Title: The Martyrdom of Man
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Author: Winwood Reade
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The Martyrdom of Man
Winwood Reade
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Table of Contents
The Martyrdom of Man.....................................................................................................................................1
Winwood Reade .......................................................................................................................................1
NOTE .......................................................................................................................................................1
AUTHOR’S PREFACE ...........................................................................................................................1
CHAPTER 1. WAR .................................................................................................................................3
CHAPTER 2. Religion..........................................................................................................................62
CHAPTER III. LIBERTY...................................................................................................................111
CHAPTER IV. INTELLECT ...............................................................................................................145
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The Martyrdom of Man
Winwood Reade
NOTE
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
CHAPTER 1. WAR
CHAPTER 2. Religion
CHAPTER III. LIBERTY
CHAPTER IV. INTELLECT
NOTE
Reade’s full name was William Winwood Reade: on the Martrydom, and on his last book, The Outcast, it
stands as Winwood Reade, his literary choice. A nephew of Charles Reade, he was born at Murrayfield, near
Crieff, on 26 December, 1838, and died at Wimbledon, on 24th April, 1875. (These are the dates of Mr.
Legge, who seems, however, not to have finally correlated them.) He published in 1859 Charlotte and Myra;
in 1860 Liberty Hall Oxon (his college was Magdalen, then known as Hertford); in 1860 The Veil of Isis, an
attack on Catholicism. His first visit to Africa was in 1862. In 1865 he published SeeSaw; in 1868 he again
went to Africa, and in 1873 appeared his African Sketch Book, which is in part an abridgment of his Savage
Africa (1863). The Martyrdom of Man was published in 1872. In 1873 he made his third trip to Africa, as
Times correspondent in the Ashanti War, which he saw through, being the only civilian present at the taking
of Coomassie; and in 1874 appeared his Story of the Ashanti Campaign, embodying, with criticism, his
Times letters. In his last illness he wrote The Outcast (1875) setting forth in fiction form the fate of
persecution attaching to the aggressive profession of 'unbelief.' Orthodox writers have stressed the fact that,
while he again professes his disbelief in immortality, he does not profess to 'know.' The Outcast reached a
third edition in the year of its issue, but does not appear to have been since reprinted until its publication by
Watts Co., in the Thinker’s Library series in 1933.
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
In 18623 I made a tour in Western Africa, and afterwards desired to revisit that strange country with the
view of opening up new ground and of studying religion and morality among the natives. I was, however,
unable to bear a second time the great expenses of African travel, and had almost given up the hope of
becoming an explorer when I was introduced by Mr. Bates, the well known Amazon traveller and Secretary
of the Royal Geographical Society, to one of its Associates, Mr. Andrew Swanzy, who had long desired to do
something in the cause of African discovery. He placed unlimited means at my disposal, and left me free to
choose my own route. I travelled in Africa for two years (186870) and made a journey which is mentioned
in the test. The narrative of my travels will be published in due course; I allude to them now in order to show
that I have had some personal experience of savages. I wish also to take the first opportunity of thanking Mr.
Swanzy for his assistance, which was given not only in the most generous but also in the most graceful
manner.
With respect to the present work, I began it intending to prove that 'Negroland' or Inner Africa is not cut off
from the mainstream of events, as writers of philosophical history have always maintained, but connected
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by means of Islam with the lands of the East; and also that it has, by means of the slavetrade, powerfully
influenced the moral history of Europe and the political history of the United States. But I was gradually led
from writing the history of Africa into writing the history of the world. I could not describe the Negroland of
ancient times without describing Egypt and Carthage. From Egypt I was drawn to Asia and to Greece; from
Carthage I was drawn to Rome. That is the first chapter. Next, having to relate the progress of the
Mohammedans in Central Africa, it was necessary for me to explain the nature and origin of Islam, but that
religion cannot be understood without a previous study of Christianity and of Judaism, and those religions
cannot be understood without a study of religion among savages. That is the second chapter. Thirdly, I
sketched the history of the slavetrade, which took me back to the discoveries of the Portuguese, the glories
of Venetian commerce, the revival of the arts, the Dark Ages, and the invasion of the Germans. Thus finding
that my outline of universal history was almost complete, I determined in the last chapter to give a brief
summary of the whole, filling up the parts omitted, and adding to it the materials of another work suggested
several years ago by The Origin of Species.
One of my reasons for revisiting Africa was to collect materials for this work, which I had intended to call
The Origin of Mind. However, Mr. Darwin’s Descent of Man has left little for me to say respecting the birth
and infancy of the faculties and affections. I therefore merely follow in his footsteps, not from blind
veneration for a great master, but because I find that his conclusions are confirmed by the phenomena of
savage life. On certain minor points I venture to dissent from Mr. Darwin’s views, as I shall show in my
personal narrative, and there is probably much in this work of which Mr. Darwin will disapprove. He must
therefore not be made responsible for all the opinions of his disciple.
I had intended to give my authorities in full with notes and elucidations, but am prevented from doing so by
want of space, this volume being already larger than it should be. I wish therefore to impress upon the reader
that there is scarcely anything in this work which I can claim as my own. I have taken not only facts and
ideas, but phrases and even paragraphs, from other writers. I cannot pay all my debts in full, but I must at
least do myself the pleasure of mentioning those authors who have been my chief guides. On Egypt they are
Wilkinson, Herodotus (Rawlinson’s edition), Bunsen; Ethiopia or Abyssinia, Bruce, Baker, Lepsius;
Carthage, Heeren (African Nations), Niebuhr, Mommsen; East Africa, Vincent (Periplus), Guillain, Hakluyt
Society’s Publications; Moslem Africa (Central), Park, Caillie, Denham and Clapperton, Lander, Barth, Ibn
Batuta, Leo Africanus; Guinea and South Africa, Azurara, Barros, Major, Hakluyt, Purchas, Livingstone;
Assyria, Sir H. Rawlinson, Layard; India, Max Muller, Weber; Persia, Heeren (Asiatic Nations); Central
Asia, Burnes, Wolff, Vambery; Arabia, Niebuhr, Caussin de Perceval, Sprenger, Deutsch, Muir, Burckhardt,
Burton, Palgrave; Palestine, Dean Stanley, Renan, Dollinger, Spinoza, Robinson, Neander; Greece, Grote, O.
Muller, Curtius, Heeren, Lewes, Taine, About, Becker (Charicles); Rome, Gibbon, Macaulay, Becker
(Gallus); Dark Ages, Hallam, Guizot, Robertson, Prescott, Irving; Philosophy of History, Herder, Buckle
Comte, Lecky, Mill, Draper; Science, Darwin, Lyell, Herbert, Spencer, Huxley, Tyndall, Chambers (Vestiges
of Creation), Wallace, Tylor, and Lubbock. All of the works of the above named authors deserve to be
carefully read by the students of universal history, and in them he will find references to the original
authorities, and to all writers of importance on the various subjects treated of in this work. As for my
religious sentiments, they are expressed in opposition to the advice and wishes of several literary friends, and
of the publisher, who have urged me to alter certain passages which they do not like, and which they believe
will provoke against me the anger of the public. Now, as a literary workman I am thankful to be guided by
the knowledge of experts, and I bow to the decisions of the great public, for whom alone I write, whom alone
I care to please, and in whose broad unbiased judgment I place implicit trust. But in the matter of religion I
listen to no remonstrance; I acknowledge no decision save that of the divine monitor within me. My
conscience is my adviser, my audience, and my judge. It bade me write as I have written, without evasion,
without disguise; it bids me to go on as I have begun, whatever the result may be. If therefore my religious
opinions should be condemned, without a single exception, by every reader of the book, it will not make me
regret having expressed them, and it will not prevent me from expressing then again. It is my earnest and
sincere conviction that those opinions are not only true, but also that they tend to elevate and purify the mind.
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One thing at all events I knowthat it has done me good to write this book, and therefore I do not think that
it can injure those by whom it will be read.
CHAPTER 1. WAR
The land of Egypt is six hundred miles long, and is bounded by two ranges of naked limestone hills which
sometimes approach and sometimes retire from each other, leaving between them an average breadth of
seven miles. On the north they widen and disappear, giving place to a marshy meadow plain which extends to
the Mediterranean coast. On the south they are no longer of limestone, but of granite; they narrow to a point;
they close in till they almost touch; and through the mountain gate thus formed the river Nile leaps with a
roar into the valley, and runs north towards the sea.
In the winter and spring it rolls a languid stream through a dry and dusty plain. But in the summer an
extraordinary thing happens. The river grows troubled and swift; it turns red as blood, and then green; it rises,
it swells, till at length, overflowing its banks, it covers the adjoining lands to the base of the hills on either
side. The whole valley becomes a lake from which the villages rise like islands, for they are built on artificial
mounds.
This catastrophe was welcomed by the Egyptians with religious gratitude and noisy mirth. When their fields
had entirely disappeared they thanked the gods and kept their harvesthome. The tax gatherers measured the
water as if it were grain, and announced what the crops and the budget of the next year would be. Gay barges
with painted sails conveyed the merry husbandmen from village to village and from fair to fair. It was then
that they had their boat tournaments, their wrestling matches, their bouts at singlestick and other athletic
sports. It was then that the thimbleriggers and jackpuddings, blind harpers and nigger minstrels from
Central Africa, amused the holidayhearted crowd. It was then that the old people sat over draughts and
dicebox in the cosy shade, while the boys played at mora, or at pitch and toss, and the girls at a game of
ball, with forfeits for the one who missed a catch. It was then that the house father bought new dolls for the
children, and amulets or gold earrings or necklaces of porcelain bugles for the wife. It was then that the
market stalls abounded with joints of beef and venison, and with geese hanging down in long rows, and with
chickens hatched by thousands under heaps of dung. Salted quails, smoked fish, date sweetmeats, doura
cakes, and cheese; leeks, garlic cucumbers, and onions; lotus seeds mashed in milk, roasted stalks of papyrus,
jars of barley beer and palm wine, with many other kinds of food, were sold in unusual plenty at that festive
time.
It was then also that the whiterobed priests, bearing the image of a god and singing hymns, marched with
solemn procession to the waterside, and cast in a sacrifice of gold. For the water which had thus risen was
their life. Egypt is by nature a rainless desert which the Nile and the Nile only, converts into a garden every
year.
Far, far away in the distant regions of the south, in the deep heart of Africa, lie two inland seas. These are the
headwaters of the Nile; its sources are in the sky. For the clouds, laden with waters collected out of many
seas, sail to the African equator, and there pour down a ten months’ rain. This ocean of falling water is
received on a region sloping towards the north, and is conveyed by a thousand channels to the vast rocky
cisterns which form the Speke and Baker Lakes.** They, filled and bursting, cast forth the Nile, and drive it
from them through a terrible and thirsty land. The hot air lies on the stream and laps it as it flows. The
parched soil swallows it with open pores, but ton after ton of water is supplied from the gigantic reservoirs
behind, and so it is enabled to cross that vast desert which spreads from the latitude of Lake Tchad to the
borders of the Mediterranean Sea.
The existence of the Nile is due to the Nyanza Lakes alone, but the inundation of the river has a distinct and
separate cause. In that phenomenon the lakes are not concerned.
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Between the Nile and the mouth of the Arabian Gulf are situated the highlands of Abyssinia, rising many
thousand feet above the level of the sea, and intercepting the clouds of the Indian Ocean in their flight
towards the north. From these mountains, as soon as the rainy season has set in, two great rivers come
thundering down their driedup beds, and rush into the Nile. The main stream is now forced impetuously
along; in the Nubian desert its swelling waters are held in between walls of rock; as soon as it reaches the low
lying lands of Egypt it naturally overflows.
The Abyssinian tributaries do even more than this. The waters of the
[** Lakes Victoria and Albert]
White Nile are transparent and pure; but the Atbara and Blue Nile bring down from their native land a black
silt which the flood strews over the whole valley as a kind of topdressing or manure. On that rich and
unctuous mud, as soon as the waters have retired, the natives cast their seed. Then their labours are
completed; no changes of weather need afterwards be feared; no anxious looks are turned towards the sky;
sunshine only is required to fulfil the crop, and in Egypt the sun is never covered by a cloud.
Thus, were it not for the White Nile, the Abyssinian rivers would be drunk up by the desert; and were it not
for the Abyssinian rivers, the White Nile would be a barren stream. The river is created by the rains of the
equator; the land by the tropical rains condensed in one spot by the Abyssinian mountain pile.
In that fair Egyptian valley, fattened by a foreign soil, brightened by eternal sunshine, watered by terrestrial
rain, the natives were able to obtain a year’s food in return for a few days’ toil, and so were provided with
that wealth of time which is essential for a nation’s growth.
A people can never rise from low estate as long as they are engrossed in the painful struggle for daily bread.
On the other hand, leisure alone is not sufficient to effect the selfpromotion of men. The savage of the
primeval forest burns down a few trees every year; his women raise an easy crop from the ashes which
mingle with the soil. He basks all day in the sunshine, or prostrates himself in his canoe with his arms behind
his head and a fishingline tied to his big toe. When the meathunger comes upon him he takes up bow and
arrow and goes for a few days into the bush. His life is one long torpor, with spasms of activity. Century
follows century, but he does not change. Again, the shepherd tribes roam from pasture to pasture; their flocks
and herds yield them food and dress and 'houses of hair,' as they call their tents. They have little work to do;
their time is almost entirely their own. They pass long hours in slow conversation, in gazing at the heavens, in
the sensuous, passive oriental reverie. The intellectual capacities of such men are by no means to be despised,
as those who have lived among them are aware. They are skilful interpreters of nature’s language and of the
human heart; they compose beautiful poems; their religion is simple and sublime; yet time passes on, and
they do not advance. The Arab sheikh of the present day lives precisely as Abraham did three thousand years
ago; the Tartars of Central Asia are the Scythians whom Herodotus described.
It is the first and indispensable condition of human progress that a people shall be married to a single land;
that they shall wander no more from one region to another, but remain fixed and faithful to their soil. Then, if
the Earthwife be fruitful, she will bear them children by hundreds and by thousands; and then calamity will
come and teach them by torture to invent.
The Egyptians were islanders, cut off from the rest of the world by sand and sea. They were rooted in their
valley; they lived entirely upon its fruits, and happily these fruits sometimes failed. Had they always been
able to obtain enough to eat, they would have remained always in the semisavage state.
It may appear strange that Egypt should have suffered from famine, for there was no country in the ancient
world where food was so abundant and so cheap. Not only did the land produce enormous crops of corn; the
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ditches and hollows which were filled by the overflowing Nile supplied a harvest of wholesome and
nourishing aquatic plants, and on the borders of the desert thick groves of datepalms, which love a neutral
soil, embowered the villages, and formed live granaries of fruit.
But however plentiful food may be in any country, the population of that country, as Malthus discovered, will
outstrip it in the long run. If food is unusually cheap, population will increase at an unusually rapid rate, and
there is not limit to its ratio of increase – no limit, that is to say, except disease and death. On the other hand,
there is a limit to the amount of food that can be raised, for the basis of food is land, and land is a fixed
quantity. Unless some discovery is made by means of which provisions may be manufactured with as much
facility as children, the whole earth will some day be placed in the same predicament as the island in which
we live, which has outgrown its foodproducing power, and is preserved from starvation only by means of
foreign corn.
At the time we speak of, Egypt was irrigated by the Nile in a natural and therefore imperfect manner. Certain
tracts were overflooded; others were left completely dry. The valley was filled with people to the brim. When
it was a good Nile, every ear of corn, every bunch of dates, every papyrus stalk and lotus root was
preengaged. There was no waste and no surplus store. But sometimes a bad Nile came.
The bread of the people depended on the amount of inundation, and that depended on the tropical rains,
which vary more than is usually supposed. If the rainfall in the Abyssinian highlands happened to be slight,
the river could not pay its full tribute of earth and water to the valley below; and if the rainfall was unusually
severe, houses were swept away, cattle were drowned, and the water instead of returning at the usual time,
became stagnant on the fields. In either case famine and pestilence invariably ensued. The plenty of ordinary
years, like a baited trap, had produced a luxuriance of human life, and the massacre was proportionally
severe. Encompassed by the wilderness, the unfortunate natives were unable to escape. They died in heaps;
the valley resembled a field of battle; each village became a charnelhouse; skeletons sat grinning at street
corners, and the winds clattered among dead men’s bones. A few survivors lingered miserably through the
year, browsing on the thorny shrubs of the desert, and sharing with the vultures their horrible repast.
'God made all men equal' is a fine sounding phrase, and has also done good service in its day, but it is not a
scientific fact. On the contrary, there is nothing so certain as the natural inequality of men. Those who outlive
hardships and sufferings which fall on all alike owe their existence to some superiority, not only of body but
of mind. It will easily be conceived that among such superiorminded men there would be some who,
stimulated by the memory of that which was past and by the fear of that which might return, would strain to
the utmost their ingenuity to control and guide the fickle river which had hitherto sported with their lives.
We shall not attempt to trace out their inventions step by step. Humble in its beginnings, slow in its
improvements, the art or science of hydraulics was finally mastered by the Egyptians. They devised a system
of dikes, reservoirs, and lockcanals, by means of which the excessive waters of a violent Nile were turned
from the fields and stored up to supply the wants of a dry year. Thus also the precious fluid was conveyed to
tracts of land lying above the level of the river, and was distributed over the whole valley with such precision
that each lot or farm received a just and equal share. Next, as the inundation destroyed all landmarks,
surveying became a necessary art in order to settle the disputes which broke out every year. And, as the rising
of the waters was more and more carefully observed, it was found that its beginning coincided with certain
aspects of the stars. This led to the study of astronomy and the discovery of the solar year. Agriculture
became a mathematical art. It was ascertained that so many feet of water would yield so many quarters of
corn, and thus, before a single seed was sown, they could count up the harvest as correctly as if it had been
already gathered in.
A natural consequence of all this was the separation of the inventor class, who became at first the counsellors
and afterwards the rulers of the people. But while the men of mind were battling with the forces of Nature, a
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contest of another kind was also going on. Those who dwell on the rich banks of a river flowing through
desert lands are always liable to be attacked by the wandering shepherd hordes who resort to the waterside in
summer, when the wilderness pasture is dried up. There is nothing such tribes desire better than to conquer
the corngrowing people of the river lands, and to make them pay a tribute of grain when the crops are taken
in. The Egyptians, as soon as they had won their harvests from the flood, were obliged to defend them against
the robbers of the desert, and out of such wars arose a military caste. These allied themselves with the
intellectual caste, who were also priests, for among the primitive nations religion and science were invariably
combined. In this manner the bravest and wisest of the Egyptians rose above the vulgar crowd, and the nation
was divided into two great classes, the rulers and the ruled.
Then oppression continued the work which war and famine had begun. The priests announced, and the armies
executed, the divine decrees. The people were reduced to servitude. The soldiers discovered the gold and
emerald mines of the adjoining hills, and filled their dark recesses with chained slaves and savage overseers.
They became invaders; they explored distant lands with the spear. Communications with Syria and the
fragrant countries at the mouth of the Red Sea, first opened by means of war, were continued by means of
commerce. Foreign produce became an element of Egyptian life. The privileged classes found it necessary to
be rich. Formerly the priests had merely salted the bodies of the dead; now a fashionable corpse must be
embalmed, at an expense of two hundred and fifty pounds, with asphalt from the Dead Sea and spices from
the Somali groves; costly incense must be burnt on the altars of the gods; aristocratic heads must recline on
ivory stools; fine ladies must glitter with gold ornaments and precious stones, and must be served by
waitingmaids and pages with woolly hair and velvety black skins. War and agriculture were no longer
sufficient to supply these patrician wants. It was no longer sufficient that the people should feed on dates and
the course dourabread, while the wheat which they raised was sold by their masters for gewgaws and
perfumes. Manufactures were established; slaves laboured at a thousand looms; the linen goods of Egypt
became celebrated throughout the world. Laboratories were opened; remarkable discoveries were made. The
Egyptian priests distilled brandy and sweet waters. They used the blowpipe, and were far advanced in the
chemical processes of art. They fabricated glass mosaics, and counterfeited precious stones and porcelain of
exquisite transparency and delicately blended hues. With the fruits of these inventions they adorned their
daily life, and attracted into Egypt the riches of other lands.
Thus, when Nature selects a people to endow them with glory and with wealth, her first proceeding is to
massacre their bodies, her second to debauch their minds. She begins with famine, pestilence and war; next,
force and rapacity above, chains and slavery below. She uses evil as the raw material of good; though her aim
is always noble, her earliest means are base and cruel. But as soon as a certain point is reached she washes
her black and bloody hands, and uses agents of a higher kind. Having converted the animal instinct of
selfdefence into the ravenous lust of wealth and power, that also she transforms into ambition of a pure and
lofty kind. At first knowledge is sought only for the things which it will buythe daily bread indispensable
to life, and those trinkets of body and mind which vanity demands. Yet those low desires do not always and
entirely possess the human soul. Wisdom is like the heiress of the novel who is at first courted only for her
wealth, but whom the fortunehunter learns afterwards to love for herself alone.
At first sight there seems little in the arts and sciences of Egypt which cannot be traced to the enlightened
selfishness of the priestly caste. For in the earlier times it was necessary for the priests to labour unceasingly
to preserve the power which they had usurped. It was necessary to overawe not only the people who worked
in the fields, but their own dangerous allies, the military class; to make religion not only mysterious but
magnificent; not only to predict the precise hour of the rising of the waters, or the eclipses of the moon, but
also to adopt and nurture the fine arts, to dazzle the public with temples, monuments, and paintings. Above
all, it was necessary to prepare a system of government which should keep the labouring classes in subjection
and yet stimulate them to labour indefatigably for the state; which should strip them of all the rewards of
industry and yet keep that industry alive. Expediency will therefore account for much that the Egyptian
intellect produced, but it certainly will not account for all. The invention of hieroglyphics is alone sufficient
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to prove that higher motives were at work than mere political calculation and the appetite of gold. For writing
was an invention which at no time could have added in a palpable manner to the wealth or power of the upper
classes, and which yet could not have been finished to a system without a vast expenditure of time and toil. It
could not have been the work of a single man, but of several men labouring in the same direction, and in its
early beginnings must have appeared as unpractical, as truly scientific to them, as the study of solar chemistry
and the observation of the double stars to us. Besides, the intense and faithful labour which is conspicuous in
all the Egyptian works of art could only have been inspired by that enthusiasm which belongs to noble minds.
We may fairly presume that Egypt once possessed its chivalry of the intellect, its heroic age, and that the
violent activity of thought generated by the love of life and developed by the love of power was raised to its
full zenith by the passion for art and science, for the beautiful and the true.
At first the Nile valley was divided into a number of independent states, each possessing its own corporation
of priests and soldiers, its own laws and system of taxation, its own tutelary god and shrine, but each a
member of one body, united by the belief in one religion, and assembling from time to time to worship the
national gods in an appointed place. There, according to general agreement ratified by solemn oaths, all feuds
were suspended, all weapons laid aside. There also, under the shelter of the sanctuary, property was secure,
and the surplus commodities of the various districts could be conveniently interchanged. In such a place,
frequented by vast crowds of pilgrims and traders, a great city would naturally arise, and such it seems
probable was the origin of Thebes.
But Egypt, which possesses a simple undivided form, and which is nourished by one great arterial stream,
appears destined to be surmounted by a single head, and we perceive in the dim dawn of history a revolution
taking place, and Menes, the Egyptian Charlemagne, founding an empire upon the ruins of local
governments, and inspiring the various tribes with the sentiment of nationality. Thebes remained the sacred
city, but a new capital, Memphis, was built at the other end of the valley, not far from the spot where Cairo
now stands.
By degrees the Egyptian empire assumed a consolidated form. A regular constitution was established and a
ritual prescribed. The classes were organised in a more effective manner, and were not at first too strictly
fixed. All were at liberty to intermarry, excepting only the swineherds, who were regarded as unclean. The
system of government became masterly, and the servitude of the people became complete. Designs of
imperial magnitude were accomplished, some of them gigantic but useless, mere exploits of naked human
strength, others structures of true grandeur and utility. The valley was adorned with splendid monuments and
temples; colossal statues were erected, which rose above the houses like the towers and spires of our
cathedral towns. An army of labourers was employed against the Nile. The course of the mighty stream was
altered; its waters were snatched from its bosom and stored up in Lake Moeris, an artificial basin hollowed
out of an extensive swamp, and thence were conducted by a system of canals into the neighbouring desert,
which they changed to smiling fields. For the Sahara can always be revived. It is barren only because it
receives no rain.
The Empire consisted of three estatesthe Monarch, the Army, and the Church. There were in theory no
limits to the power of the king. His authority was derived directly from the gods. He was called 'the Sun'; he
was the head of the religion and the state; he was the supreme judge and lawgiver; he commanded the army
and led it to war. But in reality his power was controlled and reduced to mere pageantry by a parliament of
priests. He was elected by the military class, but as soon as he was crowned he was initiated into the
mysteries and subjected to the severe discipline of the holy order. No slave or hireling might approach his
person: the lords in waiting, with the state parasol and the ostrichfeather fans, were princes of the blood; his
other attendants were invariably priests. The royal time was filled and measured by routine: laws were laid
down in the holy books for the order and nature of the king’s occupations. At daybreak he examined and
dispatched his correspondence; he then put on his robes and attended divine service in the temple. Extracts
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were read from those holy books which contained the sayings and actions of distinguished men, and these
were followed by a sermon from the High Priest. He extolled the virtues of the reigning sovereign, but
criticised severely the lives of those who had preceded hima postmortem examination to which the king
knew that he would be subjected in his turn.
He was forbidden to commit any kind of excess: he was restricted to a plain diet of veal and goose, and to a
measured quantity of wine. The laws hung over him day and night; they governed his public and private
action: they followed him even to the recesses of his chamber, and appointed a set time for the embraces of
his queen. He could not punish a single person except in accordance with the code; the judges took oath
before the king that they would disobey the king if he ordered them to do anything contrary to law. The
ministry were responsible for the actions of their master, and they guarded their own safety. They made it
impossible for him to forfeit that reverence and affection which the ignorant and the religious always
entertain for their anointed king. He was adored as a god when living, and when he died he was mourned by
the whole nation as if each man had lost a wellbeloved child. During seventytwo days the temples were
closed; lamentations filled the air; and the people fasted, abstaining from flesh and wine, cooked food,
ointments, baths, and the company of their wives. The Army appears to have been severely disciplined. To
run twenty miles before breakfast was part of the ordinary drill. The amusements of the soldiers were athletic
sports and martial games. Yet they were not merely fighting men. They were also farmers. Each warrior
received from the state twelve acres of choice land; these gave him a solid interest in the prosperity of the
fatherland and in the maintenance of civil peace.
The most powerful of the three estates was undoubtedly the Church. In the priesthood were included not only
the ministers of religion, but also the whole civil service and the liberal professions. Priests were the royal
chroniclers and keepers of the records, the engravers of inscriptions, physicians of the sick and embalmers of
the dead, lawyers and lawgivers, sculptors and musicians. Most of the skilled labour of the country was under
their control. In their hands were the linen manufactories and the quarries between the Cataracts. Even those
posts in the Army which required a knowledge of arithmetic and penmanship were supplied by them: every
general was attended by young priest scribes, with papyrus rolls in their hands and reed pencils behind their
ears. The clergy preserved the monopoly of the arts which they had invented; the whole intellectual life of
Egypt was in them. It was they who, with the nilometers, took the measure of the waters, and proclaimed
good harvests to the people or bade them prepare for hungry days. It was they who studied the diseases of the
country, compiled a pharmacopoeia, and invented the signs which are used in our prescriptions at the present
day. It was they who judged the living and the dead, who enacted laws which extended beyond the grave,
who issued passports to paradise, or condemned to eternal infamy the memories of men that were no more.
Their power was immense, but it was exercised with justice and discretion: they issued admirable laws, and
taught the people to obey them by the example of their own humble, selfdenying lives.
Under the tutelage of these pious and enlightened men, the Egyptians became a prosperous and also a highly
moral people. The monumental paintings reveal their whole life, but we read in them no brutal or licentious
scenes. Their great rivals, the Assyrians, even at a later period, were accustomed to impale and flay alive their
prisoners of war. The Egyptians granted honours to those who fought gallantly against them. The penalty for
the murder of a slave was death; this law exists without parallel in the dark slavery annals both of ancient and
of modern times. The pardoning power in cases of capital offence was a cherished prerogative of royalty with
them as with us; and with them also as with us, when a pregnant woman was condemned to death the
execution was postponed until after the birth of the guiltless child. It is a sure criterion of the civilisation of
ancient Egypt that the soldiers did not carry arms except on duty, and that the private citizens did not carry
them at all. Women were treated with much regard. They were allowed to join their husbands in the sacrifices
to the gods; the bodies of man and wife were united in the tomb. When a party was given the guests were
received by the host and hostess seated side by side in a large armchair. In the paintings their mutual affection
is portrayed. Their fond manners, their gestures of endearment, the caresses which they lavish on their
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children, form sweet and touching scenes of domestic life.
Crimes could not be compounded, as in so many other ancient lands, by the payment of a fine. The man who
witnessed a crime without attempting to prevent it was punished as partaker. The civil laws were
administered in such a manner that the poor could have recourse to them as well as the rich. The judges
received large salaries that they might be placed above the temptation of bribery, and might never disgrace
the image of Truth which they wore round their necks suspended on a golden chain.
But most powerful of all, to preserve the morality of the people by giving a tangible force to public opinion,
and by impeaching those sins against society which no legal code can touch, was that sublime police
institution the 'Trial of the Dead.'
When the corpse had been brought back from the embalming house it was encased in a sycamore coffin
covered with flowers, placed in a sledge, and drawn by oxen to the sacred lake. The hearse was followed by
the relations of the deceased, the men unshorn and casting dust upon their heads, the women beating their
breasts and singing mournful hymns. On the banks of the lake sat fortytwo judges in the shape of a crescent;
a great crowd was assembled; in the water floated a canoe, and within it stood Charon the ferryman, awaiting
the sentence of the chief judge. On the other side of the lake lay a sandy plain, and beyond it a range of long,
low hills, in which might be discerned the black mouths of the caverns of the dead.
It was in the power of any man to step forward and accuse the departed before the body could be borne
across. If the charge was held to be proved, the body was denied burial in the consecrated ground, and the
crowd silently dispersed. If a verdict of not guilty was returned, the accuser suffered the penalty of the crime
alleged, and the ceremony took its course. The relatives began to sing with praises the biography of the
deceased; they sang in what manner he had been brought up from a child till he came to man’s estate, how
pious he had been towards the gods, how righteous he had been towards men. And if this was true, if the
man’s life had indeed been good, the crowd joined in chorus, clapping their hands, and sang back in return
that he would be received into the glory of the just. Then the coffin was laid in the canoe, the silent ferryman
plied his oar, a priest read the service of the dead, and the body was deposited in the cemetery caves. If he
was a man of rank he was laid in a chamber of his own, and the sacred artists painted on the walls an
illustrated catalogue of his possessions, the principal occupations of his life, and scenes of the society in
which he moved. For the priests taught that, since life is short and death is long, man’s dwellinghouse is but
a lodging, and his eternal habitation is the tomb. Thus the family vault of the Egyptian was his picture
gallery, and thus the manners and customs of this singular people have, like their bodies, been preserved
through long ages by means of religious art.
There are also still existing on the walls of the temples, and in the grotto tombs, grand historical paintings
which illuminate the terse chronicles engraved upon the granite. Among these may be remarked one subject
in particular which appears to have been a favourite with the artist and the public, for it again and again
recurs. The Egyptians, distinguished always by their smooth faces and shaven heads, are pursuing an enemy
with long beards and flowing robes, who are surrounded by flocks and herds. The Egyptians here show no
mercy; they appear alive with fury and revenge. Sometimes the victor is depicted with a scornful air, his foot
placed upon the neck of a prostrate foe; sometimes he is piercing the body through and through with a spear.
Certain sandals have also been discovered in which the figure of the same enemy is painted on the inner sole,
so that the foot trod upon the portrait when the sandal was put on.
Those bearded men had inflicted on Egypt long years of dreadful disaster and disgrace. They were the
Bedouins of the Arabian peninsula, a pastoral race who wandered eternally in a burning land, each tribe or
clan within an orbit of its own. When they met they fought, the women uttering savage cries and cursing their
husbands if they retreated from the foe. Accustomed to struggle to the death for a handful of withered grass
or for a little muddy water at the bottom of a well, what a rich harvest must Egypt have appeared to them! In
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order to obtain it they were able to suspend all feuds, to take an oath of alliance, and to unite into a single
horde. They descended upon their prey and seized it at the first swoop. There does not appear to have been
even one great battle, and this can be explained if, as is probable enough, the Egyptians before that invasion
had never seen a horse.
The Arab horse, or rather mare, lived in her master’s tent and supped from the calabash of milk, and lay down
to sleep with the other members of the family. She was the playmate of the children; on her the cruel, the
savage Bedouin lavished the one tender feeling of his heart. He treasured up in his mind her pedigree as
carefully as his own; he composed songs in honour of his beloved steedhis friend, his companion, his ally.
He sang to her of the gazelles which they had hunted down, and of the battles which they had fought
togetherfor the Arab horse was essentially a beast of war. When the signal was given for the charge, when
the rider, loudly yelling, couched his spear, she snorted and panted and bounded in the air. With tail raised
and spreading to the wind, with neck beautifully arched, mane flapping, red nostrils dilating, and eyes
glaring, she rushed like an arrow into the midst of the melee. Though covered with wounds, she would never
turn restive or try to escape, but if her master was compelled to take to flight she would carry him till she
dropped down dead.
It is quite possible that when the mounted army appeared in the river plain the inhabitants were paralysed
with fright, and believed them to be fabulous animals, winged men. Be that as it may, the conquest was
speedy and complete; the imperial Memphis was taken, Egypt was enslaved, and the king and his family and
court were compelled to seek a new home across the sandy seas.
On the south side of the Nubian desert was the land of Ethiopia, the modern Sudan, which had been
conquered by the Egyptians, and which they used as an emporium in their caravan trade with Central Africa
and the shores of the Red Sea. But it could be reached only by means of a journey which is not without
danger at the present day, and which must have been inexpressibly arduous at a time when the camel had not
been introduced.
The Nile, it is true, flows through this desert, and joins Ethiopia to Egypt with a silver chain. But from the
time of its leaving the Sudan until it reaches the black granite gate which marks the Egyptian frontier, it is
confined within a narrow, crooked, hollow way. Navigation is impossible, for its bed is continually broken up
by rocks and the stream is walled in; it cannot overflow its banks. The reign of the Sahara is uninterrupted,
undisturbed. On all sides is the desert, the brown, shining desert, the implacable waste. Above is a ball of fire
ascending and descending in a steel blue sky; below, a dry and scorching sea which the wind ripples into
gloomy waves. The air is a cloud which rains fire, for it is dim with perpetual dusteach molecule a spark.
The eye is pained and dazzled; it can find no rest. The ear is startled; it can find no sound. In the soft and
yielding sand the footstep perishes unheard; nothing murmurs, nothing rustles, nothing sings. This silence is
terrible, for it conveys the idea of death, and all know that in the desert death is not far off. When the
elements become active they assume peculiar and portentous forms. If the wind blows hard a strange storm
arises; the atmosphere is pervaded by a dull and lurid glare; pillars of sand spring up as if by magic, and whirl
round and round in a ghastly and fantastic dance. Then a mountain appearing on the horizon spreads upward
in the sky, and a darkness more dark than night falls suddenly upon the earth. To those who gasp with
swelled tongues and blackened lips in the last agonies of thirst, the mirage, like a mocking stream, exhibits
lakes of transparent water and shady trees. But the wells of this desert are scanty, and the waters found in
them are salt.
The fugitives concealed the images of the gods, and taking with them the sacred animals, embarked upon
their voyage of suffering and woe. After many weary days they again sighted land; they arrived on the shores
of Ethiopia, the country of the blacks. Once more their eyes were refreshed with green pastures; once more
they listened to the rustling of the palms, and drank the sweet waters of the Nile. Yet soon they discovered
that it was not their own dear river, it was not their own beloved land. In Egypt Nature was a gentle
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handmaid; here she was a cruel and capricious queen. The sky flashed and bellowed against them; the rain
fell in torrents, and battered down the houses of the Ethiopianswretched huts like hayricks, round in body
with a coneshaped roof, built of grass and mud. The lowlands changed beneath the flood, not into meadows
of flowers and fields of waving corn, but into a pestilential morass. At the rising of the dogstar came a
terrible fly which drove even the wild beasts from the river banks and destroyed all flocks and herds. At that
evil season the Egyptian colonists were forced to migrate to the forests of the interior, which were filled with
savage tribes. Here were the Troglodytes who lived under ground. An ointment was their only dress; their
language resembled the hissing of serpents and the whistling of bats. Every month they indulged in a carouse;
every month they opened the veins of their sheep and drank of the warm and gurgling blood as if it had been
delicious wine. They made merry when they buried their dead, and, roaring with laughter, cast stones upon
the corpse until it was concealed from view. Here were the rooteaters, the twigeaters and the seedeaters,
who lived entirely on such wretched kinds of food. Here were the elephanteaters, who, sitting on the tops of
trees like birds, watched the roads, and when they had sighted a herd crept after it, and hovered round it till
the sleepy hour of noon arrived. Then they selected a victim, stole up to it snakelike from behind, hamstrung
the enormous creature with a dexterous cut from a sharp sword, and as it lay helpless on the ground feasted
upon morsels of its live and palpitating flesh. Here were the locusteaters, whose harvest was a passing
swarm, for they lit a smoky fire underneath, which made the insects fall like withered leaves; they roasted
them, pounded them, and made them into cakes with salt. The fisheaters dwelt by the coralline borders of
the Red Sea; they lived in wigwams thatched with seaweed, with ribs of whales for the rafters and the walls.
The richest men were those who possessed the largest bones. There was no fresh water near the shore where
they hunted for their food. At stated times they went in herds like cattle to the distant riverside, and singing
to one another discordant songs, lay flat on their bellies and drank till they were gorged.
Such was the land to which the Pharaohs were exiled,. In the meantime the Bedouins established a dynasty
which ruled a considerable time, and is known as that of the Hyksos or Shepherd Kings.
But those barbarians were not domiciled in Egypt. They could not breathe inside houses, and could not
understand how the walls remained upright. The camp was their true fatherland. They lived aloof from the
Egyptians; they did not ally themselves with the country gods; they did not teach the people whom they had
conquered to regard them as the successors of the Pharaohs. Their art of government began and ended with
the collection of a tax. The Shepherd Kings were associated in the minds of the Egyptian fellahin, not with
their ancient and revered religion, not with the laws by which they were still governed under their local
chiefs, but only with the tribute of corn which was extorted from them every harvest by the whip. The idea of
revolution was always present in their minds. Misfortune bestowed upon them the ferocious virtues of the
desert, while the vice of cities crept into the Bedouin camp. The invaders became corrupted by luxurious
indolence and sensual excess, till at length a descendant of the Pharaohs raised an army in Ethiopia and
invaded Egypt. The uprising was general, and the Arabs were driven back into their own harsh and meagre
land.
The period which followed the Restoration is the most brilliant in Egyptian history. The expulsion of the
Bedouins excited an enthusiasm which could not be contained within the narrow valley of the Nile. Egypt
became not only an independent but a conquering power. Her armies overran Asia to the shores of the Euxine
and of the Caspian Sea. Her fleets swept over the Indian Ocean to the mudstained shallows at the Indus
mouth. On the monuments we may read the proud annals of those campaigns. We see the Egyptian army,
with its companies of archers shooting from the ear like the Englishmen of old; we see their squadrons of
light and heavy chariots of war, which skilfully skirmished or heavily charged the dense masses of the foe;
we see their remarkable engines for besieging fortified towns, their scaling ladders, their movable towers, and
their shield covered rams. We see the Pharaoh returning in triumph, his car drawn by captive kings, and a
long procession of prisoners bearing the productions of their respective lands. The nature and variety of those
trophies sufficiently prove how wide and distant the Egyptian conquests must have been, for among the
animals that figure in the triumph are the brown bear, the baboon, the Indian elephant, and the giraffe.
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Among the prisoners are negroes of the Sudan in aprons of bulls’ hides, or in wild beast skins with the tails
hanging down behind. They carry ebony, ivory, and gold; their chiefs are adorned with leopard robes and
ostrich feathers, as they are at the present day. We see also men from some cold country of the North, with
blue eyes and yellow hair, wearing light dresses and longfingered gloves, while others clothed like Indians
are bearing beautiful vases, rich stuffs, and strings of precious stones.
When the kings came back from their campaigns, they built temples of the yellow and rosetinted sandstone,
with obelisks of green granite and long avenues of sphinxes, to commemorate their victories and immortalise
their names. They employed prisoners of war to erect these memorials of war; it became the fashion to boast
that a great structure had been raised without a single Egyptian being doomed to work. By means of these
victories the servitude of the lower classes was mitigated for a time, and the wealth of the upper classes was
enormously increased. The conquests it is true, were not permanent; they were merely raids on a large scale.
But in very ancient times, when seclusion and suspicion formed the foreign policy of states, and when
national intercourse was scarcely known, invasion was often the pioneer of trade. The wealth of Egypt was
not derived from military spoilwhich soon dissolves, however large it may appearbut from the new
markets opened for her linen goods.
It is certain that the riches contained in the country were immense. The house of an Egyptian gentleman was
furnished in an elegant and costly style. The cabinets, tables, and chairs were beautifully carved, and were
made entirely of foreign woodsof ebony from Ethiopia, of a kind of mahogany from India, of deal from
Syria, or of cedar from the heights of Lebanon. The walls and ceilings were painted in gorgeous patterns
similar to those which are now woven into carpets. Every sitting room was adorned with a vase of perfumes,
a flowerstand, and an altar for unburnt offerings. The house was usually one storey high, but the roof was
itself an apartment, sometimes covered, but always open at the sides. There the housemaster would ascent in
the evening to breathe the cool wind, and to watch the city waking into life when the heat was past. The
streets swarmed and hummed with men; the river was covered with gilded gondolas gliding by. And when
the sudden night had fallen, lamps flashed and danced below; from the houseyards came sounds of laughter
and the tinkling of castanets; from the stream came the wailing music of the boatmen and the soft splashing
of the lazy oar.
The Egyptian grandee had also his villa or country house. Its large walled garden was watered by a canal
communicating with the Nile. One side of the canal was laid out in a walk shaded by treesthe leafy
sycamore, the acacia with its yellow blossoms, and the doum or Theban palm. In the centre of the garden was
a vineyard, the branches being trained over trelliswork so as to form a boudoir of green leaves, with clusters
of red grapes glowing like pictures on the walls. Beyond the vineyard, at the further end of the garden, stood
a summer house or kiosk; in front of it a pond which was covered with the broad leaves and blue flowers of
the lotus, and in which waterfowl played. It was also stocked with fish which the owner amused himself by
spearing: or sometimes he angled for them as he sat on his campstool. Adjoining this garden were the
stables and coachhouses, and a large park in which gazelles were preserved for coursing. The Egyptian
gentry were ardent lovers of the chase. They killed wild ducks with throwsticks, made use of decoys, and
trained cats to retrieve. They harpooned hippopotami in the Nile; they went out hunting in the desert with
lions trained like dogs. They were enthusiastic pigeon fanciers, and had many different breeds of dogs. Their
social enjoyments were not unlike our own. Young ladies in Egypt had no croquet, but the gentle sport of
archery was known among them. They had also boating parties on the Nile, and water picnics beneath the
shady foliage of the Egyptian bean. They gave dinners, to which, as in all civilised countries, the fair sex
were invited. The guests arrived for the most part in palanquins, but the young men of fashion drove up to the
door in their cabs, and usually arrived rather late. Each guest was received by a cluster of servants, who took
off his sandals, gave him water to wash his hands, anointed and perfumed him, presented him with a bouquet,
and offered him some raw cabbage to increase his appetite for wine, a glass of which was taken before
dinnerthe sherry and bitters of antiquity.
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The gentlemen wore wigs and false beards, and their hands were loaded with rings. The ladies wore their own
hair plaited in a most elaborate manner, the result of many hours between their little bronze mirrors and the
skilful fingers of their slaves. Their eyelashes were pencilled with the antimonial powder, their fingernails
tinged with the henna’s golden juicefashions older than the Pyramids which still govern the women of the
East.
The guests met in the diningroom, and grace was said before they sat down. They were crowned with
garlands of the lotus, the violet, and the rosethe florists of Egypt were afterwards famous in Rome. A band
of musicians played during the repast on the harp, the lyre, the flute, and the guitar. Some of the servants
carried round glass decanters of wine encircled with flowers, and various dishes upon trays. Others fanned
the porous earthjars which contained the almondflavoured water of the Nile. Others burnt Arabian incense
or flakes of sweetscented wood to perfume the air. Others changed the garlands of the guests as soon as they
began to fade. Between the courses dwarfs and deformed persons skipped about before the company with
marvellous antics and contortions; jugglers and gymnasts exhibited many extraordinary feats; girls jumped
through hoops, tossed several balls into the air after the manner of the East, and performed dances after the
manner of the West. Strange as it may appear, the pirouette was known to the Egyptians three thousand years
ago, and stranger still, their balletgirls danced it in lighter clothing than is worn by those who now grace the
operatic boards. At the beginning of the repast a mummy, richly painted and gilded, was carried round by a
servant, who showed it to each guest in turn and said, 'Look on this, drink and enjoy thyself, for such as it is
now, so thou shalt be when thou art dead.' So solemn an injunction was not disregarded, and the dinner often
ended as might be expected from the manner in which it was begun. The Hogarths of the period have painted
the young dandy being carried home by his footman without his wig, while the lady in her own apartment is
showing unmistakable signs of the same disorder.
But we must leave these pleasant strolls in the bypaths of history and return to the broad and beaten road. The
vast wealth and soft luxury of the New Empire undermined its strength. It became apparent to the Egyptians
themselves that the nation was enervated and corrupt, a swollen, pampered body from which all energy and
vigour had for ever fled. A certain Pharaoh commanded a curse to be inscribed in one of the temples against
the name of Menes, who had first seduced the Egyptians from the wholesome simplicity of early times. Filled
with a spirit of prophecy, the king foresaw his country’s ruin, which indeed was near at hand, for though he
himself was buried in peace, his son and successor was compelled to hide in the marshes from a foreign foe.
To the same cause may be traced the ruin and the fall, not only of Egypt, but of all the powers of the ancient
world; of Nineveh and Babylon and Persia; of the Macedonian kingdom and the Western Empire. As soon as
those nations became rich they began to decay. If this were the fifth century, and we were writing history in
the silent and melancholy streets of Rome, we should probably propound a theory entirely false, yet justified
at that time by the universal experience of mankind. We should declare that nations are mortal like the
individuals of which they are composed; that wealth is the poison, luxury the disease, which shortens their
existence and dooms them to an early death. We should point to the gigantic ruins aroundto that vast and
mouldering body from which the soul had fledmoralise about Lucullus and his thrushes, recount the
enormous sums that had been paid for a dress, a table or a child, and assure our Gothic pupils that national
life and health are only to be preserved by contented poverty and simple fare.
But what has been the history of those barbarians? In the Dark Ages there was no luxury in Europe. It was a
miserable continent inhabited by robbers, fetishmen, and slaves. Even the Italians of the eleventh century
wore clothes of unlined leather, and had no taste except for horses and for shining arms, no pride except that
of building strong towers for their lairs. Man and wife grabbled for their supper from the same plate, while a
squalid boy stood by them with a torch to light their greasy fingers to their mouths. Then the India trade was
opened; the New World was discovered; Europe became rich, luxurious, and enlightened. The sunshine of
wealth began first to beam upon the costs of the Mediterranean Sea, and gradually spread towards the North.
In the England of Elizabeth it was declared from the pulpit that the introduction of forks would demoralise
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the people and provoke divine wrath. But in spite of sermons and sumptuary laws, Italian luxuries continued
to pour in, and national prosperity continued to increase. At the present day the income of a nation affords a
fair criterion of its intellect and also of its strength. It may safely be asserted that the art of war will soon be
reduced to a simple question of expenditure and credit, and that the largest purse will be the strongest arm. As
for luxury, a small tradesman at the present day is more luxurious than a king in ancient times. It has been
wisely and wittily remarked that Augustus Caesar had neither glass panes to his windows nor a shirt to his
back, and the luxury of the Roman senators may without exaggeration be compared with that of the West
Indian creoles in the eighteenth century. The gentleman and his lady glittered with jewels; the table and
sideboard blazed with plate; but the house itself was little better than a barn, and the attendants a crowd of
dirty, halfnaked slaves who jostled the guests as they performed the service of the table, and sat down in the
verandah over the remnants of the soup before they would condescend to go to the kitchen for the fish.
In the modern world we find luxury the harbinger of progress, in the ancient world the omen of decline. But
how can this be? Nature does not contradict herself; the laws which govern the movements of society are as
regular and unchangeable as those which govern the movements of the stars.
Wealth is in reality as indispensable to mankind for purposes of growth as water to the soil. It is not the fault
of the water if its natural circulation is interfered with, if certain portions of the land are drowned while others
are left completely dry. Wealth in all countries of the ancient world was artificially confined to a certain
class. More than half the area of the Greek and Roman world was shut off by slavery from the fertilising
stream. This single fact is sufficient to explain how that old civilisation, in some respects so splendid, was yet
so onesided and incomplete.
But the civilisation of Egypt was less developed still, for that country was enthralled by institutions from
which Greece and Rome, happily for them, were free.
It has been shown that the instinct for selfpreservation, the struggle for bare life against hostile nature, first
aroused the mental activity of the Egyptian priests, while the constant attacks of the desert tribes developed
the martial energies of the military men. Next, the ambition of power produced an equally good effect. The
priests invented, the warriors campaigned; mines were opened, manufactories were founded; a system of
foreign commerce was established; sloth was abolished by whip and chain; the lower classes were saddled,
the upper classes were spurred; the nation careered gallantly along. Finally, chivalrous ardour, intellectual
passion, inspired heart and brain; war was loved for glory’s sake; the philosopher sought only to discover, the
artist to perfect.
And then there came a race of men who, like those that inherit great estates, had no incentive to continue the
work which had been so splendidly begun. In one generation the genius of Egypt slumbered, in the next it
died. Its painters and sculptors were no longer possessed of that fruitful faculty with which kindred spirits
contemplate each other’s works; which not only takes, but gives; which produces from whatever it receives;
which embraces to wrestle, and wrestles to embrace; which is sometimes sympathy, sometimes jealousy,
sometimes hatred, sometimes love, but which always causes the heart to flutter, and the face to flush, and the
mind to swell with the desire to rival and surpass; which is sometimes as the emulative awe with which
Michael Angelo surveyed the dome that yet gladdens the eyes of those who sit on the height of fair Fiesole,
or who wander afar off in silver Arno’s vale; which is sometimes as that rapture of admiring wrath which
incited the genius of Byron when his great rival was pouring forth masterpiece on masterpiece with invention
more varied, though perhaps less lofty, and with fancy more luxuriant even than his own.
The creative period passed away, and the critical age set in. Instead of working, the artists were content to
talk. Their admiration was sterile, yet still it was discerning. But the next period was lower still. It was that of
blind worship and indiscriminating awe. The past became sacred, and all that it had produced, good and bad,
was reverenced alike. This kind of idolatry invariably springs up in that interval of languor and reaction
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which succeeds an epoch of production In the mindhistory of every land there is a time when slavish
imitation is inculcated as a duty, and novelty regarded as a crime. But in Egypt the arts and sciences were
entangled with religion. The result will easily be guessed. Egypt stood still, and theology turned her into
stone. Conventionality was admired, then enforced. The development of the mind was arrested; it was
forbidden to do any new thing.
In primitive times it is perhaps expedient that rational knowledge should be united with religion. It is only by
means of superstition that a rude people can be induced to support, and a robber soldiery to respect, an
intellectual class. But after a certain time this alliance must be ended, or harm will surely come. The boy must
leave the apartments of the women when he arrives at a certain age. Theology is an excellent nurse, but a bad
mistress for grownup minds. The essence of religion is inertia; the essence of science is change. It is the
function of the one to preserve, it is the function of the other to improve. If, as in Egypt, they are firmly
chained together, either science will advance, in which case the religion will be altered, or the religion will
preserve its purity, and science will congeal.
The religious ideas of the Egyptians became associated with a certain style. It was enacted that the human
figure should be drawn always in the same manner, with the same colours, contour, and proportions. Thus the
artist was degraded to an artisan, and originality was strangled in its birth.
The physicians were compelled to prescribe for their patients according to the rules set down in the standard
works. If they adopted a treatment of their own and the patient did not recover, they were put to death. Thus
even in desperate cases heroic remedies could not be tried, and experiment, the first condition of discovery,
was disallowed.
A censorship of literature was not required, for literature in the proper sense of the term did not exist.
Writing, it is true, was widely spread. Cattle, clothes, and workmen’s tools were marked with the owners’
names. The walls of the temples were covered and adorned with that beautiful picture character, more like
drawing than writing, which cold delight the eyes of those who were unable to penetrate its sense.
Hieroglyphics may be found on everything in Egypt, from the colossal statue to the amulet and gem. But the
art was practised only by the priests, as the painted history plainly declares. No books are to be seen in the
furniture of houses; no female is depicted in the act of reading; the papyrus scroll and pencil never appear
except in connection with some official act.
The library at Thebes was much admired. It had a blue ceiling speckled with golden stars. Allegorical
pictures of a religious character and portraits of the sacred animals were painted on the walls. Above the door
were inscribed these words, 'The Balsam of the Soul.' Yet this magnificent building contained merely a
collection of prayer books and ancient hymns, some astronomical almanacs, some works on religious
philosophy, medicine, music, and geometry, and the historical archives, which were probably little else than a
register of the names of kings, with the dates of certain inventions and a scanty outline of events.
Even these books, so few in number, were not open to all the members of the learned class. They were the
manuals of the various departments or professions, and each profession stood apart; each profession was even
subdivided within itself. In medicine and surgery there were no general practitioners. There were oculists,
aurists, dentists, doctors of the head, doctors of the stomach, etc., and each was forbidden to invade the
territory of his colleagues. This specialist arrangement has been highly praised, but it has nothing in common
with that which has arisen in modern times.
It is one of the first axioms of medical science that no one is competent to treat the disease of a single organ
unless he is competent to treat the diseases of the whole frame. The folly of dividing the diseases of such
organs as the head and stomach, between which the most intimate sympathy exists, is evident even to the
unlearned. But the whole structure is united by delicate white threads, and by innumerable pipes of blood. It
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is scarcely possible for any complaint to influence one part alone. The Egyptian, however, was marked off
like a chess board into little squares, and whenever the pain made a move a fresh doctor had to be called in.
This arrangement was part of a system founded on an excellent principle, but carried to absurd excess. It is
needless to explain that division of labour is highly potent in developing skill and economising time. It is also
clearly of advantage that in an early stage of society the son should follow the occupation of the father. It is
possible that hereditary skill or tastes come into play; it is certain that apprenticeship at home is more natural
and more efficient than apprenticeship abroad. The father will take more pains to teach, the boy will take
more pains to learn, than will be the case when master and pupil are strangers to each other.
The founders of Egyptian civilisation were acquainted with these facts. Hence they established customs
which their successors petrified into unchanging laws. They did it no doubt with the best of motives. They
adored the grand and noble wisdom of their fathers; whatever came from them must be cherished and
preserved. They must not presume to depart from the guidance of those godlike men. They must paint as
they painted, physic as they physicked, pray as they prayed. The separation of classes which they had made
must be rendered rigid and eternal.
And so the arts and sciences were ordered to stand still, and society was divided and subdivided into
functions and professions, trades and crafts. Every man was doomed to follow the occupation of his father, to
marry within his own class, to die as he was born. Hope was torn out of the human life. Egypt was no longer
a nation, but an assemblage of torpid castes isolated from one another and breeding in and in. It was no
longer a body animated by the same heart, fed by the same blood, but an automaton neatly pieced together, of
which the head was the priesthood, the arms were the army, and the feet the workingclass. In quiescence it
was a perfect image of the living form, but a touch came from without, and the arms broke asunder at the
joints and fell upon the ground.
The colony founded in the Sudan by the exiled Pharaohs became after the restoration an important province.
When the new empire began to decline a governorgeneral rebelled, and the kingdom of Ethiopia was
established. It was a medley dominion composed of brown men and black men, shepherds and savages,
halfcaste Egyptians, Arabs, Berbers, and negroes, ruled over by a king and a college of priests. It was
enriched by annual slave hunts into the Black Country, and by the caravan trade in ivory, gold dust, and gum.
It also received East India goods and Arabian produce through its ports on the Red Sea. Meroe, its capital,
attained the reputation of a great city; it possessed its temples and its pyramids like those of Egypt, but on a
smaller scale. The Ethiopian empire in its best days might have comprised the modern Egyptian provinces of
Kordofan and Sennaar, with the mountain kingdom of Abyssinia as it existed under Theodore. Of all the
classical countries it was the most romantic and the most remote. It was situated, according to the Greeks, on
the extreme limits of the world; its inhabitants were the most just of men, and Jupiter dined with them twice a
year. They bathed in the waters of a violetscented spring which endowed them with long life, noble bodies,
and glossy skins. They chained their prisoners with golden fetters; they had bows which none but themselves
could bend. It is at least certain that Ethiopia took its place among the powers of the ancient world. It is
mentioned in the Jewish records and in the Assyrian cuniform inscriptions.
So far had Egypt fallen that now it was conquered by its ancient province. Sabaco of Ethiopia seized the
throne and sat upon it many years. But he was frightened by a dream; he believed that a misfortune impended
over him in Egypt. He abdicated in haste and fled back to his native land.
His departure was followed by uproar and confusion, a complete disruption of Egyptian society, usurpation,
and civil war.
But why should this have been? Sabaco was an Egyptian by descent, though his blood had been darkened on
the female side. He had governed in the Egyptian manner. He had abolished capital punishment, but in no
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other way had altered the ancient laws. He had improved the public works. He had taken the country rather as
a native usurper than as a foreign foe. His reign was merely a change of dynasty, and Egyptian history is
numbered by dynasties as English history is numbered by kings.
But indirectly the Ethiopian conquest had prepared a revolution. Between the two services, the Army and the
Church, there had existed a constant and perhaps wholesome rivalry since the days of Menes, the first king. It
was a victory of the warrior class which established the regal power. It was a victory of the priests which
assigned to themselves the right hand, to the officers the left hand, of the sovereign when seated on his
throne. It was an evident compromise between the two that the king should be elected from the army, and that
he should be ordained as soon as he was crowned. During the brilliant campaigns of the Restoration the
military had been in power, but a long period of inaction had intervened since then. The discipline of the
soldiers was relaxed; their dignity was lowered; they no longer tilled their own landthat was done by
foreign slaves. Their rivals possessed the affection and reverence of the common people, while these soldiers,
who had never seen a battle, were detested as idle drones who lived upon what they had not earned. Under
the new dynasty their position became insecure. In Ethiopia there was no military casts. The army of Sabaco
had been levied from the pastoral tribes on the outskirts of the desert, from the Abyssinian mountaineers and
the negroes of the river plain. The king of Ethiopia was a priest, elected by his peers. He therefore regarded
the soldier aristocracy with no friendly eye. He did not formally invade their prescriptive rights, but he must
have disarmed them or in some way have taken out their sting. For as soon as he was gone the priests were
able to form an alliance with the people, and to place one of their own caste upon the throne. This king
deprived the soldiers of their lands, and the triumph of the hierarchy was complete.
But in such a country as Egypt Disestablishment is a dangerous thing. During long centuries the people had
been taught to associate innovation with impiety. That venerable structure the Egyptian constitution had been
raised by no human hands. As the gods had appointed certain animals to swim in the water, and others to fly
in the air, and others to move upon the earth, so they had decreed that one man should be a priest, and that
another should be a soldier, and that another should till the ground. There are times when every man feels
discontented with his lot. But it is evident that if men were able to change their occupation whenever they
chose, there would be a continual passing to and fro. Nobody would have patience to learn a trade; nobody
would settle down in life. In a short time the land would become a desert, and society would be dissolved. To
provide against this the gods had ordained that each man should do his duty in that state of life into which he
had been called, and woe be to him that disobeys the gods! Their laws are eternal and can never change.
Their vengeance is speedy and can never fail.
Such, no doubt, was the teaching of the Egyptian Church, and now the Church had shown it to be false. The
revolution had been begun, and, as usually happens, it could not be made to stop half way. As soon as the
first precedent was unloosed, down came the whole fabric with a crash. The priestking Sethos reigned in
peace, but as soon as he died the central government succumbed; the old local interests which had been lying
dormant for ages raised their heads; the empire broke up into twelve states, each governed by a petty king.
We now approach the event which first brought Egypt into contact with the European world. Psammiticus,
one of the twelve princes, received as his allotment the swampy district which adjoined the seacoast and the
mouths of the Nile. His fortune, as we shall see, was made by this position.
The commerce of Egypt had hitherto been conducted entirely by means of caravans. From Arabia Felix came
a long train of camels laden with the gums of that aromatic land, and with the more precious produce of
countries far beyondwith the pearls of the Persian Gulf and the carpets of Babylon, the pepper and ginger
of Malagar, the shawls of Kashmir, the cinnamon of Ceylon, the fine muslins of Bengal, the calicoes of
Coromandel, the nutmegs and camphor and cloves of the Indian Archipelago, and even silk and musk from
the distant Chinese shores. From Syria came other caravans with the balm of Gilead, so precious in medicine,
asphalt from the Dead Sea for embalming, cedar from Lebanon, and enormous quantities of wine and olive
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oil in earthern jars. Meroe contributed the spices of the Somali country, ebony, ivory, ostrich feathers, slaves,
and gold in twisted rings; the four latter products were also imported direct from Darfour, and by another
route which connected Egypt through Fezzan with Carthage, Morocco, and the regions beyond the desert in
the neighbourhood of Timbuktu. In return, the beautiful glass wares of the Egyptians and other artistic
manufactures were exported to Hindustan; the linen goods of Memphis were carried into the very heart of
Africa as Manchester goods are now; and then, as now, a girdle of beads was the essential part of an African
young lady’s dress.
On the side of the Mediterranean Egypt was a closed land, and this Chinese policy had not been adopted from
superstitious motives. The first ships which sailed that sea were pirates who had kidnapped and plundered the
dwellers on the coast. The government had therefore in selfdefence placed a garrison at Rhacotis harbour,
with orders to kill or enslave any stranger who should land. When the Phoenicians from pirates had become
merchants they were allowed to trade with Egypt by way of the land, and with this they were content. It was
left for another people to open up the trade by sea.
Ionia was the fairest province of Asiatic Greece. It lay opposite to Athens, its motherland. The same soft blue
waters, the same fragrant breezes caressed their shores by turn. It was celebrated by the poets as one of the
gardens of the world. There the black soil granted a rich harvest and the fruit hung heavily on the branches. It
was the birthplace of poetry, of history, of philosophy, and of art. It was there that the Homeric poems were
composed. It was there that men first cast off the chains of authority and sought in Nature the materials of a
creed.
It was, however, as a seafaring and commercial people that the Ionians first obtained renown. They served on
board Phoenician vessels and laboured in the dockyards of Tyre and Sidon until they learnt how to build the
'seahorses' for themselves, and how to navigate by that small but constant star which the Tyrians had
discovered in the constellation of the Little Bear. They took to the sea on their own account, and in Egypt
they found a good market. The wine and oil of Palestine, which the Phoenicians imported, were expensive
luxuries; the lower classes drank only the fermented sap of the palmtree and barley beer, and had only
castor oil, with which they rubbed their bodies, but with which, for obvious reasons, they could not cook their
food. The Ionians were able to sell red wine and sweet oil at a much lower price, for in the first place they
had vineyards and olive groves of their own, and secondly such bulky wares could be brought by sea more
cheaply than by land.
The Greeks first appeared on the Egyptian coast as pirates clad in bronze, next as smugglers, welcomed by
the people, but in opposition to the laws, and lastly as allies and honoured friends. They took advantage of the
confusion which followed the departure of Sabaco to push up the Nile with thirty vessels, each of fifty oars,
and established factories upon its banks. They negotiated with Psammiticus, who ascertained that their
country produced not only oil but men. He ordered a cargo, and transports arrived with troops. Europeans for
the first time entered the valley of the Nile. Their gallantry and discipline were irresistible, and the empire of
the Pharaohs was restored.
But now commenced a new regime. There succeeded to the throne a series of kings who were not related to
the ancient Pharaohs, who were not always men of noble birth, who were not even good Egyptians. They
were called PhilHellenes, or Lovers of the Greeks. Of these Psammiticus was the founder and the first. He
moved Egypt towards the sea. He placed his capital near the mouth of the river, that the Greek ships might
anchor beneath its walls. This new city of Sais, being distant from the quarries, was built of bricks from the
black mud of the Nile, but it was adorned with spoils from the forsaken Memphis. Chapels, obelisks, and
sphinxes were brought down on rafts. There was also a kind of Renaissance under the new kings; for a short
time the arts again became alive. Psammiticus retained the soldiers who had fought his battles, and sent
children to the camp to be taught Greek. Hence rose a class who acted as brokers, interpreters, and ciceroni to
the travellers who soon crowded into Egypt. The king encouraged such visits, and gave safeconducts to
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those who desired to pass into the interior.
All this was a cause of deep offence to the people of the land. They regarded their country as a temple, and all
strangers as impure. And now they saw men whose swords had been reddened with Egyptian blood
swaggering as conquerors through the streets, pointing with derision at the sacred animals, eating things
strangled and unclean. The warriors were those who suffered most. As a caste they still survived, but all their
power and prestige were gone. In battle the foreigners were assigned the post of honourthe right wing. In
times of peace the foreigners were the favourite regimentsthe household troops, the Guards. While the
royals lived merrily at Sais crowned with garlands of the papyrus, and revelling at banquets to the music of
the flute, the native troops were stationed on the hot and dismal frontiers of the desert; year followed year,
and they were not relieved. Such a state of things was no longer to be borne. One king had robbed them of
their lands, and now another had robbed them of their honour. They were no longer soldiers, they were
slaves; they determined to leave the country in which they were despised, and to seek a better fortune in the
Sudan. In number two hundred thousand, they gathered themselves together and began their march.
They were soon overtaken by envoys from the king, who had no desire to lose an army. The soldiers were
entreated to return and not to desert their fatherland. They cried out, beating their shields and shaking their
spears, that they would soon get another fatherland. Then the messengers began to speak of their wives and
little ones at home. Would they leave them also, and go wifeless and childless to a savage land? But one of
the soldiers explained, with a coarse gesture, that they had the means of producing families wherever they
might go. This ended the conference. Psammiticus pursued them with his Ionians, but could not overtake
them. In the wastes of Nubia there may yet be seen a colossal statue, on the right leg of which is an
inscription in Greek announcing that it was there they gave up the chase. The Egyptian soldiers arrived at
Meroe in safety; the king presented them with a province which had rebelled. They drove out the men,
married the women, and did much to civilise the native tribes.
In the meantime Psammiticus and his successors opened wider and wider the gloomy portals of the land. The
town of Naucratis was set apart, like Canton, for the foreign trade. Nine independent Greek cities had their
separate establishments within that town, and their magistrates and consuls, who administered their respective
laws. The merchants met in the Hellenion, which was half temple, half exchange, to transact their business
and offer sacrifices to the gods. Naucratis was in all respects a European town. There the garlicchewing
sailors, when they came on shore, could enjoy a holiday in the true Greek style. They could stroll in the
marketplace, where the moneychangers sat before their tables and the wine merchants ran about with
sample flasks under their arms, and where garlands of flowers, strangelooking fish, and heaps of purple
dates were set out for sale. They could resort to the barbers’ shops and gather the gossip of the day, or to
taverns where quail fighting was always going on. Nor were the chief ornaments of seaport society wanting
to grace the scene. No Egyptian girl, as Herodotus discovered, would kiss a Greek. But certain benevolent
and enterprising men had imported a number of Heterae or 'ladyfriends,' the most famous of whom was
Rhodopis, 'the rosyfaced,' with whom Sappho’s brother fell in love, and whom the poetess lampooned.
The foreign policy of Egypt was now completely changed. A long period of seclusion had followed the
conquests of the new empire. But the battlepieces of the ancient time still glowed upon the temple walls.
With their vivid colours and animated scenes they seemed to incite the modern Pharaohs to heroic deeds. The
throne was surrounded by warlike and restless men. It was determined that Egypt should become a naval
power. For this, timber was indispensable, and the forests of Lebanon must be seized. War was carried to the
continent. Syria was reduced. A garrison was planted on the banks of the Euphrates. A navy was erected in
the Mediterranean Sea, and the Tyrians were defeated in a great seabattle. The Suez Canal was opened for
the first time, and an exploring expedition circumnavigated Africa.
Yet, for all that and all that, the Egyptian people were not content. The victories won by mercenary troops
excited little patriotic pride, and the least reverse occasioned the most gloomy forebodings, the most serious
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discontent. The Egyptians indeed had good cause to be alarmedthe PhilHellenes were playing at a
dangerous game. Times had changed since Sesostris overran Asia. A great power had arisen on the banks of
the Tigris; a greater power still on the banks of the Euphrates. They had narrowly escaped Sennacherib when
Nineveh was in its glory, and now Babylon had arisen and Nebuchadnezzar had drawn the sword. For a long
time Chaldea and Egypt fought over Syria, their battleground and their prey. At last came the decisive day
of Carchemish. The Phoenicians, the Syrians, and the Jews obtained new masters; the Egyptians were driven
out of Asia.
Yet even then the kings were not cured of their taste for war. An expedition was sent against Cyrene, a Greek
kingdom on the northern coast of Africa. It was unsuccessful, and the sullen disaffection which had so long
smouldered burst forth into flame. The king was killed, and Amasis, a man of the people, was placed upon
the throne.
This monarch did not go to war, and he contrived to favour the Greeks without offending the prejudices of his
fellowcountrymen. He was, however, a true PhilHellene; he encircled himself with a bodyguard of
Greeks; he married a princess of Cyrene; he gave a handsome subscription to the fund for rebuilding the
temple at Delphi; he extended the commerce of Egypt and improved its manufactures. The liberal policy in
trade which he pursued had the most satisfactory results. Never had Egypt been so rich as she was then. But
she was defenceless; she had lost her arms. It is probable that under Amasis she was a vassal of Babylon,
paying tribute every year; and now a time was coming when gold could no longer purchase repose, when the
horrified people would see their temples stripped, their idols dashed to pieces, their sacred animals murdered,
their priests scourged, and the embalmed body of their king snatched from its last restingplace and flung
upon the flames.
A vast wilderness extends from the centre of Africa to the jungles of Bengal. It consists of rugged mountain
and of sandy wastes; it is traversed by three river basins or valley plains.
In its centre is the basin of the Tigris and Euphrates. On its east is the basin of the Indus; on its west is the
basin of the Nile. Each of these river systems is enclosed by deserts. The whole region may be pictured to the
mind as a broad yellow field with three green streaks running north and south.
Egypt, Babylonia, and India proper, or the Punjab, are the primeval countries of the ancient world. In these
three desertbound, riverwatered valleys we find, in the earliest dawn of history, civilisation growing wild.
Each in a similar manner had been fostered and tortured by Nature into progress; in each existed a people
skilled in the management of land, acquainted with manufactures, and possessing some knowledge of
practical science and of art.
The civilisation of India was the youngest of the three, yet Egypt and Chaldea were commercially its vassals
and dependents. India offered for sale articles not elsewhere to be foundthe shining warts of the oyster;
glasslike stones dug up out of the bowels of the earth, or gathered in the beds of driedup brooks; linen
which was plucked as a blossom from a tree, and manufactured into cloth as white as snow; transparent
fabrics, webs of woven wind which when laid on the dewy grass melted from the eyes; above all, those
glistening, glossy threads stolen from the body of a caterpillar, beautiful as the wings of the moth into which
that caterpillar is afterwards transformed.
Neither the Indians, the Chaldeans, nor the Egyptians were in the habit of travelling beyond the confines of
their own valleys. They resembled islanders, and they had no ships. But the intermediate seas were navigated
by the wandering shepherd tribes, who sometimes pastured their flocks by the waters of the Indus, sometimes
by the waters of the Nile. It was by their means that the trade between the river lands was carried on. They
possessed the camels and other beasts of burden requisite for the transport of goods. Their numbers and their
warlike habits, their intimate acquaintance with the wateringplaces and seasons of the desert, enabled them
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to carry the goods in safety through a dangerous land, while the regular profits they derived from the trade,
and the oaths by which they were bound, induced them to act fairly to those by whom they were employed.
At a later period the Chinese, who were once a great naval people, and who claim the discovery of the New
World, doubled Cape Comorin in their huge junks, and sailed up the western coasts of India into the Persian
Gulf, and along the coast of Arabia to the mouth of the Red Sea. It as probably from them that the arts of
shipbuilding and navigation were acquired by the Arabs of Yemen and the Indians of Guzerat, who then
made it their business to supply Babylon and Egypt and Eastern Africa with India goods. At a later period
still these India goods were carried by the Phoenicians to the coasts of Europe, and acorneating savages
were awakened to industry and ambition. India, as a 'land of desire,' has contributed much to the development
of man. On the routes of the India caravan, as on the banks of navigable rivers, arose great and wealthy cities,
which perished when the route was changed. Open the book of universal history at what period we may, it is
always the India trade which is the cause of internal industry and foreign negotiation.
The intercourse between the Indians, Chaldeans, and Egyptians was often interrupted by wars, which recurred
like epidemics, and which like epidemics closely resembled one another. The roving tribes of the sandy
deserts, the pastoral mountains, or the elevated steppeplateaux pressed by some mysterious impulsea
famine, an enemy in their rear, or the ambition of a single manswept down upon the plains of the Tigris
and Euphrates, and thence spread their conquests right and left. Sometimes they merely encamped, and the
natives recovered their independence. But more frequently they adopted the manners of the conquered
people, and flung themselves into luxury with the same ardour which they had displayed in war. This luxury
was not based on refinement but on sensuality, and it soon made them indolent and weak. Sooner or later they
suffered the fate which their fathers had inflicted, and a new race of invaders poured over the empire, to be
supplanted in their turn when their time was come.
Invasions of this nature were on the whole beneficial to the human race. The mingling of a young, powerful
people with the wise but somewhat weary nations of the plains produced an excellent effect. And since the
conquerors adopted the luxury of the conquered, they were obliged to adopt the same measure for supplying
the foreign goodsfor luxury means always something from abroad. As soon as the first shock was over the
trade routes were again opened, and perhaps extended, by the brandnew energies of the barbarian kings.
Babylonia or Chaldea, the alluvial country which occupies the lower course of the Euphrates, was
undoubtedly the original abode of civilisation in Western Asia. But it was on the banks of the Tigris that the
first great empire arosethe first at least of which we know. For who can tell how many cities, undreamt of
by historians, lie buried beneath the Assyrian plains? And Nineveh itself may have been built from some
dead metropolis, as Babylon bricks were used in the building of Baghdad. Recorded history is a thing of
yesterdaythe narrative of modern man. There is, however, a science of history; by this we are enabled to
restore in faint outline the unwritten past, and by this we are assured that whatever the names and number of
the forgotten empires may have been , they merely repeated one another. In describing the empire of Nineveh
we describe them all.
The Assyrian empire covered a great deal of ground. The kingdom of Troy was one of its fiefs. Its rule was
sometimes extended to the islands of the Grecian sea. Babylon was its subject. It stretched far away into Asia.
But the conquered provinces were loosely governed, or rather no attempt was made to govern them at all.
Phoenicia was allowed to remain a federation of republics. Israel, Judah, and Damascus were allowed to
continue their angry bickerings and petty wars. The relations between the conquered rulers and their subjects
were left untouched. Their laws, their manners, and their religion were in no way changed. It was merely
required that the vassal kings or senates should acknowledge the Emperor of Nineveh as their suzerain or
lord, that they should send him a certain tribute every year, and that they should furnish a certain contingent
of troops when he went to war.
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As long as a vigorous and dreaded king sat upon the throne this simple machinery worked well enough.
Every year the tributes, with certain forms of homage and with complimentary presents of curiosities and
artisans, were brought to the metropolis. But whenever an imperial calamity of any kind occurredan
unsuccessful foreign war, the death or even sickness of the reigning princethe tributes were withheld. Then
the emperor set to work to subdue the provinces again. But this time the conquered were treated not as
enemies only but as traitors. The vassal king and his advisers were tortured to death, the cities were razed to
the ground, and the rebels were transplanted by thousands to another land an effectual method of
destroying their patriotism or religion of the soil. The Syrian expeditions of Sennacherib were provoked by
the contumacy of Judah and of Israel. The kingdom of Israel was blotted out, but a camp plague broke up the
Assyrian army before Jerusalem, and not long afterwards the empire crumbled away. All the vassal nations
became free, and for a short time Nineveh stood alone, naked but unattacked. Then there was war in every
direction, and when it was over the city was a heap of charred ruins, and three great kingdoms took its place.
The first kingdom was that of the Medes, who had set the example of rebellion, and by whom Nineveh had
been destroyed. They inhabited the highland regions bordering on the Tigris, Ecbatana was their capital. They
were renowned for their luxury, and especially for their robes of flowing silk. Their priests were called Magi,
and formed a separate tribe or caste; they were dressed in white, lived only on vegetables, slept on beds of
leaves, worshipped the sun and the element of fire, as symbols of the deity, and followed the precepts of
Zoroaster. The empire of the Medes was bounded on the west by the Tigris. They inherited the Assyrian
provinces in Central Asia, the boundaries of which are not precisely known.
The civilisation of Nineveh had been derived from Babylon, a city famous for its rings and gems, which were
beautifully engraved, its carpets in which the figures of fabulous animals were interwoven, its magnifying
glasses, its sundials, and its literature printed in cuneiform characters on clay tablets, which were then baked
in the oven. Many hundreds of these have lately been deciphered, and are found to consist chiefly of military
dispatches, law papers, royal gamebooks, observatory reports, agricultural treatises, and religious
documents. In the partition of Assyria Babylon obtained Mesopotamia, or 'the Land between the Rivers,' and
Syria, including Phoenicia and Palestine. Nebuchadnezzar was the founder of the Empire; he routed the
Egyptians, he destroyed Jerusalem, transplanted the Jews on account of their rebellion, and reduced Tyre
after a memorable siege. He built a new Babylon as Augustus built a new Rome, and the city became one of
the wonders of the world. It was a vast fortified district, five or six times the area of London, interspersed
with parks and gardens and fields, and enclosed by walls on which six chariots could be driven side by side.
Its position in a flat country made it resemble in the distance a mountain with trees waving at the top. These
were the 'hanging gardens,' a grove of large trees planted on the square surface of a gigantic tower, and
ingeniously watered from below. Nebuchadnezzar erected this extraordinary structure to please his wife, who
came from the highlands of Media, and who, weary of the interminable plains, coveted meadows on
mountain tops such as her native land contained. The Euphrates ran through the centre of the city, and was
crossed by a stone bridge which was a marvel for its time. But more wonderful still, there was a kind of
Thames Tunnel passing underneath the river, and connecting palaces on either side. The city was united to its
provinces by roads and fortified posts; rafts inflated with skins, and reed boats pitched over with bitumen,
floated down the river with timber from the mountains of Armenia and stones for the purposes of building. A
canal large enough for ships to ascend was dug from Babylon to the Persian Gulf, and on its banks were
innumerable machines for raising the water and spreading it upon the soil.
The third kingdom was that of the Lydians, a people in manners and appearance resembling the Greeks. They
did not consider themselves behind the rest of the world. They boasted that they had invented dice, coin, and
the art of shopkeeping, and also that the famous Etruscan state was a colony of theirs. They inhabited Asia
Minor, a sterile, rugged tableland, but possessing a western coast enriched by nature and covered with the
prosperous cities of the Asiatic Greeks. Hitherto Ionia had never been subdued, but the cities were too jealous
of one another to combine, and Croesus was able to conquer them one by one. This was the man whose
wealth is still celebrated in a proverbhe obtained his gold from the washings of a sandy stream. Croesus
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admired the Greeks; he was the first of the lionhunters, and invited all the men of the day to visit him at
Sardis, where he had the pleasure of hearing Aesop tell some of his own fables. He was anxious that his
capital should form part of the grand tour which had already become the fashion of the Greek philosophers,
and that they should be able to say when they returned home that they had not only seen the pyramids of
Egypt and the ruins of Troy, but also the treasurehouse of Croesus. When he received a visit from one of
these sages in cloak and beard he would show him his heaps of gold and silver, and ask him whether, in all
his travels, he had ever seen a happier manto which question he did not always receive a very courteous
reply.
After long wars, peace was established between the Babylonians, the Lydians, and the Medes on a lasting and
secure foundation. The royal families were united by marriage; alliances, defensive and offensive, were made
and ratified on oath. Egypt was no longer able to invade, and there was a period of delicious calm in that
stormy Asiatic world, broken only by the plaintive voices of the poor Jewish captives who sat by the waters
of Babylon and sang of the Holy City that was no more.
In the twinkling of an eye all this was changed. A band of hardy mountaineers rushed out of the recesses of
Persia and swept like a wind across the plains. They were dressed in leather from top to toe; they had never
tasted fruit or wine; they had never seen a market; they knew not how to buy or sell. They were taught only
three thingsto ride on horseback, to hurl the javelin, and to speak the truth.
All Asia was covered with blood and flames. The allied kingdoms fell at once. India and Egypt were soon
afterwards added to this empire, the greatest that the world had ever seen. The Persians used to boast that they
ruled from the land of uninhabitable heat to the land of uninhabitable cold; that their dominion began in
regions where the sun frizzled the hair and blackened the faces of the natives, and ended in a land where the
air was filled with snow like feathers and the earth was hard as stone. The Persian empire was in reality
bounded by the deserts which divided Egypt from Ethiopia on the south and from Carthage on the west; by
the desert which divided the Punjab from Bengal; by the steppes which lay on the other side of the Jaxartes;
by the Mediterranean, the Caspian, and the Black Sea.
Darius, the third emperor, invented a system of provincial government which, though imperfect when viewed
by the wisdom of modern times, was far superior to any that had preceded it in Asia. He appointed satraps or
pashas to administer the conquered provinces. Each of these viceroys received with his commission a map of
his province engraved on brass. He was at once the civil governor and commander of the troops, but his
power was checked and supervised by a secretary or clerk of the accounts, and the province was visited by
royal commissioners once a year. The troops in each province were of two kinds; some garrisoned the cities;
others, for the most part cavalry, lived, like the Roman legions, always in a camp; it was their office to keep
down brigands, and to convey the royal treasure from place to place. The troops were subsisted by the
conquered people; this formed part of the tribute, and was collected at the point of the sword. There was also
a fixed tax in money and in kind, which was received by the clerk of the accounts and dispatched to the
capital every year.
The Great King still preserved in his habits something of the nomad chief. He wintered at Babylon, but in the
summer the heat was terrible in that region; the citizens retired to their cellars, and the king went to Susa,
which was situated on the hills, or to Ecbatana, the ancient capital of the Medes, or to Persepolis, the true
hearth and home of the Persian race. When he approached one of these cities the magi came forth to meet
him, dressed all in white and singing hymns. The road was strewn with myrtle boughs and roses, and silver
altars with blazing frankincense were placed by the wayside.
His palaces were built of precious woods, but the naked wood was never permitted to be seen: the walls were
covered with golden plates, the roof with silver tiles. The courts were adorned with white, green, and blue
hangings, fastened with cords of fine linen to pillars of marble by silver rings. The gardens were filled with
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rare and exotic plants; from the cold bosom of the snowwhite stone fountains sprang upwards, sparkling in
the air; birds of gorgeous plumage flashed from tree to tree, resembling flowers where they perched. And as
the sun sank low in the heavens and the shadows on the earth grew deep, the voice of the nightingale was
heard in the thicket, and the low cooing of the dove. Sounds of laughter proceeded from the house; lattices
were opened; ponderous doors swung back, and out poured a troop of houris which a Persian poet alone
would venture to describe. For there might be seen the fair Circassian, with cheeks like the apple in its rosy
bloom; and the Abyssinian damsel, with warm brown skin and voluptuous drowsy eyes; the Hindu girl, with
lithe and undulating form and fingers which seemed created to caress; the Syrian, with aquiline and haughty
look; the Greek with features brightened by intellect and vivacity; and the homeborn beauty prepared
expressly for the harem, with a complexion as white as the milk on which she had been fed, and a face in
form and expression resembling the full moon.
All these dear charmers belonged to the king, and no doubt he often wished half of them away. For if he felt a
serious passion rising in his breast, etiquette compelled him to put it down. Inconstancy was enjoined on him
by law. He was subjected to a rotation of kisses by the regulated science of the harem. Ceremony interdicted
affection and caprice. He suffered from unvarying variety and the monotony of eternal change. The whole
empire belonged to him, and all its inhabitants were his slaves. If he happened to be struck to the heart by a
look cast from under a pair of blackedged eyelids, if he became enamoured of a high bosomed virgin, with a
form like the oriental willow, he had only to say the word; she was at once taken to the apartments of the
women, and her parents received the congratulations of their friends. But then he was not allowed to see his
beloved for a twelvemonth: six months she must be prepared with the oil of myrrh, six months with the
sweet odours, before she was sufficiently purified and perfumed to receive the august embraces of the king,
and to soothe a passion which meanwhile had ample time to cool.
The Great King slept on a splendid couch, overspread by a vine of branching gold, with clusters of rubies
representing grapes. He wore a dress of purple and white, with scarlet trousers, a girdle like that of a woman,
and a high tiara encircled by a skyblue turban. He lived in a prison of rich metal and dazzling stone. Around
him stood the courtiers with their hands wrapped in their robes, and covering their mouths lest he should be
polluted by their baseborn breath. Those who desired to speak to his majesty prostrated themselves before
him on the ground. If any one entered uncalled, a hundred sabres gleamed in the air, and unless the king
stretched out his sceptre the intruder would be killed.
An army sat down to dinner in the palace every day, and every day a herd of oxen was killed for them to eat.
These were only the household troops. But when the Great King went to war, the provinces sent in their
contingents, and then might be seen, as in some great exhibition, a collection of warriors from the four
quarters of the earth. Then might be seen the Immortals, or Persian lifeguards; their arms were of gold and
silver, their standards were of silk. Then might be seen the heavyarmed Egyptian troops, with long wooden
shields reaching to the ground; the Greeks from Ionia, with crested helmets and breastplates of bronze; the
furclad Tartars of the steppes, who 'raised hair' like the Red Indians, a people probably belonging to the
same race; the Ethiopians of Africa, with fleecy locks, clad in the skins of lions and armed with throwsticks
and with stakes, the points of which had been hardened in the fire, or tipped with horn or stone; the Berbers in
their fourhorse chariots; the camel cavalry of Arabia, each camel being mounted by two archers sitting back
to back, and thus prepared for the enemy on either side; the wild horsemen of the Persian hills who caught the
enemy with their lassos; the blackskinned but straighthaired aborigines of India, with their bows of the
bamboo and their shields made of the skins of cranes; and above all the Hindus, dressed in white muslin and
seated on the necks of elephants, which were clothed in Indian steel and which looked like moving mountains
with snakes for hands. Towers were erected on their backs, in which sat bowmen, who shot down the foe
with unerring aim, while the elephants were taught to charge, to trample down the opposing ranks in heaps,
and to take up armed men in their trunks and hand them to their riders. Sometimes huge scythes were
fastened to their trunks, and they mowed down regiments as they marched along. The army was also attended
by packs of enormous bloodhounds to hunt the fugitives when a victory had been gained, and by falcons
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which were trained to fly at the eyes of the enemy to baffle them, or even blind them as they were fighting.
When this enormous army began to march it devoured the whole land over which it passed. At night the
campfires reddened the sky as if a great city was in flames. In the morning, a little after daybreak, a trumpet
sounded, and the image of the sun, cased in crystal and made of burnished gold, was raised on the top of the
king’s pavilion, which was built of wood, covered with cashmere shawls, and supported on silver poles. As
soon as the ball caught the first rays of the rising sun the march began. First went the chariot with the altar
and the sacred fire, drawn by eight milkwhite horses driven by charioteers, who walked by the side with
golden wands. The chariot was followed by a horse of extraordinary magnitude, which was called the
'Charger of the Sun.' The king followed with the ten thousand Immortals, and with his wives in covered
carriages drawn by mules, or in cages upon camels. Then came the army without order or precision, and there
rose a dust which resembled a white cloud, and which could be seen across the plain for miles. The enemy,
when this cloud drew near, could distinguish within it the gleaming of brazen armour, and they could hear the
sound of the lash, which was always part of the military music of the Persians. When a battle was fought the
king took his seat on a golden throne, surrounded by his secretaries, who took notes during the engagement
and recorded every word which fell from the royal lips.
This army was frequently required by the Persians. They were a restless people, always lusting after war.
Vast as their empire was, it was not large enough for them. The courtiers used to assure an enterprising
monarch that he was greater than all the kings that were dead, and greater than those that were yet unborn;
that it was his mission to extend the Persian territory as far as God’s heaven reached, in order that the sun
might shine on no land beyond their borders. Hyperbole apart, it was the aim and desire of the kings to annex
the plains of Southern Russia, and so to make the Black Sea a lake in the interior of Persia; and to conquer
Greece, the only land in Europe which really merited their arms. In both these attempts they completely
failed. The Russian Tartars, who had no fixed abode and whose houses were on wheels, decoyed the Persian
army far into the interior, eluded it in pursuit, harassed and almost destroyed it in retreat. The Greeks defeated
them in pitched battles on Greek soil, and defeated their fleets in Greek waters.
This contest, which lasted many years, to the Greeks was a matter of life and death, but it was merely an
episode in Persian history. The defeats of Plataea and Salamis caused the Great King much annoyance, and
cost him a shred of land and sea. But they did not directly affect the prosperity of his empire. What was the
loss of a few thousand slaves, and of a few hundred Phoenician and Egyptian and Ionian ships, to him?
Indirectly, indeed, it decided the fate of Persia by developing the power of the Greeks, but ruined in any case
that empire must have been, like all others of its kind. The causes of its fall must be sought for within and not
without. In the natural course of events it would have become the prey of some people like the Parthian
highlanders or the wandering Turks. The Greek wars had this result; the empire was conquered at an earlier
period than would otherwise have been the case, and it was conquered by a European instead of an Asiatic
power.
There is no problem in history so interesting as the unparalleled development of Greece. How was it that so
small a country could exert so remarkable an influence on the course of events and on the intellectual
progress of mankind? The Greeks, as the science of language clearly proves, belonged to the same race as the
Persians themselves. Many centuries before history begins a people migrated from the highlands of Central
Asia and overspread Europe on the one side, on the other side Hindustan. Celts and Germans, Russians and
Poles, Romans and Greeks, Persians and Hindus, all sprang from the loins of a shepherd tribe inhabiting the
tableland of the sources of the Oxus and Jaxartes, and are quite distinct from the Assyrians, the Arabs, and
Phoenicians, whose ancestors descended into the plains of Western Asia from the tableland of the sources of
the Tigris and Euphrates. It is also inferred from the evidence of language that at some remote period the
Egyptians belonged to the same stock as the mountaineers of Armenia, the Chinese to the same stock as the
highlanders of Central Asia, and that at a period still more remote the Turanian or Chinese Tartar, the Aryan
or Indo European, and the Semitic races and languages were one. Upon this last point philologists are not
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agreed, though the balance of authority is in favour of the view expressed. But as regards the descent of the
English and Hindus from the same tribe of Asiatic mountaineers, that is now as much a fact of history as the
common descent of the English and the Normans from the same race of pirates on the Baltic shores. The
Celts migrated first into Europe; they were followed by the GraecoItalian people, and then by the
GermanSlavonians, the Persians and Hindus remaining longest in their primeval homes. The great
difference between the various breeds of the IndoEuropean race is partly due to their intermixture with the
natives of the countries which they colonised and conquered. In India the Aryans found a black race which
yet exist in the hills and jungles of that country, and who yet speak languages of their own which have
nothing in common with the noble Sanskrit. Europe was inhabited by a people of Tartar origin who still exist
as the Basques of the Pyrenees, and as the Finns and Lapps of Scandinavia. It is probable that these people
also were intruders of comparatively recent date, and that a yet more primeval race existed on the gloomy
banks of the Danube and the Rhine, in huts built on stakes in the shallow waters of the Swiss lakes, and in the
mountain caverns of France and Spain. The Aryans, who migrated into India, certainly intermarried with the
blacks, and there can be no reasonable doubt that the Celts who first migrated into Europe took the wives as
well as the lands of the natives. The aborigines were therefore largely absorbed by the Celts, to the detriment
of that race, before the arrival of the Germans, whose blood remained comparatively pure.
We may freely use the doctrine of intermarriage to explain the difference in colour between the sepoy and his
officer. We may apply itthough with less confidenceto explain the difference in character and aspect
between the Irish and the English, but we do not think that the doctrine will help us much towards
expounding the genius of Greece. And if the superiority of that people was not dependent in any way on race
distinction, inherent or acquired, it must have been in some way connected with locality and other incidents
of life.
A glance at the map is sufficient to explain how it was that Greece became civilised before the other
European lands. It is nearest to those countries in which civilisation first arose. It is the borderland of East
and West. The western coast of Asia and the eastern coast of Greece lie side by side; the sea between them is
narrow, with the islands like steppingstones across a brook. On the other hand, a mountain wall extends in
the form of an arc from the Adriatic to the Black Sea and shuts off Europe from Greece, which is thus
compelled to grow towards Asia as a tree grows towards the light. Its coasts are indented in a peculiar manner
by the sea. Deep bays and snug coves, forming hospitable ports, abound. The character of the Aegean is mild
and humane; its atmosphere is clear and favourable for those who navigate by the eye from island to island
and from point to point. The purple shellfish, so much in request with the Phoenicians for their
manufactures, was found upon the coasts of Greece. A trade was opened up between the two lands, and with
trade there came arithmetic and letters to assist the trade, and from these a desire on the part of the Greeks for
more luxury and more knowledge. All this was natural enough. But how was it that whatever came into the
hands of the Greeks was used merely as raw materialthat whatever they touched was transmuted into gold?
How was it that Asia was only their dame’s school, and that they discovered the higher branches of
knowledge for themselves? How was it that they who were taught by the Babylonians to divide the day into
twelve hours afterwards exalted astronomy to the rank of an exact science? How was it that they who
received from Egypt the canon of proportions and the first ideas of the portraiture of the human form,
afterwards soared into the regions of the ideal, and created in marble a beauty more exquisite than can be
found on eartha vision, as it were, of some unknown yet not unimagined world?
The mountains of Greece are disposed in a peculiar manner, so as to enclose extensive tracts of land which
assume the appearance of large basins or circular hollows, level as the ocean and consisting of rich alluvial
soil through which rise steep insulated rocks. The plain subsisted a numerous population; the rock became the
Acropolis or citadel of the chief town, and the mountains were barriers against invasion. Other districts were
parcelled out by water in the same manner; their frontiers were swift streaming rivers or estuaries of the sea.
Each of these cantons became an independent citystate, and the natives of each canton became warmly
attached to their fatherland. Nature had given them ramparts which they knew how to use. They defended
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with obstinacy the river and the pass; if those were forced the citadel became a place of refuge and resistance,
and if the worst came to the worst they could escape to inaccessible mountain caves.
Each of these states possessed a constitution of its own, and each was homemade and differed slightly from
the rest. It may be imagined what a variety of ideas must have risen in the process of their manufacture. The
laws were debated in a general assembly of the citizens; each community within itself was full of intellectual
activity.
Selfdevelopment and independence are too often accompanied by isolation, and nations, like individuals,
become torpid when they retire from the world. But this was not the case with Greece. Though its people
were divided into separate states, they all spoke the same language and worshipped the same gods, and there
existed certain institutions which at appointed times assembled them together as a nation.
Greece is a country which possesses the most extraordinary climate in the world. Within two degrees of
latitude it ranges from the beech to the palm. In the morning the traveller may be shivering in a snowstorm,
and viewing a winter landscape of naked trees; in the afternoon he may be sweltering beneath a tropical sun,
with oleanders blooming around him and oranges shining in the green foliage like balls of gold. From this
variety of climate resulted a variety of produce which stimulated the natives to barter and exchange. A central
spot was chosen as the market place, and it was made, for the common protection, a sanctuary of Apollo.
The people, when they met for the purposes of trade, performed at the same time religious rites, and also
amused themselves, in the rude manner of the age, with boxing, wrestling, running races, and throwing the
spear; or they listened to the minstrels, who sang the ballads of ancient times, and to the prophets or inspired
politicians, who chanted predictions in hexameters. That sanctuary became in time the famous oracle of
Delphi, and those sports expanded into the Olympian Games. To the great fair came Greeks from all parts of
the land, and when chariot races were introduced it became necessary to make good roads from state to state,
and to build bridges across the streams. The administration of the sanctuary, the laws and regulations of the
games, and the management of the public fund subscribed for the expenses of the fair, could only be arranged
by means of a national council composed of deputies from all the states. This congress was called the
Amphictyonic League, which, soon extending its powers, enacted national laws, and as a supreme court of
arbitration decided all questions that arose between state and state.
At Olympia the inhabitants of the coast displayed the scarlet cloth and the rich trinkets which they had
obtained from Phoenician ships. At Olympia those who had been kidnapped into slavery, and had afterwards
been ransomed by their friends at home, related to an eager crowd the wonders which they had seen in the
enchanted regions of the East.
And then throughout all Greece there was an inward stirring and a hankering after the unknown, and a desire
to achieve great deeds. It began with the expedition of Jasonan exploring voyage to the Black Sea; it
culminated in the siege of Troy.
In such countries as the Grecian states, where the area is small, the community flourishing, and the frontier
inexorably defined, the law of population operates with unusual force. The mountain walls of the Greek
cantons, like the deserts which surrounded Egypt, not only kept out the enemy but also kept in the natives;
they were not only fortresses but prisons. In order to exist, the Greeks were obliged to cultivate every inch of
soil. But when this had been done the population still continued to increase, and now the land could no longer
be increased. In those early days they had no manufactures, mines, or foreign commerce by means of which
they could supply themselves, as we do, with food from other lands. In such an emergency the government, if
it acts at all, has only two methods to pursue. It must either strangle or bleed the population; it must organise
infanticide or emigration.
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The first method was practised to some extent, but happily the last was now within their power. The Trojan
war had made them acquainted with the Asiatic coast, and overcrowded states began to send forth colonies by
public act. The emigrants consisted chiefly, as may be supposed, of the poor, the dangerous, and the
discontented classes. They took with them no women; they went forth, like the buccaneers, sword in hand.
They swooped down on the Ionian coastthere was at that time no power in Asia Minor which was able to
resist them. They obtained wives, sometimes by force, sometimes by peaceable arrangement with the natives.
In course of time the coast of Asia Minor was lined with rich and flourishing towns. The mother country
continued to pour forth colonies, and colonies also founded colonies. The Greeks sailed and settled in every
direction. They braved the dark mists and the inclement seasons of the Black Sea, and took up their abode
among a people whose faces were almost concealed in furs, who dwelt at the mouths of great rivers and
cultivated boundless plains of wheat. This wheat the Greeks exported to the mother country, with barrels of
the salted tunnyfish, and the gold of Ural, and even the rich products of the Oriental trade which were
brought across Asia from India or China by the waters of the Oxus to the Aral Sea, from the Aral to the
Caspian Sea by land, from the Caspian to the Black Sea by the Volga and the Don.
But where Italy dipped her arched and lovely foot in the blue waters of an untroubled sea, beneath the blue
roof of an unclouded skywhere the flowers never perished, where eternal summer smiled, where mere
existence was voluptuous and life itself a sensual joythere the Greek cities clustered richly
togethercities shining with marble and built in fairy forms, before them the deep tranquil harbour, behind
them violet valleys, myrtle groves, and green lakes of waving corn.
When a bank of emigrants went forth they took with them fire kindled on the city hearth. Although each
colony was independent, it regarded with reverence the mother state, and all considered themselves with
pride not foreigners but Greeks; for Greece was not a country but a people; wherever the Greek language was
spoken, that was Greece. They all spoke the same grand and harmonious languagealthough the dialects
might differ; they had the same bible, for Homer was in all their hearts, and the memory of their youthful
glory was associated in their minds with the union of Greek warriors beneath the walls of Troy. The chief
colonial states were represented at the meetings of the Amphictyonic League, and any Greek from the Crimea
to Marseilles might contend at the Olympian Games with the full rights of a Spartan or Athenian, a privilege
which the Great King could by no means have obtained.
The intense enthusiasm which was excited by the Olympian Games was the chief cause of the remarkable
development of Greece. The man who won the olive garland on that celebrated course was famous for ever
afterwards. His statue was erected in the public hall at Delphi; he was received by his native city with all the
honours of a formal triumph; he was not allowed to enter by the gatesa part of the city wall was beaten
down. The city itself became during five years the talk of Greece, and wherever its people travelled they were
welcomed with congratulations and esteem.
The passion for praise is innate in the human mind. It is only natural that throughout the whole Greek world a
spirit of eager rivalry and emulation should prevail. In every city was established a gymnasium where crowds
of young men exercised themselves naked. This institution was originally intended for those only who were
in training for the Olympian Games, but afterwards it became a part of daily life, and the Greeks went to the
gymnasium with the same regularity as the Romans went to the bath.
At first the national prizes were only for athletes, but at a later period the principle of competition was
extended to books and musical compositions, paintings and statues. There was also a competition in rich and
elegant display. The carriages and retinues which were exhibited upon the course excited a desire to obtain
wealth, and gave a useful impulse to foreign commerce, manufactures, and mining operations.
The Greek world was composed of municipal aristocraciessocieties of gentlemen living in towns, with
their farms in the neighbourhood, and having all their work done for them by slaves. They themselves had
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nothing to do but to cultivate their bodies by exercise in the gymnasium, and their minds by conversation in
the marketplace. They lived out of doors while their wives remained shut up at home. In Greece a lady
could only enter society by adopting a mode of life which in England usually facilitates her exit. The Greeks
spent little money on their wives, their houses, or their food: the rich men were expected to give dramatic
entertainments , and to contribute a company or a manofwar for the protection of the city. The
marketplace was the Greek club. There the merchants talked their businessthe labours of the desk were
then unknown. The philosopher instructed his pupils under the shade of a planetree, or strolling up and
down a garden path. Mingling with the song of the cicada from the boughs might be heard the chipping of the
chisel from the workshop of the sculptor, and the laughter and shouts from the gymnasium. And sometimes
the tinkle of a harp would be heard; a crowd would be collected, and a rhapsodist would recite a scene from
the Iliad, every word of which his audience knew by heart, as an audience at Naples or Milan knows every
bar of the opera which is about to be performed. Sometimes a citizen would announce that his guest, who had
just arrived from the sea of Azov or the Pillars of Hercules, would read a paper on the manners and customs
of the barbarians. It was in the city that the book was first read and the statue exhibitedthe rehearsal and
the private view; it was in Olympia that they were published to the nation. When the public murmured in
delight around a picture of Xeuxis or a statue of Praxiteles, when they thundered in applause to an ode by
Pindar or a lecture by Herodotus, how many hundreds of young men must have gone home with burning
brows and throbbing hearts, devoured by the love of fame! And when we consider that though the
geographical Greece is a small country, the true Greece that is to say, the land inhabited by the
Greekswas in reality a large country; when we consider with what an immense number of ideas they must
have been brought in contact on the shores of the Black Sea, in Asia Minor, in Southern Italy, in Southern
France, in Egypt, and in Northern Africa; when we consider that, owing to those noble contests of Olympia,
city was every contending against city, and within the city man against man, there is surely no longer
anything mysterious in the exceptional development of that people.
Education in Greece was not a monopoly; it was the precious privilege of all the free. The business of
religion was divided among three classes. The priests were merely the sacrificers and guardians of the
sanctuary; they were elected, like the mayors of our towns, by their fellow citizens for a limited time only,
and without their being withdrawn from the business of ordinary life. The poets revealed the nature, and
portrayed the character, and related the biography of the gods. The philosophers undertook the education of
the young, and were also the teachers and preachers of morality. If a man wished to obtain the favour of the
gods, or to take divine advice, he went to a priest; if he desired to turn his mind to another, though scarcely a
better world, he took up his Homer or his Hesiod; and if he suffered from sickness or mental affliction he sent
for a philosopher.
It will presently be shown that the philosophers invaded the territory of the poets, who were defended by the
government and by the mob, and that a religious persecution was the result. But the fine arts were free; and
the custom which came into vogue of erecting statues to the gods, to the victors of the games, and to other
illustrious men favoured the progress of sculpture, which was also aided by the manners of the land. The
gymnasium was a school of art. The eyes of the sculptor revelled on the naked formnot purchased, as in
London, at eighteenpence an hour, but visible in marvellous perfection at all times and in every pose. Thus
ever present to the eye of the artist, it was ever present to his brain, and flowed forth from his fingers in
lovely forms. As art was fed by nature, so nature was fed by art. The Greek women placed statues of Apollo
or Narcissus in their bedrooms, that they might bear children as beautiful as those on whom they gazed. Such
children they prayed the gods to give them, for the Greeks loved beauty to distraction, and regarded ugliness
as sin. They had exhibitions of beauty at which prizes were given by celebrated artists who were appointed to
the judgmentseat. There were towns in which the most beautiful men were elected to the priesthood. There
were connoisseurs who formed companies of soldiers composed exclusively of comely young men, and who
could plead for the life of a beautiful youth amidst the wrath and confusion of the battlefield.
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The Persian wars gave a mighty impulse to the intellect of Greece. Indeed, before that period Greek art had
been uncouth; it was then that the Age of Marble really began, and that Phidias moulded the ideas of Homer
into noble forms. It was then that Athens, having commanded the Greeks in the War of Independence,
retained the supremacy and became the centre of the nation. Athens had died for Greece; it had been burnt by
the Persians to the ground, and from those glorious ashes arose the Athens of historythe City of the Violet
Crown. To Athens were summoned the great artists: to Athens came every young man who had talent and
ambition: to Athens every Greek who could afford it sent his boys to school. The Academy was planted with
widespreading plane trees and olive groves, laid out in walks with fountains, and surrounded by a wall. A
theatre was built entirely of masts which had been taken from the enemy. A splendid harbour was
constructeda harbour which was in itself a town. All that fancy could create, all that money could
command, was lavished upon the city and its environsthe very milestones on the roads were works of art.
The Persians assisted the growth of Greece, not only by those invasions which had favoured the union,
aroused the ardour, multiplied the desires, and ennobled the ambition of the Greek people, but also by their
own conquests. Their failure in Europe and their success in Asia were equally profitable to the Greeks. Trade
and travel were much facilitated by their extensive rule. A government postal service had been established:
royal couriers might by seen every day galloping at full speed along the splendid roads which united the
provinces of the Punjab and Afghanistan and Bokhara on one side of the Euphrates, and of Asia Minor, Syria
and Egypt on the other side of that river, with the imperial palaces at Babylon, Susa, Ecbatana, and
Persepolis. Caravanserais were fitted up for the reception of travellers in lonely places where no other houses
were to be found. Troops of mounted police patrolled the roads. In desert tracts thousands of earthen jars,
filled with water and planted up to their necks in sand, supplied the want of wells. The old system of national
isolation and closed ports was battered down. The Greeks were no longer forbidden to enter the Phoenician
ports, or compelled to trade exclusively at one Egyptian town. Greek merchants were able to join in the
caravan trade of Central Asia, and to traffic on the shores of the Indian Ocean. Philosophers, taking with them
a venture of oil to pay expenses, could now visit the learned countries of the East with more profit than had
previously been the case. Since that country was deprived of its independence, the priests were inclined to
encourage the cultivated curiosity of their new scholars.
Egypt from the earliest times had been the university of Greece. It had been visited, according to tradition, by
Orpheus and Homer: there Solon had studied lawmaking, there the rules and principles of the Pythagorean
order had been obtained, there Thales had taken lessons in geometry, there Democritus had laughed and
Xenophanes had sneered. And now every intellectual Greek made the voyage to that country; it was regarded
as a part of education, as a pilgrimage to the cradleland of their mythology. To us Egypt is a land of
surpassing interest, but nevertheless merely a charnelhouse, a museum, a valley of ruins and dry bones. The
Greeks saw it alive. They saw with their own eyes the solemn and absurd rites of the templethe cat
solemnly enthroned, the tame crocodiles being fed, ibis mummies being packed up in red jars, scribes carving
the animal language upon the granite. They wandered in the mazes of the Labyrinth: they gazed on the
mighty Sphinx couched on the yellow sands with a temple between its paws: they entered the great hall of
Carnac, filled with columns like a forest and paved with acres of solid stone. In that country Herodotus
resided several years and took notes on his wooden tablets of everything that he saw, ascertained the
existence of the Niger, made inquiries about the sources of the Nile, collated the traditions of the priests of
Memphis with those of Thebes. To Egypt came the divine Plato, and drank long and deeply of its ancient
lore. The house in which he lived at Heliopolis was afterwards shown to travellersit was one of the sights
of Egypt in Strabo’s day. There are some who ascribe the whole civilisation of Greece, and the rapid growth
of Greek literature, to the free trade which existed between the two lands. Greece imported all its paper from
Egypt, and without paper there would have been few books. The skins of animals were too rare, and their
preparation too expensive, to permit the growth of a literature for the people.
Gradually the Greeks become dispersed over the whole Asiatic world, and such was the influence of their
superiority that countries in which they had no political power adopted much of their culture and their
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manners. They surpassed the inhabitants of Asia as much in the arts of war as in those of peace. They served
as mercenaries in every land; wherever the kettledrum was beaten they assembled in crowds.
It soon became evident to keen observers that the Greeks were destined to inherit the Persian world. That vast
empire was beginning to decay. The character of the ruling people had completely changed. It is said that the
Lombards of the fourth generation were terrified when they looked at the portraits of their savage ancestors
who, with their hair shaved behind and hanging down over their mouths in front, had issued from the dark
forests of Central Europe, and had streamed down from the Alps upon the green Italian plains. The Persians
soon ceased to be the rude and simple mountaineers who had scratched their heads with wonder at the sight
of a silk dress, and who had been unable to understand the object of changing one thing for another. It was
remarked that no people adopted more readily the customs of other nations. Whenever they heard of a new
luxury they made it their own. They soon became distinguished for that exquisite and refined politeness
which they retain at the present day; their language cast off its guttural sounds and became melodious to the
ear. Time went on, and their old virtues entirely departed. They made use of gloves and umbrellas when they
walked out in the sun; they no longer hunted except in battues, slaughtering without danger or fatigue the
lean, mangy creatures of the parks. They painted their faces and pencilled their eyebrows and wore bracelets
and collars, and dined on a variety of entrees, tasting a little here and a little there, drank deep, yawned half
the day in their harems, and had valets de chambre to help them out of bed. Their actions were like water, and
their words were like the wind. Once a Persian’s right hand had been a pledge which was never broken; now
no one could rely on his most solemn oath.
A country in which polygamy prevails can never enjoy a wellordered constitution. There is always an
uncertainty about succession. The kingdom does not descend by rule to the eldest son, but to the son of the
favourite wife; it is not determined beforehand by a national law, constant and unchangeable, given forth
from the throne and ratified by the estates; it may be decided suddenly and at any moment in that hour when
men are weak and yielding, women sovereign and strongwhen right is often strangled by a fond embrace
and reason kissed to sleep by rosy lips. The fatal 'Yes'! is uttered and cannot be revoked. The heir is
appointed and an injustice has been done. But the rival mother has yet a hopethe appointed heir may die.
Then the seraglio becomes a nursery of treason; the harem administration is stirred by dark whispers; the
cabinet of women and eunuchs is cajoled and bribed. A crime is committed and is revenged. The whole
palace smells of blood. The king trembles on his throne. He himself is never safe; he is always encircled by
soldiers; he never sleeps twice in the same place; his dinner is served in sealed trays; a man stands at his left
hand who tastes from the cup before he dares to raise it to his lips.
The satrap form of government is far superior to that of vassal kings. As long as the system of inspection is
kept up there is no comparison between the two. But if once the satrapies are allowed to become hereditary
there is no difference between the two. In the latter days of the Persian empire the satraps were no longer
supervised by royal visitors and clerks of the accounts. Each of these viceroys had his bodyguard of Persians
and his army of mercenary Greeks. Sometimes they fought against each other; sometimes they even contested
for the throne. As for the subject nations, they were by no means idle; revolts broke out in all directions.
Egypt enjoyed a long interlude of independence, though afterwards she was again reduced to servitude. The
Indians appear to have shaken themselves free, and to have attained the position of allies. Many provinces
still recognised the emperor as their suzerain and lord, but did not pay him any tribute. When he travelled
from Susa to Persepolis he had to go through a rocky pass where he paid a toll. The King of Persia could not
enter Persia proper without buying the permission of a little shepherd tribe.
A remarkable event now occurred. A pretender to the throne hired a Greek army, led it to Babylon, and
defeated the Great King at the gates of his palace. The empire was won, but the pretender had fallen in the
battle; his Persian adherents went over to the other side; the Greeks were left without a commander and
without a cause. They were in the heart of Asia, cut off from their home by swift streaming rivers and
burning plains of sand. They were only then thousand strong, yet in spite of their desperate condition they cut
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their way back to the sea. That glorious victory, that still more glorious retreat, exposed the true state of
affairs to public view, and it became known all over Greece that the Persian empire could be overcome.
But Greece unhappily was subject to vices and abuses of its own, and was not in a position to take advantage
of the weakness of its neighbour.
The intellectual achievements of the Greeks have been magnificently praised. And when we consider what
the world was when they found it, and what it was when they left it, when we review their productions in
connection with the time and the circumstances under which they were composed, we are forced to
acknowledge that it would be difficult to exaggerate their excellence. But the splendour of their just renown
must not blind us to their moral defects, and to their exceeding narrowness as politicians.
In the arts and letters they were one nation, and their jealousy of one another only served to stimulate their
inventiveness and industry. But in politics this envious spirit had a very different effect; it divided them, it
weakened them; the Ionian cities were enslaved again and again because they could not combine. And one
reason of their not being able to combine was this: they never trusted one another. It was their inveterate
dishonesty, their want of faith, their disregards for the sanctity of oaths, their hankering after money, which
had much to do with their disunion even in the face of danger. There are some who desire to persuade us that
the Greeks whom the Romans described were entirely a different race from the Greeks of the Persian wars.
But an unprejudiced study of original authorities gives no support to such a theory. From the pirates to the
orators, from the heroic and treacherous Ulysses to the patriotic and venal Demosthenes, we find almost all
their best men tainted with the same disease. Polybius complains that the Greek statesmen would never keep
their hands out of the till. In Xenophon’s Retreat of the Ten Thousand a little banter is exchanged between a
Spartan and an Athenian which illustrates the state of public opinion in Greece. They have come to a country
where it is necessary to rob the natives in order to provide themselves with food. The Athenian says that, as
the Spartans are taught to steal, now is the time for them to show that they have profited by their education.
The Spartan replies that the Athenians will no doubt be able to do their share, as the Athenians appoint their
best men to govern the state, and their best men are invariably thieves. The same kind of pleasantry, no doubt,
goes on in Greece at the present day; to rob a foreigner in the mountains, or to filch the money from the
public chest, are looked upon in that country as 'little affairs' which are not disgraceful so long as they are not
found out. But the modern Greeks are degenerate in every way. The ancient Greeks surpassed them not only
in sculpture and in metaphysics but also in duplicity. With their fine phrases and rhetorical expressions, they
have even swindled history, and obtained a vast amount of admiration under false pretences.
The narrowness of the Greeks was not less strongly marked. When Athens obtained the supremacy a wise
and just policy might have formed the Greeks into a nation. But Pericles had no sympathies beyond the city
walls: he was a good Athenian but a bad Greek. He removed the federal treasury from Delphi to Athens,
where it was speedily emptied on the public works. Since Athens had now become the university and capital
of Greece, it appears not unjust that it should have been beautiful at the expense of Greece. But it must be
remembered that the Athenians considered themselves the only pure Greeks, and no Athenian was allowed to
marry a Greek who was not also an Athenian. Heavy taxes were laid on the allies, and were not spent entirely
on works of art. Besides the money that was purloined by government officials, large sums were distributed
among the citizens of Athens as payment for attending the law courts, the parliament, and the theatre. It was
also ordered that all cases of importance would be tried at Athens, and judicial decisions then as now were
looked upon at Athens as saleable articles belonging to the court. The Greeks soon discovered that the
Athenians were harder masters than the Persians. They began to envy the fate of the Ionian cities, whose
municipal rights were undisturbed. They rose up against their tyrant; long wars ensued; and finally the ships
of Athens were burnt and its walls beaten down to the music of flutes. Then Sparta became supreme, also
tyrannised, and also fell; and then Thebes followed its example, till at last all the states of Greece were so
exhausted that the ambition of supremacy died away, and each city cared only for its own life.
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The jealousy and distrust which prevented the union of the Greeks, and the constant wars in which they were
engaged, sufficiently explain how it was that they did not conquer Persian, and by this time Persia had
discovered how to conquer them. When Xerxes was on his famous march he was told by a Greek that if he
chose to bribe the orators of Greece he could do with that country what he pleased, but that he would never
conquer it by force. This method of making war was now adopted by the king. When Agesilaus the Spartan
had already begun the conquest of the Persian empire, ten thousand golden coins marked with the effigy of a
bowman were sent to the demagogues of Athens, Corinth, and Thebes. Those cities at once made war upon
Sparta, and Agesilaus was recalleddriven out of Asia, as he used to say, by ten thousand of the king’s
archers. In this manner the Greek orators, who were often very eloquent men but who never refused a bribe,
kept their country continually at war, till at last it was in such an enfeebled state that the Persian had no
longer anything to fear, and even used his influence in making peace. The land which might have been the
mistress of the East passed under the protection of an empire in its decay.
It was now that a new power sprang into life. Macedonia was a hilly country on the northern boundaries of
Greece; a Greek colony having settled there in ancient times, the reigning house and the language of the
courts were Hellenic; the mass of the people were barbarians. It was an old head placed on young
shouldersthe intellect of the Greek united with the strength and sinews of wild and courageous
mountaineers.
The celebrated Philip, when a young man, had passed some time in Greece; he had seen what could be done
with money in that country; he conjectured what might be done if the money were sustained by arms. When
he became king of Macedon, he made himself president of the Greek confederation, obtaining by force and
skilful address, by bribery and intrigue, the position which Athens and Sparta had once possessed. He was
preparing to conquer Persia and to avenge the ancient wrongs of Greece when he was murdered, and
Alexander, like Frederick the Great, inherited an army disciplined to perfection and the great design for
which that army had been prepared.
Alexander reduced and garrisoned the rebellious Greeks, passed over into Asia Minor, defeated a Persian
army at the Granicus, marched along the Ionian coast, and crossed over the snowy range of Taurus, which the
Persians neglected to defend. He heard that the Great King was behind him with his army entangled in the
mountains. He went back, won the battle of Issus, and took prisoner the mother and wife and daughter of
Darius. He passed into Syria and laid siege to Tyre, the Cherbourg of the Persians, and took it after several
months; this gave him possession of the Mediterranean Sea. He passed down the Syrian coast, crossed the
deserta three days’ journeywhich separates Palestine from Egypt, received the submission of that
satrapy and made arrangements for its administration, visited the oracle of Jupiter Ammon in The Sahara, and
returned to Tyre. Thence making a long detour to avoid the sandy deserts of Arabia, he entered the plains of
Mesopotami, inhabited only by the ostrich and the wild ass, and marched towards the ruins of Nineveh, near
which he fought his third and last great battle with the Persians. He proceeded to Babylon, which at once
opened its vast gates. He restored the Chaldean priesthood and the old idolatry of Belus. He took Susa,
Ecbatana, and Persepolis, the other three palatial cities, reducing the highlanders who had so long levied
black mail on the Persian monarchs. He pursued Darius to the moist, forestcovered shores of the Caspian
Sea, and inflicted a terrible death on the assassins of that illfated king. The Persian histories relate that
Alexander discovered Darius apparently dead upon the ground. He alighted from his horse; he raised his
enemy’s head upon his knees; he shed tears and kissed the expiring monarch who opened his eyes and said,
'The world has a thousand doors through which its tenants continually enter and pass away.' 'I swear to you,'
cried Alexander, ' I never wished a day like this. I desired not to see your royal head in the dust, nor that
blood should stain these cheeks.' The legend is a fiction, but it illustrates the character of Alexander. Such
legends are not related of Genghis Khan or of Tamerlane by the people whom they conquered.
Alexander now marched by way of Mushed, Herat, and the reedy shores of Lake Zurrah to Kandahar and
Kabul. He entered that delightful land in which the magpies fluttering from tree to tree, and the white daisies
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shining in the meadow grass, reminded the soldiers of their home. Turning again towards the north, he
climbed over the lofty back of the Hindu Kush, where the people are kept inside their houses half the year by
snow, and descended into the province of Bactria, a land of low, waving hills, destitute of trees and covered
only with a dry kind of grass. But as he passed on, crossing the muddy waters of the Oxus, he arrived at the
oases of Bokhara and Samarkand, regions of gardenland with smiling orchards of fruit trees and poplars
rustling their silvery leaves. Finally he reached the banks of the Jaxartes, the frontier of the Persian empire.
Beyond that river was an ocean of salt and sandy plains, inhabited by wild Tartar or Turkish tribes who
boasted that they reposed beneath the shade neither of a tree nor of a king, who lived by rapine like beasts of
prey, and whose wives rode forth to attack a passing caravan if their husbands happened to be robbing
elsewherea practice which gave rise to the romantic stories of the Amazons. These people came down to
the banks of the river near Khojend and challenged Alexander to come across and fight. He inflated the
soldiers’ tents, which were made of skins, formed them into rafts, paddled across and gave the Tartars as
much as they desired. He returned to Afghanistan and marched through the western passes into the open
plains of the Punjab, where perhaps at some future day hordes of drilled Mongols and Hindu sepoys will fight
under Russian and English officers for the empire of the Asiatic world. He built a fleet on the Indus, sailed
down it to its mouth, and dispatched his general Nearchus to the Persian Gulf by sea, while he himself
marched back through the terrific deserts which separate Persian from the Indus.
So ended Alexander’s journey of conquest, which was marked not only by heaps of bones on battlefields and
by the blackened ashes of ruined towns, but also by cities and colonies which he planted as he passed. The
memory of that extraordinary man has never perished in the East. The Turkomans still speak of his deeds of
war as if they had been performed a few years ago. In the tea booths of Bokhara it is yet the custom to read
aloud the biography in verse of Secunder Rooniby some believed to be a prophet, by others one of the
believing genii. There are still existing chiefs in the valleys of the Oxus and the Indus who claim to be heirs
of his royal person, and tribes who boast that their ancestors were soldiers of his army, and who refuse to give
their children in marriage to those who are not of the same descent.
He returned to Babylon, and there found ambassadors from all parts of the world waiting to offer him the
homage of their masters. His success was incredible; it had not met with a single check. The only men who
had ever given him cause to be alarmed were his own countrymen and soldiers, but these also he had
mastered by his skill and strength of mind.
The Macedonians had expected that he would adhere to the constitution and customs of their own country,
which gave the king small power in time of peace and allowed full liberty and even licence of speech on the
part of the nobles round the throne. But Alexander now considered himself not king of Macedonia but
emperor of Asia, and successor of Darius, the King of Kings. They had supposed that he would give them the
continent to plunder as a carcass; that they would have nothing to do but plunder and enjoy. There were
disappointed and alarmed when they found that he was reappointing Persian gentlemen as satraps,
everywhere treating the conquered people with indulgence, everywhere levying native troops. They were
disgusted and alarmed when they saw him put on the tiara of the Great King, and the woman’s girdle, and the
white and purple robe, and they burst into fierce wrath when he ordered that the ceremony of prostration
should be performed in his presence as it had been in that of the Persian king.
In all this they saw only the presumption of a man intoxicated by success. But Alexander knew well that he
could only govern an empire so immense by securing the allegiance of the Persian nobles; he knew that they
would not respect him unless they were made to humble themselves before him after the manner of their
country, and this they certainly would not do unless his own officers did the same. He therefore attempted to
obtain the prostration of the Macedonians, and alleged as a pretext for so extraordinary a demand the oracle
of Ammonthat he was the son of Jove.
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It is possible, indeed, that he believed this himself, for his vanity amounted to madness. He could not endure
a candid word, and was subject under wine and contradiction to fits of ungovernable rage. At Samarkand he
murdered Clitus, who had insulted him grossly but who was his friend and associate, and who had saved his
life. It was a drunken action, and his repentance was as violent as his wrath. For Alexander was a man of
extremes: his magnanimity and his cruelty were without bounds. If he forgave it was right royally; if he
punished he pounded to the dust and scattered to the winds. Yet with all his faults it is certain that he had
some conception of the art of governing a great empire. Mr. Grote complains that 'he had none of that sense
of correlative right and obligation which characterised the free Greeks,' but Mr. Grote describes Alexander
too much from the Athenian point of view. In all municipalities, in all aristocratic bodies, in all corporate
assemblies, in all robber communities, in all savage families or clans, the privileged members have a sense of
correlative right and obligation. The real question is, how far and to what extent this feeling prevails outside
the little circle of selfish reciprocity and mutual admiration. The Athenians did not include their slaves in
their ideas of correlative right and obligation; nor their prisoners of war, when they passed a public decree to
cut off all their thumbs, so that they might not be able to handle the pike, but might still be able to handle the
oar; nor their allies, when they took their money and spent it all upon themselves. Alexander committed some
criminal and despotic acts, but it was his noble idea to blot out the word 'barbarian' from the vocabulary of
the Greeks, and to amalgamate them with the Persians.
Mr Grote declares that Alexander intended to make Greece Persian, not Persia Greek. Alexander certainly
intended to make Greece a satrapy, as it was afterwards made a Roman province. And where would have
been the loss? The independence of the various Greek cities had at one time assisted the progress of the
nation. But that time was past. Of late they had made use of their freedom only to indulge in civil war. All
that was worthy of being preserved in Greece was its language and its culture, and to that Alexander was not
indifferent. He sent thirty thousand Persian boys to school, and so laid the foundations of the sovereignty of
Greek ideas. He behaved towards the conquered people not as a robber but as a sovereign. The wisdom of his
policy is clearly proved by the praises of the Oriental writers and by the blame of the Greeks, who looked
upon barbarians as a people destined by nature to be slaves. But had Alexander governed Persia as they
desired, the land would have been in a continual state of insurrection, and it would have been impossible for
him, even had he lived, to have undertaken new designs.
The story that he wept because there were no more worlds for him to conquer would seem to imply that after
the conquest of the Persian empire there was nothing left for him in the way of war but to go out
savagehunting in the forests of Europe, the steppes of Tartary, or the deserts of Central Africa. However,
there still remained a number of powerful and attractive states, even if we place China entirely aside as a land
which could not be touched by the stream of events, however widely they might overflow.
Alexander no doubt often reflected to himself that after all he had only walked in the footsteps of other men.
It was the genius of his father which had given him possession of Greece; it was the genius of the Persians
which had planted the Asia that he had gathered. It is true that he had conquered the Persian empire more
thoroughly than the Persians had ever been able to conquer it themselves. He had not left behind him a single
rock fortress or forest den uncarried, a single tribe untamed. Yet still he had not been able to pass the frontiers
which they had fixed. He had once attempted to do so and had failed. When he had reached the eastern river
of the Punjab, or 'Land of the Five Streams,' he stood on the brink of the empire with the Himalayas on his
left and before him a wide expanse of sand. Beyond that desert was a country which the Persians had never
reached. There a river as mighty as the Indus took its course towards the sea through a land of surpassing
beauty and enormous wealth. There ruled a king who rode on a white elephant, and who wore a mail coat
composed entirely of precious stone; whose wives slept on a thousand silken mattresses and a thousand
golden beds. The imagination of Alexander was inflamed by these glowing tales. He yearned to discover a
new world, to descend upon a distant and unknown people like a god, to enter the land of diamonds and
rubies, of gleaming and transparent robesthe India of the Indies, the romantic, and half fabulous Bengal.
But the soldiers were weary of collecting plunder which they could not carry, and refused to march.
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Alexander spent three days in his tent in an agony of anger and distress. He established garrisons on the
banks of the Indus; there could be little doubt that some day or other he would resume his lost design.
There was one country which had sent him no ambassadors. It was Arabia Felix, situated at the mouth of the
Red Sea, abounding in forests of those tearful trees which shed a yellow, fragrant gum grateful to the gods,
burnt in their honour on all the altars of the world. Arabia was also enriched by the monopoly of the trade
between Egypt and the coast of Malabar. It was filled with rich cities. It had never paid tribute to the Persians.
On the land side it was protected by deserts and by wandering hordes who drank from hidden wells. But it
could easily be approached by sea.
On the opposite side of the Arabian gulf lay Ethiopia, reputed to be the native land of gold, but chiefly
attractive to a vainglorious and emulative man from the fact that a Persian emperor had attempted its
conquest and had failed. There was also Carthage, the great republic of the West, and there were rich
silvermines in Spain.
And can it be supposed that Alexander would remain content when he had not yet made the circuit of the
Grecian world? Was there not Sicily, which Athens had attempted to conquer, and in vain? Rome had not yet
become great, but the Italian citystates were already famed in war. Alexander’s uncle had invaded that
country and had been beaten back. He declared that Alexander had fallen on the chamber of the women and
he on the changer of the men. This sarcasm followed the conqueror into Central Asia, and was flung in his
teeth by Clitus on that night of drunkenness and blood, every incident of which must have been continually
present to his mind.
We might therefore fairly infer, even if we had no evidence to guide us, that Alexander did not consider his
career accomplished. But in point of fact we do know that he had given orders to fit out a thousand shipsof
war; that he intended one fleet to attack Arabia from the Mediterranean Sea. He had already arranged a plan
for connecting Egypt with his North African possession that were to be, and had he lived a few years longer
the features of the world might have been changed. The Italians were unconquerable if united, but there was
at that time no supreme city to unite them as they were afterwards united against Pyrrhus. It is at least not
impossible that Alexander might have conquered Italy; that the peninsula might have become a land of
independent cultivated cities like the Venice and Genoa and Florence of the Middle Ages; that Greek might
have been established as the reigning language, and Latin remained a rustic dialect and finally died away. It is
at all events certain that in a few more years Alexander would have made Carthage Greek, and that event
alone would have profoundly influenced the career of Rome.
However, this was not to be. Alexander went out in a boat among the marshes in the neighbourhood of
Babylon and caught a fever, the first symptoms of which appeared after a banquet which had been kept up all
the night and the whole of the following day. At that time the Arabian expedition was prepared, and Nearchus
the admiral was under sailing orders. Day after day the king continued to send for his officers to give orders,
and to converse about his future plans. But the fever gradually increased, and while yet in the possession of
his sense he was deprived of the power of speech. The physicians announced that there was no longer any
hope.
And then were forgotten all the crimes and follies of which he had been guiltyhis assumption of the
honours of a god, the murder of his bosom friend. The Macedonian soldiers came in to him weeping to bid
him the last farewell. He sat up and saluted them man by man as they marched past his bedside. When this
last duty had been discharged he threw back his weary frame. He expired on the evening of the next day.
The night, the dark, murky night, came on. None dared light a lamp; the fires were extinguished. By the
glimmering of the stars and the faint beams of the horned moon the young nobles of the household were seen
wandering like maniacs through the town. On the roofs of their houses the Babylonians stood grave and
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silent, with folded hands and eyes turned towards heaven as if awaiting a supernatural event. High aloft in the
air the trees of the hanging gardens waved their moaning boughs, and the daughters of Babylon sang the dirge
of the dead. In that sorrowful hour the conquerors could not be distinguished from the conquered; the
Persians lamented their just and merciful master; the Macedonians their greatest, bravest king. In an
apartment of the palace an aged woman was lying on the ground; her hair was torn and dishevelled; a golden
crown had fallen from her head. 'Ah! Who will now protect my girls?' she said. Then, veiling her face and
turning from her granddaughters, who wept at her feet, she stubbornly refused both food and light. She who
had survived Darius was unable to survive Alexander. In famine and darkness she sat, and on the fifth day
she died.
Alexander’s body lay cold and stiff. The Egyptian and Chaldean embalmers were commanded to do their
work. Yet long they gazed upon that awful corpse before they could venture to touch it with their hands.
Placed in a golden coffin, shrouded in a bed of fragrant herbs, it remained two years at Babylon, and was then
carried to Egypt to be buried in the oasis of Ammon. But Ptolemy stopped it on the road, and interred it at
Alexandria in a magnificent temple, which he built for the purpose and surrounded with groves for the
celebration of funereal rites and military games. Long afterwards, when the dominion of the Macedonians
had passed away, there came Roman emperors who gazed upon that tomb with reverence and awe. The
golden coffin had been sold by a degenerate Ptolemy, and had been changed for one of glass through which
the body could be seen. Augustus placed upon it a nosegay and crown. Septimus Severus had the coffin
sealed up in a vault. Then came the savage Caracalla, who had massacred half Alexandria because he did not
like the town. He ordered the vault to be opened and the coffin to be exposed, and all feared that some act of
sacrilege would be committed. But those august remains could touch the better feelings which existed even in
a monster’s heart. He took off his purple robe, his imperial ornaments, all that he had of value on his person,
and laid them reverently upon the tomb.
The empire of Alexander was partitioned into three great kingdomsthat of Egypt and Cyrene, that of
Macedonia, including Greece, and that of Asia, the capital of which was at first on the banks of the
Euphrates, but was afterwards unwisely transferred to Antioch. In these three kingdoms, and in their
numerous dependencies, Greek became the language of government and trade. It was spoken all over the
worldon the shores of Malabar, in the harbours of Ceylon, among the Abyssinian mountains, in distant
Mozambique. The shepherds of the Tartar steppes loved to listen to recitations of Greek poetry, and Greek
tragedies were performed to Brahmin 'houses' by the waters of the Indus. The history of the Greeks of Inner
Asia, however soon comes to an end. Sandracottus, the Rajah of Bengal, conquered the Greek province of the
Punjab. The rise of the Parthian power cut off the Greek kingdom of Bokhara from the Western world, and it
was destroyed, according to the Chinese historians, by a powerful horde of Tartars a hundred and thirty years
after its foundation.
We can now return to African soil, and we find that a city of incomparable splendour has arisen, founded by
Alexander and bearing his name. For as he was on his way to the oasis of Ammon, travelling along the
seacoast, he came to a place a little west of the Nile’s mouth where an island close to the shore, and the
peculiar formation of the land, formed a natural harbour, while a little way inland was a large lagoon
communicating with the Nile. A few houses were scattered about, and this, he was told, was the village of
Rhacotis, where in the old days the Pharaohs stationed a garrison to prevent the Greek pirates from coming
on shore. He saw that the spot was well adapted for a city, and with his usual impetuosity went to work at
once to mark it out. When he returned from the oasis the building of the city had begun, and in a few years it
had become the residence of Ptolemy and the capital of Egypt. It filled up the space between the sea and the
lagoon. On the one side its harbour was filled with ships which came from Italy and Greece and the lands of
the Atlantic with amber, timber, tin, wine, and oil. On the other side were the cargo boats that came from the
Nile with the precious stones, the spices, and the beautiful fabrics of the East. The island on which stood the
famous lighthouse was connected with the mainland by means of a gigantic mole furnished with drawbridges
and forts. It is on this mole that the modern city standsthe site of the old Alexandria is sand.
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When Ptolemy the First, one of Alexander’s generals, mounted the throne he applied himself with much
caution and dexterity to that difficult problem the government of Egypt. Had the Greeks been the first
conquerors of the country, it is doubtful whether the wisest policy would have kept its natives quiet and
content. For they were like the Jews, a proud, ignorant, narrowminded, religious race who looked upon
themselves as the chosen people of the gods, and upon all foreigners as unclean things. But they had been
taught wisdom by misfortune; they had felt the bitterness of an Oriental yoke; the feet of the Persians had
been placed upon their necks. On the other hand, the Greeks had lived for centuries among them, and had
assisted them in all their revolts against the Persian king. During their interlude of independence the towns
had been garrisoned partly by Egyptian and partly by Greek soldiers: the two nations had grown accustomed
to each other. Persia had finally reenslaved them, and Alexander had been welcomed as the saviour of their
country. The golden chain of the Pharaohs was broken. It was impossible to restore the line of ancient kings.
The Egyptians therefore cheerfully submitted to the Ptolemies, who reciprocated this kindly feeling to the
full. They patronised the Egyptian religion, they built many temples in the ancient style, they went to the city
of Memphis to be crowned, they sacrificed to the Nile at the rising of the waters, and they assumed the divine
titles of the Pharaohs. The priests were content, and in Egypt the people were always guided by the priests.
The Rosetta Stone, that remarkable monument which, with its inscription in Greek, in the Egyptian
vernacular, and in the sacred hieroglyphics, has afforded the means of deciphering the mysterious language of
the Nile, was a memorial of gratitude from the Egyptian priests to a Greek king, to whom in return for
favours conferred they erected an image and a golden shrine.
But while the Ptolemies were Pharaohs to the Egyptians, they were Greeks to the colonists of Alexandria, and
they founded or favoured that school of thought upon which modern science is established.
There is a great enterprise in which men have always been unconsciously engaged, but which they will
pursue with method as a vocation and an art, and which they will devoutly adopt as a religious faith as soon
as they realise its glory. It is the conquest of the planet on which we dwell, the destruction or domestication
of the savage forces by which we are tormented and enslaved. An episode of this war occurring in ancient
Egypt has been described; the war itself began with the rise of our ancestors into the human state, and when,
drawing fire from wood or stone, they made it serve them night and day the first great victory was won. But
we can conquer Nature only by obeying her laws, and in order to obey those laws we must first learn what
they are.
Storms and tides, thunder and lightning and eclipse, the movements of the heavenly bodies, the changing
aspects of the earth, were among all ancient people regarded as divine phenomena. In the Greek world there
was no despotic caste, but the people clung fondly to their faith, and the study of Nature which began in Ionia
was at first regarded with abhorrence and dismay. The popular religion was supported by the genius of
Homer. The Iliad and the Odyssey were regarded not only as epic poems but as sacred writ; even the
geography had been inspired. However, when the Greeks began to travel the old legends could no longer be
received. It was soon discovered that the places visited by Ulysses did not exist, that there was no River
Ocean which ran round the earth, and that the earth was not shaped like a round saucer with the oracle of
Delphi in its centre. The Egyptians laughed in the faces of the Greeks, and called them children when they
talked of their gods of yesterday, and so well did their pupils profit by their lesson that they soon laughed at
the Egyptians for believing in the gods at all. Xenophanes declaimed against the Egyptian myth of an
earthwalking, dying resuscitated god. He said that if Osiris was a man they should not worship him, and that
if he was a god they need not lament his sufferings. This remarkable man was the Voltaire of Greece; there
had been freethinkers before his time, but they had reserved their opinions for their disciples.
Xenophanes declared that the truth should be made known to all. He lived, like Voltaire, to a great age; he
poured forth a multitude of controversial works; he made it his business to attack Homer, and reviled him
bitterly for having endowed the gods of his poems with the passions and propensities of men; he denied the
old theory of the Golden Age, and maintained that civilisation was the work of time and of man’s own toil.
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His views were no doubt distasteful to the vulgar crowd by whom he was surrounded, and even to cultivated
and imaginative minds which were sunk in sentimental idolatry, blinded by the splendour of the Homeric
poems. He was, however, in no way interfered with; religious persecution was unknown in the Greek world
except at Athens. In that city free thought was especially unpopular because it was imported from abroad. It
was the doctrine of those talented Ionians who streamed into Athens after the Persian wars. When one of
these philosophers announced, in his openair sermon in the marketplace, that the sun which the common
people believed to be alivethe bountiful god Helios which shone both on mortals and immortalswas
nothing but a mass of redhot iron; when he declared that those celestial spirits the stars were only revolving
stones; when he asserted that Jupiter, and Venus and Apollo, Mars, Juno, and Minerva, were mere creatures
of the poet’s fancy, and that if they really existed they ought to be despised; when he said that over all there
reigned, not blind Fate, but a supreme, all seeing Mind, great wrath was excited among the people. A prophet
went about uttering oracles in a shrill voice, and procured the passing of a decree that all who denied the
religion of the city or who philosophised in matters appertaining to the gods should be indicted as state
criminals. This law was soon put in force. Damon and Anaxagoras were banished; Aspasia was impeached
for blasphemy, and the tears of Pericles alone saved her; Socrates was put to death; Plato was obliged to
reserve pure reason for a chosen few, and to adulterate it with revelation for the generality of his disciples;
Aristotle fled from Athens for his life, and became the tutor of Alexander.
Alexander had a passion for the Iliad. His edition had been corrected by Aristotle; he kept it in a precious
casket which he had taken from the Persian King, and it was afterwards known as the 'edition of the casket.'
When he invaded Asia he landed on the plains of Troy, that he might see the ruins of that celebrated town and
hang a garland upon the tomb of Achilles. But it was not poetry alone that he esteemed; he had imbibed his
master’s universal tastes. When staying at Ephesus he used to spend hours in the studio of Apelles, sitting
down among the boys who ground colours for the great painter. He delighted in everything that was new and
rare. He invented exploration. He gave a large sum of money to Aristotle to assist him in composing the
history of animals, and employed a number of men to collect for him in Asia. He sent him a copy of the
astronomical records of the Babylonians, although by that time they had quarrelledlike Dionysius and
Plato, Frederick and Voltaire. It is taken for granted that Alexander was the one to blame, as if philosophers
were immaculate and private tutors never in the wrong.
The Ptolemies were not unworthy followers of Alexander. They established the Museum, which was a kind
of college, with a hall where the professors dined together, with corridors for promenading lectures, and a
theatre for scholastic festivals and public disputation. Attached to it also was the Botanical Garden, filled
with medicinal and exotic plants; a menagerie of wild beasts and rare birds; and the famous Library, where
700,000 volumes were arranged on cedar shelves, and where hundreds of clerks were continually at work
copying from scroll to scroll, gluing the separate strips of papyrus together, smoothing with pumicestone
and blackening the edges, writing the titles on red labels, and fastening ivory tops on the sticks round which
the rolls were wrapped.
All the eminent men of the day were invited to take up their abode at the Museum, and persons were
dispatched into all countries to collect books. It was dangerous to bring original manuscripts into
Egyptthey were at once seized and copied, the originals being retained. The city of Athens lent the
autograph editions of its dramatists to one of the Ptolemies, and saw them no more. It was even said that
philosophers were sometimes detained in the same manner.
Soon after the wars of Alexander, the 'barbarians' were seized with a desire to make known to their
conquerors the history of their native lands. Berosus, a priest of Babylon, compiled a history of Chaldea;
Menander, and Phoenician, a history of Tyre; and Manetho wrote in Greek, but from Egyptian sources, a
history which Egyptology has confirmed. It was at the Museum also that the Old Testament was translated
under royal patronage into Greek, and at the same time the Zoroastrian Bible or Zend Avesta.
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There was some good work done at the Museum. Among works of imagination the pastorals of Theocritus
have alone obtained the approbation of posterity. But it was in Alexandria that the immortal works of the
preceding ages were edited and arranged, and it was there that language was first studied for itself, and that
lexicons and grammars were first compiled. It was only in the Museum that anatomists could sometimes
obtain the corpse of a criminal to dissect; elsewhere they were forced to content themselves with monkeys.
There Eratosthenes, the 'Inspector of the Earth,' elevated geography to a science, and Euclid produced that
work which, as Macaulay would say, 'every schoolboy knows.' There the stars were carefully catalogued and
mapped, and chemical experiments were made. Expeditions were sent to Abyssinia to ascertain the cause of
the inundation of the Nile. The Greek intellect had hitherto despised the realities of life: it had been
considered by Plato unworthy of a mathematician to apply his knowledge to so vulgar a business as
mechanics. But this notion was corrected at Alexandria by the practical tendencies of Egyptian science. The
Suez Canal was reopened, and Archimedes taught the Alexandrians to apply his famous screw to the
irrigation of their fields. These Egyptian pumps, as they were then called, were afterwards used by the
Romans to pump out the water from their silvermines in Spain.
No doubt most of the Museum professors were pitiful 'Graeculi' narrowminded pedants such as are
always to be found where patronage exists, parasites of great libraries who spend their lives in learning the
wrong things. No doubt much of the astronomy was astrological, much of the medicine was magical, much of
the geography was mythical, and much of the chemistry was alchemicalfor they had already begun to
attempt the transmutation of metals and to search for the elixir vitae and the philosopher’s stone. No doubt
physics were much too metaphysical, in spite of the example which Aristotle had given of founding
philosophy on experiment and fact; and the alliance between science and labour, which is the true secret of
modern civilisation, could be but faintly carried out in a land which was under the fatal ban of slavery. Yet
with all this it should be remembered that from Alexandria came the science which the Arabs restored to
Europe, with some additions, after the Crusades. It was in Alexandria that were composed those works which
enabled Copernicus to lay the keystone of astronomy, and which emboldened Columbus to sail across the
Western seas.
The history of the nation under the Ptolemies resembles its history under the PhilHellenes, Egypt and Asia
were again rivals, and again contested for the vineyards of Palestine and the forests of Lebanon. Alexander
had organised a brigade of elephants for his army of the Indus, and these animals were afterwards invariably
used by the Greeks in war. Pyrrhus took them to Italy, and the Carthaginians adopted the idea from him. The
elephants of the Asiatic Greeks were brought from Hindustan. The Ptolemies, like the Carthaginians, had
elephant forests at their own doors. Shootingboxes were built on the shores of the Red Sea: elephant hunting
became a royal sport. The younger members of the herd were entrapped in large pits, or driven into
enclosures cunningly contrived; were then tamed by starvation, shipped off to Egypt, and drilled into beasts
of war. On the field of battle the African elephants, distinguished by their huge, flapping ears and their
convex brows, fought against the elephants of India, twisting their trunks together and endeavouring to gore
one another with their tusks. The Indian species is unanimously described as the larger animal and the better
soldier of the two.
The third Ptolemy made two brilliant campaigns. In one he overran Greek Asia and brought back the sacred
images and vessels which had been carried off by the Persians centuries before; in the other he made an
Abyssinian expedition resembling the achievement of Napier. He landed his troops in Annesley Bay, which
he selected as his base of operations, and completely subdued the mountaineers of the plateau, carrying the
Egyptian arms, as he boasted, where the Pharaohs themselves had never been. But the policy of the Ptolemies
was on the whole a policy of peace. Their wars were chiefly waged for the purpose of obtaining timber for
their fleet, and of keeping open their commercial routes. They encouraged manufactures and trade, and it was
afterwards observed that Alexandria was the most industrious city in the world. 'Idle people were there
unknown. Some were employed in the blowing of glass, others in the weaving of linen, others in the
manufacture of the Papyrus. Even the blind and the lame had occupations suited to their condition.'
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The glorious reigns of the three first Ptolemies extended over nearly a century, and then Egypt began again to
decline. Such must always be the case where a despotic government prevails, and where everything depends
on the taste and temper of a single man. As long as a good king sits upon the throne all is well. A gallant
service, an intellectual production, merit of every kind is recognised at once. Corrupt tax gatherers and
judges are swiftly punished. The enemies of the people are the enemies of the king. His palace is a court of
justice always open to his children; he will not refuse a petition from the meanest hand. But sooner or later in
the natural course of events the sceptre is handed to a weak and vicious prince, who empties the treasury of
its accumulated wealth; who plunders the courtiers, allowing them to indemnify themselves at the expense of
those that are beneath them; who dies, leaving behind him a legacy of wickedness which his successors are
forced to accept. Oppression has now become a custom, and custom is the tyrant of kings. In Egypt the
prosperity of the land depended entirely on the government. Unless the public works were kept in good order
half the land was wasted, half the revenue was lost, half the inhabitants perished of starvation. But the dikes
could not be repaired and the screw pumps could not be worked without expense, and so if the treasury was
empty the inland revenue ceased to flow in. The king could still live in luxury on the receipts of the foreign
trade, but the life of the people was devoured, and the ruin of the country was at hand. The Ptolemies became
invariably tyrants and debaucheesperhaps the incestuous marriages practised in that family had something
to do with the degeneration of the race. The Greeks of Alexandria became half Orientals, and were regarded
by their brethren of Europe with aversion and contempt. One by one the possessions of Egypt abroad were
lost. The condition of the land became deplorable. The empire which had excited the envy of the world
became deficient in agriculture, and was fed by foreign corn. Alexandria glittered with wealth which it was
no longer able to defend. The Greeks of Asia began to fix their eyes on the corrupt and prostrate land. Armies
gathered on the horizon like dark clouds; then was seen the flashing of arms; then was heard the rattling of
distant drums.
The reigning Ptolemy had but one resource. In that same year a great battle had been fought, a great empire
had fallen on the African soil. For the first time in history the sun was seen rising in the West. Towards the
West ambassadors from Egypt went forth with silks and spices and precious stones. They returned bringing
with them an ivory chair, a course garment of purple, and a quantity of copper coin. These humble presents
were received in a delirium of joy. The Roman senate accorded its protection, and Alexandria was saved. But
its independence was forfeited, its individuality became extinct. Here endeth the history of Egypt. Let us
travel to another shore.
There was a time when the waters of the Mediterranean were silent and bare; when nothing disturbed the
solitude of that blue and tideless sea but the weed which floated on its surface and the gull which touched it
with its wing.
A tribe of Canaanites, or people of the plain, driven hard by their foes, fled over the Lebanon and took
possession of a narrow strip of land shut off by itself between the mountains and the sea.
The agricultural resources of the little country were soon outgrown, and the Phoenicians were forced to
gather a harvest from the water. They invented the fishingline and net, and when the fish could no longer be
caught from the shore they had to follow them out to sea or starve. They hollowed trunks of trees with axe
and fire into canoes; they bound logs of wood together to form a raft, with a bush stuck in it for a sail. The
Lebanon mountains supplied them with timber; in time they discovered how to make boats with keels, and to
sheathe them with copper, which also they found in their mountains. From those heights of Lebanon the
island of Cyprus could plainly be seen, and the current assisted them across. They colonised the island; it
supplied them with pitch, timber, copper, and hempeverything that was required in the architecture of a
ship. With smacks and cutters they followed the tunnyfish in their migrations; they discovered villages on
other coasts, pillaged them, and carried off their inhabitants as slaves. Some of these, when they had learnt
the language, offered to pay a ransom for their release; the arrangement was accomplished under oath, and
presents as tokens of goodwill were afterwards exchanged. Each party was pleased to obtain something
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which his own country did not produce, and thus arose a system of barter and exchange.
The Phoenicians from fishermen became pirates, and from pirates traders: from simple traders they became
also manufacturers. Purple was always the fashionable colour in the East, and they discovered two kinds of
shellfish which yielded a handsome dye. One species was found on rocks, the other under water. These
shells they collected by means of divers and pointer dogs. When the supply on their own coast was exhausted
they obtained them from foreign coasts, and as the shell yielded but a small quantity of fluid, and therefore
was inconvenient to transport, they preferred to extract the dyeing material on the spot where the shells were
found. This led to the establishment of factories abroad, and permanent settlements were made. Obtaining
wool from the Arabs and other shepherd tribes, they manufactured woven goods and dyed them with such
skill that they found a ready market in Babylonia and Egypt. In this manner they purchased from those
countries the produce and manufactures of the East, and these they sold at a great profit to the inhabitants of
Europe.
When they sailed along the shores of that savage continent and came to a place where they intended to trade,
they lighted a fire to attract the natives, pitched tents on shore, and held a six days’ fair, exhibiting in their
bazaar the toys and trinkets manufactured at Tyre expressly for their naked customers, with purple robes and
works of art in tinted ivory and gold for those who, like the Greeks, were more advanced. At the end of the
week they went away, sometimes kidnapping a few women and children to 'fill up'. But in the best trading
localities the factory system prevailed, and their establishments were planted in the Grecian Archipelago and
in Greece itself, on the marshy shores of the Black Sea, in Italy, in Sicily, on the African coast and in Spain.
Then, becoming bolder and more skilful, they would no longer be imprisoned within the lakelike waters of
the landlocked sea. They sailed out through the Straits of Gibraltar and beheld the awful phenomenon of
tides. They sailed on the left hand to Morocco for ivory and gold dust, on the right hand for amber and tin to
the icecreeks of the Baltic and the foaming waters of the British Isles. They also opened up an inland trade.
They were the first to overcome the exclusiveness of Egypt, and were permitted to settle in Memphis itself.
Their quarter was called the Syrian camp; it was built round a grove and chapel sacred to Astarte. Their
caravan routes extended in every direction towards the treasure countries of the East. Wandering Arabs were
their sailors, and camels were their ships. They made voyages by sand, more dangerous than those by sea, to
Babylon through Palmyra or Tadmor on the skirts of the desert; to Arabia Felix and the market city of Petra;
and to Gerrha, a city built entirely of salt on the rainless shores of the Persian Gulf.
Phoenicia itself was a narrow, undulating plain about a hundred miles in length, and at the most not more
than a morning’s ride in breadth. It was walled in by the mountains on the north and east. To those who sailed
along its coast it appeared to be one great city interspersed with gardens and fields. On the lower slopes of the
hills beyond gleamed the green vineyard patches and the villas of the merchants. The offing was whitened
with sails, and in every harbour was a grove of masts. But it was Tyre which of all the cities was the queen. It
covered an island which lay at anchor off the shore. The Greek poet Nonnus has prettily described the
mingling around it of the sylvan and marine. 'The sailor furrows the sea with his oar,' he says, 'and the
ploughman the soil; the lowing of oxen and the singing of birds answer the deep roar of the main; the wood
nymph under the tall trees hears the voice of the seanymph calling to her from the waves; the breeze from
the Lebanon, while it cools the rustic at his midday labour, speeds the mariner who is outward bound.'
These Canaanitish men are fairly entitled to our gratitude and esteem, for they taught our intellectual
ancestors to read and write. Wherever a factory trade is carried on it is found convenient to employ natives as
subordinate agents and clerks. And thus it was that the Greeks received the rudiments of education. That the
alphabet was invented by the Phoenicians is improbable in the extreme, but it is certain that they introduced it
into Europe. They were intent only on making money, it is true; they were not a literary or artistic people;
they spread knowledge by accident like birds dropping seeds. But they were gallant, hardy, enterprising men.
Those were true heroes who first sailed through the seavalley of Gibraltar into the vast ocean and breasted
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its enormous waves. Their unceasing activity kept the world alive. They offered to every country something
which it did not possess. They roused the savage Briton from his torpor with a rag of scarlet cloth, and stirred
him to sweat in the dark bowels of the earth. They brought to the satiated Indian prince the luscious wines of
Syria and the Grecian ambergatherers of the Baltic mud to the nutmeggrowers of the equatorial groves,
from the mulberry plantations of the Celestial Empire to the tinmines of Cornwall and the silver mines of
Spain, emulation was excited, new wants were created, and whole nations were stimulated to industry by the
agency of the Phoenicians.
Shipbuilding and navigation were their inventions, and for a long time were entirely in their hands.
Phoenician shipwrights were employed to build the fleet of Sennacherib: Phoenician mariners were employed
by Necho to sail round Africa. But they could not forever monopolise the sea. The Greeks built ships on the
Phoenician model, and soon showed their masters that kidnapping and piracy was a game at which two could
play. The merchant kings who possessed the whole commercial world were too wise to stake their prosperity
on a single province. They had no wish to tempt a siege of Tyre which might resemble the siege of Troy.
They quickly retired from Greece and its islands, and the western coast of Asia Minor and the margin of the
Black Sea. They allowed the Greeks to take the foot of Italy and the eastern half of Sicily, and did not molest
their isolated colonies of Cyrene in Africa and Marseilles in Southern Gaul.
But in spite of all their prudence and precautions, the Greeks supplanted them entirely. The Phoenicians, like
the Jews, were vassals of necessity and by position: they lived halfway between two empires. They found it
cheaper to pay tribute than to go to war, and submitted to the emperor of Syria for the time being, sending
their money with equal indifference to Nineveh or Memphis.
But when the empire was disputed, as in the days of Nebuchadnezzar and of Necho, they were compelled to
choose a side. Like the Jews, they chose the wrong one, and the old Tyre and Jerusalem were demolished at
the same time.
From that day the Phoenicians began to go down the hill, and under the Persians their ships and sailors were
forced to do service in the royal navy. This was the hardest kind of tribute that they could be made to pay, for
it deprived them not only of their profits but of the means by which those profits were obtained. In the
Macedonian war they went wrong again; they chose the side of the Persians although they had so often
rebelled against them and Tyre was severely handled by its conqueror. But it was the foundation of
Alexandria which ruined the Phoenician cities, as it ruined Athens. Form that time Athens ceased to be
commercial and became a university. Tyre also ceased to be commercial, but remained a celebrated
manufactory. Under the Roman empire it enjoyed the monopoly of the sacred purple, which was afterwards
adopted by the popes. It prospered under the caliphs; its manufactories in the Middle Ages were conducted by
the Jews; but it fell before the artillery of the Turks to rise no more. The secret of the famous dye was lost,
and the Vatican changed the colour of its robes.
But while Phoenicia was declining in the East its great colony, Carthage, was rising in the West. This city had
been founded by malcontents from Tyre. But they kindly cherished the memories of their motherland, and,
like the Pilgrim Fathers, always spoke of the country which had cast them forth as 'Home.' And after a time
all the old wrongs were forgotten, all angry feelings died away. Every year the Carthaginians sent to the
national temple a tenth part of their revenues as a freewill offering. During the great Persian wars, when on
all sides empires and kingdoms were falling to the ground, the Phoenicians refused to lend their fleet to the
Great King to make war upon Carthage. When Tyre was besieged by Alexander the nobles sent their wives
and children to Carthage, where they were tenderly received.
The Africa of the ancientsthe modern Barbarylies between the Sahara and the Mediterranean Sea. It is
protected from the everencroaching waves of the sandy ocean by the Atlas range. In its western parts this
mountain wall is high and broad and covered with eternal snow. It becomes lower as it runs towards the east,
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also drawing nearer to the sea, and dwindles and dwindles till finally it disappears, leaving a wide,
unprotected region between Barbary and Egypt. Over this the Sahara flows, forming a desert barrier tract to
all intents and purposes itself a sea, dividing the two lands from each other as completely as the
Mediterranean divides Italy and Greece. This land of North Africa is in reality a part of Spain; the Atlas is the
southern boundary of Europe. Grey corktrees clothe the lower sides of those magnificent mountains; their
summits are covered with pines, among which the crossbill flutters, and in which the European bear may
still be found. The flora of the range, as Dr. Hooker has lately shown, is of a Spanish type; the Straits of
Gibraltar is merely an accident; there is nothing in Morocco to distinguish it from Andalusia. The African
animals which are there found are deserthaunting speciesthe antelope and gazelle, the lion, the jackal,
the hyena,* and certain species of the monkey tribe; and these might easily have found their way across the
Sahara from oasis to oasis. It is true that in the Carthaginian days the elephant abounded in the forests of the
Atlas, and it could not have come across from central Africa, for the Sahara, before it was a desert, was a sea.
It is probable that the elephant of Barbary belonged to the same species as the small elephant of Europe, the
bones of which have been discovered in Malta and in certain caves of Spain, and that it outlived the European
kind on account of its isolated position in the Atlas, which was thinly inhabited by savage tribes. But it did
not long withstand the power of the Romans. Pliny mentions that in his time the forests of Morocco were
being ransacked for ivory, and Isidore of Seville, in the seventh century observes that 'there are no longer any
elephants in Mauritania.'
*[spelt hyaena in original text]
In Morocco the Phoenicians were settled only on the coast. The Regency of Tunis and part of Algeria is the
scene on which the tragedy of Carthage was performed.
In that part of Africa the habitable country must be divided into three regions; first a corn region, lying
between the Atlas and the sea, exceedingly fertile but narrow in extent; secondly the Atlas itself, with its
timber stores and elephant preserves; and thirdly a plateau region of poor sandy soil, affording a meagre
pasture, interspersed with orchards of datetrees, abounding in ostriches, lions, and gazelles, and gradually
fading away into the desert.
Africa belonged to a race of man whom we shall call Berbers or Moors, but who were known as the ancients
under many names, and who still exist as the Kabyles or Algeria, the Shilluhs of the Atlas, and the Tuaricks
or tawny Moors of the Sahara. Their habits depended on the locality in which they dwelt. Those who lived in
the Tell or region of the coast cultivated the soil and lived in towns, some of which appear to have been of
considerable size. Those who inhabited the plateau region led a free Bedouin life, wandering from place to
place with flocks and herds, and camping under oblong huts which the Romans compared to boats turned
upside down. In holes and caverns of the mountains dwelt a miserable black race, apparently the aborigines
of the country, and represented to this day by the Rock Tibboos. They were also found on the outskirts of the
desert, and were hunted by the Berbers in fourhorse chariots, caught alive, and taken to the Carthage market
to be sold.
The Phoenician settlements were at first independent of one another, but Carthage gradually obtained the
supremacy as Tyre had obtained it in Phoenicia. The position of Utica towards Carthage was precisely that of
Sidon towards Tyre. It was the more ancient city of the two, and it preserved a certain kind of position
without actual power. Carthage and Utica, like Tyre and Sidon, were at one time always spoken of together.
The Carthaginians began by paying a quitrent or custom to the natives, but that did not last very long; they
made war, and exacted tribute from the original possessors of the soil. When Carthage suffered from
overpopulation colonies were dispatched out west along the coast, and down south into the interior. These
colonies were more on the Roman than the Greek pattern; the emigrants built cities and intermarried freely
with the Berbers, for there was no difference of colour between them, and little difference of race. In course
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of time the whole of the habitable region was subdued; the Tyrian factory became a mighty empire. Many of
the roving tribes were broken in; the others were driven into the desert or into wild Morocco. A line of
fortified posts and blockhouses protected the cultivated land. The desire to obtain red cloth and amber and
blue beads secured the allegiance of many unconquerable desert tribes, and by their means, although the
camel had not yet been introduced, a trade was opened up between Carthage and Timbuktu. Negro slaves,
bearing tusks of ivory on their shoulders and tied to one another so as to form a chain of flesh and blood,
were driven across the terrible deserta caravan of death, the route of which was marked by bones bleaching
in the sun. Gold dust also was brought over from those regions of the Niger, and the Carthaginian traders
reached the same land by sea. For they were not content, like the Tyrians, to trade only on the Morocco coast
as far as Mogadore. By good fortune there has been preserved the logbook of an expedition which sailed to
the woodcovered shores of Guinea; saw the hills covered with fire, as they always are in the dry season
when the grass is being burnt; heard the music of the natives in the night; and brought home the skins of three
chimpanzees which they probably killed near Sierra Leone.
When Phoenicia died, Carthage inherited its settlements on the coasts of Sicily and Spain and on the
adjoining isles. Not only were these islands valuable possessions in themselvesMalta as a cotton
plantation, Elba as an iron mine, Majorca and Minorca as a recruiting ground for slingers; they wee also
useful as naval stations to preserve the monopoly of the Western waters.
The foreign policy of Carthage was very different from that of the motherland. The Phoenicians had
maintained an army of mercenaries, but had used them only to protect their country from the robber kings of
Damascus and Jerusalem. They had many ships of war, but had used them only to convoy their roundbellied
ships of trade and to keep off the attacks of the Greek and Etruscan pirates. Their settlements were merely
fortified factories; they made no attempt to reduce the natives of the land. If their settlements grew into
colonies they let them go. But Carthage founded many colonies and never lost a single one. Situated among
them, and possessing a large fleet, she was able both to punish and protect. She defended them in time of war;
she controlled them in time of peace.
A policy of concession had not saved the Phoenicians from the Greeks, and now these same Greeks were
settling in the West and displaying immense activity. The Carthaginians saw that they must resist or be
ruined, and they went to war as a matter of business. They first put down the Etruscan rovers, in which
undertaking they were assisted by the events which occurred on the Italian main. They next put a stop to the
spread of the Greek power in Africa itself.
Halfway between Algeria and Egypt, in the midst of the dividing sea of sand, is a coast oasis formed by a
tableland of sufficient height to condense the vapours which float over from the sea, and to chill them into
rain. There was a hole in the sky above it, as the natives used to say. To this islandtract came a band of
Greeks directed thither by the oracle at Delphi, where geography was studied as a part of the system. They
established a city and called it Cyrene.
The land was remarkably fertile, and afforded them three harvests in the course of the year. One was gathered
on the coast meadows, which were watered by the streams that flowed down from the hills; a second on the
hillsides; a third on the surface of the plateau,* which was about two thousand feet above the level of the
sea. Cyrenaica produced the silphium, or asafoetida, which, like the balm of Gilead, was one of the specifics
of antiquity, and which is really a medicine of value. It was found in many parts of the worldfor instance,
in certain districts of Asia Minor, and on the summit of the Hindu Kush. But the asafoetida of Cyrene was the
most esteemed. Its juice, when dried, was worth its weight in gold; its leaves fattened cattle and cured them
of all diseases. *(spelt pleateau in the original text)
Some singular pits or chasms existed in the lower part of the Cyrene hills. Their sides were perpendicular
walls of rock: it appeared impossible to descend to the bottom of the precipice, and yet, when the traveller
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peeped over the brink, he saw to his astonishment that the abyss beneath had been sown with herbs and corn.
Hence rose the legend of the Gardens of the Hesperides.
Cyrene was renowned as the second medical school of the Greek world. It produced a noted freethinker, who
was a companion of Socrates and the founder of a school. It was also famous for its barbs, which won more
than one prize in the chariot races of the Grecian games. It obtained the honour of more than one Pindaric
ode. But owing to internal dissension it never became great. It was conquered by Persia, it submitted to
Alexander, and Carthage speedily checked its growth towards the west by taking the desert which lay
between them, and which it then garrisoned with nomad tribes.
The Carthaginians hitherto had never paid tribute, and they had never suffered a serious reverse. Alcibiades
talked much of invading them when he had done with Sicily, and the young men of his set were at one time
always drawing plans of Carthage in the dust of the marketplace at Athens; but the Sicilian expedition
failed. The affection of the Tyrians preserved them from Cambyses. Alexander opportunely died. Pyrrhus in
Sicily began to collect ships to sail across, but he who tried to take up Italy with one hand and Carthage with
the other, and who also excited the enmity of the Sicilian Greeks, was not a very dangerous foe. Agathocles
of Syracuse invaded Africa, but it was the action of a desperate and defeated man and bore no result.
Sicily was long the battlefield of the Carthaginians, and ultimately proved their ruin. Its western side
belonged to them: its eastern side was held by a number of independent Greek cities which were often at war
with one another. Of these Syracuse was the most important: its ambition was the same as that of
Carthageto conquer the whole island, and then to extend its rule over the flourishing Greek towns on the
south Italian coast. Hence followed wars generation after generation, till at length the Carthaginians obtained
the upper hand. Already they were looking on the island as their own when a new power stepped upon the
scene.
The ancient Tuscans or Etruscans had a language and certain arts peculiar to themselves, and Northern Italy
was occupied by Celtic Gauls. But the greater part of the peninsula was inhabited by a people akin to the
Greeks, though differing much from them in character, dwelling in city states, using a form of the Phoenician
alphabet, and educating their children in public schools. The Greek cities on the coast diffused a certain
amount of culture through the land.
A rabble of outlaws and runaway slaves banded together, built a town, fortified it strongly, and offered it as
an asylum to all fugitives. To Rome fled the overbeaten slave, the thief with his booty, the murdered with
bloodred hands. This city of refuge became a wartownto use an African phraseits citizens alternately
fought and farmed; it became the dread and torment of the neighbourhood. However, it contained no women,
and it was hoped that in course of time the generation of robbers would die out. The Romans offered their
hands and hearts to the daughters of a neighbouring Sabine city. The Sabines declined, and told them that
they had better make their city an asylum for runaway women. The Romans took the Sabine girls by force; a
war ensued, but the relationship had been established; the women reconciled their fathers to their husbands,
and the tribes were united in the same city.
The hospitality which Rome had offered in its early days in order to sustain its life became a custom and a
policy. The Romans possessed the art of converting their conquered enemies into allies, and this was done by
means of concessions which cities of respectable origin would have been too proud to make.
Their military career was very different from that of the Persians, who swept over the continent in a few
months. The Romans spent three centuries in establishing their rule within a circle of a hundred miles round
the city. Whatever they won by the sword they secured by the plough. After every successful war they
demanded a tract of land, and on this they planted a colony of Roman farmers. The municipal governments of
the conquered cities were left undisturbed. The Romans aimed to establish, at least in appearance, a
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federation of states, a United Italy. At the time of the first Punic War this design had nearly been
accomplished. Wild tribes of Celtic shepherds still roamed over the rich plains at the foot of the Alps, but the
Italian boroughs had acknowledged the supremacy of Rome. The Greek cities on the southern coast had, a
few years before, called over Pyrrhus, King of Epirus, a soldier of fortune and the first general of the day. But
the legion broke the Macedonian phalanx, and the broadsword vanquished the Macedonian spear. The Greek
cities were no longer independent except in name. Pyrrhus returned to Greece, and prophesied of Sicily, as he
left its shores, that it would become the arena of the Punic and the Roman arms.
In the last war that was ever waged between the Syracusans and the Carthaginians, the former had employed
some mercenary troops belonging to the Mamertines, an Italian tribe. When the war was ended these soldiers
were paid off and began to march home. They passed through the Greek town of Messina on their road, were
hospitably received by the citizens, and provided with quarters for the night. In the middle of the night they
rose up and massacred the men, married the widows, and settled down as rulers of Messina, each soldier
beneath another man’s vine and figtree. A Roman regiment stationed at Rhegium, a Greek town on the
Italian side of the straits, heard of this exploit, considered it an excellent idea, and did the same. The Romans
marched upon Rhegium, took it by storm, and executed four hundred of the soldiers in the Forum. The king
of Syracuse, who held the same position in eastern Sicily as did Rome on the peninsula, marched against
Messina. The Mamertine bandits became alarmed; one party sent to the Carthaginians for assistance; another
party sent to Rome, declaring that they were kinsmen and desired to enter the Italian league.
The Roman senate rejected this request on account of its 'manifest absurdity.' They had just punished their
soldiers for imitating the Mamertines; how then could they interfere with the punishment of the Mamertines?
But in Rome the people possessed the sovereign power of making peace or war. There was a scarcity of
money at that time; a raid on Sicily would yield plunder, and troops were accordingly ordered to Messina.
For the first time Romans went outside Italythe vanguard of an army which subdued the world. The
Carthaginians were already in Messina: the Romans drove them out, and the war began. The Syracusans were
defeated in the first battle, and then went over to the Roman side. It became a war between Asiatics and
Europeans.
The two great republics were already well acquainted with each other. In the apartment of the Aediles in the
Capitol was preserved a commercial treaty between Carthage and Rome, inscribed on tables of brass in old
Latin; in the time of Polybius it could scarcely be understood, for it had been drawn up twenty eight years
before Xerxes invaded Greece. When Pyrrhus invaded Italy the Carthaginians had taken the Roman side, for
the Greeks were their hereditary enemies. There were Carthaginian shops in the streets of Rome, a city in
beauty and splendour far inferior to Carthage, which as called the metropolis of the Western world. The
Romans were a people of warriors and small farmers, quaint in their habits and simple in their tastes. Some
Carthaginian ambassadors were much amused at the odd fashion of their banquets, where the guests sang old
ballads in turn while the piper played, and they discovered that there was only one service of plate in Rome,
and that each senator borrowed it when he gave a dinner. Yet there were already signs that Rome was
inhabited by a giant race. The vast aqueducts had been constructed; the tunnellike sewers had been
hollowed out; the streets were paved with smooth and massive slabs. There were many temples and statues to
be seen; each temple was the monument of a great victory; each statue was the memorial of a hero who had
died for Rome.
The Carthaginian army was composed entirely of mercenary troops. Africa, Spain and Gaul were their
recruiting grounds, an inexhaustible treasury of warriors as long as the money lasted which they received as
pay. The Berbers were a splendid Cossack cavalry; they rode without saddle or bridle, a weapon in each
hand; on foot they were merely a horde or savages with elephanthide shields, long spears, and bearskins
floating from their shoulders. The troops of Spain were the best infantry that the Carthaginians possessed;
they wore a white uniform with purple facings; they fought with pointed swords. The Gauls were brave
troops but were badly armed; they were naked to the waist; their cutlasses were made of soft iron and had to
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be straightened after every blow. The Balearic Islands supplied a regiment of slingers whose balls of
hardened clay whizzed through the air like bullets, broke armour, and shot men dead. We read much of the
Sacred Legion in the Sicilian wars. It was composed of young nobles, who wore dazzling white shields and
breastplates which were works of art; who even in the camp never drank except from goblets of silver and
of gold. But this corps had apparently become extinct, and the Carthaginians only officered their troops, who
they looked upon as ammunition, and to whom their orders were delivered through interpreters. The various
regiments of the Carthaginian army had therefore nothing in common with one another or with those by
whom they were led. They rushed to battle in confusion, 'with sounds, discordant as their various tribes,' and
with no higher feeling than the hope of plunder or the excitement which the act of fighting arouses in the
brave soldier.
In Rome the army was the nation: no citizen could take office unless he had served in ten campaigns. All
spoke the same language, all were inspired by the same ambition. The officers were often small farmers like
the men, but this civil equality produced no ill effects; the discipline was most severe. It was a maxim that the
soldier should fear his officer more than he feared his foe. The drill was unremitting; when they were in
winter quarters they erected sheds in which the soldiers fenced with swords cased in leather with buttons at
the point and hurled javelins, also buttoned, at one another. These foils were double the weight of the
weapons that were actually used. When the day’s march was over they took pickaxe and spade, and built
their camp like a town with a twelve foot stockade around it, and a ditch twelve feet deep and twelve feet
broad. When the red mantle was hung before the general’s tent each soldier said to himself, 'Perhaps today I
may win the golden crown.' Laughing and jesting they rubbed their limbs with oil, and took out of their cases
the bright helmets and the polished shields which they used only on the battleday. As they stood ready to
advance upon the foe the general would address them in a vigorous speech; he would tell them that the
greatest honour which could befall a Roman was to die for his country on the field, and that glorious was the
sorrow, enviable the woe of the matron who gave a husband or a son to Rome. Then the trumpets pealed, and
the soldiers charged, first firing a volley of javelins and then coming to close quarters with the solid steel. The
chief fault of the Roman military system at that time was in the arrangement of the chief command. There
were two commandersinchief, possessing equal powers, and it sometimes happened that they were both
present on the same spot, that they commanded on alternate days, and that their tactics differed. They were
appointed only for the year, and when the term drew near its end a consul would often fight a battle at a
disadvantage, or negotiate a premature peace, that he might prevent his successor from reaping the fruits of
his twelve month’s toil. The Carthaginian generals had thereby an advantage, but they also were liable to be
recalled when too successful by the jealous and distrustful government at home.
The wealth of Carthage was much greater than that of Rome, but her method of making war was more costly,
and a great deal of money was stolen and wasted by the men in power. In Carthage the highest offices of state
were openly bought from a greedy and dangerous populace, just as in Pompey’s time tables were set out in
the streets of Rome at which candidates for office paid the people for their votes. But at this time bribery was
a capital offence at Rome. It was a happy period in Roman history, the interlude between two aristocracies.
There had been a time when a system of hereditary castes prevailed; when the plebeians were excluded from
all share in the public lands and the higher offices of state; when they were often chained in the dungeons of
the nobles, and marked with scars upon their backs: when Romans drew swords on Romans and the tents of
the people whitened the Sacred Hill. But the Licinian Laws were carried; the orders were reconciled; plebeian
consuls were elected; and two centuries of prosperity, harmony, and victory prepared Rome for the
prodigious contest in which she was now engaged.
To her subject people Carthage acted as a tyrant. She had even deprived the old Phoenician cities of their
liberty of trade. She would not allow them to build walls for fear they should rebel, loaded them with heavy
burdens grievous to be borne, treated the colonial provinces as conquered lands, and sent decayed nobles as
governors to wring out of the people all they could. If the enemies of Carthage invaded Africa they would
meet with no resistance except from Carthage herself, and they would be joined by thousands of Berbers who
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longed to be revenged on their oppressors. But if the enemies of Rome invaded Italy they would find
everywhere walled cities ready to defend their liberties and having liberties to defend. No tribute was taken
by Rome from her allies except that of military service, which service was rewarded with a share of the
harvest that the war brought in.
The Carthaginians were at a greater distance from the seat of war than the Romans, who had only to sail
across a narrow strait. However, this was counterbalanced by the superiority of the Punic fleet. At that time
the Carthaginians were completely masters of the sea; they boasted that no man could wash his hands in the
salt water without their permission. The Romans had not a single decked vessel, and in order to transport
their troops across the straits they were obliged to borrow triremes from the ItalianGreeks. But their
marvellous resolution and the absolute necessities of the case overmastered their deficiencies and their
singular dislike of the sea. The wreck of a Carthaginian manofwar served them as a model; they ranged
benches along the beach and drilled sailors who had just come from the plough’s tail to the service of the oar.
The vessels were rudely built and the men clumsy at their work, and when the hostile fleets first met the
Carthaginians burst into loud guffaws. Without taking order of battle they flew down upon the Romans, the
admiral leading the van in a sevendecker that had belonged to Pyrrhus. On they went, each ship in a bed of
creamy foam, flags flying, trumpets blowing, and the negroes singing and clanking their chains as they
laboured at the oar. But presently they perceived some oddlooking machines on the forecastles of the
Roman ships; they had never seen such things before, and this made them hesitate a little. But when they saw
in what a lubberly fashion the ships were worked their confidence returned; they dashed in among the Roman
vessels, which they tried to rip up with their aquiline prows. As soon as they came to close quarters the
machines fell down upon them with a crash, tore open their decks, and grappled them tightly in their iron
jaws, forming at the same time a gangway over which the Roman soldiers poured. The sea fight was made a
land fight, and only a few ships with beaks all bent and broken succeeded in making their escape. They
entered the harbour of Carthage with their bows covered with skins, the signal of defeat.
However, by means of skilful manoeuvring the invention of Duilius was made of no avail, and the
Carthaginians for many years remained the masters of the sea. Twice the Roman fleet was entirely destroyed,
and their treasury was now exhausted. But he undaunted people fitted out a fleet by private subscription, and
so rapidly was this done that the trees, as Florus said, were transformed into ships. Two hundred fivedeckers
were ready before the enemy knew that they had begun to build, and so the Carthaginian fleet was one day
surprised by the Romans in no fighting condition, for the vessels were laden to the gunwales with corn, and
only sailors were on board; the whole fleet was taken or sunk, and the war was at an end. Yet when all was
added up it was found that the Romans had lost two hundred vessels more than the Carthaginians. But Rome,
even without large ships, could always reinforce Sicily, while the Carthaginians, without a full fleet, were
completely cut off from the seat of war, and they were unable to rebuild in the manner of the Romans.
The war in Sicily had been a drawn game. Hamilcar Barca, although unconquered, received orders to
negotiate for peace. The Romans demanded a large indemnity to pay for the expenses of the war, and took the
Sicilian settlements which Carthage had held for four hundred years.
Peace was made, and the mercenary troops were sent back to Carthage. Their pay was in arrear, and there
was no money left. Matters were so badly managed that the soldiers were allowed to retain their arms. They
burst into mutiny, ravaged the country, and besieged the capital. The veterans of Hamilcar could only be
conquered by Hamilcar himself. He saved Carthage, but the struggle was severe. Venerable senators, ladies
of gentle birth, innocent children, had fallen into the hands of the brutal mutineers, and had been crucified,
torn to pieces, tortured to death in a hundred ways. During those awful orgies of Spendius and Matho the
Roman war had almost been forgotten; the disasters over which men had mourned became by comparison
happiness and peace. The destruction of the fleet was viewed as a slight calamity when death was howling at
the city gates. At last Hamilcar triumphed, and the rebels were cast to the elephants, who kneaded their
bodies with their feet and gored them with their tusks; and Carthage, exhausted, faint from loss of blood,
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attempted to repose.
But all was not yet over. The troops that were stationed in Sardinia rebelled, and Hamilcar prepared to sail
with an armament against them.
The Romans had acted in the noblest manner towards the Carthaginians during the civil war. The Italian
merchants had been allowed to supply Carthage with provisions, and had been forbidden to communicate
with the rebels. When the Sardinian troops mutinied they offered the island to Rome; the city of Utica had
also offered itself to Rome, but the Senate had refused both applications. And now all of a sudden, as if
possessed by an evil spirit, they pretended that the Carthaginian armament had been prepared against Rome,
and declared war. When Carthage, in the last stage of misery and prostration, prayed for peace in the name of
all the pitiful gods, it was granted. But Rome had been put to some expense on account of this intended war;
they must therefore pay an additional indemnity, and surrender Corsica and Sardinia. Poor Carthage was
made to bite the dust indeed.
Hamilcar Barca was appointed commanderinchief. He was the favourite of the people. He had to the last
remained unconquered in Sicily. He had saved the city from the mutineers. His honour was unstained, his
patriotism was pure.
In that hour of calamity and shame, when the city was hung with black, when the spacious docks were empty
and bare, when there was woe in every face and the memory of death in every house, faction was forced to be
silent, and the people were permitted to be heard, and those who loved their country more than their party
rejoiced to see a Man at the head of affairs. But Hamilcar knew well that he was hated by the leaders of the
government, the politicians by profession, those men who had devoured the gold which was the very heart of
Carthage, and had brought upon her by their dishonesty this last distressing war; those men who by their
miserable suspicions and intrigues had ever deprived their best generals of their commands as soon as they
began to succeed, and appointed generals whom theyand the enemyhad no cause to fear. To him was
entrusted by the patriots the office of regenerating Carthage. But how was it to be done? Without money he
was powerless; without money he could not keep his army together; without money he could not even retain
his command. He had been given it by the people, but the people were accustomed to be bribed. Gold they
must have from the men in power; if he had none to give they would go to those who had. His enemies he
knew would be able to employ the state revenues against him. What could he do? Where was the money to be
found? He saw before him nothing but defeat, disgrace, and even an ignominious deathfor in Carthage
they sometimes crucified their generals. Often he thought that it would be better to give up public life, to
abandon the corrupt and ruined city, and to sail to those sweet islands which the Carthaginians had
discovered in the Atlantic Sea. There the earth was always verdant, the sky was always pure. No fiery sirocco
blew, and no cold rain fell in that delicious land. Odoriferous balm dripped from the branches of the trees;
canary birds sang among the leaves; streams of silver water rippled downwards to the sea. There Nature was
a calm and gentle mother: there the turmoils of the world might be forgotten; there the weary heart might be
at rest.
Yet how could he desert his fatherland in its affliction? To him the nation turned its sorrowful eyes; on him
the people called as men call upon their gods. At this feet lay the poor, torn, and wounded Carthagethe
Carthage once so beautiful and so strong, the Carthage who had fed him from her full breast with riches and
with power, the Carthage who had made him what he was. And should he, who had never turned his back
upon her enemies, desert her now?
Then a glorious idea flashed in upon his brain. He saw a way of restoring Carthage to her ancient glory, of
making her stronger than she had ever been, of making her a match for Rome. He announced to the senate
that he intended to take the army to Tangiers to reduce a native tribe which had caused some trouble in the
neighbourhood. He quickly made all arrangements for the march. A few vessels had been prepared for the
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expedition to Sardinia. These were commanded by his brother, and he ordered that they should be sailed
along the coast side by side with the army as it marched. It might have appeared strange to some persons that
he should require ships to make war against a tribe of Moors on land. But there was no fear of his enemies
suspecting his design. It was so strange and wild that when it had been actually accomplished they could
scarcely believe that it was real.
The night before he marched he went to the Great Temple to offer the sacrifice of propitiation and entreaty.
He took with him his son, a boy nine years of age. When the libations and other rites were ended and the
victim lay divided on the altar, he ordered the attendants to withdraw. He remained alone with his son.
The temple of Baal was a magnificent building supported by enormous columns, covered with gold, or
formed of a glasslike substance which began to glitter and sparkle in a curious manner as the night came on.
Around the temple walls were idols representing the Phoenician gods; prominent among them was the
hideous statue of Moloch, with its downwardsloping hands and the fiery furnace at its feet. There also might
be seen beautiful Greek statues, trophies of the Sicilian Warsespecially the Diana which the Carthaginians
had taken from Segesta, which was afterwards restored to that city by the Romans, which Verres placed in his
celebrated gallery and Cicero in his celebrated speech. There also might be seen the famous brazen bull
which an Athenian invented for the amusement of Phalaris. Human beings were put inside, a fire was lit
underneath, and the throat was so contrived that the shrieks and groans of the victims made the bull bellow as
if he was alive. The first experiment was made by King Phalaris upon the artist, and the last by the people
upon King Phalaris.
Hamilcar caressed his son and asked him if he would like to go to the war; when the boy said yes, and
showed much delight, Hamilcar took his little hands and placed them upon the altar, and made him swear that
he would hate the Romans to his dying day. Long years afterwards, when that boy was an exile in a foreign
landthe most glorious, the most unfortunate of menhe was accused by his royal host of secretly
intriguing with the Romans. He then related this circumstance, and asked if it was likely that he would ever
be a friend to Rome.
Hamilcar marched. The politicians supposed that he was merely engaged in a thirdrate war, and were quite
easy in their minds. But one day there came a courier from Tangiers. He brought tidings which plunged the
whole city in a tumult of wonder and excitement. The three great streets which led to the marketplace were
filled with streaming crowds. A multitude collected round the city hall, in which sat the senators anxiously
deliberating. Women appeared on the roofs of the houses and bent eagerly over the parapets, while men ran
along bawling out the news. Hamilcar Barca had gone clean off. He was no longer in Africa. He had crossed
the sea. The Tangier expedition was a trick. He had taken the army right over into Spain, and was fighting
with the native chiefs who had always been the friends and allies of Carthage.
By a strange fortuity, Spain was the Peru of the ancient world. The horrors of the mines in South America,
the sufferings of the Indians, were copied, so to speak, from the early history of the people who inflicted
them. When the Phoenicians first entered the harbours of Andalusia they found themselves in a land where
silver was used as iron. They loaded their vessel with the precious metal to the water’s edge, cast away their
wooden leadweighted anchor, and substituted a lump of pure silver in its stead. Afterwards factories were
established, arrangements were made with the chiefs for the supply of labour, and the mining was conducted
on scientific principles. The Carthaginians succeeded the Phoenicians, and remained, like them, only on the
coast.
It was Hamilcar’s design to conquer the whole country, to exact tribute from the inhabitants, to create a
Spanish army. His success was splendid and complete. The peninsula of Spain became almost entirely a
Punic province. Hamilcar built a city which he called New Carthagethe Carthagena of modern timesand
discovered in its neighbourhood rich mines of silverlead which have lately been reopened. He acquired a
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private fortune, formed a native army, fed his party at Carthage, and enriched the treasury of the state. He
administered the province nine years, and then dying, was succeeded by his brother, who, after governing or
reigning a few years, also died. Hannibal, the son of Hamilcar, became Viceroy of Spain.
It appears strange that Rome should so tamely have allowed the Carthaginians to take Spain. The truth was
that the Romans just then had enough to do to look after their own affairs. The Gauls of Lombardy had
furiously attacked the Italian cities, and had called to their aid the Gauls who lived beyond the Alps. Before
the Romans had beaten off the barbarians the conquest in Spain had been accomplished. The Romans
therefore accepted the fact, and contented themselves with a treaty by which the government of Carthage
pledged itself not to pass beyond the Ebro.
But Hannibal cared nothing about treaties made at Carthage. As Hamilcar without orders had invaded Spain,
so he without orders invaded Italy. The expedition of the Gauls had shown him that it was possible to cross
the Alps, and he chose that extraordinary route. The Roman army was about to embark for Spain, which it
was supposed would be the seat or war, when the news arrived that Hannibal had alighted in Italy with
elephants and cavalry, like a man descending from the clouds.
If wars were always decided by individual exploits and pitched battles Hannibal would have conquered Italy.
He defeated the Romans so often and so thoroughly that at last they found it their best policy not to fight with
him at all. He could do nothing then but sweep over the country with his Cossack cavalry, plunder, and
destroy. It was impossible for him to take Rome, which was protected by walls strong as rocks and by rocks
steep as walls. When he did march on Rome, encamping within three miles of the city and raising a panic
during an afternoon, it was done merely as a ruse to draw away the Roman army from the siege of Capua. But
it did not have even that effect. The army before Capua remained where it was, and another army appeared as
if by magic to defend the city. Rome appeared to be inexhaustible, and so in reality it was.
Hannibal knew well that Italy could be conquered only by Italians. So great a general could never have
supposed that with a handful of cavalry he could subdue a country which had a million armed men to bring
into the field. He had taken it for granted that if he could gain some success at first he would be joined by the
subject cities. But in spite of his great victories they remained true to Rome. Nothing shows so clearly the
immense resources of the Italian Republic as that second Punic War. Hannibal was in their country, but they
employed against him only a portion of their troops. A second army was in Sicily waging war against his
Greek allies; a third army was in Spain, attacking his operations at the base, pulling Carthage out of Europe
by the roots. Added to which, it was now the Romans who ruled the sea. When Scipio had taken New
Carthage and conquered Spain, he crossed over into Africa, and Hannibal was of necessity recalled. He met
on the field of Zama a general whose genius was little inferior to his own, and who possessed an infinitely
better army. Hannibal lost the day, and the fate of Carthage was decided. It was not the battle which did that;
it was the nature and constitution of the state. In itself the battle of Zama was not a more ruinous defeat than
the battle of Cannae. But Carthage was made of different stuff from that of Rome. How could a war between
those two people have ended otherwise than as it did? Rome was an armed nation fighting in Italy for hearth
and home, in Africa for glory and revenge. Carthage was a city of merchants, who paid men to fight for them,
and whose army was dissolved as soon as the exchequer was exhausted. Rome could fight to its last man;
Carthage could fight only to its last dollar. At the beginning of both wars the Carthaginians did wonders, but
as they became poor they became feeble; their strength dribbled out with their gold; the refusal of Alexandria
to negotiate a loan perhaps injured them more deeply than the victory of Scipio.
The fall of the Carthaginian empire is not a matter for regret. Outside the walls of the city existed hopeless
slavery on the part of the subject, shameless extortion on the part of the officials. Throughout Africa Carthage
was never named without a curse. In the time of the mercenary war the Moorish women, taking oath to keep
nothing back, stripped off their gold ornaments and brought them all to the men who were resisting their
oppressors. That city, that Carthage, fed like a vulture upon the land. A corrupt and grasping aristocracy, a
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corrupt and turbulent populace, divided between them the prey. The Carthaginian customs were barbarous in
the extreme. When a battle had been won they sacrificed their handsomest prisoners to the gods; when a
battle had been lost the children of their noblest families were cast into the furnace. Their Asiatic character
was strongly marked. They were a people false and sweetworded, effeminate and cruel, tyrannical and
servile, devout and licentious, merciless in triumph, fainthearted in danger, divinely heroic in despair.
Let us therefore admit that, as an imperial city, Carthage merited her fate. But henceforth we must regard her
from a different point of view. In order to obtain peace she had given up her colonies abroad, her provinces at
home, her vessels and elephants of war. The empire was reduced to a municipality. Nothing was left but the
city and a piece of ground. The merchant princes took off their crowns and went back into the glass and
purple business. It was only as a town of manufacture and trade that Carthage continued to exist, and as such
her existence was of unmixed service to the world.
Hannibal was made prime minister, and at once set to work to reform the constitution. The aristocratic party
informed the Romans that he was secretly stirring up the people to war. The Romans demanded that he
should be surrendered; he escaped to the court of Antiochus, the Greek king in Asia Minor, and there he did
attempt to raise war against Rome. The senate were justified in expelling him from Carthage, for he was
really a dangerous man. But the persecution to which he was afterwards subjected was not very creditable to
their good fame. Driven from place to place, he at last took refuge in Bithynia, on the desolate shores of the
Black Sea, and a Roman consul, who wished to obtain some notoriety by taking home the great Carthaginian
as a show, commanded the prince under whose protection he was living to give him up. When Hannibal
heard of this he took poison, saying, 'Let me deliver the Romans from their cares and anxieties since they
think it too tedious and too dangerous to wait for the death of a poor, hated old man.' The news of this
occurrence excited anger in Rome, but it was the presage of a greater crime which was soon to be committed
in the Roman name.
There was a Berber chief named Masinissa who had been deprived of his estates, and who during the war had
rendered important services to Rome. He was made king of Numidia, and it was stipulated in the treaty that
the Carthaginians should restore the lands and cities which had belonged to him and to his ancestors. The
lands which they had taken from him were accordingly surrendered, and then Masinissa sent in a claim for
certain lands which he said had been taken from his ancestors. The wording of the treaty was ambiguous. He
might easily declare that the whole of the seacoast had belonged to his family in ancient times, and who
could disprove the evidence of a tradition? He made no secret of his design; it was to drive the Phoenician
strangers out of Africa and to reign at Carthage in their stead. He soon showed that he was worthy to be
called the King of Numidia and the Friend of Rome. He drilled his bandits into soldiers; he taught his
wandering shepherds to till the ground. He made his capital, Constantine, a great city; he opened schools in
which the sons of native chiefs were taught to read and write in the Punic tongue. He allied himself with the
powers of Morocco and the Atlas. He reminded the Berbers that it was to them the soil belonged, that the
Phoenicians were intruders who had come with presents in their hands and with promises in their mouths,
declaring that they had met with trouble in their own country, and praying for a place where they might
repose from the weary sea. Their fathers had trusted them; their fathers had been bitterly deceived. By force
and by fraud the Carthaginians had taken all the lands which they possessed; they had stolen the ground on
which their city stood.
In the meantime Rome advanced into the East. As soon as the battle of Zama had been fought Alexandria
demanded her protection. This brought the Romans into contact with the GraecoAsiatic world; they found it
in much the same condition as the English found Hindustan, and they conquered it in much the same manner.
Time went on. The generation of Hannibal had almost become extinct. In Carthage war had become a
tradition of the past. The business of that city was again as flourishing as it had ever been. Again ships sailed
to the coasts of Cornwall and Guinea; again the streets were lined with the workshops of industrious artisans.
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Such is the vis medicatrix, the restoring power of a widely extended commerce, combined with active
manufactures and the skilful management of soil, that the city soon regained its ancient wealth. The Romans
had imposed an enormous indemnity which was to be paid off by instalments extending over a series of
years. The Carthaginians paid it off at once.
But in the midst of all their prosperity and happiness there were grave and anxious hearts. They saw ever
before them the menacing figure of Masinissa. The very slowness of his movements was portentous. He was
in all things deliberate, gradual, and calm. From time to time he demanded a tract of land; if it was not given
up at once he took it by force. Then, waiting as if to digest it, he left them for a while in peace.
They were bound by treaty not to make war against the Friend of Rome. They therefore petitioned the senate
that commissioners should be sent and the boundary definitely settled. But the senate had no desire that
Carthage should be left in peace. The commissioners were instructed to report in such a manner that
Masinissa might be encouraged to continue his depredations. They brought back astonishing accounts of the
magnificence and activity of the African metropolis; and among these commissioners there was one man who
never ceased to declare that the country was in danger, and who never rose to speak in the House without
saying before he sat down: 'And it is my opinion, fathers, that Carthage must be destroyed.'
Cato the censor has been called the last of the old Romans. That class of patriot farmers had been
extinguished by Hannibal’s invasion. In order to live during the long war they had been obliged to borrow
money on their lands. When the war was over the prices of everything rose to an unnatural height; the
farmers could not recover themselves, and the Roman law of debt was severe. They were ejected by
thousandsit was the favourite method to turn the women and children out of doors while the poor man was
working in the fields. Italy was converted into a plantation; slaves in chains tilled the land. No change was
made in the letter of the constitution, but the commonwealth ceased to exist. Society was now composed of
the nobles, the moneymerchants or city men, and a mob like that of Carthage which lived on saleable votes,
sometimes raging for agrarian laws, and which was afterwards fed at government expense like a wild beast
every day.
At this time a few refined and intellectual men began to cultivate a taste for Greek literature and the fine arts.
They collected libraries, and adorned them with busts of celebrated men and with antiques of Corinthian
bronze. Crowds of imitators soon arose, and the conquests in the East awakened new ideas. In the days of old
the Romans had been content to decorate their doorposts with trophies obtained in single combat, and their
halls with the waxen portraits of their ancestors. The only spoils which they could then display were flocks
and herds, wagons of rude structure, and heaps of spears and helmets. But now the arts of Greece and the
riches of Asia adorned the triumphs of their generals, and the reign of taste and luxury commenced. A race of
dandies appeared who wore semitransparent robes, and who were always passing their hands in an affected
manner through their hairwho lounged with the languor of the Sybarite, and spoke with the lisp of
Alcibiades. The wives of senators and bankers became genteel, kept a herd of ladies’ maids, passed hours
before their fulllength silver mirrors, bathed in asses’ milk, rouged their cheeks and dyed their hair, never
went out except in palanquins, gabbled Greek phrases, and called their slaves by Greek names even when
they happened to be of Latin birth. The houses of the great were paved with mosaic floors, and the painted
walls were works of art: sideboards were covered with gold and silver plate, with vessels of amber and of the
tinted Alexandrine glass. The bathrooms were of marble, with the water issuing from silver tubes.
New amusements were invented, and new customs began to reign. An academy was established, in which
five hundred boys and girls were taught castanet dances of anything but a decorous kind. The dinner hour was
made later, and instead of sitting at table they adopted the style of lying down to eat on sofas inlaid with
tortoiseshell and gold. It was chiefly in the luxuries of the cuisine that the Romans exhibited their wealth.
Prodigious prices were paid for a good Greek cook. Every patrician villa was a castle of gastronomical
delight: it was provided with its saltwater tank for fish and oysters, and an aviary which was filled with
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fieldfares, ortolans, nightingales, and thrushes; a white dovecot, like a tower, stood beside the house, and
beneath it was a dark dungeon for fattening the birds; there was also a poultry ground, with peafowl,
guineafowl, and pink feathered flamingoes imported from the East, while an orchard of figtrees,
honeyapples, and other fruits, and a garden in which the trees of cypress and yew were clipped into fantastic
shapes, conferred an aspect of rural beauty on the scene. The hills round the Bay of Naples were covered with
these villas; and to that charming region it became the fashion to resort at a certain season of the year. In such
places gambling, drinking, and lovemaking shook off all restraints. Blackeyed soubrettes tripped perpetually
about with billetsdoux in Greek; the rattle of the ivory dicebox could be heard in the streets, like the click
of billiard balls in the Parisian boulevards; and many a boat with purple sails and with garlands of roses
twined round its mast floated softly along the water, laughter and sweet music sounding from the prow.
Happily for Cato’s peace of mind, he died before the casino with its cachuchaor cancan, or whatever it
might have beenwas introduced, and before the fashions of Asia had been added to those of Greece. But he
lived long enough to see the Graecomaniacs triumphant. In earlier and happier days he had been able to
expel two philosophers from Rome, but now he saw them swarming in the streets with their ragged cloaks
and greasy beards, and everywhere obtaining seats as domestic chaplains at the tables of the rich. He could
now do no more than protest in his bitter and extravagant style against the corruption of the age. He
prophesied that as soon as Rome had thoroughly imbibed the Greek philosophy she would lose the empire of
the world; he declared that Socrates was a prating, seditious fellow who well deserved his fate; and he warned
his son to beware of the Greek physicians, for the Greeks had laid a plot to kill all the Romans, and the
doctors had been deputed to put it into execution with their medicines.
Cato was a man of an iron body which was covered with honourable scars, a loud, harsh voice, greenishgrey
eyes, foxy hair, and enormous teeth resembling tusks. His face was so hideous and forbidding that, according
to one of the hundred epigrams that were composed against him, he would wander for ever on the banks of
the Styx, for hell itself would be afraid to let him in. He was distinguished as a general, as an orator, and as an
author, but he pretended that it was his chief ambition to be considered a good farmer. He lived in a little
cottage on his Sabine estate, and went in the morning to practise as an advocate in the neighbouring town.
When he came home he stripped to the skin and worked in the fields with his slaves, drinking as they did the
vinegarwater or the thin, sour wine. In the evening he used to boil the turnips for his supper while his wife
made the bread. Although he cared so little about external things, if he gave an entertainment and the slaves
had not cooked it or waited to his liking, he used to chastise them with leather thongs. It was one of his
maxims to sell his slaves when they grew oldthe worst cruelty that a slaveowner can commit. 'For my
part,' says Plutarch, 'I should never have the heart to sell an ox that had grown old in my service, still less my
aged slave.'
Cato’s oldfashioned virtue paid very well. He gratified his personal antipathies and obtained the character of
the people’s friend. He was always impeaching the great men of his country, and was himself impeached
nearly fifty times. The man who sets up as being much better than his age is always to be suspected, and Cato
is perhaps the best specimen of the rugged hypocrite and austere charlatan that history can produce. This
censor of morals bred slaves for sale. He made laws against usury and then turned usurer himself. He was
always preaching about the vanity of riches, and wrote an excellent work on the best way of getting rich. He
degraded a Roman knight for kissing his wife in the daytime in the presence of his daughter, and he himself,
while he was living under his daughterinlaw’s roof, bestowed his favours on one of the servant girls of the
establishment, and allowed her to be impudent to her young mistress. 'Old age,' he once said to a
greyheaded debauchee, 'has deformities enough of its own. Do not add to it the deformity of vice.' At the
time of the amorous affair above mentioned Cato was nearly eighty years of age.
On the other hand, he was a most faithful servant to his country; he was a truly religious man, and his god
was the Commonwealth of Rome. Nor was he destitute of the domestic virtues, though sadly deficient in that
respect. He used to say that those who beat their wives and children laid their sacrilegious hands on the
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holiest things in the world. He educated his son himself, taught him to box, to ride, and to swim, and wrote
out for him a history of Rome in large pothook characters, that he might become acquainted at an early age
with the great actions of the ancient Romans. He was as careful in what he said before the child as if he had
been in the presence of the vestal virgins.
This Cato was the man on whom rests chiefly the guilt of the murder which we must now relate. In public
and in private, by direct denunciation, by skilful innuendo, by appealing to the fears of some and to the
interests of others, he laboured incessantly towards his end. Once, after he had made a speech against
Carthage in the senate, he shook the skirt of his robe as if by accident, and some African figs fell upon the
ground. When all had looked and wondered at their size and beauty he observed that the place where they
grew was only three days’ sail from Rome.
It is possible that Cato was sincere in his alarms, for he was one of the few survivors of the second Punic
War. He had felt the arm of Carthage in its strength. He could remember that day when even Romans had
turned pale; when the old men covered their faces with their mantles; when the young men clambered on the
walls; when the women ran wailing round the temples of the gods, praying for protection and sweeping the
shrines with their hair; when a cry went forth that Hannibal was at the gates; when a panic seized the city;
when the people, collecting on the roofs, flung tiles at Roman soldiers, believing them to be the enemy
already in the town; when all over the Campagna could be seen the smoke of ricks and farmhouses mounting
in the air, and the wild Berber horsemen driving herds of cattle to the Punic camp.
Besides, it was his theory that the annihilation of foreign powers was the building up of Rome. He used to
boast that in his Peninsular campaign he had demolished a Spanish town a day. There were in the senate
many enlightened men who denied that the prosperity of Rome could be assisted by the destruction of trading
cities, and Carthage was defended by the Scipio party. But the influence of the banker class was employed on
Cato’s side. They wanted every penny that was spent in the Mediterranean world to pass through their books.
Carthage and Corinth were rival firms which it was to their profit to destroy. These moneymongers
possessed great power in the senate and the state, and at last they carried the day. It was privately resolved
that Carthage should be attacked as soon as an opportunity occurred.
Thus in Africa and in Italy Masinissa and Cato prepared the minds of men for the deed of blood. It was as if
the Furies of the slaughtered dead had entered the bodies of those two old men and kept them alive beyond
their natural term. Cato had done his share. It was now Masinissa’s turn. As soon as he was assured that he
would be supported by the Romans he struck again and again the wretched people, who were afraid to resist
and yet who soon saw that it would be folly to submit. It was evident that Rome would not interfere. If
Masinissa was not checked he would strip them of their cornfields; he would starve them to death. The war
party at last prevailed; the city was fortified and armed. Masinissa descended on their villas, their gardens,
and their farms. Driven to despair, the Carthaginians went forth to defend the crops which their own hands
had sown. A great battle was fought, and Masinissa was victorious.
On a hill near the battlefield sat a young Roman officer, Scipio Aemilianus, a relative of the man who had
defeated Hannibal. He had been sent over from Spain for a squadron of elephants, and arrived in Masinissa’s
camp at this interesting crisis. The news of the battle was soon despatched by him to Rome. The treaty had
now been broken, and the senate declared war.
The Carthaginians fell into an agony of alarm. They were now so broken down that a vassal of Rome could
defeat them in the open field. What had they to expect in a war with Rome? Ambassadors were at once
dispatched with full powers to obtain peacepeace at any pricefrom the terrible Republic. The envoys
presented themselves before the senate; they offered the submission of the Carthaginians, who formally
disowned the act of war, who had put the two leaders of the warparty to death, and who desired nothing but
the alliance and goodwill of Rome. The answer which they received was this: 'Since the Carthaginians are so
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well advised, the senate returns them their country, their laws, their sepulchres, their liberties, and their
estates, if they will surrender three hundred sons of their senators as hostages, and obey the orders of the
consuls.'
The Roman army had already disembarked. When the consuls landed on the coast no resistance was made.
They demanded provisions. Then the city gates were opened, and long trains of bullocks and mules laden
with corn were driven to the Roman camp. The hostages were demanded. Then the senators brought forth
their children and gave them to the city; the city gave them to the Romans; the Romans placed them on board
the galleys, which at once spread their sails and departed from the coast. The roofs of the palaces of Carthage
were crowded with women who watched these receding sails with straining eyes and outstretched arms.
Never more would they see their beloved ones. Yet they would not perhaps have grieved so much at the
children leaving Carthage had they known what was to come.
The city gates again opened. The senate sent its council to the Roman camp. A company of venerable men
clad in purple, with golden chains, presented themselves at headquarters and requested to know what were
the 'orders of the consuls.' They were told that Carthage must disarm. They returned to the city and at once
sent out to the camp all their fleetmaterial and artillery, all the military stores in the public magazines, and
all the arms that could be found in the possession of private individuals. Three thousand catapults and two
hundred thousand sets of armour were given up.
They again came out to the camp. The military council was assembled to receive them. The old men saluted
the Roman ensigns, and bowed low to the consuls, placing their hands upon their breasts. The orders of the
consuls, they said, had been obeyed. Was there anything more that their lords had to command?
The senior consul rose up and said that there was something more. He was instructed by the Roman senate to
inform the senators of Carthage that the city must be destroyed, but that in accordance with the promise of the
Roman senate their country, their laws, their sepulchres, their liberties, and their estates would be preserved,
and they might build another city. Only it must be without walls, and at a distance of at least ten miles from
the sea.
The Carthaginians cast themselves upon the ground, and the whole assembly fell into confusion. The consul
explained that he could exercise no choice: he had received his orders, and they must be carried out. He
requested them to return and apprise their fellowtownsmen. Some of the senators remained in the Roman
camp; others ventured to go back. When they drew near the city the people came running out to meet them,
and asked them the news. They answered only by weeping and beating their foreheads, and stretching out
their hands and calling on the gods. They went on to the senate house; the members were summoned; an
enormous crowd gathered in the marketplace. Presently the doors opened; the senators came forth, and the
orders of the consuls were announced.
And then there rose in the air a fierce, despairing shriek, a yell of agony and rage. The mob rushed through
the city and tore limb from limb the Italians who were living in the town. With one voice it was resolved that
the city should be defended to the last. They would not so tamely give up their beautiful Carthage, their dear
and venerable home beside the sea. If it was to be burnt to ashes, their ashes should be mingled with it, and
their enemies’ as well.
All the slaves were set free. Old and young, rich and poor, worked together day and night forging arms. The
public buildings were pulled down to procure timber and metal. The women cut off their hair to make strings
for the catapults. A humble message was sent in true Oriental style to the consul, praying for a little time.
Days passed, and Carthage gave no signs of life. Tired of waiting, the consul marched towards the city, which
he expected to enter like an open village. He found, to his horror, the gates closed, and the battlements
bristling with artillery.
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Carthage was strongly fortified, and it was held by men who had abandoned hope. The siege lasted more than
three years. Cato did not live to see his darling wish fulfilled. Masinissa also died while the siege was going
on, and bitter was his end. The policy of the Romans had been death to all his hopes. His dream of a great
African empire was dissolved. He sullenly refused to cooperate with the Romansit was his Carthage
which they had decreed should be levelled to the ground.
There was a time when it seemed as if the great city would prove itself to be impregnable; the siege was
conducted with small skill or vigour by the Roman generals. More than one reputation found its grave before
the walls of Carthage. But when Scipio Aemilianus obtained the command he at once displayed the genius of
his house. Perceiving that it would be impossible to subdue the city as long as smuggling traders could run
into the port with provisions, he constructed a stone mole across the mouth of the harbour. Having thus cut
off the city from the sea, he pitched his camp on the neck of the isthmusfor Carthage was built on a
peninsulaand so cut it off completely from the land. For the first time in the siege the blockade was
complete: the city was enclosed in a stone and iron cage. The Carthaginians in their fury brought forth the
prisoners whom they had taken in their sallies, and hurled them headlong from the walls. There were many in
the city who protested against this outrage. They were denounced as traitors; a reign of terror commenced;
the men of the moderate party were crucified in the streets. The hideous idol of Moloch found victims in that
day; children were placed on its outstretched and downward sloping hands and rolled off them into the fiery
furnace which was burning at its feet. Nor were there wanting patriots who sacrificed themselves upon the
altars that the gods might have compassion upon those who survived. But among these pestilence and famine
had begun to work, and the sentinels could scarcely stand to their duty on the walls. Gangs of robbers went
from house to house and tortured people to make them give up their food; mothers fed upon their children; a
terrible disease broke out; corpses lay scattered in the streets; men who were burying the dead fell dead upon
them; others dug their own graves and laid down in them to die; houses in which all had perished were used
as public sepulchres, and were quickly filled.
And then, as if the birds of the air had carried the news, it became known all over Northern Africa that
Carthage was about to fall. And then from the dark and dismal corners of the land, from the wasted frontiers
of the desert, from the snow lairs, and caverns of the Atlas, there came creeping and crawling to the coast the
most abject of the human raceblack, naked, withered beings, their bodies covered with red paint, their hair
cut in strange fashions, their language composed of muttering and whistling sounds. By day they prowled
round the camp and fought with the dogs for the offal and the bones. If they found a skin they roasted it on
ashes and danced round it in glee, wriggling their bodies and uttering abominable cries. When the feast was
over they cowered together on their hams, and fixed their gloating eyes upon the city, and expanded their
blubber lips, and showed their white fangs.
At last the day came. The harbour walls were carried by assault, and the Roman soldiers pressed into the
narrow streets which led down to the water side. The houses were six or seven storeys high, and each house
was a fortress which had to be stormed. Lean and haggard creatures, with eyes of flame, defended their
homesteads from room to room, onwards, upwards, to the death struggle on the broad, flat roof.
Day followed day, and still that horrible music did not ceasethe shouts and songs of the besiegers, the yells
and shrieks of the besieged, the moans of the wounded, the feeble cries of children divided by the sword.
Night followed night, and still the deadly work went on; there was no sleep and no darkness; the Romans
lighted houses that they might see to kill.
Six days passed thus, and only the citadel was left. It was a steep rock in the middle of the town; a temple of
the God of Healing crowned its summit.
The rock was covered with people, who could be seen extending their arms to heaven and uniting with one
another in the last embrace. Their piteous lamentations, like the cries of wounded animals, ascended in the
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air, and behind the iron circle which enclosed them could be heard the crackling of the fire and the dull boom
of falling beams.
The soldiers were weary with smiting: they were filled with blood. Nine tenths of the inhabitants had been
already killed. The people on the rock were offered their lives; they descended with bare hands and passed
under the yoke. Some of them eneded their days in prison; the greater part were sold as slaves.
But in the temple on the summit of the rocky hill nine hundred Roman deserters, for whom there could be no
pardon, stood at bay. The trumpets sounded; the soldiers, clashing their bucklers with their swords and
uttering the warcry alala! alala! Advanced to the attack. Of a sudden the sea of steel recoiled, the standards
reeled; a long tongue of flame sprang forth upon them through the temple door. The deserters had set the
building on fire that they might escape the ignominious death of martial law.
A man dressed in purple rushed out of the temple with an olivebranch in his hand. This was Hasdrubal, the
commanderinchief, and the Robespierre of the reign of terror. His life was given him; he would do for the
triumph. And as he bowed the knee before the consul a woman appeared on the roof of the temple with two
children in her arms. She poured forth some scornful words upon her husband, and then plunged with her
children into the flames.
Carthage burned seventeen days before it was entirely consumed. Then the plough was passed over the soil to
put an end in legal form to the existence of the city. House might never again be built, corn might never again
be sown, upon the ground where it had stood. A hundred years afterwards Julius Caesar founded another
Carthage and planted a Roman colony therein. But it was not built upon the same spot. The old site remained
accursed; it was a browsing ground for cattle, a field of blood. When recently the remains of the city walls
were disinterred they were found to be covered with a layer of ashes from four to five feet deep. Filled with
halfcharred pieces of wood, fragments of iron, and projectiles.
The possessions of the Carthaginians were formed into a Roman province which was called Africa. The
governor resided at Utica, which with the other old Phoenician towns received municipal rights, but paid a
fixed stipend to the state exchequer. The territory of Carthage itself became Roman domain land, and was let
on lease. Italian merchants flocked to Utica in great numbers and reopened the inland trade, but the famous
sea trade was not revived. The Britons of Cornwall might in vain gather on high places and strain their eyes
towards the west. The ships which had brought them beads and purple cloth would come again no more.
A descendant of Masinissa, who inherited his genius, defied the Roman power in a long war. He was finally
conquered by Sylla and Marius, caught, and carried off to Rome. Apparelled in barbaric splendour, he was
paraded through the streets. But when the triumph was over his guards rushed upon him and struggled for the
finery in which he had been dressed. They tore the rings from his ears with such force that the flesh came
away; they cast him naked into a dungeon under ground. 'O Romans, you give me a cold bath!' were the last
words of the valiant Jugurtha.
The next Numidian prince who appeared at a triumph was the young Juba, who had taken the side of Pompey
against Caesar. 'It proved to be a happy captivity for him,' says Plutarch, 'for from a barbarous and unlettered
Numidian he became an historian worthy to be numbered amongst the learned men of Greece.'
When the empire became established the kingdoms of Numidia, of Cyrene, and of Egypt were swept away.
Africa was divided into seven fruitful provinces ranging along the coast from Tripoli to Tangiers. Egypt was
made a province, with the tropical line for its southern frontier. The oasis of Cyrene, with its fields of
asafoetida, was a middle station between the two. But still the history of Northern Africa and the history of
Egypt remain distinct. The Roman empire, though held together for a time by strong and skilful hands, was
divided by customs and modes of thought arising out of language into the Greek and Latin worlds. In the
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countries which had been civilised by the Romans Latin had been introduced. In the countries which before
the Roman conquest had been conquered by Alexander, the Greek language maintained its ground. Greece,
Macedonia, Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, and Cyrene belonged to the Greek world; Italy Gaul, Spain, and Africa
belonged to the Latin world. Greek was never spoken in Roman Carthage except by a few merchants and
learned men. Latin was never spoken in Alexandria except in the law courts and at Government House.
Whenever there was a partition of the empire Egypt was assigned to one emperor, Carthage to the other. In
the Church history of Africa the same phenomenon may be observed. The Church of Africa was the daughter
of the Church of Rome, and was chiefly occupied with questions of discipline and law. The Church of Egypt
was essentially a Greek church; it was occupied entirely with definitions of the undefinable and solutions of
problems in theology.
In one respect, however, the histories of Egypt and Africa are the same. They were both of them cornfields,
and both of them were ruined by the Romans. In the early days of the empire there was a noble reform in
provincial affairs resembling that which Clive accomplished in British India when he visited that country for
the last time. There was then an end to that tyrant of prey who under the republic had contrived in a few years
to extort an enormous fortune from his proconsulate, and who was often accompanied by a wife more
rapacious than himself; who returned to Rome with herds of slaves and cargoes of bullion and of works of
art. Governors were appointed with fixed salaries; the Roman law was everywhere introduced; vast sums of
money were expended on the public works.
Unhappily this did not last. Rome was devoured by a population of mean whites, the result of foreign slavery,
which invariably degrades labour. This vast rabble was maintained by the state; rations of bread and oil were
served out to it every day. When the evil time came and the exchequer was exhausted, the governors of
Africa and Egypt were required to send the usual quantity of grain all the same, and to obtain their percentage
as best they could. They were transformed into satraps or pashas. The great landowners were accused of
conspiracy, and their estates escheated to the crown. The agriculturists were reduced to serfdom. There might
be a scarcity of food in Africa, but there must be none in Rome. Every year were to be seen the huge ships
lying in the harbours of Alexandria and Carthage, and the mountains of corn piled high upon the quays.
When the seat of empire was transferred to the Bosphorus the evil became greater still. Each province was
forced to do double work. There was now a populace in Constantinople which was fed entirely by Egypt, and
Africa supported the populace of Rome. While the Egyptian fellah and the Moorish peasant were labouring in
the fields, the sturdy beggars of Byzantium and Rome were amusing themselves at the circus or basking on
marble in the sun.
But Africa was not only a plantation of corn and oil for their imperial majesties the Italian lazzaroni. It also
contained the preserves of Rome. The lion was a royal beast; it was licensed to feed upon the flock of the
shepherds, and upon the shepherd himself if it preferred him. The unfortunate Moor could not defend his life
without a violation of the game laws, which were quite as ferocious as the lion. It will easily be imagined that
the Roman rule was not agreeable to the native population. They had fallen beneath a power compared with
which that of the Carthaginians was feeble and kind; which possessed the strength of civilisation without its
mercy. But when that power began to decline they lifted up their heads and joined the foreign invaders as
soon as they appeared, as their fathers had joined the Romans in the ancient days.
These invaders were the Vandals, a tribe of Germans from the North who had conquered Spain and who, now
pouring over the Gibraltar Straits, took Carthage and ruled there a hundred years. The Romans struggled hard
to regain their cornfileds, and the old duel of Rome and Carthage was resumed. This time it was Carthage that
was triumphant. It repelled the Romans when they invaded Africa. It became a naval power, scoured the
Mediterranean, reconquered Sicily and Sardinia, plundered the shores of Italy, and encamped beneath the
mouldering walls of Rome. The gates of the city were opened, and the bishop of Rome, attended by his
clergy, came forth in solemn procession to offer the submission of Rome, and to pray for mercy to the
churches and their captives. Doubtless in that army of Germans and Moors by whom they were received there
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were men of Phoenician descent who had read in history of a similar scene. Rome was more fortunate than
ancient Carthage: the city was sacked, but it was not destroyed. Not long afterwards it was taken by the
Goths. Kings dressed in furs sat opposite each other on the thrones of Carthage and of Rome.
The Emperor of the East sent the celebrated Belisarius against the Carthaginian Vandals, who had become
corrupted by luxury and whom he speedily subdued. Thus Africa was restored to Rome, but it was a Greek
speaking Rome, and the citizens of Carthage still felt themselves to be under foreign rule. Besides, the war
had reduced the country to a wilderness. One might travel for days without meeting a human being in those
fair coast lands which had once been filled with olive groves, and vineyards, and fields of waving corn. The
savage Berber tribes pressed more and more fiercely on the cultivated territory which still remained. It is
probable that if the Arabs had not come the Moors would have driven the Byzantines out of the land, or at
least have forced them to remain as prisoners behind their walls.
With the invasion of the Arabs the proper history of Africa begins. It is now that we are able for the first time
to leave the coasts of the Mediterranean and the banks of the Nile, and to penetrate into that vast and
mysterious world of which the ancient geographers had but a faint and incorrect idea.
It is evident enough from the facts which have been adduced in the foregoing sketch that Egypt and Carthage
contributed much to human progressEgypt by instructing Greece, Carthage by drawing forth Rome to the
conquest of the world.
But these countries did little for Africa itself. The ambition of Egypt was with good reason turned towards
Asia, that of Carthage towards Europe. The influence of Carthage on the regions of the Niger was similar to
that of Egypt on the negro regions of the Nile. In each case it became the fashion for the native chiefs to wear
Egyptian linen or the Tyrian purple, and to decorate their wives with beads which are often discovered by the
negroes of the present day in ancient and forgotten graves. Elephants were hunted and gold pits were dug in
Central Africa, that these luxuries might be procured; but the chief article of export was the slave, and this
commodity was obtained by means of war. The negroes have often been accused of rejecting the civilisation
of the Egyptians and Carthaginians, but they were never brought into contact with those people. The
intercourse between them was conducted by the intermediate Berber tribes.
Those Berber tribes who inhabited the regions adjoining Egypt and Cyrene appear to have been in some
degree improved. But they were a roving people, and civilisation can never ripen under tents. Something,
however, was accomplished among those who were settled in cities or the regions of the coast. That the
Berber race possesses a remarkable capacity for culture has been amply proved. It is probable that Terence
was a Moor. It is certain that Juba, whose works have been unfortunately lost, was of unmixed Berber blood.
Reading and writing were common among them, and they used a character of their own. When the Romans
took Carthage they gave the public library and archives to the Berber chiefs. At one time it seemed as if
Barbary was destined to become a civilised province after the pattern of Spain and Gaul. Numidian princes
adopted the culture of the Greeks, and Juba was placed on his ancestral throne that he might tame his wild
subjects into Roman citizens. But this movement soon perished, and the Moorish chiefs fell back into their
bandit life.
The African Church has obtained imperishable fame. In the days of suffering it brought forth martyrs whose
fiery ardour and serene endurance have never been surpassed. In the days of victory it brought forth minds by
whose imperial writings thousands of cultivated men have been enslaved. But this church was for the most
part confined to the walled cities on the coast, to the farming villages in which the Punic speech was still
preserved, and to a few Moorish tribes who lived under Roman rule. In the days of St. Augustine Christianity
was in its zenith, and St. Augustine complains that there were hundreds of Berber chiefs who had never heard
the name of Christ. Even in Roman Africa the triumph of Christianity was not complete. In Carthage itself
Astarte and Moloch were still adored, and a barefooted monk could not show himself in the streets without
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being pelted by the populace. At a later date the Moorish tribes became an heretical and hostile sect; the
religious persecutions of the Arian Vandals were succeeded by the persecutions of the Byzantine Greeks.
Christianity was divided and almost dead when the Arabs appeared, and the Church which had withstood ten
imperial persecutions succumbed to the tax which the conquerors imposed on 'the people of the book.'
The failure of Christianity in Africa was owing to the imperfection of the Roman conquest. Their occupation
was of a purely military kind, and it did not embrace an extensive area. The Romans were entirely distinct
from the natives in manners and ideas. It was natural that the Berbers should reject the religion of a people
whose language they did not understand, whose tyranny they detested, and whose power most of them defied.
But the Arabs were accustomed to deserts; they did not settle, like the Romans and the Carthaginians, on the
coast; they covered the whole land; they penetrated into the recesses of the Atlas; they pursued their enemies
into the depths of the Sahara. But they also mingled persuasion with force. They believed that the Berbers
were Arabs like themselves, and invited them as kinsmen to accept the mission of the prophet. They married
the daughters of the land; they gathered round their standards the warriors whom they had defeated, and led
them to the glorious conquest of Spain. The two peoples became one; the language and religion of the Arabs
were accepted by the Moors.
With this event the biography of ancient Africa is closed, and the history of Asiatic Africa begins. But I have
in this work a twofold story to unfold. I have to describe the Dark Continent: to show in what way it is
connected with universal history; what it has received and what it has contributed to the development of man.
And I have also to sketch in broad outline the human history itself. This task has been forced upon me in the
course of my inquiries. It is impossible to measure a tributary and to estimate its value with precision except
by comparing it with the other affluents, and by carefully mapping the main stream. In writing a history of
Africa I am compelled to write the history of the world, in order that Africa’s true position may be defined.
And now, passing to the general questions discussed in this chapter, it will be observed that war is the chief
agent of civilisation in the period which I have attempted to portray. It was war which drove the Egyptians
into those frightful deserts in the midst of which their Happy Valley was discovered. It was war which under
the Persians opened lands which had been either closed against foreigners or jealously held ajar. It was war
which colonised Syria and Asia Minor with Greek ideas, and which planted in Alexandria the experimental
philosophy which will win for us in time the dominion of the earth. It was war which united the Greek and
Latin worlds into a splendid harmony of empire. And when that ancient world had been overcome by languor
and had fallen into Oriental sleep; when nothing was taught in the schools which had not been taught a
hundred years before; when the rapacity of tyrants had extinguished the ambition of the rich and the industry
of the poor; when the Church also had become inert, and roused itself only to be cruelthen again came war
across the Rhine and the Danube and the Alps, and laid the foundations of European life among the ruins of
the Latin world. In the same manner Asia awoke as if by magic, and won back from Europe the lands which
she had lost. But this latter conquest, though effected by means of war, was preserved by means of religion,
an element of history which must be analysed with scientific care. In the next chapter I shall explain the
origin of the religious sentiment and theory in savage life. I shall sketch the early career of the three great
Semitic creeds and the characters of three menMoses, Jesus, and Mohammedwho, whatever may have
been their faults, are entitled to the eternal gratitude of the human race. Then, resuming the history of Africa,
I shall follow the course of Islam over the Great Desert into the Sudan, and shall describe its progress in that
country by means of the sword and of the school, something of which I have seen and studied under both
forms.
CHAPTER 2. Religion
When the poet invokes in his splendid frenzy the shining spheres of heaven, the murmuring fountains, and the
rushing streams; when he calls upon the earth to hearken, and bids the wild sea listen to his song; when he
communes with the sweet secluded valleys and the haughtyheaded hills as if those inanimate objects were
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alive, as if those masses of brute matter were endowed with sense and thought, we do not smile, we do not
sneer, we do not reason, but we feel. A secret chord is touched within us: a slumbering sympathy is awakened
into life. Who has not felt an impulse of hatred, and perhaps expressed it in a senseless curse, against a fiery
stroke of sunlight or a sudden gust of wind? Who has not felt a pang of pity for a flower torn and trampled in
the dust, a shell dashed to fragments by the waves? Such emotions or ideas last only for a moment; they do
not belong to us; they are the fossil fancies of a bygone age; they are a heritage of thought from the childhood
of our race. For there was a time when they possessed the human mind. There was a time when the phrases of
modern poetry were the facts of ordinary life. There was a time when man lived in fellowship with nature,
believing that all things which moved or changed had minds and bodies kindred to his own.
To those primeval people the sun was a great being who brightened them in his pleasure and who scorched
then in his wrath. The earth was a sleeping monster: sometimes it rose a little and turned itself in bed. They
walked upon its back when living; they were put into its belly when they died. Fire was a savage animal
which bit when it was touched. The birds and beasts were foreigners possessing languages and customs of
their own. The plants were dumb creatures with characters good or bad, sometimes gloomy in aspect,
malignant in their fruit, sometimes dispensing wholesome food and pleasant shade.
These various forms of nature they treated precisely as if they had been men. They sometimes adorned a
handsome tree with bracelets like a girl; they offered up prayers to the fruit trees, and made them presents to
coax them to a liberal return. They forbade the destruction of certain animals which they revered on account
of their wisdom, or feared on account of their fierceness, or valued on account of their utility. They submitted
to the tyranny of the more formidable beasts of prey, never venturing to attack them for fear the nation or
species should retaliate, but making them propitiatory gifts. In the same manner they offered sacrifices to
avert the fury of the elements, or in gratitude for blessings which had been bestowed. But often a courageous
people, when invaded, would go to war, not only with the tiger and the bear but with powers which to them
were not less humanlike and real. They would cut with their swords at the hot wind of the desert, hurl their
spears into the swollen river, stab the earth, flog the sea, shoot their arrows at the flashing clouds, and build
up towers to carry heaven by assault.
But when through the operation of the law of growth the intellectual faculties of men become improved, they
begin to observe their own nature, and in course of time a curious discovery is made. They ascertain that
there is something which resides within them entirely independent and distinct from the body in which it is
contained. They perceive that it is this mind, or soul, or genius, or spirit, which thinks and desires and
decides. It commands the body as the chief commands the slave. While the body is asleep it is busy weaving
thoughts in the sleeper’s brain, or wanders into other lands and converses with people whom he, while awake,
has never seen. They hear words of wisdom issuing from the toothless mouth of a decrepit old man. It is
evident that this soul does not grow old, and therefore it does not die. The body, it is clear, is only a garment
which is in time destroyed, and then where does its inmate go?
When a loved one has been taken she haunts the memory of him who weeps till the image imprinted on the
heart is reflected on the curtain of the eye. Her vision appears not when he is quite asleep, as in an ordinary
dream, but as he is passing into sleep. He meets her in the twilight land which divides the world of darkness
from the world of day. He sees her form distinctly; he clasps it in his arms; he hears the accents of her sweet
and gentle voice; he feels the pressure of her lips upon his own. He awakes, and the illusion is dispelled; yet
with some it is so complete that they firmly believe it was a spirit whom they saw.
Among savages it is not love which can thus excite the imagination and deceive the sense, but reverence and
fear. The great chief is dead. His vision appears in a halfwaking dream: it threatens and it speaks. The
dreamer believes that the form and the voice are real, and therefore he believes that the great chief still exists.
It is thus that the grand idea is born. There is life after death. When the house or garment of the body is
destroyed the soul wanders forth into the air. Like the wind it is unseen; like the wind it can be soft and kind;
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like the wind it can be terrible and cruel. The savage then believes that the pains of sickness are inflicted by
the hand which so often inflicted pain upon him when it was in the flesh, and he also believes that in battle
the departed warrior is still fighting with unseen weapons at the head of his own clan. In order to obtain the
goodwill of the fatherspirit, prayers are offered up to him and food is placed beside his grave. He is, in fact,
still recognised as king, and to such phantom monarchs the distinctive title of god is assigned. Each chief is
deified and worshipped when he dies. The offerings and prayers are established by rule; the reigning chief
becomes the family priest; he pretends to receive communications from the dead, and issues laws in their
name. The deeds of valour which the chiefs performed in their lifetime are set to song; their biographies
descend from generation to generation, changing in their course, and thus a regular religion and mythology
are formed.
It is the nature of man to reason from himself outwards. The savage now ascribes to the various forms of
matter souls or spirits such as he imagines that he has discovered in himself. The food which he places at the
grave has a soul or essence, and it is this which is eaten by the spirit of the dead, while the body of the food
remains unchanged. The river is not mere water which may dry up and perish, but there dwells within it a
soul which never dies; and so with everything that lives and moves, from the blade of grass which shivers in
the wind to the star which slowly moves across the sky. But as men become more and more capable of
general ideas, of classing facts into systems and of arranging phenomena into groups, they believe in a god of
the forests, a god of the waters, and a god of the sky, instead of ascribing a separate god to every tree, to
every river, and to every star. Nature is placed under the dominion of a federation of deities. In some cases
the ancestor gods are identified with these; in others their worship is kept distinct. The trees and the animals,
which were once worshipped for themselves from love or fear, are now supposed to be objects of affection to
the gods, and are held sacred for their sake.
These gods are looked upon as kings. Their characters are human, and are reflected from the minds of those
who have created them. Whatever the arithmetical arrangement of the gods may besingle or triune, dual or
pluralthey are in all countries and in all times made by man in his own image. In the plural period some of
the gods are good and some are bad, just as there are good and evil kings. The wicked gods can be softened
by flattery and presents, the good ones can be made fierce by neglect. The wicked gods obtain the largest
offerings and the longest prayers, just as in despotic countries the wicked kings obtain the most liberal
presentswhich are merely taxes in disguise.
The savage has been led by indigestion and by dreams to believe in the existence of the soul after deathor,
using simpler language, to believe in ghosts. At first these souls or ghosts have no fixed abode; they live
among the graves. At a later period the savage invents a world to which the ghosts depart and in which they
reside. It is situated underground. In that world the ghosts live precisely as they lived on earth. There is no
retribution and no reward for the actions of the earthly life; that life is merely continued in another region of
the world. Death is in fact regarded as a migration in which, as in all migrations, the emigrants preserve their
relative positions. When a man of importance dies his family furnish him with an outfit of slaves and wives,
and pack up in his grave his arms and ornaments and clothes, that he may make his appearance in the
underworld in a manner befitting his rank and fortune. It is believed that the souls of the clothes, as well as
of the persons sacrificed, accompany him there, and it is sometimes believed that all the clothes which he has
worn in his life will then have their resurrection day.
The underworld and the upperworld are governed by the same gods or unseen kings. Man’s life in the
upperworld is short: his life in the under world is long. But as regards the existence of the worlds
themselves, both are eternal, without beginning and without end. This idea is not a creation of the ripened
intellect, as is usually supposed. It is a product of limited experience, and expression of a seeming fact. The
savage did not see the world begin; therefore it had no beginning. He has not seen it grow older; therefore it
will have no end.
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The two worlds adjoin each other, and the frontier between them is very faintly marked. The gods often dress
themselves in flesh and blood and visit the earth to do evil or to do goodto make love to women, to
torment their enemies, to converse with their favourites and friends. On the other hand there are men who
possess the power of leaving their bodies in their beds and of passing into the other world to obtain divine
poisons which they malignantly employ. The ghosts of the dead often come and sit by their old firesides and
eat what is set apart for them. Sometimes a departed spirit will reenter the family, assuming a body which
resembles in its features the one he previously wore. Distinguished heroes and prophets are often supposed to
be hybrids or mulattoes, the result of a union between a woman and a god. Sometimes it is believed that a
god has come down on earth out of love for a certain nation, to offer himself up as a sacrifice, and so to
quench the bloodthirst of some sullen and revengeful god who has that nation in his power. Sometimes a
savage people believe that their kings are gods who have deigned to take upon them a perishable body for a
time, and there are countries in which a still more remarkable superstition prevails. The royal body even is
immortal. The king never eats, never sleeps, and never dies. This kind of monarch is visible only to his
priests. When the people wish to present a petition he gives them audience seated behind a curtain, from
beneath which he thrusts out his foot in token of assent. When he dies he is secretly buried by the priests, and
a new puppet is elected in his stead.
The savage lives in a strange world, a world of special providences and divine interpositions, not happening
at long intervals and for some great end, but every day and almost at every hour. A pain, a dream, a sensation
of any kind, a stroke of good or bad luckwhatever, in short, does not proceed from man, whatever we
ascribe, for want of a better word, to chanceis by him ascribed to the direct interference of the gods. He
knows nothing about the laws of nature. Death itself is not a natural event. Sooner or later men make the gods
angry and are killed.
It is difficult for those who have not lived among savages perfectly to realise their faith. When told that his
gods do not exist the savage merely laughs in mild wonder at such an extraordinary observation being made.
It seems quite natural to him that his gods should be as his parents and grandparents have described; he
believes as he breathes, without an effort; he feels that what he has been taught is true. His creed is in
harmony with his intellect, and cannot be changed until his intellect is changed. If a god in a dream, or
through the priests, has made him a promise and the promise is broken, he does not on that account doubt the
existence of the god. He merely supposes that the god has told a lie. Nor does it seem strange to him that a
god should tell a lie. His god is only a gigantic man, a sensual, despotic king who orders his subjects to give
him the first fruits of the fields, the firstlings of the flock, virgins for his harem, human bodies for his
cannibal repasts. As for himself, he is the slave of that god or king; he prays, that is to say, he begs; he sings
hymns, that is to say, he flatters; he sacrifices, that is to say, he pays tribute, chiefly out of fear, but partly in
the hope of getting something better in returnlong life, riches, and fruitful wives. He is usually afraid to
say of the gods what he thinks, or even to utter their real name. But sometimes he gives vent to the hatred
which is burning in his heart. Writhing on a bed of sickness, he heaps curses on the god who he declares is
'eating his inside'; and when he is converted prematurely to a higher creed his god is still to him the invisible
but human king. 'O Allah!' a Somali woman was heard to say, 'O Allah! May thy teeth ache like mine! O
Allah! May thy gums be sore as mine!' That Christian monarch the late King Peppel once exclaimed, when
he thought of his approaching end, that if he could see God he would kill him at once because he made men
die.
The arithmetical arrangement of the gods depends entirely upon the intellectual faculties of the people
concerned. In the period of thingworship, as it may be termed, every brook, tree, hill, and star is itself a
living creature, benevolent or malignant, asleep or awake. In the next stage every object and phenomenon is
inhabited or presided over by a genius or spirit, and with some nations the virtues and the vices are also
endowed with personality. As the reasoning powers of men expand their gods diminish in number and rule
over larger areas, till finally it is perceived that there is unity in nature, that everything which exists is a part
of one harmonious whole. It is then asserted that one being manufactured the world and rules over it supreme.
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But at first the Great Being is distant and indifferent, 'a god sitting outside the universe'; and the old gods
become viceroys to whom he has deputed the government of the world. They are afterwards degraded to the
rank of messengers or angels, and it is believed that God is everywhere present; that he fills the earth and sky;
that from him directly proceeds both the evil and the good. In some systems of belief, however, he is believed
to be the author of good alone, and the dominion of evil is assigned to a rebellious angel or a rival god.
So far as we have gone at present, there has been no question of morality. All doctrines relating to the
creation of the world, the government of man by superior being, and his destiny after death, are conjectures
which have been given out as facts, handed down with many adornments by tradition, and accepted by
posterity as 'revealed religion.' They are theories more or less rational which uncivilised men have devised in
order to explain the facts of life, and which civilised men believe that they believe. These doctrines are not in
themselves of any moral value. It is of no consequence, morally speaking, whether a man believes that the
world has been made by one god or by twenty. A savage is not of necessity a better man because he believes
that he lives under the dominion of invisible tyrants who will compel him some day or other to migrate to
another land.
There is a moral sentiment in the human breast which, like intelligence, is born of obscure instincts, and
which gradually becomes developed. Since the gods of men are the reflected images of men, it is evident that
as men become developed in morality the character of their gods will also be improved. The king of a savage
land punishes only offences against himself and his dependents. But when that people become more civilised
the king is regarded as the representative of public law. In the same manner the gods of a savage people
demand nothing from their subjects but taxes and homage. They punish only heresy, which is equivalent to
treason; blasphemy, which is equivalent to insult; and the withholding of tribute and adoration, which is
equivalent to rebellion. And these are the offences which even among civilised nations the gods are supposed
to punish most severely. But the civilised gods also require that men shall act justly to one another. They are
still despots, for they order men to flatter them and to give them money. But they are not mere selfish
despots; they will reward those who do good, they will punish those who do evil to their fellowmen.
That vice should be sometimes triumphant and virtue sometimes in distress creates no difficulty to the savage
mind. If a good man meets with misfortune it is supposed that he is being punished for the sins of an ancestor
or a relation. In a certain stage of barbarism society is composed not of individuals but of families. If a
murder is committed the avengers of blood kill the first man they meet belonging to the guilty clan. If the life
cannot be obtained in that generation the feud passes on, for the family never dies. It is considered just and
proper that children should be punished for the sins of their fathers unto the third and fourth generation.
In a higher state of society this family system disappears; individualism becomes established. And as soon as
this point is reached the human mind takes a vast stride. It is discovered that the moral government of this
world is defective, and it is supposed that poetical justice will be administered in the next. The doctrine of
rewards and punishments in a future state comes into vogue. The world of ghosts is now divided into two
compartments. One is the abode of malignant spirits, the kingdom of darkness and of pain to which are
condemned the blasphemers and the rebels, the murderers and the thieves. The other is the habitation of the
gods, the kingdom of joy and light, to which angels welcome the obedient and the good. They are dressed in
white robes and adorned with golden crowns; they dwell eternally in the royal presence, gazing upon his
lustrous countenance and singing his praises in chorus round the throne.
To the active European mind such a prospect is not by any means inviting; but heaven was invented in the
East, and in the East to be a courtier has always been regarded as the supreme felicity. The feelings of men
towards their god in the period at which we have now arrived are precisely those of an Eastern subject
towards his king. The Oriental king is the lord of all the land; his subjects are his children and his slaves. The
man who is doomed to death kisses the fatal firman and submits with reverence to his fate. The man who is
robbed by the king of all that he has earned will fold his hands and say 'The king gave and the king taketh
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away. Blessed be the name of the king!' The man who lives in a distant province, who knows the king only
by means of the taxes which are collected in his name, will snatch up his arms if he hears that his sacred
person is in danger, and will defend him as he defends his children and his home. He will sacrifice his life for
one whom he has never seen, and who has never done him anything but harm.
This kind of devotion is called loyalty when exhibited towards a king, piety when exhibited towards a god.
But in either case the sentiment is precisely the same. It cannot be too often repeated that god is only a special
name for king; that religion is a form of government, its precepts a code of laws; that priests are gatherers of
divine taxes, officers of divine police; that men resort to churches to fall on their knees and to sing hymns
from the same servile propensity which makes the Oriental delight in prostrating himself before the throne;
that the noble enthusiasm which inspires men to devote themselves to the service of their god, and to suffer
death rather than deny his name, is identical with the devotion of the faithful subject who, to serve his royal
master, gives up his fortune or his life without the faintest prospect of reward. The religious sentiment, about
which so much has been said, has nothing distinctive in itself. Love and fear, selfdenial and devotion,
existed before those phantoms were created which men call gods, and men have merely applied to invisible
kings the sentiments which they had previously felt towards their earthly kings. If they are a people in a
savage state they hate both kings and gods within their hearts, and obey them only out of fear. If they are a
people in a higher state love is mingled with their fear, producing an affectionate awe which in itself is
pleasing to the mind. That the worship of the unseen king should survive the worship of the earthly king is
natural enough, but even that will not endure for ever; the time is coming when the crowned idea will be cast
aside and the despotic shadow disappear.
By thus translating, or by retranslating, god into king, piety into loyalty, and so on; by bearing in mind that
the gods were not abstract ideas to our ancestors as they are to us, but bona fide men differing only from men
on earth in their invisibility and other magic powers; by noting that the moral disposition of a god is an image
of the moral sense of those who worship himtheir beauideal of what a king should be; by observing that
the number and arrangement of the gods depend exclusively on the intellectual faculties of the people
concerned, on their knowledge of nature, and perhaps to some extent on the political forms of government
under which they live: above all by remembering that there is a gradual development in supernatural ideas,
the student of comparative religion will be able to sift and classify with ease and clearness dense masses of
mythology. But he must understand that the various stages overlap. Just as sailing vessels and fourhorse
coaches are still used in this age of steam, and as stone implements were still to be found in use long after the
age of iron had set in, so in the early period of godbelief thingworship still to a certain extent endured. In a
treaty between Hannibal and Philip of Macedonia which Polybius preserved, the contracting parties take oath
with one another 'n the presence of Jupiter, Juno, and Apollo; in the presence of the deity of the Carthaginians
and of Hercules and of Iolaus; in the presence of Mars, Triton, and Neptune; in the presence of all the gods
who are with us in the camp; and of the sun, the moon, and the earth; the rivers, the lakes, and the waters.' In
the time of Socrates the Athenians regarded the sun as an individual. Alexander, according to Arian,
sacrificed not only to the gods of the sea but 'the sea itself was honoured with is munificence.' Even in Job,
the purest of all monotheistic works, the stars are supposed to be live creatures which sing around the
heavenly throne.
Again, in those countries where two distinct classes of men exist, the one intellectual and learned, the other
illiterate and degraded, there will be in reality two religions, though nominally there may be only one. Among
the ancient Sabaeans the one class adored spirits who inhabited the stars, the other class adored the stars
themselves. Among the worshippers of fire that element to one class was merely an emblem, to the other an
actual person. Wherever idols or images are used the same phenomenon occurs. These idols are intended by
the priests as aids to devotion, as books for those who cannot read. But the savage believes that his god
inhabits the image, or even regards the image as itself a god. His feelings towards it are those of a child
towards her doll. She knows that it is filled with sawdust and made of painted wood, and yet she loves it as if
it were alive. Such is precisely the illusion of the savage, for he possesses the imagination of a child. He talks
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to his idol fondly and washes its face with oil or rum, beats it if it will not give him what he asks, and hides it
in his waistcloth if he is going to do something which he does not wish it to see.
There is one other point which it is necessary to observe. A god´s moral disposition, his ideas of right and
wrong, are those of the people by whom he is created. Wandering tribes do not as a rule consider it wrong to
rob outside the circle of their clan: their god is therefore a robber like themselves. If they settle in a fertile
country, pass into the agricultural state, build towns, and become peaceful citizens with property of their own
they change their views respecting theft, and accordingly their god forbids it in his laws. But it sometimes
happens that the sayings and doings of the tentgod are preserved in writings which are accepted as
revelation by the people of a later and better age. Then may be observed the curious and by no means
pleasing spectacle of a people outgrowing their religion, and believing that their god performed actions which
would be punished with the gallows if they were done by men.
The mind of an ordinary man is in so imperfect a condition that it requires a creedthat is to say, a theory
concerning the unknown and the unknowable in which it may place its deluded faith and be at rest. But
whatever the creed may be, it should be one which is on a level with the intellect, and which inquiry will
strengthen not destroy.
As for minds of the highest order, they must ever remain in suspension of judgement and in doubt. Not only
do they reflect the absurd traditions of the Jews, but also the most ingenious attempts which have been made
to explain on rational and moral grounds the origine and purpose of the universe. Intense and longcontinued
labour reveals to them this alone, that there are regions of thought so subtle and so sublime that the human
mine is unable therein to expand its wings, to exercise its strength. But there is a wide speculative field in
which man is permitted to toil with the hope of rich reward, in which observation and experience can supply
materials to his imagination and his reason. In this field two great discoveries have been already made. First,
that there is a unity of plan in nature, that the universe resembles a body in which all the limbs and organs are
connected with one another; and second, that all phenomena, physical and moral, are subject to laws as
invariable as those which regulate the rising and setting of the sun. It is in reality as foolish to pray for rain or
a fair wind as it would be to pray that the sun should set in the middle of the day. It is as foolish to pray for
the healing of a disease or for daily bread as it is to pray for rain or a fair wind. It is as foolish to pray for a
pure heart or for mental repose as it is to pray for help in sickness or misfortune. All the events which occur
upon the earth result from law: even those actions which are entirely dependent on the caprices of the
memory or the impulse of the passions are shown by statistics to be, when taken in the gross entirely
independent of the human will. As a single atom man is an enigma: as a whole he is a mathematical problem.
As an individual he is a free agent, as a species the offspring of necessity.
The unity of the universe is a scientific fact. To assert that it is the operation of a single mind is a conjecture
based upon analogy, and analogy may be a deceptive guide. It is the most reasonable guess that can be made,
but still it is no more than a guess, and it is one by which nothing after all is really gained. It tells us that the
earth rests upon the tortoise: it does not tell us on what the tortoise rests. God issued the laws which
manufactured the universe and which rule it in its growth. But who made God? Theologians declare that he
made himself, materialists declare that matter made itself, and both utter barren phrases, idle words. The
whole subject is beyond the powers of the human intellect in its present state. All that we can ascertain is this:
that we are governed by physical laws which it is our duty as scholars of Nature to investigate, and by moral
laws which it is our duty as citizens of Nature to obey.
The dogma of a single deity who created the heavens and the earth may therefore be regarded as an imperfect
method of expressing an undoubted truth. Of all religious creeds it is the least objectionable from a scientific
point of view. Yet it was not a Greek who first discovered or invented the one god, but the wild Bedouin of
the desert. At first sight this appears a very extraordinary fact. How, in a matter which depended entirely
upon the intellect, could these barbarians have preceded the Greeks, so far their superiors in every other
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respect? The anomaly, however, can be easily explained. In the first theological epoch every object and every
phenomenon of Nature was supposed to be a creature, in the second epoch the dwelling or expression of a
god. It is evident that the more numerous the objects and phenomena, the more numerous would be the gods,
the more difficult it would be to unravel Nature, to detect the connection between phenomena, to discover the
unity which underlies them all. In Greece there is a remarkable variety of climate and contour; hills, groves,
and streams diversify the scene; rugged, snowcovered peaks and warm coast lands with waving palms lie
side by side. But in the land of the Bedouins Nature may be seen in the nude. The sky is uncovered; the earth
is stripped and bare. It is as difficult for the inhabitants of such a country to believe that there are many gods
as for the people of such a land as Greece to believe that there is only one. The earth and the wells and some
uncouth stones, the sun, the moon, and the stars are almost the only materials of superstition that the Bedouin
can employ; and that they were so employed we know. Stone worship and star idolatry, with the adoration of
ancestral shades, prevailed within Arabia in ancient times, and even now are not extinct. 'The servant of the
sun' was one of the titles of their ancient kings. Certain honours are yet paid to the morning star. But in that
country the onegod belief was always that of the higher class of minds, at least within historic time; it is
therefore not incorrect to term it the Arabian creed. We shall now proceed to show in what manner that belief,
having mingled with foreign elements, became a national religion, and how from that religion sprang two
other religions which overspread the world.
Long after the building of the Pyramids, but before the dawn of Greek and Roman life, a Bedouin sheikh
named Abraham, accompanied by his nephew Lot, migrated from the plains which lie between the Tigris and
Euphrates, crossed over the SyroArabian desert, and entered Canaan, a country about the size of Wales
lying below Phoenicia between the desert and the Mediterranean Sea. They found it inhabited by a people of
farmers and vinedressers, living in walled cities and subsisting on the produce of the soil. But only a portion
of the country was under cultivation: they discovered wide pastoral regions unoccupied by men, and
wandered at their pleasure from pasture to pasture and from plain to plain. Their flocks and herds were
nourished to the full, and multiplied so fast that the Malthusian Law came into force; the herdsmen of
Abraham and Lot began to struggle for existence; the land could no longer bear them both. It was therefore
agreed that each should select a region for himself. A similar arrangement was repeated more than once in the
lifetime of the patriarch. When his illegitimate sons grew up to man´s estate he gave them cattle and sent
them off in the direction of the east.
At certain seasons of the year he encamped beneath the walls of cities, and exchanged the wool of his flocks
for flour, oil, and wine. He established friendships with the native kings, and joined them in their wars. He
was honoured by them as a prince, for he could bring three hundred armed slaves into the field, and his circle
of tents might fairly be regarded as a town. Before their canvas doors sat the women spinning wool and
singing the Mesopotamian airs, while the aged patriarch in the Great Tent, which served as the forum and the
guesthouse, measured out the rations for the day, gave orders to the young men about the stock, and sat in
judgement on the cases which were brought before him, as king and father to decide.
He bought from the people of the land a field and a cave, in which he buried his wife and in which he was
afterwards himself interred. He was succeeded by Isaac as head of the family. Esau and Jacob, the two sons
of Isaac, appear to have been equally powerful and rich.
Up to this time the children of Abraham were Bedouin Arabsnothing more. They worshipped Eloah or
Allah, sometimes erecting to him a rude altar on which they sacrificed a ram or kid; sometimes a stone pillar
on which they poured a drink, and then smeared it with oil to his honour and glory. Sometimes they planted a
sacred tree. The life which they led was precisely that of the wandering Arabs who pasture their flocks on the
outskirts of Palestine at the present day. Not only Ishmael, but also Lot, Esau, and various Abrahamites of
lesser note became the fathers of Arabian tribes. The BeniIsrael did not differ in manners and religion from
the BeniIshmael and BeniEsau, and BeniLot. It was the settlement of the clan in a foreign country, the
influence of foreign institutions, which made the Israelites a peculiar people. It was the sale of the shepherd
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boyat first a houseslave, then a prisoner, then a favourite of the Pharaohwhich created a destiny for the
House of Jacob, separated it from the Arab tribes, and educated it into a nationality. When Joseph became a
great man he obtained permission to send for his father and his brethren. The clan of seventy persons, with
their women and their slaves, came across the desert by the route of the Syrian caravan. The old Arab, in his
course woollen gown and with his staff in his hand, was ushered into the royal presence. He gave the king his
blessing in the solemn manner of the East, and after a short conversation was dismissed with a splendid gift
of land. When Jacob died his embalmed corpse was carried up to Canaan with an Egyptian escort and buried
in the cave which Abraham had bought. Joseph had married the daughter of a priest of Heliopolis, but his two
sons did not become Egyptians; they were formally admitted into the family by Jacob himself before he died.
When Joseph also died the connection between the Israelites and the court came to an end. They led the life
of shepherds in the fertile pasturelands which had been bestowed upon them by the king. In course of time
the twelve families expanded into twelve tribes, and the tribe itself became a nation. The government of
Memphis observed the rapid increase of this people with alarm. The Israelites belonged to the same race as
the hated Hyksos or Shepherd Kings. With their long beards and flowing robes they reminded the Egyptians
of the old oppressors. It was argued that the Bedouins might again invade Egypt, and in that case the
Israelites would take their side. By way of precaution the Israelites were treated as prisoners of war,
disarmed, and employed on the public works. And as they still continued to increase it was ordered that all
their male children should be killed. It was doubtless the intention of the government to marry the girls as
they grew up to Egyptians, and so to exterminate the race.
One day the king´s daughter, as she went down with her girls to the Nile to bathe, found a Hebrew child
exposed on the waters in obedience to the new decree. She adopted the boy and gave him an Egyptian name.
He was educated as a priest, and became a member of the university of Heliopolis. But although his face was
shaved and he wore the surplice, Moses remained a Hebrew in his heart. He was so overcome by passion
when he saw an Egyptian illusing an Israelite that he killed the man upon the spot. The crime became
known: there was a hue and cry; he escaped to the peninsula of Sinai, and entered the family of an Arab
sheikh.
The peninsula of Sinai lies clasped between two arms of the Red Sea. It is a wilderness of mountains covered
with a thin, almost transparent coating of vegetation which serves as pasture to the Bedouin flocks. There is
one spot onlythe oasis of Feiranwhere the traveller can tread on black, soft earth and hear the warbling
of birds among the trees, which stand so thickly together that he is obliged as he walks to part the branches
from his face. The peninsula had not escaped the Egyptian arms; tablets may yet be seen on which are
recorded in paintings and hieroglyphics five thousand years old the victories of the Pharaohs over the people
of the land. They also worked mines of copper in the mountains, and heaps of slag still remain. But most
curious of all are the Sinaitic inscriptions, as they are calledfigures of animals rudely scrawled on the
upright surface of the black rocks and mysterious sentences in an undeciphered tongue.
Among the hills which crown the high plateau there is one which at that time was called the Mount of God. It
was holy ground to the Egyptians, and also to the Arabs, who ascended it as pilgrims and drew off their
sandals when they reached the top. Nor is it strange that Sinai should have excited reverence and dread; it is
indeed a weird and awful land. Vast and stern stand the mountains, with their five granite peaks pointing to
the sky; avalanches like those of the Alps, but of sand, not of snow, rush down their naked sides with a clear
and tinkling sound resembling convent bells; a peculiar property resides in the air; the human voice can be
heard at a surprising distance, and swells out into a reverberating roar; and sometimes there rises from among
the hills a dull booming sound like the distant firing of heavy guns.
Let us attempt to realise what Moses must have felt when he was driven out of Egypt into such a harsh and
rugged land. Imagine this man, the adopted son of a royal personage, the initiated priest, sometimes turning
the astrolabe towards the sky, perusing the papyrus scroll, or watching the crucible and the alembic;
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sometimes at the great metropolis enjoying the busy turmoil of the street, the splendid pageants of the court,
reclining in a carpeted gondola or staying with a noble at his country house. In a moment all is changed. He is
alone on the mountainside, a shepherd´s crook in his hand. He is a man dwelling in a tent; he is married to
the daughter of a barbarian; his career is at an end. Never more will he enter that palace where once he was
received with honour, where now his name is uttered only with contempt. Never more will he discourse with
grave and learned men in the peaceful college gardens, beneath the willows that hang over the Fountain of the
Sun. Never more will he see the people of his tribe whom he loves so dearly, and for whom he endures this
miserable fate. They will suffer, but he will not see them; they will mourn, but he will not hear themor
only in his dreams. In his dreams he hears them and sees them, alas, too well. He hears the whistling of the
lash and the convulsive sobs and groans. He sees the poor slaves toiling in the field, their hands brown with
the clammy clay. He sees the daughters of Israel carried off to the harem with struggling arms and streaming
hair, and thenO lamentable sight!the chamber of the woman in labourthe seated shuddering, writhing
formthe mother struggling against maternitythe tortured one dreading her releasefor the kings´s
officer is standing by the door, and as soon as the male child is born its life is at an end.
The Arabs with whom he was living were also children of Abraham, and they related to him legends of the
ancient days. They told him of the patriarchs who lay buried in Canaan with their wives; they told him of
Eloah, whom his fathers had adored. Then, as one who returns to a long lost home, the Egyptian priest
returned to the simple faith of the desert, to the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob. As he wandered on
the mountain heights he looked to the west and he saw a desert: beyond it lay Egypt, the house of captivity,
the land of bandage. He looked to the east and he saw a desert: beyond it lay Canaan, the home of his
ancestors, a land of peace and soon to be a land of hope. For now new ideas rose tumultuously within him.
He began to see visions and to dream dreams. He heard voices and beheld no form; he saw trees which blazed
with fire and yet were not consumed. He became a prophet; he entered the ecstatic state.
Meanwhile the king had died; a new Pharaoh had mounted on the throne; Moses was able to return to Egypt
and to carry out the great design which he had formed. He announced to the elders of the people, to the heads
of houses and the sheikhs of tribes, that Eloah, the God of Abraham, had appeared to him in Sinai and had
revealed his true nameit was Jehovahand had sent him to Egypt to bring away his people, to carry them
to Canaan. The elders believed in his mission and accepted him as their chief. He went to Pharaoh and
delivered the message of Jehovah: the king received it as he would have received the message of an Arab
chiefgods were plentiful in Egypt. But whenever a public calamity occurred Moses declared that Jehovah
was its author, and there were Egyptians who said that their own gods were angry with them for detaining a
people who were irreligious, filthy in their habits, and affected with unpleasant diseases of the skin. The king
gave them permission to go and offer a sacrifice to their desert god. The Israelites stole away, taking with
them the mummy of Joseph and some jewellery belonging to their masters. Guides marched in front bearing a
lighted apparatus like that which was used in Alexander´s camp, which gave a pillar of smoke by day and a
flame by night. Moses led them by way of Suez into Asia, and then along the weedstrewn, shellstrewn
shore of the Red Sea to the wilderness of Sinai and the Mount of God. There with many solemn and imposing
rites he delivered laws which he said had been issued to him from the clouds. He assembled the elders to
represent the people, and drew up a contract between them and Jehovah. It was agreed that they should obey
the laws of Jehovah, and pay the taxes which he might impose, while he engaged on his part to protect them
from danger in their march through the desert and to give them possession of the Promised Land. An ark or
chest of acaciawood was made in the Egyptian style, and the agreement was deposited therein with the ten
fundamental laws which Moses had engraved on stone. A tent of dyed skins was prepared and fitted with
church furniture by voluntary subscription, partly out of stolen goods. This became the temple of the people
and the residence of Jehovah, who left his own dwelling above the vaulted sky that he might be able to
protect them on the way. Moses appointed his brother Aaron and his sons to serve as priests; they wore the
surplice, but to distinguish them from Egyptian priests they were ordered not to shave their heads. The men
of Levi, to which tribe Moses himself belonged, were set apart for the service of the sacred tent. They were in
reality his bodyguard, and by their means he put down a mutiny at Sinai, slaughtering three thousand men.
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When thus the nation had been organised the march began. At daybreak two silver trumpets were blown, the
tents were struck, the tribes assembled under their respective banners, and the men who bore the ark went
first with the guides to show the road and to choose an encampment for the night. The Israelites crossed a
stony desert, suffering much on the way. Water was scarce; they had no provisions, and were forced to
subsist on manna or angel´s bread, a gummy substance which exudes from a desert shrub and is a pleasant
syrup and a mild purge, but not a nourishing article of food.
As they drew near the land of Canaan the trees of the desert, the palm and the acacia, disappeared. But the
earth became carpeted with green plants and spotted with red anemones like drops of blood. Here and there
might be seen a patch of corn, and at last in the distance rounded hills with trees standing against the sky.
They encamped, and a man from each tribe was deputed to spy the land. In six weeks they returned bringing
with them a load of grapes. Two scouts only were in favour of invasion. The other ten declared that the land
was a good land, as the fruits showeda land flowing with milk and honey; but the people were like giants;
their cities were walled and very great; the Israelites were as grasshoppers in comparison, and would not be
able to prevail against them.
This opinion was undoubtedly correct. The children of Israel were a rabble of field slaves who had never
taken a weapon in their hands. The business before them was by no means to their taste, and it was not what
Moses had led them to expect. He had agreed on the part of Jehovah to give them a land. They had expected
to find it unoccupied and prepared for their reception like a new house. They did not require a prophet to
inform them that a country should be theirs if they were strong enough to take it by the sword, and this it was
clear they could not do. So they poured forth the vials of their anger and their grief. They lifted up their voice
and cried; they wept all the night. Would to God they had died in the wilderness! Would to God they had died
in Egypt! Jehovah had brought them there that they might fall by the sword, and that their wives and little
ones might be a prey. They would choose another captain; they would go back to Egypt. Joshua and Caleb,
the two scouts who had recommended invasion, tried to cheer them up, and were nearly stoned to death for
their pains. Next day the people of Canaan marched out against them: a skirmish took place and the Israelites
were defeated. They went back to the desert, and wandered forty years in the shepherd or Bedouin state.
And then there was an end of that miserable race who were always whining under hardship, hankering after
the fleshpots of the old slave life. In their stead rose up a new generationgenuine children of the desert
who could live on a few dates soaked in butter and a mouthful of milk a day; who were practised from their
childhood in predatory wars; to whom rapine was a business, and massacre a sport. The conquest of Canaan
was an idea which they had imbibed at their mothers´ breasts, and they were now quite ready for the work.
Moses before his death drew up a second agreement between Jehovah and the people. It was to the same
effect as the covenant of Sinai. Loyalty and taxes were demanded by Jehovah; long life, success in war, and
fruitful crops were promised in return. Within this contract was included a code of laws which Moses had
enacted from time to time, in addition to the ten commandments; and this second agreement was binding not
only on those who were present but on their posterity as well.
Moses died; Joshua was made commanderinchief, and the Israelites began their march of war. This time
they approached the land not from the south but from the east.
The river Jordan rises in the Lebanon mountains, half way between Tyre and Damascus; it runs due south,
and ends its curling, twisting course in the dismal waters of the Dead Sea. Its basin belongs to the desert, for
it does not overflow its banks.
Along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, parallel to the valley of the Jordan, lies a fertile strip of land
without good harbours, but otherwise resembling Phoenicia, from which it is divided by two large
promontories, the Tyrian Ladder and the White Cape.
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And thirdly, between the naked valley of the Jordan and this corn producing line of coast there rises a
tableland of limestone formation, honeycombed with caves, watered by running streams of no great size, and
intersected by ravines and also by flat, extensive valley plains.
The coast belonged to the Philistines, the basin of the Jordan and the pastoral regions on the south to roving
Arab tribes; the tableland was inhabited by farmers whose towns and villages were always perched on the
tops of hills, and who cultivated the vine on terraces, each vineyard being guarded by a watch tower and a
wall; the valley plains were inhabited by Canaanites or lowlanders, who possessed cavalry and iron chariots
of war.
The Israelites differed from other Bedouin tribes in one respectthey were not mounted, and they were
unable to stand their ground against the horsemen of the plain. The Philistines, a warlike people probably of
the Aryan race, also retained their independence. The conquests of the Israelites were confined to the land of
the south, the Jordan valley and the mountain regions, though even in the highlands the conquest under
Joshua was not complete. However, the greater part of Palestine was taken and partitioned among the
Israelitish tribes. Some of these inclined to the pastoral and others to the agricultural condition, and each was
governed by its own sheikh. During four hundred years Ephraim remained the dominant tribe, and with
Ephraim the high priest took up his abode. At a place called Shiloh there was erected an enclosure of low
stone walls over which the sacred tent was drawn. This was the oracle establishment, or House of God, to
which all the tribes resorted three times a year to celebrate the holy feasts with prayer and sacrifice, and
psalmody, and the sacred dance.
The Levites had no political power and no share in civil life, but they had cities of their own, and they also
travelled about like mendicant friars from place to place performing certain functions of religion, and
supported by the alms of the devout.
It was owing to these two institutions, the oracle and the monkish order, that the nationality of Israel was
preserved. Yet though it escaped extinction it did not retain its unity and strength. So far from extending their
conquests, after their first inroad under Joshua the Israelites constantly lost ground. They were divided into
twelve petty states, always jealous of one another and often engaged in civil war. The natives took advantage
of these dissensions, and subdued them one by one. Now and then a hero would arise, rouse them to a war of
independence, and rule over them as judge for a few years. Then again they would fall apart, and again be
conquered, sometimes paying tribute as vassals, sometimes hiding in the mountain caves. However, at last
there came a change. The temporal and spiritual powers, united in the hands of Moses, were divided at his
death. Joshua became the general of Jehovah; the high priest became his grand vizier. Joshua could do
nothing of importance without consulting the high priest, who read the commands of the Divine Sheikh in the
light and play of Urim and Thummim, the oracular shining stones. On the other hand, the high priest could
not issue laws; he could only give decisions and replies. But now a Nazarite or servant of the Church, named
Samuel, usurped the office, or at all events the powers, of high priest which belonged to the family of Aaron,
and also obtained the dignity of president or judge. He professed to be the recipient of private instructions
from Jehovah, issued laws in his name, and went round on circuit judging the twelve tribes.
In his old age he delegated this office to his sons, who gave false judgments and took bribes. The elders of the
people came to Samuel and asked him to appoint them a king.
Samuel had established a papacy, intending to make it hereditary in his house, and now the evil conduct of
his sons frustrated all his hopes. He protested in the name of Jehovah against this change in the constitution;
he appealed to his own blameless life; he drew a vivid picture of the horrors of despotism; but in vain. The
people persisted in their demand; they were at that time in the vassal state, and their liege lords, the
Philistines, did not permit them to have smiths lest they should make weapons and rebel. Samuel himself had
united the tribes, and had inspired them with the sentiments of nationality. They yearned to be free, and they
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observed that they lost battles because their enemies were better officered than themselves. They saw that
they needed a military chief who would himself lead them to the charge, instead of sacrificing a sucking lamb
or kneeling on a neighbouring hill with this hands up in the air.
Samuel, still protesting, elected Saul to the royal office. The young man was gladly accepted by the people on
account of his personal beauty, and as he belonged to the poorest family of the poorest tribe in Israel, Samuel
hoped that he would be able to preserve the real power in his own hands. But it so happened that Saul was not
only a brave soldier and a good general; he was also at times a 'godintoxicated man,' and did not require a
third person to bring him the instructions of Jehovah. He made himself the Head of the Church, as well as of
the state, and Samuel was compelled to retire into private life. It is for this reason that Saul´s character has
been so bitterly attacked by the priesthistorians of the Jews. For what after all are the crimes of which he
was guilty? He administered the battleoffering himself, and he spared the life of a man whom Samuel had
commanded him to kill as a human sacrifice to Jehovah. Saul was by no means faultless, but his character
was pure as snow when compared with that of his successor. David was undoubtedly the greater general of
the two, yet it was Saul who laid the foundations of the Jewish kingdom. It was Saul who conquered the
Philistines and won freedom for the nation with no better weapons than their mattocks and their axes and
their sharpened goads. Saul´s persecution of David is the worst stain upon his life, yet if it is true that David
had been in Saul´s lifetime privately anointed king, he was guilty of treason and deserved to die. But that
story of the anointing might have been invented afterwards to justify his succession to the throne.
At first David took refuge with the Philistines and fought against his own countrymen. Next he turned
brigand, and was joined by all the criminals and outlaws of the land. The cave of Adullam was his lair,
whence he sallied forth to levy blackmail on the rich farmers and graziers of the neighbourhood, cutting their
throats when they refused to pay. At the same time, he was a very religious man, and never went on a
plundering expedition without consulting a little image which revealed to him the orders and wishes of
Jehovah, just as the Bedouins always pray to Allah before they commit a crime, and thank him for his
assistance when it has been successfully performed.
Saul was succeeded by his son Ishbosheth, who was accepted by eleven tribes. But David, supported by his
own tribe and by his band of well trained robbers, defied the nation and made war upon his lawful king. He
had not the shadow of a claim; however, with the help of treason and assassination he finally obtained the
crown. His military genius had then full scope. He took Jerusalem, a pagan stronghold which during four
hundred years had maintained its independence. He conquered the coast of the Philistines, the plains of
Canaan, the great city of Damascus, and the tribes of the desert far and near. He garrisoned Arabia Petraea.
He ruled from Euphrates to the Red Sea.
This man after God´s own heart had a wellstocked harem, and the usual intrigues took place. He
disinherited his eldest son and left the kingdom to the son of his favourite wifea woman for whom he had
committed a crime which had offended the not overdelicate Jehovah. The nation seemed taken by surprise,
and Solomon, in order to preserve the undivided affections of his people, at once killed his brother and his
partya coronation ceremony not uncommon in the East.
The wisdom of Solomon has become proverbial. But whatever his intellectual attainments may have been, he
did not possess that kind of wisdom which alone is worthy of a king. He did not attempt to make his
monarchy enduring, his people prosperous and content. He was a true Oriental sultan, sleek and sensual,
luxurious and magnificent, short sighted and unscrupulous, cutting down the tree to eat the fruit. The capital
of a despot is always favoured, and with the citizens of Jerusalem he was popular enough. They were in a
measure his guests and companions, the inmates of his house. They saw their city encircled with enormous
walls, and paved with slabs of black and shining stone. Their eyes were dazzled and their vanity delighted
with the splendid buildings which he raisedthe ivory palace, the cedar palace, and the temple. The pilgrims
who thronged to the sanctuary from all quarters of the land, and the travellers who came for the purposes of
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trade, brought wealth into the city. Foreign commerce was a court monopoly, but the city was a part of the
court. Outside the city walls, however, or at least beyond the circle of the city lands, it was a very different
affair. The rural districts were severely taxed, especially those at a distance from the capital. The tribes of
Israel, which but a few years before had been on terms of complete equality among themselves, were now
trampled underfoot by this upstart of the House of Judah. The tribe of Ephraim, which had so long enjoyed
supremacy, became restless beneath the yoke. While Solomon yet reigned the standard of revolt was raised;
as soon as he died this empire of a day dissolved. Damascus became again an independent state. The Arabs
cut the road to the Red Sea. The King of Egypt, who had probably been Solomon´s liege lord, dispatched an
army to fetch away the treasures of the temple and the palace. The ten tribes seceded, and two distinct
kingdoms were established.
The ten tribes of Israel, or the Kingdom of the North, extended over the lands of Samaria and Galilee. Its
capital was Shechem, its sanctuary Mount Gerizim.
Judah and Benjamin, the royal tribes, occupied the highlands of Judea. Jerusalem was their capital; its temple
was their sanctuary, and the Levites, whom the Israelites had discarded, were their priests. It is needless to
relate the wars which were almost incessantly being waged between these two miserable kingdoms. When the
empire of the Tigris took the place of Egypt as suzerain of Syria both Israel and Judah sent their tribute to
Nineveh; and as the cuneiform history relates, both of them afterwards rebelled. Sennacherib marched against
them and carried off the ten tribes into captivity. Judea was more mountainous, and on that account more
difficult to conquer than the land of the North. The Jews, as they may now be called, defended themselves
stoutly, and a camp plague broke up the army before Jerusalem. By this occurrence Egypt also was preserved
from conquest. At that time Sethos, the priest, was king, and the soldiers, whose lands he had taken, refused
to fight. Both the Egyptians and the Jews ascribed their escape to a miracle performed by their respective
gods.
Great events now took place. The Assyrian empire fell to pieces, and Nineveh was destroyed. The Medes
inherited its power on the east of the Euphrates; the Chaldeans inherited its power on the west. Egypt under
the PhilHellenes was again spreading into Asia, and a terrific duel took place between the two powers. The
Jews managed so well that when the Egyptian star was in the ascendant they took the side of Babylon; and
when the Babylonians had won the battle of Carchemish the Jews intrigued with the fallen nation.
Nebuchadnezzar gave them repeated warnings, but at last his patience was exhausted and he levelled the
rebellious city to the ground. Some of the citizens escaped to Egypt; the aristocracy and priesthood were
carried off to Babylon; the peasants alone were left to cultivate the soil.
At Babylon there was a collection of captive kings, each of whom was assigned his daily allowance and his
throne. In this palace of shadows the unfortunate Jehoiachin ended his days. But the Jewish people were not
treated as captives or as slaves, and they soon began to thrive.
When the ten tribes seceded they virtually abandoned their religion. They withdrew from the temple which
they had once acknowledged as the dwelling of Jehovah; they had no hereditary priesthood; they had no holy
books; and so as soon as they ceased to possess a country they ceased to exist as a race. But the Jews
preserved their nationality intact.
Moses had been an Egyptian priest, and the unity of God was a fundamental article of that religion. The unity
of God was also the tenet of the more intelligent Arabs of the desert. Whether therefore we regard that great
man as an Egyptian or as an Arab, it can scarcely be doubted that the views which he held of the Deity were
as truly unitarian as those of Mohammed and AbdulWahhab. It is, however, quite certain that to the people
whom he led Jehovah was merely an invisible Bedouin chief who travelled with them in a tent, who walked
about the camp at night and wanted it kept clean, who manoeuvred the troops in battle, who delighted in
massacres and human sacrifice, who murdered people in sudden fits of rage, who changed his mind, who
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enjoyed petty larceny and employed angels to tell lieswho, in short, possessed all the vices of the Arab
character. He also possessed their ideal virtues, for he prohibited immorality and commanded them to be
hospitable to the stranger, to be charitable to the poor, and to treat with kindness the domestic beast and the
captive wife.
It was impossible for Moses to raise their minds to a nobler conception of the Deity; it would have been as
easy to make them see Roman noses when they looked into a mirror. He therefore made use of their
superstition in order to rule them for their own good, and descended to trumpetings and firetricks which
chamber moralists may condemn with virtuous indignation, but which those who have known what it is to
command a savage mob will not be inclined to criticise severely.
When the settlement in Canaan took place the course of events gave rise to a theory about Jehovah which not
only the Israelites held but also the Philistines. It was believed that he was a mountain god and could not fight
on level ground. He was unlike the pagan gods in one respect, namely, that he ordered his people to destroy
the groves and idols of his rivals, and threatened to punish them if they worshipped any god but him.
However, as might be supposed, although the Israelites were very loyal on the mountains, they worshipped
other gods when they fought upon the plains. Whenever they won a battle they sang a song in honour of
Jehovah and declared that he was 'a man of war,' but when they lost a battle they supposed that Baal or Dagon
had trodden Jehovah under foot. The result of this was a mixed religion: they worshipped Jehovah, but they
worshipped other gods as well. Solomon declared when he opened the temple that Jehovah filled the sky, that
there were no other gods but he. But this was merely Oriental flattery. Solomon must have believed that there
were other gods because he worshipped other gods. His temple was in fact a Pantheon, and altars were raised
on the Mount of Olives to Moloch and Astarte. After the reign of Solomon, however, the Jews became a
civilised people; a literary class arose. Jerusalem, situated on the highway between the Euphrates and the
Nile, obtained a place in the Asiatic world. The minds of the citizens became elevated and refined, and that
reflection of their minds which they called Jehovah assumed a pure and noble form: he was recognised as the
one God, the Creator of the world.
During all these years Moses had been forgotten, but now his code of laws (so runs the legend) was
discovered in a corner of the temple, and laws of a higher kind adapted to a civilised people were issued
under his name. The idols were broken, the foreign priests were expelled. It was in the midst of this great
religious revival that Jerusalem was destroyed, and it may well be that the law which forbade the Jews to
render homage to a foreign king was the chief cause of their contumacy and their dispersal. It was certainly
the cause of all their subsequent calamities: it was their loyalty to Jehovah which provoked the destruction of
the city by the Romans: it was their fidelity to the law which brought down upon them all the curses of the
law.
The reformation in the first period had been by no means complete: there had been many relapses and
backslidings, and they therefore readily believed that the captivity was a judgment upon them for their sins.
By the waters of Babylon they repented with bitter tears; in a strange land they returned to the god of their
fathers and never deserted him again. Henceforth religion was their patriotism. Education became general:
divine worship was organised: schools and synagogues were established wherever Jews were to be found.
And soon they were to be found in all the cities of the Eastern world. They had no land, and therefore adopted
commerce as their pursuit; they became a trading and a travelling people, and the financial abilities which
they displayed obtained them employment in the households and treasuries of kings.
The dispersion of the Jews must be dated from this period and not from the second destruction of the city.
When Cyrus conquered Babylon he restored to the Jews their golden candlesticks and holy vessels, allowed
them to return home, and rendered them assistance partly from religious sympathyfor the Jews made him
believe that his coming had been predicted by their prophetsand partly from motives of policy. Palestine
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was the key to Egypt, against which Cyrus had designs, and it was wise to plant in Palestine a people on
whom he could rely. But not all the Jews availed themselves of his decree. The merchants and officials who
were now making their fortunes by the waters of Babylon were not inclined to return to the modest farmer
life of Judea. Their piety was warm and sincere, but it was no longer combined with a passion for the soil.
They began to regard Jerusalem as the Mohammedans regard Mecca. The people who did return were chiefly
the fanatics, the clergy, and the paupers. The harvest, as we shall find was worthy of the seed.
Beneath the Persian yoke the Jews of Judea were content, and paid their tribute with fidelity. They could do
so without scruple, for they identified Ormuzd with Jehovah, took lessons in theology from the doctors of the
ZendAvesta, and recognised the Great King as God´s viceroy on earth. But when the Persian empire was
broken up Palestine was again tossed upon the waves. The Greek kings of Alexandria and Antioch repeated
the wars of Nebuchadnezzar and Necho. Again Egypt was worsted, and Syria became a province of the
GraecoAsiatic empire. The government encouraged emigration into the newly conquered lands, and soon
Palestine was covered with Greek towns and filled with Greek settlers. Judea alone remained like an island in
the flood. European culture was detested by the doctors of the law, who inflicted the same penalty for
learning Greek as for eating pork. They therefore resisted the spread of civilisation, and Jerusalem was closed
against the Greeks.
In the Hellenic world toleration was the universal rule. An oracle at Delphi had expressed the opinion of all
when it declared that the proper religion for each man was the religion of his fatherland. Governments,
therefore, did not interfere with the religious opinions of the people, but on the other hand the religious
opinions of the people did not interfere with their civil duties. We allow the inhabitants of the holy city of
Benares to celebrate the rites of their pilgrimage in their own manner, and to torture themselves in
moderation, but we should at once begin what they would call a religious persecution if they were to purify
the town by destroying the shops of the beefbutchers and other institutions which are an abomination in
their eyes. Antiochus Epiphanes was by nature a humane and enlightened prince; he attempted to
Europeanise Jerusalem; he could do this only by abolishing the Jewish laws; he could abolish their laws only
by destroying their religion; and thus he was gradually drawn into barbarous and useless crimes of which he
afterwards repented, but which have gained him the reputation of a Nero.
At first, however, it appeared as if he would succeed. The aristocratic party of Jerusalem were won over to
the cause. A gymnasium was erected, and Jews with artificial foreskins appeared naked in the arena. Riots
broke out. Then royal edicts were issued forbidding circumcision, and keeping of the Sabbath, and the use of
the law. A pagan altar was set up in the Holy of Holies, and swine were sacrificed upon it to the Olympian
Jove. The riots increased. Then a Greek regiment garrisoned the city; all newborn children that were found
to be circumcised were hurled with their mothers from the walls; altar pork was offered as a test of loyalty to
the elders of the Church, and those who refused to eat were put to death with tortures too horrible to be
described. And now the Jews no longer raised riots: they rebelled. The empire was at that time in a state of
weakness and disorder, and under the gallant Maccabees the independence of Judea was achieved. Yet it is
only in adversity that the Jews can be admired. As soon as they obtained the power of self government they
showed themselves unworthy to possess it, and in the midst of a civil war they were enveloped by the Roman
power, which had extended them its protection in the period of the Maccabees. The senate placed Herod the
great, an Arab price, upon the throne.
Herod was a man of the world, and his policy resembled that of the Ptolemies in Egypt. He built the Temple
at Jerusalem and a theatre at Caesarea, in which city he preferred to dwell. The kingdom at his death was
divided between his three sons: they were merely rajahs under the rule of Rome, and the one who governed
Judea having been removed for misbehaviour, that country was attached to the proconsulate of Syria. A
lieutenantgovernor was appointed to reside in the turbulent district to collect the revenues and maintain
order. The position of the first commandant whom Russia sends to garrison Bokhara will resemble that of the
procurator who took up his winter quarters at Jerusalem.
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Those Jews of Judea, those Hebrews of the Hebrews, regarded all the Gentiles as enemies of God; they
considered it a sin to live abroad, or to speak a foreign language, or to rub their limbs with foreign oil. Of all
the trees, the Lord had chosen but one vine; and of all the flowers but one lily; and of all the birds but one
dove; and of all the cattle but one lamb; and of all the builded cities only Sion; and among all the multitude of
peoples he had elected the Jews as a peculiar treasure, and had made them a nation of priests and holy men.
For their sake God had made the world. On their account alone empires rose and fell. Babylon had triumphed
because God was angry with his people; Babylon had fallen because he had forgiven them. It may be
imagined that it was not easy to govern such a race. They acknowledged no king but Jehovah, no laws but the
precepts of their holy books. In paying tribute they yielded to absolute necessity, but the taxgatherers were
looked upon as unclean creatures; no respectable men would eat with them or pray with them; their evidence
was not accepted in the courts of justice.
Their own government consisted of a Sanhedrin or Council of Elders, presided over by the High Priest. They
had power to administer their own laws, but could not inflict the punishment of death without the permission
of the procurator. All persons of consideration devoted themselves to the study of the law. Hebrew had
become a dead language, and some learning was therefore requisite for the exercise of this profession, which
was not the prerogative of a single class. It was a rabbinical axiom that the crown of the kingdom was
deposited in Judah, and the crown of the priesthood in the seed of Aaron, but that the crown of the law was
common to all Israel. Those who gained distinction as expounders of the sacred books were saluted with the
title of rabbi, and were called scribes and doctors of the law. The people were ruled by the scribes, but the
scribes were recruited from the people. It was not an idle castean established Churchbut an order which
was filled and refilled with the pious, the earnest, and the ambitious members of the nation.
There were two great religious sects which were also political parties, as must always be the case where law
and religion are combined. The Sadducees were the rich, the indolent, and the passive aristocrats; they were
the descendants of those who had belonged to the Greek party in the reign of Antiochus, and it was said that
they themselves were tainted with the Greek philosophy. They professed, however, to belong to the
conservative Scripture and original Mosaic school. As the Protestants reject the traditions of the ancient
Church, some of which have doubtless descended viva voce from apostolic times, so all traditions, good and
bad, were rejected by the Sadduccees. As Protestants always inquire respecting a custom or doctrine, 'Is it in
the Bible?' so the Sadduccees would accept nothing that could not be shown them in the law. They did not
believe in heaven and hell because there was nothing about heaven and hell in the books of Moses. The
morality which their doctors preached was cold and pure, and adapted only for enlightened minds. They
taught that men should be virtuous without the fear of punishment and without the hope of reward, and that
such virtue alone is of any worth.
The Pharisees were mostly persons of low birth. They were the prominent representatives of the popular
belief, zealots in patriotism as well as in religionthe teaching, the preaching, and the proselytising party.
Among them were to be found two kinds of men. Those Puritans of the Commonwealth with lank hair and
sour visage and upturned eyes, who wore sombre garments, sniffled through their noses, and garnished their
discourse with Scripture texts, were an exact reproduction, so far as the difference of place and period would
allow, of certain Jerusalem Pharisees who veiled their faces when they went abroad lest they should behold a
woman or some unclean thing; who strained the water which they drank for fear they should swallow the
forbidden gnat; who gave alms to the sound of trumpet, and uttered long prayers in a loud voice; who wore
texts embroidered on their robes and bound upon their brows; who followed minutely the observances of the
ceremonial law; who added to it with their traditions; who lengthened the hours and deepened the gloom of
the Sabbath day, and increased the taxes which it had been ordered should be paid upon the altar.
On the other hand, there had been among the Puritans many men of pure and gentle lives, and a similar class
existed among the Pharisees. The good Pharisee, says the Talmud, is he who obeys the law because he loves
the Lord. They addressed their god by the name of 'Father' when they prayed. 'Do unto others as you would
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be done by' was an adage often on their lips. That is the law, they said; all the rest is mere commentary. To
the Pharisees belonged all that was best and all that was worst in the Hebrew religious life.
The traditions of the Pharisees related partly to ceremonial matters which in the written law were already
diffuse and intricate enough. But it must also be remembered that without traditions the Hebrew theology was
barbarous and incomplete. Before the captivity the doctrine of rewards and punishments in a future state had
not been known. The Sheol of the Jews was a land of shades in which there was neither joy nor sorrow, in
which all ghosts or souls dwelt promiscuously together. When the Jews came in contact with the Persian
priests they were made acquainted with the heaven and hell of the ZendAvesta. It is probable, indeed, that
without foreign assistance they would in time have developed a similar doctrine for themselves. Already in
the Psalms and Book of Job are signs that the Hebrew mind was in a transition state. When Ezekiel declared
that the son should not be responsible for the iniquity of the father nor the father for the iniquity of the son,
that the righteousness of the righteous should be upon him, and that the wickedness of the wicked should be
upon him, he was preparing the way for a new system of ideas in regard to retribution. But as it was, the Jews
were indebted to the ZendAvesta for their traditional theory of a future life, and they also adopted the
Persian ideas of the resurrection of the body, the rivalry of the evil spirit, and the approaching destruction and
renovation of the world.
The Satan of Job is not a rebellious angel, still less a contending god: he is merely a mischievous and
malignant sprite. But the Satan of the restored Jews was a powerful prince who went about like a roaring lion,
and to whom this world belonged. He was copied from Ahriman, the God of Darkness, who was ever
contending with Ormuzd, the God of Light. The Persians believed that Ormuzd would finally triumph, and
that a prophet would be sent to announce the gospel or good tidings of his approaching victory. Terrible
calamities would then take place; the stars would fall down from heaven; the earth itself would be destroyed.
After which it would come forth new from the hands of the Creator; a kind of Millennium would be
established; there would be one law, one language, and one government for men, and universal peace would
reign.
This theory became blended in the Jewish minds with certain expectations of their own. In the days of
captivity their prophets had predicted that a Messiah or anointed king would be sent, that the kingdom of
David would be restored, and that Jerusalem would become the headquarters of God on earth. All the nations
would come to Jerusalem to keep the feast of tabernacles and to worship God. Those who did not come
should have no rain; and as the Egyptians could do without rain, if they did not come they should have the
plague. The Jewish people would become one vast priesthood, and all nations would pay them tithe. Their
seed would inherit the Gentiles. They would suck the milk of the Gentiles. They would eat the riches of the
Gentiles. These same unfortunate Gentiles would be their ploughmen and their vinedressers. Bowing down
would come those that afflicted Jerusalem, and would lick the dust off her feet. Strangers would build up her
walls, and kings would minister unto her. Many people and strong nations would come to see the Lord of
Hosts in Jerusalem. Ten men in that day would lay hold of the skirt of a Jew saying, 'We will go with you, for
we have heard that God is with you.' It was an idea worthy of the Jews that they should keep the Creator to
themselves in Jerusalem, and make their fortunes out of the monopoly.
In the meantime these prophecies had not been fulfilled, and the Jews were in daily expectation of the
Messiahas they are still, and as they are likely to be for some time to come. It was the belief of the vulgar
that this Messiah would be a man belonging to the family of David, who would liberate them from the
Romans and become their king; so they were always on the watch, and whenever a remarkable man appeared
they concluded that he was the son of David, the Holy One of Israel, and were ready at once to proclaim him
king and to burst into rebellion. This illusion gave rise to repeated riots or revolts, and at last brought about
the destruction of the city.
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But among the higher class of minds the expectation of the Messiah, though not less ardent, was of a more
spiritual kind. They believed that the Messiah was that prophet, often called the Son of Man who would be
send by God to proclaim the defeat of Satan and the renovation of the world. They interpreted the prophets
after a manner of their own: the kingdom foretold was the kingdom of heaven, and the new Jerusalem was
not a Jerusalem on earth but a celestial city built of precious stones and watered by the Stream of Life.
Such were the hopes of the Jews. The whole nation trembled with excitement and suspense; the mob of Judea
awaiting the Messiah or king who should lead them to the conquest of the world; the more noble minded
Jews of Palestine, and especially the foreign Jews, awaiting the Messiah or Son of Man who should proclaim
the approach of the most terrible of all events. There were many pious men and women who withdrew
entirely from the cares of ordinary life, and passed their days in watching and in prayer.
The NeoJewish or PersianHebrew religion, with its sublime theory of a single god, with its clearly defined
doctrine of rewards and punishments, with its one grand duty of faith or allegiance to a divine king, was so
attractive to the mind on account of its simplicity that it could not fail to conquer the discordant and jarring
creeds of the pagan world as soon as it should be propagated in the right manner. There is a kind of natural
selection in religion; the creed which is best adapted to the mental world will invariably prevail, and the
mental world is being gradually prepared for the reception of higher and higher forms of religious life. At this
period Europe was ready for the reception of the onegod species of belief, but it existed only in the Jewish
area, and was there confined by artificial checks. The Jews held the doctrine that none but Jews could be
saved, and most of them looked forward to the eternal torture of Greek and Roman souls with equanimity, if
not with satisfaction. They were not in the least desirous to redeem them; they hoarded up their religion as
they did their money, and considered it a heritage, a patrimony, a kind of entailed estate. There were some
Jews in foreign parts who esteemed it a work of piety to bring the Gentiles to a knowledge of the true God,
and as it was one of the popular amusements of the Romans to attend the service at the synagogue a convert
was occasionally made. But such cases were very rare, for in order to embrace the Jewish religion it was
necessary to undergo a dangerous operation and to abstain from eating with the pagansin short, to become
a Jew. It was therefore indispensable for the success of the Hebrew religion that it should be divested of its
local customs. But however much the Pharisees and Sadducees might differ on matters of tradition, they were
perfectly agreed on this point, that the ceremonial laws were necessary for salvation. These laws could never
be given up by Jews unless they first became heretics, and this was what eventually occurred. A schism arose
among the Jews: the sectarians were defeated and expelled. Foiled in their first object, they cast aside the law
of Moses and offered the Hebrew religion without the Hebrew ceremonies to the Greek and Roman world.
We shall now sketch the character of the man who prepared the way for this remarkable event.
It was a custom in Israel for the members of each family to meet together once a year that they might
celebrate a sacred feast. A lamb roasted whole was placed upon the table, and a cup of wine was filled. Then
the eldest son said, 'Father, what is the meaning of this feast?' And the father replied that it was held in
memory of the sufferings of their ancestors, and of the mercy of the Lord their God. For while they were
weeping and bleeding in the land of Egypt there came his voice unto Moses and said that each father of a
family should select a lamb without blemish from his flock, and should kill it on the tenth day of the month
Abib, at the time of the setting of the sun; and should put the blood in a basin, and should take a sprig of
hyssop and sprinkle the doorposts and lintel with the blood; and should then roast the lamb and eat it with
unleavened bread and bitter herbs. They should eat it as if in haste, each one standing with his loins girt, his
sandals on his feet, and his staff in his hand. That night the angel of the Lord slew the first born of the
Egyptians, and that night Israel was delivered from her bonds.
When the father had thus spoken the lamb was eaten, and four cups of wine were drunk, and the family sang
a hymn. At this beautiful and solemn festival all persons of the same kin endeavoured to meet together, and
Hebrew pilgrims from all parts of the world journeyed to Jerusalem. When they came within sight of the
Holy City and saw the Temple shining in the distance like a mountain of snow, some clamoured with cries of
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joy, some uttered low and painful sobs. Drawing closer together, they advanced towards the gates singing the
Psalms of David, and offering up prayers for the restoration of Israel.
At this time the subscriptions from the various churches abroad were brought to Jerusalem, and were carried
to the Temple treasury in solemn state; and at this time also the citizens of Jerusalem witnessed a procession
which they did not like so well. A company of Roman soldiers escorted the lieutenantgovernor, who came
up from Caesarea for the festival that he might give out the vestments of the High Priest, which, being the
insignia of government, the Romans kept under lock and key.
It was the nineteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar. Pontius Pilate had taken up his quarters in the city,
and the time of the Passover was at hand. Not only Jerusalem, but also the neighbouring villages, were filled
with pilgrims, and many were obliged to encamp in tents outside the walls.
It happened one day that a sound of shouting was heard; the men ran up to the roofs of their houses, and the
maidens peeped through their latticed windows. A young man mounted on a donkey was riding towards the
city. A crowd streamed out to meet him, and a crowd followed him behind. The people cast their mantles on
the road before him, and also covered it with green boughs. He rode through the city gates straight to the
Temple, dismounted, and entered the holy building.
In the outer courts there was a kind of bazaar in connection with the Temple worship. Pure white lambs,
pigeons, and other animals of the requisite age and appearance were there sold, and money merchants, sitting
at their tables, changed the foreign coin with which the pilgrims were provided. The young man at once
proceeded to upset the tables and to drive their astonished owners from the Temple, while the crowd shouted
and the little gamins, who were not the least active in the riot, cried out, 'Hurrah for the son of David!' Then
people suffering from diseases were brought to him, and he laid his hands upon them and told them to have
faith and they would be healed. When strangers inquired the meaning of this disturbance they were told that it
was Joshuaoras the Greek Jews called him, Jesusthe Prophet of Nazareth. It was believed by the
common people that he was the Messiah. But the Pharisees did not acknowledge his mission. For Jesus
belonged to Galilee, and the natives of that country spoke a vile patois, and their orthodoxy was in bad
repute. 'Out of Galilee,' said the Pharisees with scorn, 'out of Galilee there cometh no prophet.'
All persons of imaginative minds know what it is to be startled by a thought; they know how ideas flash into
the mind as if from without, and what physical excitement they can at times produce. They also know what it
is to be possessed by a presentiment, a deep, overpowering conviction of things to come. They know how
often such presentiments are true, and also how often they are false.
The prophet or seer is a man of strong imaginative powers which have not been calmed by education. The
ideas which occur to his mind often present themselves to his eyes and ears in corresponding sights and
sounds. As one in a dream he hears voices and sees forms; his whole mien is that of a man who is possessed;
his face sometimes becomes transfigured and appears to glow with light; but usually the symptoms are of a
more painful kind, such as foaming of the mouth, writhing of the limbs, and a bubbling ebullition of the
voice. He is sometimes seized by these violent ideas against his will. But he can to a certain extent produce
them by long fasting and by long prayer, or in other words by the continued concentration of the mind upon a
single point; by music, dancing, and fumigations. The disease is contagious, as is shown by the anecdote of
Saul among the prophets, and similar scenes have been frequently witnessed by travellers in the East.
Prophets have existed in all countries and at all times, but the gift becomes rare in the same proportion as
people learn to read and write. Second sight in the Highlands disappeared before the school, and so it has
been in other lands. Prophets were numerous in ancient Greece. In the Homeric period they opposed the royal
power and constituted another authority by the grace of God. Herodotus alludes to men who went about
prophesying in hexameters. Thucydides says that while the Peloponnesians were ravaging the lands of Athens
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there were prophets within the city uttering all kinds of oracles, some for going out and some for remaining
in. It was a prophet who obtained the passing of that law under which Socrates was afterwards condemned to
death. In Greece, Egypt, and in Israel the priests adopted and localised the prophetic power. The oracles of
Amon, Delphi, and Shiloh bore the same relation to individual prophets as an Established Church to itinerant
preachers. Syria was especially fertile in prophets. Marius kept a Syrian prophetess named Martha, who
attended him in all his campaigns. It matters nothing what the Syrian religion might be; the same
phenomenon again and again recurs. Balaam was a prophet before Israel was established. Then came the
prophets of the Jews, and they again have been succeeded by the Christian cave saint and the Moslem
dervish, whom the Arabs have always regarded with equal veneration. But it was among the Jews from the
time of Samuel to the captivity that prophets or dervishes were most abundant. They were then as plentiful as
politiciansand politicians in fact they were, and prophesied against each other. Some would be for peace
and some would be for war: some were partisans of Egypt, others were partisans of Babylon. The prophetic
ideas differ in no respect from those of ordinary men except in the sublime or ridiculous effect which they
produce on the prophetic mind and body. Sometimes the predictions of the Jewish prophets were fulfilled,
and sometimes they were not. To use the Greek phrase, their oracles were often of base metal, and in such a
case the unfortunate dervish was jeered at as a false prophet, and would in his turn reproach the Lord for
having made him a fool before men.
The Jewish prophet was an extraordinary being. He was something more and something less than a man. He
spoke like an angel; he acted like a beast. As soon as he received his mission he ceased to wash. He often
retired to the mountains, where he might be seen skipping from rock to rock like a goat; or he wandered in
the desert with a leather girdle round his loins, eating roots and wild honey, or sometimes browsing on grass
and flowers. He always adapted his actions to the idea which he desired to convey. He not only taught in
parables but performed them. For instance, Isaiah walked naked through the streets to show that the Lord
would strip Jerusalem, and make her bare. Ezekiel cut off his hair and beard and weighed it in the scales: a
third part he burnt with fire, a third part he strewed about with a knife, and a third part he scattered to the
wind. This was also intended to illustrate the calamities which would befall the Jews. Moreover he wore a
rotten girdle as a sign that their city would decay, and buttered his bread in a manner we would rather not
describe, as a sign that they would eat defiled bread among the Gentiles. Jeremiah wore a wooden yoke as a
sign that they should be taken into captivity. As a sign that the Jews were guilty of wantonness in
worshipping idols, Hosea cohabited three years with a woman of the town; and as a sign that they committed
adultery in turning from the Lord their God, he went and lived with another man´s wife.
Such is the ludicrous side of Jewish prophecy; yet it has also its serious and noble side. The prophets were
always the tribunes of the people, the protectors of the poor. As the tyrant revelled in his palace on the taxes
extorted from industrious peasants, a strange figure would descend from the mountains and, stalking to the
throne, would stretch forth a lean and swarthy arm and denounce him in the name of Jehovah, and bid him
repent, or the Lord´s wrath should fall upon him and dogs should drink his blood. In the first period of the
Jewish life the prophets exercised these functions of censor and of tribune, and preached loyalty to the god
who had brought them up out of Egypt with a strong hand. They were also intensely fanatical, and published
Jehovah´s wrath not only against the king who was guilty of idolatry and vice, but also against the king who
took a census, or imported horses, or made treaties of friendship with his neighbours. In the second period the
prophets declared the unity of God and exposed the folly of idolworship. They did even more than this.
They opposed the ceremonial law, and preached the religion of the heart. They declared that God did not care
for their Sabbaths and their festivals, and their new moons, and their prayers and church services and
ablutions, and their sacrifices of meat and oil and of incense from Arabia and of the sweet cane from a far
country. 'Cease to do evil,' said they; 'learn to do well; relieve the oppressed; judge the fatherless; plead for
the widow.' It is certain that the doctrines of the great prophets were heretical. Jeremiah flatly declared that in
the day that God brought them from the land of Egypt he did not command them concerning burnt offerings
or sacrifices, and this statement would be of historical value if prophets always spoke the truth.
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They were bitter adversaries of the kings and priests, and the consolers of the oppressed. 'The Lord hath
appointed me,' says one whose oracles have been edited with those of Isaiah, but whose period was later and
whose true name is not known, 'the Lord hath appointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he that
sent me to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, to give unto them that mourn
beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for lamentation, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.'
The aristocracy who lived by the altar did not receive these attacks in a spirit of submission. There was a law
ascribed to Moseslike all the other Jewish laws, but undoubtedly enacted by the priest party under the
kingsthat false prophets should be put to death; and though it was dangerous to touch prophets on account
of the people, who were always on their side, they were frequently subjected to persecution. Urijah fled from
King Jehoiakim to Egypt; armed men were sent after him; he was arrested, brought back and killed.
Zachariah was stoned to death in the courts of the Temple. Jeremiah was formally tried and was acquitted,
but he had a narrow escape: he was led, as he remarked, like a sheep to the slaughter. At another time he was
imprisoned; at another time he was let down by ropes into a dry well; and there is a tradition that he was
stoned to death by the Jews in Egypt after all. The nominal Isaiah chants the requiem of such a martyr in a
poem of exquisite beauty and grandeur. The prophet is described as one of hideous appearance, so that people
hid their faces from him. 'His visage was marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of
men.' The people rejected his mission and refused to acknowledge him as a prophet. 'He was despised and
rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.' He was arraigned on a charge of false
prophecy; he made no defence, and he was put to death. 'He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he opened not
his mouth: he was brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he
opened not his mouth. He was taken from the prison to the judgment; he was cut off from the land of the
living.' It was believed by the Jews that the death of such a man was accepted by God as a human sacrifice,
an atonement for the sins of the people, just as the priest in the olden time heaped the sins of the people on
the scapegoat and sent him out into the wilderness. 'He bare the sins of many, and made intercession for the
transgressors. The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. Surely he hath borne our griefs and hath
carried our sorrows. His soul was made an offering for sin. He was wounded for our transgressions, he was
bruised for our iniquities, and with his stripes we are healed.'
There are many worthy people who think it a very extraordinary thing that this poem can be used almost
word for word to describe the rejected mission and martyrdom of Jesus. But as the Hebrew prophets
resembled one another, and were tried before the same tribunal under the same law, the coincidence is not
surprising. A poetical description, in vague and general terms, of the rebellion of the English people and the
execution of Charles the First would apply equally well to the rebellion of the French people and the
execution of the Louis the Sixteenth.
The Prophet of Nazareth did not differ in temperament and character from the noble prophets of the ancient
period. He preached, as they did, the religion of the heart; he attacked, as they did, the ceremonial laws; he
offered, as they did, consolation to the poor; he poured forth, as they did, invectives against the rulers and the
rich. But his predictions were entirely different from theirs, for he lived, theologically speaking, in another
world. The old prophets could only urge men to do good that the Lord might make them prosperous on earth,
or at the most that they might obtain an everlasting name. They could only promise to the people the
restoration of Jerusalem and the good things of the Gentiles; the reconciliation of Judah and Ephraim, and the
gathering of the dispersed. The morality which Jesus preached was also supported by promises and threats,
but by promises and threats of a more exalted kind: it was also based upon selfinterest, but upon
selfinterest applied to a future life. For this he was indebted to the age in which he lived. He was superior as
a prophet to Isaiah, as Newton as an astronomer was superior to Kepler, Kepler to Copernicus, Copernicus to
Ptolemy, Ptolemy to Hipparchus, and Hipparchus to the unknown Egyptian or Chaldean priest who first
began to register eclipses and to catalogue the stars. Jesus was a carpenter by trade, and was urged by a
prophetic call to leave his workshop and to go forth into the world, preaching the gospel which he had
received. The current fancies respecting the approaching destruction of the world, the conquest of the Evil
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Power, and the reign of God had fermented in his mind, and had made him the subject of a remarkable
hallucination. He believed that he was the promised Messiah or Son of Man, who would be sent to prepare
the world for the kingdom of God, and who would be appointed to judge the souls of men and to reign over
them on earth. He was a man of the people, a rustic and an artisan: he was also an imitator of the ancient
prophets, whose works he studied and whose words were always on his lips. Thus he was led as man and
prophet to take the part of the poor. He sympathised deeply with the outcasts, the afflicted, and the oppressed.
To children and to women; to all who suffered and shed tears; to all from whom men turned with loathing
and contempt; to the girl of evil life who bemoaned her shame; to the taxgatherer who crouched before his
God in humility and woe; to the sorrowful in spirit and the weak in heart; to the weary and the heavy laden,
Jesus appeared as a shining angel with words sweet as the honeycomb and bright as the golden day. He laid
his hands on the heads of the lowly; he bade the sorrowful be of good cheer, for the day of their deliverance
and their glory was at hand.
If we regard Jesus only in his relations with those whose brief and bitter lives he purified from evil and
illumined with ideal joys, we might believe him to have been the perfect type of a meek and suffering saint.
But his character had two sides, and we must look at both. Such is the imperfection of human nature that
extreme love is counterbalanced by extreme hate; every virtue has its attendant vice, which is excited by the
same stimulants, which is nourished by the same food. Martyrs and persecutors resemble one another; their
minds are composed of the same materials. The man who will suffer death for his religious faith will
endeavour to enforce it even unto death. In fact, if Christianity were true religious persecution would become
a pious and charitable duty: if God designs to punish men for their opinions it would be an act of mercy to
mankind to extinguish such opinions. By burning the bodies of those who diffuse them many souls would be
saved that would otherwise be lost, and so there would be an economy of torment in the long run. It is
therefore not surprising that enthusiasts should be intolerant. Jesus was not able to display the spirit of a
persecutor in his deeds, but he displayed it in his words. Believing that it was in his power to condemn his
fellow creatures to eternal torture, he did so condemn by anticipation all the rich and almost all the learned
men among the Jews. It was his belief that God reigned in heaven but that Satan reigned on earth. In a few
years God would invade and subdue the earth. It was therefore his prayer, 'Thy kingdom come; thy will be
done in earth as it is in heaven.' God´s will was not at that time done on earth, which was in the possession of
the Prince of Darkness. It was evident, therefore, that all prosperous men were favourites of Satan, and that
the unfortunate were favourites of God. Those would go with their master to eternal pain: these would be
rewarded by their master with eternal joy.
He did not say that Dives was bad or that Lazarus was good, but merely that Dives had received his good
things on earth and Lazarus his evil things on earth, that afterwards Lazarus was rewarded and Dives
tormented. Dives might have been as virtuous as the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is also clothed in fine
linen and who fares sumptuously every day; Lazarus might have been as vicious as the Lambeth pauper who
prowls round the palace gates, and whose mind, like his body, is full of sores. Not only the inoffensive rich
were doomed by Jesus to hellfire, but also all those who did anything to merit the esteem of their fellow
men. Even those that were happy and enjoyed lifeunless it was in his own companywere lost souls.
'Woe unto you that are rich,' said he, 'for ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you that are full, for ye
shall hunger. Woe unto you that laugh now, for ye shall mourn and weep. Woe unto you when all men shall
speak well of you, for so did their fathers of the false prophets.' He also pronounced eternal punishment on all
those who refused to join him. 'He that believeth and is baptised,' said he 'shall be saved. He that believeth not
shall be damned.'
He supposed that when the kingdom of God was established on earth he would reign over it as viceroy. Those
who wished to live under him in that kingdom must renounce all the pleasures of Satan´s world. They must
sell their property and give the proceeds to the poor, discard all domestic ties, cultivate selfabasement, and
do nothing which could possibly raise them in the esteem of other people. For they could not serve two
masters: they could not be rewarded in the kingdom of this world, which was ruled by Satan, and also in the
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new kingdom, which would be ruled by God. If they gave a dinner they were not to ask their rich friends lest
they should be asked back to dinner, and thus lose their reward. They must ask only the poor, and for that
benevolent action they would be recompensed thereafter. They were not to give alms in public or to pray in
public, and when they fasted, they were to pretend to feast; for if it was perceived that they were devout men
and were praised for their devotion, they would lose their reward. Robbery and violence they were not to
resist. If a man smote them on one cheek they were to offer him the other also; if he took their coat they were
to give him their shirt; if he forced them to go with him one mile they were to go with him two. They were to
love their enemies, to do good to them that did them evil. And why? Not because it was good so to do, but
that they might be paid for the same with compound interest in a future state.
It might be supposed that as in the philosophy of Jesus poverty was equivalent to virtue and misery a passport
to eternal bliss, sickness would be also a beatific state. But Jesus, like the other Jews, believed that disease
proceeded from sin. In Palestine it was always held that a priest or a prophet was the best physician, and
prayer, with the laying on of hands, the most efficacious of all medicines. Among the sins of Asa it is
mentioned that, having sore feet, he went to a doctor instead of to the Lord. Jesus informed those on whom he
laid his hands that their sins were forgiven them, and warned those he healed to sin no more lest a worse
thing should come upon them. Such theological practitioners have always existed in the East, and exist there
at the present day. A text from the Koran written on a board and washed off into a cup of water is considered
God´s own physic; and as the patient believes in it, and as the mind can sometimes influence the body, the
disease is occasionally healed upon the spot. The exploits of the miracle doctor are exaggerated in his
lifetime, and after his death it is declared that he restored sight to men that were born blind, cleansed the
lepers, made the lame to walk, cured the incurable, and raised the dead to life.
In Jerusalem the scribe had succeeded to the seer. The Jews had already a proverb, 'A scholar is greater than a
prophet.' The supernatural gift was regarded with suspicion, and if successful with the vulgar excited envy
and indignation. In the East at the present day there is a permanent hostility between the Mullah, or doctor of
the law, and the dervish, or illiterate 'man of God.' Jesus was, in point of fact, a dervish, and the learned
Pharisees were not inclined to admit the authority of one who spoke a rustic patois and misplaced the
aspirate, and who was no doubt, like other prophets, uncouth in his appearance and uncleanly in his garb. At
Jerusalem Jesus completely failed, and this failure appears to have stung him into bitter abuse of his
successful rivals the missionary Pharisees, and into the wildest extravagance of speech. He called the learned
doctors a generation of vipers, whited sepulchres, and serpents; he declared that they should not escape the
damnation of hell. Because they had made the washing of hands before dinner a religious ablution, Jesus,
with equal bigotry, would not wash his hands at all, though people eat with the hand in the East, and dip their
hands in the same dish. He told his disciples that if a man called another a fool he would be in danger of
hellfire; and whoever spoke against the Holy Ghost, it would not be forgiven him 'neither in this world nor
in the world to come.' He said that if a man had done anything wrong with his hand or his eye, it were better
for him to cut off his guilty hand, or to pluck out his guilty eye, rather than to go with this whole body into
hell. He cursed a fig tree because it bore no fruit, although it was not the season of fruitan action as
rational as that of Xerxes, who flogged the sea. He retorted to those who accused him of breaking the Sabbath
that he was above the Sabbath.
It is evident that a man who talked in such a mannerwho believed that it was in his power to abrogate the
laws of the land, to forgive sins, to bestow eternal happiness upon his friends, and to send all those who
differed from him to everlasting flameswould lay himself open to a charge of blasphemy, and it is also
evident that the 'generation of vipers' would not hesitate to take advantage of the circumstance. But whatever
share personal enmity might have had in the charges that were made against him, he was lawfully condemned
according to Bible law. He declared in open court that they would see him descending in the clouds at the
right hand of the power of God. The High Priest tore his robes in horror; false prophecy and blasphemy had
been uttered to his face.
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After the execution of Jesus his disciples did not return to Galilee: they waited at Jerusalem for his second
coming. They believed that he had died as a human sacrifice for the sins of the people, and that he would
speedily return with an army of angels to establish the kingdom of God on earth. Already in his lifetime these
simple creatures had begun to dispute about the dignities which they should hold at court, and Jesus, who was
not less simple than themselves, had promised that they should sit on twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes
of Israel. He had assured them again and again, in the most positive language, that this event would take
place in their own lifetime. 'Verily, verily,' he said, 'there are some standing here who shall not taste of death
till they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.' They therefore remained at Jerusalem and scrupulously
followed his commands. They established a community of goods, or at least gave away their superfluities to
the poorer members of the Church, and had charitable arrangements for relieving the sick. They admitted
proselytes with the ceremony of baptism. At the evening repast which they held together they broke bread
and drank wine in a certain solemn manner, as Jesus had been wont to do, and as they especially remembered
he did at the Last Supper. But in all respects they were Jews, just as Jesus himself had been a Jew. They
attended divine service in the temple; they offered up the customary sacrifices; they kept the Sabbath; they
abstained from forbidden meats. They held merely the one dogma that Jesus was the Messiah, and that he
would return in power and glory to judge the earth.
Jerusalem was frequented at the time of the pilgrimage by thousands of Jews from the great cities of Europe,
North Africa, and Asia Minor. These pilgrims were of a very different class from the fishermen of Galilee.
They were Jews in religion but they were scarcely Jews in nationality. They were members of great and
flourishing municipalities; they enjoyed political liberty and civil rights. They prayed in Greek and read the
Bible in a Greek translation. Their doctrine was tolerant and latitudinarian. At Alexandria there was a school
of Jews who had mingled the metaphysics of Plato with their own theology. Many of these Greek Jews
became converted, and it is to them that Jesus owes his reputation, Christianity its existence. The Palestine
Jews desired to reserve the Gospel to the Jews. They had no taste or sympathy for the Gentiles, from whom
they lived entirely apart, and who were associated in their minds with the abominations of idolatry, the
payment of taxes, and the persecution of Antiochus. But these same Gentiles, these poor benighted Greeks
and Romans, were the compatriots and fellowcitizens of the Hellenic Jews, who therefore entertained more
liberal ideas upon the subject. Two parties accordingly arosethe conservative or Jewish party, who would
receive no converts except according to the custom of the orthodox Jews in such cases, and the Greek party,
who agitated for complete freedom from the law of Moses. The latter were headed by Paul, an enthusiastic
and ambitious man who refused to place himself under the rule of the twelve apostles, but claimed a special
revelation. A conference was held at Jerusalem, and a compromise was arranged to the effect that pagan
converts should not be subjected to the rite of circumcision, but that they should abstain from pork and
oysters and should eat no animals which had not been killed by the knife.
But the compromise did not last. The Church diverged in discipline and dogma more and more widely from
its ancient form, till in the second century the Christians of Judea, who had faithfully followed the customs
and tenets of the twelve apostles, were informed that they were heretics. During that interval a new religion
had arisen. Christianity had conquered paganism, and paganism had corrupted Christianity. The legends
which belonged to Osiris and Apollo had been applied to the life of Jesus. The single Deity of the Jews had
been exchanged for the Trinity, which the Egyptians had invented and which Plato had idealised into a
philosophic system. The man who had said "Why callest thou me good? There is none good but one, that is
God,' had now himself been made a godor the third part of one. The Hebrew element, however, had not
been entirely cast off. With some little inconsistency, the Jewish sacred books were said to be inspired, and
nearly all the injunctions contained in them were disobeyed. It was heresy to deny that the Jews were the
chosen people, and it was heresy to assert that the Jews would be saved.
The Christian religion was at first spread by Jews who, either as missionaries or in the course of their
ordinary avocations, made the circuit of the Mediterranean world. In all large towns there was a Ghetto or
Jews´ quarter, in which the traveller was received by the people of his own race. There was no regular clergy
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among the Jews, and it was their custom to allow, and even to invite, the stranger to preach in their
synagogue. Doctrines were not strictly defined, and they listened without anger, and perhaps with some hope,
to the statement that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah, and that he would shortly return to establish his
kingdom upon earth. But when these Christians began to preach that the eating of pork was not a deadly sin,
and that God was better pleased with a sprinkle than a slash, they were speedily stigmatised as heretics, and
all the Jewries in the world were closed against them.
Those strange religious and commercial communities, those landless colonies which an Oriental people had
established all over the world, from the Rhone and the Rhine to the Oxus and Jaxarteswhich corresponded
regularly among themselves, and whose members recognised each other, wherever they might be and in
whatever garb, by the solemn phrase, 'Hear, Israel, there is one God!'afforded a model for the Christian
churches of the early days. The primitive Christians did not indeed live together in one quarter like the Jews,
but they gathered together for purposes of worship and administration in set places at appointed times. They
did not establish commercial relations with the Christians in other towns, but they kept up an active social
correspondence, and hospitably entertained the foreign brother who brought letters of introduction as
credentials of his creed. Travelling, though not always free from danger, was unobstructed in those days:
coasters sailed frequently from port to port, and the large towns were connected by paved roads with a
postinghouse at every sixmile stage. All innkeepers spoke Greek: it was not necessary to learn Latin even
in order to reside at Rome.
And now we return to that magnificent city which was adorned with the spoils of a hundred lands, into which
streamed all the wealth, the energy, and the ambition of East and West. OstiaontheSea, where the ancient
citizens had boiled their salt.was now a great port in which the grain from Egypt and Carthage was stored up
in huge buildings, and to which in the summer and autumn came ships from all parts of the world. The road
to Rome was fifteen miles in length, and was lined with villas and with lofty tombs. Outside the city, on the
neighbouring hills, were gardens open to the public; and from these hills were conducted streams, by
subterranean pipes, into the town, where they were trained to run like rivulets, making everywhere a pleasant
murmur, here and there reposing in artificial grottoes or dancing as fountains in the air. The streets were
narrow, and the tall houses buried them in deep shade. They were lined with statues; there was a population
of marble men. Flowers glittered on roofs and balconies. Vast palaces of green and white and golden tinted
marble were surrounded by venerable trees. The Via Sacra was the Regent Street of Rome, and was bordered
with stalls where the silks and spices of the East, the wool of Spain, the glass wares of Alexandria, the
smoked fish of the Black Sea, the wines of the Greek isles, Cretan apples, Alpine cheese, the oysters of
Britain, and the veined wood of the Atlas were exposed for sale. In that splendid thoroughfare a hundred
languages might be heard at once, and as many costumes were displayed as if the universe had been invited
to a fancydress ball. Sometimes a squadron of the Imperial Guard would ride byflaxenhaired, blueeyed
Germans covered with shining steel. Then a procession of palefaces, shaven Egyptian priests, bearing a
statue of Isis and singing melancholy hymns. A Greek philosopher would next pass along with abstracted
eyes and ragged cloak, followed by a boy with a pile of books. Men from the East might be seen with white
turbans and flowing robes, or in sheepskin mantles with high black caps; and perhaps beside them a tattooed
Briton gaping at the shops. Then would come a palanquin with curtains half drawn, carried along at a
swinging pace by sturdy Cappadocian slaves, and within it the fashionable lady with supercilious,
halfclosed eyes, holding a crystal ball between her hands to keep them cool. Next a senator in white and
purple robe, receiving as he walked along the greetings and kisses of his friends and clients, not always of the
cleanest kind.
So crowded were the streets that carriages were not allowed to pass through them in the daytime. The only
vehicles that appeared were the carts employed in the public works; and as they came rolling and grinding
along, bearing huge beams and blocks of stone, the driver cracked his whip and pushed people against the
wall, and there was much squeezing and confusion, during which pickpockets, elegantly dressed, their hands
covered with rings, were busy at their work, pretending to assist the ladies in the crowd. People from the
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country passed towards the market, their mules or asses laden with panniers in which purple grapes and
golden fruits were piled up in profusion, and refreshed the eye, which was dazzled by the stony glare.
Hawkers went about offering matches in exchange for broken glass, and the keepers of the cookshops called
out in cheerful tones, 'Smoking sausages!' 'Sweet boiled peas!' ' Honey wine, O honey wine!' And then there
was the crowd itselfthe bright eyed, darkbrowed Roman people, who played in the shade at dice or
mora like the old Egyptians; who lounged through the temples, which were also the museums, to look at the
curiosities; or who stood in groups reading the advertisements on the walls, and the programmes which
announced that on such and such a day there would be a grand performance in the circus and that all would
be done in the best style. A blue awning, with white stars in imitation of the sky, would shade them from the
sun; trees would be transplanted, and a forest would appear upon the stage; giraffes, zebras, elephants, lions,
ostriches, stags, and wild boars would be hunted down and killed; armies of gladiators would contend; and by
way of afterpiece the arena would be filled with water, and a naval battle would be performedships,
soldiers, wounds, agony, and death being admirably real.
So passed the Roman streetlife day, and with the first hours of darkness the noise and the turmoil did not
cease; for then the travelling carriages rattled towards the gates, and carts filled with dungthe only export
of the city. The music of serenades rose softly in the air, and sounds of laughter from the tavern. The night
watch made their rounds, their armour rattling as they passed. Lights were extinguished, householders put up
their shutters, to which bells were fastenedfor burglaries frequently occurred. And then for a time the city
would be almost still. Dogs, hated by the Romans, prowled about sniffing for their food. Men or prey from
the Pontine Marshes crept stealthily along the black side of the street signalling to one another with sharp
whistles or hissing sounds. Sometimes torches would flash against the walls as a knot of young gallants
reeled home from a debauch, breaking the noses of the street statues on their way. And at such an hour there
were men and women who stole forth from their various houses, and with mantles covering their faces
hastened to a lonely spot in the suburbs, and entered the mouth of a dark cave. They passed through long
galleries, moist with damp and odorous of deathfor coffins were ranged on either side in tiers one above
the other. But soon sweet music sounded from the depths of the abyss; an open chamber came to view, and a
tomb covered with flowers, laid out with a repast, encircled by men and women who were apparelled in white
robes, and who sang a psalm of joy. It was in the catacombs of Rome, where the dead had been buried in the
ancient times, that the Christians met to discourse on the progress of the faith; to recount the trials which they
suffered in their homes; to confess to one another their sins and doubts, their carnal presumption, or their lack
of faith; and also to relate their sweet visions of the night, the answers to their earnest prayers. They listened
to the exhortations of their elders, and perhaps to a letter from one of the apostles. They then supped together
as Jesus had supped with his disciples, and kissed one another when the love feast was concluded. At these
meetings there was no distinction of rank; the high born lady embraced the slave whom she had once
scarcely regarded as a man. Humility and submission were the cardinal virtues of the early Christians; slavery
had not been forbidden by the apostles because it was the doctrine of Jesus that those who were lowest in this
world would be highest in the next, his theory of heaven being earth turned upside down. Slavery therefore
was esteemed a state of grace, and some Christians appear to have rejected the freeman´s cap on religious
grounds, for Paul exhorts such persons to become free if they canadvice which slaves do not usually
require.
As time passed on, the belief of the first Christians that the end of the world was near at hand became fainter
and gradually died away. It was then declared that God had favoured the earth with a respite of one thousand
years. In the meantime the gospel or good tidings which the Christians announced was this. There was one
God, the Creator of the world. He had long been angry with men because they were what he had made them.
But he sent his only begotten son into a corner of Syria, and because his son had been murdered his wrath had
been partly appeased. He would not torture to eternity all the souls that he had made; he would spare at least
one in every million that were born. Peace unto earth and goodwill unto men if they would act in a certain
manner; if not, fire and brimstone and the noisome pit. He was the emperor of heaven, the tyrant of the skies;
the pagan gods were rebels, with whom he was at war, although he was allpowerful, and whom he allowed
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to seduce the souls of men although he was allmerciful. Those who joined the army of the cross might
entertain some hopes of being saved; those who followed the faith of their fathers would follow their fathers
to hellfire. This creed with the early Christians was not a matter of halfbelief and metaphysical debate, as it
is at the present day, when Catholics and Protestants discuss hellfire with courtesy and comfort over filberts
and port wine. To those credulous and imaginative minds God was a live king, hell a place in which real
bodies were burnt with real flames, which was filled with the sickening stench of roasted flesh, which
resounded with agonising shrieks. They saw their fathers and mothers, their sisters and their dearest friends,
hurrying onward to that fearful pit unconscious of danger, laughing and singing, lured on by the fiends whom
they called the gods. They felt as we should feel were we to see a blind man walking towards a river bank.
Who would have the heart to turn aside and say it was the business of the police to interfere? But what was
death, a mere momentary pain, compared with tortures that would have no end? Who that could hope to save
a soul by tears and supplications would remain quiescent as men do now, shrugging their shoulders and
saying that it is not good taste to argue on religion, and that conversion is the office of the clergy? The
Christians of that period felt more and did more than those of the present day, not because they were better
men but because they believed more; and they believed more because they knew less. Doubt is the offspring
of knowledge: the savage never doubts at all.
In that age the Christians believed much, and their lives were rendered beautiful by sympathy and love. The
dark, deep river did not existit was only a fancy of the brain: yet the impulse was not less real. The
heartthrob, the imploring cry, the swift leap, the trembling hand out reached to save; the transport of
delight, the ecstasy of tears, the sweet, calm joy that a man had been wrested from the jaws of deathare
these less beautiful, are these less real, because it afterwards appeared that the man had been in no danger
after all?
In that age every Christian was a missionary. The soldiers sought to win recruits for the heavenly host; the
prisoner of war discoursed to his Persian jailer; the slave girl whispered the gospel in the ears of her mistress
as she built up the mass of towered hair; there stood men in cloak and beard at street corners who, when the
people, according to the manners of the day, invited them to speak, preached not the doctrines of the Painted
Porch but the words of a new and strange philosophy; the young wife threw her arms round her husband´s
neck and made him agree to be baptised, that their souls might not be parted after death. How awful were the
threats of the heavenly despot; how sweet were the promises of a life beyond the grave! The man who strove
to obey the law which was written on his heart, yet often fell for want of support, was now promised a rich
reward if he would persevere. The disconsolate woman whose age of beauty and triumph had passed away
was taught that if she became a Christian her body in all the splendour of its youth would rise again. The poor
slave who sickened from weariness of a life in which there was for him no hope, received the assurance of
another life in which he would find luxury and pleasure when death released him from his woe.
Ah, sweet fallacious hopes of a barbarous and poetic age! Illusion still cherished, for mankind is yet in its
romantic youth! How easy it would be to endure without repining the toils and troubles of this miserable life
if indeed we could believe that when its brief period was past we should be united to those whom we have
loved, to those whom death has snatched away; or whom fate has parted from us by barriers cold and deep
and hopeless as the grave. If we could believe this the shortness of life would comfort ushow quickly the
time flies by!and we should welcome death. But we do not believe it, and so we cling to our tortured lives,
dreading the dark nothingness, dreading the dispersal of our elements into cold, unconscious space. As drops
in the ocean of water, as atoms in the ocean of air, as sparks in the ocean of fire within the earth, our minds
do their appointed work and serve to build up the strength and beauty of the one great human mind which
grows from century to century and from age to age, and is perhaps itself a mere molecule within some higher
mind.
Soon it was whispered that there was in Rome a secret society which worshipped an unknown god. Its
members wore no garlands on their brows; they never entered the temples; they were governed by laws which
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strange and fearful oaths bound them ever to obey; their speech was not as the speech of ordinary men; they
buried instead of burning the bodies of the dead; they married, they educated their children after a manner of
their own. The politicians who regarded the established Church as essential to the safety of the state became
alarmed. Secret societies were forbidden by law, and here was a society in which the tutelary gods of Rome
were denounced as rebels and usurpers. The Christians, it is true, preached passive obedience and the divine
right of kings, but they proclaimed that all men were equal before Goda dangerous doctrine in a
community where more than half the men were slaves. The idle and superstitious lazzaroni did not love the
gods, but they believed in them, and they feared lest the 'atheists,' as they called the Christians, would
provoke the vengeance of the whole divine federation against the city, and that all would be involved in the
common ruin. Soon there came a time when every public calamityan epidemic, a fire, a famine, or a
floodwas ascribed to the anger of the offended gods. And then arose imperial edicts, popular commotions,
and the terrible streetcry of Christiani ad leones!
But the persecutions thus provoked were fitful and brief, and served only to fan the flame. For to those who
believed in heavennot as men now believe, with a slight tincture of perhaps unconscious doubt, but as men
believe in things which they see and hear and feel and knowdeath was merely a surgical operation with the
absolute certainty of consequent release from pain and of entrance into unutterable bliss. The Christians
therefore encountered it with joy, and the sight of their cheerful countenances as they were being led to
execution induced many to inquire what this belief might be which could thus rob death of its dreadfulness
and its despair.
But the great moralists and thinkers of the empire looked coldly down upon this new religion. In their pure
and noble writings they either allude to Christianity with scorn or do not allude to it at all. This circumstance
has occasioned much surprise: it can, however, be easily explained. The success of Christianity among the
people, and its want of success among the philosophers, were due to the same causethe superstition of the
Christian teachers.
Among the missionaries of the present day there are many men who in earnestness and selfdevotion are not
inferior to those of the apostolic times. Yet they almost invariably failthey are too enlightened for their
congregations. With respect to their own religion, indeed, that charge cannot be justly brought against them.
Set them talking on the forbidden apple, Noah´s ark, the sun standing still to facilitate murder, the donkey
preaching to its master, the whale swallowing and ejecting Jonah, the miraculous conception, the water
turned to wine, the figtree withered by a curse, and they will reason like children, or in other words they will
not reason at all; they will merely repeat what they have been taught by their mammas. But when they
discourse to the savage concerning his belief they use the logic of Voltaire, and deride witches and men
possessed in a style which Jesus and the twelve apostles, the fathers of the Church, the popes of the Middle
Ages, and Martin Luther himself would have accounted blasphemous and contrary to Scripture. Now it is
impossible to persuade an adult savage that his gods do not exist, and he considers those who deny their
existence to be ignorant foreigners unacquainted with the divine constitution of his country. Hence he laughs
in his sleeve at all that the missionaries say. But the primitive Christians believed in gods and goddesses,
satyrs and nymphs, as implicitly as the pagans themselves. They did not deny and they did not disbelieve the
miracles performed in pagan temples. They allowed that the gods had great power upon earth, but asserted
that they would have it only for a time; that it ceased beyond the grave; that they were rebels, and that God
was the rightful king. Here then were two classes of men whose intellects were precisely on the same level.
Each had a theory, and the Christian theory was the better of the two. It had definite promises and threats, and
without being too high for the vulgar comprehension, it reduced the scheme of the universe to order and
harmony, resembling that of the great empire under which they lived.
But to the philosophers of that period it was merely a new and noisy form of superstition. Experience has
amply proved that minds of the highest order are sometimes unable to shake off the ideas which they imbibed
when they were children; but to those of whom we speak Christianity was offered when their powers of
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reflection were matured, and it was naturally rejected with contempt. They knew that the pagan gods did not
exist. Was it likely that they would sit at the feet of those who still believed in them? They had long ago
abandoned the religious legends of their own country; they had shaken off the spell which Homer with his
splendid poetry had laid upon their minds. Was it likely that they would believe in the old Arab traditions, or
in these tales of a god who took upon him the semblance of a Jew, and suffered death upon the gallows for
the redemption of mankind? They had obtained by means of intellectual research a partial perception of the
great truth that events result from secondary laws. Was it likely that they would join a crew of devotees who
prayed to God to make the wind blow this way or that way, to give them a dinner, or to cure them of a pain?
When the Tiber overflowed its banks the pagans declared that it was owing to the wrath of the gods against
the Christians: the Christians retorted that it was owing to the wrath of God against the idolaters. To a man
like Pliny, who studied the phenomena with his notebook in his hand, where was the difference between the
two?
In the Greek world Christianity became a system of metaphysics as abstract and abstruse as any son of Hellas
could desire. But in the Latin world it was never the religion of a scholar and a gentleman. It was the creed of
the uneducated people, who flung themselves into it with passion. It was something which belonged to them
and to them alone. They were not acquainted with Cicero or Seneca: they had never tasted intellectual
delights, for the philosophers scorned to instruct the vulgar crowd. And now the vulgar crowd found teachers
who interpreted to them the Jewish books, who composed for them a magnificent literature of sermons and
epistles and controversial treatises, a literature of enthusiasts and martyrs written in blood and fire. The
people had no share in the politics of the empire, but now they had politics of their own. The lower orders
were enfranchised; women and slaves were not excluded. The barbers gossiped theologically. Children
played at church in the streets. The Christians were no longer citizens of Rome. God was their emperor,
heaven was their fatherland. They despised the pleasures of this life; they were as emigrants gathered on the
shore waiting for a wind to waft them to another world. They rendered unto Caesar the things that were
Caesar´s, for so it was written they should do. They honoured the king, for such had been the teaching of St.
Paul. They regarded the emperor as God´s viceregent upon earth, and disobeyed him only when his
commands were contrary to those of God. But this limitation, which it was the business of the bishops to
define, made the Christians a dangerous party in the state. The Emperor Constantine, whose title was
unsound, entered into alliance with this powerful corporation. He made Christianity the religion of the state
and the bishops peers of the realm.
In the days of tribulation it had often been predicted that when the empire became Christian war would cease,
and men would dwell in brotherhood together. The Christian religion united the slave and his master at the
same table and in the same embrace. On the pavement of the basilica men of all races and of all ranks knelt
side by side. If any one were in sickness and affliction it was sufficient for him to declare himself a Christian:
money was at once pressed into his hands: compassionate matrons hastened to his bedside. Even at the time
when the pagans regarded the new sect with most abhorrence they were forced to exclaim, 'See how these
Christians love one another!' It was reasonable to suppose that the victory of this religion would be the
victory of love and peace. But what was the actual result? Shortly after the establishment of Christianity as a
state religion there was uproar and dissension in every city of the Empire; then savage persecutions and
bloody wars, until a pagan historian could observe to the polished and intellectual coterie for whom alone he
wrote that now the hatred of the Christians against one another surpassed the fury of savage beasts against
man.
It is evident that the virtues exhibited by those who gallantly fight against desperate odds for an idea will not
be invariably displayed by those who when the idea is realised enjoy the spoil. It is evident that bishops who
possess large incomes and great authority will not always possess the same qualities of mind as those
spiritual peers who had no distinction to expect except that of being burnt alive. In all great movements of the
mind there can be but one heroic age, and the heroic age of Christianity was past. The Church became the
state concubine; Christianity lost its democratic character. The bishops who should have been the tribunes of
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the people became the creatures of the Crown. Their lives were not always of the most creditable kind, but
their virtues were perhaps more injurious to society than their vices. The mischief was done not so much by
those who intrigued for places and rioted on tithes at Constantinople as by those who, often with the best
intentions, endeavoured to make all men think alike 'according to the law.'
It was the Christian theory that God was a king, and that he enacted laws for the government of men on earth.
Those laws were contained in the Jewish books, but some of them had been repealed and some of them were
exceedingly obscure. Some were to be understood in a literal sense, others were only metaphorical. Many
cases might arise to which no text or precept could be with any degree of certainty applied. What then was to
be done? How was God´s will to be ascertained? The early Christians were taught that by means of prayer
and faith their questions would be answered, their difficulties would be solved. They must pray earnestly to
God for help: and the ideas which came into their heads after prayer would be emanations from the Holy
Ghost.
In the first age of Christianity the Church was a republic. There was no distinction between clergymen and
laymen. Each member of the congregation had a right to preach, and each consulted God on his own account.
The spiritus privatus everywhere prevailed. A committee of presbyters or elders, with a bishop or chairman,
administered the affairs of the community.
The second period was marked by an important change. The bishop and presbyters, though still elected by the
congregation, had begun to monopolise the pulpit; the distinction of clergy and laity was already made. The
bishops of various churches met together at councils or synods to discuss questions of discipline and dogma,
and to pass laws, but they went as representatives of their respective congregations.
In the third period the change was more important still. The congregation might now be appropriately termed
a flock; the spiritus privatus was extinct; the priests were possessed of traditions which they did not impart to
the laymen; the Water of Life was kept in a sealed vessel; there was no salvation outside the Church: no man
could have God for a father unless he had also the Church for a mother, as even Bossuet long afterwards
declared; excommunication was a sentence of eternal death. Henceforth disputes were only between bishops
and bishops, the laymen following their spiritual leaders and often using material weapons on their behalf. In
the synods the bishops now met as princes of their congregations, and under the influence of the Holy Ghost
(spiritu sancto suggerente) issued imperial decrees. The penalties inflicted were of the most terrible nature to
those who believed that hellfire and purgatory were at the disposal of the priesthood, while those who
entertained doubts upon the subject allowed themselves to be cursed and damned with equanimity. But when
the Church became united with the state the secular arm was at its disposal, and was vigorously used.
The bishops were all of them ignorant and superstitious men, but they could not all of them think alike. And
as if to ensure dissent they proceeded to define that which had never existed, and which if it had existed could
never be defined. They described the topography of heaven. They dissected the godhead and expounded the
miraculous conception, giving lectures on celestial impregnations and miraculous obstetrics. They not only
said that 3 was 1, and that 1 was 3: they professed to explain how that curious arithmetical combination had
been brought about. The indivisible had been divided and yet was not divided: it was divisible and yet it was
indivisible; black was white and white was black, and yet there were not two colours, but one colour; and
whoever did not believe it would be damned. In the midst of all this subtle stuff, the dregs and rinsings of the
Platonic school, Arius thundered out the commonsense but heretical assertion that the Father had existed
before the Son. Two great parties were at once formed. A council of bishops was convened at Nicaea to
consult the Holy Ghost. The chair was taken by a man who wore a wig of many colours and a silken robe
embroidered with golden thread. This was Constantine the great, patron of Christianity, Nero of the
Bosphorus, murderer of his wife and son. The discussion was noisy and abusive, and the Arians lost the day.
Yet the matter did not end there. Constantius took up the Arian side. Arian missionaries converted the
Vandals and the Goths. Other emperors took up the Catholics, and they converted the Franks. The court was
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divided by spiritual eunuchs and theological intrigues: the provinces were laid waste by theological wars
which lasted three hundred years. What a world of woe and desolation, what a deluge of blood, because the
Greeks had a taste for metaphysics!
The Arian difference did not stand alone; every province had its own schism. Caste sympathy induced the
emperors to protect the pagan aristocracy from the fury of the bishops, but the heretics belonged chiefly to the
subject nationalities. The Nestorians were men of the Semitic race, the Jacobites were Egyptians, the
Donatists were Berbers. Of such a nature was the treatment which these people received that they were ready
at any time to join the enemies of the empire, whoever they might be. Difference of nationality occasioned
difference in mode of thought. Difference in mode of thought occasioned difference in religious creed.
Difference in religious creed occasioned controversy, riots and persecution. Persecution intensified
distinctions of nationality. Such then was the state of religion in the Grecian world. In the West the Church,
overwhelmed by the barbarians, was displaying virtues in adversity, and was laying the foundations of a
majestic kingdom. But as for the East, Christianity had lived in vain. In Constantinople and in Greece it had
done no good. In Asia, Barbary, and Egypt it had done harm. Its peace was apathy: its activity was war.
Instead of healing the old wounds of conquest it opened them afresh. It was not enough that the peasants of
the ancient race, once masters of the soil, should be crushed with taxes; a new instrument of torture was
invented; their priests were taken from them; their altars were overthrown. But the day of vengeance was at
hand. Soon they would enjoy, under rulers of a different religion but of the same race, that freedom of
conscience which a Christian government refused.
The Byzantine empire in the seventh century included Greece and the islands, with a part of Italy. In Asia and
Africa its possessions were those of the Turkish Empire before the cession of Algiers. There was a Greek
viceroy of Egypt: there were Greek governors in Egypt and Asia Minor, Carthage, and Cyrene. The capital
was fed with Egyptian corn and enriched by silken manufacturesfor two Nestorian monks had brought the
eggs of the silkworm from China in hollow canes. These eggs had been hatched under lukewarm dung, and
the culture of the cocoon had been established for the first time on European soil. The eastern boundary of the
empire was sometimes the Tigris, sometimes the Euphrates; the land of Mesopotamia, which lay between the
rivers, was the subject of continual war between the Byzantines and the Persians.
Alexander the Great had not been long dead before the Parthians, a race of hardy mountaineers, occupied the
lands to the east of the Euphrates, made themselves famous in their wars with Rome, and established a wide
empire. In the third century it was broken up into petty principalities, and a private citizen who claimed to be
heiratlaw of the old Persian kings headed a party, seized the crown, restored the Zoroastrian religion, and
raised the empire to a state of power and magnificence scarcely inferior to that of the Great Kings. But the
Greeks were still in Asia Minor and Egypt, and it became the hereditary ambition of the Persians to drive
them back into their own country. In the seventh century Chosroes the Second accomplished this idea, and
restored the frontiers of Cambyses and the first Darius. He conquered Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt. He
carried his arms to Cryene, and extinguished the last glimmer of culture in that ancient colony. Heraclius, the
Byzantine emperor, was in despair. While the Persians overran his provinces in Asia a horde or Cossacks
threatened him in Europe. Constantinople, he feared, would soon be surrounded, and it already suffered
famine from the loss of Egypt, as Rome had formerly suffered when the Vandals plundered it of Africa. He
determined to migrate to Carthage, and had already prepared to depart when the Patriarch persuaded him to
change his mind. He obtained peace from Persia by sending earth and water in the old style, and by promising
to pay as tribute a thousand talents of gold, a thousand talents of silver, a thousand silk robes, a thousand
horses, and a thousand virgins. But instead of collecting these commodities he collected an army, and
suddenly dashed into the heart of Persia. Chosroes recalled his troops from the newly conquered lands, but
was defeated by the Greeks, and was in his turn compelled to sue for ignominious peace. In the midst of the
triumphs which Heraclius celebrated at Constantinople and Jerusalem, an obscure town on the confines of
Syria was pillaged by a band of Arab horsemen, who cut in pieces some troops which advanced to its relief.
This appeared a trifling event, but it was the beginning of a mighty revolution. In the last eight years of his
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reign Heraclius lost to the Saracens the provinces which he had recovered from the Persians.
The peninsula of Arabia is almost as large as Hindustan, but does not contain a single navigable river. It is for
the most part a sterile tableland furrowed by channels which in winter roar with violent and muddy streams,
and which in summer are completely dry. In these streambeds at a little depth below the surface there is
sometimes a stratum of water which, breaking out here and there into springs, creates a habitable island in the
waste. Such a fruitful wadi or oasis is sometimes extensive enough to form a town, and each town is in itself
a kingdom. This stony, green spotted land was divided into Arabia Petraea on the north and Arabia Deserta
on the south. The north supplied Constantinople, and the south supplied Persia, with mercenary troops; the
leaders, on receiving their pay, established courts at home, and rendered homage to their imperial masters.
The princes of Arabia Deserta ruled in the name of the Chosroes. The princes of Arabia Petraea were proud
to be called the lieutenants of the Caesars.
In the southwest corner of the peninsula there is a range of hills sufficiently high to intercept the passing
clouds and rain them down as streams to the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea. This was the land of Yemen or
Sabaea, renowned for its groves of frankincense and for the wealth of its merchant kings. Its forests in ancient
times were inhabited by squalid negro tribes who lived on platforms in the trees, and whose savage stupor
was ascribed to the drowsy influence of the scented air. The country was afterwards colonised by men of the
Arab race who built ships and established factories on the east coast of Africa, on the coast of Malabar, and in
the island of Ceylon. They did not navigate the Red Sea, but dispatched the Indian goods, the African ivory
and gold dust, and their own fragrant produce by camel caravan to Egypt or to Petra, a great market city in
the north.
The Pharaohs and the Persian kings did not interfere with the merchant princes of Yemen. In the days of the
Ptolemies a few Greek ships made the Indian voyage, but could not compete with the Arabs who had so long
been established in the trade. But the Roman occupation of Alexandria ruined them completely. The just and
moderate government of Augustus, and the demand for Oriental luxuries at Rome, excited the enterprise of
the Alexandrine traders, and a Greek named Hippalus made a remarkable discovery. He observed that the
winds or monsoons of the Indian Ocean regularly blew during six months from east to west and during six
months from west to east. He was bold enough to do what the Phoenicians themselves had never done. He
left the land and sailed right across the ocean to the Indian shore with one monsoon, returning with the next to
the mouth of the Red Sea. By means of this ocean route the India voyage could be made in half the time. The
goods were thereby cheapened, the demand was thereby increased, the Indian Ocean was covered with Greek
vessels, a commercial revolution was created, the coasting and caravan trade of the Arabs came to an end, the
Romans destroyed Aden, and Yemen withered up and remained independent only because it was obscure.
Arabia had always been a land of refuge, for in its terrible deserts security might always be found. To Arabia
had fled the Priests of the Sun after the victories of Alexander and the restoration of Babylonian idolatry. To
Arabia had fled thousands of Jews after the second destruction of Jerusalem. To Arabia had fled thousands of
Christians who had been persecuted by pagan and still more by Christian emperors. The land was divided
among independent princesmany of them were Christians and many of them were Jews. There is nothing
more conducive to an enlightened scepticism, and its attendant spirit toleration, than the spectacle of various
religious creeds each maintained by intelligent and pious men. A king of Arabia Felix in the fourth century
received an embassy from the Byzantine emperor, with a request that Christians might be allowed to settle in
his kingdom, and also that he would make Christianity the religion of the state. He assented to the first
proposition. With reference to the second he replied 'I reign over men´s bodies, not over their opinions. I
exact from my subjects obedience to the government; as to their religious doctrine, the judge of that is the
great Creator.'
But it came to pass that a king of the Jewish persuasion succeeded to the throne: he persecuted his Christian
subjects and made war on Christian kings, burning houses, men, and gospels wherever he could find them. A
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Christian Arab made his escape, travelled to Constantinople, and, holding up a charred Testament before the
throne, demanded help in the name of the Redeemer. The emperor at once prepared for war, and dispatched
an envoy to his faithful ally the Negus of Abyssinia.
The old kingdom of Ethiopia had escaped Cambyses and Alexander, and had lost its independence to the
Ptolemies only for a time. The Romans made an Abyssinian expedition with complete success, but withdrew
from the savage country in disdain. Ethiopia was left to its own devices, which soon became of an
Africanising nature. The priests kept the king shut up in his palace and when it suited their convenience sent
him word, in the African style, that he must be tired and that it would be good for him to sleep; upon which
he migrated to the lower world with his favourite wives and slaves. But there was once a king named
Ergamenes who had improved his mind by the study of Greek philosophy, and who, when he received the
message of the priests, soon gave them a proof that they were quite mistaken, and that so far from being
sleepy he was wide awake. He ordered them to collect in the Golden Chapel, and then, marching in with his
guards, he put them all to death. From that time Abyssinia became a military kingdom. As the princes of
Numidia had used elephants after the destruction of the Carthaginian republic, so the Abyssinians used them
in pageantry and war long after the days of the Ptolemies, who had first shown them how the huge beasts
might be entrapped. Hindus were probably employed by the Ptolemies, as they were by the Carthaginians, for
the management of the elephantine stud. In the fourth century two shipwrecked Christians converted the king
and his people to the new religiona beneficial event, for thus they were brought into connection with the
Roman Empire. The Patriarch of Alexandria was the Abyssinian pope, as he is at the present day, and during
all these years he has never ceased to send them their aboona or archbishop. This ecclesiastic is regarded with
much reverence; he costs six thousand dollars; he is never allowed to smoke; and by way of blessing he spits
upon his congregation, who believe that the episcopal virtue resides in the saliva, and not, as we think, in the
fingers´ends.
Abyssinia had still its ancient seaport in Annesley Bay, and sent trading vessels to the India coast. The
Byzantine emperor, having made his proposals through the Patriarch of Alexandria, and having received from
the Negus a favourable reply, dispatched a fleet of transports down the Red Sea; the king filled them with his
brigand troops; Yemen was invaded and subdued, and now it was the Christians who began to persecute.
Another Arab prince ran off for help, and he went to the Persian king, who at first refused to take the country
as a gift, saying it was too distant and too poor. However, at last he ordered the prisons to be opened, and
placed all the ablebodied convicts they contained at the disposal of the prince. The Abyssinians were driven
out, but they returned and reconquered the land. Chosroes then sent a regular army with orders to kill all the
men with black skins and curly hair. Thus Yemen became a Persian province, and no less than three great
religionsthat of Zoroaster, that of Moses, and that of Jesuswere represented in Arabia.
Midway between Yemen and Egypt is a sandy valley two miles in length, surrounded on all sides by naked
hills. No gardens or fields are to be seen; no trees except some low brushwood and the acacia of the desert.
On all sides are barren and sunburnt rocks. But in the midst of this valley is a wonderful well. It is not that the
water is unusually cool and sweet connoisseurs pronounce it 'heavy' to the tastebut it affords an
inexhaustible supply. No matter what quantity may be drawn up, the water in the well remains always at the
same height. It is probably fed by a perennial stream below.
This valley, on account of its well, was made the haltingplace of the India caravans, and there the goods
changed carriersthe south delivered them over to the north. As the north and south were frequently at war,
the valley was hallowed with solemn oaths for the protection of the trade. A sanctuary was established; the
well Zemzem became sacred; its fame spread, and it was visited from all parts of the land by the diseased and
the devout. The tents of the valley tribe became a city of importance, enriched by the customs receipts and
dues of protection, and by the carrier hire of the caravans. When the navigation of the Red Sea put an end to
the carrying trade by land the city was deserted; its inhabitants returned to the wandering Bedouin life. In the
fifth century, however, it was restored by an enterprising man, and the shrine was rebuilt. Mecca was no
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longer a wealthy town; it was no longer situated on one of the highways of the world; but it manufactured a
celebrated leather, and sent out two caravans a yearone to Syria and one to Abyssinia. Some of the
Meccans were rich men; Byzantine gold pieces and Persian copper coins circulated in abundance; the ladies
dressed themselves in silk, had Chinese lookingglasses, wore shoes of perfumed leather, and made
themselves odorous of musk. It was the fame of Mecca as a holy place which brought this wealth into the
town. The citizens lived upon the pilgrims. However, they esteemed it a pious duty to give hospitality if it
was required to the 'guests of God, who came from distant cities on their lean and jaded camels, fatigued and
harassed with the dirt and squalor of the way.' The poor pilgrims were provided during six days with pottage
of meat and bread and dates; leather cisterns filled with water were also placed at their disposal.
During four months of the year there was a Truce of God, and the Arab tribes, suspending their hostilities,
journeyed towards Mecca. As soon as they entered the Sacred Valley they put on their palmers´weeds,
proceeded at once to the Caaba or house of God, walked round it naked seven times, kissed the black stone
and drank of the waters of the famous well. Then a kind of Eisteddfod was held. The young men combated in
martial games; poems were recited, and those which gained the prize were copied with illuminated characters
and hung up on the Caaba before the goldenplated door.
There was no regular government in the holy city, no laws that could be enforced, no compulsory courts of
justice, and no public treasury. The city was composed of several families or clans belonging to the tribe of
the Corayshites, by whom New Mecca had been founded. Each family inhabited a cluster of houses
surrounding a courtyard and well, the whole enclosed by solid walls. Each family was able to go to war and
to sustain a siege. If a murder was committed the injured family took the law into its own hands; sometimes it
would accept a pecuniary compensation there was a regular tariffbut more frequently the money was
refused. They had a belief that if blood was not avenged by blood a small winged insect issued from the skull
of the murdered person and fled screeching through the sky. It was also a point of honour on the part of the
guilty clan to protect the murderer and to adopt his cause. Thus blood feuds rose easily and died hard.
The head of the family was a despot, and enjoyed the power of life and death over the members of his own
house. But he had also severe responsibilities. It was his duty to protect those who dwelt within the circle of
his yard; all its inmates called him father; to all of them he owed the duties of a parent. If his son was little
better than a slave, on the other hand his slave was almost equal to a son. It sometimes happened that
masterless men, travellers, or outcasts required his protection. If it was granted, the stranger entered the
family, and the father was accountable for his debts, delicts, and torts. The body of the delinquent might be
tendered in lieu of fine or feud, but this practice was condemned by public opinion, and in all semisavage
communities public opinion has considerable power.
There was a townhall in which councils were held to discuss questions relating to the common welfare of
the federated families, but the minority were not bound by the voice of the majority. If, for instance, it was
decided to make war, a single family could hold aloof. In this townhall marriages were celebrated,
circumcisions were performed, and young girls were invested with the dress of womanhood. It was the
starting place of the militia and the caravans. It was near the Caaba and opened towards it: in Mecca the
Church was closely united to the state.
Throughout all time Mecca had preserved its independence and its religion; the ancient idolatry had there a
sacred home. The Meccans recognised a single creator, Allah Taala, the Most High God, who Abraham, and
others before Abraham, had adored. But they believed that the stars were live beings, daughters of the Deity,
who acted as intercessors on behalf of men; and to propitiate their favour idols were made to represent them.
Within the Caaba or around it were also images of foreign deities and of celebrated men; a picture of Mary
with the child Jesus in her lap was painted on a column, and a portrait of Abraham with a bundle of divining
arrows in his hands upon the wall.
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Among the Meccans there were many who regarded that idolatry with abhorrence and contempt; yet to that
idolatry their town owed all that it possessed, its wealth and its glory, which extended round a crescent of a
thousand miles. They were therefore obliged as good citizens to content themselves with seeking a simpler
religion for themselves, and those who did protest against the Caaba gods were persuaded to silence by their
families, or, if they would not be silent, were banished from the town under penalty of death if they returned.
But there rose up a man whose convictions were too strong to be hushed by the love of family or to be
quelled by the fear of death. Partly owing to his age and dignified position and unblemished name, partly
owing to the chivalrous nature of his patriarch or patron, he was protected against his enemies, his life was
saved. Had there been a government at Mecca, he would unquestionably have been put to death, and as it was
he narrowly escaped.
Mohammed was a poor lad subject to a nervous disease which made him at first unfit for anything except the
despised occupation of the shepherd.
When he grew up he became a commercial traveller, acted as agent for a rich widow twentyfive years older
than himself, and obtained her hand. They lived happily together for many years. They were both of them
exceedingly religious people, and in the Ramadan, a month held sacred by the ancient Arabs, they used to
live in a cave outside the town, passing the time in prayer and meditation.
The disease of his childhood returned upon him in his middle age; it affected his mind in a strange manner,
and produced illusions of his senses. He thought that he was haunted, that his body was the house of an evil
spirit. 'I see a light,' he said to his wife, 'and I hear a sound. I fear that I am one of the possessed.' This idea
was most distressing to a pious man. He became pale and haggard; he wandered about on the hill near Mecca,
crying out to God for help. More than once he drew near the edge of a cliff, and was tempted to hurl himself
down and so put an end to his misery at once.
And then a new idea possessed his mind. He lived much in the open air, gazing on the stars, watching the dry
ground grown green beneath the gentle rain, surveying the firmly rooted mountains and the broad expanded
plain. He pondered also on the religious legends of the Jews which he had heard related on his journeys, at
noonday beneath the palm tree by the well mouth, at night by the camp fire; and as he looked and thought,
the darkness was dispelled, the clouds dispersed, and the vision of God in solitary grandeur rose up within his
mind. And there came upon him an impulse to speak of God; there came upon him a belief that he was a
messenger of God sent on earth to restore the religion of Abraham which the pagan Arabs had polluted with
their idolatry, the Christians in making Jesus a divinity, the Jews in corrupting their holy books.
In the brain of a poet stanzas will sometimes arise fully formed without a conscious effort of the will, as once
happened to Coleridge in a dream; and so into Mohammed´s halfdreaming mind there flew goldenwinged
verses echoing to one another in harmonious sound. At the same time he heard a Voice; and sometimes he
saw a human figure; and sometimes he felt a noise in his ears like the tinkling of bells, or a low, deep hum as
if bees were swarming round his head. At this period of his life every chapter of the Koran was delivered in
throes of pain. The paroxysm was preceded by depression of spirits; his face became clouded; his extremities
turned cold; he shook like a man in an ague and called for a covering. His face assumed an expression
horrible to see; the vein between his eyebrows became distended; his eyes were fixed; his head moved to and
fro, as if he was conversing; and then he gave forth the oracle or sudra. Sometimes he would fall like a man
intoxicated to the ground, but the ordinary conclusion of the fit was a profuse perspiration, by which he
appeared to be relieved. His sufferings were at times unusually severehe used often to speak of the three
terrific sudras which had given him grey hairs.
His friends were alarmed at his state of mind. Some ascribed it to the eccentricities of poetical genius; others
declared that he was possessed of an evil spirit; others said he was insane. When he began to preach against
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the idols of the Caaba, the practice of female infanticide, and other evil customs of the town; when he
declared that there was no divine being but God, and that he was the messenger of God; when he related the
ancient legends of the prophets which he said had been told him by the angel Gabriel, there was a general
outburst of merriment and scorn. They said he had picked it all up from a Christian who kept a jeweller´s
shop in the town. They requested him to perform miracles; the poets composed comic ballads which the
people sang when he began to preach; the women pointed at him with the finger; it became an amusement of
the children to pelt Mohammed. This was perhaps the hardest season of his liferidicule is the most terrible
of all weapons. But his wife encouraged him to persevere, and so did the Voice, which came to him and sang:
'By the brightness of the morn that rises, and by the darkness of the night that descends, thy God hath not
forsaken thee, Mohammed. For know that there is a life beyond the grave, and it will be better for thee than
thy present life; and thy Lord will give thee a rich reward. Did he not find thee an orphan, and did he not care
for thee? Did he not find thee wandering in error, and hath he not guided thee to truth? Did he not find thee
needy, and hath he not enriched thee? Wherefore oppress not the orphan, neither repulse the beggar, but
declare the goodness of the Lord.'
This Voice was the echo of Mohammed’s conscience and the expression of his ideas. Owing to his peculiar
constitution his thoughts became audible as soon as they became intense. So long as his mind remained pure,
the Voice was that of a good angel; when afterwards guilty wishes entered his heart, the voice became that of
Mephistopheles.
Mohammed’s family did not accept his mission: his converts were at first chiefly made among the slaves. But
soon these converts became so numerous among all classes that the Meccans ceased to ridicule Mohammed
and began to hate him. Nor did he attempt to ingratiate himself in their affections. 'He called the living fools,
the dead denizens of hellfire.' The heads of families took counsel together. They went to Abu Talib, the
patriarch of the house to which Mohammed belonged, and offered the price of blood, and then double the
price of blood, and then a stalwart young man for Mohammed’s life, and then, being always refused, went off
declaring that there would be war. Abu Talib adjured Mohammed not to ruin the family. The prophet’s lip
quivered: he burst into tears, but he said he must go on. Abu Talib hinted that his protection might be
withdrawn. Then Mohammed declared that if the sun came down on his right hand and the moon on his left
he would not swerve from the work which God had given him to do. Abu Talib, finding him inflexible,
assured him that his protection should never be withdrawn. In the meantime the patriarchs returned and said,
'What is it that you want, Mohammed? Do you wish for riches? We will make you rich. Do you wish for
honour? We will make you the mayor of the town.' Mohammed replied with a chapter of the Koran. They
then assembled in the town hall and entered into a solemn league and covenant to keep apart from the family
of Abu Talib. It was sent to Coventry. None would buy with them nor sell with them, eat with them nor drink
with them. This lasted for three years, but when as people passed by the house they heard the cries of the
starving children from behind the walls, they relented and sold them grain. There was one member of the
family, Abu Laheb, who withdrew from it at that juncture and became Mohammed’s most inveterate foe.
Each family agreed also to punish its own Mohammedans. Many were exposed to the glow of the midday sun
on the scorching gravel outside the town, and to the torments of thirst. A mulatto slave was tortured by a
great stone being placed on his chest, the while he cried out continually, 'There is only one God! There is
only one God!' Mohammed recommended his disciples to escape to Abyssinia, 'a land of righteousness, a
land where none was wronged.' They were kindly received by the Negus, who refused to give them up in
spite of the envoys with presents of red leather who were sent to him from Mecca with that request.
During the period of the sacred months Mohammed used often to visit the encampments of the pilgrims
outside the town. He announced to them his mission; he preached on the unity of God and on the terrors of
the judgmentday. 'God has no daughters,' said he, 'for how can he have daughters when he has no spouse?
He begetteth not, neither is he begotten. There is none but he. O beware, ye idolators, of the time that is to
come, when the sun shall be folded up, when the stars shall fall, when the mountains shall be made to pass
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away, when the children’s hair shall grow white with anguish, when souls like locust swarms shall rise from
their graves, when the girl who hath been buried alive shall be asked for what crime she was put to death,
when the books shall be laid open, when every soul shall know what it hath wrought! O the striking, the
striking, when men shall be scattered as moths in the wind! And then Allah shall cry to Hell, Art thou filled
full? And Hell shall cry to Allah, More, give me more!'
But there followed him everywhere a squint eyed man, fat, with flowing locks on both sides of his head, and
clothed in raiment of fine Aden stuff. When Mohammed had finished his sermon he would say, 'This fellow’s
object is to draw you away from the gods to his fanciful ideas; wherefore follow him not, O my brothers,
neither listen to him.' And who should this be but his uncle, Abu Laheb! Whereupon the strangers would
reply, 'Your own kinsmen ought to know you best. Why do they not believe you if what you say is true?' In
return for these kind offices Mohammed promised his uncle that he should go down to be burned in flaming
fire, and that his wife should go too, bearing a load of wood, with a cord of twisted palm fibres round her
neck.
And now two great sorrows fell upon Mohammed. He lost almost at the same time his beloved wife and the
noblehearted parent of his clan. The successor of Abu Talib continued the protection, yet Mohammed felt
insecure. His religion also made but small progress. The fact is that he failed at Mecca as Jesus had failed at
Jerusalem. He had made a few ardent disciples who spent the day at his feet, or in reading snatches of the
Koran scrawled on date leaves, shoulderblades of sheep, camel bones, scraps of parchment, or tablets of
smooth white stone. But he had not so much as shaken the ruling idolatry, which was firmly based on custom
and selfinterest. No doubt his disciples would in course of time have diffused his religion throughout
Arabia. Islam was formed; Islam was alive; but Mohammed himself would never have witnessed its triumph
had it not been for a curious accident which now occurred. The Arabs belonging to that city which was
afterwards called Medina had conquered a tribe of Jews. These had consoled themselves for the bitterness of
their defeat by declaring that a great prophet, the Messiah, would soon appear, and would avenge them upon
all their foes. The Arabs believed them and trembled, for they stood in great dread of the book which the
Jews possessed, and which they supposed to be a magical composition. So, when certain pilgrims from
Medina heard Mohammed announce that he was a messenger from God, they took it for granted that he was
the man, and determined to steal a march upon the Jews by securing him for themselves. At their request he
sent a missionary to Medina; the townsmen were converted, and invited him to come and live among them. In
a dark ravine near Mecca, at the midnight hour, his patriarch or father delivered him solemnly into their
hands. Mohammed was now no longer a citizen of Mecca; he was no longer 'protected'; he had changed his
nationality, and he was hunted like a deer before he arrived safely in his new home.
Had Mohammed been killed in that celebrated flight he would have been classed by historians among the
glorious martyrs and the gentle saints. His character before the Hegira resembled the character of Jesus. In
both of them we find the same sublime insanity, compounded of loyalty to God, love for man, and inordinate
selfconceit; both were subject to savage fits of wrath, and having no weapons but their tongues, consigned
souls by wholesale to hellfire. Both also humbled themselves before God, preaching the religion of the
heart, led pure, unblemished lives, devoted themselves to a noble cause, and uttered maxims of charity and
love at strange variance with their occasional invectives. Of the life of Jesus it is needless to speak; if he had
any vices they have not been recorded. But the conduct of Mohammed at Mecca was apparently not less pure.
He was married to an old woman; polygamy was a custom of the land; his passions were strong, as was
afterwards too plainly shown; yet he did not take a second wife as long as his dear Khadijah was alive. He
never frequented the wineshop or looked at the dancing girls or talked abroad in the bazaars. He was more
modest than a virgin behind the curtain. When he met children he would stop and pat their cheeks; he
followed the bier that passed him in the street; he visited the sick; he was kind to his inferiors; he would
accept the invitation of a slave to dinner; he was never the first to withdraw his hand when he shook hands;
he was humble, gentle, and kind; he waited always on himself, mending his own clothes, milking his own
goats; he never struck any one in his life. When once asked to curse someone he said, 'I have not been sent to
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curse but to be a mercy to mankind.' He reproached himself in the Koran for having behaved unkindly to a
beggar, and so immortalised his own offence. He issued a text, 'Use no violence in religion.'
But this text, with many others, he afterwards expunged. When he arrived at Medina he found himself at the
head of a small army, and he began to publish his gospel of the sword. Henceforth we may admire the
statesman or the general; the prophet is no more. It will hence be inferred that Mohammed was hypocritical,
or at least inconstant. But he was constant throughout his life to the one object which he had in viewthe
spread of his religion. At Mecca it could best be spread by means of the gentle virtues; he therefore ordered
his disciples to abstain from violence which would only do them harm. At Medina he saw that the Caaba
idolatry could not be destroyed except by force; he therefore felt it his duty to make use of force. He obeyed
his conscience both at Mecca and Medina, for the conscience is merely an organ of the intellect, and is
altered, improved, or vitiated according to the education which it receives and the incidents which act upon it.
And now Mohammed’s glory expanded, and at the same time his virtue declined. He broke the Truce of God:
he was not always true to his plighted word. As Moses forbade the Israelites to marry with the pagans and
then took unto himself an Ethiopian wife, so Mohammed, broke his own marriage laws, beginning the career
of a voluptuary at fifty years of age. His Koran sudras were now official manifestoes, legal regulations,
delivered in an extravagant and stilted style differing much from that of his fervid oracles at Mecca. But
whatever may have been his private defects, when we regard him as a ruler and lawgiver we can only wonder
and admire. He established for the first time in history a united Arabia. In the moral life of his countrymen he
effected a remarkable reform. He abolished drunkenness and gamblingvices to which the Arabs had been
specially addicted. He abolished the practice of infanticide, and also succeeded in rendering its memory
detestable. It is said that Omar, the fierce apostle of Islam, shed but one tear in his life, and that was when he
remembered how in the days of darkness his child had beat the dust off his beard with her little hand as he
was laying her in the grave. Polygamy and slavery he did not prohibit, but whatever laws he made respecting
women and slaves were made with the view of improving their condition. He removed that facility of divorce
by means of which an Arab could at any time repudiate his wife: he enacted that no Moslem should be made
a slave, that the children of a slave girl by her master should be free. Instead of repining that Mohammed did
no more, we have reason to be astonished that he did so much. His career is the best example that can be
given of the influence of the individual in human history. That single man created the glory of his nation and
spread his language over half the earth. The words which he preached to jeering crowds twelve hundred years
ago are now being studied by scholars or by devotees in London and Paris and Berlin; in Mecca, where he
laboured, in Medina, where he died; in Constantinople, in Cairo, in Fez, in Timbuktu, in Jerusalem, in
Damascus, in Basra, in Baghdad, in Bokhara, in Kabul, in Calcutta, in Pekin; on the steppes of Central Asia,
in the islands of the Indian Archipelago, in lands which are as yet unmarked upon our maps, in the oases of
thirsty deserts, in obscure villages situated by unknown streams. It was Mohammed who did all this, for he
uttered the book which carried the language, and he prepared the army which carried the book. His disciples
and successors were not mad fanatics but resolute and sagacious men, who made shrewd friendship with the
malcontent Christians among the Greeks and with the persecuted Jews in Spain, and who in a few years
created an empire which extended from the Pyrenees to the Hindu Kush.
This empire, it is true, was soon divided, and soon became weak in all its parts. The Arabs could conquer, but
they could not govern. Separate sovereignties or caliphates were established in Babylonia, Egypt, and Spain,
while provinces such as Morocco or Bokhara frequently obtained independence by rebellion. It is needless to
describe at length the history of the Caliphs and their successorsit is only the twicetold tale of the
Euphrates and the Nile. The caliphs were at first Commanders of the Faithful in reality, but they were soon
degraded both in Cairo and Baghdad to the position of the Roman Pope at the present time. The government
was seized by the Praetorian Guards, who in Baghdad were descended from Turkish prisoners or negroes
imported from Zanzibar, and in Egypt from Mamelukes or European slaves, brought in their boyhood from
the wild countries surrounding the Black Sea, and trained up from tender years to the practice of armsthe
sons of Christian parents, but branded with a cross on the soles of their feet that they might never cease to
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tread upon the emblem of their native creed.
However, by means of the Arab conquest the East was united as it had never been before. The Euphrates was
no longer a line of partition between two worlds. Arab traders established their factories on both sides of the
Indian Ocean and along the Asiatic shores of the Pacific. Men from all countries met at Mecca once a year.
The religion of the Arabs conquered nations whom the Arabs themselves had never seen. When the
Mohammedan Turks of Central Asia took Constantinople and reduced the caliphates to provinces, although
the people of Mohammed were driven back to their wilderness the strength and glory of his religion was
increased. In the same manner the conquest of Hindustan was an achievement of Islam in which the Arabs
bore no part, and in Africa also we shall find that the Koran reigns over extensive regions which the Arabs
visit only as travellers and merchants.
Once upon a time Morocco and Spain were one country, and Europe extended to the Atlas mountains, which
stood upon the shores of a great salt sea. Beyond that ocean, to the south, lay the Dark Continent, surrounded
on all sides by water except on the northeast, where it was joined to Asia near Aden by an isthmus. A
geological revolution converted the African ocean into a sandy plain, and the straits of Babel Mandeb and
Gibraltar were torn open by the retreating waves. But the Sahara, though no longer under water, is still in
reality a sea; the true Africa begins on its southern coast, and is entirely distinct from the Europeanlike
countries between the Mediterranean and the Atlas, and from the strip of garden land which is cast down
every year in the desert by the Nile. The Black Africa or Sudan is a gigantic tableland; its sides are built of
granite mountains which surround it with a parapet or brim, and which send down rivers on the outside
towards the sea, on the inside into the plateau. The outside rivers are brief and swift: the inside rivers are long
and sluggish in their course, winding in all directions, collecting into enormous lakes, and sometimes flowing
forth through gaps in the parapet to the Sahara or the sea.
A tableland is seldom so uniform and smooth as the word denotes. The African plateau is intersected by
mountain ranges and ravines, juts into volcanic isolated cones, and varies much in its climate, its aspect, its
productions, and its altitude above the sea. It may be divided into platforms or river basins which are true
geographical provinces, and each of which should be labelled with the names of its explorers. There is the
platform of Abyssinai, which belongs to Bruce; the platform of the White Nile, including the Lakes of Burton
(Tanganyika), of Speke (Victoria Nyanza), and of Baker (Albert Nyanza); the platform of the Zambezi, with
its lakes Nyasa and Ngami, discovered by Livingstone, the greatest of African explorers; the platform of the
Congo, including the regions of Western Equatorial Africa, hitherto unexplored; the platform of South Africa
(below 20º S.), which enjoys an Australian climate, and also Australian wealth in its treasurefilled
mountains and its woolabounding plains; and lastly the platform of the Niger, which deserves a place, as
will be shown, in universal history. The discoverers of the Niger in its upper are Park (who first saw the
Niger), Caillie, and myself: in its central and eastern parts Laing, who first reached Timbuktu; Caillie, who
first returned from it; Denham, Clapperton, Lander, and Barth.
The original inhabitants of Africa were the Hottentots or Bushmen, a dwarfish race who have restless,
rambling, apelike eyes, a click in their speech, and bodies which are the wonder of anatomists. They are
now found only on the South African platform, or perhaps here and there on the platform of the Congo. They
have been driven southward by the negroes, as the Eskimos in America were driven north by the Red Indians
and the Finns in Europe by the Celtic tribes, while the negroes themselves have yielded in some parts of
Africa to Asiatic tribes, as the Celts in Gaul and Britain yielded to the Germans.
These negroes are sometimes of so deep a brown that the skin appears to be quite black; sometimes their skin
is as light as a mulatto’s. The average tint is a rich deep bronze. Their eyes are dark, though blue eyes are
occasionally seen; their hair is black, though sometimes of rusty red, and is always of a woolly texture. To
this rule there are no exceptionsit is the one constant character, the one infallible sign by which the race
may be detected. Their lips are not invariably thick; their noses are frequently well formed. In physical
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appearance they differ widely from one another. The inhabitants of the swamps, the dark forests and the
mountains are flatnosed, long armed, and thincalved, with mouths like mussles, broad splay feet, and
projecting heels. It was for the most part from this class that the American slave markets were supplied; the
negroes of the States and the West Indies represent the African in the same manner as the people of the
Pontine Marshes represent the inhabitants of Italy. The negroes of South Africa stand at the opposite extreme.
Enjoying an excellent climate and a wholesome supply of food, they are superior to most other people of their
race. Yet it is certain that they are negroes, for they have woolly hair, and they do not differ in language or
manners from the inhabitants of the other platforms. When the Portuguese first traded on the African coasts
they gave the name Caffres (or pagans) to the negroes of Guinea, as well as to those of the Cape and
Mozambique. It is quite an accident that the name has been retained for the latter tribes alone, yet such is the
power of a name that the Caffres and negroes are universally supposed to be distinct. It is impossible,
however, to draw any line between the two. Pure negroes are born on the coast of Guinea and in the interior
with complexions as light, with limbs as symmetrical, and with features as near to the European standard as
can be found in all Caffraria. Between the hideous being of the Nile and Niger deltas and the robust
shepherds of the south, or the aristocratic chieftains of the west, there is a wide difference, no doubt but
intermediate gradations exist.
There is also much variety among the negroes in respect to manners, mental condition, political government,
and mode of life. Some tribes live only on the fruit of net and spear, eked out with insects and berries and
shells. Property is ill defined among them; if a man makes a canoe the others use it when they please; if he
builds a better house than his neighbours they pull it down. Others, though still in the hunting condition, have
gardens of plantains and cassada. In this condition the headman of the village has little power, but property is
secured by law. Other tribes are pastoral, and resemble the Arabs in their laws and customs; the patriarchal
system prevails among them. There are regions in which the federal system prevails; many villages are
leagued together; and the headmen, acting as deputies of their respective boroughs, meet in congress to
debate questions of foreign policy and to enact laws. Large empires exist in the Sudan. In some of these the
king is a despot who possesses a powerful bodyguard equivalent to a standing army, a court with its
regulations of etiquette, and a wellordered system of patronage and surveillance. In others he is merely an
instrument in the hands of priests or military nobles, and is kept concealed, giving audience from behind a
curtain to excite the veneration of the vulgar. There are also thousands of large walled cities resembling those
of Europe in the Middle Ages, or of ancient Greece, or of Italy before the supremacy of Rome, encircled by
pastures and by arable estates, and by farming villages to which the citizens repair at harvesttime to
superintend the labour of their slaves. But such cities, with their villeggiatura, their municipal government,
their agora or forum, their fortified houses, their feuds and street frays of Capulet and Montague, are not
indigenous in Africa; their existence is comparatively modern and is due to the influence of religion.
An African village (old style) is usually a street of huts, with walls like hurdles, and the thatch projecting so
that its owner may sit beneath it in sun or rain. The door is lowone has to crawl in order to go in. There are
no windows. The house is a single room. In its midst burns a fire which is never suffered to go out, for it is a
light in darkness, a servant, a companion, and a guardian angel; it purifies the miasmatic air. The roof and
walls are smokedried but clean; in one corner is a pile of wood neatly cut up into billets, and in another is a
large earthen jar filled with water on which floats a gourd or calabash, a vegetable bowl. Spears, bows,
quivers, and nets hang from pegs upon the walls. Let us suppose that it is night; four or five black forms are
lying in a circle with their feet toward the fire, and two dogs with prickedup ears creep close to the ashes
which are becoming grey and cold.
The day dawns; a dim light appears through the crevices and crannies of the walls. The sleepers rise and roll
up their mats, which are their beds, and place on one side the round logs of wood which are their pillows. The
man takes down his bow and arrows from the wall, fastens wooden rattles round his dogs’ necks, and goes
out into the bush. The women replenish the fire, and lift up an inverted basket whence sally forth a hen and
her chickens which make at once for the open door to find their daily bread for themselves outside. The
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women take hoes and go to the plantation, or they take pitchers to fill at the brook. They wear round the
waist, before and behind, two little aprons made from a certain bark, soaked and beaten until it is as flexible
as leather. Every man has a plantation of these clothtrees round his hut. The unmarried girls wear no clothes
at all, but they are allowed to decorate themselves with bracelets and anklets of iron, flowers in their ears,
necklaces of red berries like coral, girdles of white shells, hair oiled and padded out with the chignon, and
sometimes white ashes along the parting.
The ladies fill their pitchers and take their morning bath, discussing the merits or demerits of their husbands.
The air is damp and cold, and the trees and grass are heavy with dew; but presently the sun begins to shine,
the dewdrops fall heavy and large as drops of rain; the birds chirp; the flowers expand their drowsy leaves
and receive the morning calls of butterflies and bees. The forest begins to buzz and hum like a great factory
awaking to its work.
When the sun is high, boys come from the bush with vegetable bottles frothing over with palm wine. The
cellar of the African, and his glass and china shop, and his clothing warehouse, are in the trees. In the midst
of the village is a kind of shed, a roof supported on bare poles. It is the palaver house, in which at this hour
the old men sit and debate the affairs of state or decide law suits, each orator holding a spear when he is
speaking, and planting it in the ground before him as he resumes his seat. Oratory is the African’s one fine
art. His delivery is fluent; his harangues, though diffuse, are adorned with phrases of wild poetry. That
building is also the club house of the elders, and there, when business is over, they pass the heat of the day,
seated on logs which are smooth and shiny from use. At the hour of noon their wives or children bring them
palm wine, and present it on their knees, clapping their hands in a token of respect. And then all is still; it is
the hour of silence and tranquillity, the hour which the Portuguese call ' the calm.' The sun sits enthroned on
the summit of the sky; its white light is poured upon the earth; the straw thatch shines like snow. The forest is
silent; all nature sleeps.
Then down, down, down sinks the sun, and its rays shoot slantwise through the trees. The hunters return, and
their friends run out and greet them as if they had been gone for years, murmuring to them in a kind of baby
language, calling them by their names of love, shaking their right hands, caressing their faces, patting them
upon their breasts, embracing them in all ways except with the lipsfor the kiss is unknown among the
Africans. And so they toy and babble and laugh with one another till the sun turns red, and the air turns
dusky, and the giant trees cast deep shadows across the street. Strange perfumes arise from the earth; fireflies
sparkle; grey parrots come forth from the forest, and fly screaming round intending to roost in the
neighbourhood of man. The women bring their husbands the gourddish of boiled plantains or bushyams,
made hot with red pepper, seasoned with fish or venison sauce. And when this simple meal is ended, boom!
boom! Goes the big drum; the sweet reed flute pipes forth; the girls and lads begin to sing. In a broad, clean
swept place they gather together, jumping up and down with glee; the young men form in one row, the
women in another, and dance in two long lines, retreating and advancing with graceful undulations of their
bodies and arms waving in the air. And now there is a squealing, wailing, unearthly sound, and out of the
wood, with a hop, skip, and jump, comes Mumbo Jumbo, a hideous mask on his face and a scourge in his
hand. Woe to the wife who would not cook her husband’s dinner, or who gave him saucy words, for Mumbo
Jumbo is the censor of female morals. Well the guilty ones know him as they run screaming to their huts.
Then again the dance goes on, and if there is a moon it does not cease throughout the night.
Such is the picturesque part of savage life. But it is not savage lifeit merely lies upon the surface as paint
lies upon the skin. Let us take a walk through that same village on another day. Here in a hut is a young man
with one leg in the stocks, and with his right hand bound to his neck by a cord. The palm wine, and the
midnight dance, and the furtive caresses of Asua overpowered his discretion; he was detected, and now he is
'put in log.' If his relations do not pay the fine he will be sold as a slave; or if there is no demand for slaves in
that country he will be killed. His friends reprove him for trying to steal what the husband was willing to sell;
and might he not have guessed that Asua was a decoy?
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Another day the palaverhouse has the aspect of a Crockford’s. An old man who is one of the village
grandees is spinning nuts for high stakes, and has drunk too much to see that he is overmatched. He loses his
mats, his weapons, his goats, his fowls, his plantation, his house, his slaves whom he took prisoners in his
young and warlike days, his wives, his children, and his aged mother who fed him at her breastall are lost,
all are gone. And then, with flushed eyes and trembling hand, he begins to gamble for himself. He stakes his
right leg and loses it. He may not move it until he has won it back or until it is redeemed. He loses both legs;
he stakes his body and loses that also, and becomes a bondservant, or is sold as a slave.
Let us give another scene. A young man of family has died; the whole village is convulsed with grief and
fear. It does not appear natural to them that a man should die before he has grown old. Some malignant power
is at work among them. Is it an evil spirit whom they have unwittingly offended and who is taking its
revenge, or is it a witch? The great fetishman has been sent for, and soon he arrives, followed by his
disciples. He wears a cap waving with feathers and a particoloured garment covered with charmshorns of
gazelles, shells of snails, and a piece of leopards’s liver wrapped up in the leaves of a poisongiving tree. His
face is stained with the white juice from a dead man’s brain. He rings an iron bell as he enters the town, and
at the same time the drum begins to beat. The drum has its language, so that those who are distant from the
village understand what it is saying. With short, lively sounds it summons to the dance; it thunders forth the
alarm of fire or war, loudly and quickly with no interval between the beats; and now it tolls the hour of
judgment and the day of death. The fetishman examines the dead man and says it is the work of a witch. He
casts lots with knotted cords; he mutters incantations; he passes round the villagers and points out the guilty
person, who is usually some old woman whom popular opinion has previously suspected and is ready to
condemn. She is, however, allowed the benefit of an ordeal: a gourd filled with the 'red water' is given her to
drink. If she is innocent it acts as an emetic; if she is guilty it makes her fall senseless to the ground. She is
then put to death with a variety of torturesburnt alive or torn limb from limb; tied on the beach at low
water to be drowned by the rising tide; rubbed with honey and laid out in the sun; or buried in an anthill, the
most horrible death of all.
These examples are sufficient to show that the life of the savage is not a happy one, and the existence of each
clan or tribe is precarious in the extreme. They are like the wild animals, engaged from day to night in
seeking food, and ever watchful against the foes by whom they are surrounded. The men who go out hunting,
the girls who go with their pitchers to the village brook, are never sure that they will return, for there is
always war with some neighbouring village, and their method of making war is by ambuscade. But besides
these real and ordinary dangers, the savage believes himself to be encompassed by evil spirits who may at
any moment spring upon him in the guise of a leopard, or cast down upon him the dead branch of a tree. In
order to propitiate these invisible beings, his life is entangled with intricate rites; it is turned this way and that
way as oracles are delivered or as omens appear. It is impossible to describe, or even to imagine, the
tremulous condition of the savage mind, yet the traveller can see from their aspect and manners that they
dwell in a state of neverceasing dread.
Let us now suppose that a hundred years have passed, and let us visit the village again. The place itself and
the whole country around have been transformed. The forest has disappeared, and in its stead are fields
covered with the glossy blades of the young rice, with the tall red tufted maize, with the millet and the Guinea
corn, with the yellow flowers of the tobacco plant growing in wide fields, and with large shrubberies of
cotton, the snowy wool peeping forth from the expanding leaves. Before us stands a great town surrounded
by walls of red clay flanked by towers, and with heavy wooden gates. Day dawns, and the women come forth
to the brook decorously dressed in blue cotton robes passed over the hair as a hood. Men ride forth on
horseback, wearing white turbans and swords suspended on their right shoulders by a crimson sash. They are
the unmixed descendants of the forest savage; their faces are those of pure negroes, but the expression is not
the same. Their manners are grave and composed; they salute one another, saying in the Arabic 'Peace be
with you.' The palaverhouse or townhall is also the mosque; the parliamentary debates and the law trials
which are there held have all the dignity of a religious service; they are opened with prayer, and the name of
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the creator is often solemnly invoked by the orator or advocate, while all the elders touch their foreheads with
their hands and murmur in response, Amina! Amina! (Amen! Amen!). The town is pervaded by a bovine
smell, sweet to the nostrils of those who have travelled long in the beefless lands of the people of the forest.
Sounds of industry may also be heardnot only the clinking of the blacksmith’s hammer, but also the
rattling of the loom, the thumping of the clothmaker, and the song of the cordwainer as he sits crosslegged
making saddles or shoes. The women, with bow and distaff and spindle, are turning the soft treewool into
thread; the work in the fields is done by slaves. The elders smoke or take snuff in their verandahs, and
sometimes study a page of the Koran. When the evening draws on there is no sound of flute and drum. A
bonfire of brushwood is lighted in the marketplace, and the boys of the town collect around it with wooden
boards in their hands, and bawl their lessons, swaying their bodies to and fro, by which movement they
imagine the memory is assisted. Then rises a long, loud, harmonious cry, 'Come to prayers, come to prayers!
Come to security! God is great! He liveth and he dieth not! Come to prayers! O thou Bountiful!'
La ilah illa Allah: Mohammed Rasul Allah. Allahu Akbaru. Allahu Akbar.
Such towns as these may be less interesting to the traveller than the pagan villageshe finds them merely a
secondhand copy of Eastern life. But though they are not so picturesque, their inhabitants are happier and
better men. Violent and dishonest deeds are no longer arranged by pecuniary compensation. Husbands can no
longer set wifetraps for their friends; adultery is treated as a criminal offence. Men can no longer squander
away their relations at the gaming table, and stake their own bodies on a throw. Men can no longer be
tempted to vice and crime under the influence of palm wine. Women can no longer be married by a great
chief in herds, and treated like beasts of burden and like slaves. Each wife has an equal part of her husband’s
love by law; it is not permitted to forsake and degrade the old wife for the sake of the young. Each wife has
her own house, and the husband may not enter until he has knocked at the door and received the answer,
Bismillah! (In the name of God!) Every boy is taught to read and write in Arabic, which is the religious and
official language in the Sudan, as Latin was in Europe in the Middle Ages; he also writes his own language
with the Arabic character, as we write ours with the Roman letter. In such countries the policy of isolation is
at an end; they are open to all the Moslems in the world, and are thus connected with the lands of the East.
Here there is a remarkable change, and one that deserves a place in history. It is a movement the more
interesting since it is still actively going on. The Mohammedan religion has already overspread a region of
Negroland as large as Europe. It is firmly established not only in the Africa of the Mediterranean and the Nile
and in the oases of the Sahara, but also throughout that part of the continent which we have termed the
platform of the Niger.
In 1797 Mungo Park discovered the Niger in the heart of Africa, at a point where it is as broad as the Thames
at Westminster; in 1817 Rene Caillie crossed it at a point considerably higher up; in 1822 Major Laing
attempted to reach it by striking inland from Sierra Leone, but was forced by the natives to return when he
was only fifty miles distant from the river; and in 1869 I made the same attempt, was turned back at the same
place, but made a fresh expedition, and reached the river at a higher point than Caillie and Park. But my
success also was incomplete, for native wars made it impossible for me to reach the source, though it was
near at hand; and that still remains a splendid prize for one who will walk in my footsteps as I walked in
those of Laing. The source of the Niger, as given in the maps; was fixed by Laing from native information
which I ascertained to be correct. There is no doubt that this river rises in the backwoods of Sierra Leone, at a
distance of only two hundred miles from the coast. It runs for some time as a foaming hilltorrent bearing
obscure and barbarous names, and at the point where I found it glides into the broad, calm breast of the
plateau, and receives its illustrious name of the Joliba,or Great River.
It flows northeast, and enters the Sahara as if intending, like the Nile, to pour its waters into the
Mediterranean Sea. But suddenly it turns towards the east, so that Herodotus, who heard of it when he was at
Memphis, supposed that it joined the Nile; and such was the prevailing opinion not only among the Greeks
but also among the Arabs in the Middle Ages. They did not know that the eccentric river again wheels round,
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flows towards the sea near which it rose, passes through the latitude of its birth, and, having thus described
three quarters of a circle, debouches by many mouths into the Bight of Benin. So singular a course might well
baffle the speculations of geographers and the investigations of explorers. The people who dwell on the banks
of the river do not know where it ends. I was told by some that it went to Mecca, by others that it went to
Jerusalem. Mungo Park’s own theory was ludicrously incorrecthe believed that the Congo was its mouth.
Others declared that it never reached the sea at all. It was Lander who discovered the mouth of the Niger, at
one time as mysterious as the sources of the Nile, and so established the hypothesis which Reichard had
advanced and which Mannert had declared to be 'contrary to nature.'
The Niger platform or basin is flat, with here and there a line of rolling hills containing gold. The vegetation
consists of high, coarse grass and trees of small stature, except on the banks of streams, where they grow to a
larger size. The palmoil tree is not found on this plateau, but the shea butter or tallow tree abounds in
natural plantations which will some day prove a source of enormous wealth. As the river flows on, these trees
disappear; the plains widen and are smoothed out, and the country assumes the character of the Sahara.
The negroes who inhabited the platform of the Niger lived chiefly on the banks of the river, subsisting on
lotus root and fish. Like all savages, they were jealous and distrustful; their intercourse was that of war. But
nature, by means of a curious contrivance, has rendered it impossible for men to remain eternally apart.
Common salt is one of the mineral constituents of the human body, and savages, who live chiefly on
vegetable food, are dependent upon it for their life. In Africa children may be seen sucking it like sugar.
'Come and eat with us today,' says the hospitable African; 'we are going to have salt for dinner.' It is not in all
countries that this mineral food is to be found, but the saltless lands in the Sudan contain gold dust, ivory, and
slaves, and so a system of barter is arranged, and isolated tribes are brought into contact with one another.
The two great magazines are the desert and the ocean. At the present day the white, powdery English salt is
carried on donkeys and slaves to the upper waters of the Niger, and is driving back the crystalline salt of the
Sahara. In the ancient days the salt of the plateau came entirely from the mines of Bilma and Toudeyni, in the
desert, which were occupied and worked by negro tribes. But at a period far remote, before the foundations of
Carthage were laid, a Berber nation, now called the Tuaricks, overspread the desert and conquered the oases
and the mines. This terrible people are yet the scourge of the peaceful farmer and the passing caravan. They
camp in leather tents; they are armed with lance and sword, and with shields on which is painted the image of
a cross. The Arabs call them 'the muffled ones,' for their mouths and noses are covered with a bandage,
sometimes black, sometimes white, above which sit in deep sockets, like antlions in their pits, a pair of dark,
cruel, sinister looking eyes. They levy tolls on all travellers, and murder those who have the reputation of
unusual wealthas they did Miss Tinne, whose iron watertanks they imagined to be filled with gold. When
they poured down on the Sahara they were soon attracted by the rich pastures and alluvial plains of the black
country. In course of time their raids were converted into conquests, and they established a line of kingdoms
from the Niger to the Nile, in the borderland between the Sahara and the parallel 10º N. Timbuktu, Haoussa,
Bornu, Bagirmi, Waday, Darfur, and Kordofan were the names of these kingdoms; in all of them Islam is
now the religion of the state; all of them belong to the Asiatic world.
The Tuaricks of the Sudan were merely the ruling casts, and were much darkened by harem blood, but they
communicated freely with their brethren of the desert, who had dealings with the Berbers beyond the Atlas.
When the Andalusia of the Arabs became a polite civilised land crowds of ingenious artisans, descended from
the old Roman craftsmen or from the Greek emigrants, or from their Arab apprentices, took architecture over
to North Africa. The city of Morocco was filled with magnificent palaces and mosques; it became the
metropolis of an independent kingdom; it was called the Baghdad of the west; its doctors were as learned as
the doctors of Cordova, its musicians as skilful as the musicians of Seville. A wealthy and powerful Morocco
could not exist without its influence being felt across the desert; the position of Timbuktu in reference to
Morocco was precisely that of Meroe to Memphis or to Thebes. The Sahara, it is true, is much wider across
from Morocco to Timbuktu than from Egypt to Ethiopia, but the introduction of camels brought the Atlas and
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the Niger near to one another. The Tuaricks, who had previously lived on horses, under whose bellies they
tied water bottles of leather when they went on a long journey, had been able to cross the desert only at
certain seasons of the year; but now, with the aid of the camel, which they at once adopted and from which
they bred the famous Mehara strain, they could cross the Sahara at its widest part in a few days. A regular
trade was established between the two countries, and was conducted by the Berbers. Arab merchants,
desirous of seeing with their own eyes the wondrous land of ivory and gold, took passage in the caravans,
crossed the yellow seas, sprang from their camels upon the green shores of the Sudan, and kneeling on the
banks of the Niger with their faces turned towards Mecca, dipped their hands in its waters and praised the
name of the Lord. They journeyed from city to city and from court to court, and composed works of travel
which were read with eager delight all over the Moslem world, from Spain to Hindustan.
The Arabs thronged to this newly discovered world. They built factories; they established schools; they
converted dynasties. They covered the river with masted vessel; they built majestic temples with graceful
minaret and swelling dome. Theological colleges and public libraries were founded; camels came across the
desert laden with books; the negroes swarmed to the lectures of the mullahs; Plato and Aristotle were studied
by the banks of the Niger, and the glories of Granada were reflected at Timbuktu. That city became the refuge
of political fugitives and criminals from Morocco. In the sixteenth century the Emperor dispatched across the
desert a company of harquebusiers who, with their strange, terrible weapons, everywhere triumphed like the
soldiers of Cortes and Pizarro in Mexico and Peru. These musketeers made enormous conquests not for their
master but for themselves. They established an oligarchy of their own; it was afterwards dethroned by the
natives, but there yet exist men who, as Barth informs us, are called the descendants of the musketeers and
who wear a distinctive dress. But that imperial expedition was the last exploit of the Moors. After the
conquest of Granada by the Christians and of Algeria by the Turks, Morocco, encompassed by enemies,
became a savage and isolated land; Timbuktu, its commercial dependent, fell into decay, and is now chiefly
celebrated as a cathedral town.
The Arabs carried cotton and the art of its manufacture into the Sudan, which is one of the largest
cottongrowing areas in the world. Its Manchester is Kano, which manufactures blue cloth and coloured
plaids, clothes a vast negro population, and even exports its goods to the lands of the Mediterranean Sea.
Denham and Clapperton, who first reached the lands of Haoussa and Bornu, were astonished to find among
the negroes magnificent courts; regiments of cavalry, the horses caparisoned in silk for gala days and clad in
coats of mail for war; long trains of camels laden with salt and natron and corn and cloth and cowrie
shellswhich form the currencyand kola nuts, which the Arabs call 'the coffee of the negroes.' They
attended with wonder the gigantic fairs at which the cotton goods of Manchester, the red cloth of Saxony,
doublebarrelled guns, razors, tea and sugar, Nuremberg ware and writingpaper were exhibited for sale.
They also found merchants who offered to cash their bills upon houses at Tripoli, and scholars acquainted
with Avicenna, Averroes, and the Greek philosophers.
The Mohammedan religion was spread in Central Africa to a great extent by the travelling Arab merchants,
who were welcomed everywhere at the negro or seminegro courts, and who frequently converted the pagan
kings by working miraclesthat is to say, by means of events which accidentally followed their solemn
prayers, such as the healing of a disease, rain in the midst of drought, or a victory in war. But the chief
instrument of conversion was the school. It is much to the credit of the negroes that they keenly appreciate
the advantages of education; they appear to possess an instinctive veneration and affection for the book.
Wherever Mohammedans settled the sons of chiefs were placed under their tuition. A Mohammedan quarter
was established; it was governed by its own laws; its sheikh rivalled in power and finally surpassed the native
kings. The machinery of the old pagan court might still go on; the negro chief might receive the magnificent
title of sultan; he might be surrounded by albinos and dwarfs and bigheaded men and buffoons; he might sit
in a cage, or behind a curtain in a palace with seven gates, and receive the ceremonial visits of his nobles,
who stripped off a garment at each gate and came into his presence naked, and cowered on the ground, and
clapped their hands, and sprinkled their heads with dust, and then turned round and sat with their backs
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presented in reverence towards him, as if they were unable to bear the sight of his countenance shining like a
wellblacked boot. But the Arab or Moorish sheikh would be in reality the king, deciding all questions of
foreign policy, of peace and war, of laws and taxes and commercial regulations, holding a position
resembling that of the Gothic generals who placed Libius Severus and Augustulus upon the throneof the
mayors of the palace beside the Merovingian princes, of the Company’s servants at the court of the great
Mogul. And when the Mohammedans had become numerous, and a fitting season had arrived, the sheikh
would point out a well known Koran text and would proclaim war against the surrounding pagan kings. And
so the movement which had been begun by the school would be continued by the sword.
It may, however, be doubted whether the Arab merchants alone would have spread Islam over the Niger
plateau. On the east coast of Africa they have possessed settlements from time immemorial. Before the
Greeks of Alexandria sailed into the Indian Ocean, before the Tyrian vessels, with Jewish supercargoes,
passed through the straits of Babel Mandeb, the Arabs of Yemen had established factories in Mozambique
and on the opposite coast of Malabar, and had carried on a trade between the two lands, selling to the Indians
ivory, ebony, slaves, beeswax, and golddust brought down in quills from the interior by the negroes, to
whom they sold in return the sugar beads, and blue cotton goods of Hindustan. In the period of the caliphs
these settlements were strengthened and increased, in consequence of civil war, by fugitive tribes from Oman
and other parts of the Arabian peninsula. The emigrants made Africa their home; they built large towns which
they surrounded with orchards of the orangetree and plantations of the date; they introduced the culture of
tobacco, sugarcane and cotton. They were loved and revered by the negroes; they made long journeys into
the interior for the purposes of trade. Yet their religion has made no progress, and they do not attempt to
convert the blacks. Their towns resemble those of the Europeans; they dwell apart from the natives, and
above them.
The Mohammedans who entered the Niger regions were not only the Arab merchants but also the Berbers of
the desert, who, driven by war or instigated by ambition, poured into the Sudan by tribes, seized lands and
women, and formed mulatto nationalities. Of these the Fulahs are the most famous. They were originally
natives of Northern Africa; having intermarried during many generations with the natives, they have often the
appearance of pure Negroes, but they always call themselves white men, however black their skins may seem
to be. In the last century they were dispersed in small and puny tribes. Some wandered as gipsies selling
wooden bowls; others were roaming shepherd clans, paying tribute to the native kings and suffering much
illtreatment. In other parts they lived a bandit life. Sometimes, but rarely, they resided in towns which they
had conquered, pursued commerce, and tilled the soil. Yet in war they were far superior to the Negroes: if
only they could be united the most powerful kingdoms would be unable to withstand them. And finally their
day arrived. A man of their own race returned from Mecca, a pilgrim and a prophet, gathered them like
wolves beneath his standard, and poured them forth on the Sudan.
The pilgrimage to Mecca is incumbent only on those who can afford it, but hundreds of devout Negroes every
year put on their shrouds and beg their way across the continent to Massowah. There, taking out a few grains
of golddust cunningly concealed between the leaves of their Korans, they pay their passage across the Red
Sea and tramp it from Jidda to Mecca, feeding as they go on the bodies of the camels that have been left to
die, and whose meat is lawful if the throat is cut before the animal expires. As soon as the Negroesor
Takrouri, as they are calledarrive in the Holy City they at once set to work, some as porters and some as
carriers of water in leather skins; others manufacture baskets and mats of date leaves; others establish a
market for firewood, which they collect in the neighbouring hills. They inhabit miserable huts or ruined
houses in the quarter of the lower classes, where the sellers of charcoal dwell and where locusts are sold by
the measure. Some of these poor and industrious creatures spread their mats in the cloisters of the great
Mosque, and stay all the time beneath that sacred and hospitable roof. They are subject to the exclamatory fits
and pious convulsions so common among the Negroes of the Southern States. Often they may be seen
prostrate on the pavement, beating their foreheads against the stones, weeping bitterly, and pouring forth the
wildest ejaculations.
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The Great Mosque at Mecca is a spacious square surrounded by a colonnade. In the midst of the quadrangle
is the small building called the Caaba. It has no windows; its door, which is seldom opened, is coated with
silver; its padlock, once of pure gold, is now of silver gilt. On its threshold are placed every night various
small wax candles and perfuming pans filled with aloeswood and musk. The walls of the building are covered
with a veil of black silk, tucked up on one side, so as to leave exposed the famous Black Stone which is
niched in the wall outside. The veil is not fastened close to the building, so that the least breath of air causes it
to wave in slow, undulating movements, hailed with prayer by the kneeling crowd around. They believe that
it is caused by the wings of guardian angels who will transport the Caaba to paradise when the last trumpet
sounds.
At a little distance from this building is the Zemzem well, and while some of the pilgrims are standing by its
mouth waiting to be served, or walking round the Caaba, or stooping to kiss the stone, other scenes may be
observed in the cloisters and the square; and, as in the Temple at Jerusalem, these are not all of the most
edifying nature. Children are playing at games, or feeding the wild pigeons whom long immunity has
rendered tame. Numerous schools are going on, the boys chanting in a loud voice, and the master’s baton
sometimes falling on their backs. In another corner a religious lecture is being delivered. Men of all nations
are clustered in separate groupsthe Persian heretics, with their caps mounting to heaven and their beards
descending to the earth; the Tartar, with oblique eyes and rounded limbs and light silk handkerchief tied
round his brow; Turks with shaven faces and in red caps; the lean Indian pauper, begging with a miserable
whine; and one or two wealthy Hindu merchants not guiltless of dinners given to infidels, and of iced
champagne. At the same time an active business is being done in sacred keepsakesrosaries made of camel
bone, bottles of Zemzem water, dust collected from behind the veil, toothsticks made of a fibrous root such
as that which Mohammed himself was wont to use, and coarsely executed pictures of the Caaba. Mecca itself,
like most cities frequented by strangers, whether pilgrims or mariners, is not an abode of righteousness and
virtue. As the Tartars say of it, 'The Torch is dark at its foot,' and many a pilgrim might exclaim with the
Arabian Ovid;
'I set out in the hopes of lightening my sins, And returned, bringing home with me a fresh load of
transgressions.'
But the very wickedness of a holy city deepens real enthusiasm into severity and wrath. When
AbdulWahhab saw taverns opened in Mecca itself, and the inhabitants alluring the pilgrims to every kind
of vice; when he found that the sacred places were made a show, that the mosque was inhabited by guides
and officials who were as greedy as beasts of prey, that wealth, not piety, was the chief object of
consideration in a pilgrim, he felt as Luther felt at Rome. The disgust which was excited in his mind by the
manners of the day was extended also to the doctrines that were in vogue. The prayers that were offered up to
Mohammed and the saints resembled the prayers that were once offered up to the Daughters of Heaven, the
intercessors of the ancient Arabs. The pilgrimages that were made to the tombs of holy men were the old
journeys to the ancestral graves. The worship of one God, which Mohammed had been sent to restore, had
again become obscured; the days of darkness had returned. He preached a Unitarian revival; he held up as his
standard and his guide the Koran, and nothing but the Koran; he founded a puritan sect which is now a
hundred years of age, and still remains an element of power and disturbance in the East.
Othman Dan Fodio, the Black Prophet, also went out of Mecca, his soul burning with zeal. He determined to
reform the Sudan. He forbade, like AbdulWahhab, the smoking of tobacco, the wearing of ornaments and
finery. But he had to contend with more gross abuses still. In many negro lands which professed Islam, palm
wine and millet beer were largely consumed; the women did not veil their faces nor even their bosoms;
immodest dances were performed to the profane music of the drum; learned men gained a livelihood by
writing charms, the code of the Koran was often supplanted by the old customary laws. Dan Fodio sent letters
to the great kings of Timbuktu, Haoussa, and Bornu, commanding them to reform their own lives and those
of their subjects, or he would chastise them in the name of God. They received these instructions from an
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unknown man, as the King of Kings received the letter of Mohammed, and their fate resembled his. Dan
Fodio united the Fulah tribes into an army which he inspired with his own spirit. Thirsting for plunder and
paradise, the Fulahs swept over the Sudan; they marched into battle with shouts of frenzied joy, singing
hymns and waving their green flags on which texts of the Koran were embroidered in letters of gold. The
empire which they established at the beginning of this century is now crumbling away, but the fire is still
burning on the frontiers. Wherever the Fulahs are settled in the neighbourhood of pagan tribes they are
extending their power, and although the immediate effects are disastrousvillages being laid in ashes, men
slaughtered by thousands, women and children sold as slavesyet in the end these crusades are productive
of good. The villages are converted into towns; a new land is brought within the sphere of commercial and
religious intercourse, and is added to the Asiatic world.
The phenomenon of a religious Tamerlane has been repeated more than once in Central Africa. The last
example was that of Oumar the Pilgrim, whose capital was Segou, and whose conquests extended from
Timbuktu to Senegal, where he came into contact with French artillery and for ever lost his prestige as a
prophet. But we are taught by the science of history that these military empires can never long endure. It is
probable that Mohammedan Sudan will in time become a province of the Turks. Central Africa, as we have
shown, received its civilisation not from Egypt but from the grand Morocco of the Middle Ages. Egypt has
always lived with its back to Africa, its eyes and often its hands on Syria and Arabia. Abyssinia was not
subdued by the caliphs because it was not coveted by them, and there was little communication between
Egypt and the Sudan. Mohammed Ali was the first to reestablish the kingdom of the Pharaohs in Ethiopia,
and to organise negro regiments. Since his time the Turkish power has been gradually spreading towards the
interior, and the expedition of Baker Pasha, whatever may be its immediate result, is the harbinger of great
events to come. Should the Turks be driven out of Europe, they would probably become the emperors of
Africa, which in the interests of civilisation would be a fortunate occurrence. The Turkish government is
undoubtedly defective in comparison with the governments of Europe, but it is perfection itself in comparison
with the governments of Africa. If the Egyptians had been allowed to conquer Abyssinia there would have
been no need of an Abyssinian expedition, and nothing but Egyptian occupation will put an end to the wars
which are always being waged and always have been waged in that country between bandit chiefs. Those
who are anxious that Abyssinian Christianity should be preserved need surely not be alarmed, for the Pope of
Abyssinia is the Patriarch of Cairo, a Turkish subject, and the aboona or archbishop has always been an
Egyptian. But the Turks no longer have it in their power to commit actions which Europeans would condemn.
They now belong to the civilised system; they are subject to the law of opinion. Already they have been
compelled by that mysterious power to suppress the slavemaking wars which were formerly waged every
year from Kordofan and Sennaar, and which are still being waged from the independent kingdoms of Darfur,
Waday, Bagirmi, and Bornu. Wherever the Turks reign a European is allowed to travel; wherever a European
travels a word is spoken on behalf of the oppressed. That word enters the newspapers, passes into a
diplomatic remonstrance, becomes a firman, and a governor or commandant in some sequestered province of
an Oriental empire suffers the penalty of his misdeeds. It should be the policy of European Powers to aid the
destruction of all savage kingdoms, or at least never to interfere on their behalf.
It has now been shown that a vast region within the Dark Continent, the world beyond the sandy ocean, is
governed by Asiatic laws and has attained an Asiatic civilisation. We must next pass to the Atlantic side, and
study the effects which have been produced among the negroes by the intercourse of Europeans. It will be
found that the transactions on the coast of Guinea belong not only to the biography of Africa but also to
universal history, and that the domestication of the negro has indirectly assisted the material progress of
Europe and the development of its morality. The programme of the next chapter will be as follows: The rise
of Europe out of darkness; the discovery of Western Africa by the Portuguese; the institution of the
slavetrade, and the history of that great republican and philanthropic movement which won its first victory
in the abolition of the slavetrade in 1807, its last in the taking of Richmond in 1865.
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CHAPTER III. LIBERTY
THE history of Europe in ancient times is the history of those lands which adjoin the Mediterranean Sea.
Beyond the Alps lay a vast expanse of marsh and forest, through which flowed the swift and gloomy Rhine.
On the right side of that river dwelt the Germans; on its left, the Celtic Gauls. Both people, in manners and
customs, resembled the Red Indians. They lived in round wigwams, with a hole at the top to let out the
smoke. They hunted the white maned bison and the brown bear, and trapped the beaver, which then built its
lodges by the side of every stream. They passed their spare time in gambling, drunkenness, and torpor; while
their squaws cut the firewood, cultivated their gardenplots of grain, tended the shaggy headed cattle, and
the hogs feeding on acorns and beechmast, obedient to the horn of the mistress, but savage to strangers as a
pack of wolves. At an early period, however, the Gauls came into contact with the Phoenicians and the
Greeks; they served in the Carthaginian armies, and acquired a taste for trade; they learnt the cultivation of
the vine, and some of the metallic arts; their priests, or learned men, employed the Greek characters in
writing. But the Gauls had a mania for martial glory, and often attacked the peaceful Greek merchants of
Marseilles. The Greeks at last called in the assistance of the Romans, who not only made war on the hostile
tribes, but on the peaceful tribes as well. Thus began the conquest of Gaul. It was completed by Caesar, who
used that country as an exerciseground for his soldiers, and prepared them, by a hundred battles, for the
mighty combat in which Pompey was over thrown.
Military roads were made across the Alps, Roman colonies were dispatched into the newly conquered land,
Italian farmers took up their abode in the native towns, and the chiefs were required to send their sons to
school. Thus the Romans obtained hostages, and the Celts were pleased to see their boys neatly dressed in
white garments edged with purple, displaying their proficiency on the waxen tablets and the counting board.
In a few generations the Celts had disappeared. On the banks of the Rhone and the Seine magnificent cities
arose, watered by aqueducts, surrounded by gardens, adorned with libraries, temples, and public schools. The
inhabitants called themselves Romans, and spoke with patriotic fervour of the glorious days of the Republic.
Meanwhile the barbarians beyond the Rhine remained in the savage state. They often crossed the river to
invade the land which had ripened into wealth before their eyes: but the frontier was guarded by a chain of
camps; and the Germans, armed only with clumsy spears and wooden shields, could not break the line of
Roman soldiers, who were dressed in steel, who were splendidly disciplined, and who had military engines.
The Gauls had once been a warlike people; they now abandoned the use of arms. The empire insured them
against invasion in return for the taxes which they paid.
But there came a time when the tribute of the provinces no longer returned to the provinces to be expended
on the public buildings and the frontier garrisons and the military roads. The rivers of gold which had so long
flowed into Rome at last dried up: the empire became poor, and yet its expenses remained the same. The
Praetorian Guards had still to be paid; the mob of the capital had still to be rationed with bread, and bacon,
and wine, and oil, and costly shows. Accordingly the provinces were made to suffer. Exorbitant taxes were
imposed: the aldermen and civil councillors of towns were compelled to pay enormous fees in virtue of their
office, and were forbidden to evade such expensive honours by enlisting in the army, or by taking holy
orders. The rich were accused of crimes that their property might be seized: the crops in the fields were
gathered by the police. A blight fell upon the land. Men would no longer labour, since the fruits of their toil
might at any time be taken from them. Cornfield and meadow were again covered with brambles and weeds;
the cities were deserted; grass grew in all the streets. The province of Gaul was taxed to death, and then
abandoned by the Romans. The government could no longer afford to garrison the Rhine frontier: the legions
were withdrawn, and the Germans entered.
The invading armies were composed of free men, who, under their respective captains or heads of clans, had
joined the standard of some noted warrior chief. The spoil of the army belonged to the army, and was divided
according to stipulated rules. The king's share was large, but more than his share he might not have. When the
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Germans, instead of returning with their booty, remained upon the foreign soil, they partitioned the land in
the same manner as they partitioned the cattle and the slaves, the gold crosses, the silver chalices; the vases,
the tapestry, the fine linen, and the purple robes. An immense region was allotted to the king; other tracts of
various sizes to the generals and captains (or chiefs and chieftains) according to the number of men whom
they had brought into the field; and each private soldier received a piece of ground. But the army, although
disbanded, was not extinct; its members remained under martial law the barons or generals were bound to
obey the king when he summoned them to war; the soldiers to obey their ancient chiefs. Sometimes the king
and the great barons gave lands to favourites and friends on similar conditions, and at a later period money
was paid instead of military service, thus originating rent.
The nobles of Roman Gaul lived within the city except during the villeggiatura in the autumn. The German
lords preferred the country, and either fortified the Roman villas or built new castles of their own. They
surrounded themselves with a bodyguard of personal retainers; their prisoners of war were made to till the
ground as serfs. And soon they reduced to much the same condition the German soldiers, and seized their
humble lands. In that troubled age none could hold property except by means of the strong arm. Men found it
difficult to preserve their lives, and often presented their bodies to some powerful lord in return for
protection, in return for daily bread. The power of the king was nominal: sovereignty was broken and
dispersed: Europe was divided among castles: and in each castle was a prince who owned no authority above
his own, who held a high court of justice in his hall, issued laws to his estates, lived by the court fees, by
taxes levied on passing caravans, and by ransoms for prisoners, sometimes obtained in fair war, sometimes by
falling upon peaceful travellers. Dark deeds were done within those ivycovered towers which now exist for
the pleasure of poets and pilgrims of the picturesque. Often from turret chambers and grated windows arose
the shrieks of violated maidens and the yells of tortured Jews. Yet castle life had also its brighter side. To
cheer the solitude of the isolated house minstrels and poets and scholars were courted by the barons, and were
offered a peaceful chamber and a place of honour at the board. In the towns of ancient Italy and Greece there
was no family: the home did not exist. The women and children dwelt together in secluded chambers: the
men lived a club life in the baths, the porticoes, and the gymnasiums. But the castle lord had no companions
of his own rank except the members of his own family. On stormy days, when he could not hunt, he found a
pleasure in dancing his little ones upon his knee, and in telling them tales of the wood and weald. Their
tender fondlings, and their merry laughs, their half formed voices, which attempted to pronounce his name
all these were sweet to him. And by the love of those in whom he saw his own image mirrored, in whom his
own childhood appeared to live again, he was drawn closer and closer to his wife. She became his counsellor
and friend; she softened his rugged manners; she soothed his fierce wrath; she pleaded for the prisoners and
captives, and the men condemned to die. And when he was absent, she became the sovereign lady of the
house, ruled the vassals, sat in the judgmentseat, and often defended the castle in time of siege. A charge so
august could not but elevate the female mind. Women became queens. The Lady was created. Within the
castle was formed that grand manner of gentleness, mingled with hauteur, which art can never stimulate, and
which ages of dignity can alone confer.
The barons dwelt apart from one another, and were often engaged in private war. Yet they had sons to
educate and daughters to marry; and so a singular kind of society arose. The king's house or court, and the
houses of the great barons, became academies to which the inferior barons sent their boys and girls to school.
The young lady became the attendant of the Dame, and was instructed in the arts of playing on the virginals,
of preparing simples, and of healing wounds; of spinning, sewing, and embroidery. The young gentleman was
at first a Page. He was taught to manage a horse with grace and skill, to use bow and sword, to sound the
notes of venerie upon the horn, to carve at table, to ride full tilt against the quintaine with his lance in rest, to
brittle a deer, to find his way through the forest by the stars in the sky and by the moss upon the trees. It was
also his duty to wait upon the ladies who tutored his youthful mind in other ways. He was trained to deport
himself with elegance; he was nurtured in all the accomplishments of courtesy and love. He was encouraged
to select a mistress among the dames or demoiselles; to adore her in his heart, to serve her with patience and
fidelity, obeying her least commands; to be modest in her presence; to be silent and discreet. The reward of
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all this devotion was of no ethereal kind, but it was not quickly or easily bestowed; and vice almost ceases to
be vice when it can only be gratified by means of long discipline in virtue. When the page had arrived at a
certain age, he was clad in a brown frock; a sword was fastened to his side, and he obtained the title of
Esquire. He attended his patron knight on military expeditions, until he was old enough to be admitted to the
order. Among the ancient Germans of the forest, when a young man came of age, he was solemnly invested
with shield and spear. The ceremony of knighthood at first was nothing more than this. Every man of gentle
birth became a knight, and then took an oath to be true to God and to
the ladies and to his plighted word; to be honourable in all
his actions, to succour the oppressed. Thus, within those castlecolleges arose the sentiment of Honour, the
institution of Chivalry, which, as an old poet wrote, made women chaste and men brave. The women were
worshipped as goddesses, the men were revered as heroes. Each sex aspired to possess those qualities which
the other sex approved. Women admire, above all things, courage and truth; and so the men became
courageous and true. Men admire modesty, virtue, and refinement; and so the women became virtuous, and
modest, and refined. A higher standard of propriety was required as time went on: the manners and customs
of the Dark Ages became the vices of a later period; unchastity, which had once been regarded as the private
wrong of the husband, was stigmatised as a sin against society; and society found a means of taking its
revenge. At first the notorious woman was insulted to her face at tournament and banquet; or knights chalked
an epithet upon her castle gates, and then rode on. In the next age she was shunned by her own sex: the
discipline of social life was established as it exists at the present day. Though it might sometimes be relaxed
in a vicious court, at least the ideal of right was preserved. But in the period of the Troubadours the fair
sinners resembled the pirates of the Homeric age. Their pursuits were of a dangerous, but not of a
dishonourable nature: they might sometimes lose their lives; they never lost their reputation.
We must now descend from ladies and gentlemen to the people in the field, who are sometimes forgotten by
historians. The castle was built on the summit of a hill, and a village of serfs was clustered round its foot.
These poor peasants were often hardly treated by their lords. Often they raised their brown and horny hands
and cursed the cruel castle which scowled upon them from above. Humbly they made obeisance, and bitterly
they gnawed their lips as the baron rode down the narrow street on his great warhorse, which would always
have its fill of corn, when they would starve, followed by his beeffed varlets with faces red from beer, who
gave them jeering looks, who called them by nicknames, who contemptuously caressed their daughters before
their eyes. Yet it was not always thus: the lord was often a true nobleman, the parent of their village, the
godfather of their children, the guardian of their happiness, the arbiter of their disputes. When there was
sickness among them, the ladies of the castle often came down, bringing them soups and spiced morsels with
their own white hands; and the castle was the home of the good chaplain, who told them of the happier world
beyond the grave. It was there also that they enjoyed such pleasures as they had. Sometimes they were called
up to the castle to feast on beef and beer in commemoration of a happy anniversary or a Christian feast.
Sometimes their lord brought home a caravan of merchants whom he had captured on the road and while the
strange guests were quaking for the safety of their bales, the people were being amused with the songs of the
minstrels, and the tricks of the jugglers, and the antics of the dancingbear. And sometimes a tournament was
held: the lords and ladies of the neighbourhood rode over to the castle; turf banks were set for the serfs and a
gallery was erected for the ladies, above whom sat enthroned the one who was chosen as the Queen of Beauty
and of Love. Then the heralds shouted, "Love of ladies, splintering of lances! stand forth, gallant knights; fair
eyes look upon your deeds!" And the knights took up their position in two lines fronting one another, and sat
motionless upon their horses like pillars of iron, with nothing to be seen but their flaming eyes. The trumpets
flourished: 'Laissez aller!,' cried a voice; and the knights, with their long spears in rest, dashed furiously
against each other, and then plied battleaxe and sword, to the great delight and contentment of the populace.
In times of war the castle was also the refuge of the poor, and the villagers fled behind its walls when the
enemy drew near. They did not then reflect that it was the castle which had provoked the war; they viewed it
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only as a hospitable fortress which had saved their lives. It was therefore, in many cases, regarded by the
people not only with awe and veneration, but also with a sentiment of filial love. It was associated with their
pleasures and their security. But in course of time a rival arose to alienate the affections, or to strengthen the
resentment of the castle serfs. It was the Town.
In the days of the Republic and in the first days of the Empire, all kinds of skilled labour were in the hands of
slaves: in every palace, whatever was required for the household was manufactured on the premises. But
before the occupation of the Germans, a free class of artisans had sprung up, in what manner is not precisely
known; they were probably the descendants of emancipated slaves. This class, divided into guilds and
corporations, continued to inhabit the towns: they manufactured armour and clothes they travelled as pedlars
about the country, and thus acquired wealth, which they cautiously concealed, for they were in complete
subservience to the castle lord. They could not leave their property by will, dispose of their daughters in
marriage, or perform a single business transaction without the permission of their liege. But little by little
their power increased. When war was being waged, it became needful to fortify the town; for the town was
the baron's estate, and he did not wish his property to be destroyed. When once the burghers were armed and
their town walled they were able to defy their lord. They obtained charters, sometimes by revolt, sometimes
by purchase, which gave them the town to do with it as they pleased; to elect their own magistrates, to make
their own laws, and to pay their liegelord a fixed rent by the year instead of being subjected to loans and
benevolences, and loving contributions. The Roman Law, which had never quite died out, was now revived;
the old municipal institutions of the Empire were restored. Unhappily the citizens often fought among
themselves, and towns joined barons in destroying towns. Yet their influence rapidly increased, and the
power of the castle was diminished. Whenever a town received privileges from its lord, other towns
demanded that the same rights should be embodied in their charters, and rebelled if their request was refused.
Trade and industry expanded; the products of burgher enterprise and skill were offered in the castle halls for
sale. The lady was tempted with silk and velvet; the lord, with chains of gold, and Damascus blades, and suits
of Milan steel; the children clamoured for the sweet white powder which was brought from the countries of
the East. These new tastes and fancies impoverished the nobles. They reduced their establishments; and the
discarded retainers, in no sweet temper, went over to the Town.
And there were others who went to the Town as well. In classical times the slaves were unable to rebel with
any prospect of success. In the cities of Greece every citizen was a soldier: in Rome an enormous army
served as the slave police. But in the scattered castle states of Europe, the serfs could rise against their lords,
and often did so with effect. And then the Town was always a place of refuge: the runaway slave was there
welcomed; his pursuers were duped or defied; the file was applied to his collar; his blue blouse was taken off;
his hair was suffered to grow; he was made a burgher and a free man. Thus the serfs had often the power to
rebel, and always the power to escape; in consequence of which they ceased to be serfs and became tenants.
In our own times we have seen emancipation presented to slaves by a victorious party in the House of
Commons, and by a victorious army in the United States. It has, therefore, been inferred that slavery in
Europe was abolished in the same manner, and the honour of the movement has been bestowed upon the
Church. But this is reading history upside down. The extinction of villeinage was not a donation but a
conquest: it did not descend from the court and the castle; it ascended from the village and the town. The
Church, however, may claim the merit of having mitigated slavery in its worst days, when its horrors were
increased by the pride of conquest and the hostility of race. The clergy belonged to the conquered people,
whom they protected from harsh usage to the best of their ability. They taught as the Moslem doctors also
teach, and as even the pagan Africans believe, that it is a pious action to emancipate a slave. But there is no
reason to suppose that they ever thought of abolishing slavery, and they could not have done so had they
wished. Negro slavery was established by subjects of the Church in defiance of the Church. Religion has little
power when it works against the stream, but it can give to streams a power which they otherwise would not
possess, and it can unite their scattered waters into one majestic flood.
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Rome was taken and sacked but never occupied by the barbarians. It still belonged to the Romans: it still
preserved the traditions and the genius of empire. Whatever may have been the origin of British or Celtic
Christianity, it is certain that the English were converted by the Papists; the first Archbishop of Canterbury
was an Italian; his converts became missionaries, entered the vast forests of pagan Germany, and brought
nations to the feet of Rome. The alliance of Pepin and the Roman See placed also the French clergy under the
dominion of the Pope, who was acknowledged by Alcuin, the adherent of Charlemagne, to be the "Pontiff of
God, vicar of the apostles, heir of the fathers, prince of the Church, guardian of the only dove without stain."
The ordinance of clerical celibacy increased the efficacy of the priesthood and the power of the Pope. The
ranks of the clergy were recruited, generation after generation, from the most intelligent of the lay men in the
lower classes, and from those among the upper classes who were more inclined to intellectual pursuits than to
military life. These men, divided as they were from family connections, ceased to be Germans, Englishmen,
or Frenchmen, and became catholic or universal hearted men, patriots of religion, children of the Church.
And those enthusiastic laymen who had adopted an ascetic isolated life, or had gathered together in voluntary
associations; those hermits and monks, who might have been so dangerous to the Established Church, were
welcomed as allies. No mean jealousy in the Roman Church divided the priest and the prophet, as among the
ancient Jews; the mullah and the dervish, as in the East at the present time. The monks were allowed to
preach, and to elect their own monastery priests; they were gradually formed into regular orders, and brought
within the discipline of ecclesiastic law. The monks of the East, who could live on a handful of beans, passed
their lives in weaving baskets, in prayer and meditation. But the monks of the West, who lived in a colder
climate, required a different kind of food; and as at first they had no money, they could obtain it only by
means of work. They laboured in the fields in order to live and that which had arisen from necessity was
continued as a part of the monastic discipline. There were also begging friars, who journeyed from land to
land. These were the first travellers in Europe. Their sacred character preserved their lives from all robbers,
whether noble or plebeian, and the same exemption was accorded to those who put on the pilgrim's garb. The
smaller pilgrimage was that to Rome the greater that to the Holy Land, by which the palmers obtained
remission of their sins, and also were shown by the monks of Egypt, Sinai, and Palestine, many interesting
relics and vestiges of supernatural events. They were shown the barns which Joseph had built, vulgarly called
the Pyramids; the bush which had burnt before Moses and was not consumed, and the cleft out of which he
peeped at the "back parts" of Jehovah; the pillar of salt which was once Lot's wife, and which, though the
sheep continually licked it out of shape, was continually restored to its pristine form; the ruins of the temple
which Samson overthrew; the well where Jesus used to draw water for his mother when he was a little boy,
and where she used to wash his clothes; the manger in which he was born, and the table on which he was
circumcised; the caves in which his disciples concealed themselves during the crucifixion, and the cracks in
the ground produced by the earthquake, which followed that event; the tree on which Judas hanged himself,
and the house in which he resided, which was surrounded by the Jews with a wall that it might not be injured
by the Christians.
It was not only the rich who undertook this pilgrimage; many a poor man begged his way to the Holy Land.
When such a person was ready to depart, the village pastor clad him in a cloak of coarse black serge, with a
broad hat upon his head, put a long staff in his hand, and hung round him a scarf and script. He was
conducted to the borders of the parish in solemn procession, with cross and holy water the neighbours parted
from him there with tears and benedictions. He returned with cockleshells stitched in his hat, as a sign that
he had been across the seas, and with a branch of palm tied on to his staff, as a sign that he had been to
Jerusalem itself. He often brought also relics and beads; a bag of dust to hang at the bedside of the sick; a
phial of oil from the lamp which hung over the Holy Sepulchre, and perhaps a splinter of the true cross.
When the Saracens conquered Palestine and Egypt, they did not destroy the memorials of Jesus, for they
reverenced him as a prophet. Pious Moslems made also the pilgrimage to Jerusalem; and the Christians were
surprised and edified to see the turbaned infidels removing their sandals like Moses on Mount Sinai, and
prostrating themselves upon the pavement before the tomb. The caliphs were sufficiently enlightened to
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encourage and protect the foreign enthusiasts who filled the land with gold; and although the palmers were
exempt from "passage" and "pontage" and other kinds of blackmail levied by the barons on lay travellers,
they found it more easy and more safe to travel in Asia than in Europe. The passion for the pilgrimage to
Palestine, which had gradually increased since the days of Helena and Jerome, burst forth as an epidemic at
the close of the tenth century. The thousand years assigned in Revelation as the lifetime of the earth were
about to expire. It was believed that Jesus would appear in Jerusalem, and there hold a grand assize:
thousands bestowed their property upon the Church, and crowded to the Holy Land.
While they thus lived at Jerusalem and waited for the second coming, continually looking up at the sky and
expecting it to open, there came instead a host of men with yellow faces and oblique slitshaped eyes, who
took the Holy City by assault, drove the Arabs out of Syria, killed many pilgrims, stripped them of all their
money, and if they found none outside their bodies, probed them with daggers, or administered emetics in the
hope of finding some within. When the pilgrims returned, they related their sufferings, and showed their
scars. The anger of Christendom was aroused. A crusade was preached, and the enthusiasm which
everywhere prevailed enabled the Church to exercise unusual powers. The Pope decreed that the men of the
cross should be hindered by none. Creditor might not arrest; master might not detain. To those who joined the
army of the Church, absolution was given; and paradise was promised in the Moslem style to those who died
in the campaign. The tidings flew from castle to castle, and from town to town; there was not a land, however
remote, which escaped the infection of the time. In the homely language of the monk of Malmesbury, "the
Welshman left his hunting, the Scotch his fellowship with vermin, the Dane his drinking party, the
Norwegian his raw fish." Europe was torn up from its foundations and hurled upon Asia. Society was
dissolved. Monks, not waiting for the permission of their superiors, cast off their black gowns and put on the
buff jerkin, the boots and the sword. The serf left his plough in the furrow, the shepherd left his flock in the
field. Men servants and maid servants ran from the castle. Wives insisted upon going with their husbands,
and if their husbands refused to take them, went with some one else. Murderers, robbers, and pirates declared
that they would wash out their sins in pagan blood. In some cases, the poor rustic shod his oxen like horses,
and placed his whole family in a cart, and whenever he came to a castle or a town, inquired whether that was
Jerusalem. The barons sold or mortgaged their estates, indifferent about the future, hoping to win the wealth
of Eastern princes with the sword. During two hundred years, the natives of Europe appeared to have no other
object than to conquer or to keep possession of the Holy Land.
The Christian knights were at length driven out of Asia; in the meantime, Europe was transformed. The kings
had taken no part in the first crusades; the estates of the barons had been purchased partly by them, and partly
by the burghers. An alliance was made between Crown and Town. The sovereignty of the castle was
destroyed. Judges appointed by the king travelled on circuit through the land; the Roman law, from being
municipal became national; the barons became a nobility residing chiefly at the court; the middle class came
into life. The burghers acknowledged no sovereign but the king: they officered their own trainbands; they
collected their own taxes; they were represented in a national assembly at the capital. New tastes came into
vogue; both mind and body were indulged with dainty foods. The man of talent, whatever his station, might
hope to be ennobled; the honour of knighthood was reserved by the king, and bestowed upon civilians. The
spices of the East, the sugar of Egypt and Spain, the silk of Greece and the islands were no longer occasional
luxuries, but requirements of daily life. And since it was considered unworthy of a gentleman to trade, the
profits of commerce were monopolised by the third estate. Education was required for mercantile pursuits; it
was at first given by the priests who had previously taught laymen only to repeat the paternoster and the
credo, and to pay tithes. Schools were opened in the towns, and universities became secular. The rich
merchants took a pride in giving their sons the best education that money could obtain, and these young men
were not always disposed to follow commercial pursuits. They adopted the study of the law, cultivated the
fine arts, made experiments in natural philosophy, and were often sent by their parents to study in the land
beyond the Alps, where they saw something which was in itself an education for the burgher mind
merchants dwelling in palaces, seated upon thrones, governing great cities, commanding fleets and armies,
negotiating on equal terms with the proudest and most powerful monarchs of the North.
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Italy, protected by its mountain barrier, had not been so frequently flooded by barbarians as the provinces of
Gaul and Spain. The feudal system was there established in a milder form, and the cities retained more
strength. Soon they were able to attack the castle lords, to make them pull down their towers, and to live like
peaceable citizens within the walls. The Emperor had little power; Florence, Genoa, and Pisa grew into
powerful city states resembling those of Italy before the rise of ancient Rome, but possessing manufactures
which, in the time of ancient Italy, had been confined to Egypt, China, and Hindustan.
The origin of Venice was different from that of its sister states. In the darkest days of Italy, when a horde of
savage Huns, with scalps dangling from the trappings of their horses, poured over the land, some citizens of
Padua and other adjoining towns took refuge in a cluster of islands in the lagoons which were formed at the
mouths of the Adige and the Po. From Rialto, the chief of these islands, it was three miles to the mainland; a
mile and a half to the sandy breakwater which divided the lagoons from the Adriatic. At high water the
islands appeared to be at sea; but when the tide declined, they rose up from the midst of a dark green plain in
which blue gashes were opened by the oar. But even at high water the lagoons were too shallow to be entered
by ships except through certain tortuous and secret channels; and even at low water they were too deep to
be passed on foot. Here, then, the Venetians were secure from their foes, like the lakedwellers of ancient
times.
At first they were merely saltboilers and fishermen, and were dependent on the mainland for the materials of
life. There was no seaport in the neighbourhood to send its vessels for the salt which they prepared: they were
forced to fetch everything that they required for themselves. They became seamen by necessity: they almost
lived upon the water. As their means improved, and as their wants expanded, they bought fields and pastures
on the mainland; they extended their commerce, and made long voyages. They learnt in the dockyards of
Constantinople the art of building tall ships; they conquered the pirates of the Adriatic Sea. The princes of
Syria, Egypt, Barbary, and Spain were all of them merchants, for commerce is an aristocratic occupation in
the East. With them the Venetians opened up a trade. At first they had only timber and slaves to offer in
exchange for the wondrous fabrics and rare spices of the East. In raw produce Europe is no match for Asia.
The Venetians, therefore, were driven to invent; they manufactured furniture and woollen cloth, armour, and
glass. It is evident, from the old names of the streets, that Venice formerly was one great workshop; it was
also a great market city. The crowds of pilgrims resorting to Rome to visit the tombs of the martyrs, and to
kiss the Pope's toe, had suggested to the Government the idea of Fairs which were held within the city at
stated times. The Venetians established a rival fair in honour of St. Mark, whose remains, revered even by the
Moslems, had been smuggled out of Alexandria in a basket of pork. They took their materials, like Molière,
wherever they could find themstole the corpse of a patriarch from Constantinople, and the bones of a saint
from Milan. They made religion subservient to commerce: they declined to make commerce subservient to
religion. The Pope forbade them to trade with infidels: but the infidel, trade was their life. Siamo Veneziani
poi Cristiani, they replied. The Papal nuncios arrived in Venice, and excommunicated two hundred of the
leading men. In return they were ordered to leave the town. The fleets of the Venetians, like the Phoenicians
of old, sailed in all the European waters, from the wheat fields of the Crimea to the icecreeks of the Baltic.
In that sea the pirates were at length extinct; a number of cities along its shores were united in a league.
Bruges in Flanders was the emporium of the Northern trade, and was supplied by Venetian vessels with the
commodities of the South. The Venetians also travelled over Europe, and established their financial colonies
in all great towns. The cash of Europe was in their hands; and the sign of three golden balls declared that
Lombards lent money within.
During the period of the Crusades, their trade with the East was interrupted but it was exchanged for a
commerce more profitable still. The Venetians in their galleys conveyed the armies to the Holy Land, and
also supplied them with provisions. Besides the heavy sums which they exacted for such services, they made
other stipulations. Whenever a town was taken by the Crusaders, a suburb or street was assigned to the
Venetians; and when the Christians were expelled, the Moslems consented to continue the arrangement. In all
the great Eastern cities, there was a Venetian quarter containing a chapel, a bathhouse, and a factory ruled
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over by a magistrate or consul.
Constantinople, during the Crusades, had been taken by the Latins, with the assistance of the Venetians, and
had been recovered by the Greeks, with the assistance of the Genoese. The Venetians were expelled from the
Black Sea, but obtained the Alexandria trade. In the fifteenth century the Black Sea was ruined, for its
caravan routes were stopped by the Turkish wars. Egypt, which was supplied by sea, monopolised the India
trade, and the Venetians monopolised the trade of Egypt. Venice became the nutmeg and pepper shop of
Europe: not a single dish could be seasoned, not a tankard of ale could be spiced, without adding to its gains.
The wealth of that city soon became enormous; its power, south of the Alps, supreme.
Times had changed since those poor fugitives first crept in darkness and sorrow on the islands of the wild
lagoon, and drove stakes into the sand, and spread the reeds of the ocean for their bed. Around them the dark
lone waters, sighing, soughing, and the seabird's melancholy cry. Around them the dismal field of slime, the
salt and sombre plain. On that cluster of islands had arisen a city of surpassing loveliness and splendour.
Great ships lay at anchor in its marble streets; their yards brushed sculptured balconies, and the walls of
palaces as they swept along. Branching off from the great thoroughfares, bustling with commerce,
magnificent with pomp, were sweet and silent lanes of water, lined with summer palaces and with myrtle
gardens, sloping downwards to the shore. In the fashionable quarter was a lakelike space the Park of
Venice which every evening was covered with gondolas; and the gondoliers in those days were slaves
from the East, Saracens or Negroes, who sang sadly as they rowed, the music of their homes the
camelsong of the Sahara, or the soft minor airs of the Sudan.
The government of Venice was a rigid aristocracy. Venice therefore has no Santa Croce; it can boast of few
illustrious names. However, its Aldine Press and its poems in colour were not unworthy contributions to the
revival of ancient learning and the creation of modern art. The famous wanderings of Marco Polo had also
excited among learned Venetians a peculiar taste for the science of exploration. All over Europe they
corresponded with scholars of congenial tastes, and urged those princes who had ships at their disposal to
undertake voyages of enterprise and discovery. Among their correspondents there was one who carried out
their ideas too well. Venice was not so much injured by the potentates who assembled at Cambrai as by a
single man who lived in a lonely spot on the southwest coast of the Spanish peninsula.
That country had been taken from the natives by the Carthaginians, from the Carthaginians by the Romans,
from the Romans by the Goths, from the Goths by the Arabs and the Moors. It was the first province of the
Holy Empire of the Caliphs to shake itself free, and to crown a monarch of its own. The Arabs raised Spain to
a height of prosperity which it has never since attained; they covered the land with palaces, mosques,
hospitals, and bridges; and with enormous aqueducts which, penetrating the sides of mountains, or sweeping
on lofty arches across valleys, rivalled the monuments of ancient Rome. The Arabs imported various tropical
fruits and vegetables, the culture of which has departed with them. They grew, prepared, and exported sugar.
They discovered new mines of gold and silver, quicksilver and lead. They extensively manufactured silks,
cottons, and merino woollen goods, which they despatched to Constantinople by sea, and which were thence
diffused through the valley of the Danube over savage Christendom. When Italians began to navigate the
Mediterranean, a line of ports was opened to them from Tarragona to Cadiz. The metropolis of this noble
country was Cordova. It stood in the midst of a fertile plain washed by the waters of the Guadalquivir. It was
encircled by suburban towns; there were ten miles of lighted streets. The great mosque was one of the
wonders of the mediaeval world; its gates embossed with bronze; its myriads of lamps made out of Christian
bells; and its thousand columns of variegated marble supporting a roof of richly carved and aromatic wood.
At a time when books were so rare in Europe that the man who possessed one often gave it to a church, and
placed it on the altar pro remedio animae suae, to obtain remission of his sins; at a time when three or four
hundred parchment scrolls were considered a magnificent endowment for the richest monastery: when
scarcely a priest in England could translate Latin into his mother tongue; and when even in Italy a monk who
had picked up a smattering of mathematics was looked upon as a magician, here was a country in which
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every child was taught to read and write; in which every town possessed a public library; in which book
collecting was a mania; in which cotton and afterwards linenpaper was manufactured in enormous
quantities; in which ladies earned distinction as poets and grammarians, and in which even the blind were
often scholars; in which men of science were making chemical experiments, using astrolabes in the
observatory, inventing flying machines, studying the astronomy and algebra of Hindustan.
When the Goths conquered Spain they were reconquered by the clergy, who established or revived the
Roman Law. But to that excellent code they added some special enactments relating to pagans, heretics, and
Jews. With nations as with individuals, the child is often the father of the man; intolerance, which ruined the
Spain of Philip, was also its vice, in the Gothic days. On the other hand, the prosperity of Spain beneath the
Arabs was owing to the tolerant spirit of that people. Never was a conquered nation so mercifully treated. The
Christians were allowed by the Arab laws free exercise of their religion. They were employed at court; they
held office; they served in the army. The caliph had a bodyguard of twelve thousand men; picked troops,
splendidly equipped; and a third of these were Christians. But there were some ecclesiastics who taught their
congregations that it was sinful to be tolerated. There were fanatics who, when they heard the cry of the
muezzin, "There is no God but God, and Mohammed is the messenger of God," would sign the cross upon
their foreheads and exclaim in a loud voice, "Keep not thou silence, O God, for lo! thine enemies make a
tumult, and they that hate thee have lifted up the head"; and so they would rush into the mosque, and disturb
the public worship, and announce that Mohammed was one of the false prophets whom Christ had foretold.
And when such blasphemers were put to death, which often happened on the spot, there was an epidemic of
martyrsuicide such as that which excited the wonder and disgust of the younger Pliny. And soon both the
contumacy of the Christians and the evil passions of the Moslems, which that contumacy excited, were
increased by causes from without. When Spain had first been conquered, a number of Gothic nobles, too
proud to submit on any terms, retreated to the Asturias, taking with them the sacred relics from Toledo. They
found a home in mountain ravines clothed with chestnut woods, and divided by savage torrents foaming and
gnashing on the stones. Here the Christians established a kingdom, discovered the bones of a saint which
attracted pilgrims from all parts of Europe, and were joined from time to time by foreign volunteers, and by
the disaffected from the Moorish towns.
The Caliph of Cordova was a Commander of the Faithful: he united the spiritual and temporal powers in his
own person: he was not the slave of Mamelukes or Turkish guards. But he had the right of naming his
successor from a numerous progeny, and this custom gave rise, as usual, to seraglio intrigue and civil war.
The empire broke up into petty states, which were engaged in continual feuds with one another. Thus the
Christians were enabled to invade the Moslem territory with success. At first they made only plundering
forays; next they took castles by surprise or by storm and garrisoned them strongly; and then they began
slowly to advance upon the land. By the middle of the ninth century they had reached the Douro and the
Ebro. By the close of the eleventh they had reached the Tagus under the banner of the Cid. In the thirteenth
century the kingdom of Granada alone was left. But that kingdom lasted two hundred years. Its existence was
preserved by causes similar to those which had given the Christians their success. Portugal, Arragon, Leon,
and Castile were more jealous of one another than of the Moorish kingdom. Granada was unaggressive; and
at the same time it belonged to the European family. There was a difference in language, religion, and
domestic institutions between Moslem and Christian Spain; yet the manners and mode of thought in both
countries were the same. The cavaliers of Granada were acknowledged by the Spaniards to be "gentlemen,
though Moors." The Moslem knight cultivated the sciences of courtesy and music, fought only with the foe
on equal terms, esteemed it a duty to side with the weak and to succour the distressed, mingled the name of
his mistress with his Allah Akbar! as the Christians cried, Ma Dame et mon Dieu! wore in her remembrance
an embroidered scarf or some other gage of love, mingled with her in the graceful dance of the Zambra,
serenaded her by moonlight as she looked down from the balcony. Granada was defended by a cavalry of
gallant knights, and by an infantry of sturdy mountaineers. But it came to its end at last. The marriage of
Ferdinand and Isabella united all the crowns of Spain. After eight centuries of almost incessant war, after
three thousand seven hundred battles, the long crusade was ended; Spain became once more a Christian land;
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and Boabdil, pausing on the Hill of Tears, looked down for the last time on the beautiful Alhambra, on the
city nestling among rose gardens, and the dark cypress waving over Moslem tombs. His mother reproached
him for weeping as a woman for the kingdom he had not defended as a man. He rode down to the sea and
crossed over into Africa. But that country also was soon to be invaded by the Christians.
That part of the Peninsula which is called Portugal preserved its independence and its dialect from the
encroachments of Castile. While the kingdom of Granada was yet alive, the Portuguese monarch, having
driven the Moors from the banks of the Tagus, resolved to pursue them into Africa. He possessed an excellent
crusade machinery, and naturally desired to apply it to some purpose. In Portugal were troops of military
monks, who had sworn to fight with none but unbelievers. In Portugal were large revenues granted or
bequeathed for that purpose alone. In Portugal the passion of chivalry was at its height; the throne was
surrounded by knights panting for adventure. It is related that some ladies of the English court had been
grossly insulted by certain cavaliers, and had been unable to find champions to redress their wrongs. An equal
number of Portuguese knights at once took ship, sailed to London, flung down their gauntlets, overthrew their
opponents in the lists, and returned to Lisbon having received from the injured ladies the tenderest proof of
their gratitude and esteem.
It seems that already there had risen between Portugal and England that diplomatic friendship which has
lasted to the pre sent day. A commerce of wine for wool was established between the ports of the Tagus and
the Thames; and with this commerce the pirates of Ceuta continually interfered. Ceuta was one of the pillars
of Hercules: it sat opposite Gibraltar, and commanded the straits. The King of Portugal prepared a fleet; great
wargalleys were built having batteries of mangonels or huge crossbows, with winding gear, stationed in the
bow; great beams, like battering rams; swung aloft; and jars of quicklime and soft soap to fling in the faces of
the enemy. The fleet sailed forth, rustling with flags, beating drums, and, blowing Saracen horns; the passage
to Ceuta was happily made; the troops were landed, and the pirate city taken by assault.
Among those who distinguished themselves in this exploit was the Prince Henry, a younger son of the king.
He was not only a brave knight, but also a distinguished scholar; his mind had been enriched by a study of the
works of Cicero, Seneca, and Pliny, and by the Latin translations of the Greek geographers. He now stepped
on that mysterious continent which had been closed to Christians for several hundred years. He questioned
the prisoners respecting the interior. They described the rich and learned cities of Morocco: the Atlas
mountains, shining with snow and the sandy desert on their southern side. It was there the ancients had
supposed all life came to an end. But now the Prince received the astounding intelligence that beyond the
Sahara was a land inhabited entirely by negroes; covered with fields of corn and cotton watered by majestic
rivers, on the banks of which rose cities as large as Morocco, or Lisbon, or Seville. In that country were gold
mines of prodigious wealth; it was also a granary of slaves. By land it could be reached in a week from
Morocco by a courier mounted on the swift dromedary of the desert, which halted not by day or night. There
were regular caravans or camelfleets, which passed to and fro at certain seasons of the year. The Black
Country, as they called it, could also be reached by sea. If ships sailed along the desert shore towards the
south, they would arrive at the mouths of wide rivers, which flowed down from the goldbearing hills.
This conversation decided Prince Henry's career. To discover this new world beyond the desert became the
object of his life. He was Grand Master of the Order of Christ, and had ample revenues at his disposal and he
considered himself justified in expending them on this enterprise which would result in the conversion of
many thousand pagans to the Christian faith. He retired to a castle near Cape St. Vincent, where the sight of
the ocean continually inflamed his thoughts. It was a cold, bleak headland, with a few juniper trees scattered
here and there: all other vegetation had been withered by the spray. But Prince Henry was not alone. He
invited learned men from all countries to reside with him. He established a court, in which weatherbeaten
pilots might discourse with German mathematicians and Italian cosmographers. He built an observatory, and
founded a naval school. He collected a library, in which might be read the manuscript of Marco Polo, which
his elder brother had brought from Venice; copies on vellum of the great work of Ptolemy; and copies also of
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Herodotus, Strabo, and other Greek writers, which were being rapidly translated into Latin under the auspices
of the Pope at Rome. He had also a collection of maps and seacharts engraved on marble or on metal tables,
and painted upon parchment. At a little distance from the castle were the harbour and town of Sagres, from
which the vessels of the Prince went forth with the cross of the order painted on their sails.
They sailed down the coast of the Sahara; on their right was a sea of darkness, on their left a land of fire. The
gentlemen of the household who commanded the ships did not believe in the country of green trees beyond
the ocean of sand. Instead of pushing rapidly along, they landed as soon as they detected any signs of the
natives the old people of Masinissa and Jugurtha attacked them crying, Portugal! Portugal! and having
taken a few prisoners returned home. In every expedition the commander made it a point of honour to go a
little further than the preceding expedition. Several years thus passed, and the Black Country had not been
found. The Canary Islands were already known to the Spaniards: but the Portuguese discovered Porto Santo
and Madeira. A shipload of emigrants was despatched to the former island, and among the passengers was a
female rabbit in an interesting situation. She was turned down with her young ones on the island, and, there
being no checks to rabbitpopulation, they increased with such rapidity that they devoured every green thing,
and drove the colonists across into Madeira. In that island the colonists were more fortunate; instead of
importing rabbits they introduced the vine from Cyprus, and the sugarcane from Sicily; and soon Madeira
wine and sugar were articles of export from Lisbon to London and to other ports. In the meantime the
expeditions to Africa became exceedingly unpopular. The priests declared that the holy money was being
scandalously wasted on the dreams of a lonely madman. That castle on the Atlantic shore, which will ever be
revered as a sacred place in the annals of mankind, was then regarded with abhorrence and contempt. The
common people believed it to be the den of a magician, and crossed themselves in terror when they met in
their walks a swarthy strongfeatured man, with a round barret cap on his head, wrapped in a large mantle,
and wearing black buskins with gilt spurs. Often they saw him standing on the brink of the cliff, gazing
earnestly towards the sea, his eyes shaded by his hand. It was said that on fair nights he might be seen for
hours and hours on the tower of Babel which he had built, holding a strange weapon in his hands, and turning
it towards the different quarters of the sky.
There was an orthodox geography at that period founded upon statements in the Jewish writings, and in the
Fathers of the Church. The earth was in the centre of the universe; the sun and the moon and the stars humbly
revolving round it. Jerusalem was in the precise centre of the earth. In Eastern India was the Terrestrial
Paradise, situated on high ground, and surrounded by a wall of fire, reaching to the sky. St. Augustine,
Lactantius, and Cosmas Indicopleustes opposed the Antipodes as being contrary to Scripture; and there could
not be people on the other side of the earth, for how would they be able to see the Son of God descending in
his glory? It was also generally believed that there was a torrid zone, an impassable belt on both sides of the
equator, which Providence had created for the lower animals, and in which no man could live. It was to this
fiery land that the Prince kept sending vessel after vessel. The Portuguese did not see what would come of
these expeditions except to make widows and orphans. "The Prince seems to think," said they, "that because
he has discovered two desert islands he has conferred a great blessing upon us but we have enough
uncultivated land without going across the seas for more. His own father, only a little while ago, gave land to
a nobleman of Germany, on condition that he should people it with emigrants. But Dom Henry sends men out
of Portugal instead of asking them in. Let us keep to the country that God has given us. It may be seen how
much better suited those lands are for beasts than men by what happened with the rabbits. And even if there
are in that unfound land as many people as the Prince pretends, we do not know what sort of people they are;
and if they are like those in the Canaries who jump from rock to rock, and throw stones at Christian heads, of
what use is it to conquer a land so barren, and a people so contemptible?
However, an incident occurred which produced a revolution in popular and ecclesiastic feeling. The prisoners
captured on the desert coast offered a ransom for their release and this ransom consisted of negro slaves and
gold. The place where this metal first made its appearance was called the Golden River. It was not in reality a
river but an arm of the sea, and the gold had been brought from the mines of Bambouk in the country of the
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negroes. Its discovery created an intense excitement: the priests acknowledged that it could not have been
placed there for the use of the wild animals. Companies were formed and were licensed by the Crown, which
assigned to the Prince a fifth part of the cargoes returned. He himself cared little for the gold but the
discovery of this precious metal, of which India was proverbially the native land, suggested the idea that by
following the coast of Africa the Indies might be reached by sea. Letters and maps which he received from
his Venetian correspondents encouraged him in this belief, and he obtained without delay a Bull from the
Pope granting to the Crown of Portugal all lands that its subjects might discover as far as India inclusive, with
license to trade with infidels, and absolution for the souls of those that perished in these semi commercial,
semicrusading expeditions.
The practice of piracy was now partly given up: the Portuguese, like the Phoenicians of old, traded in one
place and kidnapped in another. The commodities which they brought home were gold dust, seal skins, and
negroes. Yet still they did not reach the negro land, till at last a merchant of Lagos, one time an equerry in the
Prince's service, knowing his old master had exploration at heart more than trade, determined to push on,
without loitering on the desert coast. He was rewarded with the sight of trees growing on the banks of a great
river, which Prince Henry and his cosmographers supposed to be the Nile. On one side were the brown men
of the desert with long tangled hair, lean, and fierce in expression, living on milk, wandering with their
camels from place to place. On the other side were large, stout, comely men with hair like wool, skins black
as soot, living in villages and cultivating fields of corn.
The Portuguese had now discovered the coast of Guinea, and they were obliged to give up their predatory
practices. Instead of an open plain in which knights habited in armour and men dressed in quilted cotton
jackets could fight almost with impunity against naked Moors, they entered rivers the banks of which were
lined with impenetrable jungles. The negroes, perched in trees, shot down upon them from above, or attacked
the ships' boats in midchannel with their swift and light canoes. The Portuguese had no firelocks, and the
crossbow bolt was a poor missile compared with the arrows which the negroes dipped in a poison so subtle
that as soon as the wounded man drank he died, the blood bursting from his nose and ears. A system of barter
was therefore established, and the negroes showed themselves disposed to trade. The Gold Coast was
discovered: a fort and a chapel were built at Elmina, where a commandant was appointed to reside. This
ancient settlement has just been ceded to the English by the Dutch. The ships carried out copper bracelets,
brass basins, knives, rattles, looking glasses, coloured silks, and woollen goods, green Rouen cloth, coral,
figured velvet, and dainty napkins of Flanders embroidered with gold brocade, receiving chiefly gold dust in
exchange. This trade was farmed out to a company for five years, on condition that the company should each
year explore to a certain distance along the coast.
The excitement which followed the discovery of gold dust, and the institution of the House of Mines,
gradually died away. The noble Prince Henry was no more. The men who went out to the coast were not of
the class who devote their lives to the chivalry of enterprise. An official who had just returned from Elmina
being presented to the king, His Majesty asked him how it was that although he had lived in Africa his face
and hands were so white. The gentleman replied that he had worn a mask and gloves during the whole period
of his absence in that sultry land; upon which the king told him what he thought he was fit for in words too
vigorous to be translated. This same king, John the second, was a vigorousminded man, and in him the
ambition of Prince Henry was revived. He found in a chest belonging to the late king a series of letters from a
Venetian gentleman giving much information about the India trade, and earnestly advising him to prosecute
his explorations along the coast. The librarians of St. Mark had also sent maps in which the termination of the
continent was marked. The king sent out new expeditions and fostered the science of nautical astronomy. A
Jew named Zacuto and the celebrated Martin Behem improved the mariner's compass and modified the old
Alexandrian astrolabe, so that it might be used at sea. Wandering knights from distant lands volunteered for
these expeditions desiring to witness the tropical storms and the strange manners of the New World, as it was
called.
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Many skilful mariners and pilots visited Lisbon, were encouraged to remain, and became naturalised
Portuguese. Among these was the glorious Christopher Columbus, who made more than one voyage to the
Gold Coast, married a Portuguese lady, and lived for some time in the Azores. It was his conviction that the
eastern coast of Asia could be reached by sailing due west across the ocean. It was his object not to discover a
new land, but to reach by sea the country which Marco Polo had visited by land. He eventually sailed with
letters to the Emperor of China in his pockets and came back from the West India Islands thinking that he had
been to Japan. He made his proposals in the first place to the king, who referred it to a council of learned
men. There were now two plans for sailing to India before the court: the one by following the African coast,
the other by sailing west across the ocean. But expeditions of all kinds were at that time unpopular in Lisbon.
The Guinea trade did not pay, and it was strenuously urged at the council that the West African Settlements
should be abandoned. The friends of exploration were obliged to stand on the defensive. They could not carry
the proposal of Columbus; it was all that they could do to save the African expeditions. But when Columbus
had won for Castile the east coast of Asia (as was then supposed) the king perceived that if he wished to have
an Indian empire he must set to work at once. He accordingly conducted the naval expeditions with such
vigour that the Cape of Storms was discovered, was then called the Cape of Good Hope, and, was then
doubled, though without immediate result, the sailors forcing their captain to return. The king also sent a
gentleman, named Covilham, to visit the countries of the East by land. His instructions were to trace the
Venetian trade in drugs and spices to its source, and to find out Prester John.
Covilham went to Alexandria in the pilgrim's garb, but instead of proceeding to the Holy Land, he passed on
to Aden, and sailed round the Indian Ocean or the Green Sea, that Lake of Wonder with the precious
ambergris floating on its waters and pearls strewed upon its bed, whitened with the cotton sails of the Arab
vessels, of the Gujrat Indians, and even of the Chinese, whose fourmasted junks were sometimes to be seen
lying in the Indian harbours with great wooden anchors dangling from their bows. The east coast of Africa, as
low down as Madagascar, or the Island of the Moon, was lined with large towns in which the Arabs resided
as honoured strangers, or in which they ruled as kings. On this coast Covilham obtained in formation
respecting the Cape. He then crossed over to the India shore; he sailed down the coast of Malabar from city to
city, and from port to port. He was astounded and bewildered by what he saw: the activity and grandeur of
the commerce; the magnificence of the courts; the halfnaked kings blazing with jewels, saying their prayers
on rosaries of precious stones, and using golden goblets as spittoons; the elephants with pictures drawn in
bright colours on their ears, and with jugglers in towers on their backs; the enormous temples filled with
lovely girls; the idols of gold with ruby eyes; the houses of red sandal wood; the scribes who wrote on palm
leaves with iron pens; the pilots who took observations with instruments unknown to Europeans; the huge
bundles of cinnamon or cassia in the warehouses of the Arab merchants; the pepper vines trailing over trees;
and drugs, which were priceless in Europe, growing in the fields like corn.
He returned to Cairo, and there found two Jews, Rabbi Abraham and Joseph the Shoemaker, whom the king
had sent to look after him. To them he gave a letter for the king, in which he wrote that the ships which sailed
down the coast of Guinea might be sure of reaching the termination of the continent by keeping on to the
south; and that when they arrived in the Eastern ocean, they must ask for Sofala and the Island of the Moon."
Covilham himself did not return. He had accomplished one part of his mission; he had traced the Venetian
commerce to its source; but he had now to find out Prester John.
A fable had arisen, in the Dark Ages, of a great Christian king in Central Asia; and when it was clearly
ascertained that the Grand Khan was not a Christian, and that none of the Tartar princes could possibly be
Christians, as they could not keep Lent, having no fish or vegetables in their country, it was hoped that
Prester John, as the myth was called, might be found elsewhere. Certain pilgrims were met with at Jerusalem
who were almost negroes in appearance. Their baptism was of three kinds of fire, of water, and of blood:
they were sprinkled, they were circumcised, they were seared on the forehead with a redhot iron in the form
of a cross. Their king, they said, was a good Christian and a hater of the Moslems, and was descended from
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the Queen of Sheba. This swarthy king, the ancestor of Theodore, could be no other than Prester John; and
Covilham felt it his duty to bear him the greetings of his master before he went home to enjoy that reputation
which he had so gloriously earned, and to take a part in the great discoveries that were soon to be made.
But the king of Abyssinia wanted a tame white man. He gave his visitor wife and lands; he treated him with
honour; but he would not let him go. This kind of complimentary captivity is a danger to which African
travellers are always exposed. It is the glory and pride of a savage king to have a white man at his court. And
so Covilham was detained, and he died in Abyssinia. But he lived to hear that Portugal had risen in a few
years to be one of the great European powers, and that the flag he loved was waving above those castles and
cities which he had been the first of his nation to behold. His letter arrived at the same time as the ship of
Dias, who had doubled the Cape. The king determined that a final expedition should be sent, and that India
should be reached by sea.
It was a fête day in Lisbon. The flags were flying on every tower; the fronts of the houses were clothed in
gorgeous drapery, which swelled and floated in the wind; stages were erected on which mysteries were
performed; bells were ringing, artillery boomed. Marble balconies were crowded with ladies and cavaliers,
and out of upper windows peeped forth the faces of girls, who were kept in semiOriental seclusion.
Presently the sound of trumpets could be heard; and then came in view a thousand friars, who chanted a
litany, while behind them an immense crowd chanted back in response. At the head of this procession rode a
gentleman richly dressed; he was followed by a hundred and fortyeight men in sailors' clothes, but bare
footed, and carrying tapers in their hands. On they went till they reached the quay where the boats, fastened
to the shore, swayed to and fro with the movement of the tide, and strained at the rope as if striving to depart.
The sailors knelt. A priest of venerable appearance stood before them, and made a general confession, and
absolved them in the form of the Bull which Prince Henry had obtained. Then the wives and mothers
embraced their loved ones whom they bewailed as men about to die. And all the people wept. And the
children wept also, though they knew not why.
Thirtytwo months passed, and again the waterside was crowded, and the guns fired, and the bells rang.
Again Vasco da Gama marched in procession through the streets; and behind him walked, with feeble steps,
but with triumph gleaming in their eyes, fiftyfive men the rest were gone. But in that procession were
not only Portuguese, but also men with white turbans and brown faces; and sturdy blacks, who bore a chest
which was shown by their straining muscles to be of enormous weight; and in his hand the Captain General
held a letter which was written with a pen of iron on a golden leaf, and which addressed the king of Portugal
and Guinea in these words: "Vasco da Gama, a gentleman of thy house, came to my country, of whose
coming I was glad. In my country there is plenty of cinnamon, cloves, pepper, and precious stones. The
things which I am desirous to have out of thy country are silver, gold, coral, and scarlet."
That night all the houses in Lisbon were illuminated; the gutters ran with wine; the skies, for miles round,
were reddened with the light of bonfires. The king's men brought ten pounds of spices to each sailor's wife, to
give away to her gossips. The sailors themselves were surrounded by crowds, who sat silent and
openmouthed, listening to the tales of the great waters, and the marvellous lands where they had been.
They told of the wonders of the Guinea coast, and of the men near the Cape, who rode on oxen and played
sweet music on the flute; and of the birds which looked like geese, and brayed like donkeys, and did not
know how to fly, but put up their wings like sails, and scudded along before the wind. They told how as they
sailed on towards the south, the north star sank and sank, and grew fainter and fainter, until at last it
disappeared; and they entered a new world, and sailed beneath strange skies; and how, when they had
doubled the Cape, they again saw sails on the horizon, and the north star again rose to view. They told of the
cities on the Eastern shore, and of their voyage across the Indian Ocean, and of that joyful morning when,
through the grey mists of early dawn, they discerned the hills of Calicut.
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And then they sank their voices, and their eyes grew grave and sad as they told of the horrors of the voyage;
of the long, long nights off the stormy Cape when the wind roared, and the spray lashed through the rigging,
and the waves foamed over the bulwarks, and the stones that were their cannonshot crashed from side to
side, and the ships like live creatures groaned and creaked, and hour after hour the sailors were forced to
labour at the pumps till their bones ached, and their hands were numbed by cold. They told of treacherous
pilots in the Mozambique, who plotted to run their ships ashore; and of the Indian pirates, the gipsies of the
sea, who sent their spies on board. They told of that new and horrible disease which, when they had been long
at sea, made their bodies turn putrid and the teeth drop from their jaws. And as they told of those things, and
named the souls who had died at sea, there rose a cry of lamentation, and widows in new garments fled
weeping from the crowd.
That night, the Venetian ambassador sat down and wrote to his masters that he had seen vessels enter Lisbon
harbour laden with spices and with India drugs. His next letter informed them that a strong fleet was being
prepared, and that Vasco da Gama intended to conquer India. The Venetians saw that they were ruined. They
wrote to their ally, the Sultan of Egypt, and implored him to bestir himself. They gave him artillery to send to
the India princes. They offered to open the Suez canal at their own expense, that their ships might arrive in
the Indian Ocean before the Portuguese. On the other hand, came the terrible Albuquerque, who told the
Sultan to beware, or he would destroy Mecca and Medina, and turn the Nile into the Red Sea. The Indian
Ocean became a Portuguese lake. There was scarcely a town upon its shores which had not been saluted by
the Portuguese bombardiers. Not a vessel could cross its waters without a Portuguese passport. As a last
resource, the Venetians offered to take the India produce off the king's hands, and to give him a fair price.
This offer was declined, and Lisbon, instead of Venice, became the marketplace of the India trade. The
great cities on the Euphrates, the Tigris, and the Nile fell into decay; the caravan trade of Central Asia
declined; the throne of commerce was transferred from the basin of the Mediterranean to the basin of the
Atlantic; and the oceanic powers, though rigidly excluded from the commerce itself, were greatly benefited
by the change. They had no longer to sail through the straits of Gibraltar; Lisbon was almost at their doors.
The achievements of the Portuguese were stupendous for a time. They established a chain of forts all
down the western coast of Africa, and up the east coast to the Red Sea; then round the Persian Gulf, down the
coast of Malabar, up the coast of Coromandel, among the islands of the Archipelago, along the shores of
Siam and Burma to Canton and Shanghai. With handfuls of men they defeated gigantic armies; with petty
forts they governed empires. But from first to last they were murderers and robbers, without foresight,
without compassion. Our eyes are at first blinded to their vices by the glory of their deeds; but as the light
fades, their nakedness and horror are revealed. We read of Arabs who had received safe conducts, and who
made no resistance, being sewed up in sails and cast into the sea, or being tortured in body and mind by hot
bacon being dropped upon their flesh; of crocodiles being fed with live captives for the amusement of the
soldiers, and being so well accustomed to be fed that whenever a whistle was given they raised their heads
above the water. We read of the wretched natives taking refuge with the tiger of the jungle and the panther of
the hills; of mothers being forced to pound their children to death in the rice mortars, and of other children
being danced on the point of spears, which it was said was teaching the young cocks to crow. The generation
of heroes passed away; the generation of favourites began. Courtiers accepted offices in the Indies with the
view of extorting a fortune from the natives as rapidly as could be done. It was remarked that humanity and
justice were virtues which were always left behind at the Cape of Good Hope by passengers for India. It was
remarked that the money which they brought home was like excommunicated money, so quickly did it
disappear. And as for those who were content to love their country and to serve their king, they made enemies
of the others, and were ruined for their pains. Old soldiers might be seen in Lisbon wandering through the
streets in rags, dying in the hospitals, and crouched before the palace which they had filled with gold. Men
whose names are now worshipped by their countrymen were then despised. Minds which have won for
themselves immortality were darkened by sorrow and disgrace. In the island of Macao, on the Chinese coast,
there is a grove paved with soft green velvet paths, and roofed with a dome of leaves which even the rays of a
tropical sun cannot pierce through. In the midst is a grotto of rocks, round which the roots of gigantic trees
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clamber and coil; and in that silent hermitage a poor exile sat and sang the glory of the land which had cast
him forth. That exile was Camoens; that song was the Lusiad.
The vast possessions of the Spaniards and Portuguese were united under Philip the Second, who closed the
port of Lisbon against the heretical and rebellious natives of the Netherlands. The Dutch were not a people to
undertake long voyages out of curiosity, but when it became necessary for them in the way of business to
explore unknown seas they did so with effect. Since they could not get cinnamon and ginger, nutmegs and
cloves at Lisbon, they determined to seek them in the lands where they were grown. The English followed
their example, and so did the French. There was for a long period incessant war within the tropics. At last
things settled down. In the West and East Indies the Spaniards and Portuguese still possessed an extensive
empire; but they no longer ruled alone. The Dutch, the English, and the French obtained settlements in North
America and the West India Islands, in the peninsula of Hindustan, and the Indian Archipelago; and also on
the coast of Guinea.
West Africa is divided by nature into pastoral regions, agricultural regions, and dense forest, mountains, or
dismal swamps, where the natives remain in a savage and degraded state. The hills and fens are the slave
preserves of Africa, and are hunted every year by the pastoral tribes, with whom war is a profession. The
captives are bought by the agricultural tribes, and are made to labour in the fields. This indigenous
slavetrade exists at the present time, and has existed during hundreds of years.
The Tuaricks or Tawny Moors inhabiting the Sahara on the borders of the Sudan, made frequent forays into
that country for the purpose of obtaining slaves, exacted them as tribute from conquered chiefs, or sometimes
bought them fairly with horses, salt, and woollen clothes. When Barbary was inhabited by rich and luxurious
people, such as the Carthaginians, who on one occasion bought no less than five thousand negroes for their
galleys, these slaves must have been obtained in prodigious numbers, for many die in the middle passage
across the desert, a journey which kills even a great number of the camels that are employed. The negroes
have at all times been highly prized as domestic and ornamental slaves, on account of their docility and their
singular appearance. They were much used in ancient Egypt, as the monumental pictures show: they were
articles of fashion both in Greece and Rome. Throughout the Middle Ages they were exported from the east
coast to India and Persia, and were formed into regiments by the Caliphs of Baghdad. The Venetians bought
them in Tripoli and Tunis, and sold them to the Moors of Spain. When the Moors were expelled, the trade
still went on; negroes might still be seen in the markets of Seville. The Portuguese discovered the slaveland
itself, and imported ten thousand negroes a year before the discovery of the New World. The Spaniards, who
had often negro slaves in their possession, set some of them to dig in the mines at St. Domingo: it was found
that a negro's work was as much as four Indians', and arrangements were made for importing them from
Africa. When the Dutch, the English, and the French obtained plantations in America, they also required
negro labour, and made settlements in Guinea in order to obtain it. Angola fed the Portuguese Brazil; Elmina
fed the Dutch Manhattan; Cape Coast Castle fed Barbados, Jamaica, and Virginia; Senegal fed Louisiana and
the French Antilles; even Denmark had an island or two in the West Indies, and a fort or two upon the Gold
Coast. The Spaniards alone having no settlements in Guinea, were supplied by a contract or assiento; which
at one time was enjoyed by the British Crown. We shall now enter into a more particular description of this
trade, and of the coast on which it was carried on.
Sailing through the Straits of Gibraltar, on the left hand for some distance is the fertile country of Morocco
watered by streams descending from the Atlas range. Then comes a sandy shore, on which breaks a savage
surf; and when that is passed, a new scene comes to view. The ocean is discoloured; a peculiar smell is
detected in the air; trees appear as if standing in the water; and small black specks, the canoes of fishermen,
are observed passing to and fro.
The first region, Senegambia, still partakes of the desert character. With the exception of the palm and the
gigantic Adansonia, the trees are for the most part stunted in appearance. The country is open, and is clothed
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with grass, where antelopes start up from their forms like hares. Here and there are clumps of trees, and long
avenues mark the water courses, which are often dry, for there are only three months' rain. The interior
abounds with gumtrees, especially on the borders of the desert. The people are Mohammedans, fight on
horseback, and dwell in towns fortified with walls and hedges of the cactus. In this country the French are
masters, and have laid the foundations of a military empire; an Algeria on a smaller scale.
But as we pass towards the south, the true character of the coast appears. A mountain wall runs parallel with
the sea, and numberless rivers leap down the hill slopes, and flow towards the Atlantic through forest covered
and alluvial lands, which they themselves have formed. These rivers are tidal, and as soon as the salt water
begins to mingle with the fresh, their banks are lined with mangrove shrubberies, forming an intricate
bowerwork of stems, which may be seen at low water encrusted with oysters, thus said by sailors to grow on
trees. The mountain range is sometimes visible as a blue outline in the distance; or the hills, which are shaped
like an elephant's back, draw near the shore: or rugged spurs jut down with their rocks of torn and tilted
granite to the sea. The shore is sculptured into curves; and all along the coast runs a narrow line of beach,
sometimes dazzling white, sometimes orange yellow, and sometimes a deep cinnamon red.
This character of coast extends from Sierra Leone to the Volta, and includes the Ivory Coast, the Pepper
Coast, and the Gold Coast. Then the country again flattens; the mountain range retires and gives place to a
gigantic swamp, through which the Niger debouches by many mouths into the Bight of Benin, where,
according to the old sailor adage, "few come out, though many go in." It is indeed the unhealthiest region of
an unhealthy coast. A network of creeks and lagoons unite the various branches of the Niger, and the marshes
are filled with groves of palmoil trees, whose yellow bunches are as good as gold. But in the old day the
famous red oil was only used as food, and the sinister name of the Slave Coast indicates the commodity
which it then produced.
Again the hills approach the coast, and now they tower up as mountains. The Peak of Cameroons is situated
on the Line; it is nearly as high as the Peak of Teneriffe; the flowers of Abyssinia adorn its upper sides, and
on its lofty summit the smoke of the volcano steals mistlike across a sheet of snow.
A little lower down, the primeval forest of the Gorilla Country resembles that of the opposite Brazil; but is
less gorgeous in its vegetation, less abundant in its life.
Farther yet to the south, and a brighter land appears. We now enter the Portuguese province of Angola. The
land, far into the interior, is covered with farmhouses and coffee plantations, and smiling fields of maize.
San Paolo de Loanda is still a great city, though the colony has decayed; though the convents have fallen into
ruin, though oxen are stalled in the college of the Jesuits. Below Angola, to the Cape of Good Hope, is a
waterless beach of sand. The west coast of Africa begins with a desert inhabited by Moors; it ends with a
desert inhabited by Hottentots.
In the eighteenth century, a trifling trade was done in ivory and gold; but these were only accessories; the
Guinea trade signified the trade in slaves. At first the Europeans kidnapped the negroes whom they met on
the beach, or who came off to the ships in their canoes; but the "treacherous natives" made reprisals; the
practice was, therefore, given up, and the trade was conducted upon equitable principles. It was found that
honesty was the best policy, and that it was cheaper to buy men than to steal them. Besides the settlements
which were made by Europeans, there were many native ports upon the Slave Coast, and of these Whydah,
the seaport of Dahomey, was the most important. When a slave vessel entered the roads, it fired a gun, the
people crowded down to the beach, the ship's boat landed through an ugly surf, and the skipper made his way
to a large tree in the vicinity of the landingplace, where the governor of the town received him in state, and
regaled him with tradegin, by no means the most agreeable of all compounds. The capital was situated at a
distance of sixty miles, and the captain would be carried there in a hammock, taking with him some
handsome silks and other presents for the king. This monarch lived by hunting his neighbours and by selling
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them to Europeans. There was a regular warseason, and he went out once a year, sometimes in one
direction, sometimes in another. Kings in Africa have frequently a bodyguard of women.
A certain king of Dahomey had developed this institution into female regiments. These women are nominally
the king's wives; they are in reality old maids the only specimens of the class upon the continent of
Africa; they are excellent soldiers hardy, savage, and courageous. In the siege of Abbeokuta, the other
day, an Amazon climbed up the wall; her right arm was cut clean off, and as she fell back she pistolled a man
with her left. When the king returned from his annual campaign, he sent to all the white men at Whydah, who
received the special title of the "king's friends," and invited them up to witness his "customs" and to purchase
his slaves, In the first place, the king murdered a number of his captives to send to his father as tokens of
regard; and the traders were mortified to see good flesh and blood being wasted on religion. However, slaves
were always in abundance. They were also obtained from the settlements upon the coast. The Portuguese
Angola could alone be dignified with the name of colony. The Dutch, English, and French settlements were
merely fortified factories, half castle, half shop, in which the agents lived, and in which the dry goods, rum,
tobacco, trade powder and muskets, were stored. There were native traders, who received a quantity of such
goods on trust, and travelled into the interior till they came to a Wartown. They then ordered so many
slaves; and laid down the goods. The chief ordered out the militia, made a night march, attacked a village just
before the dawn, killed those who resisted, carried off the rest in irons manufactured at Birmingham, and
handed them over to the trader; who drove them down to the coast. They were then warehoused in the fort
dungeons, or in buildings called "barracoons" prepared for their reception; and as soon as a vessel was ready
they were marked and shipped. On board they were packed on the lower deck like herrings in a cask. The
cargo supposed that it also resembled herrings, in being exported as an article of food.
The slaves believed that all white men were cannibals; that the red caps of the trade were dyed in negro
blood, and that the white soap was made of negro brains. So they often refused to eat; upon which their
mouths were forced open with an instrument known in surgery as speculum oris, and used in cases of
lockjaw; and by means of this ingenious contrivance they breakfasted and dined against their will. Exercise
also being conducive to health, they were ordered to jump up and down in their fetters; and if they declined to
do so, the application of the cat had the desired effect, and made them exercise not only their limbs, but also
their lungs, and so promoted the circulation of the blood and the digestion of the horsebeans on which they
were fed. Yet such was the obstinacy of these savage creatures, that many of them sulked themselves to
death; and sometimes, when indulged with an airing on deck, the ungrateful wretches would jump overboard,
and, as they sank, waved their hands in triumph at having made their escape. On reaching the West Indies
they were put into regular schools of labour, and gradually broken in; and they then enjoyed the advantage of
dwelling in a Christian land. But their temporal happiness was not increased. If a lady put her cook into the
oven because the pie was overdone; if a planter soused a slave in the boiling sugar; if the runaway was hunted
with bloodhounds, and then flogged to pieces and hung alive in chains; if the poor old wornout slave was
turned adrift to die, the West Indian laws did not interfere. The slave of a planter was "his money" it was only
when a man killed another person's slave that he was punished; and then only by a fine. It may be said,
without exaggeration, that dogs and horses now receive more protection in the British dominions than
negroes received in the last century.
In order to understand how so great a moral revolution has been wrought we must return for a moment to the
Middle Ages. We left the burgher class in alliance with the kings, possessing liberal charters, making their
own laws, levying their own taxes, commanding their own troops. Their sons were not always merchants like
themselves: they invaded the intellectual dominions of the priests: they became lawyers, artists, and
physicians.
Then another change took place. Standing armies were invented, and the middle class were reenslaved.
Their municipal rights were taken from them; troops were stationed in their towns; the nobles collected round
the king, who could now reward their loyalty with lucrative and honourable posts, the command of a
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regiment, or the administration of a province. Heavy taxes were imposed on the burghers and the peasants,
and these supported the nobles and clergy who were exempt. Aristocracy and monarchy became fast friends,
and the Crown was protected by the thunders of the Church.
The rebellion of the German monk established an idol of ink and paper, instead of an idol of painted wood or
stone; the Protestant believed that it was his duty to study the Bible for himself, and so education was spread
throughout the countries of the Reformed Religion. A desire for knowledge became general, and the
academies of the Jesuits were founded in self defence. The enlargement of the reading class gave the Book
that power which the pulpit once enjoyed, and in the hands of Voltaire the Book began to preach. The
fallacies of the Syrian religion were exposed: and with that religion fell the doctrine of passive obedience and
divine right: the doctrine that unbelievers are the enemies of God: the doctrine that men who adopt a
particular profession are invested with magical powers which stream into them from other men's finger ends:
the doctrine that a barbarous legal code was issued vivâ voce by the Creator of the world. Such notions as
these are still held by thousands in private life, but they no longer enter into the policy of states or dictate
statutes of the realm.
Voltaire destroyed the authority of the Church and Rousseau prepared the way for the destruction of the
Crown. He believed in a dreamland of the past which had never existed: he appealed to imaginary laws of
Nature. Yet these errors were beneficial in their day. He taught men to yearn for an ideal state, which they
with their own efforts might attain; he inspired them with the sentiment of Liberty, and with a reverence for
the Law of Right. Virtuous principles, abstract ideas, the future Deities of men were now for the first time
lifted up to be adored. A thousand hearts palpitated with excitement; a thousand pens were drawn; the people
that slumbered in sorrow and captivity heard a voice bidding them arise; they strained, they struggled, and
they burst their bonds. Jacques Bonhomme, who had hitherto gone on all fours, discovered to his surprise that
he also was a biped; the world became more light; the horizon widened; a new epoch opened for the human
race.
The antislavery movement, which we shall now briefly sketch, is merely an episode in that great rebellion
against authority which began in the night of the Middle Ages; which sometimes assumed the form of
religious heresy, sometimes of serf revolt; which gradually established the municipal cities, and raised the
slave to the position of the tenant; which gained great victories in the Protestant Reformation, the two English
Revolutions, the American Revolution, and the French Revolution; which has destroyed the tyranny of
governments in Europe, and which will in time destroy the tyranny of religious creeds.
In the middle of the eighteenth century negro slavery, although it had frequently been denounced in books,
had not attracted the attention of the English people. To them it was something in the abstract, something
which was done beyond the seas. But there rose an agitation which brought up its distant horrors in vivid
pictures before the mind, and produced an outcry of anger and disgust.
It had been the custom of the Virginian or West Indian planter, when he left his tobacco or sugar estate for a
holiday in England, to wear very broad hats and very wide trousers and to be accompanied by those slaves
who used to bring him his coffee in the early morning, to brush away the bluetailed fly from his siesta, and
to mix him rum and water when required. The existence of such attendants was some what anomalous in this
island, and friends would often observe with a knowing air it was lucky for him that Sambo was not up to
English law. That law, indeed, was undefined. Slavery had existed in England and had died out of itself, in
what manner and at what time no one could precisely say. It was, however, a popular impression that no man
could be kept as a slave if he were once baptised. The planters enjoyed the same kind of reputation which the
nabobs afterwards obtained: a yellow skin and a bad heart were at one time always associated with each
other. The negroes were often encouraged to abscond, and to offer themselves before the font. They obtained
as sponsors respectable welltodo men, who declared that they would stand by their godsons if it came to
a case at law. The planters were in much distress, and in order to know the worst went to Messrs. York and
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Talbot, the Attorney and Solicitor General for the time being, and requested an opinion. The opinion of York
and Talbot was this: that slaves breathing English air did not become free; that slaves on being baptised did
not become free; and that their masters could force them back to the plantations when they pleased.
The planters, finding that the law was on their side, at once acted on their opinion. Advertisements appeared
in the newspapers offering rewards for runaway slaves. Negroes might be seen being dragged along the
streets in open day: they were bought and sold at the Poultry Compter, an old city jail. Free men of colour
were no longer safe; kidnapping became a regular pursuit.
There was a young man named Granville Sharp, whose benevolent heart was touched to the quick by the
abominable scenes which he had witnessed more than once. He could not believe that such was really English
law. He examined the question for himself, and, after long search, discovered precedents which overthrew the
opinion of the two great lawyers. He published a pamphlet in which he stated his case; and not content with
writing, he also acted in the cause, aiding and abetting negroes to escape. On one occasion a Virginian had
disposed of an unruly slave to a skipper bound for the West Indies. The vessel was lying in the river; the
unfortunate negro was chained to the mast; when Granville Sharp climbed over the side with a writ of Habeas
Corpus in his hand. James Somerset's body was given up, and with its panting, shuddering, hopeful, fearful
soul inside, was produced before a Court of Justice that Lord Mansfield might decide to whom it belonged.
The case was argued at three sittings, and excited much interest throughout the land. It ended in the liberation
of the slave.
Several hundred negroes were at once bowed out by their masters into the street, and wandered about,
sleeping in glasshouses; seated on the doorsteps of their former homes, weeping, and cursing Granville
Sharp. It was resolved to do something for them, and a grant of land was obtained from the native chiefs at
the mouth of the Sierra Leone River: a company was formed; four hundred destitute negroes were sent out;
and, as if there were no women in Africa, fifty "unfortunates" were sent out with them. The society of these
ladies was not conducive to the moral or physical wellbeing of the emigrants, eightyfour of whom died
before they sighted land, and eightysix in the first four months after landing. The philanthropists thus
produced a middle passage at which a slave trader would have been aghast. In a short time the white women
were dead, and the Granvilles, as they are traditionally called upon the coast, adopted savage life. But the
settlement was repeopled from another source. In the American Revolutionary War, large numbers of
negroes had flocked to the royal standard, attracted by the proclamations of the British generals. These
runaway slaves were sent to Nova Scotia, where they soon began to complain; the climate was not to their
taste, and they had not received the lands which had been promised them. They were then shipped off to
Sierra Leone. They landed singing hymns, and pitched their tents on the site of the present town. The
settlement was afterwards recruited with negroes in thousands out of slave ships; but the American element
may yet be detected in the architecture of the native houses and in the speech of the inhabitants.
In the meantime the slavetrade was being actively discussed. Among those who felt most deeply on the
question was Dr. Peckard, of St. John's College, Cambridge, who, being in 1785 ViceChancellor, gave as a
subject for the Latin essay, "Anne liceat invitos in servitutem dare?" Is it right to make men slaves against
their will?
Among the candidates was a certain bachelor of arts, Mr. Thomas Clarkson, who had gained the prize for the
best Latin essay the year before, and was desirous of keeping up his reputation. He therefore took unusual
pains to collect materials respecting the African slavetrade, to which he knew Dr. Peckard's question
referred. He borrowed the papers of a deceased friend who had been in the trade, and conversed with officers
who had been stationed in the West Indies. He read Benezet's Historical Account of Guinea, and was thence
guided to the original authorities, which are contained in the large folios of Hakluyt and Purchas. These old
voyages, written by men who were themselves slavers, contain admirable descriptions of native customs, and
also detailed accounts of the way in which the mantrade was carried on. Clarkson possessed a vivid
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imagination and a tender heart: these narratives filled him with horror and alarm. The pleasure of research
was swallowed up in the pain that was excited by the facts before him. It was one gloomy subject from
morning to night. In the daytime he was uneasy; at night he had little rest. Sometimes he never closed his
eyes from grief. It became not so much a trial for academical reputation as for the production of a work which
might be useful to injured Africa. He always slept with a candle in the room that he might get up and put
down thoughts which suddenly occurred to him. At last he finished his painful task, and obtained the prize.
He went to Cambridge, and read his essay in the Senate House. On his journey back to Lon don the subject
continually engrossed his thoughts. "I became," he says, "very seriously affected upon the road. I stopped my
horse occasionally, and dismounted and walked. I frequently tried to persuade myself, in these intervals, that
the contents of my essay could not be true. Coming in sight of Wades Mill, in Hertfordshire, I sat down
disconsolate on the turf by the roadside and held my horse. Here a thought came into my mind, that if the
contents of the essay were true, it was time that some person should see these calamities to their end."
On arriving in London he heard for the first time of the labours of Granville Sharp and others. He determined
to give up his intention of entering the Church, and to devote himself entirely to the destruction of the
slavetrade. At this time a Committee was formed for the purpose of preparing the public mind for abolition.
Granville Sharp, to whom more than to any other individual the abolition of the slavetrade is due, became
the president, and Clarkson was deputed to collect evidence. He called on the leading men of the day and
endeavoured to engage their sympathies in the cause. His modest, subdued demeanour, the sad, almost tearful
expression of his face, which the painter of his portrait has fortunately seized, the earnestness and passion
with which he depicted the atrocities of the slavehunt in Africa and the miseries of the slave hold at sea,
secured him attention and respect from all; and among those with whom he spoke was one whose fame is the
purest and the best that parliamentary history records.
William Wilberforce was the son of a rich merchant at Hull, and inherited a large fortune. He went to
Cambridge, and was afterwards elected member for his native city, an honour which cost him £8,OOO. He
became a member of the fashionable clubs, and chiefly frequented Brooks', where he became a votary of faro
till his winnings cured him of his taste for play. He soon obtained a reputation in the House and the salon. He
had an easy flow of language, and a voice which was melody itself. He was a clever mimic and an
accomplished musician. He possessed the rare arts of polished raillery and courteous repartee. Madame de
Stael declared that he was the wittiest man in England. But presently he withdrew from her society and that
of her friends, because it was brilliant and agreeable. He also took his name off all his clubs. He was
travelling on the Continent with Pitt, who was his bosom friend, when a change came over him. In the days
of his childhood he had been sent to reside with an aunt who was a great admirer of Whitfield's preaching,
and kept up a friendly connection with the early Methodists. He was soon infected with her ideas, and "there
was remarked in him a rare and pleasing character of piety in his twelfth year." This excited much
consternation among the other members of his family. His mother at once came up to London and fetched
him home. "If Billy turns Methodist," said his grandfather, "he shall not have a sixpence of mine." We are
informed that theatrical diversions, card parties, and sumptuous suppers (at the fashionable hour of six in the
evening) obliterated these impressions for a time. They were not, however, dead, for the perusal of
Doddridge's "Rise and Progress" was sufficient to revive them. This amiable and excellent young man
became the prey of a morbid superstition. Often in the midst of enjoyment his conscience told him he was not
in the true sense of the word a Christian. "I laughed, I sang, I was apparently gay and happy, but the thought
would steal across me, What madness is all this: to continue easy in a state in which a sudden call out of the
world would consign me to everlasting misery, and that when eternal happiness is within my grasp?" The
sinful worldling accordingly reformed. He declined Sunday visits; he got up earlier in the morning; he
wrestled continually in prayer; he began to keep a common place book, serious and profane, and a Christian
duty paper. He opened himself completely to Pitt, and said he believed the Spirit was in him. Mr. Pitt was
apparently of a different opinion, for he tried to reason him out of his convictions. "The fact is," says Mr.
Wilberforce, "he was so absorbed in politics that he had never given himself time for due reflection in
religion. But amongst other things he declared to me that Bishop Butler's work raised in his mind more
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doubts than it had answered." Now if that was the character of Pitt's intellect we must venture to think that the
more he reflected on religion the less he would have believed in it.
Superstition intensifies a man. It makes him more of what he was before. An evilnatured person who takes
fright at hell fire becomes the most malevolent of human beings. Nothing can more clearly prove the natural
beauty of Wilberforce's character than the fact that he preserved it unimpaired in spite of his Methodistic
principles. It would be unjust to deny that after he became a Methodist he became a wiser and a better man.
His intellect was strengthened, his affections were sweetened, by a faith the usual tendency of which is to
harden the heart and to soften the head. He endeavoured to control a human, and therefore sometimes
irritable, temper; he laid down for himself the rule to manifest rather humility in himself than dissatisfaction
at others; and so well did he succeed that a female friend observed, "If this is madness I hope that he will bite
us all."
Yet there was a flaw in Wilberforce's brain, or he could never have supposed that a man might be sent to hell
for playing the piano. He soon showed that in another age he might have been an excellent inquisitor; and
inquisitors there were not less pure hearted, not less benevolent in private life than Wilberforce himself. He
desired to do something in public for the glory of God, and he believed it was his mission to reform the
manners of the age. When a man of fashion was always a gambler, and when all the clubs in St. James' Street
were hells; when speeches were often incoherent in the House after dinner; when comic songs were
composed against Mr. Pitt, not because he had a mistress, but because he had none; when ladies called
adultery " a little affair "; when the Prince of Wales was a young man about town, grazing on the middle
classes, it cannot be questioned that, from the royal family downwards, there was room for improvement. The
reader will perhaps feel curious to learn in what manner Mr. Wilberforce commenced his laudable but
difficult crusade. He obtained a royal proclamation for the discouragement of vice and immorality; and letters
from the secretaries of state to the lordslieutenant, expressing his Majesty's pleasure, that they recommend it
to the justices throughout their several counties to be active in the execution of the laws against immoralities.
He also started a society, to assist in the enforcement of the proclamation, as a kind of amateur detective
corps, to hunt up indecent and blasphemous publications. And that was what he called reforming the manners
of the age!
Happily, the slavetrade question began to be discussed, and Mr. Wilberforce obtained a cause which was
worthy of his noble nature. The miseries of Africa had long attracted his attention: even in his boyhood he
had written on the subject for the daily journals. Lady Middleton, who had heard from an eyewitness of the
horrors of slavery, had begged him to bring it before parliament. Mr. Pitt had also advised him to take up the
question, and he had agreed to do so whenever an opportunity should occur. This happened before his
acquaintance with Clarkson, to whom he said at their first interview that abolition was a question near his
heart. A short time after, there was a dinner at Mr. Bennet Langton's, at which Sir Joshua Reynolds, Boswell,
Windham, and himself were present. The conversation turned upon the African slavetrade, and Clarkson
exhibited some specimens of cotton cloth manufactured by the natives in their own looms, the plant being
grown in their own fields. All the guests expressed themselves on the side of abolition, and Mr. Wilberforce
was asked if he would bring it forward in the House. He said that he would have no objection to do so when
he was better prepared for it, providing no more proper person could be found.
The Committee now went to work in earnest, and held weekly meetings at Mr. Wilberforce's house. Clarkson
was sent to Bristol and Liverpool, where he collected much information, though not without difficulty, and
even, as he thought, danger of his life. A commission was appointed by the Lords of the Privy Council to
collect evidence. It was stated by the Liverpool and planter party that not only the colonial prosperity, but the
commercial existence of the nation was at stake; that the Guinea trade was a nursery for British seamen; that
the slaves offered for sale were criminals and captives who would be eaten if they were not bought; that the
middle passage was the happiest period of a negro's life; that the sleeping apartments on board were
perfumed with frankincense; and that the slaves were encouraged to disport themselves on deck with the
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music and dances of their native land. On the other hand, the Committee proved from the muster rolls which
Clarkson had examined that the Guinea trade was not the nursery of British seamen, but its grave; and they
published a picture of an African slaver, copied from a vessel which was lying in the Mersey, and certain
measurements were made, which, being put into feet and inches, justified the statement of a member in the
House, that never was so much human suffering condensed into so small a space.
Lord Chancellor Thurlow and two other members of the Cabinet were opposed to abolition, and therefore Mr.
Pitt could not make it a government measure; and so although it was called the battle between the giants and
the pigmies; although Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, Windham, and Wilberforce, the greatest orators and
statesmen of the day, were on one side, and the two members for Liverpool on the other, the brute votes went
with the pigmies, and the bill was lost.
But now the nation was beginning to be moved. The Committee distributed books, and hired columns in the
newspapers. They sealed their letters with a negro in chains kneeling, and the motto, "Am I not a man and a
brother?" Wedgwood made cameos with the same design; ladies wore them in their bracelets or their
hairpins; gentlemen had them inlaid in gold on the lids of their snuff boxes. Cowper sent to the Committee
the well known poem, "Fleecy locks and black complexion"; the Committee printed it on the finest
hotpressed paper, folded it up in a small and neat form, gave it the appropriate title of "A subject for
conversation at the teatable," and cast it forth by thousands upon the land. It was set to music, and sung as a
street ballad. People crowded at shop windows to see the picture of the ship in which the poor negroes were
packed like herrings in a cask. A murmur arose, and grew louder and louder; three hundred thousand persons
gave up drinking sugar in their tea; indignation meetings were held; and petitions were sent into Parliament
by the ton. Everything seemed to show that the nation had begun to loathe the trade in flesh and blood, and
would not be appeased till it was done away. And then came events which made the sweet words Liberty,
Humanity, Equality, sound harsh and ungrateful to the ear: which caused those who spoke much of
philanthropy, and eternal justice, to be avoided by their friends, and perhaps supervised by the police; which
rendered negroes and emancipation a subject to be discussed only with sneers and shakings of the head.
When the slavetrade question had first come up, Mr. Pitt proposed to the French Government that the two
nations should unite in the cause of abolition. Now in France the peasantry themselves were slaves; and the
negro trade had been bitterly attacked in books which had been burnt by the public executioner, and the
authors of which had been excommunicated by the Pope. Mr. Pitt's proposal was at once declined by the
coterie of the OEil de Boeuf. In the meantime it was discovered that the French nation was heavily in debt;
there was a loss of nearly five million sterling every year; a fact by no means surprising, for the nobles and
clergy paid no taxes; each branch of trade was an indolent monopoly; and poor Jacques Bonhomme bore the
weight of the court and army on his back. Chancellors of the Exchequer one after, the other were appointed,
and attempted in vain to grapple with the difficulty. As a last resource, the House of Commons was revived,
that the debt of bankrupt despotism might be accepted by the nation. A Parliament was opened at Versailles;
lawyers and merchants dressed in black walked in the same procession, and sat beneath the same roof with
the haughty nobles, rustling with feathers, shining with gold, and wearing swords upon their thighs. But the
commoners soon perceived that they had only been summoned to vote away the money of the nation; they
were not to interfere with the laws. Their debates becoming offensive to the king, the hall in which they met
was closed against them. They then gathered in a tennis court, called themselves the National Assembly, and
took an oath that they would not dissolve until they had regenerated France. Troops were marched into
Versailles; a coup d'etat was evidently in the wind. And then the Parisians arose; the army refused to fight
against them; the Bastille was destroyed; the National Assembly took the place of the OEil de Boeuf:
democracy became the Mayor of the Palace. A constitution was drawn up, and was accepted by the king. The
nobility were deprived of their feudal rights; church property was resumed by the nation; taxes were imposed
on the rich as well as on the poor; the peasantry went out shooting every Sunday; the country gentlemen fled
from their chateaux to foreign courts, where wars began to brew.
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Such was the state of affairs in France when Wilberforce suggested that Clarkson should be sent over to Paris
to negotiate with the leading members of the National Assembly. There was in Paris a Society called the
Friends of the Blacks; Condorcet and Brissot were among its conductors. Clarkson, therefore, was sanguine
of success; but it was long before he could obtain a hearing. At last he was invited to dinner at the house of
the Bishop of Chartres, that he might there meet Mirabeau and Seiyes, the Duc de Rochefoucauld, Pétion de
Villeneuve, and Bergasse, and talk the matter over. But when the guests met, a much more interesting topic
was in everybody's mouth. The king at that time lived at Versailles, a little town inhabited entirely by his
servants and his body guards. The Parisians for some time had been uneasy; they feared that he would
escape to Metz; and that civil war would then break out. There was a rumour of a bond signed by thousands
of the aristocrats to fight on the king's side. The Guards had certainly been doubled at Versailles; and a
Flanders regiment had marched into the town with two pieces of cannon. Officers appeared in the streets in
strange uniforms, green faced with red; and they did not wear the tricolour cockade which had already been
adopted by the French nation. And while thus uneasy looks were turned towards Versailles, an incident took
place which heightened the alarm. On October 1st a banquet had been given by the Guards to the officers of
the Flanders Regiment. The tables were spread in the court theatre: the boxes were filled with spectators.
After the champagne was served, and the health of the royal family had been drunk, the wine and the
shouting turned all heads; swords were drawn and waved naked in the air: the tricolour cockades were
trampled under foot; the band struck up the tender and beautiful ballad, 'O Richard! O my King! the world is
all forsaking thee!'; the queen came in and walked round the tables, bowing, and bestowing her sweetest
smiles; the bugles sounded the charge; the men from different regiments were brought in; all swore aloud
they would protect the king, as if he was just then in danger of his life; and some young ensigns carried by
assault certain boxes which expressed dissent at these proceedings. This was the subject of conversation at
the dinner to which Clarkson was invited; and the next day the women of Paris marched upon Versailles; the
king was taken to the Tuileries and the National Assembly became supreme under favour of the mob.
After several weeks Clarkson at last received a definite reply. The Revolution, he was told, was of more
importance than the abolition of the slavetrade. In Bordeaux, Marseilles, Rouen, Nantes, and Havre, there
were many persons in favour of that trade. It would be said that abolition would be making a sacrifice to
England. The British parliament had as yet done nothing, and people doubted the sincerity of Pitt. Mr.
Clarkson asked whether, if the question were postponed to the next legislature, it would be more difficult to
carry it then than now. "The question produced much conversation, but the answer was unanimous that
people would daily more and more admire their constitution, and that by the constitution certain solid and
fixed principles would be established, which would inevitably lead to the abolition of the slavetrade; and if
the constitution were once fairly established, they would not regard the murmurs of any town or province."
Clarkson was not the only envoy who was defeated by the planter interest on French soil. In the flourishing
colony of St. Domingo there were many mulatto planters, free and wealthy men, but subject to degrading
disabilities. When they heard of the Revolution, they sent Ogé to Paris with a large sum of money as a
present to the National Assembly, and a petition for equal rights. The president received him and his
companions with cordiality: he bid them take courage; the Assembly knew no distinction between black and
white; all men were created free and equal. But soon the planters began to intrigue, the politicians to
prevaricate, and to postpone. Ogé's patience was at last worn out; he declared to Clarkson that he did not care
whether their petition was granted them or not. "We can produce," he said, "as good soldiers on our estates as
those in France. If we are once forced to desperate measures, it will be in vain to send thousands across the
Atlantic to bring us back to our former state." He finally returned to St. Domingo, armed his slaves, was
defeated and broken on the wheel. Then the slaves rose and massacred the whites, and the cause of abolition
was tarnished by their crimes. In England the tide of feeling turned; a panic fell upon the land. The practical
disciples of Rousseau had formed a club in Paris, the members of which met in a Jacobin church, whence
they took their name. This club became a kind of caucus for the arrangement of elections, to decide the
measures which should be brought forward in the National Assembly, and to preach unto all men the gospel
of liberty, equality, and fraternity. It had four hundred daughter societies in France; it corresponded with
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thousands of secret societies abroad; it had missionaries in the army, spies in foreign lands. It desired to
create a universal republic; it grew in power, in ambition, and in bravado; it cast at the feet of the kings of
Europe the head of a king; it offered the friendship and aid of France to all people who would rise against
their tyrants. Thomas Paine, who used to boast that he had created the American Revolution with his
pamphlet, "Common Sense," now tried to create an English Revolution with his "Rights of Man." In the loyal
towns his effigy, with a rope round its neck, was flogged with a cart whip, while the marketbell tolled, and
the crowd sang the national anthem, with three cheers after each verse. In other towns, 'No King! Liberty!
Equality!' were scribbled on the walls. The soldiers were everywhere tampered with, and the king was
mobbed. Pitt, the projector of Reform Bills, became a tyrant. Burke, the champion of the American
Revolution, became a Tory.
It was not a time to speak of abolition, which was regarded as a revolutionary measure. And such in reality it
was, though accidentally associated in England with religion and philanthropy, on account of the character of
its leaders. It was pointed out that the atheist philosophers had all of them begun by sympathising with the
negroes; one of Thomas Paine's first productions was an article against slavery. The Committee was declared
to be a nest of Jacobins, their publications were denounced as poisonous. There was a time when the king had
whispered at a levee, "How go on your black clients, Mr. Wilberforce?'
But now the philanthropist was in disgrace at court. At this time poor Clarkson's health gave way, and he was
carried off the field. And then from Paris there came terrible news; the people were at last avenged. The long
black night was followed by a bloodred dawn. The nobles who had fled to foreign courts had returned with
foreign troops; the kings of Europe had fallen on the new republic, the common enemy of all. The people
feared that the old tyranny was about to be replaced, and by a foreign hand; they had now tasted liberty; they
knew how sweet it was; they had learnt the joy of eating all the corn that they had sown; they had known
what it was to have their own firelocks and their own swords, and to feel that they, the poor and hungry serfs,
were the guardians of their native land. They had learnt to kiss the tricolour; to say Vive la nation! to look
forward to a day when their boys, now growing up, might harangue from the Tribune, or sit upon the Bench,
or grasp the fieldmarshal's baton. And should all this be undone? Should they be made to return to their
boiled grass and their stinging nettle soup? Should the days of privilege and oppression be restored?
The nation arose and drove out the invaders. But there had been a panic, and it bore its fruits. What the
Jacobins were to Pitt, the aristocrats were to Danton and Robespierre. Hundreds of royalists were guillotined,
but then, thousands had plotted the overthrow of the Republic, thousands had intrigued that France might be a
conquered land. Such at least was the popular belief; The massacres of September, the execution of the king
and queen, were the result of fear. After which, it must be owned, there came a period when suspicion and
slaughter had become a habit; when blood was shed to the sound of laughter; when heads, greeted with roars
of recognition, were popped out of the little national sashwindow, and tumbled into the sawdust, and then
were displayed to the gallery in the windows, and to the pit upon the square. The mere brute energy which lay
at the bottom of the social mass rose more and more towards the top; and at length the leaders of the people
were hideous beings in red woollen caps, with scarcely an idea in their heads or a feeling in their hearts;
ardent lovers of liberty, it is true, and zealots for the fatherland, scarcely taking enough from the treasury to
fill their bellies and to clothe their backs (Marat, when killed, had elevenpence halfpenny in his possession),
but mere senseless fanatics, who crushed that liberty which they tried to nurse; who governed only by the
guillotine, which they considered a sovereign remedy for all political disorders; who killed all the great men
whom the Republic had produced, and were finally guillotined themselves.
The death of Robespierre closed the Revolution; the last mobrising was extinguished by the artillery of
Bonaparte. The Jacobins fell into disrepute; there was a cry of "Down with the Jacoquins!"; stones were
hurled in through their windows; the orators were hustled and beaten as they sallied forth, and the ladies who
knitted in the gallery were chastised in a manner scarcely suited for adults. The age of revolutions for a time
was past; Bonaparte became Dictator; Thomas Paine took to drink; the English reign of terror was dispelled;
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the abolitionists again raised their voices on behalf of the negro, and in 18O7 the slavetrade was abolished.
That traffic, however, was only abolished so far as English vessels and English markets were concerned, and
Government now commenced a long series of negotiations with foreign powers. In course of time the other
nations prohibited the slavetrade, and conceded to Great Britain the police control of the Guinea coast, and
the right of search. A squadron of gunboats hovered round the mouths of rivers, or sent up boating
expeditions, or cruised to and fro a little way out at sea, with a man always at the masthead with a spy glass
in his hand, scanning the horizon for a sail. When a sail was sighted, the gunboat got up steam, bore down
upon the vessel, ordered her to heave to, sent men on board, and overhauled her papers. If they were not in
order, or if slaves were on board, or even if the vessel was fitted up in such a way as to have the appearance
of a slaver, she was taken as a prize; the sailors were landed at the first convenient spot; the slaver was sold,
and the money thereby obtained, with a bounty on each captured slave, was divided among the officers and
crew. The slaves were discharged at Sierra Leone, where they formed themselves into various townships
according to their nationalities, spoke their own language, elected their own chiefs, and governed themselves
privately by their own laws, opinion acting as the only method of coercion a fact deserving to be noted by
those who study savage man. However, this was only for a time. All these imported negroes were educated
by the missionaries, and they now support their own church; the native languages and distinctions of
nationality are gradually dying out; the descendants of naked slaves are many of them clergymen, artisans,
shopkeepers, and merchants; they call themselves Englishmen, and such they feel themselves to be. However
ludicrous it may seem to hear a negro boasting about Lord Nelson and Waterloo, and declaring that he must
go home to England for his health, it shows that he possesses a kind of emulation, which, with proper
guidance, will make him a true citizen of his adopted country, and leave him nothing of the African except
his skin.
But the slavetrade was not extinguished by the "sentimental squadron." The slavers could make a profit if
they lost four cargoes in every five; they could easily afford to use decoys. While the gunboat was giving
chase to some old tub with fifty diseased and usedup slaves on board, a clipper with several hundreds in her
holds would dash out from her hidingplace among the mangroves and scud across the open sea to Cuba and
Brazil.
It was impossible to blockade a continent; but it was easy to inspect estates. The negroes were purchased as
plantation hands; a contraband labourer was not a thing to be concealed. There were laws in Cuba and Brazil
against negro importation, but these existed only for the benefit of the officials. The bribery practice was put
an end to in Brazil about 1852; that great market was for ever closed. Slavers were ruined; African chiefs
became destitute of rum and this branch of commerce began to look forlorn. Yet still Cuba cried, 'More! Give
me more!'; still the profits were so large that the squadron was defeated and the mansupply obtained. Half a
million of money a year, and no small amount of men, did that one island cost Great Britain. Yet still it might
be hoped that even Cuba would he filled full in time; that the public opinion of Europe would act upon
Madrid; that in time it would imitate Brazil. But in 1861 there happened an event which made the Cubans
turn their back on Spain, and look with longing eyes the other way; and a beautiful vision uprose before their
minds. They dreamt of a New Empire to which Cuba would belong, and to which slavery in a state of
medieval beauty would be restored. It was only a dream; it was quickly dispelled; they awoke to find Liberty
standing at their doors; and there now she stands waiting for her time to come.
When Great Britain was teasing the colonies into resistance, it was often predicted that they would not unite.
There was little community of feeling between the old Dutch families of New York, the Quakers of
Pennsylvania, the yeomen of New England, who were descended from Roundheads, and the country
gentlemen of Virginia, who were descended from Cavaliers. But when the king closed Boston Port, and the
vessels mouldered in the docks, and the shops were closed, and the children of fishermen and sailors began to
cry for bread, the colonies did unite with one heart and one hand to feed the hunger of the noble town; and
then to besiege it for its own sake, and to drive the red coats back into their ships. Yet when the war was over,
and the squirrel guns had again been hung upon the wall, and the fire of the conflict had died out, the old
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jealousy reappeared. A loosejointed league was tried and came to nought. The nation existed; the nation was
in debt; union could not be dispensed with. But each colony approached this Union as a free and sovereign
state. If one colony had chosen to remain apart, the others would not have interfered; if one colony after
entering the Union had chosen to withdraw, its right to do so would not have been denied. In European
countries, republican or royal, the source of authority is the nation; all powers not formally transferred reside
with the Assembly or the Crown. In America, however; it was precisely the reverse; all powers not delivered
to the central government were retained by the contracting states.
At the time of the Revolution, negro slavery existed in the colonies without exception. But it did not enter the
economy of Northern life. Slavery will only pay when labour can be employed in gangs beneath an overseer,
and where work can be found for a large number of men without cessation throughout the year. In the culture
of rice, sugar, cotton, and tobacco, these conditions exist; but in corngrowing lands labour is scanty and
dispersed, except at certain seasons of the year. Slaves in the North were not employed as field hands, but
only as domestic servants in the houses of the rich. They could therefore be easily dispensed with; and it was
proposed by the Northern delegates, when the Constitution was being prepared, that the African slavetrade
should at once be abolished, and that certain measures should be taken, with a view to the gradual
emancipation of the negro. Upon this question Virginia appears to have been divided. But Georgia and the
Carolinas at once declared that they would not have the slavetrade abolished: they wanted more slaves; and
unless this species of property were guaranteed, they would not enter the Union at all. They demanded that
slavery should be recognised and protected by the Constitution. The Northerners at once gave in; they only
requested that the words 'slave' and 'slavery' might not appear. To this the Southerners agreed, and the
contract was delicately worded; but it was none the less stringent all the same. It was made a clause of the
Constitution that the slave trade should not be suppressed before the year 18O8. It might then be made the
subject of debate and legislation not before. It was made a clause of the Constitution that, if the slaves of
any state rebelled, the national troops should be employed against them. It was made a clause of the
Constitution that, if a slave escaped to a free state, the authorities of that state should be obliged to give him
up. And lastly, slave owners were allowed to have votes in proportion to the number of their slaves. Such
was the price which the Northerners paid for nationality a price which their descendants found a hard and
heavy one to pay. The fathers of the country ate sour grapes, and the children's teeth were set on edge.
But the Southerners had not finished yet. The colonies possessed, according to their charters, certain regions
in the wilderness out west, and these they delivered to the nation. A special proviso was made, however, by
South Carolina and by Georgia, that at no future time should slavery be forbidden in the territories which they
gave up of their own free will and these territories in time became slave states. It is therefore evident that the
South intended from the first to preserve, and also to extend slavery. It must be confessed that their policy
was candid and consistent, and of a piece throughout. They refused to enter the Union unless their property
was guaranteed; they threatened to withdraw from the Union whenever they thought that the guarantee was
about to be evaded or withdrawn. The clauses contained in the Constitution were binding on the nation; but
they might be revoked by means of a constitutional amendment, which could be passed by the consent of
threefourths of the states. Emigrants continually poured into the north; and these again streamed out towards
the west. It was evident that in time new states would be formed, and that the original slave states would be
left in a minority. These states were purely agricultural; they had no commerce; they had no manufactures.
Indigo, rice, and tobacco were the products on which they lived; and the markets for these were in an ugly
state. The East Indies had begun to compete with them in rice and indigo; the demand for tobacco did not
increase. There was a general languor in the South; the young men did not know what to do. Slavery is a
wasteful and costly institution, and requires large profits to keep it alive; it seemed on the point of dying in
the South, when there came a voice across the Atlantic crying for cotton in loud and hungry tones; and the
fortune of the South was made.
In the seventeenth century the town of Manchester was already known to fame. It was a seat of the woollen
manufacture, which was first introduced from Flanders into England in the reign of Edward the Third. It
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bought yarn from the Irish, and sent it back to them as linen. It imported cotton from Cyprus and Smyrna, and
worked it into fustians, vermilions, and dimities. In the middle of the eighteenth century the cotton industry
had become important. In thousands of cottages surrounding Manchester might be heard the rattle of the loom
and the humming of the onethread wheel, which is now to he seen only in the opera of Marta. Invention, as
usual, arose from necessity; the weavers could not get sufficient thread, and were entirely at the mercy of the
spinners. Spinning machines were accordingly invented: the water frame, the spinning jenny, and the mule.
And now the weavers had more thread than they could use, and the power loom was invented to preserve the
equilibrium of supply and demand. Then steam was applied to machinery; the factory system was
established; hundredhanded engines worked all the day: and yet more labourers were employed than had
ever been employed before; the soft white wool was carded, spun, and woven in a trice; the cargoes from the
East were speedily devoured; and now raw material was chiefly in demand. The American cotton was the
best in the market; but the quantity received had hitherto been small. The picking out of the small black seeds
was a long and tedious operation. A single person could not clean more than a pound a day. Here, then, was
an opening for Yankee ingenuity; and Whitney invented his famous sawgin, which tore out the seeds as
quick as lightning with its iron teeth. Land and slaves abounded in the South; the demand from Manchester
became more and more hungry it has never yet been completely satisfied and, under King Cotton, the
South entered upon a new era of wealth, vigour, and prosperity as a slave plantation. The small holdings were
unable to compete with the large estates on which the slaves were marshalled and drilled like convicts to their
work; society in the South soon became composed of the planters, the slaves, and the mean whites who were
too proud to work like niggers, and who led a kind of gipsy life.
While the intellect of the North was inventing machinery, opening new lands, and laying the foundations of a
literature, the Southerners were devoted entirely to politics; and by means of their superior ability they ruled
at Washington for many years, and almost monopolised the offices of state. When America commenced its
national career there were two great sects of politicians; those who were in favour of the central power, and
those who were in favour of state rights. In the course of time the national sentiment increased, and with it the
authority of the President and Congress; but this centralising movement was resisted by a certain party of the
North whose patriotism could not pass beyond the state house and the city hall. The Southerners were
invariably provincial in their feelings; they did not consider themselves as belonging to a nation, but a league;
they inherited the sentiments of aversion and distrust with which their fathers had entered the Union; threats
and provisos were always on their lips. The executive, it was true, was in their hands, but the House of
Representatives belonged to the North. In the Senate the states had equal powers, irrespective of size and
population. In the Lower House the states were merely sections of the country; population was the standard
of the voting power. The South had a smaller population than the North; the Southerners were therefore a
natural minority, and only preserved their influence by allying themselves with the states' rights party in the
North. The free states were divided: the slave states voted as one man.
In the North politics was a question of sentiment, and sentiments naturally differ. In the South politics was a
matter of life and death; their bread depended on cotton; their cotton depended on slaves; their slaves
depended on the balance of power. The history of the South within the Union is that of a people struggling for
existence by means of political devices against the spirit of the nation and the spirit of the age. By annexation,
purchase, and extension they kept pace with the North in its rush towards the West. Free states and slave
states ran neck and neck towards the shores of the Pacific. The North obtained Vermont, Ohio, Indiana,
Illinois, Maine, Michigan, Iowa, Wisconsin, and California. The South obtained Tennessee, Kentucky,
Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Missouri, Arkansas, Florida, and Texas. Whenever a territory became a
state, the nation possessed the power of rejecting and therefore of modifying its constitution. The Northern
politicians made an effort to prohibit slavery in all new states; the South as usual threatened to secede, and
the Union which had been manufactured by a compromise was preserved by a compromise. It was agreed
that a line should be drawn to the Pacific along the parallel 36° 3O'; that all the states which should
afterwards be made below the line should be slave holding; and all that were made above it should be free.
But this compromise was not, like the compromise of the constitution, binding on the nation, and only to be
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set aside by a constitutional amendment. It was simply a parliamentary measure, and as such could be
repealed at any future session. However, it satisfied the South; the North had many things to think of; and all
remained quiet for a time. But only for a time.
The mysterious principle which constitutes the law of progress produces similar phenomena in various
countries at the same time, and it was such an active period of the human mind which produced about forty
years ago a Parisian Revolution, the great Reform Bill, and the American agitation against slavery. There was
a man in a Boston garret. He possessed some paper, pens and ink, and little else besides; and even these he
could only use in a fashion of his own. He had not what is called a style; nor had he that rude power which
can cast a glow on jagged sentences and uncouth words. This poor garretteer, a printer in his working hours,
relied chiefly on his type for light and shade, and had much recourse to capital letters, italics and notes of
exclamation, to sharpen his wit, and to strengthen his tirades. But he had a cause, and his heart was in that
cause. When W. L. Garrison commenced his Liberator the government of Georgia set a price upon his head,
he was mobbed in his native city, and slavery was defended in Faneuil Hall itself, sacred to the memory of
men who cared not to live unless they could be free. The truth was, that the Northerners disliked slavery, but
nationality was dear to them and they believed that an attack upon the 'domestic institution' of the South
endangered the safety of the Union. But the abolitionists became a sect; they increased in numbers and in
talent; they would admit of no compromise; they cared little for the country itself so long as it was stained.
They denounced the constitution as a covenant with death, and an agreement with hell. No union with
slaveholders! they cried. No union with midnight robbers and assassins! Hitherto the war between the two
great sections of the country had been confined to politicians. The Southerners had sent their boys to
Northern colleges and schools. Attended by a retinue of slaves they had passed the summer at Saratoga or
Newport, and some times the winter at New York. But now their sons were insulted, their slaves decoyed
from them by these new fanatics; and the South went North no more.
Abolition societies were everywhere formed, and envoys were sent into the slave states to distribute abolition
tracts and to publish abolition journals, and to excite, if they could, a St. Domingo insurrection. The
Northerners were shocked at these proceedings and protested angrily against them. But soon there was a
revulsion of feeling in their minds, The wild beast temper arose in the South, and went forth lynching all it
met. Northerners were flogged and even killed. Negroes were burnt alive. And so the meetings of
abolitionists were no longer interrupted at the North; mayors and selectmen no longer refused them the use
of public halls. The sentiment of abolition was however not yet widely spread. There were few Northerners
who preferred to give up the Union rather than live under a piebald constitution, or who considered it just to
break a solemn compact in obedience to an abstract law. But there now arose a strong and resolute party who
declared that slavery might stay where it was, but that it must go no farther. The South must be content with
what it had. Not another yard of slave soil should be added to the Union. On the other hand, the South could
not accept such terms. Slavery extension was necessary for their lives. More land they must have or they
could not exist. There was waste land in abundance in the South; but it was dead. Their style of agriculture
was precisely that which is pursued in Central Africa. They took a tract from the wilderness and planted it
again and again with cotton and tobacco till it gave up the ghost, and would yield no more. They then moved
on and took in another piece. Obliged to spend all their cash in buying prime slaves at two hundred pounds a
piece, they could not afford to use manure or to rotate their crops; they could not afford to employ so costly a
species of labour on anything less lucrative than sugar, cotton, and tobacco. Besides, if slavery were not to be
extended they would be surrounded and hemmed in by free states; the old contract would be annulled.
Already the South were in a minority. The free states and slave states might be equal in number; but they
were not equal in population and prosperity. The Northerner who travelled down South was astonished to
find that the cities of the maps were villages, and the villages clusters of log huts. Fields covered with weeds,
and mossgrown ruins showed where farms once flourishing had been. He rode through vast forests and
cypress swamps, where hundreds of mean whites lived like Red Indians, hunting and fishing for their daily
bread, eating clay to keep themselves alive, prowling round plantations to obtain stolen food from the slaves.
He saw plantations in which the labour was conducted with the terrible discipline of the prison and the hulks;
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and where as he galloped past the line of hoeing slaves, so close that he splashed them with mud, they hoed
on, they toiled on, not daring to raise their eyes from the ground. From early dawn to dusky eve it was so
with these poor wretches: no sound broke the silence of those fearful fields but the voice of the overseer and
the cracking of the whip. And out far away in the lone western lands, by the side of dark rivers, among trees
from which drooped down the dull grey Spanish moss, the planters went forth to hunt; there were
wellknown coverts where they were sure to find; and as the traveller rode through the dismal swamp he
might perhaps have the fortune to see the game; a black animal on two legs running madly for its life, and
behind it the sounding of a horn, and the voices of hounds in full cry a chase more infernal than that of the
Wild Huntsman who sweeps through the forest with his spectral crew.
But the end of all this was at hand. Kansas, a tract of rich prairie land, was about to become a territory, and
would soon become a state. It was situated above the 36° 3O' line, and therefore belonged to the North. But
the Southerners coveted this Naboth's vineyard; their power at Washington was great just then; they
determined to strike out the line which had been in the first place demanded by themselves. With much show
of justice and reason they alleged that it was not fair to establish the domestic institutions of a country
without consulting the inhabitants themselves. They proposed that, for the future, the question of slavery or
free soil should be decided by a majority of votes among the settlers on the spot. This proposal became law,
and then commenced a race for the soil. In Boston a political society was formed for the exportation to
Kansas of Northern men. In the slave state. Missouri, blue lodges were formed for a similar purpose, and
hundreds of squatters, dressed in flannel shirts, and huge boots up to their knees, and skin caps on their heads,
bristling with revolvers and bowie knives, stepped across the Border. For the first time the people of the
North and South met face to face. A guerrilla warfare soon broke out; the New Englanders were robbed and
driven back; they were murdered, and their scalps paraded by Border ruffians upon poles. The whole country
fell into a distracted state. The Southerners pursued their slaves into Boston itself, and dragged them back,
according to the law. A mad abolitionist invaded Virginia with a handful of men, shot a few peaceful citizens,
and was hanged. A time of terror fell upon the South; there was neither liberty of print nor liberty of speech;
the majority reigned; and the man who spoke against it was lynched upon the spot. A Southerner assaulted
and battered a Northerner on the floor of the Senate.
The North at last was thoroughly aroused. The people itself began to stir; a calm, patient, lawabiding race,
slow to be moved, but when once moved, swerving never till the thing was done. A presidential election was
at hand, and a Northerner was placed upon the throne. The South understood that this was not a casual
reverse, which might be redeemed when the four years had passed away. It was to them a sign that the days
of their power had for ever passed. The temper of the North was not to be mistaken. It had at last rebelled; it
would suffer tyranny no more. Mr. Lincoln's terms were conciliatory in the extreme. Had the South been
moderate in its demands, he would have been classed with those statesmen who added compromise to
compromise, and so postponed the evil but inevitable day. He was not an abolitionist. He offered to give
them any guarantee they pleased a constitutional amendment if they desired it that slavery as it stood
should not be interfered with. He offered to bring in a more stringent law, by which their fugitive slaves
should be restored. But on the matter of extension he was firm. The Southerners demanded that a line should
again be drawn to the Pacific; that all south of that line should be made slave soil, and that slavery should be
more clearly recognised by the central government, and more firmly guaranteed. These terms were not more
extravagant than those which their fathers had obtained. But times had changed: the sentiment of nationality
was now more fully formed; "Uncle Tom’s Cabin" had been written; the American people were heartily
ashamed of slavery; they refused to give it another lease. The ultimatum was declined; the South seceded, and
the North flew to arms, not to emancipate the negro, but to preserve the existence of the nation. They would
not indeed submit to slavery extension; they preferred disunion to such a disgrace. But they had no intention
when they went to war of destroying slavery in the states where it existed; they even took pains to prove to
the South that the war was not an antislavery crusade. The negroes were treated by the Northern generals
not as men, but as contraband of war; even Butler in New Orleans did not emancipate the slaves; a general
who issued a proclamation of that nature was reprimanded by the government, although he only followed the
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example of British generals in the Revolutionary war. But as the contest became more severe and more
prolonged, and all hopes of reconciliation were at an end, slavery became identified with the South in the
Northern mind, and was itself regarded as a foe. The astute and cautious statesman at the head of affairs
perceived that the time had come; the constitution was suspended during the war; and so, in all legality and
with due form, he set free in one day four million slaves.
It is impossible to view without compassion the misfortunes of men who merely followed in the footsteps of
their fathers, and were in no sense more guilty than Washington and Jefferson, who remained slaveholders to
their dying day. It was easy for Great Britain to pay twenty millions; it was easy for the Northern states to
emancipate their slaves, who were few in number, and not necessary to their life. But it was impossible for
the South to abandon slavery. The money of a planter was sunk in flesh and blood. Yet the Southern
politicians must be blamed for their crazy ambition, and their blind ignorance of the world. Instead of
preparing as the Cuban planters are preparing now for those changes which had been rendered inevitable by
the progress of mankind, they supposed that it was in their power to defy the spirit of the age, and to establish
an empire on the pattern of ancient Rome. They firmly believed that, because they could not exist without
selling cotton, Great Britain could not exist without buying it from them; which is like a shopkeeper
supposing he could ruin his customers by putting up his shutters.
It may console those who yet lament the lost cause if we picture for their benefit what the Southern empire
would have been. There would have been an aristocracy of planters, herds of slaves, a servile press, a servile
pulpit, and a rabble of mean whites formed into an army. Abolition societies would have been established in
the North, to instigate slaves to rebel or run away; a cordon of posts with a system of passports would have
been established in the South. Border raids would have been made by fanatics on the one side, and by
desperadoes on the other. Sooner or later there must have been a war. Filibustering expeditions on Mexico
and Cuba would have brought about a war with Spain, and perhaps with France. It was the avowed intention
of the planters, when once their empire was established, to import labour from Africa; to reopen the trade as
in the good old times. But this, Great Britain would certainly have not allowed; and thus, again, there would
have been war. Even if the planters would have displayed a little common sense, which is exceedingly
improbable, and so escaped extirpation from without, their system of culture would have eaten up their lands.
But happily such hypotheses need no longer be discussed; a future of another kind is in reserve for the
Southern states. America can now pursue with untarnished reputation her glorious career, and time will soften
the memories of a conflict, the original guilt of which must be ascribed to the founders of the nation, or rather
to the conditions by which those great men were mastered and controlled.
I have now accomplished the task which I set myself to do. I have shown to the best of my ability what kind
of place in universal history Africa deserves to hold. I have shown that not only Egypt has assisted the
development of man by educating Greece, Carthage by leading forth Rome to conquest, but that even the
obscure Sudan, or land of the negroes, has also played its part in the drama of European life.
The slavetrade must be estimated as a war; though cruel and atrocious in itself, it has, like most wars, been
of service to mankind. I shall leave it to others to trace cut in detail the influence of the negro in the human
progress. It will be sufficient to observe that the grandeur of West Indian commerce in the last generation,
and of the cotton manufacture at the present time, could not have been obtained without the assistance of the
negro: and that the agitation on his behalf, which was commenced by Granville Sharp, has assisted much to
expand the sympathies, and to educate the heart of the Anglo Saxon people, who are somewhat inclined to
pride of colour and prejudice of race. Respecting the prospects of the negro, it is difficult for me to form an
opinion; but what I have seen of the Africans in their native and semicivilised condition inclines me to take
a hopeful view. The negroes are imitative in an extraordinary degree, and imitation is the first principle of
progress. They are vain and ostentatious, ardent for praise, keenly sensitive of blame. Their natural wants,
indeed, are few; they inherit the sober appetites of their fathers who lived on a few handfuls of rice a day; but
it will, I believe, be found that when they enjoy the same inducements to work as other men, when they can
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hope to distinguish themselves in the Parliament, the pulpit, or in social life, they will become as we are, the
slaves of an idea, and will work day and night to obtain something which they desire, but do not positively
need. Whether the negroes are equal in average capacity to the white man, whether they will ever produce a
man of genius, is an idle and unimportant question; they can at least gain their livelihood as labourers and
artisans; they are therefore of service to their country; let them have fair play, and they will find their right
place whatever it may be: As regards the social question, they will no doubt, like the Jews, intermarry always
with their own race, and will thus remain apart. But it need not be feared that they will become hostile to
those with whom they reside. Experience has shown that, whenever aliens are treated as citizens, they
become citizens, whatever may be their religion or their race, It is a mistake to suppose that the civilised
negro calls himself an African, and pines to return to his ancestral land. If he is born in the States, he calls
himself an American he speaks with an American accent; he loves and he hates with an American heart.
It is a question frequently asked of African travellers, What is the future of that great continent? In the first
place, with respect to the West Coast, there is little prospect of great changes taking place for many years to
come. The commerce in palm oil is important, and will increase. Cotton will be received in large quantities
from the Sudan. The East Coast of Africa, when its resources have been developed, will be a copy of the
West Coast. It is not probable that European colonies will ever flourish in these golden but unwholesome
lands. The educated negroes will in time monopolise the trade, for they can live at less expense than
Europeans, and do not suffer from the climate. They may perhaps at some future day possess both coasts, and
thence spread with Bible and musket into the interior. This prospect, however, is uncertain, and in any case
exceedingly remote.
That part of Africa which lies above the parallel 1O° North belongs to the Eastern Question. What ever may
be the ultimate destiny of Egypt, Algeria, and Morocco, will be shared by the regions of the central Niger,
from Haussa to Timbuctoo.
That part of the continent which lies below the parallel 2O° South, already belongs in part, and will in time
entirely belong to settlers of the AngloSaxon race. It resembles Australia, not only in its position with
respect to the Equator, but also in its natural productions. It is a land of wool and mines, without great
navigable rivers, interspersed with sandy deserts, and enjoying a wholesome though sultry air. Whatever may
be the future of Australia will also be the future of Southern Africa.
Between these two lines intervenes a region inhabited for the most part by pagan savages, thinly scattered
over swamp and forest. This concealed continent, this unknown world, will at some faroff day, if my
surmises prove correct, be invaded by three civilising streams; by the British negroes from the coasts by the
Mohammedan negroes in robe and turban from the great empires of the Niger region; and by the farmers and
graziers and miners of South Africa.
When, therefore, we speculate on the future of Africa, we can do no more than bring certain regions of that
continent within the scope of two general questions; the future of our colonies, and the future of the East; and
these lead us up to a greater question still, the future of the European race.
Upon this subject I shall offer a few remarks; and it is obvious that in order to form some conception of the
future it is necessary to understand the present and the past. I shall therefore endeavour to ascertain what we
have been and what we are. The monograph of Africa is ended. I shall make my sketch of history complete,
adding new features, passing quickly over the parts that have been already drawn. I shall search out the origin
of man, determine his actual condition, speculate upon his future destiny, and discuss the nature of his
relations towards that unknown Power of whom he is the offspring and the slave. I shall examine this planet
and its contents with the calm curiosity of one whose sentiments and passions, whose predilections and
antipathies, whose hopes and fears, are not interested in the question. I shall investigate without prejudice; I
shall state the results without reserve.
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What are the materials of human history? What are the earliest records which throw light upon the origin of
man? All written documents are things of yesterday, whether penned on prepared skins, papyrus rolls, or the
soft inner bark of trees; whether stamped on terracotta tablets, carved on granite obelisks, or engraved on
the smooth surface of upright rocks. Writing, even in its simplest picture form, is an art which can be
invented only when a people have become mature.
The oldest books are therefore comparatively modern, and the traditions which they contain are either false or
but little older than the books themselves. All travellers who have collected traditions among a wild people
know how little that kind of evidence is worth. The savage exaggerates whenever he repeats, and in a few
generations the legend is transformed.
The evidence of language is of more value. It enables us to trace back remotely divided nations to their
common birth place, and reveals the amount of culture, the domestic institutions, and the religious ideas
which they possessed before they parted from one another. Yet languages soon die, or rather become
metamorphosed in structure as well as in vocabulary; the oldest existing language can throw no light on the
condition of primeval man.
The archives of the earth also offer us their testimony: the graves give up their dead, and teach us that man
existed many thousand years ago, in company with monstrous animals that have long since passed away; and
that those men were savages, using weapons and implements of stone, yet possessing even then a taste for
ornament and art, wearing shell bracelets, and drawing rude figures upon horns and stones. The manners and
ideas of such early tribes can best be inferred by a study of existing savages. The missionary who resides
among such races as the Bushmen of Africa or the Botocudos of Brazil may be said to live in prehistoric
times.
But as regards the origin of man, we have only one document to which we can refer; and that is the body of
man himself. There, in unmistakable characters, are inscribed the annals of his early life. These hieroglyphics
are not to be fully deciphered without a special preparation for the task: the alphabet of anatomy must first be
mastered, and the student must be expert in the language of all living and fossil forms. One fact, however, can
be submitted to the uninitiated eye, and it will be sufficient for the purpose. Look at a skeleton and you will
see a little bone curled downwards between the legs, as if trying to hide itself away. That bone is a relic of
prehuman days, and announces plainly whence our bodies come. We are all of us naked under our clothes,
and we are of all us tailed under our skins. But when we descend to the manlike apes, we find that, with
them as with us, the tail is effete and in disuse; and so we follow it downwards and downwards until we
discover it in all its glory in the body of the fish; being there present, not as a relic or rudimentary organ, as in
man and the apes; not a mere appendage, as in the fox; not a secondary instrument, a spare hand, as in certain
monkeys, or a flyflapper, as in the giraffe; but as a primary organ of the very first importance, endowing the
fish with its locomotive powers. Again, we examine the body of the fish, and we find in it also rudimentary
organs as useless and incongruous as the tail in man; and thus we descend step by step, until we arrive at the
very bottom of the scale.
The method of development is still being actively discussed, but the fact is placed beyond a doubt. Since The
Origin of Species appeared, philosophical naturalists no longer deny that the ancestors of man must he sought
for in the lower kingdom. And, apart from the evidence which we carry with us in our own persons, which we
read in the tailbone of the skeleton, in the hair which was once the clothing of our bodies, in the nails which
were once our weapons of defence, and in a hundred other facts which the scalpel and the microscope
disclose; apart from the evidence of our own voices, our incoherent groans and cries, analogy alone would
lead us to, believe that mankind had been developed from the lowest forms of life. For what is the history of
the individual man? He begins life as an ambiguous speck of matter which can in no way be distinguished
from the original form of the lowest animal or plant. He next becomes a cell; his life is precisely that of the
animalcule. Cells cluster round this primordial cell, and the man is so far advanced that he might be mistaken
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for an undeveloped oyster; he grows still more, and it is clear that he might even be a fish; he then passes into
a stage which is common to all quadrupeds, and next assumes a form which can only belong to quadrupeds of
the higher type. At last the hour of birth approaches; coiled within, the dark womb he sits, the image of an
ape; a caricature and, a prophecy of the man that is to be. He is born, and for some time he walks only on all
fours; he utters only inarticulate sounds; and even in his boyhood his fondness for climbing trees would seem
to be a relic of the old arboreal life. Since, therefore, every man has been himself in such a state that the most
experienced observer could not with the aid of the best microscopes have declared whether he was going to
be man or plant, man or animalcule, man or mollusc, man or lobster, man or fish, man or reptile, man or bird,
man or quadruped, man or monkey; why should it appear strange that the whole race has also had its
animalcule and its reptile days? But whether it appears strange or not, the public must endeavour to accustom
its mind to the fact which is now firmly, established, and will never be overthrown.
Not only are the bodies, but also the minds of man constructed on the same pattern as those of the lower
animals. To procure food; to obtain a mate; and to rear offspring; such is the real business of life with us as it
is with them. If we look into ourselves we discover propensities which declare that our intellects have arisen
from a lower form; could our minds be made visible we should find them tailed. And if we examine the
minds of the lower animals, we find in them the rudiments of our talents and our virtues. As the beautiful yet
imperfect human body has been slowly developed from the base and hideous creatures of the water and the
earth, so the beautiful yet imperfect human mind has been slowly developed from the instincts of the lower
animals. All that is elevated, all that is lovely in human nature has its origin in the lower kingdom. The
philosophic spirit of inquiry may be traced to brute curiosity, and that to the habit of examining all things in
search of food. Artistic genius is an expansion of monkey imitativeness. Loyalty and piety, the reverential
virtues, are developed from filial love. Benevolence and magnanimity, the generous virtues, from parental
love. The sense of decorum proceeds from the sense of cleanliness; and that from the instinct of sexual
display. The delicate and ardent love which can become a religion of the heart, which can sanctify and soften
a man's whole life; the affection which is so noble, and so pure, and so free from all sensual stain, is yet
derived from that desire which impels the male animal to seek a mate; and the sexual timidity which makes
the female flee from the male is finally transformed into that maiden modesty which not only preserves from
vice, but which conceals beneath a chaste and honourable reticence the fiery love that burns within; which
compels the true woman to pine in sorrow, and perhaps to languish into death, rather than betray a passion
that is not returned.
There is a certain class of people who prefer to say that their fathers came down in the world through their
own follies rather than to boast that they rose in the world through their own industry and talents. It is the
same shabbygenteel sentiment, the same vanity of birth which makes men prefer to believe that they are
degenerated angels, rather than elevated apes. In scientific investigations such whims and fancies must be set
aside. It is the duty of the inquirer to ascertain the truth, and then to state it as decisively and as clearly as he
can. People's prejudices must not be respected but destroyed. It may, however, be worth while to observe, for
the comfort of weak souls, that in these new revelations of science human nature is not in any way degraded.
A woman's body is not less lovely because it was once a hideous mass of flesh. A woman's modesty is not
less noble because we discover that it was once a mere propensity, dictated, perhaps, by the fear of pain. The
beauty of the mind is not less real than the beauty of the body, and we need not be discouraged because we
ascertain that it has also passed through its embryonic stage. It is Nature's method to take something which is
in itself paltry, repulsive, and grotesque, and thence to construct a masterpiece by means of general and
gradual laws; those laws themselves being often vile and cruel. This method is applied not only to single
individuals, but also to the whole animated world; not only to physical but also to mental forms. And when it
is fully realised and understood that the genius of man has been developed along a line of unbroken descent
from the simple tendencies which inhabited the primeval cell, and that in its later stages this development has
been assisted by the efforts of man himself, what a glorious futurity will open to the human race! It may well
be that our minds have not done growing, and that we may rise as high above our present state as that state is
removed from the condition of the insect and the worm. For when we examine the human mind we do not
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find it perfect and mature; but in a transitional and amphibious condition. We live between two worlds; we
soar in the atmosphere; we creep upon the soil; we have the aspirations of creators and the propensities of
quadrupeds. There can be but one explanation of this fact. We are passing from the animal into a higher form;
and the drama of this planet is in its second act. We shall now endeavour to place the first upon the stage,
and, then passing through the second, shall proceed to speculate upon the third. The scene opens with the
Solar System. Time uncertain; say, a thousand million years ago.
CHAPTER IV. INTELLECT
THAT region of the universe which is visible to mortal eyes has been named the solar system: it is composed
of innumerable stars, and each star is a white hot sun, the centre and sovereign of a world. Our own sun is
attended by a company of cold, dark globes, revolving round it in accordance with the law of gravitation;
they also rotate like joints before the fire, turning first one side, and then the other, to the central light. The
path that is traced by the outermost planet is the limit of the sun's domain, which is too extensive to be
measured into miles. If a jockey mounted on a winner of the Derby had started when Moses was born, and
had galloped ever since at full speed, he would be by this time about half the way across, Yet this world
seems large to us, only because we are so small. It is merely a drop in the ocean of space. The stars which we
see on a fine night are also suns as important as our own; and so vast is the distance which separates their
worlds from ours, that a flash of lightning would be years upon the road. These various solar systems are not
independent of one another they are members of the same community. They are sailing in order round a point
to us unknown. Our own sun, drawing with it the planets in its course, is spinning furiously upon its axis, and
dashing through space at four miles a second. And not only is the solar system an organ of one gigantic form;
it has also grown to what it is, and may still be considered in its youth. As the body of a plant or animal arises
from a fluid alike in all its parts, so this world of ours was once a floating fiery cloud, a nebula or mist, the
molecules of which were kept asunder by excessive heat. But the universe is pervaded by movement and by
change; there came a period when the heat declined, and when the atoms obeying their innate desires rushed
to one another, and, concentrating, formed the sun, which at first almost filled the solar world. But as it
cooled, and as it contracted, and as it rotated, and as it revolved, it became a sphere in the centre of the world;
and it cast off pieces which became planets, satellites, attendant stars, and they also cast off pieces which
became satellites to them. Thus the earth is the child, and the moon the grandchild of the sun. When our
planet first came out into the world it was merely a solar fragment, a chip of the old star, and the other planets
were in a similar condition. But these sunballs were separated from one another, and from their parent form,
by oceans of ether, a kind of attenuated air, so cold that frost itself is fire in comparison. The sun burning
always in this icy air is gradually cooling down; but it parts slowly with its heat on account of its enormous
size. Our little earth cooled quickly, shrank in size it had once extended to the moon and finally went
out. From a globe of glowing gas it became a ball of liquid fire, enveloped in a smoky cloud. When first we
are able to restore its image and examine its construction, we find it composed of zones or layers in a molten
state, arranged according to their weight; and above it we find an atmosphere also divided into layers. Close
over the surface vapour of salt was suspended in the air; next, a layer of dark, smoky, carbonic acid gas; next,
oxygen and nitrogen, and vapour of water or common steam. Within the sphere, as it cooled and changed,
chemical bodies sprang from one another, rushed to and fro, combined with terrible explosions; while in the
variegated atmosphere above, gashurricanes arose and flung the elements into disorder. So sped the earth,
roaring and flaming through the sky, leaving behind it a fiery track, sweeping round the sun in its oval course.
Year followed year, century followed century, epoch followed epoch. Then the globe began to cool upon its
surface. Flakes of solid matter floated on the molten sea, which rose and fell in flaming tides towards a
hidden and benighted moon. The flakes caked together, and covered the ball with a solid sheet, which was
upraised and cracked by the tidal waves beneath, like thin ice upon the Arctic seas. In time it thickened and
became firm, but subterranean storms often ripped it open in vast chasms, from which masses of liquid lava
spouted in the air, and fell back upon the hissing crust. Everywhere heaps of ashes were thus formed, and the
earth was seamed with scars and gaping wounds. When the burning heat of the air had abated, the salt was
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condensed, and fell like snow upon the earth, and covered it ten feet thick. The Atlantic and Pacific Oceans,
lying overhead in the form of steam, descended in one great shower, and so the primeval sea was formed. It
was dark, warm, and intensely salt; at first it overspread the surface of the globe; then volcanic islands were
cast up; and as the earth cooled downwards to its core, it shrivelled into folds as an apple in the winter when
its pulp dries up. These folds and wrinkles were mountain ranges, and continents appearing above the level of
the sea. Our planet was then divided into land and water in the same proportions as exist at the present time.
For though land is always changing into water, and water is always changing into land, their relative
quantities remain the same. The air was black, night was eternal, illumined only by lightning and volcanoes;
the earth was unconscious of the sun's existence; its heat was derived from the fire within, and was uniform
from pole to pole. But the crust thickened; the inner heat could no longer be felt upon the surface; the
atmosphere brightened a little, and the sun's rays penetrated to the earth. From the shape, the altitude, and the
revolutions of our planet, resulted an unequal distribution of solar heat, and to this inequality the earth is
indebted for the varied nature of its aspects and productions. Climate was created: winds arose in the air;
currents in the deep; the sun sucked up the waters of the sea, leaving the salt behind; rainclouds were
formed, and fresh water bestowed upon the land. The underground fires assisted the planet's growth by
transforming the soils into crystalline structures, and by raising the rocks thus altered to the surface; by
producing volcanic eruptions, hot springs, and other fiery phenomena. But the chief architect and decorator of
this planet was the sun. When the black veil of the earth was lifted, when the sunlight entered the turbid
waters of the primeval sea, "an interesting event" took place. The earth became with young.
In water there are always floating about a multitude of specks which are usually minute fragments of the soil.
But now appeared certain specks which, though they resembled the others, possessed certain properties of a
very peculiar kind. First, they brought forth little specks, precise copies of themselves: they issued their own
duplicates. And secondly, they performed in their own persons an elaborate chemical operation. Imbibing
water and air, they manufactured those elements with the assistance of the solar rays, into the compounds of
which their own bodies were composed, giving back to the water those components which they did not
require. And then appeared other little specks which swallowed up the first, and manufactured them into the
compounds more complex still, of which they, the second comers, were composed. The first were embryonic
plants; the second were embryonic animals. They were both alike in appearance; both repeated themselves, or
reproduced, in the same manner. The difference between them was this, that the plants could live on raw air
and water, the animals could live only on those elements when prepared by sun light in the body of the plant.
The office of vegetation upon the earth is therefore of a culinary nature, and the plant, when devoured, gives
the animal that heat which is its life, just as coal (a cake of fossil vegetation) gives heat to the apartment in
which it is consumed. But this heat, whether it lies hidden in the green and growing plant, or in its black and
stony corpse, was at first acquired from the sun. Glorious Apollo is the parent of us all. Animal heat is solar
heat; a blush is a stray sunbeam; Life is bottled sunshine, and Death the silentfooted butler who draws out
the cork.
Those dots of animated jelly, without definite form or figure, swimming unconsciously in the primeval sea,
were the ancestors of man. The history of our race begins with them, and continues without an interruption to
the present day; a splendid narrative, the materials of which it is for science to discover, the glories of which
it is for poets to portray.
Owing to the action of surrounding forces, the outer parts of the original jellydot became harder and more
solid than the parts within, and so it assumed the shape of the cell or sphere. Its food consisted of microscopic
fragments of vegetable matter imbibed through its surface or outer rind, such portions as were not "made up"
being expelled or excreted in the same manner as they were taken in. There was no difference of parts, except
that the outside was solid and the inside soft. The creature's body was its hand, its stomach, and its mouth.
When it had lived a certain time it burst and died, liberating, as it did so, a brood of cells which had slowly
ripened within. But sometimes these new cells, instead of being detached when they were born, remained
cohering to the parent cell, thus making the animal consist of several cells instead of only one. In the first
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case the process is termed reproduction; in the second case it is termed growth. But the two operations are in
reality the same. Growth is coherent reproduction; reproduction is detached growth.
Time goes on. Our animal is now a cellrepublic enclosed by a wrapper of solidified and altered cells. Next,
in this wrapper a further change takes place. It protrudes into limbs; a gaping month appears. The limbs or
tentacles grasp the food and put it within the mouth; other limbs sprout forth and carry their owner from place
to place. In the meantime the cells within are also changed; their partitions are removed; the manywalled
apartments are converted into galleries or tubes, along which the food is conveyed from one part of the body
to another. These tubes are filled with blood, pumped backwards and forwards by the heart. The muscles
which move the outer limbs are equipped with nerves, the movements of which are directed from centres in
the spine and brain. The functions of life are thus divided, and each department has an organ of its own. The
reproductive function is divided farther still. Two separate elements are formed; one prepares and ejects the
spermcell which the other receives, and unites to the germcell. At a later period in the history of life this
arrangement is supplanted by another, more complicated still. The two elements no longer coexist in the
same form, and thus reproduction can only be effected by means of cooperation between two distinct and
independent individuals. How important a fact is this will presently appear.
These various inventions of Nature, so far as we have gone; the limbs of locomotion and prehension; the
heart with its vessels; the brain with its nerves; and the separation of the sexes, all occurred in the marine
period of the earth's life: in the dark deep sea womb.
Similar changes, but inferior in degree, occurred in the vegetable world. The shapeless specks became
onecelled: they were next strung together like a chain of beads; they then grew into seaweed and aqueous
plants, which floated about, and finally obtained a footing on the land. But they dwelt long ages on the earth
before their sex appeared. There were no flowers in that primeval world, for the flower is a sign of love.
Gigantic mosses and tree ferns clothed the earth, and reproduced themselves by scattering cells around.
Animals followed their prey, the plants, from the water to the land and became adapted for terrestrial life. At
that period the atmosphere was thickened with carbonic acid gas, and was more pestilential than the Black
Hole of Calcutta. Only reptiles, with sluggish and imperfect respiratory organs, could breathe in such an air.
But that fatal gas was bread to the vegetable world, which took the carbon into its body, and thus the
atmosphere was purified in time. The vast masses of carbon which the plants took out of the air in order to
allow a higher class of animal to appear upon the stage, were buried in the earth, hardened into coal, and were
brought in by the Author in the second act now on.
The coalmatter being thus removed, the air was bright and pure; the sun glowed with radiance and force; the
reptiles were converted into birds and quadrupeds of many kinds; insects rising from the land and from the
water hummed and sparkled in the air; the forests were adorned with flowers, and cheered with song. And as
the periods rolled on, the inhabitants of the earth became more complex in their structure, more symmetrical
in form, and more advanced in mental power, till at last the future lord of the planet himself appeared upon
the stage. The first act of the drama is here concluded: but the division is merely artificial; in Nature there is
no entr'acte; no curtain falls. Her scenes resemble dissolving views; the lower animals pass into man by soft,
slow, insensible gradations.
We must now consider the question, How and why have these marvellous changes taken place? How and
why did the primeval jellydots assume the form of the cell or sphere?
It has been already shown that continual changes occurred in the primeval atmosphere and in the primeval
sea. These changes acting upon animal life produced changes in its composition. For as animals are the result
and expression of the conditions under which they are born, it is natural to suppose that when these
conditions are changed, the animals should also change. When the conditions of life are abruptly altered and
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instantaneously transformed, the animals are of course destroyed; but when, as is usually the case, the
changes are gradual, the animals are slowly modified into harmony with the neighbouring conditions. The
primeval speck of life being acted upon by a variety of forces, became varied in its structure and as these
forces varied from period to period, the organisms also varied. Complexity of parts results from complexity
of environment. Multiformity of circumstance produces multiformity of species. The development of animal
life from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous, from the simple to the complex, from uniformity to
multiformity, is caused by the development of the earth itself from a monotonous watercovered globe with
one aspect, one constitution, and one temperature to this varied earth on which we dwell, where each foot of
land differs in some respect from the one beside it. The modifications on modifications of the animal are due
to the modifications on modifications of the medium in which and on which it lived. And this operation of
Nature is hastened and facilitated by a law which in itself is murderous and cruel. The earth is over
populated upon principle. Of the animals that are born, a few only can survive. There is not enough food for
all; Nature scrambles what there is among the crowd. If any animal possesses an advantage, however slight,
over those with whom he competes in this foodscramble or struggle for existence, he will certainly survive;
and if he survives, then some one else, so gentle Nature orders it, must die. This law of competition becomes
itself a force by developing slight variations along lines of utility into widely different and specific forms.
But how is it that animals of the higher type prevail? Why should species, with a tendency towards a
complicated structure, generally triumph over simple forms? The reason appears to be this, that whenever a
change takes place, it is almost invariably a change towards complexity. Now it is an ascertained law that
animals are invigorated by a slight change; they are therefore improved by an approach towards complexity.
Let us take the most mysterious of all progressive operations the division of the sexes. The hermaphrodite
can fertilise itself, but its organs are so arranged that it can be fertilised by another individual, the wind or the
water acting as the gobetween. The offspring of such separate unions are always more vigorous than the
homeborn progeny of the hermaphrodite. The latter are therefore killed off by means of the struggle for
existence, and sexual union, at first the exception, becomes the rule. Just as a body of artisans can do more
work and better work when each man devotes his whole life to a single department of the craft, so it is good
for the animal that division of labour should be established in its structure; that instead of the creature being
its own mouth, its own stomach, its own organ of excretion, reproduction, and locomotion, it should be
divided into separate parts, one of which moves it, another part takes the food, another part chews, another
part digests, another part prepares the blood, another part pumps the blood to and fro, another part reproduces
the species, another part nourishes the young, while over all presides the brain.
But how is it that some animals have progressed while others have remained at the bottom of the scale, and
others again have advanced only to a certain point? If all have grown out of such specks of animated jelly as
are still to be found within the sea, how is it that some have remained throughout infinite periods of time
unchanged; that others have remained in the form of the sponge, rooted upon rocks; that others, like the
lobster, have never exchanged their jointed bodies for the more perfect skeleton of the fish; that some fish
have taken to the land, and have been converted into reptiles, and then into birds or quadrupeds, while others
have remained in the aqueous condition; and lastly, that one animal, namely Man, has contrived to distance
all the others when, as it is acknowledged, they all started fair?
In reply, let me ask those who admit the development of all civilised people from the savage state and that
no geologist will now deny; let me ask them how it is that Europeans have advanced (this involving a
change in the structure of the brain), while others have remained in the savage state, others in the pastoral
condition, others fixed at a certain point of culture, as the Hindus and the Chinese? The analogy is perfect,
and the answer is in either case the same. Those forms remain stationary which are able to preserve their
conditions of life unchanged. The savages of the primeval forest, when the game is exhausted in one region,
migrate to another region where game exists. They remain therefore in the hunting state. The shepherds of the
boundless plains, when one pasture is devoured by their flocks, migrate to another pasture where they find
grass and water in abundance. But when, in a land like Egypt, the inhabitants are confined to a certain tract of
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land they are unable to evade the famine of food produced by the vicissitudes of nature and the law of
population; they are compelled to invent in order to subsist; new modes of life, new powers, new desires, new
sentiments arise; and the human animal is changed. Then a second period of immobility arrives; by means of
despotism, caste, slavery, and infanticide, the status quo is preserved.
In the primeval sea the conditions of life were constantly changing, but its inmates could usually keep them
constant by migration. For instance, let us imagine a species accustomed to dwell at the bottom of the sea,
feeding on the vegetable matter and oxygen gas which come down by liquid diffusion from the waters of the
surface. By elevation of the seabed, or by the deposit of sediment from rivers, that part of the sea which this
species inhabits becomes gradually shallow and light. The animal would migrate into deep dark water, and
would therefore undergo no change. But let us suppose that it is prevented from migrating by a wall of rocks.
It would then be exposed to light, and to other novel forces, and it would either change or die.
Here progress is the result of absolute necessity, and such must always be the case. Animals which inhabit the
waters have no innate desire to make acquaintance with the land; but it sometimes happens that they live in
shallow places, where they are left uncovered at low water for a certain time, and so in the course of
geological periods the species becomes amphibious in habit; and then the hard struggle for life in the water,
with the abundance of food upon the land, leads them to adopt terrestrial life. There are creatures now
existing of whom it is not easy to say whether they belong to the water or the land: there are fishes which
walk about on shore, and climb trees: It is not difficult to imagine such animals as these deserting the water,
and entirely living upon land.
But the development of life, in its varied aspects, must always remain incomprehensible to those who have
not studied the noble science of geology, or who at least have not made themselves acquainted with its chief
results. Unless the student understands what extraordinary transformation scenes have taken place upon the
globe, all that is now land, having formerly been sea, and all that is now sea having formerly been land, not
only once, but again, and again, and again; unless he understands that these changes have been produced by
the same gradual, and apparently insignificant, causes as those which are now at work before our eyes; the
sea gnawing away the cliff upon the shore; the river carrying soil to the sea; the glacier gliding down the
mountain slope; the iceberg bearing huge boulders to mid ocean; the coralline insects building archipelagoes;
the internal fires suddenly spouting forth stones and ashes, or slowly upheaving continents; unless he fully
understands how deliberate is Nature's method, how prodigal she is of time, how irregular and capricious she
is in all her operations he will never cease to wonder that allied forms should be distributed in apparent
disorder and confusion, instead of being arranged on a regular ascending scale. And, moreover, unless he
understands how Nature, like the Sibyl, destroys her own books, he will never cease to wonder at missing
links.
For it is not one missing link, but millions, that we require. It would however be just as reasonable to expect
to find every book that ever was written; every claytablet that ever was baked in the printing ovens of
Chaldaea; every rock that was ever inscribed; every obelisk that was ever engraved, every temple wall that
was ever painted with hieroglyphics, as to expect to find every fossil of importance. Where are the missing
links in literature, and where are the primeval forms? Where are the ancient Sanskrit hymns that were written
without ink on palm leaves with an iron pen? Where are the thousands of Hebrew bibles that were written
before the tenth century A.D.? Where are the lost books of the Romans and the Greeks? We know that many
manuscripts have been consumed in great fires; the fire of Alexandria in the time of Julius Caesar, which no
doubt destroyed papyri that could never be replaced; the fire in the time of Omar; the fires lighted by Popes
and reverend Fathers of the Church; and the fire of Constantinople during the Crusades, which robbed us for
ever of Arian's history of the successors of Alexander; Ctesias' history of Persia, and his description of India;
several books of Diodorus, Agatharcides, and Polybius; twenty orations of Demosthenes, and the Odes of
Sappho. But the material of books, whether paper or parchment, bark, clay, or stone, is always of a perishable
nature, and, under ordinary circumstances, is destroyed sooner or later by the action of the atmosphere. Were
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it not that books can be copied, what would remain to us of the literature of the past?
In a rainless country such as Egypt, which is a museum of Nature, a monumental land, not only painted and
engraven records, but even paper scrolls of an immense antiquity, have been preserved. But if we add to these
the rock inscriptions, the printed bricks, and inscribed cylinders of Western Asia, how scanty and fortuitous
are the remains! Let us now remember that fossils cannot be copied; once destroyed, they are for ever lost. Is
it wonderful, therefore, that so few should be left? Fires greater than those of Alexandria and Constantinople
are ever burning beneath our feet; at this very moment a precious library may be in flames. Yet that is not the
worst. The action of air and water is fatal to the archives of Nature, which it is not part of Nature's plan to
preserve for our instruction. Those animals which have neither bones nor shells are at once destroyed; and
those which possess a solid framework are only preserved under special and exceptional conditions. The
marvel is not that we find so little, but that we find so much. The development of man from the lower animals
is now an authenticated fact. We believe, therefore, that connecting links between man and some apelike
animal existed for the same reason that we believe the Second Decade of Livy existed. It is not impossible
that the missing books of Livy may be, discovered at some future day beneath the Italian soil. It is not
impossible that forms intermediate between man and his apelike ancestors may be discovered in the
unexplored strata of equatorial Africa, or the Indian Archipelago. But either event is improbable in the
extreme; and the existence of such intermediate forms will be admitted by the historians of the next
generation, whether they are found or not.
We shall now proceed to describe the rise and progress of the mental principle. The origin of mind is an
inscrutable mystery, but so is the origin of matter. If we go back to the beginning we find a world of gas, the
atoms of which were kept asunder by excessive heat. Where did those atoms come from? How were they
made? What were they made for? In reply to these questions theology is garrulous, but science is dumb.
Mind is a property of matter. Matter is inhabited by mind. There can be no mind without matter; there can be
no matter without mind. When the matter is simple in its composition, its mental tendencies are also simple;
the atoms merely tend to approach one another and to cohere; and as matter under the influence of varied
forces (evolved by the cooling o the world) becomes more varied in its composition, its mental tendencies
become more and more numerous, more and more complex, more and more elevated, till at last they are
developed into the desires and propensities of the animal, into the aspirations and emotions of the man. But
the various tendencies which inhabit the human mind, and which devote it to ambition, to religion, or to love,
are not in reality more wonderful than the tendency which impels two ships to approach each other in a calm.
For what can be more wonderful than that which can never be explained? The difference between the mind of
the ship and the mind of man is the difference between the acorn and the oak.
The simplest atoms are attracted to one another merely according to distance and weight. That is the law of
gravitation. But the compound atoms, which are called elements, display a power of selection. A will unite
itself to C in preference to B; and if D passes by, will divorce itself from C, and unite itself to D. Such
compounds of a compound are still more complex in their forms, and more varied in their minds. Water,
which is composed of two gases oxygen and hydrogen when hot, becomes a vapour; when cold,
becomes a crystal. In the latter case it displays a structural capacity. Crystals assume particular forms
according to the substances of which they are composed; they may be classed into species, and if their forms
are injured by accident, they have the power of repairing their structure by imbibing matter from without. A
live form is the result of matter subjected to certain complex forces, the chief of which is the chemical power
of the sun. It is continually being injured by the wear and tear of its own activity; it is continually darning and
stitching its own life. After a certain period of time it loses its selfmending power, and consequently dies.
The crystal grows from without by simple accretions or putting on of coats. The plant or animal grows and
regrows from within by means of a chemical operation. Moreover, the crystal is merely an individual; the
plant or animal is the member of a vast community; before it dies, and usually as it dies, it produces a
repetition of itself. The mental forces which inhabit the primeval jellydot are more complex than those
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which inhabit the crystal; but those of the crystal are more complex than those of a gas, and those of a gas
than those of the true elementary atoms which know only two forces attraction and repulsion the
primeval 'Pull and Push', which lie at the basis of all Nature's operations.
The absorption of food and the repetition of form in the animal are not at first to he distinguished from that
chemical process which is termed growth. Then from this principle of growth, the root of the human flower,
two separated instincts like twin seedleaves arise. The first is the propensity to preserve selflife by seeking
food; from this instinct of self preservation our intellectual faculties have been derived. The second is the
propensity to preserve the life of the species; and from this instinct of reproduction our moral faculties have
been derived.
The animal at first absorbs its food and unites with its mate as blindly and as helplessly as the crystal shapes
itself into its proper form, as oxygen combines with hydrogen, or as ships roll towards each other in a calm.
How then can a line be drawn between the inorganic and the organic, the lifeless and the alive? The cell that
vibrates in the water, and the crystal that forms in the frost, are each the result of certain forces over which
they have no control. But as the body of the animal is developed in complexity, by the action of complex
forces, certain grey lumps of matter make their appearance within its structure, and out of these rises a spirit
which introduces the animal to himself, which makes him conscious of his own existence. He becomes aware
that he is alive; that he has an appetite; and that other animals have an appetite for him. His mind, though
feeble and contracted, is improved by experience. He devises stratagems to avoid his enemies, or to seize his
prey. At certain seasons he becomes conscious of his desire for a mate and that which, with his ancestors, was
a blind tendency, an inherited part of growth, becomes with him a passion brightened by intelligence.
It is usually supposed that the transition of an apelike animal into man is the most remarkable event in the
history of animated forms. But this idea arises from human vanity and ignorance. The most remarkable event,
after the origin of life, is certainly that to which we now allude; the first glimmering of consciousness and
reason. Yet even here we can draw no dividing line. The animal becomes conscious that he desires food, and
at certain periods, a mate; but the desires themselves are not new; they existed and they ruled him long
before. When developed to a certain point, he begins to "take notice," as the nurses say; but his nature
remains the same, However, this intelligence becomes in time itself a force, and gradually obtains to some
extent the faculty of directing the forces by which the animal was once despotically ruled. By an effort of the
human brain, for example, the reproductive force, or tendency, or instinct, can be obliterated and suppressed.
What we have to say, then, respecting the origin of our early ancestors is this: That when matter was
subjected to a complicated play of forces, chief among which was solar influence, plants and animals came
into life; and that when animals were subjected to an everincreasing variety of forces, they became varied in
their structure; and that when their structure had attained a certain measure of variety they became conscious
of their own existence; and that then Nature endowed them with the faculty of preserving their lives and that
of their species by means of their own conscious efforts. Next, it will be shown that the successful
competitors in the struggle for existence not only obtained the food and females for which they strove, but
also, by means of the efforts which they made in order to obtain them, raised themselves unconsciously in the
animated scale. And lastly, we shall find that men who, in the savage state, are little better than the brutes,
their lives being absorbed in the business of selfpreservation and reproduction, are now in the civilised
condition becoming conscious of the scheme of Nature, and are beginning to assist her by the methodical
improvement of their mental powers.
The lower animals have a hard matter to earn their daily bread, and to preserve their children from starvation;
and with them the course of true love does not by any means run smooth. Since only a few can succeed in the
scramble for food, and not all can obtain mates, for polygamy frequently prevails, it follows as a matter of
necessity that those animals which are the strongest, the swiftest, and the most intelligent will survive and
leave offspring, and by the continued survival of the fittest the animated world improves from generation to
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generation, and rises in the scale. So far as strength and swiftness are concerned, limits are placed upon
improvement. But there are no limits to the improvement of intelligence. We find in the lower kingdom
muscular power in its perfection; but the brain is always imperfect, always young, always growing, always
capable of being developed. In writing the history of animal progress we must therefore concentrate our
attention upon the brain, and we shall find that the development of that organ is in great measure due to the
influence of the affections.
Whether Nature has placed pain at the portals of love throughout the animal kingdom as she has at the portals
of maternity, or whatever may be the cause, it is certain that the female flees from the male at the courting
season, and that he captures her by means of his strength, swiftness, dexterity, or cunning, in the same
manner as he obtains his prey. He is also obliged to fight duels in order to possess or to retain her, and thus
his courage is developed. But at a later period in animal life a more peaceable kind of courtship comes into
vogue. The females become queens. They select their husbands from a crowd of admirers, who strive to
please them with their colours, their perfumes, or their music. The cavaliers, adorned in their bright wedding
suits, which they wear only at the lovemaking season, display themselves before the dames. Others serenade
them with vocal song, or by means of an apparatus fitted to the limbs, which corresponds to instrumental
music. Rival troubadours will sing before their lady, as she sits in her leafy bower till one of them is
compelled to yield from sheer exhaustion, and a feathered hero has been known to sing till be dropped down
dead. At this period sexual timidity becomes a delicious coyness which arouses the ardour of the male. Thus
love is born: it is brought forth by the association of ideas. The desire of an animal to satisfy a want grows
into an affection beyond and independent of the want.
In the same manner the love of the young for its parents grows out of its liking for the food which the parents
supply; and the love of parents for the young, though more obscure, may perhaps also be explained by
association. The mother no doubt believes the offspring to be part of herself, as it was in fact but a short time
before, and thus feels for it a kind of selflove. The affection of the offspring for the parents, and of parents
for the offspring, and of spouses for each other, at first endures only for a season. But when the intelligence
of the animals has risen to a certain point, their powers of memory are improved, they recognise their parents,
their spouses, their young, long after the business of the nest is over, and consort together to renew their
caresses and endearments. In this manner the flock is formed; it is based upon domestic love. And soon
experience teaches them the advantages of union. They are the better able when in flocks to obtain food, and
to defend themselves against their foes. They accordingly dwell together, and by means of their social habits
their intelligence is quickened, their affections are enlarged. The members of animal societies possess in a
marvellous degree the power of cooperation, the sentiment of fidelity to the herd. By briefly describing what
the lower animals do, and what they feel, we shall show that they possess in a dispersed and elementary
condition all the materials of which human nature is composed.
In their communities there is sometimes a regular form of government and a division into castes. They have
their monarch, their labourers, and soldiers, who are sterile females like the Amazons of Dahomey. They
have slaves which they capture by means of military expeditions, attacking the villages of their victims and
carrying off the prisoners in their mouths. They afterwards make the slaves carry them. They have domestic
animals which they milk. They form alliances with animals of a foreign species or nationality and admit them
into the community when it can be profited thereby. They build houses or towns which are ingeniously
constructed, and which, in proportion to the size of the architects, are greater than the Pyramids. They have
clubhouses or salons which they decorate with flowers and bright shells. They march in regular order; when
they feed they post sentries which utter alert cries from time to time, just as our sentries cry 'All's well'. They
combine to execute punishment, expelling or killing an illconducted member of the tribe. As among
savages, the sick and the weakly are usually killed: though some times they are kept alive by alms; even the
blind being fed by charitable persons. They labour incessantly for the welfare of the community; they bear
one another's burdens; they fight with indomitable courage for the fatherland, and endeavour to rescue a
comrade even against overwhelming odds. The domestic virtues are strong among them. Their conjugal love
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is often intense and pure; spouses have been known to pine to death when parted from each other. But if they
have human virtues, they have also human vices; conjugal infidelity is known among them; and some
animals appear to be profligate by nature. They are exceedingly jealous. They sport, and gamble, and frisk,
and caress, and kiss each other, putting mouth to mouth. They shed tears. They utter musical sounds in tune.
They are cleanly in their persons. They are ostentatious and vain, proud of their personal appearance,
bestowing much time upon their toilet. They meditate and execute revenge, keeping in memory those who
have offended them. They dream. They are capable of reflection and selection; they deliberate between two
opposite desires. They are inquisitive and often fall victims to their passion for investigating every object
which they have not seen before. They profit by experience; they die wiser than they were born, and though
their stock of knowledge in great measure dies with them, their young ones acquire some of it by means of
inheritance and imitation.
These remarkable mental powers were acquired by the lower animals partly through the struggle to obtain
food, which sharpened their intelligence; and partly through the struggle to obtain the favours of the females,
which developed their affections. In all cases, progress resulted from necessity. Races change only that they
may not die; they are developed, so to speak, in selfdefence. They have no inherent tendency to rise in the
organic scale as plants grow to their flower, as animals grow to their prime. They have, however, a capacity
for progress, and that is called forth by circumstances acting upon them from without. The law of growth in
the lower kingdom is this, that all progress is preceded by calamity, that all improvement is based upon
defect. This law affords us the clue to a phenomenon which at first is difficult to understand. That animal
which has triumphed over all the rest was exceedingly defective in its physique. The race has not been to the
swift, nor the battle to the strong. But the very defects of that animal's body made it exclusively rely upon its
mind; and when the struggle for life became severe, the mind was improved by natural selection, and the
animal was slowly developed into man.
Our apelike ancestors were not unlike the existing gorilla, chimpanzee, and orangutang. They lived in
large herds and were prolific; polygamy was in vogue, and at the courting season loveduels were fought
among the males. They chiefly inhabited the ground, but ascended the trees in search of fruit, and also built
platforms of sticks and leaves, on which the females were confined, and which were occasionally used as
sleepingplaces, just as birds sometimes roost in old nests. These animals went on all fours, rising to the
upright posture now and then, in order to see some object at a distance, but supporting that posture with
difficulty, holding on to a branch with one hand. They were slow in their movements; their body was almost
naked, so scantily was it clothed with hair; the males had but poorly developed tusks, or canineteeth; the
ears were flattened from disuse, and had no longer the power of being raised; the tail as in all great apes had
disappeared beneath the skin. This defenceless structure resulted from the favourable conditions under which,
during many ages, these animals had lived. They inhabited a warm tropical land; they had few enemies, and
abundant food; their physical powers had been enfeebled by disuse, But nothing is ever lost in nature. What
had become of the force which had once been expended on agility and strength? It had passed into the brain.
The chimpanzee is not so large a creature or so strong as the gorilla; but, as I was informed by the natives in
that country where the two species exist together, the chimpanzee is the more intelligent of the two. In the
same manner our apelike ancestors were inferior to the chimpanzee in strength and activity, and its superior
in mental powers.
All gregarious animals have a language, by means of which they communicate with one another, Some times
their language is that of touch: cut off the antennae of the ant, and it is dumb. With most animals the language
is that of vocal sound, and its varied intonations of anger, joy, or grief may be distinguished even by the
human ear. Animals have also their alarmcries, their lovecalls, and sweet murmuring plaintive sounds,
which are uttered only by mothers as they fondle and nurse their young. The language of our progenitors
consisted of vocal sounds, and also movements of the hands. The activity of mind and social affection
developed in these animals through the Law of Compensation, made them fond of babbling and gesturing to
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one another, and thus their language was already of a complicated nature, when events occurred which
developed it still more. Owing to causes remotely dependent on geological revolutions, dark days fell upon
these creatures. Food became scanty; enemies surrounded them. The continual presence of danger, the habit
of incessant combat, drew them more closely together. Their defects of activity and strength made them rely
on one another for protection. Nothing now but their unexampled power of combination could save their
lives. This power of combination was entirely dependent upon their language, which was developed and
improved until at length it passed into a new stage. The first stage of language is that of intonation, in which
the ideas are arranged on a chromatic scale. We still use this language in conversing with our dogs, who
perfectly understand the difference between the curses, not loud but deep, which are vented on their heads,
and the caressing sounds, which are usually uttered in falsetto; while we understand the growl, the whine, and
the excited yelp of joy.
The new stage of language was that of imitation. Impelled partly by necessity, partly by social love,
combined with mental activity, these animals began to notify events to one another by imitative sounds,
gestures, and grimaces. For instance, when they wished to indicate the neighbourhood of a wild beast, they
gave a low growl; they pointed in a certain direction; they shaped their features to resemble his; they crawled
stealthily along with their belly crouched to the ground. To imitate water, they bubbled with their mouths;
they grubbed with their hands and pretended to eat, to show that they had discovered roots. The pleasure and
profit obtained from thus communicating their ideas to one another led them to invent conversation.
Language passed into its third stage the conventional or artificial. Certain objects were pointed out, and
certain sounds were uttered, and it was agreed that those sounds should always signify the objects named. At
first this conventional language consisted only of substantives; each word signified an object, and was a
sentence in itself. Afterwards adjectives and verbs were introduced; and lastly words, which had at first been
used for physical objects, were applied to the nomenclature of ideas.
Combination is a method of resistance; language is the instrument of combination. Language, therefore, may
be considered the first weapon of our species, and was improved, as all weapons would be, by that long,
neverceasing war, the battle of existence. Our second weapon was the hand. With monkeys the hand is used
as a foot, and the foot is used as a hand. But when the hand began to be used for throwing missiles, it was
specialised more and more, and feet were required to do all the work of locomotion. This separation of the
foot and hand is the last instance of the physiological division of labour; and when it was effected, the human
frame became complete. The erect posture was assumed; that it is modern and unnatural is shown by the
difficulty with which it is maintained for any length of time. The centre of gravity being thus shifted, certain
alterations were produced in the physical appearance of the species; since that time, however, the human
body has been but slightly changed, the distinctions which exist between the races of men being unimportant
and external. Such as they are, they have been produced by differences of climate and food acting indirectly
upon the races throughout geological periods; and it is also possible that these distinctions of hair and skin
were chiefly acquired at a time when man's intelligence being imperfectly developed, his physical
organisation was more easily moulded by external conditions than was afterwards the case. For while with
the lower animals the conditions by which they are surrounded can produce alterations throughout their
whole structure, or in any part; with men, they can produce an alteration only in the brain. For instance, a
quadruped inhabits a region which, owing to geological changes, is gradually assuming an Arctic character.
In the course of some hundreds or thousands of centuries the species puts on a coat of warm fur, which is
either white in colour, or which turns white at the snowy period of the year. But when man is exposed to
similar conditions he builds a warm house and kills certain animals, that he may wear their skins. By these
means he evades the changed conditions so far as his general structure is concerned. But his brain has been
indirectly altered by the climate. Courage, industry, and ingenuity have been called forth by the struggle for
existence; the brain is thereby enlarged, and the face assumes a more intelligent expression.
Of such episodes the ancient history of man was composed. He was ever contending with the forces of
nature, with the wild beasts of the forest, and with the members of his own species outside his clan. In that
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long and varied struggle his intelligence was developed. His first invention, as might be supposed, was an
improvement in the art of murder. The lower animals sharpen their claws and whet their tusks. It was merely
an extension of this instinct which taught the primeval men to give point and edge to their sticks and stones;
and out of this first invention the first great discovery was made. While men were patiently rubbing sticks to
point them into arrows, a spark leapt forth and ignited the wooddust which had been scraped from the sticks.
Thus fire was found. By a series of accidents its uses were revealed. Its possessors cooked their food, and so
were improved in health and vigour both of body and of mind. They altered the face of nature by burning
down forests. By burning the withered grass they favoured the growth of the young crop, and thus attracted,
in the prairie lands, thousands of wild animals to their fresh green pastures. With the assistance of fire they
felled trees and hollowed logs into canoes. They hardened the points of stakes in the embers; and with their
new weapons were able to attack the Mammoth, thrusting their spears through his colossal throat. They made
pots. They employed their new servant in agriculture and in metallurgy. They used it also as a weapon; they
shot flaming arrows, or hurled fiery javelins against the foe. Above all, they prepared, by means of fire, the
vegetable poison which they discovered in the woods; and this invention must have created a revolution in
the art of ancient war. There is a custom in East Africa for the king to send fire to his vassals, who extinguish
all the fires on their hearths, and relight them from the brand which the envoy brings. It is possible that this
may be a relic of tribe subjection to the original fire tribe: it is certain that the discovery of fire would give the
tribes which possessed it an immense advantage over all the others. War was continually being waged among
the primeval men, and tribes were continually driven, by battle or hunger, to seek new lands. As hunters they
required vast areas on which to live, and so were speedily dispersed over the whole surface of the globe, and
adopted various habits and vocations according to the localities in which they dwelt. But they took with them,
from their common home, the elements of those pursuits. The first period of human history may be entitled
forestlife. The forest was the womb of our species, as the ocean was that of all our kind. In the dusky
twilight of the primeval woods the nations were obscurely born. While men were yet in the hunting stage,
while they were yet mere animals of prey, they made those discoveries by means of which they were
afterwards formed into three great families the pastoral, the maritime, and the agricultural.
When a female animal is killed, the young one, fearing to be alone, often follows the hunter home; it is tamed
for sport, and when it is discovered that animals can be made useful, domestication is methodically pursued.
While men were yet in the forest they tamed only the dog to assist them in hunting, and perhaps the fowl as
an article of food. But when certain tribes, driven by enemies or by starvation from their old haunts, entered
the prairie land, clad in skins or barkcloth, taking with them their firesticks, and perhaps some blacksmith's
tools, they adopted breeding as their chief pursuit, and subdued to their service the buffalo, the sheep, the
goat, the camel, the horse, and the ass. At first these animals were merely used as meat; next, their
milkgiving powers were developed, and so a daily food was obtained without killing the animal itself; then
they were broken in to carry burdens, to assist their masters in the chase and in war; and clothes and houses
were manufactured from their skins.
The forest tribes who settled on the banks of rivers learnt to swim and to make nets, fishtraps, rafts, and
canoes. When they migrated they followed the river, and so were carried to the sea. Then the ocean became
their fishpond. They learnt to build large canoes, with mast and matting sails; they followed the fish far
away; lost the land at night, or in a storm; discovered new shores, returned home, and again set out as
colonists, with their wives and families, to the lands which they had found. By such means the various tribes
were dispersed beyond the seas.
Thirdly, when the tribes were in the forest condition they lived partly upon roots and berries, partly upon
game. The men hunted, and the women collected the vegetable food, upon which they subsisted exclusively
during the absence of their husbands. When the habitations of a clan were fixed, it often happened that the
supply of edible plants in the neighbourhood would be exhausted, and starvation suggested the idea of
sowing and transplanting. Agriculture was probably a female invention; it was certainly at first a female
occupation. The bush was burnt down to clear a place for the crop, and the women, being too idle to remove
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the ashes from the soil, cast the seed upon them. The ashes acting as manure, garden varieties of the eating
plants appeared. Among the pastoral people, the seed bearing grasses were also cultivated into
largegrained corn. But as long as the tribes could migrate from one region to another, agriculture was
merely a secondary occupation, and was left, for the most part, in female hands. It was when a tribe was
imprisoned in a valley with mountains or deserts all around that agriculture be came their main pursuit, as
breeding was that of the shepherd wanderers, and fishing that of the people on the shore.
The pastoral tribes had a surplus supply of meat, milk, wool, and the rude products of the ancient loom. The
marine tribes had salt and smoked fish. The agricultural tribes had garden roots and grain. Here, then, a
division of labour had arisen among the tribes; and if only they could be blended together, a complete nation
would be formed. But the butcher tribes, the fishmonger tribes, and the baker tribes lived apart from one
another; they were timid, ferocious, and distrustful; their languages were entirely distinct. They did not dare
to communicate with one another, except to carry on dumb barter, as it is called. A certain tribe, for example,
who desired salt approached the frontier of the seacoast people, lighted a fire as a signal, and laid down
some meat or flour. They then retired; the coast tribe came up, laid down salt, and also retired. The meat or
flour tribe again went to the spot; and if the salt was sufficient, they took it away; if not, they left it
untouched, to indicate that they required more; and so they chaffered a considerable time, each bid consisting
of a promenade.
It is evident that such a system of trade might go on for ages without the respective tribes becoming better
acquainted with each other. It is only by means of war and of religion that the tribes can be compressed into
the nation. The shepherd tribes had a natural aptitude for war. They lived almost entirely on horseback; they
attacked wild beasts in handtohand conflict on the open plain, and they often fought with one another for a
pasture or a well. They were attracted by the crops of the agricultural people, whom they conquered with
facility. Usually they preferred their roaming life, and merely exacted a tribute of corn. But sometimes a
people worsted in war, exiled from their pastures, wandering homeless through the sandy deserts, discovered
a fruitful river plain, in which they settled down, giving up their nomad habits, but keeping their flocks and
herds. They reduced the aborigines to slavery; made some of them labourers in the fields; others were
appointed to tend the flocks; others were sent to the river or the coast to fish; others were taught the arts of
the distaff and the loom; others were made to work as carpenters and smiths. The wives of the shepherd
conquerors were no longer obliged to milk the cows and camels, and to weave clothes and tents; they became
ladies, and were attended by domestic slaves. Their husbands became either military nobles or learned
priests; the commanderinchief or patriarch became the king. Foreign wars led to foreign commerce, and
the priest developed the resources of the country. The simple fabrics of the old tent life were refined in
texture and beautified with dyes; the potter's clay was converted into fine porcelain and glass, the
blacksmith's shop became a manufactory of ornamented arms; ingenious machines were devised for the
irrigation of the soil the arts and sciences were adopted by the government, and employed in the service of
the state.
Here then we have a nation manufactured by means of war. Religion is afterwards useful as a means of
keeping the conquered people in subjection; but in this case it plays only a secondary part. In another class of
nationalities, however, religion operates as the prime agent.
When the human herd first wandered through the gloomy and gigantic forest, sleeping on reed platforms in
the trees, or burrowing in holes, there was no government but that of force. The strongest man was the leader,
and ceased to be the leader when he ceased to he the strongest. But as the minds of men became developed,
the ruler was elected by the members of the clan, who combined to depose him if he exceeded his rightful
powers; and chiefs were chosen not only for their strength, but also sometimes for their beauty, and
sometimes on account of their intelligence. These chiefs possessed but little power; they merely expressed
and executed the voice of the majority. But when it was believed that the soul was immortal, or, in other
words, that there were ghosts; when it was believed that the bodies of men were merely garments, and that
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the true inmates were spirits, whom death stripped bare of flesh and blood, but whom death was powerless to
kill; when it was believed that these souls or ghosts dwelt among the graves, haunted their old homes,
hovered round the scenes in which they had passed their lives, and even took a part in human affairs, a theory
arose that the ghost of the departed chief was still the ruler of the clan, and that in his spiritual state he could
inflict terrible punishments on those by whom he was offended, and could also bestow upon them good
fortune in hunting, in harvests, and in war. So then homage and gifts were rendered to him at his grave. A
child of his house became the master of the clan, and professed to receive the commands of the deceased. For
the first time the chiefs were able to exercise power without employing force; but this power had also its
limits.
In the first place the chief feared he would be punished by the ghost if he injured the people over whom he
ruled, and there were always prophets or seers who could see visions and dream dreams when the mind of the
people was excited against the chief. By means therefore of religion, which at first consisted only in the fear
of ghosts, the government of the clan was improved; savage liberty or licence was restrained; the young
trembled before the old, whom previously they had eaten as soon as they were useless. Religion was also of
service in uniting separated clans. In the forest, food was scanty; as soon as a clan expanded it was forced to
divide, and the separated part pursued an orbit of its own. Savage dialects change almost day by day; the old
people can always speak a language which their grandchildren do not understand, and so, in the course of a
single generation, the two clans become foreigners and foes to one another. But when ghostworship had
been established, the members of the divided clans resorted to the holy graves at certain seasons of the year to
unite with the members of the parent clan in sacrificing to the ancestral shades; the season of the pilgrimage
was made a Truce of God; a fair was held, at which trade and competitive amusements were carried on. Yet
still the clans or tribes had little connection with one another, excepting at that single period of the year. It
was for war to continue the work which religion had begun. Some times the tribes uniting invaded a foreign
country, and founded an empire of the kind which has already been described; then the army became a
nation, and the camp a town. In other cases the tribes, being weaker than their neighbours, were compelled
for their mutual protection to draw together into towns, and to fortify themselves with walls.
In its original condition the town was a federation. Each family was a little kingdom in itself, inhabiting a
fortified cluster of dwellings, having its own domestic religion, governed by its own laws. The paterfamilias
was king and priest; he could put to death any member of his family. There was little distinction between the
wives, the sons, and the daughters, on the one hand, and the slaves, the oxen, and the sheep on the other.
These family fathers assembled in council, and passed laws for their mutual convenience and protection. Yet
these laws were not national; they resembled treaties between foreign states; and two houses would
frequently go to war and fight pitched battles in the streets without any interference from the commonwealth
at large. If the town progressed in power and intelligence, the advantages of centralisation were perceived by
all; the fathers were induced to emancipate their children, and to delegate their royal power to a senate or a
king; each man was responsible for his own actions, and for them alone; individualism was established. This
important revolution, which, as we have elsewhere shown, tends to produce the religious theory of rewards
and punishments in a future state, was itself in part produced by the influence and teaching of the priests.
Besides the worship of the ancestral shades the ancient people adored the great deities of nature who
governed the woods and the waters, the earth and the sky. When men died, it was supposed that they had
been killed by the gods; it was therefore believed that those who lived to a good old age were special
favourites of the divine beings. Many people asked them by what means they had obtained the good graces of
the gods. With savages nothing is done gratis; the old men were paid for their advice; and in course of time
the oracle system was established. The old men consulted the gods they at first advised, they next
commanded what gifts should be offered on the altar. They collected taxes, they issued orders on the divine
behalf. In the city of federated families the priests formed a section entirely apart; they belonged not to this
house, or to that house, but to all; it was to their interest that the families should be at peace; that a national
religion should be established; that the household gods or ancestral ghosts should be degraded, that the
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despotism of the hearth should be destroyed. They acted as peacemakers and arbitrators of disputes. They
united the tribes in the national sacrifice and the solemn dance. They preached the power and grandeur of the
gods. They became the tutors of the people; they rendered splendid service to mankind. We are accustomed
to look only at the dark side of those ancient faiths; their frivolous and sanguinary laws, their abominable
offerings, their grotesque rites. Yet even the pure and lofty religions of Confucius and Zoroaster; of Moses,
and Jesus, and Mohammed; of the Brahmins and the Buddhists, have not done so much for man as those
barbarous religions of the early days. They established a tyranny, and tyranny was useful in the childhood of
mankind. The chiefs could only enact those laws which were indispensable for the life of the community. But
the priests were supposed to utter the commands of invisible beings whose strange tempers could clearly be
read in the violent outbreaks and changing aspects of the sky. The more irrational the laws of the priests
appeared, the more evident it was that they were not of man. Terror generated piety; wild savages were tamed
into obedience; they became the slaves of the unseen; they humbled themselves before the priests, and
implicitly followed their commands that they might escape sickness, calamity, and sudden death; their minds
were subjected to a useful discipline; they acquired the habit of selfdenial, which like all habits can become
a pleasure to the mind, and can be transmitted as a tendency or instinct from generation to generation. They
were ordered to abstain from certain kinds of food; to abstain from fishing and working in the fields on days
sacred to the gods of the waters and the earth; they were taught to give with generosity not only in fear, but
also in thanksgiving. Even the human sacrifices which they made were sometimes acts of filial piety and of
tender love. They gave up the slaves whom they valued most to attend their fathers in the Underworld; or sent
their souls as presents to the gods.
But the chief benefit which religionconferred upon mankind, whether in ancient or in modern times, was
undoubtedly the oath. The priests taught that if a promise was made in the name of the gods, and that promise
was broken, the gods would kill those who took their name in vain. Such is the true meaning of the Third
Commandment. Before that time treaties of peace and contracts of every kind in which mutual confidence
was required could only be effected by the interchange of hostages. But now by means of this purely
theological device a verbal form became itself a sacred pledge: men could at all times confide in one another;
and foreign tribes met freely together beneath the shelter of this useful superstition which yet survives in our
courts of law. In those days, however, the oath required no law of perjury to sustain its terrors: as Xenophon
wrote, "He who breaks an oath defies the gods"; and it was believed that the gods never failed sooner or later
to take their revenge.
The priests, in order to increase their power, studied the properties of plants, the movements of the stars; they
cultivated music and the imitative arts; reserving their knowledge to their own caste, they soon surpassed in
mental capacity the people whom they ruled. And being more intelligent, they became also more moral, for
the conscience is an organ of the mind; it is strengthened and refined by the education of the intellect. They
learnt from Nature that there is unity in all her parts; hence they believed that one god or manlike being had
made the heavens and the earth. At first this god was a despotic tithetaker like themselves; but as their own
minds became more noble, and more pure; as they began to feel towards the people a sentiment of paternity
and love, so God, the reflected image of their minds, rose into a majestic and benignant being, and this idea
reacted on their minds, as the imagination of the artist is inspired by the masterpiece which he himself has
wrought. And, as the Venus of Milo and the Apollo Belvedere have been endowed by man with a beauty
more exquisite than can be found on earth; a beauty that may well be termed divine; so the God who is
worshipped by elevated minds is a mental form endowed with power, love, and virtue in perfection. The
Venus and the Apollo are ideals of the body; God is an ideal of the mind. Both are made by men; both are
superhuman in their beauty; both are human in their form. To worship the image made of stone is to worship
the work of the human hand. To worship the image made of ideas is to worship the work of the human brain.
Godworship, therefore, is idolatry; but in the early ages of mankind how fruitful of good was that error, how
ennobling was that chimera of the brain! For when the priests had sufficiently progressed in the wisdom of
morality to discover that men should act to others, as they would have others act to them; and that they
should never do in thought what they would not do in deed; then these priests, the shepherds of the people,
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desired to punish those who did evil, and to reward those who did good to their fellowmen; and thus, always
transferring their ideas to the imaginary being whom they had created, and whom they adored, they believed
and they taught that God punished the guilty, that God rewarded the good; and when they perceived that men
are not requited in this world according to their deeds, they believed and they taught that this brief life is
merely a preparation for another world; and that the souls or ghosts will be condemned to eternal misery, or
exalted to everlasting bliss, according to the lives which they have led within the garment of the flesh.
This belief, though not less erroneous than that on which the terrors of the oath were based; this belief,
though not less a delusion than the faith in ghosts, of which, in fact, it is merely an extension; this belief,
though it will some day become pernicious to intellectual and moral life, and has already plundered mankind
of thousands and thousands of valuable minds, exiling earnest and ardent beings from the mainstream of
humanity, entombing them in hermitage or cell, teaching them to despise the gifts of the intellect which
nature has bestowed, teaching them to waste the precious years in barren contemplations and in selfish
prayers; this belief has yet undoubtedly assisted the progress of the human race. In ancient life it exalted the
imagination, it purified the heart, it encouraged to virtue, it deterred from crime. At the present day a tender
sympathy for the unfortunate, a jealous care for the principles of freedom, a severe public opinion, and a law
difficult to escape are the safeguards of society but there have been periods in the history of man when the
fear of hell was the only restriction on the pleasure of the rulers; when the hope of heaven was the only
consolation in the misery of the ruled.
The doctrine of rewards and punishments in a future state is comparatively modern; the authors of the Iliad,
the authors of the Pentateuch, had no conception of a heaven or a hell; they knew only Hades or Scheol,
where men dwelt as shadows, without pain, without joy; where the wicked ceased from troubling and the
weary were at rest. The sublime conception of a single God was slowly and painfully attained by a few
civilised people in ancient times. The idea that God is a being of virtue and of love has not been attained even
in the present day except by a cultivated few. Such is the frailty of the human heart that men, even when they
strive to imagine a perfect being, stain him with their passions, and raise up an idol which is defective as a
moral form. The God of this country is called a God of love; but it is said that he punishes the crimes and
even the errors of a short and troubled life with torture which will have no end. It is not even a man which
theologians create; for no man is quite without pity; no man, however cruel he might he, could bear to gaze
for ever on the horrors of the fire and the rack; no man could listen for ever to voices shrieking with pain, and
ever crying out for mercy and forgiveness. And if such is the character of the Christian God, if such is the
idea which is worshipped by compassionate and cultivated men, what are we to expect in a barbarous age?
The God of Job was a sultan of the skies, who, for a kind of wager, allowed a faithful servant to be tortured,
like that man who performed vivisection on a favourite dog which licked his hand throughout the operation.
The Jehovah of the Pentateuch was a murderer and bandit; he rejoiced in offerings of human flesh The gods
of Homer were lascivious and depraved. The gods of savages are merely savage chiefs.
God, therefore, is an image of the mind, and that image is ennobled and purified from generation to
generation, as the mind becomes more noble and more pure. Europeans believe in eternal punishment, partly
because it has been taught them in their childhood and because they have never considered what it means;
partly because their imaginations are sluggish, and they are unable to realise its cruelty; and partly also, it
must be feared, because they have still the spirit of revenge and persecution in their hearts. The author of Job
created God in the image of an Oriental king, and in the East it is believed that all men by nature belong to
the king, and that he can do no wrong. The Bedouins of the desert abhorred incontinence as a deadly sin; but
brigandage and murder were not by them considered crimes. In the Homeric period, piracy was a profession,
and vices were the customs of the land. The character of a god is that of the people who have made him.
When, therefore, I expose the crimes of Jehovah, I expose the defective morality of Israel; and when I
criticise the God of modern Europe, I criticise the defective intellects of Europeans. The reader must
endeavour to bear this in mind, for, though he may think that his idea of the creator is actually the Creator,
that belief is not shared by me.
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We shall now return to the forest and investigate the origin of intellect; we shall first explain how the aptitude
for science and for art arose; and next how man first became gifted with the moral sense.
The desire to obtain food induces the animal to examine everything of novel appearance which comes within
its range of observation. The habit is inherited and becomes an instinct, irrespective of utility. This instinct is
curiosity, which in many animals is so urgent a desire that they will encounter danger rather than forego the
examination of any object which is new and strange. This propensity is inherited by man, and again passes
through a period of utility. When fire is first discovered, experiments are made on all kinds of plants, with the
view of ascertaining what their qualities may be. The remarkable knowledge of herbs which savages possess;
their skill in preparing decoctions which can act as medicines or as poisons, which can attract or repel wild
animals, is not the result of instinct but of experience; and, as with the lower animals, the habit of
foodseeking is developed into curiosity, so the habit of searching for edibles, medicine, and poison becomes
the experimental spirit, the passion of inquiry which animates the lifetime of the scientific man, and which
makes him, even in his last hours, observe his own symptoms with interest, and take notes on death as it
draws near. It has been said that genius is curiosity. That instinct is at least an element of genius; it is the
chief stimulant of labour; it keeps the mind alive.
The artistic spirit is, in the same manner, developed from the imitative instinct, the origin of which is more
obscure than that of the inquisitive propensity. However, its purpose is clear enough; the young animal learns
from its parent, by means of imitation, to feed, to arrange its toilet with beak or tongue, and to perform all the
other offices of life. The hen, for instance, when she discovers food, pecks the ground, not to eat, but to show
her chickens how to eat, and they follow her example. The young birds do not sing entirely by instinct, they
receive lessons from their parents. The instinct of imitation, so essential to the young, remains more or less
with the adult, and outlives its original intent. Animals imitate one another, and with the monkeys this
propensity becomes a mania. It is inherited by men, with whom even yet it is half an instinct, as is shown by
the fact that all persons, and especially the young, reflect, in spite of their own efforts, the accent and the
demeanour of those with whom they live. This instinct, when adroitly managed, is a means of education; it is,
in fact, the first principle of progress. The Red Indians are not imitative, and they have now nearly been
destroyed; the negroes imitate like monkeys, and what is the result? They are preachers, traders, clerks, and
artisans, all over the world, and there is no reason to suppose that they will remain always in the imitative
stage. With respect to individuals it is the same. Paradoxical as it may appear, it is only the imitative mind
which can attain originality, the artist must learn to copy before he can create. Mozart began by imitating
Bach; Beethoven began by copying Mozart. Molière mimicked the Greek dramatists before he learnt to draw
from the world. The manysided character of Goethe's mind, which has made him a marvel among men, was
based upon his imitative instincts; it has been said that he was like a chameleon, taking the hue of the ground
on which he fed. What, in fact, is emulation but a noble form of imitativeness? Michaelangelo saw a man
modelling in clay in the garden of Lorenzo, and was seized with the desire to become a sculptor; and most
men who have chosen their own vocation could trace its origin in the same way to some imitative impulse.
Among the primeval men this instinct, together with wonder and the taste for beauty, explains the origin of
art: The tendency to reproduce with the hand whatever pleases and astonishes the mind, undoubtedly begins
at an early period in the history of man; pictures were drawn in the period of the mammoth; I once saw a boy
from a wild bush tribe look at a ship with astonishment and then draw it on the sand with a stick. It frequently
happens in savage life, that a man is seized with a passion for representing objects, and such a Giotto is
always invited, and perhaps, paid, to decorate walls and doors. With this wallpainting the fine arts began.
Next the outlines were engraved with a knife, making a figure in relief. Next came a statue with the back
adhering to the wall, and lastly the sculptured figure was entirely detached. In the same manner painting was
also separated from the wall; and mural painting was developed into another form of art. By means of a series
of pictures a story was told; the picturewriting was converted into hieroglyphics, and thence into a system of
alphabetical signs. Thus the statue, the picture, and the book are all descended from such figures as those
which savages scrawl with charcoal on their hut walls, and which seldom bear much resemblance to the thing
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portrayed. The genius of art and the genius of science are developed by means of priesthoods and religion but
when a certain point has been attained, they must be divorced from religion, or they will cease to progress.
And now, finally, with respect to music. There is a science of music; but music is not a science. Nor is it an
imitative art. It is a language.
Words at first were rather sung than spoken, and sentences were rhythmical. The conversation of the
primeval men was conducted in verse and song; at a later period they invented prose; they used a method of
speech which was less pleasing to the ear, but better suited for the communication of ideas. Poetry and music
ceased to be speech, and became an art, as pantomime, which once was a part of speech, is now an art
exhibited upon the stage. Poetry and music at first were one; the bard was a minstrel, the minstrel was a bard.
The same man was composer, poet, vocalist, and instrumentalist, and instrumentmaker. He wrote the music
and the air; as he sang he accompanied himself upon the harp, and he also made the harp. When writing came
into vogue the arts of the poet and the musician were divided, and music again was divided into the vocal and
the instrumental, and finally instrumentmaking became a distinct occupation, to which fact may partly he
ascribed the superiority of modern music to that of ancient times.
The human language of speech bears the same relation to the human language of song as the varied bark of
the civilised dog to its sonorous howl. There seems little in common between the lady who sings at the piano
and the dog who chimes in with jaws opened and nose upraised; yet each is making use of the primitive
language of its race the wild dog can only howl, the wild woman can only sing.
Gestures with us are still used as ornaments of speech, and some savage languages are yet in so imperfect a
condition that gestures are requisite to elucidate the words. Gestures are relics of the primeval language, and
so are musical sounds. With the dog of the savage there is much howl in its bark: its voice is in a transitional
condition. The peasants of all countries sing in their talk, and savages resemble the people in the opera. Their
conversation is of a "libretto" character; it glitters with hyperbole and metaphor, and they frequently speak in
recitative, chanting or intoning, and ending every sentence in a musically sounded O! Often also in the midst
of conversation, if a man happens to become excited, he will sing instead of speaking what he has to say; the
other also replies in song, while the company around, as if touched by a musical wave, murmur a chorus in
perfect unison, clapping their hands, undulating their bodies, and perhaps breaking forth into a dance.
Just as the articulate or conventional speech has been developed into rich and varied tongues, by means of
which abstract ideas and delicate emotions can be expressed in appropriate terms, so the inarticulate or
musical speech, the true, the primitive language of our race, has been developed with the aid of instruments
into a rich and varied language of sound in which poems can be composed. When we listen to the sublime
and mournful sonatas of Beethoven, when we listen to the tender melodies of Bellini, we fall into a trance;
the brain burns and swells; its doors fly open; the mind sweeps forth into an unknown world where all is dim,
dusky, unutterably vast; gigantic ideas pass before us; we attempt to seize them, to make them our own, but
they vanish like shadows in our arms. And then, as the music becomes soft and low, the mind returns and
nestles to the heart; the senses are steeped in languor; the eyes fill with tears; the memories of the past take
form; and a voluptuous sadness permeates the soul, sweet as the sorrow of romantic youth when the real
bitterness of life was yet unknown.
What, then, is the secret of this power in music? And why should certain sounds from wood and wire thus
touch our very heart strings to their tune? It is the voice of Nature which the great composers combine into
harmony and melody; let us follow it downwards and downwards in her deep bosom, and there we discover
music, the speech of passion, of sentiment, of emotion, and of love; there we discover the divine language in
its elements; the sigh, the gasp, the melancholy moan, the plaintive note of supplication, the caressing
murmur of maternal love, the cry of challenge or of triumph, the song of the lover as he serenades his mate.
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The spirit of science arises from the habit of seeking food; the spirit of art arises from the habit of imitation,
by which the young animal first learns to feed; the spirit of music arises from primeval speech, by means of
which males and females are attracted to each other. But the true origin of these instincts cannot be
ascertained: it is impossible to account for primary phenomena. There are some who appear to suppose that
this world is a stageplay, and that if we pry into it too far, we shall discover ropes and pulleys behind the
scenes, and that so agreeable illusions will be spoiled. But the great masters of modern science are precisely
those whom Nature inspires with most reverence and awe. For as their minds are wafted by their wisdom into
untravelled worlds, they find new fields of knowledge expanding to the view; the firmament ever expands,
the abyss deepens, the horizon recedes. The proximate Why may be discovered; the ultimate Why is
unrevealed. Let us take, for instance, a single law. A slight change invigorates the animal; and so the
offspring of the pair survive the offspring of the single individual. Hence the separation of the sexes, desire,
affection, family love, combination, gregariousness, clanlove, the Golden Rule, nationality, patriotism, and
the religion of humanity, with all those complex sentiments and emotions which arise from the fact that one
animal is dependent on another for the completion of its wants. But why should a slight change invigorate the
animal? And if that question could be answered; we should find another why behind. Even when science
shall be so far advanced that all the faculties and feelings of men will be traced with the precision of a
mathematical demonstration to their latent condition in the fiery cloud of the beginning, the luminous haze,
the nebula of the sublime Laplace: even then the origin and purpose of creation, the How and the Why, will
remain unsolved. Give me the elementary atoms, the philosopher will exclaim; give me the primeval gas and
the law of gravitation, and I will show you how man was evolved, body and soul, just as easily as I can
explain the egg being hatched into a chick. But, then, where did the egg come from? Who made the atoms
and endowed them with the impulse of attraction? Why was it so ordered that reason should be born of
refrigeration, and that a piece of whitehot star should cool into a habitable world, and then be sunned into an
intellectual salon, as the earth will some day be? All that we are doing, and all that we can do, is to
investigate secondary laws; but from these investigations will proceed discoveries by which human nature
will be elevated, purified, and finally transformed.
The ideas and sentiments, the faculties and the emotions, should be divided into two classes; those which we
have in common with the lower animals, and which therefore we have derived from them; and those which
have been acquired in the human state. Filial, parental, and conjugal affection, fellow feeling and devotion
to the welfare of the community, are virtues which exist in every gregarious association. These qualities,
therefore, were possessed by the progenitors of man before the development of language, before the
separation of the foot and the hand. Reproduction was once a part of growth: animals, therefore, desire to
perpetuate their species from a natural and innate tendency inherited from their hermaphrodite and
animalcule days. But owing to the separation of the sexes, this instinct cannot be appeased except by means
of co operation. In order that off spring may be produced, two animals must enter into partnership; and in
order that offspring may be reared, this partnership must be continued for a considerable time. All living
creatures of the higher grade are memorials of conjugal affection and parental care; they are born with a
tendency to love, for it is owing to love that they exist. Those animals that are deficient in conjugal desire or
parental love produce or bring up no offspring, and are blotted out of the book of Nature. That parents and
children should consort together is natural enough; and the family is multiplied into the herd. At first the
sympathy by which the herd is united is founded only on the pleasures of the breeding season and the duties
of the nest. It is based entirely on domestic life. But this sympathy is extended and intensified by the struggle
for existence; herd contends against herd, community against community; that herd which best combines will
undoubtedly survive; and that herd in which sympathy is most developed will most efficiently combine.
Here, then, one herd destroys another, not only by means of teeth and claws, but also by means of sympathy
and love. The affections, therefore, are weapons, and are developed according to the Darwinian Law. Love is
as cruel as the shark's jaw, as terrible as the serpent's fang. The moral sense is founded on sympathy, and
sympathy is founded on self preservation. With all gregarious animals, including men, selfpreservation is
dependent on the preservation of the herd. And so, in order that each may prosper, they must all combine
with affection and fidelity, or they will be exterminated by their rivals.
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In the first period of the human herd, cooperation was merely instinctive, as it is in a herd of dogfaced
baboons. But when the intelligence of man was sufficiently developed, they realised the fact that the welfare
of each individual depended on the welfare of the clan, and that the welfare of the clan depended on the
welfare of each efficient individual. They then endeavoured to support by laws the interests of the
association; and though, owing to their defective understandings, they allowed, and even enjoined, many
customs injurious to their own welfare, yet, on the whole, they lived well and wisely within the circle of their
clan. It will now be seen that the moral laws by which we are guided are all due to the law of
selfpreservation. It was considered wicked and wrong to assault, to rob, to deceive, or in any way to ill
treat or offend an ablebodied member of the clan; for, if he were killed or disabled, his services were lost to
the clan, and if he were made discontented he might desert to another corporation. But these vices were
wrong, merely because they were injurious; even murder in the abstract was not regarded by them as a sin.
They killed their sickly children, and dined upon their superannuated parents without remorse; for the
community was profited by their removal. This feeling of fidelity to the clan, though, no doubt, often
supported by arguments addressed to the reason, was not with them a matter of calculation. It was rooted in
their hearts; it was a true instinct inherited from animal and ancient days; it was with them an idea of duty,
obedience to which was prompted by an impulse, neglect of which was punished by remorse. In all fables
there is some fact; and the legends of the noble savage possess this element of truth, that savages within their
own communion do live according to the Golden Rule, and would, in fact, be destroyed by their enemies if
they did not. But they are not in reality good men. They have no conscience outside their clan. Their virtue
after all is only a kind of honour among thieves. They resemble those illustrious criminals who were excellent
husbands and fathers, and whose biographies cannot be read without a shudder. Yet it is from these people
that our minds and our morals are descended. The history of morals is the extension of the reciprocal or
selfish virtues from the clan to the tribe, from the tribe to the nation, from the nation to all communities living
under the same government, civil or religious, then to people of the same colour, and finally to all mankind.
In the primitive period, the males contended at the courting season for the possession of the females;
polygamy prevailed, and thus the strongest and most courageous males were the fathers of all the children
that were born; the males of the second class died "old maids." The weakly members of the herd were also
unable to obtain their share of food. But when the period of brute force was succeeded by the period of law, it
was found that the men of sickly frames were often the most intelligent, and that they could make themselves
useful to the clan by inventing weapons and traps, or at least by manufacturing them.
In return for their sedentary labour, they were given food; and as they were too weak to obtain wives by
force, females also were given them; the system of loveduels was abolished; the women belonged to the
community, and were divided fairly, like the food. The existence of the clan depended on the number of its
fighting men, and therefore on the number of children that were born. The birth of a male child was a matter
of rejoicing: the mother was honoured as a public benefactress. Then breeding began to be studied as an art;
young persons were methodically paired. It was observed that children inherit the qualities and inclinations of
their parents, and so the brave and the intelligent were selected to be sires.
If food was scarce and if children were difficult to rear, the newborn infants were carefully examined, and
those that did not promise well were killed. Promiscuous intercourse on the part of the females was found to
result in sterility, and was forbidden. Cohabitation during the suckling period, which lasted at least three
years, was supposed to injure the mother's milk, on which the savage baby is entirely dependent; and during
that period the woman was set apart. Premature unions among children were forbidden, and sometimes
prevented by infibulation, but savages seldom seem to be aware that for the young to marry as soon as the age
of puberty has been attained is injurious to the womb and to the offspring. The ancient Germans, however,
had excellent laws upon this subject.
Finally the breeders made a discovery from which has resulted one of the most universal of moral laws, and
one which of all laws has been the least frequently infringed. Clans made war on foreign clans not only for
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gamepreserves, and fish waters, and root, and berry grounds, but also for the purpose of making female
prisoners. A bachelor was expected to catch a wild wife for his own benefit, and for that of the community.
He accordingly prowled round the village of the enemy, and when an eligible person came down to the brook
to fill her pitcher, or went into the bush to gather sticks, he burst forth from his ambush, knocked her down
with his club, and carried her off in triumph to his own people. It was observed that the foreign wives
produced more children, and stronger children, than the homeborn wives, and, also that the nearer the
blood relationship between husband and wife, the more weakly and the less frequent were the offspring. On
this account a law was passed forbidding marriage between those who were closely related to one another;
sometimes even it was forbidden to marry within the tribe at all; and all wives were obtained from foreign
tribes by means of capture or exchange. These laws relating to marriage, enacted by the elders, and issued as
orders of the gods, were at first obeyed by the young merely out of fear; but in the second generation they
were ingrained on the minds of children, and were taken under the protection of the conscience.
When the clans or families first leagued together in order to form a town, the conscience of each man was
confined to his own circle. He left it at home when he went out into the town. He considered it laudable to
cheat his fellow townsmen in a bargain, or to tell them clever lies. If he committed a murder or a theft, his
conscience uttered no reproach. But each father was responsible for the crimes of the members of his clan; he
might inflict what punishment he chose on the actual offender; but he himself was the culprit in the eyes of
the law, and was condemned to pay the fine. If the municipal government was not fully formed, the injured
family took its own revenge; it did not seek for the thief or murderer himself; the individual did not exist; all
the family to them were one. No man, therefore, could break a law without exposing his revered father and all
the members of his family to expense, and even to danger of their lives. No savage dares to be unpopular at
home; the weight of opprobrium is more than any man can bear. His happiness depends on the approbation of
those with whom he lives; there is no world for him outside his clan. The town laws were, therefore,
respected by each man for the sake of his family, and then by a wellknown mental process they came to be
respected for themselves, and were brought under the moral law which was written on the heart. Men ceased
to be clansmen; they became citizens. They next learnt to cherish and protect those foreigners who came to
trade and who thus conferred a benefit upon the town; and at last the great discovery was made. Offences
against the Golden Rule are wrong in themselves, and displeasing to the gods. It is wicked for a man to do
that which he would not wish a man to do to him; it is wrong for a man to do that to a woman which he
would not wish done to his sister or his wife. Murder, theft, falsehood, and fraud, the infliction of physical or
mental pain, all these from time immemorial had been regarded as crimes between clansmen and clansmen;
they were now regarded as crimes between man and man. And here we come to a singular fact. The more
men are sunk in brutality the less frequently they sin against their conscience; and as men become more
virtuous, they also become more sinful. With the primeval man the conscience is an instinct; it is never
disobeyed. With the savage the conscience demands little; that little it demands under pain of death; it is,
therefore, seldom disobeyed. The savage seldom does that which he feels to be wrong. But he does not feel it
wrong to commit incest, to eat 'grandfather soup', to kill a sickly child like a kitten, to murder any one who
lives outside his village. In the next period, the matrimonial and religious laws which have proceeded from
the science of breeding and the fear of ghosts place a frequent restraint upon his actions. He now begins to
break the moral law; he begins a career of sin; yet he is, on the whole, a better man.
We finally arrive at the civilised man; he has refined sentiments and a cultivated intellect; and now scarcely a
day passes in which he does not offend against his conscience. His life is passed in self reproach. He
censures himself for an hour that he has wasted; for an unkind word that he has said; for an impure thought
which he has allowed to settle for a moment on his mind. Such lighter sins do not indeed trouble ordinary
men, and there are few at present whose conscience reproaches them for sins against the intellect. But the
lives of all modern men are tormented with desires which may not be satisfied; with propensities which must
be quelled. The virtues of man have originated in necessity; but necessity developed the vices as well. It was
essential for the preservation of the clan that its members should love one another, and live according to the
Golden Rule; men, therefore, are born with an instinct of virtue. But it was also essential for the existence of
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the clan that its members should be murderers and thieves, crafty and ferocious; fraudulent and cruel. These
qualities, therefore, are transmitted by inheritance. But as the circle of the clan widens, these qualities are
rarely useful to their possessors, and finally are stigmatised as criminal propensities. But because their origin
was natural and necessary, their guilt is not lessened an iota. All men are born with these propensities; all
know that they are evil; all can suppress them if they please. There are some, indeed, who appear to be
criminals by nature; who do not feel it wrong to prey upon mankind. These are cases of reversion; they are
savages or wild beasts; they are the enemies of society, and deserve the prison, to which sooner or later they
are sure to come. But it is rare indeed that these savage instincts resist a kind and judicious education; they
may all be stifled in the nursery. Life is full of hope and consolation; we observe that crime is on the
decrease, and that men are becoming more humane. The virtues as well as the vices are inherited; in every
succeeding generation the old ferocious impulses of our race will become fainter and fainter, and at length
they will finally die away.
There is one moral sentiment which cannot be ascribed to the law of gregarious preservation, and which is
therefore of too much importance to be entirely passed over, though it cannot here be treated in detail. The
sense of decorum which is outraged at the exposure of the legs in Europe is as artificial as that which is
shocked at the exhibition of the female face in the East: if the young lady of London thinks that the absence
of underclothing in the Arab peasant girl "looks rather odd," on the other hand no Arab lady could look at her
portrait in an evening dress without a feeling of discomfort and surprise. Yet although the minor details of
nudity are entirely conventional; although complete nudity prevails in some parts of Africa, where yet a
petticoat grows on every tree, and where the people are by no means indifferent to their personal appearance,
for they spend half their lives upon their coiffure; although in most savage countries the unmarried girl is
never permitted to wear clothes; although decoration is everywhere antecedent to dress, still the traveller does
find that a sentiment of decency, though not universal, is at least very common among savage people.
Selfinterest here affords an explanation, but not in the human state; we must trace back the sentiment to its
remote and secret source in the animal kingdom. Propriety grows out of cleanliness through the association of
ideas. Cleanliness is a virtue of the lower animals, and is equivalent to decoration; it is nourished by vanity,
which proceeds from the love of sexual display, and that from the desire to obtain a mate; and so here we do
arrive at utility after all. It is a part of animal cleanliness to deposit apart, and even to hide, whatever is
uncleanly; and men, going farther still, conceal whatever is a cause of the uncleanly. The Tuaricks of the
desert give this as their reason for bandaging the mouth; it has, they say, the disgusting office of chewing the
food, and is therefore not fit to be seen. The custom probably originated as a precaution against the poisonous
wind and the sandy air; yet the explanation of the people themselves, though incorrect, is not without its
value in affording a clue to the operations of the savage mind. But the sense of decorum must not be used by
writers on Mind to distinguish man from the lower animals, for savages exist who are as innocent of shame
and decorum as the beasts and birds.
There is in women a peculiar timidity, which is due to nature alone, and which has grown out of the
mysterious terror attendant on the functions of reproductive life. But the other qualities, physical or mental,
which we prize in women are the result of matrimonial selection. At first the female was a chattel common to
all, or belonging exclusively to one, who was by brute force the despot of the herd. When property was
divided and secured by law, the women became the slaves of their husbands, hewing the wood, drawing the
water, working in the fields; while the men sewed and washed the clothes, looked after the house, and idled at
the toilet, oiling their hair, and adorning it with flowers, arranging the chignon or the wig of vegetable fibre,
filing their teeth, boring their ears, putting studs into their cheeks, staining their gums, tattooing fanciful
designs upon their skins, tying strings on their arms to give them a rounded form, bathing their bodies in
warm water, rubbing them with limejuice and oil, perfuming them with the powdered bark of an aromatic
tree. Decoration among the females was not allowed. It was then considered unwomanly to engage in any but
what are now regarded as masculine occupations. Wives were selected only for their strength. They were
hard, coarse, illfavoured creatures, as inferior to the men in beauty as the females are to the males almost
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throughout the animal kingdom. But when prisoners of war were tamed and broken in, the women ceased to
be drudges, and became the ornaments of life. Poor men select their domestic animals for utility: rich men
select them for appearance. In the same manner, when husbands became rich they chose wives according to
their looks. At first the hair of women was no longer than that of men, probably not so long. But long hair is
universally admired. False hair is in use all over the world, from the Eskimos of the Arctic circle to the
negroes of Gaboon. By the continued selection of longhaired wives the flowing tresses of the sex have been
produced. In the same manner the elegance of the female form, its softness of complexion, its gracefulness of
curve are not less our creation than the symmetry and speed of the racehorse, the magnificence of garden
flowers, and the flavour of orchard fruits. Even the reserved demeanour of women, their refined sentiments,
their native modesty, their sublime unselfishness, and power of self control are partly due to us.
The wife was at first a domestic animal like a dog or a horse. She could not be used without the consent of
the proprietor; but he was always willing to let her out for hire. Among savages it is usually the duty of the
host to lend a wife to his stranger guest, and if the loan is declined the husband considers himself insulted.
Adultery is merely a question of debt. The law of debt is terribly severe: the body of the insolvent belongs to
the creditor to sell or to kill. But no other feelings are involved in the question. The injured husband is merely
a creditor, and is always pleased that the debt has been incurred. Petitioner and corespondent may often be
seen smoking a friendly pipe together after the case has been proved and the money has been paid. However,
as the intelligence expands and the sentiments become more refined, marriage is hallowed by religion;
adultery is regarded as a shame to the husband, and a sin against the gods; and a new feeling Jealousy
enters for the first time the heart of man. The husband desires to monopolise his wife, body and soul. He
intercepts her glances; he attempts to penetrate into her thoughts. He covers her with clothes; he hides even
her face from the public gaze. His jealousy, not only anxious for the future, is extended over the, past. Thus
women from their earliest childhood are subjected by the selfishness of man to severe but salutary laws.
Chastity becomes the rule of female life. At first it is preserved by force alone. Male slaves are appointed to
guard the women who, except sometimes from momentary pique, never betray one another, and are allied
against the men.
But as the minds of men are gradually elevated and refined through the culture of the intellect, there rises
within them a sentiment which is unknown in savage life. They conceive a contempt for those pleasures
which they share with the lowest of mankind, and even with the brutes. They feel that this instinct is
degrading: they strive to resist it; they endeavour to be pure. But that instinct is strong with the accumulated
power of innumerable generations; and the noble desire is weak and newly born: it can seldom be sustained
except by the hopes and fears of religion, or by the nobler teaching of philosophy. But in women this new
virtue is assisted by laws and customs which were established, long before, by the selfishness of men. Here,
then, the abhorrence of the impure, the sense of duty, the fear of punishment, all unite and form a moral law
which women themselves enforce, becoming the guardians of their own honour, and treating as a traitor to
her sex the woman who betrays her trust. For her the most compassionate have no mercy: she has broken
those laws of honour on which society is founded. It is forbidden to receive her; it is an insult to women to
allude to her existence, to pronounce her name. She is condemned without inquiry, as the officer is
condemned who has shown cowardice before the foe. For the life of women is a battlefield: virtue is their
courage, and peace of mind is their reward. It is certainly an extraordinary fact that women should be
subjected to a severe social discipline, from which men are almost entirely exempt. As we have shown, it is
explained by history; it is due to the ancient subjection of woman to the man. But it is not the women who are
to he pitied: it is they who alone are free; for by that discipline they are preserved from the tyranny of vice. It
would be well for men if they also were ruled by a severe opinion. The passions are always foes, but it is only
when they have been encouraged that they are able to become masters; it is only when they have allied
themselves with habit that their terrible power becomes known. They resemble wild beasts which men feed
and cherish until they are themselves devoured by their playmates. What miseries they cause, how many
intellects they paralyse, how many families they ruin, how many innocent hearts they break asunder, how
many lives they poison, how many young corpses they carry to the tomb! What fate can be more wretched
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than that of the man who resigns himself to them?
As to the beautiful mind of Mendelssohn every sound, whatever it might be the bubbling of a brook, the
rustling of the wind among the trees, the voice of a bird, even the grating of a wheel inspired a musical
idea, so how melancholy is the contrast! so how deep is the descent! so to the mind that is
steeped in sensuality every sight, every sound, calls up an impure association. The voluptuary dreads to be
alone; his mind is a monster that exhibits foul pictures to his eyes: his memories are temptations: he
struggles, he resists, but it is all in vain: the habits which once might so easily have been broken are now
harder than adamant, are now stronger than steel: his life is passed between desire and remorse: when the
desire is quenched he is tortured by his conscience: he soothes it with a promise; and then the desire comes
again. He sinks lower and lower until indulgence gives him no pleasure: and yet abstinence cannot be
endured. To stimulate his jaded senses he enters strange and tortuous paths which lead him to that awful
borderland where all is darkness, all is horror, where vice lies close to crime. Yet there was a time when that
man was as guileless as a girl: he began by learning vice from the example of his companions, just as he
learnt to smoke. Had his education been more severe: had the earliest inclinations been checked by the fear of
ruin and disgrace, he would not have acquired the most dangerous of all habits. That men should be subjected
to the same discipline as women is therefore to be wished for: and although the day is far distant, there can be
no doubt that it will come: and the future historian of morals will record with surprise that in the nineteenth
century society countenanced vices in men which it punished in women with banishment for life.
Since men are in a transitional condition; since Nature ordains that the existence of the race can only be
preserved by means of gross appetites inherited from our ancestors, the animals, it is obvious that men should
refine them so far as they are able. Thus the brute business of eating and drinking is made in civilised life the
opportunity of social intercourse; the family, divided by the duties of the day, then assemble and converse:
men of talent are drawn together and interchange ideas. Many a poem, many an invention, many a great
enterprise, has been born at the table; loves and friendships have originated there. In the same manner the
passions are sanctified by marriage. Blended with the pure affections their coarseness disappears: their
violence is appeased: they become the ministers of conjugal and parental love.
If we place exceptions aside, and look at men in the mass, we find that, like the animals, they are actively
employed from morning to night in obtaining food for themselves and for their families. But when they have
satisfied their actual wants, they do not, like the animals, rest at their ease: they continue their labour. Let us
take the life of an ordinary man. He adopts an occupation at first in order to get his bread; and then that he
may marry and have children; and these also he has to feed. But that is not all. He soon desires to rise in his
profession, or to acquire such skill in his craft that he may he praised by his superiors and by his companions.
He desires to make money that he may improve his social position. And lastly, he begins to love his
occupation for itself, whatever it may be: the poor labourer has this feeling as well as the poet or the artist.
When the pleasures of money and fame have been exhausted: when nothing remains on earth that can bribe
the mind to turn from its accustomed path, it is labour itself that is the joy; and aged men who have neither
desires, nor illusions, who are separated from the world, and who are drawing near to the grave, who believe
that with life all is ended, and that for them there is no hereafter, yet continue to work with indefatigable zeal.
This noble condition of the mind which thus makes for itself a heaven upon earth can be attained by those
who have courage and resolution. It is merely the effect of habit: labour is painful to all at first; but if the
student perseveres he will find it more and more easy, until at last he will find it necessary, to his life. The
toils which once were so hard to endure are now sought and cherished for themselves: the mind becomes
uneasy when its chains are taken off.
The love of esteem is the second stimulant of labour; it follows the period of necessity; it precedes the period
of habit. It is founded on that feeling of sympathy which unites the primeval herd, and which is necessary to
its life. The man who distinguishes himself in battle; the man who brings home a deer, or a fish, or a store of
honey, or a bundle of roots is praised by his comrades; so he is encouraged to fresh exertions, and so the
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emulation of others is excited. The actions of savages are entirely directed by the desire to exist, and by the
desire to obtain the praises of their fellows. All African travellers have suffered from the rapacity of chiefs,
and yet those same chiefs are the most openhanded of men. They plunder and beg from the white man his
cloth, in order to give it away; and they give it away in order to obtain praise. A savage gentleman is always
surrounded by a host of clients, who come every morning to give him the salutation, who chant his praises
and devour him alive. The art of song had its origin in flattery. Mendicant minstrels wander from town to
town, and from chief to chief, singing the praises of their patrons and satirising those who have not been
generous towards them. In Africa the accusation of parsimony is a more bitter taunt than the accusation of
cowardice. Commerce first commenced in necessity. The inland people required salt; the coast people
required vegetables to eat with their fish. But soon the desire of esteem induced men to contrive, and labour,
and imperil their lives in order to obtain ornaments or articles of clothing which came from abroad. In Central
Africa it is more fashionable to wear a dirty rag of Manchester cloth, such as we use for a duster, than their
own beautiful aprons of woven grass. An African chief will often commission a trader to buy him a
handsome saddle, or some curious article of furniture, on condition that he will not supply it to any one else,
just as connoisseurs will pay a higher price for a work of art when the mould has been broken.
Both in civilised and in savage life the selfish desires of man are few, and are quickly satisfied. Enormous
sums are lavished upon cookery and wines, but more from ostentation than from true gourmanderie. The love
of display, or the more noble desire to give pleasure to their friends, has much to do with the enthusiasm of
those who spend fortunes on works of art and objects of virtue; and there are few amusements which can be
enjoyed alone. Nihil est homini amicum sine homine amico. All the actions of men may therefore be traced
first to the desire of preserving life and continuing their species; secondly to the desire of esteem; and thirdly
to the effects of habit. In the religious conduct of man there is nothing which cannot be thus explained. First,
men sacrifice and pray in order to escape sickness and death; or if they are a little more advanced, that they
may not be punished in a future state. Secondly, they desire to win the esteem and affections of the gods; they
are ambitious of obtaining a heavenly reputation. And lastly, prayer and praise, discipline and selfdenial,
become habits, and give pleasure to the mind. The rough hair shirt, the hard bed, the cold cell, the meagre
food, the long vigil, the midnight prayer, are delights to the mind that is inured to suffer; and as other men
rejoice that they have found something which can yield them pleasure, so the ascetic rejoices that he has
found something which can yield him pain.
In the preceding sketch, which is taken from the writings of others, I have told how a hot cloud vibrating in
space, cooled into a sun rotating on its axis, and revolving round a point, to us unknown; and how this sun
cast off a piece, which went out like a coal that leaps from the fire, and sailed round the sun a cinder wrapped
in smoke; and how, as it cooled, strange forces worked within it, varied phenomena appeared upon its
surface; it was covered with a salt sea; the smoke cleared off; the sunlight played upon the water; gelatinous
plants and animals appeared at first simple in their forms, becoming more complex as the forces which acted
on them increased in complexity; the earth wrinkled up; the mountains and continents appeared; rainwater
ascended from the sea, and descended from the sky; lakes and rivers were created; the land was covered with
ferns, and gigantic mosses, and grasses tall as trees; enormous reptiles crawled upon the earth, frogs as large
as elephants, which croaked like thunder; and the air, which was still poisonous and cloudy, was cleared by
the plants feeding on the coaly gas; the sun shone brightly; sex was invented; love was born; flowers bloomed
forth, and birds sang; mammoths and mastodons revelled upon the infinity of pastures the world became
populous; the struggle for life became severe; animals congregated together; male struggled against male for
spouses, herd struggled against herd for subsistence; a nation of apes, possessing peculiar intelligence and
sociability, were exposed to peculiar dangers; as a means of resistance, they combined more closely; as they
combined more closely, their language was improved; as a means of resistance, they threw missiles with their
hands; thus using their hands, they walked chiefly with their feet; the apes became almost man, half walking,
half crawling through the grim forests, jabbering and gesticulating in an imitative manner, fighting furiously
for their females at the rutting season, their matted hair begrimed with dirt and blood, fighting with all nature,
even with their own kind, but remaining true to their own herd; using the hand more and more as a weapon
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and a tool, becoming more and more erect; expressing objects by conventional sounds or words; delighting
more and more to interchange ideas; sharpening stones and pointing sticks, heading javelins with bone and
horn, inventing snares and traps; then fire was discovered, and, by a series of accidents, its various uses were
revealed; the arts of agriculture, domestication, and river navigation were acquired: the tribes migrating from
the forests were scattered over the world; their canoes of hollow trees skimmed the tepid waters of the Indian
Ocean; their coracles of skin dashed through the icy waves of the Arctic seas; in valleys between mountains,
or in fertile river plains, they nurtured seedbearing grasses into grain; over pastoral mountains, or sandy
deserts, or broad grassy steppes, they wandered with their flocks and herds; these shepherd tribes poured
down on the plains, subdued the inhabitants and reduced them to serfdom; thus the nation was established,
and consisted at first of two great classes the rulers and the ruled.
The period thus rapidly described, which begins with the animal globules preying on the plant globules in the
primeval sea, and which ends with the conquest by the carnivorous shepherds of the vegetable eaters in the
river plains, may be termed the Period of War. Throughout that period mind was developed by necessity. The
lower animals merely strive to live, to procure females, and to rear their young. It is so ordered by Nature,
that by so striving to live they develop their physical structure; they obtain faint glimmerings of reason; they
think and deliberate, they sympathise and love; they become Man. In the same way the primeval men have no
other object than to keep the clan alive. It is so ordered by Nature, that, in striving to preserve the existence of
the clan, they not only acquire the arts of agriculture, domestication, and navigation; they not only discover
fire, and its uses in cooking, in war, and in metallurgy; they not only detect the hidden properties of plants,
and apply them to save their own lives from disease, and to destroy their enemies in battle; they not only
learn to manipulate Nature, and to distribute water by machinery; but they also, by means of the long
lifebattle, are developed into moral beings: they live according to the Golden Rule, in order that they may
exist, or, in other words, they do exist because they live according to the Golden Rule. They have within them
innate affections, which are as truly weapons as the tiger's teeth and the serpent's fang; which belong,
therefore, to the Period of War. Their first laws, both social and religious, are enacted only as war measures.
The laws relating to marriage and property are intended to increase the fertility and power of the clan; the
laws relating to religion are intended to preserve the clan from the fury of the gods, against whom, at an
earlier period, they actually went to war. But out of this feeling of sympathy, which arose in necessity, arises
a secondary sentiment, the love of esteem; and hence wars, which at first were waged merely in selfdefence,
or to win food grounds and females necessary for the subsistence and perpetuation of the clan, are now
waged for superfluities, power, and the love of glory; commerce, which was founded in necessity, is
continued for the acquisition of ornaments and luxuries; science, which at first was a means of life, provides
wealth, and is pursued for fame; music and design, which were originally instincts of the hand and voice, are
developed into arts. It is therefore natural for man to endeavour to better himself in life, that he may obtain
the admiration of his comrades. He desires to increase his means or to win renown in the professions and the
arts. Thus man presses upon man, and the whole mass rises in knowledge, in power, and in wealth. But owing
to the division of classes resulting from war, and also from the natural inequality of man, the greater part of
the human population could not obey their instinctive aspirations; they were condemned to remain stationary
and inert. By means of caste, slavery, the system of privileged classes, and monopolies, the people were
forbidden to raise themselves in life; they were doomed to die as they were born. But that they might not be
altogether without hope, they were taught by their rulers that they would be rewarded with honour and
happiness in a future state. The Egyptian fellah received the good tidings that there was no caste after death;
the Christian serf was consoled with the text, that the poor would inherit the kingdom of heaven. This long
and gloomy period of the human race may be entitled Religion. History is confined to the upper classes. All
the discoveries, and inventions, and exploits of ancient times are due to the efforts of an aristocracy; not only
the Persians and Hindus, but also the Greeks and the Romans, were merely small societies of gentlemen
reigning over a multitude of slaves. The virtues of the lower classes were loyalty, piety, obedience.
The third period is that of Liberty: it belongs only to Europe and to modern times. A middle class of
intelligence and wealth arises between the aristocracy and the plebeians. They contend with the monopolies
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of caste and birth; they demand power for themselves; they espouse the cause of their poorer brethren; they
will not admit that equality in heaven is a valid reason for inequality on earth; they deny that the aristocracy
of priests know more of divine matters than other men; they interpret the sacred books for themselves, and
translate them into the vulgar tongue; they separate religion from temporal government, and reduce it to a
system of metaphysics and morality. It is in this period that we are at present. Loyalty to the king has been
transformed into patriotism; and piety, or the worship of God, will give way, to the reverence of law and the
love of mankind. Thus the mind will be elevated, the affections deepened and enlarged; morality, ceasing to
be entangled with theology, will be applied exclusively to virtue.
It is difficult to find a title for the fourth period, as we have as yet no word which expresses at the same time
the utmost development of mind and the utmost development of morals. I have chosen the word Intellect,
because by the education of the intellect the moral sense is of necessity improved. In this last period the
destiny of Man will be fulfilled. He was not sent upon the earth to prepare himself for existence in another
world; he was sent upon earth that he might beautify it as a dwelling, and subdue it to his use; that he might
exalt his intellectual and moral powers until he had attained perfection, and had raised himself to that ideal
which he now expresses by the name of God, but which, however sublime it may appear to our weak and
imperfect minds, is far below the splendour and majesty of that power by whom the universe was made.
We shall now leave the darkness of the primeval times, and enter the theatre of history. The Old World is a
huge body, with its head buried in eternal snows; with the Atlantic on its left, the Pacific on its right, the
Indian Ocean between its legs. The left limb is sound and whole; its foot is the Cape of Good Hope. The right
limb has been broken and scattered by the sea; Australia and the Archipelago are detached; Asia has been
amputated at the thigh. The lower extremities of this Old World are covered for the most part with thorny
thickets and with fiery plains. The original natives were miserable creatures, living chiefly on insects and
shells, berries and roots; casting the boomerang and the bonepointed dart; abject, naked, brutish, and
forlorn. We pass up the body in its ancient state; through the marsh of Central Africa, with its woollyhaired
blacks upon the left, and through the jungles of India, with its straighthaired blacks upon the right; through
the sandy wastes of the Sahara, and the broad Asiatic tablelands; through the forest of Central Europe, the
Russian steppes, and the Siberian plains, until we arrive at the frozen shores of the open Polar Sea. The land
is covered with fields of snow, on which white bears may be seen in flocks like sheep. Ice mountains tower in
the air, and, as the summer approaches, glide into the ocean and sail towards the south, The sky is brightened
by a rosy flame, which utters a crisp and crackling sound. All else is silent, nature is benumbed. The signs of
human habitations are rare; sometimes a tribe of Esquimaux may be perceived, dwelling in snow huts,
enveloped in furs, driving sledges with teams of dogs, tending their herds of reindeer on the mossgrounds,
or dashing over the cold waters in their canoes to hunt the walrus and the seal.
This gloomy region, where the year is divided into one day and one night, lies entirely outside the stream of
history. We descend through the land of the pine to the land of the oak and beech. Huge woods and dismal
fens covered Europe in the olden time; by the banks of dark and sullen rivers the beavers built their villages;
the bears and the wolves were the aristocracy of Europe; men paid them tribute in flesh and blood. A people,
apparently of Tartar origin, had already streamed into this continent from Asia; but the true aborigines were
not extinct; they inhabited huts built on piles in the lakes of Switzerland; they herded together in mountain
caves. They were armed only with stone weapons; but they cultivated certain kinds of grain, and had tamed
the reindeer, the ox, the boar, and the dog. In ancient history Europe has no place. Even the lands to the south
of the Alps were inhabited by savages at a time when Asia was in a civilised condition.
It is therefore Asia that we must first survey; it is there that the history of books and monuments begins. The
Tigris and Euphrates rise in a tableland adjoining the Black Sea, and flow into the Persian Gulf. On the right
is a desert extending to the Nile; on the left, a chain of hills. A shepherd people descended from the plateau,
occupied the land between the rivers, the plains between the Tigris and the hills, and the alluvial regions at
the lower course of the Euphrates. They wandered over the Arabian desert with their flocks and herds, settled
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in Canaan and Yemen, crossed over into Africa, extended along its northern shores as far as the Atlantic,
overspread the Sahara, and made border wars upon the Sudan. In the course of many centuries the various
branches of this people diverged from one another. In Barbary and Sahara they were called Berbers; in the
valley of the Nile, Egyptians; Arabs, in the desert and in Yemen; Canaanites, in Palestine; Assyrians, in
Mesopotamia and the upper regions of the Tigris; Chaldeans or Babylonians, in the lower course of the
Euphrates. The Canaanites, the Arabs of Yemen, and the Berbers of Algeria adopted agricultural habits and
lived in towns; the Berbers of Sahara, the Bedouins of the SyroArabian desert and of the waste regions in
Assyria, remained a pastoral and wandering people. But in Chaldea and in Egypt the colonists were placed
under peculiar conditions. Famines impelled the shepherds to make war on other tribes; famines impelled the
Chaldeans and Egyptians to contend with the Euphrates and the Nile, to domesticate the waters, to store them
in reservoirs, and to distribute them, as required, upon the fields. It is not improbable that the Egyptians were
men of Babylonia driven by war or by exile into the African deserts; that they were composed of two noble
classes, the priests and the military men; that they took with them some knowledge of the arts and sciences,
which they afterwards developed into the peculiar Egyptian type; that they found the valley inhabited by a
negro race, fishing in papyrus canoes, living chiefly on the lotus root, and perhaps growing doura corn; that
they reduced those negroes to slavery, divided them into castes, allowed them to retain in each district the
form of animal worship peculiar to the respective tribes:, making such worship emblematical, and blending it
with their own exalted creed; and finally, that they married the native women, which would thus account for
the dash of the 'tarbrush' plainly to be read by the practised eye in the portraits, though not in the
conventional faces of the monuments. On the other hand it may he held that Egypt was colonised by a Berber
tribe; that its civilisation was entirely indigenous; that the distinction of classes arose from natural selection,
and was afterwards petrified by law, and that the negro traits in the Egyptian physiognomy were due to the
importation of Ethiopian girls, who have always been favourites in the harems of the East. But whichever of
these hypotheses may be true, the essential point is this, that civilisation commenced in the application of
mechanics to the cultivation of the fields, and that this science could only have been invented under pressure
of necessity.
Let us now pass beyond the Tigris and climb up the hills which bound it on the left. We find ourselves on the
steppes of Central Asia, in some parts lying waste in salt and sandy plains, in others clothed with fields of
waving grass. Over these broad regions roamed the Turks or Tartars, living on mares' milk, dwelling in
houses upon wheels. Beyond the steppes towards the east is another chain of hills, and beyond them lies the
Great Plain of China, watered by two majestic rivers, the Yangtse Kiang and the Hoang Ho. The people of
the steppes and the mountains poured down upon this country, subdued the savage aborigines, covered the
land with rice fields, irrigated by canals, and established many kingdoms which were afterwards blended into
one harmonious and civilised empire.
To the right hand of the Tartar steppes, as you travel towards China, is a lofty tableland, the region of the
sources of the Oxus and Jaxartes. Thence descended a people who called themselves the Aryas, or "the
noble"; they differed much in appearance from the sliteyed, smoothfaced, and fleshylimbed Mongols;
and little in appearance, but widely in language, from the people of the tableland of the Tigris and
Euphrates. They poured forth in successive streams over Persia, Asia Minor, Greece, Italy, and the whole of
Europe from the Danube and the Rhine to the shores of the Atlantic. They also descended on the Punjab, or
country of the Indus, where they established their first colony, and thence spread to the region of the Ganges,
and over the Deccan. They intermarried much with the native women, but divided the men into servile castes,
and kept them in subjection partly by means of an armed aristocracy, partly by means of religious terror.
These then are the elemental lands; China, India, Babylonia, and Egypt. In these countries civilisation was
invented; history begins with them. The Egyptians manufactured linen goods, and beautiful glass wares, and
drew gold, ivory, and slaves from the Sudan. Babylonia manufactured tapestry and carpets. These people
were known to one another only by their products; the wandering Bedouins carried the trade between the
Euphrates and the Nile. A caravan route was also opened between Babylon and India via Bokhara or Balkh
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and Samarkand. India possessed much wealth in precious stones, but the true resources of that country were
its vegetable products and the skilful manufactures of the natives. India, to use their own expression, sells
grass for gold. From one kind of plant they extracted a beautiful blue dye: from another they boiled a juice,
which cooled into a crystal, delicate and luscious to the taste; from another they obtained a kind of wool,
which they spun, wove, bleached, glazed, and dyed into fabrics transparent as the gossamer, bright as the
plumage of the jungle birds. And India was also the halfway station between China, Ceylon, and the Spice
Islands on the one hand: and of the countries of Western Asia on the other. It was enriched not only by its
own industry and produce, but by the transit trade as well.
At an early epoch in history, the Chinese became a great navigating people; they discovered America, at least
so they say; they freighted their junks with cargoes of the shining fibre, and with musk in porcelain jars; they
coasted along the shores of the Pacific, established colonies in Burmah and Siam, developed the spice trade
of the Indian Archipelago and the resources of Ceylon, sailed up the shores of Malabar, entered the Persian
Gulf, and even coasted as far as Aden and the Red Sea. It was probably from them that the Banians of Gujrat
and the Arabs of Yemen acquired the arts of shipbuilding and navigation. The Indian Ocean became a basin
of commerce; it was whitened by cotton sails. The Phoenicians explored the desolate waters of the
Mediterranean Sea; with the bright red cloth, and the blue bugles, and the speckled beads, they tempted the
savages of Italy and Greece to trade; they discovered the silver mines of Spain; they sailed forth through the
Straits of Gibraltar, they braved the storms of the Atlantic, opened the tin trade of Cornwall, established the
amber diggings of the Baltic. Thus a long thread of commerce was stretched across the Old World from
England and Germany to China and Japan. Yet, still the great countries in the central region dwelt in haughty
isolation, knowing foreign lands only by their products until the wide conquests and the superb
administration of the Persians made them members of the same community. China alone remained outside.
Egypt, Babylonia, and India were united by royal roads with halfway stations in Palestine and Bokhara, and
with seaports in Phoenicia, and on the western coast of Asia Minor That country is a tableland belted on all
sides by mountains; but beneath the wall of hills on the western side is a fruitful strip of coast, the estuary
land of four rivers which flow into the Mediterranean parallel to one another. That coast is Ionia; and
opposite to Ionia lies Greece.
The tableland was occupied by an Aryan or Arya nation, from whom bands of emigrants went forth in two
directions. The Dorians crossed the Hellespont, and, passing through Thrace, settled in the hill cantons of
Northern Greece, and thence spread over the lower parts of the peninsula. The Ionians descended to the
fruitful western coast, and thence migrated into Attica, which afterwards sent back colonies to its ancient
birthplace. These two people spoke the same language, and were of the same descent; but their characters
differed as widely as the cold and barren mountains from the soft and smiling plains. The Dorians were rude
in their manners, and laconic in their speech, barbarous in their virtues, morose in their joys. The Ionians
lived among holidays, they could do nothing without dance and song. The Dorians founded Sparta, a republic
which was in reality a camp, consisting of soldiers fed by slaves. The girls were educated to be viragoes; the
boys to bear torture, like the Red Indians, with a smile. The wives were breedingmachines, belonging to the
state; a council of elders examined the newborn children, and selected only the finer specimens, in order to
keep up the good old Spartan breed. They had no commerce and no arts; they were as filthy in their persons
as they were narrow in their minds. But the Athenians were the true Greeks, as they exist at the present day;
intellectual, vivacious, inquisitive, shrewd, artistic, patriotic, and dishonest; ready to die for their country, or
to defraud it. The Greeks received the first rudiments of knowledge from Phoenicia; the alphabet was
circulated throughout the country by means of the Olympian fairs; colonies were sent forth all round the
Mediterranean; and those of Ionia and the Delta of the Nile obtained partial access to the arts and sciences of
Babylon and Memphis.
The Persian wars developed the genius of the Greeks. The Persian conquests opened to them the University
of Egypt. The immense area of the Greek world, extending from the Crimea to the straits of Gibraltar, for at
one time the Greeks had cities in Morocco; the variety of ideas which they thus gathered, and which they
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interchanged at the great festival, where every kind of talent was honoured and rewarded the spirit of noble
rivalry, which made city contend with city, and citizen with citizen, in order to obtain an Olympian
reputation; the complete freedom from theology in art; the tastes and manners of the land; the adoration of
beauty; the nudity of the gymnasium: all these sufficiently explain the unexampled progress of the nation,
and the origin of that progress, as in all other cases, is to be found in physical geography. Greece was divided
into natural cantons; each state was a fortress; while Egypt, Assyria, India, and China were wide and open
plains, which cavalry could sweep, and which peasants with their sickles could not defend. But the rivalry of
the Greeks among themselves, so useful to the development of mental life, prevented them from combining
into one great nation; and Alexander, although he was a Greek by descent, for he had the right of contending
at the Olympian games, conquered the East with an army of barbarians, his Greek troops being merely a
contingent.
But the kingdoms of Asia and Egypt were Greek, and in Alexandria the foundations of science were laid. The
astrolabes which had been invented by the Egyptians were improved by the Greeks and afterwards by the
Arabs, were adapted to purposes of navigation by the Portuguese, and were developed to the sextant of the
nineteenth century. The Egyptians had invented the blowpipe, the crucible, and the alembic; the
Alexandrines commenced or continued the pursuit of alchemy, which the Arabs also preserved, and which
has since grown into the science of Lavoisier and Faraday. Hippocrates separated medicine from theology;
his successors dissected and experimented at Alexandria, learning something no doubt from th Egyptian
school; the Arabs followed in a servile manner the medicine of the Greeks, and the modern Europeans
obtained from the Canon of Avicenna the first elements of a science which has made much progress, but
which is yet in its infancy, and which will some day transform us into new beings. The mathematical studies
of the Alexandrines were also serviceable to mankind, and the work of one of their professors is a textbook
in this country; they discovered the Precession of the Equinoxes; and the work which they did in Conic
Sections enabled Kepler to discover the true laws of the planetary motions. But Alexandria did not possess
that liberty which is the true source of continued progress. With slaves below and with despots above, the
mind was starved in its roots, and stifled in its bud, dried and ticketed in a museum. The land itself had begun
to languish and decay, when a new power arose in the West.
The foot of Italy was lined with Greek towns, and these had spread culture through the peninsula, among a
people of a kindred race. They dwelt in cities, with municipal governments, public buildings, and national
schools. One Italian city, founded by desperadoes, adopted a career of war; but the brigands were also
industrious farmers and wise politicians; they conciliated the cities whom they conquered. Rome became a
supreme republic, ruling a number of minor republics, whose municipal prerogatives were left undisturbed,
who paid no tribute save military service. The wild Gauls of Lombardy were subdued. The Greeks on the
coast were the only foreigners who retained their freedom in the land. They called over Pyrrhus to protect
them from the Romans; but the legion conquered the phalanx, the broadsword vanquished the Macedonian
spear. The Asiatic Carthaginians were masters of the sea; half Sicily belonged to them; they were, therefore,
neighbours of the Romans. They had already menaced the cities of the southern coast; the Romans were
already jealous and distrustful; they had now a Monroe doctrine concerning the peninsula: an opportunity
occurred, and they stepped out into the world. The first Punic war gave them Sicily, the second Punic war
gave them Spain, the third Punic war gave them Africa.
Rome also extended her power towards the East. She did not invade, she did not conquer, she did not ask for
presents and taxes, she merely offered her friendship and protection. She made war, it is true, but only on
behalf of her allies. And so kingdom after kingdom, province after province, fell into her vast and patient
arms. She became at first the arbiter and afterwards the mistress of the world. Her legions halted only on the
banks of the Euphrates, and on the shores of the Sahara, where a wild waste of sand and a seahorizon
appeared to proclaim that life was at an end. She entered the unknown world beyond the Alps, established a
chain of forts along the banks of the Danube and the Rhine from the Black Sea to the Baltic, covered France
with noble cities, and made York a Roman town. The Latin language was planted in all the countries which
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this people conquered, except in those where Alexander had preceded them. The empire was therefore
divided by language into the Greek and Latin world. Greece, Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt belonged to the
Greek world: Italy, Africa, Spain, and Gaul belonged to the Latin world. But the Roman law was everywhere
in force, though not to the extinction of the native laws. In Egypt, for instance, the Romans revived some of
the wise enactments of the Pharaohs which had been abrogated by the Ptolemies. The old courts of injustice
were swept away. Tribunals were established which resembled those of the English in India. Men of all races,
and of all religions, came before a judge of a foreign race, who sat high above their schisms and dissensions,
who looked down upon them all with impartial contempt, and who reverenced the law which was entrusted to
his care. But the provinces were forced to support not only a court but a city. As London is the market of
England, to which the best of all things find their way, so Rome was the market of the Mediterranean world;
but there was this difference between the two, that in Rome the articles were not paid for. Money, indeed,
might be given, but it was money which had not been earned, and which therefore would come to its end at
last.
Rome lived upon its principal till ruin stared it in the face. Industry is the only true source of wealth, and
there was no industry in Rome. By day the Ostia road was crowded with carts and muleteers, carrying to the
great city the silks and spices of the East, the marble of Asia Minor, the timber of the Atlas, the grain of
Africa and Egypt; and the carts brought nothing out but loads of dung. That was their return cargo. London
turns dirt into gold. Rome turned gold into dirt. And how, it may be asked, was the money spent? The answer
is not difficult to give. Rome kept open house. It gave a dinner party every day; the emperor and his
favourites dined upon nightingales and flamingo tongues, on oysters from Britain, and on fishes from the
Black Sea; the guards received their rations; and bacon, wine, oil, and loaves were served out gratis to the
people. Sometimes entertainments were given in which a collection of animals as costly as that in Regent's
Park was killed for the amusement of the people. Constantine transferred the capital to Constantinople; and
now two dinners were given every day. Egypt found the bread for one, and Africa found it for the other. The
governors became satraps, the peasantry became serfs, the merchants and land owners were robbed and
ruined, the empire stopped payment, the legions of the frontier marched on the metropolis, the dikes were
deserted, and then came the deluge.
The empire had been already divided. There was an empire of the West, or the Latin world; there was an
empire of the East, or the Greek world. The first was overrun by the Germans, the second by the Arabs. But
Constantinople remained unconquered throughout the Dark Ages; and Rome, though taken and sacked, was
never occupied by the barbarians. In these two great cities the languages and laws of the classical times were
preserved; and from Rome religion was diffused throughout Europe; to Rome a spiritual empire was restored.
The condition of the Roman world at one time bore a curious resemblance to that of China. In each of these
great empires, separated by a continent, the principal feature was that of peace. Vast populations dwelt
harmoniously together, and were governed by admirable laws. The frontiers of each were threatened by
barbarians. The Chinese built a wall along the outskirts of the steppes; the Romans built a wall along the
Danube and the Rhine. In China, a man dressed in yellow received divine honours; in Rome, a man dressed
in purple received divine honours; in each country the religion was the religion of the state, and the emperor
was the representative of God. In each country, also, a religious revolution occurred. A young Indian prince,
named Sakya Muni, afflicted by the miseries of human life which he beheld, cast aside his wealth and his
royal destiny, became a recluse, and devoted his life to the study of religion. After long years of reading and
reflection he took the name of Buddha, or "the Awakened." He declared that the soul after death migrates into
another form, according to its deeds and according to its thoughts. This was the philosophy of the Brahmins.
But he also proclaimed that all existence is passion, misery, and pain, and that by subduing the evil emotions
of the heart the soul will hereafter finally obtain the calm of nonexistence, the peaceful Nirvana, the
unalloyed, the unclouded Not to Be.
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A religion so cheerless, a philosophy so sorrowful, could never have succeeded with the masses of mankind if
presented only as a system of metaphysics. Buddhism owed its success to its catholic spirit and its beautiful
morality. The men who laboured in the fields had always been taught that the Brahmins were the aristocracy
of heaven, and would be as high above them in a future state as they were upon the earth. The holy books
which God had revealed were not for them, the poor darkskinned labourers, to read; burning oil poured into
their ears was the punishment by law for so impious an act. And now came a man who told them that those
books had not been revealed at all, and that God was no respecter of persons; that the happiness of men in a
future state depended, not upon their birth, but upon their actions and their thoughts. Buddhism triumphed for
a time in Hindustan, but its success was greatest among the stranger natives in the northwest provinces, the
IndoScythians and the Greeks. Then came a period of patriotic feeling; the Brahmins preached a war of
independence; the new religion was associated with the foreigners, and both were driven out together. But
Buddhism became the religion of Ceylon, Burmah, and Siam, and finally entered the Chinese Empire. It
suffered and survived bloody persecutions. It became a licensed religion, and spread into the steppes of
Tartary among those barbarians by whom China was destined to be conquered. The religion of the Buddhists
was transformed; its founder was worshipped as a god; there was a doctrine of the incarnation; they had their
own holy books, which they declared to have been revealed; they established convents and nunneries,
splendid temples, adorned with images, and served by priests with shaven heads, who repeated prayers upon
rosaries, and who taught that happiness in a future state could best be obtained by long prayers and by liberal
presents to the Church.
At the period of the importation of Buddhism into China, a similar event occurred in the Roman world. It was
the pagan theory that each country was governed by its own gods. The proper religion for each man, said an
oracle of Delphi, is the religion of his fatherland. Yet these gods were cosmopolitan; they punished or
rewarded foreigners. Imilkon, having offended the Greek gods in the Sicilian wars, made atonement to them
when he returned to Carthage: he offered sacrifices in the Phoenician temples, but according to the milder
ceremonies of the Greeks. The Philistines sent back the ark with a propitiatory present to Jehovah. Alexander,
in Asia Minor, offered sacrifices to the gods of the enemy. The Romans, when they besieged a town, called
upon its tutelary god by name, and offered him bribes to give up the town. Rome waged war against the
world, but not against the gods; she did not dethrone them in their own countries; she offered them the
freedom of the city. Men of all races came to live in Rome; they were allowed to worship their own gods; the
religions of the empire were regularly licensed; Egyptian temples and Syrian chapels sprang up in all
directions. But though the Romans considered it right that Egyptians should worship Isis, and that
Alexandrines should worship Serapis, they justly considered it a kind of treason for Romans to desert their
tutelary gods. For this reason, foreign religions were sometimes proscribed. It was also required from the
subjects of the empire that they should offer homage to the gods of Rome, and to the genius or spirit of the
emperor; not to the man, but to the soul that dwelled within. The Jews alone were exempt from these
regulations. It was believed that they were a peculiar people, or rather that they had a peculiar god. While the
other potentates of the celestial world lived in harmony together, Jehovah was a sullen and solitary being,
who separated his people from the rest of mankind, forbade them to eat or drink with those who were not of
their own race, and threatened to punish them if they worshipped any gods but him. On this account the
Roman government, partly to preserve the lives of their subjects, and partly out of fear for themselves,
believing that Jehovah like the other gods, had always an epidemic at his command, treated the Jews with
exceptional indulgence.
These people were scattered over all the world; they had their Ghetto or Petticoat Lane in every great city of
the empire; their religion, so superior to that of the pagans, had attracted much attention from the Gentiles.
Ovid, in his "Art of Love," counsels the dandy who seeks a mistress to frequent the theatre, or Temple of Isis,
or the synagogue on the Sabbath day. But the Jews in Rome, like the Jews in London, did not attempt to
make proselytes, and received them with reluctance and distrust. Their sublime faith, divested of its Asiatic
customs, was offered to the Romans some Jewish heretics called Christians or Nazarenes.
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A young man named Joshua or Jesus, a carpenter by trade, believed that the world belonged to the devil, and
that God would shortly take it from him, and that he the Christ or Anointed would be appointed by God to
judge the souls of men, and to reign over them on earth. In politics he was a leveller and communist, in
morals he was a monk; he believed that only the poor and the despised would inherit the kingdom of God. All
men who had riches or reputations would follow their dethroned master into everlasting pain. He attacked the
churchgoing, sabbatarian everpraying Pharisees; he declared that piety was worthless if it were praised on
earth. It was his belief that earthly happiness was a gift from Satan, and should therefore be refused. If a man
was poor in this world, that was good; he would be rich in the world to come. If he were miserable and
despised, he had reason to rejoice; he was out of favour with the ruler of this world, namely Satan, and
therefore he would be favoured by the new dynasty. On the other hand, if a man were happy, rich, esteemed,
and applauded, he was for ever lost. He might have acquired his riches by industry; he might have acquired
his reputation by benevolence, honesty, and devotion; but that did not matter; he had received his reward. So
Christ taught that men should sell all that they had and give to the poor; that they should renounce all family
ties; that they should let tomorrow take care of itself; that they should not trouble about clothes: did, not
God adorn the flowers of the fields? He would take care of them also if they would fold their hands together
and have faith, and abstain from the impiety of providing for the future. The principles of Jesus were not
conducive to the welfare of society; he was put to death by the authorities; his disciples established a
commune; Greek Jews were converted by them, and carried the new doctrines over all the world. The
Christians in Rome were at first a class of men resembling the Quakers. They called one another brother and
sister; they adopted a peculiar garb, and peculiar forms of speech; the Church was at first composed of
women, slaves, and illiterate artisans but it soon became the religion of the people in the towns. All were
converted excepting the rustics (pagani) and the intellectual free thinkers, who formed the aristocracy.
Christianity was at first a republican religion; it proclaimed the equality of souls; the bishops were the
representatives of God, and the bishops were chosen by the people. But when the emperor adopted
Christianity and made it a religion of the state, it became a part of imperial government, and the parable of
Dives was forgotten. The religion of the Christians was transformed; its founder was worshipped as a god;
there was a doctrine of the incarnation; they had their own holy books, which they declared to have been
revealed; they established convents, and nunneries, and splendid temples, adorned with images, and served
by priests with shaven heads, who repeated prayers upon rosaries, and who taught that happiness in a future
state could best be obtained by long prayers and by liberal presents to the Church. In the Eastern or Greek
world, Christianity in no way assisted civilisation, but in the Latin world it softened the fury of the
conquerors, it aided the amalgamation of the races. The Christian priests were reverenced by the barbarians,
and these priests belonged to the conquered people.
The Church, it is true, was divided by a schism; Ulphilas, the apostle of The Goths, was an Arian; the dispute
which had arisen in a lecture room at Alexandria, between a bishop and a presbyter, was continued on a
hundred battlefields. But the Franks were Catholics, and the Franks became supreme. The Arians were
worsted in the conflict of swords as they had formerly been worsted in the conflict of words. The Empire of
the West was restored by Charlemagne, who spread Christianity among the Saxons by the sword, and
confirmed the spiritual supremacy of Rome. He died, and his dominions were partitioned among kings who
were royal only in the name. Europe was divided into castlestates. Savage isolation, irresponsible power:
such was the order of the age. Yet still there was a sovereign whom all acknowledged, and whom all to a
certain extent obeyed. That sovereign was the Pope of Rome. The men who wore his livery might travel
throughout Europe in safety, welcome alike at cottage and castle, paying for their board and lodging with
their prayers. If there is a Great Being who listens with pleasure to the prayers of men, it must have been in
the Dark Ages that he looked down upon the earth with most satisfaction. That period may be called The Age
of the Rosary. From the Shetland Islands to the shores of China, prayers were being strung, and voices were
being sonorously raised. The Christian repeated his Paternosters and his credos on beads of holy clay from
Palestine; the Persian at Teheran, the negro at Timbuctoo; the Afghan at Kabul, repeated the ninetynine
names of God on beads made of camel bones from Mecca. The Indian prince by the waters of the Ganges
muttered his devotions on a rosary of precious stones. The pious Buddhist in Ceylon, and in Ava, and in
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Pekin, had the beads ever between his fingers, and a prayer ever between his lips.
By means of these great and cosmopolitan religions, all of which possessed their sacred books, all of which
enjoined a pure morality, all of which united vast masses of men of different and even hostile nationalities
beneath the same religious laws, beneath the same sceptre of an unseen king; all of which prescribed
pilgrimage and travel as a pious work, the circulation of life in the human body was promoted; men
congregated together at Rome, Jerusalem, Mecca, and Benares. Their minds and morals were expanded.
Religious enthusiasm united the scattered princes of Europe into one great army, and poured it on the East.
The dukes and counts and barons were ruined; the castle system was extinguished: and the castle serfs of
necessity were free. The kings allied themselves with the free and fortified cities, who lent troops to the
crown, but who officered those troops themselves; who paid taxes to the crown, but who voted those taxes in
constitutional assemblies, and had the power to withhold them if they pleased. Those towns now became not
only abodes of industry and commerce, but of learning and the arts. In Italy the ancient culture had been
revived. In Italy the towns of the Western Empire had never quite lost their municipal prerogatives. New
towns had also arisen, founded in despair and nurtured by calamity. These towns had opened a trade with
Constantinople, a great commercial city in which the Arabs had a quarter and a mosque. The Italians were
thus led forth into a trade with the Mohammedans, which was interrupted for a time by the Crusades only to
be afterwards resumed with redoubled vigour and success. For then new markets were opened for the spices
of the East. Pepper became a requisite of European life; and pepper could be obtained from the Italians alone.
The Indian trade was not monopolised by a single man, as it was in the lands of the East. It was distributed
among an immense population. Wealth produced elegance, leisure, and refinement. There came into
existence a large and activeminded class, craving for excitement, and desirous of new things. They
hungered and thirsted after knowledge; they were not content with the sterile science of the priests. And when
it was discovered that the world of the ancients lay buried in their soil, they were seized with a mania
resembling that of treasureseekers in the East, or of the goldhunters in the New World.
The elements of the Renaissance were preserved partly in Rome and the cities of the West, partly in
Constantinople, and partly in the East. The Arabs, when they conquered Alexandria, had adopted the physical
science of the Greeks, and had added to it the algebra and arithmetic of India. Plato and Aristotle, Galen and
Hippocrates, Ptolemy and Euclid, had been translated by the Eastern Christians into Syriac, and thence into
the Arabic. But the Arabs had not translated a single Greek historian or poet. These were to he found at
Constantinople, where the Greek of the ancients was still spoken in its purity at the court and in the convents
though not by the people of the streets. The Greeks also had preserved the arts of their forefathers; though
destitute of genius, they at least retained the art of laying on colours, of modelling in clay, and of sculpturing
in stone. The great towns of Italy, desirous to emulate the beauties of St. Sophia, employed Greeks to build
them cathedrals, and to paint frescoes on their convent walls, and to make them statues for their streets. These
Greek strangers established academies of art; and soon the masters were surpassed by their pupils. The
Italians disdained to reproduce the figures of the Greek school, with their meagre hands, and sharp pointed
feet, and staring eyes. Free institutions made their influence felt even in the arts; the empire of authority was
shaken off. The fine arts spread beyond the Alps; they were first adopted and nurtured by the Church,
afterwards by the Town. Oilpainting was invented in the North. Masterpieces of the ancients were
discovered in the South. Then the artists ceased to paint Madonnas, and children, and saints, and crucifixions.
They were touched with the breath of antiquity; they widened their field; their hands were inspired by
poetical ideas. It is a significant fact that a Pope should himself conceive the project of pulling down the
ancient Basilica of St. Peter, every stone of which was consecrated by a memory, and of erecting in its stead a
church on the model of a pagan temple.
The Pope was also urged to set on foot a crusade; not to rescue the sepulchre from the hands of the infidels,
but in the hope that the lost writings of the Greeks and Romans might be discovered in the East. For now had
arrived the bookhunting age. In the depth of the Dark Ages there had always been ecclesiastics who drew
the fire of their genius from the immortal works of the pagan writers. There were also monks who had a
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passion for translating the writings of the Greeks into Latin; who went to Constantinople and returned with
chests full of books, and who, if Greek manuscripts could not otherwise be procured, travelled into Arab
Spain, settled at Cordova, and translated the Greek from the Arabic version, together with the works of
Averroes and Avicenna. The Greeks, frequently visiting Italy, were invited to give lectures on their literature,
and lessons in their language. The revival of Greek was commenced by Boccacio, who copied out Homer
with his own hand; and a Greek academy was established at Florence. Petrarch revived the literature of Rome
he devoted his life to Cicero and Virgil; he wrote the epitaph of Laura on the margin of the Aeneid; he died
with his head pillowed on a book. The Roman law was also revived; as Greeks lectured on literature in Italy,
so Italians lectured on law beyond the Alps.
And now began the search for the lost. Pilgrims of the antique wandered through Europe, ransacking
convents for the treasures of the past. At this time whatever taste for learning had once existed among the
monks appears to have died away. The pilgrims were directed to look in lofts, where rats burrowed under
heaps of parchment; or to sift heaps of rubbish lying in the cellar. In such receptacles were found many of
those works which are yet read by thousands with delight, and which are endeared to us all by the
associations of our boyhood. It was thus that Quintilian was discovered, and, to use the language of the time,
was delivered from his long imprisonment in the dungeons of the barbarians. Lucretius was disinterred in
Germany; a fragment of Petronius in Britain. Cosmo de' Medici imported books in all languages from all
parts of the world. A copyist became Pope, founded the Library of the Vatican, and ordered the translation of
the Greek historians and philosophers into Latin. A great reading public now existed; the invention of
printing, which a hundred years before would have been useless, spread like fire over Europe, and reduced,
by fourfifths, the price of books. The writings of the classical geographers inspired Prince Henry and
Columbus. The New World was discovered; the searoute to India was found. Cairo and Baghdad, the great
broker cities between India and Europe, were ruined. As the Indian Ocean, at first the centre of the world, had
yielded to the Mediterranean, so now the basin of the Mediterranean was deserted, and the Atlantic became
supreme. Italy decayed; Spain and Portugal succeeded to the throne. But those countries were ruined by
religious bigotry and commercial monopolies. The trade of Portugal did not belong to the country, but to the
court. The trade of Spain was also a monopoly shared between the Crown and certain cities of Castile. The
Dutch, the English, and the French obtained free access to the tropical world, and bought the spices of the
East with the silver of Peru. And then the great movement for Liberty commenced. All people of the Teutonic
race; the Germans, the Swiss, the Dutch, the English and the Scotch, the Danes and the Swedes, cast off the
yoke of the Italian supremacy, and some of the superstitions of the Italian creed.
But now a new kind of servitude arose. The kings reduced the burghers of Europe to subjection. The
constitutional monarchies of the Middle Ages disappeared. In England alone, owing to its insular position, a
standing army was not required for the protection of the land. In England, therefore, the encroachments of the
Crown were resisted with success. Two revolutions established the sovereignty of an elected parliament, and
saved England from the fate of France. For in that land tyranny had struck its roots far down into the soil, and
could not be torn up without the whole land being rent in twain. In Spain, despotism might rule in safety over
ignorance; but the French had eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, and they demanded to eat of the Tree of Life.
A bread riot became a rebellion; the rebellion became a revolution. Maddened by resistance, frenzied with
fear, they made their revolution a massacre. Yet, in spite of mummeries and murders, and irreligious
persecutions; in spite of follies perpetrated in the name of Reason, and cruelties committed in the name of
Humanity, that revolution regenerated France, and planted principles which spread over the continent of
Europe, and which are now bearing fruit in Italy and Spain. With the nineteenth century, a new era of history
begins.
Such then is the plain unvarnished story of the human race. We have traced the stream of history to its source
in the dark forest; we have followed it downwards through the steppes of the shepherds and the valleys of the
great priest peoples; we have swept swiftly along, past pyramids and pagodas, and the brickpiles of
Babylon; past the temples of Ionia, and the amphitheatres of Rome; past castles and cathedrals lying opposite
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to mosques with graceful minaret and swelling dome; and so, onwards and onwards, till towns rise on both
sides of the stream; towns sternly walled with sentinels before the gates; so, onwards and onwards, till the
stream widens and is covered with ships large as palaces, and towering with sail; till the banks are lined with
gardens and villas; and huge cities, no longer walled, hum with industry, and becloud the air; and deserts or
barren hills are no longer to be seen; and the banks recede and open out like arms, and the earthshores
dissolve, and we faintly discern the glassy glimmering of the boundless sea. We shall descend to the mouth of
the river, we shall explore the unknown waters which lie beyond the present, we shall survey the course
which man has yet to run. But before we attempt to navigate the future, let us return for a moment to the past;
let us endeavour to ascertain the laws which direct the movements of the stream, and let us visit the ruins
which are scattered on its banks.
The progress of the human race is caused by the mental efforts which are made at first from necessity to
preserve life, and secondly from the desire to obtain distinction. In a healthy nation, each class presses into
the class which lies above it; the blood flows upwards, and so the whole mass, by the united movements of its
single atoms, rises in the scale. The progress of a nation is the sumtotal of the progress of the individuals
composing it. If certain parts of the body politic are stifled in their growth by means of artificial laws, it is
evident that the growth of the whole will be arrested; for the growth of each part is dependent on the growth
of all. It is usual to speak of Greece as a free country; and so it was in comparison with Asia. But more than
half its inhabitants were slaves; labour was degraded; whatever could be done by thought alone, and by
delicate movements of the hands, was carried to perfection; but in physical science the Greeks did little,
because little could be done without instruments, and instruments can seldom be invented except by free and
intelligent artisans. So the upper part of the Greek body grew; the lower part remained in a base and brutal
state, discharging the offices of life, but without beauty and without strength. The face was that of Hyperion;
the legs were shrivelled and hideous as those of a satyr. In Asia human laws have been still more fatal to the
human progress. In China there is no slavery, and there is no caste; the poorest man may be exalted to the
highest station; not birth but ability is the criterion of distinction; appointments are open to the nation, and are
awarded by means of competitive examinations. But the Chinese are schoolboys who never grow up;
generals and statesmen who incur the displeasure of the Crown are horsed and flagellated in the Eton style, a
bamboo being used instead of a birch. The patriarchal system of the steppes has been transferred to the
imperial plain. Just as a Chinese town is merely a Tartar camp encircled by earthen walls; just as a Chinese
house is merely a Tartar tent, supported by wooden posts and cased with brick, so it is with the government,
domestic and official, of that country. Every one is the slave of his father, as it was in the old tentlife; every
father is the slave of an official who stands in the place of the old clan chief; and all are slaves of the
emperor, who is the viceroy of God. In China, therefore, senility is supreme; nothing is respectable unless it
has existed at least a thousand years; foreigners are barbarians, and property is insecure.
In this one phrase the whole history of Asia is contained. In the despotic lands of the East, the peasant who
grows more corn than he requires is at once an object of attention to the police; he is reported to the governor,
and a charge is laid against him, in order that his grain may be seized. He not only loses the fruit of his toil,
but he also receives the bastinado. In the same manner, if a merchant, by means of his enterprise, industry,
and talents, amasses a large fortune; he also is arrested and is put to death, that his estate may escheat to the
Crown. As the Chinese say, "The elephant is killed for his ivory." This, then, is the secret of Asiatic apathy,
and not the heat of the climate, or the inherent qualities of race. Civilised Asia has been always enthralled,
because standing armies have always been required to resist the attacks of those warlike barbarians who
cover the deserts of Arabia and Tartary, the highlands of Ethiopia and Kabul. Asia, therefore, soon takes a
secondary place, and Europe becomes the centre of the human growth. Yet it should not be forgotten that
Asia was civilised when Europe was a forest and a swamp. Asia taught Europe its A B C; Asia taught Europe
to cipher and to draw; Asia taught Europe the language of the skies, how to calculate eclipses, how to follow
the courses of the stars, how to measure time by means of an instrument which recorded with its shadow the
station of the sun; how to solve mathematical problems; how to philosophise with abstract ideas. Let us not
forget the school in which we learnt to spell, and those venerable halls in which we acquired the rudiments of
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science and of art.
The savage worships the shades of his ancestors chiefly from selfish fear; the Asiatic follows, from blind
prejudice, the wisdom of the ancients, and rejects with contempt all knowledge which was unknown to them.
Yet within these superstitions a beautiful sentiment lies concealed. We ought, indeed, to reverence the men of
the past, who, by their labours and their inventions, have made us what we are. This great and glorious city in
which we dwell, this mighty London, the metropolis of the earth; these streets flowing with eagerminded
life, and gleaming with prodigious wealth; these forests of masts, these dark buildings, turning refuse into
gold, and giving bread to many thousand mouths; these harnessed elements which whirl us along beneath the
ground, and which soon will convey us through the air; these spacious halls, adorned with all that can exalt
the imagination or fascinate the sense; these temples of melody; these galleries, exhibiting excavated worlds;
these walls covered with books in which dwell the souls of the immortal dead, which, when they are opened,
transport us by a magic spell to lands which are vanished and passed away, or to spheres created by the poet's
art; which make us walk with Plato beneath the plane trees, or descend with Dante into the dolorous abyss
to whom do we owe all these? First, to the poor savages, forgotten and despised, who, by rubbing sticks
together, discovered fire, who first tamed the timid fawn, and first made the experiment of putting seeds into
the ground. And, secondly, we owe them to those enterprising warriors who established nationality, and to
those priests who devoted their lifetime to the culture of their minds.
There is a land where the air is always tranquil, where Nature wears always the same bright yet lifeless smile;
and there, as in a vast museum, are preserved the colossal achievements of the past. Let us enter the sad and
silent river; let us wander on its dusky shores. Buried cities are beneath our feet; the ground on which we
tread is the pavement of a tomb. See the Pyramids towering to the sky; with men, like insects, crawling round
their base; and the Sphinx, couched in vast repose, with a ruined temple between its paws. Since those great
monuments were raised, the very heavens have been changed. When the architects of Egypt began their work,
there was another polar star in the northern sky, and the Southern Cross shone upon the Baltic shores. How
glorious are the memories of those ancient men, whose names are forgotten, for they lived and laboured in
the distant and unwritten past. Too great to be known, they sit on the height of centuries and look down on
fame. The boat expands its white and pointed wings; the sailors chaunt a plaintive song; the waters bubble
around us as we glide past the tombs and temples of the bygone days. The men are dead, and the gods are
dead. Nought but their memories remain. Where now is Osiris, who came down upon earth out of love for
men, who was killed by the malice of the Evil One, who rose again from the grave, and became the Judge of
the dead? Where now is Isis the mother, with the child Horus on her lap? They are dead; they are gone to the
land of the shades. Tomorrow, Jehovah, you and your son shall be with them!
Men die, and the ideas which they call gods die too; yet death is not destruction, but only a kind of change.
Those strange ethereal secretions of the brain, those wondrously distilled thoughts of oursdo they ever
really die? They are embodied into words; and from these words, spoken or written, new thoughts are born
within the brains of those who listen or who read. There was a town named Heliopolis; it had a college
garden, and a willow hanging over the Fountain of the Sun; and there the professors lectured and discoursed
on the Triune God, and the creation of the world, and, the Serpent Evil, and the Tree of Life; and on chaos
and darkness, and the shining stars; and there the stone quadrant was pointed to the heavens; and there the
laboratory furnace glowed. And in that college two foreign students were received, and went forth learned in
its lore. The first created a nation in the Egyptian style; the second created a system of ideas; and, strange to
say, on Egyptian soil the two were reunited: the philosophy of Moses was joined in Alexandria to the
philosophy of Plato, not only by the Jews, but also by the Christians; not only in Philo Judaeus, but also in the
Gospel of St. John.
Over the bright blue waters, under the soft and tender sky, with the purple sails outspread and roses twining
round the mast, with lute and flute resounding from the prow, and red wine poured upon the sea, and
thanksgiving to the gods, we enter the Piraeus, and salute with our flag the temple on the hill. Vessels sweep
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past us, outward bound, laden with statues and paintings, for such are the manufactures of Athens, where the
milestones are masterpieces, and the streetwalkers poets and philosophers. Imagine the transports of the
young provincial who went to Athens to commence a career of ambition, to make himself a name! What
raptures he must have felt as he passed through that City of the Violet Crown with Homer in his bosom, and
hopes of another United Greece within his heart! What a banquet of delights, what varied treasures of the
mind were spread before him there! He listened first to a speech of Pericles on political affairs, and then to a
lecture by Anaxagoras. He was taken to the studio of Phidias and of Polygnotus: he went to a theatre built of
Persian masts to see a new tragedy by Sophocles or Euripides, and finished the evening at Aspasia's
establishment, with odes of Sappho, and ballads of Anacreon, and sweeteyed musicians, and intellectual
heterae.
So great are the achievements of the Greeks, so deep is the debt which we owe to them, that criticism appears
ungrateful or obtuse. It is scarcely possible to indicate the vices and defects of this people without seeming
guilty of insensibility or affectation. It is curious to observe how grave and sober minds accustomed to gather
evidence with care, and to utter decisions with impartiality, cease to be judicial when Greece is brought
before them. She unveils her beauty, and they can only admire: they are unable to condemn. Those who
devote themselves to the study of the Greeks become nationalised in their literature, and patriots of their
domain, It is indeed impossible to read their works without being impressed by their purity, their calmness,
their exquisite symmetry and finish resembling that which is bestowed upon a painting or a statue. But it is
not only in the Greek writings that the Greek spirit is contained: it has entered the modern European mind it
permeates the world of thought; it inspires the ideas of those who have never read the Greek authors, and who
perhaps regard them with disdain. We do not see the foundations of our minds: they are buried in the past.
The great books and the great discoveries of modern times are based upon the works of Homer, Plato,
Aristotle, and their disciples. All that we owe to Rome we owe to Greece as well, for Italy was a child of
Greece. The cities on the southern coast bestowed on the rude natives the elements of culture, and when
Rome became famous it was colonised by Grecian philosophers and artists.
To Rome we are indebted for those laws from which our jurisprudence is descended, and to Rome we are
indebted for something else besides. We shall not now pause on the Rome, of the Republic, when every
citizen was a soldier, and worked in the fields with his own hands; when every temple was the monument of a
victory, and every statue the memorial of a hero; when doorposts were adorned with the trophies of war, and
halls with the waxen images of ancestors; when the Romans were simple, religious, and severe, and the vices
of luxury were yet unknown, and banquets were plain and sociable repasts, where the guests in turn sang old
ballads while the piper played. Nor shall we pause on the Rome of Augustus, when East and West were
united in peace and with equal rights before the law; when the tyranny of petty princedoms, and the chicanery
of Grecian courts of law, and the bloodfeuds of families had been destroyed; and the empire was calm and
not yet becalmed, and rested a moment between tumult and decay. We shall pass on to a Rome more great
and more sublime; a Rome which ruled Europe, but not by arms; a Rome which had no mercenary legions, no
Praetorian Guards, and which yet received the tribute of kings, and whose legates exercised the power of
proconsuls. In this Rome a man clad in the purple of the Caesars and crowned with the tiara of the Pontifex
sent forth his soldiers armed with the crucifix, and they brought nations captive to his feet. Rome became a
city of God: she put on a spiritual crown. She cried to the kings, Give! and gold was poured into her
exchequers; she condemned a man who had defied her, and he had no longer a place among mankind; she
proclaimed a Truce of God, and the swords of robber knights were sheathed; she preached a crusade, and
Europe was hurled into Asia. She lowered the pride of the haughty, and she exalted the heart of the poor; she
softened the rage of the mighty, she consoled the despair of the oppressed. She fed the hungry, and she
clothed the naked; she took children to her arms and signed them with the Cross; she administered the
sacraments to dying lips, and laid the cold body in the peaceful grave. Her first word was to welcome, and her
last word to forgive.
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In the Dark Ages the European States were almost entirely severed from one another; it was the Roman
Church alone which gave them one sentiment in common, and which united them within her fold. In those
days of violence and confusion, in those days of desolation and despair, when a stranger was a thing which,
like a leper or a madman, any one might kill, when every gentleman was a highway robber, when the only
kind of lawsuit was a duel, hundreds of men dressed in gowns of coarse dark stuff, with cords round their
waists and bare feet, travelled with impunity from castle to castle, preaching a doctrine of peace and good
will, holding up an emblem of humility and sorrow, receiving confessions, pronouncing penance or
absolutions, soothing the agonies of a wounded conscience, awakening terror in the hardened mind. Parish
churches were built: the baron and his vassals chanted together the Kyrie Eleison, and bowed their heads
together when the bell sounded and the Host was raised. Here and there in the sombre forest a band of those
holy men encamped, and cut down the trees and erected a building which was not only a house of prayer, but
also a kind of model farm. The monks worked in the fields, and had their carpenters' and their blacksmiths'
shops. They copied out books in a fair hand: they painted Madonnas for their chapel: they composed music
for their choir: they illuminated missals: they studied Arabic and Greek: they read Cicero and Virgil: they
preserved the Roman Law.
Bright, indeed, yet scanty are these gleams. In the long night of the Dark Ages we look upon the earth, and
only the convent and the castle appear to be alive. In the convent the sound of honourable labour mingles
with the sound of prayer and praise. In the castle sits the baron with his children on his lap, and his wife,
leaning on his shoulder: the troubadour sings, and the page and demoiselle exchange a glance of love. The
castle is the home of music and chivalry and family affection. The convent is the home of religion and of art.
But the people cower in their wooden huts, half starved, half frozen, and wolves sniff at them through the
chinks in the walls. The convent prays, and the castle sings: the cottage hungers, and groans, and dies. Such is
the dark night: here and there a star in the heaven: here and there a torch upon the earth: all else is cloud and
bitter wind. But now, behold the light glowing in the East: it brightens, it broadens, the day is at hand! The
sun is rising, and will set no more: the castle and the convent disappear: the world is illumined: freedom is
restored. Italy is a garden, and its blue sea shines with sails. New worlds are discovered, new arts are
invented: the merchants enrich Europe, and their sons set her free. In a hall at Westminster, in a redoubt at
Bunker Hill, in a tennis court at Versailles, great victories are won, and liberty at last descends even to the
poor French peasant growing grey in his furrow, even to the negro picking cotton in the fields. Yet after all,
how little has been done! The sun shines as yet only on a corner of the earth: Asia and Africa are buried in the
night. And even here in this island, where liberty was born, where wealth is sustained by enterprise and
industry, and war comes seldom, and charity abounds, there are yet dark places where the sunlight never
enters, and where hope has never been: where day follows day in neverchanging toil, and where life leads
only to the prison, or the work house, or the grave. Yet a day will come when the whole earth will be as
civilised as Europe: a day will come when these dark spots will pass away.
If we compare the present with the past, if we trace events at all epochs to their causes, if we examine the
elements of human growth, we find that Nature has raised us to what we are, not by fixed laws, but by
provisional expedients, and that the principle which in one age effected the advancement of a nation, in the
next age retarded the mental movement, or even destroyed it altogether. War, despotism, slavery, and
superstition are now injurious to the progress of Europe, but they were once the agents by which progress was
produced. By means of war the animated life was slowly raised upward in the scale, and quadrupeds passed
into man. By means of war the human intelligence was brightened, and the affections were made intense;
weapons and tools were invented; foreign wives were captured, and the marriages of blood relations were
forbidden; prisoners were tamed, and the women set free; prisoners were exchanged, accompanied with
presents; thus commerce was established, and thus, by means of war, men were first brought into amicable
relations with one another. By war the tribes were dispersed all over the world, and adopted various pursuits
according to the conditions by which they were surrounded. By war the tribes were compressed into the
nation. It was war which founded the Chinese Empire. It was war which had locked Babylonia, and Egypt,
and India. It was war which developed the genius of Greece. It was war which planted the Greek language in
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Asia, and so rendered possible the spread of Christianity. It was war which united the world in peace from the
Cheviot Hills to the Danube and the Euphrates. It was war which saved Europe from the quietude of China. It
was war which made Mecca the centre of the East. It was war which united the barons in the Crusades, and
which destroyed the feudal system.
Even in recent times the action of war has been useful in condensing scattered elements of nationality, and in
liberating subject populations. United Italy was formed directly or indirectly by the war of 1859, 1866, and
187O. The last war realised the dreams of German poets, and united the Teutonic nations more closely than
the shrewdest statesmen could have conceived to be possible a few years ago. That same war, so calamitous
for France, will yet regenerate that great country, and make her more prosperous than she has ever been. The
American War emancipated four million men, and decided for ever the question as to whether the Union was
a nationality or a league. But the Crimean War was injurious to civilisation; it retarded a useful and inevitable
event. Turkey will some day be covered with cornfields; Constantinople will some day be a manufacturing
town; but a generation has been lost. Statesmen and journalists will learn in time that whatever is conquered
for civilisation is conquered for all. To preserve the Balance of Power was an excellent policy in the Middle
Ages, when war was the only pursuit of a gentleman, and when conquest was the only ambition of kings. It is
now suited only for the highlands of Abyssinia. The jealousy with which 'true Britons' regard the Russian
success in Central Asia is surely a very miserable feeling. That a vast region of the earth should be opened,
that robbery and rapine and slavemaking raids should be suppressed, that wastelands should be cultivated,
that new stores of wealth should be discovered, that new markets should be established for the products of
European industry, our own among the rest, that Russia should adjoin England in Asia as she adjoins
Germany in Europewhat a lamentable occurrence, what an ominous event! In Central Africa it often
happens that between two barbarous. and distrustful nations there is a wide neutral ground, inhabited by wild
beasts, which prey upon the flocks and herds on either side. Such is the policy which maintains the existence
of barbarous kingdoms between two civilised frontiers.
The great Turkish and Chinese Empires, the lands of Morocco, Abyssinia, and Tibet, will be eventually filled
with free, industrious, and educated populations. But those people will never begin to advance until their
property is rendered secure, until they enjoy the rights of man; and these they will never obtain except by
means of European conquest. In British India the peasant reaps the rice which he has sown; and the merchant
has no need to hide his gold beneath the ground. The young men of the new generation are looking forward to
the time when the civil appointments of their country will he held by them. The Indian Mutiny was a mutiny
only, and not a rebellion; the industrial and mercantile classes were on the English side. There is a sickly
school of politicians who declare that all countries belong to their inhabitants, and that to take them is a
crime. If any country in Asia did belong to its inhabitants, there might be some force in this objection. But
Asia is possessed by a few kings and by their soldiers; these rulers are usually foreigners; the masses of the
people are invariably slaves. The conquest of Asia by European Powers is therefore in reality emancipation,
and is the first step towards the establishment of Oriental nationality. It is needless to say that Europe will
never engage in crusades to liberate servile populations; but the pride and ignorance of military despots will
provoke foreign wars, which will prove fatal to their rule. Thus war will, for long years yet to come, be
required to prepare the way for freedom and progress in the East; and in Europe itself, it is not probable that
war will ever absolutely cease until science discovers some destroying force, so simple in its administration,
so horrible in its effects, that all art, all gallantry, will be at an end, and battles will be massacres which the
feelings of mankind will be unable to endure.
A second expedient of Nature is religion. Men believe in the existence of beings who can punish and reward
them in this life or in the next, who are the true rulers of the world, and who have deputed certain men, called
priests, to collect tribute and to pass laws on their behalf. By means of these erroneous ideas, a system of
government is formed to which kings themselves are subjected; the moral nature of man is improved, the
sciences and arts are developed, distinct and hostile races are united. But error, like war, is only provisional.
In Europe, religion no longer exists as a political power, but it will probably yet render service to civilisation
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in assisting to Europeanise the barbarous nations whom events will in time bring under our control.
A third expedient of Nature is inequality of conditions. Sloth is the natural state of man; prolonged and
monotonous labour is hard for him to bear. The savage can follow a trail through the forest, or can lie in
ambush for days at a time; this pertinacity and patience are native to his mind,; they belong to the animals
from whom he is descended: but the cultivation of the soil is a new kind of labour, and it is only followed
from compulsion. It is probable that when domestic slavery was invented, a great service was rendered to
mankind, and it has already been shown that when prisoners of war were tamed and broken in, women were
set free, and became beautiful, longhaired, lowvoiced, sweeteyed creatures, delicate in form, modest in
demeanour, and refined in soul. It was also by means of slavery that a system of superfluous labour was
established; for women, when slaves, are made only to labour for the essentials of life. It was by means of
slavery that leisure was created, that the priests were enabled to make experiments, and to cultivate the arts,
that the great public buildings of the ancient lands were raised. It was slavery which arrested the progress of
Greece; but it was also slavery which enabled all the free men of a Greek town to be sculptors, poets, and
philosophers. Slavery is now happily extinct, and can never be revived under the sanction of civilised
authority. But a European Government, ought perhaps to introduce compulsory labour among the barbarous
races that acknowledge its sovereignty and occupy its land. Children are ruled and schooled by force, and it is
not an empty metaphor to say that savages are children. If they were made to work, not for the benefit of
others, but for their own; if the rewards of their labour were bestowed, not on their masters, but on
themselves, the habit of work would become with them a second nature, as it is with us, and they would learn
to require luxuries which industry only could obtain. A man is not a slave in being compelled to work against
his will, but in being compelled to work without hope and without reward. Enforced labour is undoubtedly a
hardship, but it is one which at present belongs to the lot of man, and is indispensable to progress.
Mankind grows because men desire to better themselves in life, and this desire proceeds from the inequality
of conditions. A time will undoubtedly arrive when all men and women will be equal, and when the love of
money, which is now the root of all industry, and which therefore is now the root of all good, will cease to
animate the human mind. But changes so prodigious can only be effected in prodigious periods of time.
Human nature cannot be transformed by a coup d'etat, as the Comtists and Communists imagine. It is a
complete delusion to suppose that wealth can be equalised and happiness impartially distributed by any
process of law, Act of Parliament, or revolutionary measure. It is easy to compose a pathetic scene in a novel,
or a loud article in a magazine by contrasting Dives lunching on turtle at Birch's with Lazarus feeding on
garbage in a cellar. But the poor man loses nothing , because another man is rich. The Communist might as
well denounce one man for enjoying excellent health, while another man is a victim to consumption. Wealth,
like health, is in the air; if a man makes a fortune he draws money from Nature and gives it to the general
stock. Every millionaire enriches the community. It is undoubtedly the duty of the government to mitigate so
far as lies within its power, the miseries which result from overpopulation. But as long as men continue
unequal in patience, industry, talent, and sobriety, so long there will be rich men and poor men men who
roll in their carriages, and men who die in the streets. If all the property of this country were divided, things
would soon return to their actual condition, unless some scheme could also be devised for changing human
nature; and as for the system of the Commune, which makes it impossible for a man to rise or to fall, it is
merely the old caste system revived; if it could be put into force, all industry would be disheartened,
emulation would cease, mankind would go to sleep.
It is not, however, strange that superficial writers should suppose that the evils of social life can be altered by
changes in government and law. In the lands of the East, in the Spain and Portugal of the sixteenth century, in
the France of the eighteenth century, in the American Colonies, and in England itself, whole classes were at
one time plunged by misgovernment into suffering of body and apathy of mind. But a government can confer
few benefits upon a people except by destroying its own laws. The great reforms which followed the
publication of "The Wealth of Nations" may all be summed up in the word Repeal. Commerce was regulated
in former times by a number of paternal laws, which have since been happily withdrawn. The government
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still pays with our money a number of gentlemen to give us information respecting a future state, and still
requires that in certain business transactions a document shall be drawn up with mysterious rites in a
mediaeval jargon; but, placing aside hereditary evils which, on account of vested interests, it is impossible at
once to remove, it may fairly be asserted that the government of this country is as nearly perfect as any
government can be. Power rests upon public opinion, and is so beautifully poised that it can be overthrown
and replaced without the business of the state being interrupted for a day. If the Executive is condemned by
the nation, the press acts with irresistible force upon the Commons; a vote of censure is passed and the rulers
of a great empire abdicate their thrones. The House of Lords is also an admirable Upper Chamber; for if it
were filled with ambitious men elected by the people it would enter into conflict with the Commons. And as
for the Royal Image it costs little and is useful as an emblem. The government of England possesses at the
same time the freedom which is only found in a republic, and the loyalty which is only felt towards a
monarch.
Some writers believe that this monarchy is injurious to the public and argue as follows: There are no paupers
in America, and America is a republic. There are many paupers in England, and England is a monarchy.
Therefore England should imitate America. It may astonish these writers to learn that America is in reality
more of a monarchy than England. Buckingham Palace is a private dwelling; but the White House, though it
has none of the pomp, has all the power of a Court. The king of America has more to give away than any king
of Great Britain since the time of Charles the Second. He has the power to discharge of his own good
pleasure and mere motion every ambassador, every consul, every head of department, every government
employé, down to the clerk on two hundred dollars a year, and to fill their places with his own friends. In
America the opinion of the public can with difficulty act upon the government. The press has no dignity, and
very little power. Practices occur in the House of Representatives which have been unknown in England since
the days of Walpole. If the prosperity of a country depended on its government, America would be less
prosperous than England. But in point of fact America is the happiest country in the world. There is not a
man in the vast land which lies between the oceans who, however humble his occupation may be, does not
hope to make a fortune before he dies. The whole nation is possessed with the spirit which may be observed
in Fleet Street and Cheapside; the boys sharpeyed and curious, the men hastening eagerly along, even the
women walking as if they had an object in view. There are in America no dulleyed heavyfooted labourers,
who slouch to and fro from their cottage to their work, from their work to the beerhouse, without a higher
hope in life than a sixpence from the squire when they open a gate. There are no girls of the milliner class
who prefer being the mistresses of gentlemen to marrying men of their own station with a Cockney accent
and red hands. The upper classes in America have not that exquisite refinement which exists in the highest
circles of society in Europe. But if we take the whole people through and through, we find them the most
civilised nation on the earth. They, preserve in a degree hitherto without example the dignity of human nature
unimpaired. Their nobleness of character results from prosperity; and their prosperity is due to the nature of
their land. Those who are unable to earn a living in the east, have only to move towards the west.
This then is the reason that the English race in America is more happy, more enlightened, and more thriving,
than it is in the motherland. Politically speaking, the emigrant gains nothing; he is as free in England as he is
in America; but he leaves a land where labour is depreciated, and goes to a land where labour is in demand.
That England may become as prosperous as America, it must be placed under American conditions; that is to
say, food must be cheap, labour must be dear, emigration must be easy. It is not by universal suffrage, it is
not by any Act of Parliament that these conditions can be created. It is Science alone which can Americanise
England; it is Science alone which can ameliorate the condition of the human race.
When Man first wandered in the dark forest, he was Nature's serf; he offered tribute and prayer to the winds,
and the lightning, and the rain, to the cavelion, which seized his burrow for its lair, to the mammoth, which
devoured his scanty crops. But as time passed on, he ventured, to rebel; he made stone his servant; he
discovered fire and vegetable poison; he domesticated iron; he slew the wild beasts or subdued them; he
made them feed him and give him clothes. He became a chief surrounded by his slaves; the fire lay beside
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him with dull red eye and yellow tongue waiting his instructions to prepare his dinner, or to make him
poison, or to go with him to the war, and fly on the houses of the enemy, hissing, roaring, and consuming all.
The trees of the forest were his flock, he slaughtered them at his convenience; the earth brought forth at his
command. He struck iron upon wood or stone and hewed out the fancies of his brain; he plucked shells, and
flowers, and the bright red berries, and twined them in his hair; he cut the pebble to a sparkling gem, he made
the dull clay a transparent stone. The river which once he had worshipped as a god, or which he had vainly
attacked with sword and spear, he now conquered to his will. He made the winds grind his corn and carry him
across the waters; he made the stars serve him as a guide. He obtained from salt and wood and sulphur a
destroying force. He drew from fire, and water, the awful power which produces the volcano, and made it do
the work of human hands. He made the sun paint his portraits, and gave the lightning a situation in the
postoffice.
Thus Man has taken into his service, and modified to his use, the animals, the plants, the earths and the
stones, the waters and the winds, and the more complex forces of heat, electricity, sunlight, magnetism, with
chemical powers of many kinds. By means of his inventions and discoveries, by means of the arts and trades,
and by means of the industry resulting from them, he has raised himself from the condition of a serf to the
condition of a lord. His triumph, indeed, is incomplete; his kingdom is not yet come. The Prince of Darkness
is still triumphant in many regions of the world; epidemics still rage, death is yet victorious. But the God of
Light, the Spirit of Knowledge, the Divine Intellect, is gradually spreading over the planet and upwards to the
skies. The beautiful legend will yet come true; Ormuzd will vanquish Ahriman; Satan will be overcome;
Virtue will descend from heaven, surrounded by her angels, and reign over the hearts of men. Earth, which is
now a purgatory, will be made a paradise, not by idle prayers and supplications, but by the efforts of man
himself, and by means of mental achievements analogous to those which have raised him to his present state.
Those inventions and discoveries which have made him, by the grace of God, king of the animals, lord of the
elements, and sovereign of steam and electricity, were all of them founded on experiment and observation.
We can conquer Nature only by obeying her laws, and in order to obey her laws we must first learn what they
are. When we have ascertained, by means of Science, the method of Nature's operations, we shall be able to
take her place and to perform them for ourselves. When we understand the laws which regulate the complex
phenomena of life, we shall be able to predict the future as we are already able to predict comets and eclipses
and the planetary movements.
Three inventions which perhaps may be long delayed, but which possibly are near at hand, will give to this
overcrowded island the prosperous conditions of the United States. The first is the discovery of a motive
force which will take the place of steam, with its cumbrous fuel of oil or coal; secondly, the invention of
aerial locomotion which will transport labour at a trifling cost of money and of time to any part of the planet,
and which, by annihilating distance, will speedily extinguish national distinctions; and thirdly, the
manufacture of flesh and flour from the elements by a chemical process in the laboratory, similar to that
which is now performed within the bodies of the animals and plants. Food will then be manufactured in
unlimited quantities at a trifling expense; and our enlightened posterity will look back upon us who eat oxen
and sheep just as we look back upon cannibals. Hunger and starvation will then be unknown, and the best part
of the human life will no longer be wasted in the tedious process of cultivating the fields. Population will
mightily increase, and the earth will be a garden. Governments will be conducted with the quietude and
regularity of club committees. The interest which is now felt in politics will be transferred to science; the
latest news from the laboratory of the chemist, or the observatory of the astronomer, or the experimenting
room of the biologist will be eagerly discussed. Poetry and the fine arts will take that place in the heart which
religion now holds. Luxuries will be cheapened and made common to all; none will be rich, and none poor.
Not only will Man subdue the forces of evil that are without; he will also subdue those that are within. He
will repress the base instincts and propensities which he has inherited from the animals below; he will obey
the laws that are written on his heart; he will worship the divinity within him. As our conscience forbids us to
commit actions which the conscience of the savage allows, so the moral sense of our successors will
stigmatise as crimes those offences against the intellect which are sanctioned by ourselves. Idleness and
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stupidity will be regarded with abhorrence. Women will become the companions of men, and the tutors of
their children. The whole world will be united by the same sentiment which united the primeval clan, and
which made its members think, feel, and act as one. Men will look upon this star as their fatherland; its
progress will be their ambition; the gratitude of others their reward. These bodies which now we: wear belong
to the lower animals; our minds have already outgrown them; already we look upon them with contempt. A
time will come when Science will transform them by means which we cannot conjecture, and which, even if
explained to us, we could not now under stand, just as the savage cannot understand electricity, magnetism,
steam. Disease will be extirpated; the causes of decay will be removed; immortality will be invented. And
then, the earth being small, mankind will migrate into space, and will cross the airless Saharas which separate
planet from planet, and sun from sun. The earth will become a Holy Land which will be visited by pilgrims
from all the quarters of the universe. Finally, men will master the forces of Nature; they will become
themselves architects of systems, manufacturers of worlds.
Man then will be perfect; he will then be a creator; he will therefore be what the vulgar worship as a god. But
even then, he will in reality be no nearer than he is at present to the First Cause, the Inscrutable Mystery, the
GOD. There is but a difference in degree between the chemist who today arranges forces in his laboratory
so that they produce a gas, and the creator who arranges forces so that they produce a world; between the
gardener who plants a seed, and the creator who plants a nebula. It is a question for us now to consider
whether we have any personal relations towards the Supreme Power; whether there exists another world in
which we shall be requited according to our actions. Not only is this a grand problem of philosophy; it is of
all questions the most practical for us, the one in which our interests are most vitally concerned. This life is
short; and its pleasures are poor; when we have obtained what we desire, it is nearly time to die. If it can be
shown that, by living in a certain manner, eternal happiness may be obtained, then clearly no one except a
fool or a madman would refuse to live in such a manner. We shall therefore examine the current theory
respecting the nature of the Creator, the design of Creation; and the future destiny of Man. But before we
proceed to this inquiry, we must first state that we intend to separate theology from morality. Whatever may
be the nature of the Deity, and whether there is a future life or not, the great moral laws can be in no way
changed. God is a purely scientific question. Whether he is personal or impersonal, definable or undefinable,
our duties and responsibilities remain the same. The existence of a heaven and a hell can affect our
calculations, but, cannot affect our moral liabilities.
The popular theory is this: the world was made by a Great Being; he created man in his own image; and
therefore his mind is analogous to that of man. But while our minds are imperfect, troubled by passions,
stained with sin, and limited in power, his mind is perfect in beauty, perfect in power, perfect in love. He is
omnipotent and omnipresent. He loves men whom he has made, but he sorrows over their transgressions. He
has placed them on earth as a means of probation; those who have sinned and repent, those who are contrite
and humble, he will forgive, and on them he will bestow everlasting happiness. Those who are wicked, and
stubborn, and hard of heart, those who deny and resist his authority, he will punish according to his justice.
This reward is bestowed, this punishment is inflicted on the soul, a spirit which dwells within the body during
life. It is something entirely distinct from the intellect or mind. The soul of the poorest creature in the streets
and the souls of the greatest philosopher or poet are equal before the Creator; he is no respecter of person;
souls are measured only by their sins. But the sins of the ignorant will be forgiven; the sins of the more
enlightened will be more severely judged.
Now this appears a very reasonable theory as long as we do not examine it closely, and as long as we do not
carry out its propositions to their full extent. But when we do so, we find that it conducts us to absurdity, as
we shall very quickly prove.
The souls of idiots not being responsible for their sins will go to heaven; the souls of such men as Goethe and
Rousseau are in danger of hellfire. Therefore it is better to be born an idiot than to be born a Goethe or a
Rousseau; and that is altogether absurd.
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It is asserted that the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, and of happiness in a future state, gives us a
solution of that distressing problem, the misery of the innocent on earth. But in reality it does nothing of the
kind, It does not explain the origin of evil, and it does not justify the existence of evil. A poor helpless infant
is thrust into the world by a higher force; it has done no one any harm, yet it is tortured in the most dreadful
manner; it is nourished in vice, and crime, and disease; it is allowed to suffer a certain time and then it is
murdered. It is all very well to say that afterwards it was taken to everlasting bliss; but why was it not taken
there direct? If a man has a child and beats that child for no reason whatever, is it any palliation of the crime
to say that he afterwards gave it cake and wine?
This brings us to the character of the Creator. We must beg to observe again that we describe, not the actual
Creator, but the popular idea of the Creator. It is said that the Supreme Power has a mind; this we deny, and
to show that our reasons for denying it are good, we shall proceed to criticise this imaginary mind.
In the first place, we shall state as an incontrovertible maxim in morality that a god has no right to create men
except for their own good. This may appear to the reader an extraordinary statement; but had he lived in
France at the time of Louis XIV, he would also have thought it an extraordinary statement that kings existed
for the good of the people and not people for the good of kings. When the Duke of Burgundy first
propounded that axiom, St. Simon, by no means a servile courtier, and an enlightened man for his age, was
"delighted with the benevolence of the saying, but startled by its novelty and terrified by its boldness." Our
proposition may appear very strange, but it certainly cannot be refuted; for if it is said that the Creator is so
great that he is placed above our laws of morality, then what is that but placing Might above Right? And if
the maxim be admitted as correct, then how can the phenomena of life be justified?
It is said that the Creator is omnipotent, and also that he is benevolent. But one proposition contradicts the
other. It is said that he is perfect in power, and that he is also perfect in purity. We shall show that he cannot
possibly be both.
The conduct of a father towards his child appears to be cruel, but it is not cruel in reality. He beats the child,
but he does it for the child's own good; he is not omnipotent; he is therefore obliged to choose between two
evils. But the Creator is omnipotent; he therefore chooses cruelty as a means of education or development; he
therefore has a preference for cruelty or he would not choose it; he is therefore fond of cruelty or he would
not prefer it; he is therefore cruel, which is absurd.
Again, either sin entered the world against the will of the Creator, in which case he is not omnipotent, or it
entered with his permission, in which case it is his agent, in which case he selects sin, in which case he has a
preference for sin, in which case he is fond of sin, in which case he is sinful, which is an absurdity again.
The good in this world predominates over the bad; the good is ever increasing, the bad is ever diminishing.
But if God is Love why is there any bad at all? Is the world like a novel in which the villains are put in to
make it more dramatic, and in which virtue only triumphs in the third volume? It is certain that the feelings of
the created have in no way been considered. If indeed there were a judgmentday it would be for man to
appear at the bar not as criminal but as an accuser. What has he done that he should be subjected to a life of
torture and temptation? God might have made us all happy, and he has made us all miserable. Is that
benevolence? God might have made us all pure, and he has made us all sinful. Is that the perfection of
morality? If I believed in the existence of this mancreated God, of this divine Nebuchadnezzar, I would say,
'You can make me live in your world, O Creator, but you cannot make me admire it; you can load me with
chains, but you cannot make me flatter you; you can send me to hellfire, but you can not obtain my esteem.
And if you condemn me, you condemn yourself. If I have committed sins, you invented them, which is
worse. If the watch you have made does not go well, whose fault is that? Is it rational to damn the wheels and
the springs?'
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But it is when we open the Book of Nature, that book inscribed in blood and tears; it is when we study the
laws regulating life, the laws productive of development, that we see plainly how illusive is this theory that
God is Love. In all things there is cruel, profligate, and abandoned waste. Of all the animals that are born a
few only can survive; and it is owing to this law that development takes place. The law of Murder is the law
of Growth. Life is one long tragedy; creation is one great crime. And not only is there waste in animal and
human life, there is also waste in moral life. The instinct of love is planted in the human breast, and that
which to some is a solace is to others a torture. How many hearts yearning for affection are blighted in
solitude and coldness! How many women seated by their lonely firesides are musing of the days that might
have been! How many eyes when they meet these words which remind them of their sorrows will be filled
with tears! O cold, cruel, miserable life, how long are your pains, how brief are your delights! What are joys
but pretty children that grow into regrets? What is happiness but a passing dream in which we seem to be
asleep, and which we know only to have been when it is past? Pain, grief, disease, and deathare these the
inventions of a loving God? That no animal shall rise to excellence except by being fatal to the life of
othersis this the law of a kind Creator? It is useless to say that pain has its benevolence, that massacre has
its mercy. Why is it so ordained that bad should be the raw material of good? Pain is not less pain because it
is useful; murder is not less murder because it is conducive to development. Here is blood upon the hand still,
and all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten it.
To this then we are brought with the muchbelauded theory of a semihuman Providence, an anthropoid
Deity, a Constructive Mind, a Deus Paleyensis, a God created in the image of a watchmaker. What then are
we to infer? Why, simply this, that the current theory is false; that all attempts to define the Creator bring us
only to ridiculous conclusions; that the Supreme Power is not a Mind, but something higher than a Mind; not
a Force, but something higher than a Force; not a Being, but something higher than a Being; something for
which we have no words, something for which we have no ideas. We are to infer that Man is not made in the
image of his Maker, and that Man can no more understand his Maker than the beetles and the worms can
understand him. As men in the days of ignorance endeavoured to discover perpetual motion and the
philosopher's stone, so now they endeavour to define God. But in time also they will learn that the nature of
the Deity is beyond the powers of the human intellect to solve. The universe is anonymous; it is published
under secondary laws; these at least we are able to investigate, and in these perhaps we may find a partial
solution of the great problem. The origin of evil cannot be explained, for we cannot explain the origin of
matter. But a careful and unprejudiced study of Nature reveals an interesting fact and one that will be of value
to mankind.
The earth resembles a picture, of which we, like insects which crawl upon its surface, can form but a faint and
incoherent idea. We see here and there a glorious flash of colour; we have a dim conception that there is
union in all its parts; yet to us, because we are so near, the tints appear to be blurred and confused. But let us
expand our wings and flutter off into the air; let us fly some distance backwards into Space until we have
reached the right point of view. And now the colours blend and harmonise together, and we see that the
picture represents One Man.
The body of a human individual is composed of celllike bodies which are called "physiological units." Each
cell or atom has its own individuality; it grows, it is nurtured, it brings forth young, and it dies. It is in fact an
animalcule. It has its own body and its own mind. As the atoms are to the human unit, so the human units are
to the human whole. There is only One Man upon the earth; what we call men are not individuals but
components; what we call, death is merely the bursting of a cell; wars and epidemics are merely
inflammatory phenomena incident on certain stages of growth. There is no such thing as a ghost or soul; the
intellects of men resemble those instincts which inhabit the corpuscules, and which are dispersed when the
corpuscule dies. Yet they are not lost, they are preserved within the body and enter other forms. Men
therefore have no connection with Nature, except through the organism to which they belong. Nature does
not recognise their individual existence. But each atom is conscious of its life; each atom can improve itself
in beauty and in strength; each atom can therefore, in an infinitesimal degree, assist the development of the
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Human Mind. If we take the life of a single atom, that is to say of a single man, or if we look only at a single
group, all appears to be cruelty and confusion; but when we survey mankind as One, we find it becoming
more and more noble, more and more divine, slowly ripening towards perfection. We belong to the minutiae
of Nature, we are in her sight, as the raindrop in the sky; whether a man lives, or whether he dies, is as much
a matter of indifference to Nature as whether a raindrop falls upon the field and feeds a blade of grass, or
falls upon a stone and is dried to death. She does not supervise these small details. This discovery is by no
means flattering, but it enlarges our idea of the scheme of creation. That universe must indeed be great in
which human beings are so small!
The following facts result from our investigations: Supernatural Christianity is false. Godworship is
idolatry. Prayer is useless. The soul is not immortal. There are no rewards and there are no punishments in a
future state.
It now remains to be considered whether it is right to say so. It will doubtless be supposed that I shall make
use of the plea that a writer is always justified in publishing the truth, or what he conscientiously believes to
be the truth, and that if it does harm he is not to blame. But I shall at once acknowledge that truth is only a
means towards an end the welfare of the human race. If it can be shown that by speaking the truth an
injury is inflicted on mankind, then a stubborn adherence to truth becomes merely a Pharisee virtue, a
spiritual pride. But in moral life Truth, though not infallible, is our safest guide, and those who maintain that
it should be repressed must be prepared to bring forward irrefutable arguments in favour of their cause. If so
much as the shadow of a doubt remains, their client, Falsehood, is non suited, and Truth remains in
possession of the conscience. Let us now hear what the special pleaders have to say. The advocates for
Christianity versus Truth will speak first, and I shall reply; and then the advocates for Deism will state their
case. What they will endeavour to prove is this, that even admitting the truth of my propositions, it is an
immoral action to give them to the world. On the other hand, I undertake to show that the destruction of
Christianity is essential to the interests of civilisation; and also that man will never attain his full powers as a
moral being until he has ceased to believe in a personal God and in the immortality of the soul.
"Christianity, we allow, is human in its origin, erroneous in its theories, delusive in its threats and its
rewards,' say the advocates for Christianity. 'Jesus Christ was a man with all the faults and imperfections of
the prophetic character. The Bible is simply a collection of Jewish writings. The miracles in the Old
Testament deserve no more attention from historians than the miracles in Homer. The miracles in the gospels
are like the miracles in Plutarch's Lives; they do not lessen the value of the biography, and the value of the
biography does not lessen the absurdity of the miracles. So far we go with you. But we assert that this
religion with all its errors has rendered inestimable services to civilisation, and that it is so inseparably
associated in the minds of men with purity of life, and the precepts of morality, that it is impossible to attack
Christianity without also attacking all that is good, all that is pure, all that is lovely in human nature. When
you travelled in Africa did you not join in the sacrifices of the pagans? Did you not always speak with respect
of their wood spirits and their water spirits, and their gods of the water and the sky? And did you not take off
your shoes when you entered the mosque, and did you not, when they gave you the religious blessing, return
the religious reply? And since you could be so tolerant to savages, surely you are bound to be more tolerant
still to those who belong to your own race, to those who possess a nobler religion, and whose minds can be
made by a careless word to suffer the most exquisite pain. Yet you attack Christianity, and you attack it in the
wrong way. You ought, in the interests of your own cause, to write in such a manner that minds might be
gradually trained to reflection and decoyed to doubt. It is not only heartless and inhuman, it is also unwise, it
is also unscientific, to say things which will shock and disgust those who are beginning to inquire, and it is
bad taste to jest on subjects which if not sacred in themselves are held sacred in the, eyes of many thoughtful
and cultivated men. You ought to adopt a tone of reluctance and to demonstrate, as it were against your will,
the errors of the popular religion. Believers at least have a right to demand that if you discuss these questions
upon which their hopes of eternal happiness are based, you will do so with gravity and decorum."
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To this I reply that the religion of the Africans, whether pagan or Moslem, is suited to their intellects, and is
therefore a true religion; and the same may be said of Christianity among uneducated people. But Christianity
is not in accordance with the cultivated mind; it can only be accepted or rather retained by suppressing
doubts, and by denouncing inquiry as sinful. It is therefore a superstition, and ought to be destroyed. With
respect to the services which it once rendered to civilisation, I cheerfully acknowledge them, but the same
argument might once have been advanced in favour of the oracle at Delphi, without which there would have
been no Greek culture, and therefore no Christianity. The question is not whether Christianity assisted the
civilisation of our ancestors, but whether it is now assisting our own. I am firmly persuaded that whatever is
injurious to the intellect is also injurious to moral life; and on this conviction I base my conduct with respect
to Christianity. That religion is pernicious to the intellect; it demands that the reason shall be sacrificed upon
the altar; it orders civilised men to believe in the legends of a savage race. It places a hideous image, covered
with dirt and blood, in the Holy of Holies; it rends the sacred Veil of Truth in twain, It teaches that the
Creator of the Universe, that sublime, that inscrutable power, exhibited his back to Moses, and ordered Hosea
to commit adultery, and Ezekiel to eat dung. There is no need to say anything more. Such a religion is
blasphemous and foul. Let those admire it who are able. I, for my part, feel it my duty to set free from its
chains as many as I can. Upon this point my conscience speaks clearly, and it shall be obeyed. With respect to
manner and means, I shall use the arguments and the style best suited for my purpose. There has been enough
of writing by implication and by innuendo; I do not believe in its utility, and I do not approve of its disguise.
There should be no deceit in matters of religion. In my future assaults on Christianity I shall use the clearest
language that I am able to command.
Ridicule is a destructive instrument, and it is my intention to destroy. If a man is cutting down a tree, it is
useless asking him not to strike so hard. But because I make use of ridicule, it does not follow that I am
writing merely for amusement; and because I tear up a belief by the roots, it does not follow that I am
indifferent to the pain which I inflict. Great revolutions cannot be accomplished without much anguish and
some evil being caused. Did not the Roman women suffer when the Christians came and robbed them of their
gods, and raised their minds, through pain and sorrow, to a higher faith? The religion which I teach is as high
above Christianity as that religion was superior to the idolatry of Rome. And when, the relative civilisations
of the two ages are compared, this fetish of ink and paper, this Syrian book is, in truth, not less an idol than
those statues which obtained the adoration of the Italians and the Greeks. The statues were beautiful as
statues; the book is admirable as a book; but the statues did not come down from heaven; the book was not a
magical composition; it bears the marks not only of human genius, but also of human depravity and
superstition.
As for the advocates of Deism they acknowledge that Christianity is unsuited to the mental condition of the
age; they acknowledge that the Bible ought to be attacked as Xenophanes attacked Homer; they acknowledge
that the fables of a god impregnating a woman, of a god living on the earth, are relics of pagan superstition;
they acknowledge that the doctrine of eternal punishment is incompatible with justice, and is therefore
incompatible with God. But they declare that Christianity should not be destroyed but reformed; that its
barbarous elements should be expelled, and that then, as a pure Godworship, it should be offered to the
world. "It is true', they say, 'that God is an idol, an image made of human ideas which, to superior beings,
would appear as coarse and vile for such a purpose as the wood and the stone of the savage appear to us. But
this idolatry is conducive to the morality of man. That exquisite form which he raises in his mind, and before
which he prostrates him self in prayer, that God of purity and love, becomes his ideal and example. As the
Greek women placed statues of Apollo and Narcissus in their chambers that the beauty of the marble form
might enter their wombs through the windows of their eyes, so by ever contemplating perfection the mind is
ennobled, and the actions born of it are divine. And surely it is a sweet and consoling faith that there is above
us a great and benignant Being who, when the sorrows of this life are past, will take us to himself. How can it
injure men to believe that the righteous will he rewarded and that the wicked will be punished in a future
state? What good can be done by destroying a belief so full of solace for the sorrowful, so full of promise for
the virtuous, so full of terror for the workers of iniquity? You do not deny that ‘much anguish and some evil
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will be caused’ by the destruction of this belief; and what have you to show on the other side? What will you
place in the balance? Consider what a dreadful thing it is to take even from a single human being the hopes of
a future life.
'All men cannot be philosophers; all cannot resign themselves with fortitude and calm to the deathwarrant of
the soul. Annihilation has perhaps more terrors for the mind than eternal punishment itself. O, make not the
heart an orphan, cast it not naked and weeping on the world! Take it not away from its father, kill not its
hopes of an eternal home! There are mothers whose children have gone before them to the grave, poor
miserable women whose beauty is faded, who have none to care for them on earth, whose only happiness is
in the hope that when their life is ended they will be joined again to those whom they have lost. And will you
take that hope away? There are men who have passed their whole lives in discipline and selfrestraint that
they may be rewarded in a future state; will you tell them that they have lived under an illusion, that they
would have done better to laugh, and to feast, and to say ‘Let us make merry, for tomorrow we shall die’?
There are men whom the fear of punishment in a future life deters from vice and perhaps from crime. Will
you dare to spread a doctrine which unlooses all restraints, and leaves men to the fury of their passions? It is
true that we are not demoralised by this belief in the impersonality of God and the extinction of the soul; but
it would be a dangerous belief for those who are exposed to strong temptations, and whose minds have not
been raised by culture to the religion of dignity and selfcontrol."
In the first place, I admit that the worship and contemplation of a manlike but ideal Being must have,
through the law of imitation, an ennobling effect on the mind of the idolater, but only so long as the belief in
such a Being harmonises with the intellect. It has been shown that this theory of a benignant God is
contradicted by the laws of Nature. We must judge of the tree by its fruits; we must judge of the maker by
that which he has made. The Author of the world invented not only the good but also the evil in the world; he
invented cruelty; he invented sin. If he invented sin how can he be otherwise than sinful? And if he invented
cruelty how can he be otherwise than cruel? From this inexorable logic we can only escape by giving up the
hypothesis of a personal Creator. Those who believe in a God of Love must close their eyes to the
phenomena of life, or garble the universe to suit their theory. This, it is needless to say, is injurious to the
intellect; whatever is injurious to the intellect is injurious to morality; and, therefore, the belief in a God of
Love is injurious to morality. Godworship must be classed with those provisional expedients, Famine, War,
Slavery, the Inequality of Conditions, the Desire of Gain, which Nature employs for the development of man,
and which she throws aside when they have served her turn, as a carpenter changes his tools at the various
stages of his work.
The abolition of this ancient and elevated faith; the dethronement of God; the extinction of piety as a personal
feeling; the destruction of an Image made of golden thoughts in the exquisite form of an Ideal Man, and
tenderly enshrined in the human heart these appear to be evils, and such undoubtedly they are. But the
conduct of life is a choice of evils. We can do nothing that is exclusively and absolutely good. Le genre
humain n'est pas place entre le bien et le mal, mais entre le mal et le pire. No useful inventions can be
introduced without some branch of industry being killed and hundreds of worthy men being cast, without an
occupation, on the world. All mental revolutions are attended by catastrophe. The mummeries and massacres
of the German Reformation, though known only to scholars, were scarcely less horrible than those of Paris in
1793, and both periods illustrate the same law. I have facts in my possession which would enable me to show
that the abolition of the slavetrade, that immortal and glorious event, caused the death of many thousand
slaves, who were therefore actually killed by Sharp, Clarkson, Wilberforce, and their adherents. But by
means of abolition millions of lives have since been saved. The first generation suffered; prisoners were
captured to be sold, and the market having been suppressed, were killed. This was undoubtedly an evil. But
then the slavemaking wars came to an end, and there was peace. In the same manner I maintain that even
should the present generation be injured by the abolition of existing faiths, yet abolition would be justified.
Succeeding generations would breathe an atmosphere of truth instead of being reared in an atmosphere of
falsehood, and we who are so deeply indebted to our ancestors have incurred obligations towards our
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posterity. Let us therefore purify the air, and if the light kills a few sickly plants which have become
acclimatised to impurity and darkness, we must console ourselves with the reflection that in Nature it is
always so, and that of two evils we have chosen that which is the least.
But the dangers of the Truth are not so great as is commonly supposed. It is often said that if the fears of
hellfire were suddenly removed men would abandon themselves with out restraint to their propensities and
appetites; that recklessness and despair would take possession of the human race, and society would be
dissolved. But I believe that the fears of hellfire have scarcely any power upon earth at all, and that when
they do act upon the human mind it is to make it pious, not to make it good. A metaphysical theory cannot
restrain the fury of the passions: as well attempt to bind a lion with a cobweb. Prevention of crime it is well
known depends not on the severity but on the certainty of retribution. Just as a criminal is often acquitted by
the jury because the penalties of the law are disproportione to the magnitude of the offence, so the diabolic
laws which inflict an eternal punishment for transitory sins have been tempered by a system of free pardons
which deprive them of any efficiency they might have once possessed. What would be the use of laws against
murder if the condemned criminal could obtain his liberty by apologising to the Queen? Yet such is the
Christian system, which, though in one sense beautiful on account of its mercy, is also immoral on account of
its indulgence. The supposition that the terrors of hellfire are essential or even conducive to good morals is
contradicted by the facts of history. In the Dark Ages there was not a man or a woman, from Scotland to
Naples, who doubted that sinners were sent to hell. The religion which they had was the same as ours, with
this exception, that everyone believed in it. The state of Europe in that pious epoch need not be described.
Society is not maintained by the conjectures of theology, but by those moral sentiments, those gregarious
virtues, which elevated men above the animals, which are now instinctive in our natures, and to which
intellectual culture is propitious. For, as we become more and more enlightened, we perceive more and more
clearly that it is with the whole human population as it was with the primeval clan; the welfare of every
individual is dependent on the welfare of the community, and the welfare of the community depends on the
welfare of every individual. Our conscience teaches us it is right, our reason teaches us it is useful, that men
should live according to the Golden Rule. This conduct of life is therefore enjoined upon every man by his
own instincts, and also by the voice of popular opinion. Those cannot be happy who are detested and
despised by their fellow men; and as for those, the outlaws of society, who, like domestic animals run wild,
herd together in secret places, and, faithful only to their own gang, make war upon mankind, the Law, which
is seldom evaded, the Law, which never forgives, chases them from den to den, and makes their lives as full
of misery as they are full of crime.
The current religion is indirectly adverse to morals, because it is adverse to the freedom of the intellect. But it
is also directly adverse to morals by inventing spurious and bastard virtues. One fact must be familiar to all
those who have any experience of human naturea sincerely religious man is often an exceedingly bad man.
Piety and vice frequently live together in the same dwelling, occupying different chambers, but remaining
always on the most amicable terms. Nor is there anything remarkable in this. Religion is merely loyalty: it is
just as irrational to expect a man to be virtuous because he goes to church, as it would be to expect him to be
virtuous because he went to court. His king, it is true, forbids immorality and fraud. But the chief virtues
required are of the lickspittle denomination what is called 'a humble and a contrite heart.' When a
Christian sins as a man, he makes compensation as a courtier. When he has injured a fellow creature, he
goes to church with more regularity, he offers up more prayers, he reads a great number of chapters in the
Bible, and so he believes that he has cleared off the sins that are laid to his account. This, then, is the
immorality of religion as it now exists. It creates artificial virtues and sets them off against actual vices.
Children are taught to do this and that, not because it is good, but to please the king. When Christians are
informed that not only our physical but our moral actions are governed by unchangeable law, and that the evil
treatment of the mind, like the evil treatment of the body, is punished by a loss of happiness and health, they
cry out against a doctrine which is so just and so severe. They are like the young Roman nobles who
complained when the Tarquins were expelled, saying, that a king was a human being, that he could be angry
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and forgive, that there was room for favour and kindness, but that the law was a deaf and inexorable thing
leges rem surdam inexorabilem esse; that it allowed of no relaxation and indulgence nihil laxamenti nec
veniae habere, and that it was a dangerous thing for weak and erring men to live by their integrity alone
periculosum esse in tot humanis erroribus sola innocentia vivere. Christians believe themselves to be the
aristocracy of heaven upon earth; they are admitted to the spiritual court, while millions of men in foreign
lands have never been presented. They bow their knees and say that they are miserable sinners, and their
hearts rankle with abominable pride. Poor infatuated fools! Their servility is real, and their insolence is real,
but their king is a phantom and their palace is a dream.
Even with Christians of comparatively blameless lives their religion is injurious. It causes a waste of moral
force. There are passionate desires of virtue, yearnings for the good, which descend from time to time like a
holy spirit upon all cultivated minds, and from which, strange as it may seem, not even freethinkers are
excluded. When such an impulse animates the godless man he expends it in the service of mankind; the
Christian wastes it on the air; he fasts, he watches, and he prays. And what is the object of all his petitions
and salaams? He will tell you that he is trying to save his soul. But the strangest feature in the case is this. He
not only thinks that it is prudent and wise on his part to improve his prospects of happiness in a future state;
he considers it the noblest of all virtues. But there is no great merit in taking care of one's own interests
whether it be in this world or the next. The man who leads a truly religious life in order to go to heaven is not
more to be admired than the man who leads a regular and industrious life in order to make a fortune in the
city; and the man who endeavours to secure a celestial inheritance by going to church, and by reading
chapters in the Bible, and by having family prayers, and by saying grace in falsetto with eyes hypocritically
closed, is not above the level of those who fawn and flatter at Oriental courts in order to obtain a monopoly or
an appointment.
The old proverb holds good in religious as in ordinary life, that selfpreservation is the first law of Nature.
As long as men believe that there is a god or king who will listen to their prayers and who will change his
mind at their request; as long as they believe that they can obtain a mansion in the heavenly Belgravia, so
long they will place the duties of the courtier above the duties of the man, so long they will believe that
flattery is pleasing to the Most High, so long they will believe that they can offend against the law and escape
the penalties of the law, so long they will believe that acts of devotion may be balanced against acts of
immorality, so long they will make selfishness a virtue, and salvation of the soul a higher principle of conduct
than social love. But when the faith in a personal god is extinguished; when prayer and praise are no longer to
be heard; when the belief is universal that with the body dies the soul, then the false morals of theology will
no longer lead the human mind astray. Piety and virtue will become identical. The desire to do good which
arose in necessity, which was developed by the hopes of a heavenly reward, is now an instinct of the human
race. Those hopes and illusions served as the scaffolding, and may now safely be removed.
There will always be enthusiasts for virtue as there are now, men who adorn and purify their souls before the
mirror of their conscience, and who strive to attain an ideal excellence in their actions and their thoughts. If
from such men as these the hope of immortality is taken, will their natures be transformed? Will they who are
almost angels turn straightway into beasts? Will the sober become drunkards? Will the chaste become
sensual? Will the honest become fraudulent? Will the industrious become idle? Will the righteous love that
which they have learnt to loathe? Will they who have won by hard struggles the sober happiness of virtue
return to the miseries of vice by which few men have not at one time or another been enthralled? No; they
will pass through some hours of affliction; they will bear another illusion to the grave; not the first that they
have buried, not the first they have bewailed. And then, no longer able to hope for themselves, they will hope
for the future of the human race: unable to believe in an eared God who listens to human supplications they
will coin the gold of their hearts into useful actions instead of burning it as incense before an imaginary
throne.
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We do not wish to extirpate religion from the life of man; we wish him to have a religion which will
harmonise with his intellect, and which inquiry will strengthen, not destroy. We wish, in fact, to give him a
religion, for now there are many who have none. We teach that there is a God, but not a God of the
anthropoid variety, not a God who is gratified by compliments in prose and verse, and whose attributes can
be catalogued by theologians. God is so great that he cannot be defined by us. God is so great that he does not
deign to have personal relations with us human atoms that are called men. Those who desire to worship their
Creator must worship him through mankind. Such it is plain is the scheme of Nature. We are placed under
secondary laws, and these we must obey. To develop to the utmost our genius and our love, that is the only
true religion. To do that which deserves to be written, to write that which deserves to be read, to tend the sick,
to comfort the sorrowful, to animate the weary, to keep the temple of the body pure, to cherish the divinity
within us, to be faithful to the intellect, to educate those powers which have been entrusted to our charge and
to employ them in the service of humanity, that is all that we can do. Then our elements shall be dispersed
and all is at an end. All is at an end for the unit, all is at an end for the atom, all is at an end for the speck of
flesh and blood with the little spark of instinct which it calls its mind, but all is not at an end for the actual
Man, the true Being, the glorious One. We teach that the soul is immortal; we teach that there is a future life;
we teach that there is a Heaven in the ages far away; but not for us single corpuscules, not for us dots of
animated jelly, but for the One of whom we are the elements, and who, though we perish, never dies, but
grows from period to period and by the united efforts of single molecules called men, or of those cellgroups
called nations, is raised towards the Divine power which he will finally attain. Our religion therefore is
Virtue, our Hope is placed in the happiness of our posterity; our Faith is the Perfectibility of Man.
A day will come when the European God of the nineteenth century will be classed with the gods of Olympus
and the Nile; when surplices and sacramental plate will be exhibited in museums; when nurses will relate to
children the legends of the Christian mythology as they now tell them fairy tales. A day will come when the
current belief in property after death (for is not existence property, and the dearest property of all? ) will be
accounted a strange and selfish idea, just as we smile at the savage chief who believes that his gentility will
be continued in the world beneath the ground, and that he will there be attended by his concubines and slaves.
A day will come when mankind will be as the Family of the Forest, which lived faithfully within itself
according to the Golden Rule in order that it might not die. But Love not Fear will unite the human race. The
world will become a heavenly Commune to which men will bring the inmost treasures of their hearts, in
which they will reserve for themselves not even a hope, not even the shadow of a joy, but will give up all for
all mankind. With one faith, with one desire, they will labour together in the Sacred Causethe extinction of
disease, the extinction of sin, the perfection of genius, the perfection of love, the invention of immortality, the
exploration of the infinite, and the conquest of creation.
You blessed ones who shall inherit that future age of which we can only dream; you pure and radiant beings
who shall succeed us on the earth; when you turn back your eyes on us poor savages, grubbing in the ground
for our daily bread, eating flesh and blood, dwelling in vile bodies which degrade us every day to a level with
the beasts, tortured by pains, and by animal propensities, buried in gloomy superstitions, ignorant of Nature
which yet holds us in her bonds; when you read of us in books, when you think of what we are, and compare
us with yourselves, remember that it is to us you owe the foundation of your happiness and grandeur, to us
who now in our libraries and laboratories and startowers and dissectingrooms and work shops are
preparing the materials of the human growth. And as for ourselves, if we are sometimes inclined to regret that
our lot is cast in these unhappy days, let us remember how much more fortunate we are than those who lived
before us a few centuries ago. The working man enjoys more luxuries today than did the King of England in
the AngloSaxon times; and at his command are intellectual delights, which but a little while ago the most
learned in the land could not obtain. All this we owe to the labours of other men. Let us therefore remember
them with gratitude; let us follow their glorious example by adding something new to the knowledge of
mankind; let us pay to the future the debt which we owe to the past.
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All men indeed cannot be poets, inventors, or philanthropists; but all men can join in that gigantic and
godlike work, the progress of creation. Whoever improves his own nature improves the universe of which
he is a part. He who strives to subdue his evil passionsvile remnants of the old fourfooted lifeand who
cultivates the social affections: he who endeavours to better his condition, and to make his children wiser and
happier than himself; whatever may be his motives, he will not have lived in vain. But if he act thus not from
mere prudence, not in the vain hope of being rewarded in another world, but from a pure sense of duty, as a
citizen of Nature, as a patriot of the planet on which he dwells, then our philosophy which once appeared to
him so cold and cheerless will become a religion of the heart, and will elevate him to the skies; the virtues
which were once for him mere abstract terms will become endowed with life, and will hover round him like
guardian angels, conversing with him in his solitude, consoling him in his afflictions, teaching him how to
live, and how to die. But this condition is not to be easily attained; as the saints and prophets were often
forced to practise long vigils and fastings and prayers before their ecstasies would fall upon them and their
visions would appear, so Virtue in its purest and most exalted form can only be acquired by means of severe
and longcontinued culture of the mind. Persons with feeble and untrained intellects may live according to
their conscience; but the conscience itself will be defective. To cultivate the intellect is therefore a religious
duty; and when this truth is fairly recognised by men, the religion which teaches that the intellect should be
distrusted, and that it should be subservient to faith, will inevitably fall.
We have written much about inventions and discoveries and transformations of human nature which cannot
possibly take place for ages yet to come, because we think it good that the bright though distant future should
be ever present in the eyes of man. But we shall now consider the existing generation, and we shall point out
the work which must be accomplished, and in which all enlightened men should take a part. Christianity must
be destroyed. The civilised world has outgrown that religion, and is now in the condition of the Roman
Empire in the pagan days. A coldhearted infidelity above, a sordid superstition below, a school of Plutarchs
who endeavour to reconcile the fables of a barbarous people with the facts of science and the lofty
conceptions of philosophy; a multitude of augurs who sometimes smile when they meet, but who more often
feel inclined to sigh, for they are mostly serious and worthy men. Entering the Church in their youth, before
their minds were formed, they discover too late what it is that they adore, and since they cannot tell the truth,
and let their wives and children starve, they are forced to lead a life which is a lie. What a state of society is
this in which 'freethinker' is a term of abuse, and in which doubt is regarded as a sin! Men have a
Bluebeard's chamber in their minds which they dare not open; they have a faith which they dare not examine
lest they should be forced to cast it from them in contempt. Worship is a convention, churches are bonnet
shows, places of assignation, shabbygenteel salons where the parochial 'at home' is given, and respectable
tradesmen exhibit their daughters in the wooden stalls. O wondrous, awful, and divine religion! You elevate
our hearts from the cares of common life, you transport us into the unseen world, you bear us upwards to that
sublime temple of the skies where dwells the Veiled God, whom mortal eye can never view, whom mortal
mind can never comprehend. How art thou fallen! How art thou degraded! But it will be only for a time. We
are now in the dreary desert which separates two ages of Belief. A new era is at hand.
It is incorrect to say "theology is not a progressive science." The worship of ancestral ghosts, the worship of
pagan deities, the worship of a single god, are successive periods of progress in the science of Divinity. And
in the history of that science, as in the history of all others, a curious fact may be observed. Those who
overthrow an established system are compelled to attack its founders, and to show that their method was
unsound, that their reasoning was fallacious, that their experiments were incomplete. And yet the men who
create the revolution are made in the likeness of the men whose doctrines they subvert. The system of
Ptolemy was supplanted by the system of Copernicus, yet Copernicus was the Ptolemy of the sixteenth
century. In the same manner, we who assail the Christian faith are the true successors of the early Christians,
above whom we are raised by the progress, of eighteen hundred years. As they preached against gods that
were made of stone, so we preach against gods that are made of ideas. As they were called atheists and
blasphemers so are we. And is our task more difficult than theirs? We have not, it is true, the same stimulants
to offer. We cannot threaten that the world is about to be destroyed; we cannot bribe our converts with a
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heaven, we cannot make them tremble with a hell. But though our religion appears too pure, too unselfish for
mankind, it is not really so, for we live in a noble and enlightened age. At the time of the Romans and the
Greeks the Christian faith was the highest to which the common people could attain. A faith such as that of
the Stoics and the Sadducees could only be embraced by cultivated minds, and culture was then confined to a
chosen few. But now knowledge, freedom, and prosperity are covering the earth; for three centuries past,
human virtue has been steadily increasing, and mankind is prepared to receive a higher faith. But in order to
build we must first destroy. Not only the Syrian superstition must be attacked, but also the belief in a personal
God, which engenders a slavish and oriental condition of the mind; and the belief in a posthumous reward
which engenders a selfish and solitary condition of the heart. These beliefs are, therefore, injurious to human
nature. They lower its dignity; they arrest its development; they isolate its affections.
We shall not deny that many beautiful sentiments are often mingled with the faith in a personal Deity, and
with the hopes of happiness in a future state; yet we maintain that, however refined they may appear, they are
selfish at the core, and that if removed they will be replaced by sentiments of a nobler and a purer kind. They
cannot be removed without some disturbance and distress; yet the sorrows thus caused are salutary and
sublime. The supreme and mysterious Power by whom the universe has been created, and by whom it has
been appointed to run its course under fixed and invariable law; that awful One to whom it is profanity to
pray, of whom it is idle and irreverent to argue and debate, of whom we should never presume to think save
with humility and awe; that Unknown God has ordained that mankind should be elevated by misfortune, and
that happiness should grow out of misery and pain.
I give to universal history a strange but true titleThe Martyrdom of Man. In each generation the human
race has been tortured that their children might profit by their woes. Our own prosperity is founded on the
agonies of the past. Is it therefore unjust that we also should suffer for the benefit of those who are to come?
Famine, pestilence, and war are no longer essential for the advancement of the human race. But a season of
mental anguish is at hand, and through this we must pass in order that our posterity may rise. The soul must
be sacrificed; the hope in immortality must die. A sweet and charming illusion must be taken from the human
race, as youth and beauty vanish never to return.
THE END
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Bookmarks
1. Table of Contents, page = 3
2. The Martyrdom of Man, page = 4
3. Winwood Reade, page = 4
4. NOTE, page = 4
5. AUTHOR™S PREFACE, page = 4
6. CHAPTER 1. WAR, page = 6
7. CHAPTER 2. Religion, page = 65
8. CHAPTER III. LIBERTY, page = 114
9. CHAPTER IV. INTELLECT, page = 148