We were about mounting in acceptance of this reasonable statement, but took the precaution to look around before doing so. Our own beasts and drivers were a little distance away, and the story of the boy who announced their departure, proved to be of the most piscatorial character. The boatmen and donkey-drivers of Alexandria have a worse reputation than those of any other Egyptian city. On the shore of the Eastern harbor there are several cafés, so as to command the marine air and view. We sat a while in one of these on our return from the ship, and found the breeze very grateful and refreshing after our hot experience in Cairo and on the railway. From the covered balcony we could see Cleopatra’s needle on the right, among a lot of houses, while away to the seaward rose the lighthouse which occupies the site of the ancient “Pharos,” one of the earliest lighthouses known to mariners—the earliest in fact—and once known as one of the seven wonders of the world. Its name is perpetuated in the appellation of lighthouses in the French and other languages, (phare,) and its cost at the time of its erection by Ptolemy Philadelphus was something very great.
History says it was a square building, of white marble, several stories high, each story smaller than the one below it, and there was a road winding round it with so gentle a slope that chariots could be driven to the top. The fair, but imprudent Cleopatra, is said to have handled the ribbons over a pair of animals somewhat better than omnibus horses, and driven them to the summit of the Pharos, where she rested a few moments, and then drove them down again. What a pity she did not break her neck in the descent, so as to save some of us an unpleasant bit of scandal and that horrid story of the asp.
Much care and attention is bestowed upon the gardens, and one of them, belonging to a Greek resident, proved to be exceptionally handsome. It was adorned with statues, and marble pavements, and in one corner there was a charming little Kiosque where four chairs around a table suggested a pleasant breakfast or lunch for the master and his family or friends. There are many of these gardens in and around Alexandria, and they contain a bewildering array of African and other plants.
At the appointed hour we went on board the steamer, and to avoid trouble we made a contract with a fellow to transport our baggage from the hotel to the ship and ourselves with it. One condition of the contract was that our trunks were not to be opened at the Custom House; I don’t know how much “backsheesh” he paid to the officials, but he had it arranged beforehand so that nothing was disturbed. It is forbidden now to take antiquities out of Egypt, and anything of the sort found in the trunk of a departing stranger is liable to confiscation.
And behold us now on the deck of a Malta-bound steamer, prepared, when she lifts her anchor, to say good-bye to Egypt.
Farewell to the land of the purest sky, and the most lovely winter climate that the world can boast; to the temples and tombs that tell us of a people far back in the misty past—a people whose mechanical skill surpass that of all those who have followed them, and before whose monuments we stand with bowed and reverential heads; and to the shrines of Isis and Osiris to whose mystic worship the most powerful nation of its time was devoted, and for whom the most gigantic temples were erected.
And farewell to the Nile, that mysterious river whose sources are yet unknown, and on whose banks have been written through sixty centuries many important pages of the world’s history. Mighty and brilliant empires have there risen and fallen; great cities have flourished and disappeared. Persian and Greek and Roman have come and gone; Pagan and Jew and Christian and Moslem have built their temples, and have seen the glory and decline of their religions; on its sleepy waters floated the frail bark that held the infant Moses, and beside them rested the Holy family when it fled from Bethlehem that the Saviour child might escape the fury of Herod.
Farewell to the desert with its glowing sands, and to the rich valley whose fertility six thousand years of assiduous cultivation have not been able to exhaust; to waving palms and kneeling camels; to the city of the Caliphs, the Mamelukes, and the Khedive, where the bustle and activity of the Occident have not altogether changed the dignified mien or opened the eyes of the sleepy Oriental; where he sits to-day as he sat in the time of Haroun Al-Raschid, and waits in his little shop till Heaven chooses to send a purchaser for his wares.
To the land where Pharaoh ruled, and Cleopatra loved and died; where Past and Present stand face to face, and where the opposing waves of Eastern and Western civilizations are met we utter a hearty good-bye. When shall we see you again?