Our inspection of the tombs occupied considerable time, and it was an interesting experience to feel the spell of their antiquity growing upon us. As the moments slipped by, we felt ourselves carried farther and farther back along the aisles of time and into the venerable realities of an august past. From talkative sightseers we were transformed into thoughtful ponderers upon these impressive memorials of history, and finally into silent and reverent worshippers at this shrine of three great religions. As we were about to leave, Dr. Hoskins suggested that I ask all of our party to devote five minutes to silent prayer. I did so, and there we stood, Moslems, Christians, and Jews—all of us conscious of the fact that we were in the presence of the tombs of our joint forefathers—that no matter in what details we differed, we traced our religion back to the same source, and the ten minutes to which this prayer extended were undoubtedly the most sacred that I have ever spent in my life.
Never have I experienced so solemn and exalted an emotion as that which filled my spirit, standing there in worship at those tombs four thousand years old, around which converged, and met, a sublime religious history, which had altered the life of one half the human race through forty centuries.
I have carried my narrative away from its chronological sequence in order to tell of our visit to the Caves of Machpelah as one related incident. Returning now to the earlier part of our journey, our brief stops at Smyrna and Athens were followed by a direct route to Alexandria, where we arrived on March 26th. Our Russian vessel ran up the American flag at the masthead in honour of our presence aboard, and at the dock we were further honoured by a reception committee consisting of Olney Arnold, the American consular agent at Cairo, Consul Garrels, Captain Macauley of the Scorpion, and Mahmoud Tahgri Bey, the acting Governor of Alexandria. The last-named was a fine young man of about twenty-eight years of age. He told me that for some time Alexandria had been without a governor, but that the Khedive in honour of my coming had appointed him to that office, especially to give me a proper reception, and that he had only assumed his office at eight o’clock that very morning. He presented Mrs. Morgenthau with a bouquet of flowers and my daughter Ruth with a box of marrons glacés, with the compliments of the Khedive. It was amusing to see what important stress he laid upon this—his first—official act. The Khedive had sent his own official private car for our journey. At the railroad station in Alexandria the Khedivial Entrance had been opened for us, and a cordon of soldiers were lined upon either side to secure us an uninterrupted passageway; the Khedive had neglected nothing, not even forgetting to provide a delicious luncheon, which was served us in his car, as we proceeded to Cairo.
We arrived in time to drive out and view the Pyramids before going to Arnold’s house for dinner. There Arnold acquainted me with a curious complication which arose out of my wish to meet Lord Kitchener. He explained to me the anomalous position which Kitchener occupied in Egypt. Though Great Britain absolutely controlled that country’s destinies, and though Kitchener, as the representative of Britain, was practically dictator, Egypt was nominally a part of the Turkish Empire, and the Khedive was the head of its government. Kitchener’s official title was British Agent and Consul-General, and as such, on ceremonial occasions, he ranked far below not merely the Khedive, but myself, as an Ambassador. When Arnold had told Kitchener of my coming, and that I wished to meet him, he expressed a cordial interest in the interview, but was somewhat puzzled how to meet the question of precedence. If he recognized me at Cairo as Ambassador from the United States, it might embarrass him in maintaining the attitude that Great Britain was taking in regard to Turkish rights in Egypt. If Kitchener invited me to meet him, the question of rank would come up. This question had arisen before, because even the other consuls-general who had arrived at Cairo earlier than Kitchener outranked him in diplomatic precedence. This problem, however, had been solved by an ingenious device. Whenever Kitchener was invited to a function where it was likely to arise, he was requested to act as host and thereby secured the place of honour.
I resolved Arnold’s perplexity and Kitchener’s by saying that I had no intention of standing on my rights, and would be glad to pay Kitchener an informal call, as I certainly did not wish to leave Cairo without seeing him. When Kitchener received this message, he promptly invited me to call at ten o’clock the following morning. He was evidently informed of my intention to call on the Khedive at eleven o’clock and wished me to call on him (Kitchener) first. This call was very brief. After the exchange of the customary formalities, Kitchener launched into numerous questions about Turkey. He wished to know more about the men who made up the Committee of Union and Progress. He was especially interested in the Grand Vizier, Prince Said Halim, to whom the Young Turk Government had promised the place of the Khedive of Egypt—a position which he was qualified to fill on its social side by virtue of his aristocratic lineage and superior education. Kitchener asked me to explain, if I could, how a man of Said Halim’s antecedents had come to be associated with “such uncouth cut-throats” as Talaat and Enver.
We had scarcely gotten into an intimate conversation when I realized that I must hurry back to my hotel where the Khedive’s carriage was to call for me shortly before eleven o’clock. Kitchener said that he wished to continue the conversation, and asked me if I would not bring Mrs. Morgenthau and my daughter to lunch with him two days later. I accepted the invitation.
At eleven o’clock the Khedive’s carriage arrived to take me to the Palace for my official call. Policemen were posted at every cross street along the entire route, so as to give us an uninterrupted right of way and to give us proper recognition. I was delighted with my conference with the Khedive. He proved to be a thoroughly up-to-date, modern enterprising business man without any frills or assumption of airs. He met me at the door of the reception room, led me to a sofa, sat down next to me, and while sipping the inevitable Turkish coffee, talked to me for about half an hour about some of his investments in Turkey, and told me of his intention to occupy his summer residence on the Bosphorus at Yenikeny where I also had taken summer quarters. He then said that he regretted exceedingly that, before he had learned of my impending visit, he had made an appointment which would require him to leave town that afternoon, and he asked, in consequence, if he might not return my visit that same day. I told him that he reminded me of a Japanese student who, after paying a two-hour afternoon call on a lady in Boston, and receiving from her when he left a polite invitation to call again, walked around the block three times, and paid her a second visit. The Khedive laughed heartily, and though I assured him that I would gladly waive the formality which required him to return my visit, he insisted that he wished to continue the conversation, and would call later in the day.
Consequently, that same afternoon, the Khedive returned my call at the Consular Agency, continuing the conversation as though there had been no interruption. He told me of the enormous cotton exports of Egypt valued at two hundred million dollars a year, and how his forefathers had developed the cotton industry in Egypt. As Kitchener had done, he asked numerous questions about the conditions in Turkey, and was very solicitous about the activities of the Government, and their relation to the diplomatic situation in Constantinople. It was a very curious experience to sit with one of the Oriental potentates on an absolutely equal footing, and to hear him talk about commercial and political affairs in perfectly good English, and in a business vernacular.
The day after I exchanged calls with the Khedive I had a very interesting visit from his brother, Ali Mehemmid, who called on me, and we talked for two hours. He proved to be a thoroughly chauvinistic Oriental, even assuring me that he had remained single because he wanted absolute freedom in his political moves. He had travelled a great deal, and his pride and patriotism were deeply wounded by the fact that Egypt had to submit to British protection. Under the pressure of my questions, he admitted that the Egyptians had greatly benefited by British rule, but he claimed that these benefits were more than counterbalanced by the evils which the European customs and schools had introduced into his country. He felt that the schools depraved the Egyptian children, and that the Egyptian women had been much happier before they read European novels and became slaves of the modes. He admitted that the Orientals were imitators, and would eventually have to find some way of “Orientalizing the Occidental Progress,” which I thought was a neat way of putting it. He disliked the Union and Progress Party in Turkey because its members lacked breeding, and experience in administration. He believed that the Arabs and Turks living in Turkey would not permit the Constitutional Turks to trade them away in order to save their five vilayets in and near Europe. I returned Prince Mehemmid’s visit the next day, and was greatly surprised to see that he was building an Egyptian palace. He had none but Egyptian workmen, and was having magnificent wood carvings done right on the premises. He showed me his stables, and told me he had purchased the best specimens of pure Arab breed, and was determined, for the sake of Egypt, to perpetuate the finest breed of Arabian horses.
During our several days in Cairo we had a number of interesting experiences, including various meetings with the Jews, which I shall describe in another chapter. After a visit to the oldest Coptic church, which was built fourteen hundred years ago on the site of a temple that stood on a spot where the Arabs first entered Cairo, we went to the famous Cairo University. Our guide was Arif Pasha, the representative of the Khedive, who had been a schoolmate of Mr. Schmavonian. He introduced us to the Sheikh-ul-Islam, who took us to see the pupils. This was a never-to-be-forgotten sight. Ten thousand pupils were seated on the floors of the institution, there being no chairs or benches. Squatting on the ground, which was covered with stones, all of them were intently listening to readings or explanations by priests and teachers, all of them obviously very poor, and all equally sincere and earnest. The scholars were from many lands and races—from India, all parts of Turkey and the provinces, Abyssinia, even negroes from Somaliland. I have never seen so many people apparently so insatiable for knowledge, and so tremendously absorbed in acquiring it amid such squalid conditions. They seemed perfectly content, and, yet, I was told, they live on next to nothing. Each receives at the beginning of the week a certain number of flexible pieces of bread, and they have to divide them up themselves so that they will last for the succeeding seven days. They sleep on miserable cots, four and five in one room.