said to be hand-in-glove 
 with them. Ajid he says they are intimately connected 
 303 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 with a variety of things, and notably with the marriage 
 market and the drink bill. Says he : 
 
 " Now suppose you land in Japan. You arrive at an 
 hotel, where you find every comfort, and you see around 
 you a number of globe-trotters, like yourself, from every 
 country under heaven. They are mostly wealthy persons 
 — globe-trotters generally are — here a millionaire New 
 Yorker with his wife and daughters, here a German baron 
 with his daughters, and here, perhaps, an Englishman 
 with a similar retinue. You would like to know more 
 of these people, to become more intimately acquainted 
 with them. You go to bed, and fancy that you are still 
 on the ocean wave, and that the vessel in which you are 
 is rolling to an outrageous extent. Then you wake, and, 
 as bits of the ceiling fall upon you, you scramble to 
 your feet, and suddenly realise that you are enjoying an 
 earthquake. Out of the door you rush, and you find 
 in the corridor people as frightened as yourself, and in 
 similar undress uniform. You go for the millionaires, 
 and for their daughters, and perform prodigies of valour, 
 and are ever afterwards regarded as a hero, and — if 
 matrimony doesn't result from all that, it's your own 
 fault. Again, earthquakes are directly responsible for 
 the consumption of alcohol in the club at Tokio. You 
 may be there enjoying a game of billiards, when sud- 
 denly the balls begin to gyrate on the table, the lamps 
 swing, the cues hanging in their tin cases on the walls 
 are turned into pendulums, and there is a general 
 stampede outside. Nerves, a.s well as walls, are shaken, 
 for this is an earthquake, and no one knows what will 
 happen next. Presently all is quiet once more, and the 
 visitors gradually resume their calm and return to their 
 304 
 
The Voice of Vesuvius 
 
 quarters. But, before they can once more settle down 
 into a contented frame of mind, immense quantities of 
 stimulants are disposed of." 
 
 You see, therefore, how important it is that we 
 should be forewarned of approaching seismic convul- 
 sions, and what a useful instrument the seismograph 
 must be. 
 
 " Dear, dear," exclaimed the Warrior, " that Professor 
 seems to be pretty fly. Louisa says there have been a 
 lot of modish weddings in Naples this week. Do you 
 think we ought to be hurrying down ? " 
 
 " We will have a look down the crater first," said 
 Jus. 
 
 All around us the ground was spread with primrose- 
 tinted snow. So it seemed, but in reahty it was fine 
 sulphur, which drifted and rippled, and in all ways be- 
 haved exactly like snow. Underneath was a soft powdery 
 dust or ash of a dark brown colour, into which our feet 
 sank up to the ankles. The slope of the mountain is the 
 natural mechanical angle of this substance ; so that 
 although the incline is steep, any one disposed to do so 
 can run from top to bottom without fear of a change of 
 slope. 
 
 I have marked the roll of distant cannon ; I have 
 listened to the rumbling of thunder overhead, and to the 
 moaning of the wind through the swaying pine-wood ; I 
 have heard the muffled drums in the Dead March at a 
 warrior's funeral ; but the solemn voice of Vesuvius sur- 
 passes all. The melodious roar of the crater, as you 
 bend over the brink, is like the thunder-pedal- note of a 
 mighty organ, or the angry wrestling of the winds pent 
 up in the cavern of ^olus — immense, mysterious. How 
 305 u 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 long we should have lingered there, spell-bound by that 
 Titan oracle, I cannot say, for the fitful breeze veered 
 about, and we had to hurry back to escape suffocation. 
 Small stones, varying in size from marbles to eggs, fall 
 from the sky and make little black holes in the yellow 
 sulphur carpet. If one of the smaller ones should 
 chance to fall on your head, you will regret having made 
 the ascent ; but if you should be struck by one of the 
 larger ones, you will experience no regret. In the words 
 of the poet : 
 
 " He smole a sickly sort of smile, and curled up on the floor, 
 And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more." 
 
 The descent was more rapid than the up-climb. After 
 debarking from the funicular, we ran down the winding 
 path through the rugged lava, and found our carriages in 
 readiness. The drivers urged on the horses at a brisk 
 canter, and we were pursued from top to bottom by a 
 crowd of handsome boys on horses, donkeys, and legs. 
 Those on foot took short cuts, tumbling down precipices, 
 and bobbing out of unexpected crevices, when we thought 
 them far behind. They were a joyous, boisterous gang, 
 in glorious health and spirits, and quite willing to dis- 
 encumber us of any superfluous small-change that might 
 be burdening our pockets or our consciences. 
 
 After dinner that evening we entertained on board the 
 Maria a troupe of seventeen Neapolitan dancers and 
 singers in their picturesque native costume. Or perhaps 
 I should say they entertained us. There is plenty of go 
 and spirit in the music of these Southerners ; they never 
 sing or play out of tune, and their movements are naturally 
 graceful, and at the same time dramatic. I could not 
 help contrasting them with the " waits " of dear, dreary 
 306 
 
The Voice of Vesuvius 
 
 Old England. And now the question arises, " Are the 
 English a musical nation ? " I have seen this question 
 propounded in so many newspapers and magazines, in 
 season and out of season, that I am heartily sick of it, 
 and ashamed even to state it. I will, however, undertake 
 to furnish the answer, and set the matter at rest once and 
 for ever, on one condition. Let me see a scratch com- 
 pany of English peasants or artisans sing, dance, and play 
 as well, or half as well, as the Italians, and I will consent 
 at once that we are a musical nation. Till then I say 
 nothing, while readily admitting that " the waits " have 
 many merits and even virtues — so long as they keep quiet 
 and don't make a noise. I have no doubt there is much 
 to be said for the howling dervishes— when they are fast 
 asleep or well out of hearing. 
 
 Next day we sailed across to Capri to see the wonderful 
 blue cave. It is a cave, but it is neither wonderful nor 
 blue. Still it is well calculated to amuse the frivolous ; 
 and therefore Jus raised no objection to the expedition. 
 
 " It will cheer the boys up," he said. " They cannot 
 always be studying archaeology and ethnography." 
 
 The yacht was stopped by the demons of the cave 
 about a mile from the entrance, in order that the visitors 
 might sample the nice little Caprian boats which ply in 
 these waters. They are great fun. The sea was rough — 
 that is for the small rowing boats, which playfully capsize 
 unless you are careful in getting in and out, and which 
 rapidly fill with water in any case. After a mauvais 
 quart d^heure, the cave is entered. Any one with a 
 stream or pond in his garden can make one with the like 
 wonderful properties. He has only to build himself a 
 grotto or shed on the margin, into which little or no light 
 307 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 is permitted to enter through the air. Let him whitewash 
 the walls of the grotto or dungeon, and allow the water 
 to flood the floor to the depth of some feet, and the thing 
 is done. The sunlight, bafiled in its efforts to get inside 
 in the usual way, will dive in under the water. The law 
 of refraction will operate in its ordinary prosaic and hum- 
 drum fashion : the lower rays of the spectrum will wait 
 outside, while the more flexible and frivolous blue and 
 violet rays will duck under the doorway and tint the 
 bathers within. Everything above the water will appear 
 black. The bottom edge of the door should dip into the 
 water only an inch or two. I have reason to believe that 
 the peep-show rather pleased the younger members of the 
 expedition. 
 
 308 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE ETERNAL CITY 
 
 On New Year's Day the Com. transferred the command 
 of the Maria to Jacko. We all bade farewell to the sea, 
 and proceeded, like Lars Porsena, on our way for Rome. 
 I do not remember how many gods we swore by, but 
 somehow or other our provision hamper got left behind 
 on the landing-stage. The Hon. Sec. said it was all the 
 Warrior's fault, but the Warrior declared it was entirely 
 due to the carelessness of the Hon. Sec. Seeing that 
 one of the two must be sinning, the rest of us were 
 naturally grieved and a little depressed. The steward of 
 the Maria is good at making up luncheon baskets. 
 
 We reached the Eternal City at precisely A f b, Roman 
 time. Let A stand for the hour, and b for the number 
 of minutes past the hour ; and the answer will give you 
 the right time. 
 
 Having worked out this easy "sum," you will see that 
 it was too late to explore anything more venerable than 
 the Grand Hotel, which, although not so ancient as 
 the Temple of Remus, is nevertheless the best and most 
 comfortable inn in the world. I use the word inn 
 advisedly ; for to my mind it savours of all that is good 
 in the resting-house of the wayfarer, while hotel recalls 
 309 
 
Down the Stream ot Civilization 
 
 everything that is odious. At the Grand nothing is odious. 
 In the days of our grandfathers and Charles Dickens, 
 inn-life was pleasant and picturesque. To-day hotel-life 
 is the type of the pessimist's world of shams, swindles, 
 and racket. 
 
 Next morning we were up with the woodpecker. In 
 our country the lark is the bird by which we time our 
 uprising; but in Rome it is the woodpecker. Had it 
 not been for the woodpecker, Rome would never have 
 existed. The wolf had suckled Romulus and Remus 
 and done her best for them, but she was a poor judge 
 of farinaceous food, and the weaned kinglets required 
 bread-and-butter. 
 
 Perceiving this, the woodpecker brought their meals 
 regularly until the old farmer found them and took them 
 home to his wife. As that lady already enjoyed the 
 privilege of providing for a dozen sons of her own, she 
 deserves great credit for accepting the care of the twins 
 from the wolf's lair. Their real mother was Rea Silvia, 
 or Naughty Silvia. She was one of the Vestal Virgins 
 and was flung with her twins into the Tiber, when, nothing 
 daunted, she married a merman and lived happily ever 
 after. The twins were washed up at the foot of the 
 Palatine Hill, where they were rescued by the good she- 
 wolf. The boys grew up so brave and beautiful that 
 when they accidentally^ appeared one day before the 
 father of Silvia, he naturally recognised them as his own 
 grandsons, and they went and built Rome. The old 
 man dwelt at Alba. Him they placed upon the throne 
 in the stead of his brother, whom they slew. 
 
 Then Romulus slew Remus and set up two thrones : 
 one for himself and the other for his brother's ghost ; 
 310 
 
The Eternal City 
 
 and that is the true origin of the kingdom of Rome. 
 Modern historians throw doubt on its accuracy. They 
 affect to disbeheve that Mars was the father of the twins. 
 They pretend that Naughty Silvia, not being supplied 
 with gills, could not have lived under water — ^just as 
 
 DAUGHTERS OF REA SILVIA 
 
 though there were not myriads of mermaids in the sea to 
 this day. 
 
 They declare that no wolf would regard a couple of 
 babies as other than a providential breakfast ; and I hey 
 even go so far as to hint that the farmer knew more 
 about them than he cared to disclose. I have no 
 patience with these carping wiseacres. 
 
 They have robbed us of King Arthur and his Round 
 311 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Table, of bold Robin Hood and his merry men, of William 
 Tell and the apple ; and unless something is done to put 
 a stop to them, they will some day make away with 
 Moses and the bulrushes. I like old Romulus : he is 
 the first Roman I ever heard of; and I used to think, 
 and still think, it was very nice of him to build a throne 
 for his brother's ghost. Slaying him was perhaps not so 
 brotherly ; but what are you to do when you are building 
 a wall (Romulus murum edificabat), and your brother 
 comes and jumps over it just to show what a potty little 
 wall it is ? Besides, we must not forget that Remus was 
 the best king the Romans ever had. Ghosts are. They 
 never do anything wrong. They leave their subjects free 
 to manage their own concerns without interminable State 
 interference. If I were the Russians, I would have a 
 ghost for the next Czar. Even the Nihilists would 
 respect him ; and even if they rebelled, what could they 
 do ? Dynamite is powerless against ghosts. And as for 
 our English Socialists, my own belief is they would all 
 skedaddle if they saw a ghost gliding after them. 
 
 One thinks of these things in the old Forum by moon- 
 light ; and in the shadowy Colosseum. The gigantic 
 pile, 1 60 feet high, with its eighty doors, or voffiitaria, as 
 the Romans inelegantly termed them, is an ellipse about 
 one stadium in length and somewhat less in width. It 
 was at one time rapidly disappearing owing to the greed 
 of a people who had no further use for it, except as a 
 stone-quarry, when a wise pope arrested its destruction 
 by dedicating what was and is left of it to the memory of 
 the Christian Martyrs who perished within its walls in 
 the days of l^iocletian. The worst of Rome — or the best 
 of it — is that you cannot turn a corner without 
 312 
 
The Eternal City 
 
 running up against some relic of bygone times. Here is 
 a temple of the days of the kings, when Mars and Minerva 
 ranked above Jupiter. Here is a monument to Victor 
 Emmanuel and his entry into Rome after centuries of 
 dismembered Italy. Here is the square where some 
 modern martyr was burned alive to satiate the implacable 
 hatred of those who could not endure his astronomy. 
 Here is the spot where Tiberius Gracchus was butchered 
 by the Senators in broad daylight ; and there, across the 
 river, the little temple where his brother Caius fell by the 
 hand of his obedient and faithful slave. As we wander 
 along the Sacred Way, we pass the Tarpeian Rock on 
 our left. 
 
 Tarpeia lived at the wrong time. The Sabines and 
 Romans of her day did not admire young women who 
 sell their country or their honour — or both— for golden 
 bracelets. " If," said she to the enemy outside the gates, 
 " you will promise me the ornaments you all wear on 
 your left arms, I will open the gates to you by night." 
 They agreed, and she opened the gates and demanded 
 her reward. They seem to have mistaken her meaning, 
 and flung to her, not their bracelets, but their shields, 
 under the weight of which she died. And a good 
 riddance ! 
 
 The Romans were rather rough as lovers, as we know 
 from the story of the thirty Sabine ladies, but they made 
 excellent husbands, or the brides would not have rushed 
 in at the peril of their lives between raging brothers and 
 furious husbands to save themselves from being rescued. 
 They no more wanted to be rescued than Emin Pasha 
 did when Mr. Stanley dragged him out of his com- 
 fortable African home by the hair of his head. Touching 
 3^3 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 marriage, I wonder what English wives would think if a 
 distinguished Cabinet Minister got up at a public meeting 
 and harangued the crowd in the words of Q. Metellus 
 Macedonicus thus : "If, Romans, we could do without 
 wives, we should avoid much trouble ; but since Nature 
 has so arranged that we can neither live happily with 
 them, nor live at all without them, we ought to consider 
 the lasting welfare of the State rather than our own brief 
 happiness." Tolerably matter-of fact this for a Roman 
 Censor at a solemn lustration over two thousand years 
 ago! 
 
 And now we are passing the spot where Virginias 
 stabbed his pretty little daughter to save her from the 
 evil eye of Appius Claudius. 
 
 " Then clasp me round the neck once more and give me 
 
 one more kiss ; 
 And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but 
 
 this. 
 With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the 
 
 side. 
 And in her blood she sank to earth and with one sob she 
 
 died." 
 
 But that one blow overthrew the Ten Tyrants. 
 
 I went to see the place where Horatius kept the bridge 
 in the brave days of old. It is wofully disappointing. I 
 almost wished I had notsgone. A narrow sluggish stream 
 gurgles along where once the swollen Tiber dashed. I 
 suppose the water has been drawn off to supply the 
 needs of a great city. Now to the sacred spot where 
 Ceesar fell. 
 
 " If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 You all do know this mantle. I remember 
 
The Eternal City 
 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, 
 That day he overcame the Nervii." 
 
 I vSuppose Mark Antony's speech has indeUbly coloured 
 this part of Roman history for EngHshmen. Was Brutus 
 right or wrong ? Patriot or assassin ? The great dramatist 
 has for the majority of us answered it for all time. 
 
 On Sunday we attended the service at St. Peter's. In 
 no other temple on the face of the earth have the arts so 
 powerfully combined to exalt the religious sentiment. 
 The magnificent architecture, the gorgeous frescoes, 
 marbles, paintings, and stained glass ; the solemn music, 
 the sensuous incense, the rich vestments of the sacer- 
 dotal hierarchy from pontiff to acolyte; the majesty of 
 the whole combination, together with the old and 
 splendid associations of the heart and throne of 
 Catholicism, are overwhelmingly impressive. Modern 
 philosophers and men of science, with all their logical 
 acuteness and profound reasoning, will never subjugate 
 the minds of the people until they learn to appeal not 
 only to the intellect but to the emotions and even to the 
 senses of their hearers. What chance has the dull cold 
 tongue of sober Truth against the eloquent influences of 
 
 " The high embowed roof 
 With antique pillars massy proof, 
 And storied windows richly dight, 
 Casting a dim religious light ; 
 There let the pealing organ blow, 
 To the full-voiced choir below. 
 In service high and anthems clear 
 As may with sweetness through mine ear 
 Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
 And bring all heaven before mine eyes." 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Who that has paused to listen to the prattle of the 
 clear-headed and honest sophist in Hyde Park with 
 greasy coat, tall hat, and outstretched, disputatious 
 arm, has ever felt his soul stirred within him, as when 
 wandering through thi^ sumptuous fane, his eye is held 
 captive by the godlike face of Jesus Christ raising 
 Lazarus — the masterpiece of Maratus, and, as I think, of 
 his age. The mind of man is complex. 
 
 The Vatican (as we briefly call it) is an oppressive 
 mixture of beauty and ughness, of wisdom and folly. 
 Many of the paintings have nothing but their moderate 
 antiquity to recommend them. Some of them are both 
 stupid and vulgar, while others are execrable drawings 
 redeemed by exquisite colouring. There is something 
 incongruous in the transformation of the palace of the 
 High Priest into a workshop for the rather common- 
 place manufacture of cheap mosaics. Still the craft is an 
 interesting one, the workers are skilful, and the trade is 
 lucrative. The Sistine Chapel is like '34 port. It doubtless 
 deserved all that was said about it by those who knew it 
 in its prime, and by those who sheepishly rave about it 
 now that it has lost its savour. Weather and economy 
 have together made havoc of the wonderful work of 
 Michael Angelo. 
 
 The orange-trees in the Pope's garden are all blood 
 oranges. His carriages, some of them the gifts of 
 emperors, are costly and gorgeous, but whether the 
 Galilean Carpenter would have found them to his taste 
 is another question. Autre temps^ autres mceurs. It is the 
 poor who declaim about the poor man's rights, and the 
 down- trodden who believe (honestly believe) in liberty. 
 But there is an old saying, " Set a beggar on horseback 
 316 
 
The Eternal City 
 
 and he will ride to the devil." Let but the masses climb 
 into power and all the old shibboleths about freedom are 
 cast to the winds. The tyranny of the One is a feather- 
 weight compared with the tyranny of the Many. In the 
 hour of prosperity how many of us profit by the lessons of 
 
 THE VATICAN GARDENS 
 
 adversity? If Tarquin chastised his people with rods, 
 the Republican leaders thrashed them with scorpions. 
 If Louis, the self-beloved, slew his tens, Robespierre, the 
 Man of the People, slew his thousands. Look to it, you 
 Britons, who will never be slaves : you can hardly chop 
 faggots now without a licence or plough a furrow without 
 a Government certificate. 
 
 The history of the rise and triumph of the Christian 
 317 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Church is the history of the decHne and fall of the 
 Roman Empire. Of the early days of the new sect 
 we know next to nothing, except that they adopted 
 the princi{)les of communism or socialism. No Christian 
 could call anything his own, " but they had all things in 
 common," as we read in. the Acts of the Apostles. How 
 far this communistic principle was carried- we gather 
 chiefly from their enemies, but also to some extent from 
 themselves. The learned Christian Tertullian describes 
 the love-feast (Agape) in language which must not be 
 repeated. St. Chrysostom says, "When that equality of 
 possessions ceased, as it did even in the Apostles' time, 
 the Agape, or love-feast, was substituted in the room of 
 it." We are told that " these love-feasts during the first 
 three centuries were held in the church without scandal 
 or offence, but in after times the heathen began to tax 
 them with impurity. This gave occasion to a reformation 
 of these Agapes : the kiss of charity, with which the 
 ceremony used to end, was no longer given between 
 different sexes, and it was expressly forbidden to have 
 any beds or couches. Notwithstanding these precautions, 
 the abuses committed in them became so notorious that 
 the holding them (in churches at least) was solemnly 
 condemned at the Council of Carthage in the year 397." 
 I decline to cite any but Christian evidence in support 
 of these charges. But I may be allowed to quote a 
 passage from the great historian Tacitus, and an edict of 
 the Emperor Hadrian. According to the latter, any 
 person falsely charging a fellow citizen with the crime 
 of Christianity was to suiTer the capital penalty. What 
 must the charge have amounted to? Says Tacitus, 
 describing the punishments inflicted on a few members 
 3'8 
 
The Eternal City 
 
 of the sect by Nero — it will be remembered that they 
 were not unreasonably suspected of setting fire to the 
 city, with fearful results— "Some were nailed on crosses; 
 others sewn up in the skins of wild beasts and exposed 
 to the fury of dogs; others, again, smeared over with 
 combustible materials, were used as torches to illuminate 
 the darkness of the night. The guilt of the Christians 
 deserved, indeed, the most exemplary punishment, but 
 the public abhorrence was changed into commiseration." 
 In those days the majority of the Christians were members 
 of the Jewish race, and branded with the mark of the 
 Jewish faith. Tacitus is universally admitted to be a 
 cultured and impartial contemporary historian, and he 
 describes how "for awhile this dire superstition was 
 checked ; but it again burst forth, and not only spread 
 itself over Judaea, the first seat of this mischievous secty 
 but was even introduced into Rome, the common asylum 
 of whatever is impure, whatever is atrocious. ^^ Suetonius 
 also refers to Christianity as "a new and maleficent 
 superstition." With such external and internal evidence 
 before him, the candid critic will hesitate before passing 
 a sweeping condemnation on rulers who were conspicu- 
 ously tolerant of all religious creeds and practices except 
 such as tended to undermine the morals and the social 
 life of the people. 
 
 Moreover, we are forbidden to do so by the Christian 
 victims themselves, who have expressed in the strongest 
 and most emphatic terms their own unqualified approval 
 of the " persecutions." " Had we been in Nero's place," 
 they have told us, " or armed with the powers of Decius, 
 we would have behaved as Nero and Decius behaved." 
 " Impossible ! " cries the reader. " When and where did 
 319 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 the Christian Church ever give utterance to such impious 
 folly?" We shall see. Actions, it is admitted, speak 
 louder than words. Well, the Church did climb into 
 Nero's place ; in his very garden stands the palace of the 
 Vatican. Let us gUde quickly down fifteen centuries 
 and look around. 
 
 It is now the 17th February i6oo. "A vast concourse 
 of people is assembled in the largest open space in 
 Rome, gathered together by the irresistible sympathy 
 which men always feel with whatever is terrible and 
 tragic in human existence. In the centre stands a huge 
 pile of faggots ; from its logs and branches rises a stake. 
 Crowding round the pile are eager and expectant faces, 
 men of various ages and of various character, but all for 
 one moment united in a common feeling of malignant 
 triumph. Religion is about to be avenged ; a heretic is 
 coming to expiate on this spot the crime of open 
 defiance to the Church — the crime of teaching that the 
 earth moves, and that there is an infinity of worlds. The 
 stake is erected for ' the maintenance and defence of the 
 Holy Church, and the rights and liberties of the same.' 
 Whom does the crowd await ? Giordano Bruno, the 
 poet, philosopher, and heretic, the teacher of Galileo's 
 heresy, the open antagonist of Aristotle. A hush comes 
 over the crowd. The procession solemnly advances, the 
 soldiers peremptorily clearing the way. His face is 
 placid, though pale. They offer him the crucifix; he 
 turns aside his head ; he refuses to kiss it. The heretic ! 
 They show him the image of Him Who died upon the 
 cross for the sake of the living truth ; he refuses the 
 symbol. A yell bursts from the multitude. They chain 
 him to the stake. He remains silent. Will he not pray 
 320 
 
The Eternal City 
 
 for mercy? Will he not recant? Now the last hour 
 has arrived, will he die in his obstinacy, when a little 
 hypocrisy would save him so much agony ? It is even 
 so. He is stubborn, unalterable. They light the faggots : 
 branches crackle ; the flame ascends ; the victim writhes 
 — and now we see no more. The smoke envelops him, 
 but not a prayer, not a plaint, not a single cry escapes 
 him. In a little while the wind has scattered the ashes 
 of Giordano Bruno." 
 
 It is but a short walk from the palace of the Vatican 
 in the old gardens of Nero, stained^ with the blood of the 
 first Christian martyrs, to the square where now stands 
 the statue of Bruno. As we gazed on his steadfast 
 countenance we could hear the groans of the human 
 torches which illumined Nero's chariot race, and the 
 malignant yell of Bruno's murderers, " Well done, thou 
 good and faithful Nero ! May we do likewise, standing 
 in your place ! " 
 
 "Where shall we go to-night?" asked the Com. on the 
 last day of our sojourn in Rome. The question was a 
 difficult one to answer. Rival attractions were manifold. 
 
 " The Colosseum by moonlight would be my choice," 
 said Clare. 
 
 "I think," said Jus, "I shall go to the service at 
 St. Peter's." 
 
 "Oh, let us all keep together," chimed in the Hon. 
 Sec. It was now the Warrior's turn to speak. He was 
 evidently bursting with zeal. He had a proposition to 
 make. Usually he allowed himself to be guided by 
 others in the selection of the subject of antiquarian or 
 other research. But this time he was evidently bene on 
 showing his power of initiative. 
 
 321 X 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 "I say, you fellows," he began, "have you ever seen 
 Fregoli ? I see from the hoardings that he is on at the 
 theatre. He's rippin' if you have not seen him. I saw 
 him in London, and I would not miss seeing him again 
 for a jorum of Monopole. I'll stand the box." 
 
 Unfortunately for Clare, the moon was too young to be 
 of much use, and the clouds were dripping wet. Jus's 
 plan did not fit in with the dinner-hour. Len's lens 
 went to bed at sunset, after which its owner was indiffe- 
 rent; and the Com., as usual, was compliant. So we 
 actually spent our last evening in the Eternal City at a 
 music hall, listening to the prattle of Fregoli, and watch- 
 ing him change his clothes with lightning rapidity. True, 
 Orlando stood the entertainment, as he promised. No- 
 body else could stand it. But somehow the price of it 
 got mixed up in the general account, as such things do. 
 However, it came to an end ; and the only question is 
 whether I am morally bound to record our lapse and 
 shame. I do so as a warning to Other philosophers to 
 be careful in what company they travel in search of 
 wisdom and beauty. 
 
 322 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 HOMEWARD 
 
 All the members of the expedition were now agreed 
 that if, after this, they did not know all about civiliza- 
 tion they never would; and it was therefore decided 
 to return by easy stages to the mother country for the 
 preparation of the Departmental Reports. At Pisa we 
 tarried one day in order to ascertain, if possible, why the 
 tower does not obey the law of gravitation — a law 
 imposed by the Tyrant Newton on falling bodies, such 
 as the moon and the House of Lords. We came to the 
 conclusion that the tower was the exception which 
 proves the rule, thereby vindicating the honour of Newton 
 against the attacks of engineers, scoffers, and other 
 architects. It was at Pisa that Galileo imposed a law 
 on falling bodies which, though not so drastic as that 
 of his English successor, was yet felt to be an invasion of 
 the liberties of the object, if not of the subject. His 
 modus operandi was to drop stones of various sizes on to 
 the heads of passers-by from the overhanging battlement 
 of the tower, and to watch the effects of the impact. I 
 myself, when a mere boy, independently devised this 
 experiment, for which I take some credit to myself; but 
 my position of vantage was the bough of an oak-tree 
 323 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 overhanging a deep lane in Yorkshire. The results 
 were eminently satisfactory, but I have since learnt, 
 on the authority of Charles Darwin and Sindbad the 
 Sailor, that the process was well known to our remote 
 ancestors. 
 
 Says Sindbad : " We came to a great forest of trees, 
 extremely straight and tall, and their trunks so smooth 
 that it was not possible for any man to climb up to the 
 branches that bore the fruit. All the trees were cocoa- 
 trees, and when we entered the forest, we saw a great 
 number of apes of several sizes that fled as soon as they 
 perceived us, and climbed up to the tops of the trees 
 with surprising swiftness. . . . The apes threw cocoa- 
 nuts at us so fast, and with such gestures, as sufficiently 
 testified their anger and resentment." * It appears, there- 
 fore, that neither Galileo nor myself can claim originality 
 in this process : but then it is said that some of the 
 greatest modern discoveries and inventions have been 
 anticipated by the ancients and afterwards forgotten. 
 According to the eminent theologian, Mr. W. B. Wood- 
 gate, gunpowder was employed by Joshua in the overthrow 
 of the walls of Jericho. Joshua is said to have borrowed 
 the material, together with the knowledge of its use, from 
 the Chinese. Printing, again, though vulgarly attributed 
 to Gutenberg, was a flourishing industry thousands of 
 years ago on the banks of the Euphrates and Tigris. 
 Among the ruins of Babylon have been discovered 
 numerous tablets printed — that is to say, manifolded 
 from a single block — all over with hieroglyphics. 
 
 After a busy day at Genoa we crossed the frontier at 
 Ventimiglia, where we all had to get out of the train to 
 * Scheherazade's Eighty-fourth night. 
 324 
 
Homeward 
 
 see to the examination of our luggage by the cunning 
 Frenchman whose business it is to take care that none 
 of his fellow countrymen import foreign wares without 
 paying his own Government for the privilege of paying 
 the foreign manufacturer. This looks like a subtle 
 
 GALILEO'S POST OF VAXTAGE 
 
 method of cheating oneself, but as the French seem to 
 like it, I have no right to complain. They also have an 
 amiable trick of giving us Englishmen a small present ot 
 money with every pound of sugar we buy from them. 
 This is distinctly kind, and entitles them to the thanks 
 of all classes in our country — except perhaps the sugar 
 merchants and West Indian planters. But these make 
 noise enough for the whole island. 
 325 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 Sometimes the douane authorities are in a hurry ; and 
 so it was on this occasion. One bag only was singled 
 out for inspection. It happened to belong to the 
 Warrior. Then one portmanteau was singled out. It 
 also happened to belong to the Warrior. We were happily 
 privileged to listen to, and profit by, the disquisition on 
 justice to which he treated all concerned. Being deli- 
 vered in English, it was, I fear, lost on the smiling gentle- 
 man chiefly responsible for it. Both packages proving 
 innocent, all our effects were promptly whisked into the 
 train for Mentone without more ado. Perhaps, by way 
 of pointing a moral, I ought to mention that one of the 
 unexplored trunks contained no less than fourteen pounds 
 of English tobacco ; and if I refrain from doing so, it is 
 simply because it is not true. Our boxes contained no 
 tobacco, nor any other dutiable article. Hence the 
 desired moral could be drawn from the facts only at the 
 expense of veracity. Whether morality is worth what it 
 costs formed the subject of one of those luminous debates 
 between the Warrior and the Hon. Secretary which want 
 of space alone compels me to suppress. Suffice it to say 
 that no unanimous conclusion was reached. Each dispu- 
 tant clung to the opinion with which he set out. 
 
 How different it is when Jus and the Com. dispute, or 
 rather reason together ! So strong are their respective 
 arguments that each converts the other. Consequently 
 they are constrained to begin it all over again, with the 
 final result that both are again convinced, and so end 
 where they started. Why cannot the baser sort profit by 
 this beautiful example ? 
 
 It is a pity that we stayed ten days at Mentone on our 
 return, for that fair retreat is in dangerous proximity to 
 326 
 
Homeward 
 
 Monte Carlo, the temptations of which exercised a bane- 
 ful effect on the Warrior's studies. The Hotel Cap 
 Martin is situated amid bewitching scenery. The soft 
 sensuousness of the sweet South pervades everything, 
 even its vegetation. The smooth, rounded limbs of the 
 
 RIENTONE FROM THE SEA 
 
 plane-trees and acacias, and the listless droop of the 
 palm-leaves contrast strikingly with the gnarled oaks and 
 rugged pines of the North. But a prolonged diet even 
 of nectar and ambrosia palls, and in the luscious orange- 
 groves one is apt to yearn for the robust waywardness of 
 the apple-trees of Old England's orchards. It is impos- 
 sible to exaggerate the blueness of the great midland sea. 
 Painters have been charged with the offence, but only by 
 327 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 those who do not know. Even the transcendent posters 
 of the starch-vendors must be acquitted, although, if it is 
 not actionable to say so, their blue is of the wrong tint. 
 The peasants of the Mediterranean lands are mostly 
 picturesque and always lazy. Some of them, I regret to 
 say, are also dirty — though not quite so dirty as the 
 corduroyed rulers of England. 
 
 Perhaps the Riviera, take it for all in all, has but one 
 fault, and that is the pardonable fault shared by toffy and 
 Tom Moore — it is too sweet. Sweet blossoms, sweet 
 wines, sweet faces — all is sweet in these lands of milk and 
 honey. But the reader is not concerned with our lotus- 
 eating days of lazy dreaming. Science is his aim in 
 perusing these didactic pages. It is enough to say that, 
 retracing our steps to Genoa, we went to Milan, and 
 thence, without a single halt, to London. 
 
 Thus ended in the year 2651 a.u.c. a scientific expe- 
 dition planned with the utmost sagacity, carried through 
 with conspicuous ability, and fraught with inestimable 
 benefit to unborn generations, more especially to all such 
 as may be endowed with the intelligence to demand, and 
 the means to buy, this Record of its Transactions. The 
 reports of my learned, gallant, and more or less honour- 
 able colleagues are in course of preparation, and will be 
 laid before the public in the fulness of time — that is to 
 say, as soon as the butterman's stock of wrappers is run 
 out. They comprise, as I have already forewarned my 
 readers, a rapid but exhaustive analysis of the world's art, 
 by the Hon. Sec, illustrated by Len's lens ; a novel and 
 compendious review of the world's laws, from the first 
 law of motion to the last by-law of the B.Y.C., by our 
 Legal Luminary; a bulky volume of statistics showing 
 328 
 
Homeward 
 
 the population of the world at the most important eras,* 
 and furnishing an answer to the question, " Is life worth 
 living ? " by the Com. ; a thrilling economic monograph 
 by the Rich Banker, explaining how money circulates, 
 has circulated, and ever will circulate, under varying 
 
 THE LAST COMMITTEE MEETING 
 
 conditions, and more particularly in periods of panic, 
 poker, and other commercial crises ; a synoptic view of 
 the evolution of sport, by the 'Varsity Man ; and, finally, 
 a complete military atlas, by the Wily Warrior, containing 
 
 * He is of opinion that the population of the world at the 
 Adamite era may be roughly estimated at One ; and that at the 
 present day it probably amounts to considerably more. Other 
 eras he regards as of no importance. — Ed. 
 
 329 
 
Down the Stream of Civilization 
 
 plans of all the great battlefields of civilization, from the 
 Trojan War to the fight between Peter Jackson and Jem J 
 
 Jeffries in the present year. With these will be given ^ 
 
 away without further charge a full-length portrait of 
 Jacko as he appeared when in command of the Maria 
 on New Year's Day 1898, and a symphony entitled 
 " Shooting the Cataract," specially composed for the 
 occasion by the crew of the Nitocris. 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. 
 London and Edinburgh 
 
WORKS BY THE SAME 
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 PRINCIPLES OF PLUTOLOGY 
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 MEASURES: PAST, PRESENT, 
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 LONDON: GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
^ 
 
 Speeimen Page of the 
 
 Stratford-on-Avon Shakespeare 
 Hamlet 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night and takes 
 his rouse, 
 Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring 
 
 reels ; 
 And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down. 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 (3 Ham. Ay, marry is 't ; 
 
 *^ But to my mind, though I am native here 
 ':S And to the manner born, it is a custom 
 *§ More honour'd in the breach than the observ- 
 ^ ance. 
 
 '** This heavy-headed revel east and west [blamed 
 '§ Makes us traduc'd and tax'd* of other nations : ^^ 
 i They clepe* us drunkards, and with swinish [call ^ 
 "^ phrase § 
 
 "^ Soil our addition*; and indeed it takes [title "^ 
 
 § From our achievements, though perform'd at "^ 
 ^ height, *v5 
 
 "^ The pith and marrow of our attribute. .« 
 
 g So, oft it chances in particular men, 
 ^ That for some vicious mole of nature in them, ^ 
 
 1:2 As, in their birth— wherein they are not guilty, § 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin— "^ 
 
 2 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,* 
 
 [natural disposition 
 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason. 
 Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners, that these men, 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect. 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,— 
 Their virtues else— be they as pure as grace. 
 As infinite as man may undergo* — [exijenenw 
 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 From that particular fault : the dram of eale*[» evfl 
 
 ti 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
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 OF Women — Moral, Poetical, and Historical. 
 
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 The 
 
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 in little books." — Leibnitz. 
 
 I. 
 THE STORY OF THE STARS. 
 
 By G. F. Chambers, F.R.A.S., Author of " Handbook 
 of Descriptive and Practical Astronomy," &c. With 
 24 Illustrations. 
 ' ' Mr Chambers writes in a vigorous and attractive style, and shows 
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 astronomy who wish to acquaint themselves merely with the outlines 
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 "Told in a pleasing and attractive manner." — Athenceum. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE STORY OF PRIMITIVE MAN. 
 
 By Edward Clodd, Author of " The Story of Crea- 
 tion," &c. With 88 Illustrations. 
 " It possesses the chief qualities that go to make a good book for 
 the average man." — Nature. 
 
 "Well printed, well bound, profusely illustrated, and in every 
 respect capital material, on one of the most progressive of sciences." 
 — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE PLANTS. 
 
 By Grant Allen. With 49 Illustrations. 
 
 ' ' A brightly written, clear and accurate summary of the functions 
 and habits of plants." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 "The whole book is excellent, but special praise is due to his 
 exposition of the relations existing between plants and insects. Many 
 chapters of the story he tells must prove to the uninitiated as exciting 
 as a romance." — Aberdeen Free Press. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE EARTH IN PAST AGES. 
 
 By H. G. Seeley, F.R.S., Professor of Geology, 
 
 Geography, and Mineralogy in King's College, London. 
 
 With 40 Illustrations. 
 
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 "Told plainly and pleasantly for a popular audience." — Bookman. 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
The 
 
 Library of Useful Stories. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM. 
 
 By G. F. Chambers, F.R.A.S. With 28 Illustrations. 
 
 " His descriptions possess the double quality of simplicity and at- 
 tractiveness," — Nature. 
 
 " He repudiates the idea that unless a man can command a big 
 telescope he is not in a position to do useful work in astronomy. . . . 
 The little volume is an admirable example of science made easy with- 
 out the sacrifice of strict accuracy of statement." — Speaker. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE STORY OF A PIECE OF COAL. 
 By E. A. Martin. With 38 Illustrations. 
 
 " Treated with wonderful skill, simplicity, and thoroughness." — 
 Bookseller. 
 
 ' ' Explains in simple and delightful fashion what coal is, whence 
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 how intimately it is connected with the interests of the botanist, the 
 geologist, the physicist, the chemist, and the merchant." — Bradford 
 Observer. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE STORY OF ELECTRICITY. 
 
 By J. MuNRO, Joint Author of " The Pocket-book of 
 
 Electrical Rules and Tables." With 100 Illustrations. 
 
 ' ' Just the kind of book to give the general reader more correct 
 
 views of the subject than many a pretentious tome." — The Electrical 
 
 Engineer. 
 
 ' ' For general interest we must pronounce the little book without 
 a peer, style and matter being alike excellent." — Glasgow Daily 
 Mail. 
 
 "A handy little book which has certainly the great merit of being 
 up to date. We anticipate a large demand for the book." — 
 Electricity. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE STORY OF EXTINCT CIVILIZATIONS 
 OF THE EAST. 
 By R. E. Anderson, M.A., contributor to Chambers' 
 Encyclopaedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, &c. With Maps. 
 ' ' The author has performed a much needed service in a masterly 
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 ' ' An admirable compendium of a department of knowledge which 
 has been greatly advanced by the research of recent years." — Aberdeen 
 Free Press. 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
The 
 
 Library of Useful Stories. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE CHEMICAL ELEMENTS. 
 
 By M. M. Pattison Muir, M.A., Fellow and Prae- 
 
 lector in Chemistry of Gonville and Caius College, 
 
 Cambridge. 
 
 "One of the most perfect popular introductions to science extant," 
 
 — British Medical Journal. 
 
 ' ' Prof. Muir tells an enthralling story of the wonderful transforma- 
 tions of matter under the chemist's magic wand. Ignoring formulae 
 he appeals in homely phrase to the imagination of the reader." — 
 /fi'nowlecl^e. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE STORY OF FOREST AND STREAM. 
 
 By James Rodway, F.L.S., Author of " In the Guiana 
 Forest," &c. With 27 Illustrations. 
 "Contains a short description of a tropical forest, together with 
 some elementary lessons which can be learned by studying the in- 
 cessant struggle for existence of its varied flora." — Academy. 
 
 "A noteworthy addition to the series in which it appears." — Scols- 
 man. 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE WEATHER. 
 
 By G. F. Chambers, F.R.A.S., of the Inner Temple, 
 
 Author of "Story of the Stars," &c. With 50 
 
 Illustrations. 
 
 "An interesting volume about weather, and especially English 
 
 weather, and presents facts, ideas, and suggestions which ordinary 
 
 people will be glad to know." — St James s Budget. 
 
 " Shows how the weather forecasts are drawn up at the Meteoro- 
 logical Office, explains the construction and use of the various 
 meteorological instruments, describes the nature and causes of such 
 phenomena as the aurora borealis, and gives a collection of weather 
 facts and signs." — Literary World. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE EARTH'S ATMOSPHERE. 
 By Douglas Archibald, M.A., Fellow and some- 
 time Vice-President of the Royal Meteorological 
 Society, London. With 44 Illustrations. 
 ' ' One of the best of the Story series that we have read . . . the 
 author is frequently able from his wide travels to illustrate his remarks 
 from his own personal experience in climates where meteorological 
 manifestations can be witnessed on a grander scale than in our own 
 country. " — Nature. 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
The 
 
 Library of Useful Stories. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE STORY OF GERM LIFE : Bacteria. 
 By H. W. Conn. With 34 Illustrations. 
 
 "Though a popular work, the Story of Germ Life, as told by Prof. 
 H. W. Conn, is so admirable for its lucidity, terseness, and the 
 author's grasp of the subject that it may be recommended to anyone 
 who is desirous of becoming acquainted with the general features of 
 bacterial life and the baneful and beneficial results of microbic growth 
 and development. The Story of Gerrn Life is told in six chapters 
 wherein, after dealing with their morphology, the uses of bacteria in 
 the arts and industries, their importance for dairying and agriculture, 
 and their relation to disease are described. Not the least interesting 
 and important part of the work is that which touches on immunity, 
 antitoxins, and preventative medicine." — Journal of Royal Microscopi- 
 cal Society, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE POTTER. 
 
 An account of the rise and progress of the principal 
 manufactures of Pottery and Porcelain. By C. F. 
 BiNNS. With 57 Illustrations. 
 
 " One of an admirable semi-scientific series, and describes the 
 development of one of the oldest and most picturesque industries in 
 the world." — Bradford Observer. 
 
 " Instructive and useful little book." — Western Mercury. 
 
 ' ' We can recommend the whole volume to all who care to know 
 something of one of the oldest and most universal of human arts." — 
 Guardian. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE STORY OF BRITISH COINAGE. 
 
 By G. B. Rawlings. With 108 Illustrations from 
 Coins in the British Museum. 
 
 ' ' An excellent little handbook of a subject which should have an 
 attraction for many Englishmen, even though they are not very ardent 
 students of numismatics in general." — Times. 
 
 "An admirable book, for which no praise could be too high. 
 It would make a capital comment on the history of England." — 
 Scotsman. 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS, 
 
The 
 
 Library of Useful Stories. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE STORY OF LIFE IN THE SEAS. 
 
 By Sydney J. Hickson, D.Sc, F.R.S., Professor of 
 Zoology in the Owen's College, Manchester. 42 Illustns. 
 
 ' ' Prof. Hickson is assuredly to be congratulated on the very able 
 manner in which he has acquitted himself of his task. In the course 
 of eight chapters, written in pleasant and unaffected style, he gives a 
 fairly complete sketch of the vertebrate and invertebrate fauna associ- 
 ated with different marine regions, the surface, the shallow water, and 
 the depths." — Saturday Review. 
 
 ' ' Such books as these lay the reader under a deep obligation to 
 writers of Dr Hickson's eminence in the scientific world." — Spectator. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE STORY OF PHOTOGRAPHY. 
 
 By A. T. Story. With Illustrations. 
 "An interesting popular sketch of a subject the more common 
 books about which are generally of a purely technical character, de- 
 signed to inform amateurs. Mr Story does not profess to give instruc- 
 tions in the art ; but his history of its progress, his description of the 
 various forms of apparatus and the various processes, and his state- 
 ments of the relation between photography and the finer arts cannot 
 but impart an intelligent interest in this versatile handmaiden of 
 science. " — Scotsman. 
 
 XVIII. 
 THE STORY OF RELIGIONS. 
 By E. D. Price, F.G.S. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE COTTON PLANT. 
 
 By F. Wilkinson, F.G.S., Director of the Textile and 
 Engineering School, Bolton. With 38 Illustrations. 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE STORY OF GEOGRAPHICAL DISCOVERY. 
 
 By Joseph Jacobs. With 24 Maps, etc. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE MIND. 
 
 By Professor J. M. Baldwin. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE BRITISH RACE. 
 By John Munro. With four Maps. 
 
 LONDON: GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED, PUBLISHERS. 
 
Conan Doyle's Stories. 
 
 THE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. 
 
 With 24 Illustrations by W. B. Wollen. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth, 6s. 
 
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 ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. 
 
 With 25 Illustrations by Sidney Paget. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "For those to whom the good, honest, breathless detective story is 
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 With 25 Illustrations by Sidney Paget. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 " Should become a favourite gift book." — Liverpool Mercury. 
 
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 An Earlier Adventure of Sherlock Holmes. Crown 
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 from beginning to end." — Glamorgan Gazette. 
 
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 By Herbert Greenhough Smith. 292 pp., crown 
 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 A series of graphic sketches of the leading incidents in the lives of 
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 printed on antique paper, and bound in old style with uncut edges. 
 
 ' ' Seldom has the old adage that truth is stranger than fiction been 
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 By Carlton Strange. Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "A novel and well-constructed plot." — Liverpool Courier, 
 
 WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE. 
 By Grant Allen. Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 HEARTS OF GOLD AND HEARTS OF STEEL. 
 By the late Henry Herman. Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 FOR GOD AND THE CZAR. 
 
 A Story ot Jewish Persecutions in Russia. By J. E. 
 MuDDOCK. Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 ONLY A WOMAN'S HEART. 
 
 The Story of a Woman's Love : A Woman's Sorrow. 
 By J. E. MUDDOCK. Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
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 North). Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
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 " Short stories, bright and dramatic." — To-day. 
 
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 THE LOST LINER. 
 
 By Robert Cromie. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR. 
 
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 Authors of " The Medicine Lady." With 24 Illustra- 
 tions by A. Pearse. Cloth extra, 6s. 
 
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 and many more besides." — Freeman' s Journal. 
 
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The Queen and her Reign. 
 
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THE ORACLE ENCYCLOPEDIA. 
 
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A New Series of 
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 MR MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 
 
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New Popular School Books. 
 
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 A New Series of Copy Books designed to produce clear, 
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 and Information. 
 
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 14. SMALL HAND.— Modern English History. The 
 
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 15. SMALL HAND. — The Colonies and foreign posses- 
 
 sions of Great Britain — acquisition and growth. 
 
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New Popular School Books. 
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 ^Tit-Bits Monster Table 
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 Book 
 
 80 pages, id. 
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 Gives a splendid selection of poems for recitation 
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 hands, etc. 
 
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FISH ■ 
 
 DOGS 
 
 HORSES 
 
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 SOCIETY 
 
 HUNTING 
 
 AND ALL SORTS OF 
 
 OUT-DOOR SPORT 
 
 ARE FEATURES OF 
 
 Country Life 
 
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 Illustrated Paper in 
 
 the World 
 
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14 DAY USE 
 
 RETUKN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
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 vTaZVi Ss are subjea to immediate recall. 
 
 LD2lA-50m-2,'71 
 (P2001sl0)476 — A-32 
 
 General Library . 
 University of California 
 Berkeley