Part 1 (1/2)

Cities of the Dawn.

by J. Ewing Ritchie.

PREFACE.

In this new publication, consisting chiefly of articles which appeared in the _Christian World_, the _Echo_, and the _East Anglian Daily Times_, the author makes no pretence to original information, or to have acted the part of an antiquarian explorer. He has simply gone over ground familiar to many, and to which all holiday-makers will turn in increasing numbers, partly for pleasure, and partly on account of the absorbing interest attaching to the route here briefly described. To such he offers his services as guide, philosopher and friend, trusting also that many who stay at home may be interested in the story here told.

With regard to the ill.u.s.trations, the author acknowledges the kindness of Dr. Lunn and Messrs. Ca.s.sell in allowing him the use of them, and especially is grateful to Miss Pollard, the daughter of the author of that valuable work, 'The Land of the Monuments,' for permission to use her sketch 'Dawn on the Great Sphinx,' which he has utilized for his frontispiece.

CLACTON-ON-SEA.

CHAPTER I.

A RUN ACROSS FRANCE.

To leave London one day and to arrive in Ma.r.s.eilles the next would have been deemed impossible-the dream of a madman-in the age in which I was born, when steams.h.i.+ps and railways were unknown. Yet it is a fact, to the truth of which I can testify. Half a century has elapsed since the fair fields, leafy woodlands, and breezy chalk downs of Kent were invaded by a band of navvies, who, under the skilful direction of the late Sir William Cubitt, built up the main line of the South-Eastern Railway. The next thing was to connect France and Europe, which was done by means of steamers running between Calais and Dover, and thence by rail to all the chief Continental cities and health resorts.

I leave London by the Continental express at eight in the morning one cold day in October; in eight hours I am in Paris, pa.s.sing Calais and Abbeville, both of which places, especially the former, are, I believe, pretty well known in these days of universal restlessness and travel. It is little we see of Paris, the gay and beautiful. We have to dine-for man must dine, if possible, once a day-and to Paris we turn for its cooks and cookery. It is there that the art of dining is carried to perfection. 'Unquiet meals make ill digestions.' There is no fear of that as I sit down to my well-prepared repast at the handsome buffet attached to the French Northern Railway, and yet there my troubles begin.

As a barbarous Englander, I ask why in Paris, the centre, as it deems itself, of civilization and refinement, I am compelled to help myself to salt by putting my knife into the saltcellar. Then, again, it seems curious to me, and what I am not accustomed to, to eat my fish without a fitting knife and fork. Surely one may expect to find in Paris the refinement one is accustomed to in one's native land! As to being cheated with one's eyes open, one does not complain-you expect it, and it is not worth while losing your temper merely for the sake of a few paltry centimes; and yet I felt that I had been done unfairly when, on asking a waiter for a cup of coffee _noir_, and giving him an English s.h.i.+lling, and particularly calling his attention to the value of the coin, he coolly treats it as a franc, and gives me change accordingly. That was rather a dear cup of coffee, I calculate; but, then, the fault was mine, and mine alone. I ought to have provided myself with French money before I started.

I am going on what Dr. Lunn calls an educational tour on the Continent.

It seems to me I shall get a good deal of education of some kind or other before I return to my native land again. There are about 112 on board from London and the provinces. As we are bound for Jerusalem, we have, as was to be expected, a large proportion of the clerical element.

Ladies are not so numerous as one would expect from what one knows of the curiosity and fondness for adventure of lovely woman. The worst part of the trip is the long, wearying ride from Paris to Ma.r.s.eilles, where we found peace and plenty on board the _Midnight Sun_. We saw but little of the country on leaving Paris; but when we reached Lyons, where we were refreshed with delicious coffee and bread-and-b.u.t.ter, and were provided with a handsome lunch, to be eaten in the course of our journey, consisting of a bottle of claret, beef and fowl, bread-and-b.u.t.ter, and cheese and fruit-a handsome meal, to which we all did justice-the day broke on us clear and fine.

But I pause to make another little grumble. In barbarous England the lunch would have been neatly packed away in a basket specially provided for the purpose, and a knife and fork would have been included. On the Lyons railway a brown paper bag was deemed all that was necessary, and instead of a knife and fork we had to use our fingers. As there was no convenience for was.h.i.+ng-at any rate, as regards second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers, _quorum pars fui_; I recommend the traveller to go first-cla.s.s on such a long ride-you can imagine our disgusting state. It seems to me that the rule that they do things better in France is one to which there are several exceptions. But in some respects France beats us. It will be hard to find anywhere in England a prettier ride than that we enjoyed from Lyons to Ma.r.s.eilles. The white houses, with their green blinds and red tiles, nestling in and among the trees, always make a French landscape bright and gay. Their great industrial and manufacturing centres also always [Picture: Two-berth cabin, 'Midnight Sun'] look cleaner and less forbidding in their dreariness than ours at home; and if the little narrow plots you see suggest peasant farming, rather than the high and costly farming patronized at home, you feel that the peasant of gay and sunny France-for such France undoubtedly is-has a happier lot than with us. But as you travel you have no time to think of such things. It is all one can do to watch the fairy panorama of rock and river, of waving woods and smiling plains, as you glide by. At all times the Loire is a grand river, but to-day it is flooded, and seems to be made up of lakes and seas, in which struggle haystacks, farmhouses, barns, the everlasting poplars, and, what is worse, the poor man's garden, and I think, in one or two cases that met my pitying eye, his vinefields as well.

One word before I have done with the _Midnight Sun_. 'In the new yachting,' writes Sir Morell Mackenzie, 'there is no unpleasantness as to the change of places to be visited, nor are carefully-arranged plans to be disarranged at the last moment by the thoughtlessness or unpunctuality of friends. You have the pleasure of companions.h.i.+p, without any of the responsibilities of a host or the obligations of a guest. You can enjoy the sea and the air charged with ozone, which is the champagne of the lungs, and free from any taint of animal or vegetable corruption, just as freely as if you were an Alexander Selkirk on a floating island; and you have many comforts which cannot be had even on the largest and best-appointed yachts.' Such were the results of the great physician's experience on board one of the fine excursion steamers of the Orient line. 'I felt,' he writes, 'like Faust after his great transformation scene from age to youth.'

I am not on an Orient steamer, but I am on the _Midnight Sun_, and to that Sir Morell Mackenzie's testimony is equally applicable. The _Midnight Sun_ is a grand steamer of 3,178 tons, and she was especially fitted out for yachting purposes. She may be said to be the best of the cla.s.s. For instance, take the sleeping cabins. They contain no upper sleeping berths-a boon most acceptable to pa.s.sengers who have had to pa.s.s many nights, as I have done, in cabins overcrowded with pa.s.sengers and luggage. An idea of the magnificent proportions of the _Midnight Sun_ may be gathered from the fact that seven times round her deck is equal to one mile. The upper deck forms a promenade over the entire length of the s.h.i.+p, with uninterrupted views on either side. She has been engaged by Dr. Lunn for his co-operative educational cruises, which become more popular every year. I note especially the smoking-room on the upper deck, capable of accommodating nearly 100 persons. There is a crew of 110 on board for the purpose of ensuring our safety and supplying our comforts and wants. Truly, if one cannot enjoy himself on such a trip, and with such a company of gentlemen and ladies as Dr. Lunn succeeds in drawing around him, he must be hard to please. Dr. Lunn, who is not on board, is in himself a host, and so is his popular brother, who supplies his place. We are now approaching Corsica. I will spare you my feelings as I gaze on the land that gave birth to a Napoleon Bonaparte, and that sheltered Seneca in his dreary exile, but which in modern times Lady Burdett Coutts finds to be a very beneficial health resort. They are all that should inspire the virtuous emotions of a true-born Englishman.

CHAPTER II.

OFF TO NAPLES.

I left off my last letter opposite Corsica. Since then-and this is the charm of coming to Naples in the _Midnight Sun_-we have pa.s.sed quite a cl.u.s.ter of isles more or less renowned in history-such as Caprera, the rocky home of the great Italian, Garibaldi-of which, alas! we see nothing. In old times Caprera derived its name from the wild goats, its original inhabitants. Later on it was colonized by monks. 'The whole island,' says a contemporary writer quoted by Gibbon, 'is filled, or, rather, defiled by men, who fly from the light. They call themselves monks, or solitaries, because they choose to live alone, without any witnesses of their actions. They fear the gifts of fortune from the apprehension of losing them, and, lest they should be miserable, they embrace a life of voluntary wretchedness.' Elba, however, is visible, which the wiseacres whom Providence, for mysterious reasons of its own, at one time permitted to rule over European affairs, fixed on as the residence of the Corsican adventurer, in the childish belief that he who had aimed almost at universal empire, and had in vain attempted to grapple with and overthrow the pride and power of England, would be content to remain on that puny isle, within a hop, step and jump of France, as it were, and almost within speaking distance of the legions whom he had led to glory. Then we sailed past Monte Cristo, the scene of Dumas' celebrated romance of that name. Mostly, at a distance, the isles look bare of life and vegetation, rocks rising out of the blue waves; and yet we know it to be otherwise. At best, however, they must be poor places to live in, far from the great battle of life, and out of touch with human progress. We pa.s.s Sardinia, but see little of it. This is Sunday, and to-day the Church clergy, who are numerous, seem to have had a good innings. Unfortunately, I came into collision with one of them.

As I entered the smoking-room after breakfast, I saw there had been held there an early Communion, and the implements utilized on such occasions were lying about. In a light and flippant tone I asked whether this was High Church or Low Church or Broad Church. A little oily parson, who was apparently guarding the vessels, angrily exclaimed, 'Sir, it is the _Church_!' 'Thank you,' I said; 'I only wanted to know. To me it is a matter of indifference.' 'That was very naughty of you,' said a mild, gentlemanly young man at my side. Let everyone wors.h.i.+p G.o.d, or what he takes to be G.o.d, as best he may. I scorn not the savage who bows down to idols of wood and stone. To him they represent a Divine presence and power. I claim a similar liberty for the High Churchman, who sees sacred emblems in vessels of human device to be bought in the shops, or wrought by devout females; but let him give me the same freedom, and not denounce me as little better than one of the wicked, as void of Christian faith, because I turn from man's devices to cry out of the aching heart to the living G.o.d, if haply I may find Him.

But I am digressing; for the fact is that I always see more of sacerdotalism afloat than I do on land. We are getting on pleasantly as regards social companions.h.i.+p. It was very cold in the train to Dover, and I felt inclined to take rather a gloomy view of the situation. It was worse on board the Dover and Calais packet, where the whole of the deck was set apart for first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers, while we unfortunate second-cla.s.s men were sent down below to see what we could out of the cabin windows. But once in the French second-cla.s.s carriages, really much nicer than our own, reserve was broken, the tongue began to wag, and all went merry as a marriage-bell. I was much pleased with my neighbour-a Yorks.h.i.+reman, I think, who had brought with him a bag of new farthings to be utilized for backsheesh. He offered me some, but I refused. At my time of life I should not like to be caught by a wild Arab of the desert to whom I had offered a new farthing for the familiar sovereign, the use of which is known from China to Peru. The pompous elderly first-cla.s.s pa.s.senger amuses me. He has got his English paper, and he carries it with him everywhere, in spite of the fact that its news is some days old. One of my fellow-pa.s.sengers had bought himself at Ma.r.s.eilles a small footstool to keep his feet dry-a needless precaution, as all the seats are built with a view to protect the pa.s.sengers from the damp of the decks, always rather moist after the early morning scrub and scour. The daily bath is in much request. The young Englishman must have his morning bath-a favourable sign, if it be true that cleanliness is next to G.o.dliness. We are rather a miscellaneous lot-there are Scotchmen, whose sweet Doric I fail to understand, and c.o.c.kneys, who ignore the letter _h_; but some of the ladies are charming, and that is saying a good deal.

Long before we reach Naples the awnings are put up and we rejoice in all the warmth of an English summer; and never did the far-famed bay look more beautiful, and the towns and castles and convents that line the cliffs in every direction for miles look more bright. The usual babel of sounds reigned in the bay as singers and divers and dealers in fruit and other articles of Neapolitan production were clamorous to sell them. The worst feature of the Neapolitan petty dealer is that he is too anxious to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. I know of many English who stay in Rome merely because the people deal fairer with the stranger within its gates. It is quite otherwise in Naples. The native pays fourpence for his two pounds of bread; the Englishman always has to pay fivepence. It is in vain you go to another baker. For a week he will charge you fourpence, and then he raises his price. One peculiarity of the Naples tradesman is that men of the same trade always stick together; and he does not spread out his business like the English shopkeeper of to-day. For instance, if he is a baker he does not deal in pastry, and the pastrycook does not interfere with him. But away from the trading cla.s.ses the poverty of the people is really awful. You see men very lightly dressed sleeping on the broad pavement at all hours; and yet they adore their King, and are now building him a grand new monument just in front of the Royal Palace. Naples still needs better drainage; and the subst.i.tution of current money in gold or silver for its copper coinage would be a great improvement. Personally, this time I had no reason to find fault with the people. I found an honest boatman who rowed me to the s.h.i.+p for half a franc.

The one redeeming point in Naples is the untiring efforts of the Protestant ministers of all denominations-Church, Baptist, Presbyterian, and Wesleyan, the latter especially active and doing a good work in the way of schools. I called in at the Sailors' Rest, an awful climb to get to, but a real rest when you get there. The present missionary is Mr.

Burrowes, and his wife, the latter a genuine Scotchwoman of the better sort. They deal in the inst.i.tution and on board s.h.i.+ps with other peoples, with other religions and political opinions, and the result is very satisfactory. The number of dest.i.tute persons who have been relieved is as large as ever. Seamen are relieved and weaned from drink.

Almost every evening there is something going on bright and cheerful at the Rest. The Sunday evening services have been found especially useful.

After the evening service of a Sunday a large number of men stop to sing their favourite hymns, and the number of interesting temperance and religious works circulated is very large. The English colporteur, Mr.

Copley, has given away 1,000 copies of the New Testament during the year, and he is aided by a band of foreign colporteurs quite as active as himself. It is work that ought to be more liberally supported by Christians at home. The good it does is great; its needs are pressing.