ATHENS, March 30, 1893.
[DEAR MOTHER:]
I am now in Athens, how I got here is immaterial.
Suffice it to say that never in all my life was I so ill as I
was in the two days crossing from Alexandria to Piraeus, which
I did with two other men in the same cabin more ill than I and
praying and swearing and groaning all the time. "It was
awful."
"I have crossed in many ships upon the seas
And some of them were good and some were not;
In German, P & O's and Genoese,
But the Khedive's was the worst one of the lot.
We never got a moment's peace in her
For everybody'd howl or pray or bellow;
She threw us on our heads or on our knees,
And turned us all an unbecoming yellow."
Athens is a small town but fine. It is chiefly yellow
houses with red roofs, and mountains around it, which
remind you of pictures you have seen when a youth. Also olive
trees and straight black pines and the Acropolis. There is
not much of it left as far as I can see from the city, but
what there is is enough to make you wish you had brushed up
your Greek history. I have now reached the place where Pan
has a cave, where the man voted against Aristides because he
was humanly tired of hearing him called the Just and where the
Minotaur ate young women.
What was in the Isle of Crete but the rock from which the
father of Theseus threw himself — is still here! Also the hill
upon which Paul stood and told the Athenians they were too
superstitious. You can imagine my feelings at finding all of
these things are true. After this I am going to the North
Pole to find Santa Claus and so renew my youth.
I regret to say that it is raining very hard and Athens
is not set for a rainstorm. It is also cold but as I have not
been warm since I crossed the North River with Chas. amid
cakes of ice that is of no consequence. When I come here
again I come in the summer. The good old rule that it is cold
in winter and warm in summer is a good enough rule to follow.
You have only to travel to find out how universally cold
winter is. The last night I was in Cairo, I got in a carriage
and drove out alone to the Pyramids. It was beautiful
moonlight. I got a donkey and rode up around them and then
walked over to the Sphinx. I had never understood or seen it
before. It was the creepiest and most impressive thing I ever
had happen to me, I do believe. There was no one except the
two donkey-boys and myself and the Sphinx. All about was the
desert and above it the purple sky and the white stars and the
great negro's head in front of you
with its paws stretched out, and the moonlight turning it into
shadows and white lines. I think I stood there so long that I
got sort of dizzy. It was just as if I had been the first man
to stumble across it, and I felt that I was way back thousands
of years and that the ghosts of Caesar and Napoleon and
Cleopatra and the rest were in the air. That was worth the
entire trip to me. This place promises to be most exciting,
the New York artists are all here, they are the most jauntily
dull people I ever met. Do you know what I mean? They are
very nice but so stupid. I don't let them bother me. Who was
the chap who wrote about the bottle of Malvoisie? because I
got a bottle of it for
breakfast and it is
no good.
It is
like sweet port. But on account of the poem and its being
vin du pays I got it.
Dear Mother, I wish you were here now and enjoying all
these beautiful things. I got you a present in Cairo that
will amuse you. Had I stayed on in Cairo I should have had
much and many marks of distinction from the English. Lady
Gower-Browne, who found out from them that I had called and
that they had done nothing except to be rude, raised a great
hue and cry and everything changed. What she said of me I
don't know but it made a most amusing difference. General
Walker galloped a half mile across the desert to give me his
own copy of the directions for the sham battle, and I was to
have met Cromer at dinner tete-a-tete, and General Kitchener
sent apologies by two other generals and all the subalterns
called on me in a body. That was the day before I left. I
don't know what Lady Gower-Browne said, but it made a change
which I am sorry I could not avail myself of as I want
politics as well as memories.
The next time I come I shall go to even fewer places and see
more people.
If the Harpers don't look out our interests will clash.
I look at it like this. I can always see the old historical
things and take my children up the Nile, but I want now to
make friends with the Mammon of unrighteousness and the men of
the hour. I may want to occupy an hour or two myself some day
and they can help me. If America starts in annexing islands
she will need people to tell her how it is generally done and
it is generally done, I find, by the English. I may give up
literature and start annexing things like Alexander and Caesar
and Napoleon. They say there will be another crisis in Cairo
in a month or so. If that be true I am all right and solid
with both parties. But it has got to be worth while of course
or I won't go back. There is a king living in a fine palace
across the square from my window, one of his officers is now
changing the guard in the rain. I hope to call on the king
because I like his guard. They wear petticoats and toes
turned up in front. Don't you mind what I say about liking
politics and don't think I am not enjoying the show things. I
have a capacity for both that is so far unsatisfied, and I am
now going out in the rain to try and find the post-office.
Lots of love.
DICK.
I am well and have been well (except sea sick) since
February 4th.
P. S. — A funeral is just passing the window with the
corpse exposed to view as is the quaint custom here, to add to
its horror they rouge the face of the corpse and everybody
kisses it. In the Greek church
they burn candles for people and the number of candles I have
burnt for you would light St. Paul's, and you ought to be good
with so much war being expended all over Athens for you. You
buy candles instead of tipping the verger or putting it in the
poor box, or because you are superstitious and think it will
do some good, as I do.
