Months Of Travel

( Originally Published 1921 )

IN the early autumn Of 1898 my mother was to join my father in Porto Rico, where he was military commander. She did not want to take me with her for fear of the climate and the roughness of a newly conquered country. Uncle Palmer had passed a bad summer at Newport, and was being sent abroad by his doctors to spend the time of cold weather on the Nile. My aunt was taking her two boys along for a year's travel be-fore they settled down to business. They had just graduated from college. The Palmer family proposed to take me abroad with them, and I was perfectly enchanted when my mother accepted for me. There was a great scrambling to prepare, for this decision was reached suddenly. It seemed an ideal arrangement to me, and a unique opportunity of seeing places and things as yet unknown.

London we were only to pass through; in Paris we were to stop for some time, and I had heard much of that gay capital, but had never been there. Then we were to go through Italy, land in Egypt, and after our Nile trip we expected to return slowly through the Holy Land to Constantinople, and from there through Greece. I had not dreamed of going to any of these places, and such an opportunity coming after four years of very gay society life satisfied a desire for something more serious. It was a party, too, after my own heart, because, except for my uncle's fragile condition, there was no probability of sadness. We were five congenial souls starting out on what seemed the perfection of a holiday.

And, indeed, through the early part of our travels all went well. Though the voyage across the ocean was stormy, London seemed comfortable and agreeable, to me; much more so viewed from the ancient, smart, small hotel we stayed in, than it had seemed ten years previously from the big caravansary we then inhabited. We did a little shopping, mostly for the men, and moved on to Paris, where we scarcely stopped, so anxious were we to reach the southern sunlight, which was to help my uncle. In Rome we lingered longer, and already felt the warmth and light were helping him. Roses were tumbling over the walls of palaces and ruins. Our invalid liked Rome so much that my aunt and I stayed there with him, till the day before our steamer sailed from Naples, while my two cousins went on ahead to see the latter city and make some excursions.

During the two weeks in the Italian capital we were very quiet, driving about the environs, resting, or reading books we felt would prepare our minds for the great deserts and the Nile's strange beauty. We saw no one save two old friends—Doctor Nevin, pastor of the American Church, and Father Farelly, of the American Catholic College. Both were men my parents knew, and most interesting individuals. Both had known me since my childhood. They came, and came again, to sit with my uncle, my aunt, and me, and the invalid greatly enjoyed these broad-minded, unprejudiced men who were of the world as well as of religion, with brain, soul, and body well balanced. They were playing fine rôles and working hard among their flocks.

Nevin had been a young soldier under my grandfather in the Civil War, and had later joined the church, because, he said, if he had not done so he might have gone to the dogs, he had so many faults. He was a militant churchman, and had much good in deed and word to his credit. His cultivation and fine nature made him friends and admirers among the rich and powerful, whom he exploited without scruple for those humbler and poorer. To these he gave also most of his own salary. He made his church and its services beautiful, and his own home, in a modest but quaint old house near by, was as attractive as was the man himself.

Scrupulously clean, with whitewashed walls and rough stone stairs, the entrance-hall of the simple rectory was quite empty. One climbed to rooms unlike any others I have ever seen, for there was no single note of decoration in them; high, bare, whitewashed walls, a big fireplace, where burned a log; a huge desk in a sunny corner; two or three tables of old Italian workmanship of good period, and several stiff wooden chairs. On the tables lay bits of Renaissance brocade, adding dull notes of color; and a few books, some old, some modern, were scattered about. The rooms were lighted deliciously, with ancient Roman lamps burning oil, and the whole atmosphere seemed classic and austere. There was one note of comfort only—on each side of the fire was a leather chair, low, deep, and inviting, with between them the splendid fur of some forest king which Nevin's gun had killed. Many a multimillionaire spent an hour in one of those armchairs, talking of what good he might do to his fellows, guided by his host's wise advice, and many a sad man or woman unburdened there a weighted soul or conscience, and went away comforted.

Doctor Nevin was wise in his generation. He knew well when to aid or support, and when to reproach his visitors. He was also a delightful friend with whom to tarry an hour in the restful surroundings created out of so little. Beyond, there was a dining-room where six could eat and where the meal prepared and served by his single old servant was as short, simple, and excellent as all the rest. Another and larger room of the rectory he called his museum. It was full of a wonderful collection of heads and skins, for Nevin was one of the five or six best shots in the world, and had explored the Americas, Asia, Africa, and Europe in his occasional vacations, bringing back trophies which thrilled the huntsmen of his acquaintance, and even many who were unknown to him. He was an admirable horseman, too, and knew his Rome better than did most, having lived there thirty years. Nevin loved both its art and history, as well as its humanity, with all his heart.

Monseigneur Farelly had the charm and brilliancy of Celtic blood, plus American training and long discipline controlling it. He was tall, strong, very handsome, with distinction both of manner and expression, and he also loved Rome, where he had been many years. When I went there a child with my parents he had escorted us through the Vatican museum, and his enthusiastic words had made us forget time and space. With age he had but mellowed, and his sunny Christianity, sense of humor, and kindly understanding won all who met him. He went little into society, as he was a hard worker and a specialist at education, but his influence at the Vatican was great, his judgment very sure, and the friends he cultivated in relaxation appreciated his presence among them as an honor. His rapid career was no surprise to us. Once or twice he or Nevin dined with us in the restaurant of the Grand Hotel.

Nearly all Rome's smart people frequented this place, among the earliest of its kind to open in Europe. There were many beautiful women and famous men sitting about on one occasion I remember, and the soft lights and pretty music added their attractions to the scene. Nevin knew every one worth knowing, and as he bowed he would tell me who they were.

The Duchess Graziolli, famous for her successes and elegance, who was in her prime, was the star of a party; Lady Randolph Churchill, still lovely in spite of her fifty or more years, with a long career yet to run, was the centre of another group, and there were many others famous for their looks. In one corner a large table was surrounded by young men, the jeunesse dorée of the diplomatic corps, said my guide. It seems they "messed" here, and regularly had the same table, where they came to look over those present. They appeared a well-groomed set of men, seemed to talk gaily, and they came and went informally, laughing, jesting, nodding, known at many a table, where pretty faces lighted as salutations were exchanged. It was an agreeable impression of modern Rome we gazed at, grafted on the wonders of its ruins and history, which for the moment pink silk curtains shut out into a December night. I was very much pleased when my aunt said: "Mr. Palmer and I like Rome so much and he is feeling so much better, that we are almost sorry to be leaving. Perhaps when the trip is over, on our way northward, we may stop here again."

"Do that, and I will show you all the sights and be your cicerone. As for you, young lady, I'm your father's —even your grandfather's-old friend; so I'm going to claim the privilege of my gray hair and take you riding with me all over the Campagna. Who doesn't know it from a horse's back, at the hours of slanting shadows and purple skies, hasn't at all been initiated here."

This from Nevin, and I was glad to think of the pleasures in store in such delightful company. The old sportsman was an escort worth having and something of an autocrat whom women usually tried to please.

"If you think me too old a beau, you may invite any one over at that table of smart youngsters to go, too. I'm as good a chaperon as I am a guide; you'll see."

We went away a few days later, and in the back of my head was a vague question, whether Rome was not too agreeable and beautiful to be leaving for still more ancient places.

The Mediterranean was blue but rough, and we were glad to wake one morning to the clamor of an unknown tongue, the splashing of oars, and the bumping of small boats. Our cabins were steady again. We dressed and packed in haste and were soon ready to land. It is quite useless to describe Oriental light and atmosphere to those who have not seen it, while such as have, know without description its intense, luminous qualities. I loved it from the moment I emerged on the deck of our small ship, and my enthusiasm grew steadily through days of turquoise skies and tawny deserts. Aside from the scenery, with the strange, mysterious figures moving on its back-ground, carrying a weight of traditions thousands of years old—aside from our delicious, lazy luxury of life, I loved the East, as I saw it there in Egypt, just for the splendor of its opalescent sunset each day, and the marvels of its sapphire nights. One waited with impatience for the renewal of the pageant of light and color, and each time one's powers of enjoyment were greatly taxed. One felt strained with sensations. No wonder people born in such surroundings worshipped the sun-god and the Nile !

In Cairo we did much that was amusing. The restaurant and terrace at Shepherd's were as picturesque as any " revue's " stage, with their mass of inharmonious humanity running over the latter's edge into the streets. There were smart women come to winter there, painted and bedecked with jewels and fine clothes, in latest Paris style; smart English officers in every sort of uniform, from those returning worn and shabby from the Upper Nile, bound on a short vacation, to those just come from London ready for their work; Turkish officials, and Egyptians in uniform or in frock coats with turban or red fez; natives in national silks; Bedouins, camels, peasants, donkeys, French nurses, babies, negroes; veiled women, dignified and silent, with lovely eyes; push-carts and European shops; blue beads and false antiques; old rugs, fine arms, and poor imitations; cool drinks, warm tea; Vienna waltzes, Sousa two-steps, both played by orchestras of crashing military brass; shrill voices squabbling; small gray animals of burden braying; finally, now and then, if an interval occurred in the din, one heard the soft chant of a muezzin from some towering minaret, calling to prayer the prophet's faithful people. All these impressions, crowded on one's senses, made one dizzy.

Sometimes we had a clear view of a group or a single figure. Thrice we had rather rare experiences. I went one day by chance into a mosque, where the proportions were superb and the soft gray of carved and perforated stone stood cool against the burning noonday sky. Here and there, at some point of vantage architecturally, a mosaic in gilt or in bright color reflected the soft light which penetrated there. Standing about were a number of noble figures, tall and solemn, in long, straight draperies or smoothly moving in genuflections; then with their foreheads on the floor they were prostrate in prayer or deep in meditation.

My cousin had two letters of introduction, one to a native newspaper man, the other to an Egyptian sheik, and both these men were very kind to us. After calls had been exchanged, they invited us, the one to dinner and the other to his daughter's wedding reception. Both these feasts were exceedingly interesting, and to our European eyes had their amusing side. The dinner was the most difficult social experience I ever had, for my aunt and I were included in the invitation, and accepted, though we were told, of course, the ladies of the host's harem could not appear, since gentlemen would be present. When we arrived at the party we were first ushered into a room indescribably hideous. Harsh blue damask was stretched on the walls, and two long mirrors framed in rich, shiny, ugly gold frames hung opposite each other. Coarse, stiff lace with damask curtains over it hung straight down at the windows, and a heavy French clock, of the worst workmanship and period, stood beneath a glass globe cover, before one of the mirrors on an other-wise empty shelf. Round the room was a row of bent Vienna wood, cane-seated chairs, and at one end stood a table of the same workmanship, with a thin white marble top; such a table as one sees on the sidewalk in front of a café. It was about three-quarters of a yard in diameter and was uncovered. It seemed an accident among the other furnishings. We had been there. a few moments, and had thrown off our wraps, when my cousins came in from the outside hallway, and with them our host and several other men—seven or eight in all. We women had worn high gowns, as we did not want to offend Oriental ideals and habits more than we could help. For a few minutes we conversed through an interpreter with the master of the house, and discovered that the other guests were his brother, his son, his secretary, his son-in-law, and so on. It seemed a clannish party. We spoke of Egypt's beauty, of the building up of the country, and, except that they all flashed a little when the Turkish officials and English administration were mentioned, the whole conversation seemed dull and rather flat; but they were pleased with our enthusiasm over the beauty and picturesque qualities of Cairo.

Soon servants brought in trays of things. The little table had a circle of chairs put round it, enough for nine or ten of us, and we sat down elbow to elbow, about a yard off from the table, which became an island in our midst. My aunt and I were placed side by side. The interpreter sat next her, and then the host, and on my left was one of the relations, who spoke a little feeble French. Soup came in cups, and though to us it had no taste, we drank it; then there was a dish of something like fish which—put on the table, where a pile of plates and a handful of forks were laid as well—had to be eaten. I think I remember some potatoes in another dish, also a quantity of bread—a mountain of slices. My aunt was invited to help herself, then I, and we did, with a fork and plate of our own choosing. We took the plates on our laps and ate. There were no napkins, so we used our handkerchiefs. I remember cool water was brought in thick, cloudy goblets, which stood in a row on the table's edge.

We had soon finished, and so had the Egyptians. They ate in silence, with evident fear of the forks and great expenditure of effort. They watched us, and I decided it was the first time they had tried such instruments, which, with the table and chairs, must have been introduced for our special benefit. When a lamb, almost whole, boiled with rice and covered with watery sauce, was brought in on a great platter, they gave up and frankly used their fingers, helped by bread. This dish had a sweetish, sickening flavor, and seemed loathsome to my Western palate, but to the Egyptians it was obviously excellent, and we pretended to enthusiasm and ate a little just to seem reasonably polite. A sweet dish followed. I had a fleeting idea that it must have been prepared in the same pan as had been the meat, but a little of this also had to be forced down our throats—and then came on fragrant Turkish coffee, served in little cups. That, at least, was perfect. Conversation languished. The natives probably suffered as we did in attempting foreign fashions they disliked. We were all glad the feast was ended, and after a number of compliments had been exchanged we took our departure. For twenty-four hours we felt quite miserable, and even now a certain sickly smell of cooked lamb and sometimes the taste of it turns me pale, while I fancy those natives swore never to touch forks nor perch on chairs again.

The other entertainment I saw was much more picturesque and interesting. My aunt and I, with the two cousins, drove through narrow streets in the old, part of the city one evening, and stopped our landau at the en-trance of a large, important-looking building. 'There we descended, and on foot went into a courtyard, where every sign of a great function was visible. There were rugs and silks spread on the walls and ground or making canopies, stretched on poles and columns. There were cushions and small, low tables; some higher tables, too, with Western chairs. There were men in Oriental uniforms and flowing robes, others in the official frock coat with red fez. Native musicians were playing vague, wailing music. Attendants moved about, serving food. The scene was rich and beautiful, a nice background for some of the handsome, swarthy faces. The weird lighting of lanterns and torches heightened all effects as they flared or lowered again. It looked to me as if confusion reigned, probably only because my Western eyes were used to a different style of entertainment.

Some one who seemed to be a master of ceremonies greeted us, and then, turning our escorts over to his aids, he showed my aunt and me to a staircase, where he mounted a short flight. We followed. A door opened ahead, and we saw we were in the harem of the sheik. We were at once introduced to his oldest and first wife. She was an old wife of the Khedive's brother, we after-ward heard, whom the latter had passed on to his friend as a special mark of favor ! A small white-haired woman with gray eyes and a face still young, good features and a clever expression, she evidently held all present in respect, as she bustled about giving orders which were promptly obeyed. Through an interpreter she told us the marriage ceremony was over, and now was the entertainment, but soon the bridegroom would come and fetch his bride, to take her home. He had never seen his wife yet. Refreshments were given us and the old lady asked us to be seated.

The room was large and as garish as possible. It was in blue, of French taste, in a bad epoch, overcrowded with miscellaneous furniture, ornaments, and junk. Such rooms seemed the height of fashion in Cairo. Cushions were strewn all over the floor, hundreds of them, and on these lounged a lot of women, old or young, but all heavy and dark. Most of them had big brown eyes and pretty hands; otherwise they were ugly, and their looks were not improved by their wearing Paris-fashioned frocks without stays. It made them seem bunchy and ungraceful. They talked among themselves, smoked cigarettes, ate sweets, and they looked at the bride and evidently chattered about her. The latter sat apart, a gentle-faced young creature, as lumpy as the others.

Some finely mounted old jewels sparkled on her fancy, absurd frock.

The room seemed in great disorder, and the things standing about included a sewing-machine, a music-box, a piano, gilt clocks and candelabra, boxes of candy, dishes, and so on. There were some soft, comfortable chairs and sofas, covered with damask. The curtains were drawn and the atmosphere was stuffy.

We divided general attention with the bride. For a time especially our clothes, were of interest, but the old lady was the only one who talked to us. She was frequently interrupted. It was not very satisfactory conversation, and we never got beyond the first polite nothings.

Soon there was a stir. A great noise on the staircase announced the groom. He was ushered in by eunuchs, and came forward, led by our hostess toward the young bride. All the other women jumped up and surrounded them. It was impossible to follow further movements amid their din of laughing, crying, talking, and excitement. My aunt whispered to me she thought we ought to leave them to their family party, so we worked our way to the door, and found our own companions below, wondering how they could signal us and quite ready to return to the hotel. I got a curious feeling as to the dull sloth and emptiness of these Orientals' lives, and I was glad when we left the hectic capital and started up the Nile on our pretty steam yacht Nitocris.

We had visited the pyramids by moonlight and made various other charming excursions, but Cairo and Alexandria did not hold my enthusiasm after the first days. The rest of the trip was a wonderful experience, of pretty villages and bazaars, of imposing ruins, and especially of the dignified, graceful natives, walking with swinging, heavy draperies, carrying jars or baskets on their heads. Donkeys and donkey-boys, who were like imps of bronze, accompanied us. Their tales were always false but most amusing, and we loved the excursions we made each second day. On the day between we moved up the broad river, with its long-drawn-out panorama of beautiful shapes and colors either side of us. The land's picturesque value and the lovely lines of sails about us were a real joy. Our crew was enough to inspire an artist, and there was material for many a picture in their poses as they ate their food, or bent and rose to say their prayers out on the decks. We were a congenial party, all of us delighted by our trip save my poor uncle, who was growing steadily worse instead of better, and whose condition gave us much anxiety.

Finally, on our return to Cairo, after the classic tour to the First Cataract and back, we sadly gave up the rest of our contemplated journey, and took the first steamer for Brindisi. We hurried to Rome, where my uncle remembered being comfortable, and where he liked the doctors. We reached there just in time, for on our arrival the invalid took to his bed, and various medical lights were called in to his aid. They said there was no danger, that he would be better soon, but he was too fragile to go farther north for some little time, and he must be kept quiet. My aunt devoted nearly all her time to him, only occasionally making herself free to go out with us of an evening. In Rome I could not run about only with my cousins, as at home. I was left, however, with much time on my hands during the day, and as I had been too young to remember much of my sightseeing with my parents, I decided to take this up quite seriously again. We would have a month in the Eternal City, at least, and I meant to enjoy it.