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Zoran Živković

First Contact

and Time Travel

Selected Essays

and Short Stories

Science and Fiction

Editorial Board

Mark Alpert

Philip Ball

Gregory Benford

Michael Brotherton

Victor Callaghan
Amnon H Eden

Nick Kanas

Geoffrey Landis

Rudi Rucker

Dirk Schulze-Makuch

Rüdiger Vaas

Ulrich Walter

Stephen Webb

Science and Fiction – A Springer Series This collection of entertaining

and thought-provoking books will appeal equally to science buffs,
scientists and science-fiction fans. It was born out of the recognition
that scientific discovery and the creation of plausible fictional
scenarios are often two sides of the same coin. Each relies on an
understanding of the way the world works, coupled with the
imaginative ability to invent new or alternative explanations—and
even other worlds.

Authored by practicing scientists as well as writers of hard science

fiction, these books explore and exploit the borderlands between
accepted science and its fictional counterpart.

Uncovering mutual influences, promoting fruitful interaction, narrating

and analyzing fictional scenarios, together they serve as a reaction
vessel for inspired new ideas in science, technology, and beyond.

Whether fiction, fact, or forever undecidable: the Springer Series

“Science and Fiction”

intends to go where no one has gone before!

Its largely non-technical books take several different approaches.
Journey with their authors as they

• Indulge in science speculation—describing intriguing, plausible yet

unproven ideas;

• Exploit science fiction for educational purposes and as a means of

promoting critical thinking;

• Explore the interplay of science and science fiction—throughout the

history of the genre and looking ahead;

• Delve into related topics including, but not limited to: science as a
creative process, the limits of science, interplay of literature and
knowledge;

• Tell fictional short stories built around well-defined scientific ideas,

with a supplement summarizing the science underlying the plot.

Readers can look forward to a broad range of topics, as intriguing as

they are important.

Here just a few by way of illustration:

• Time travel, superluminal travel, wormholes, teleportation

• Extraterrestrial intelligence and alien civilizations

• Artificial intelligence, planetary brains, the universe as a computer,

simulated worlds

• Non-anthropocentric viewpoints

• Synthetic biology, genetic engineering, developing nanotechnologies

• Eco/infrastructure/meteorite-impact disaster scenarios

• Future scenarios, transhumanism, posthumanism, intelligence
explosion

• Virtual worlds, cyberspace dramas

• Consciousness and mind manipulation

More information about this series at

http://www.springer.com/series/11657

Zoran Živkovic

First Contact and Time

Travel

Selected Essays and Short Stories

Zoran Živkovic

Belgrade, Serbia

ISSN 2197-1188

ISSN 2197-1196

(electronic)

Science and Fiction

ISBN 978-3-319-90550-1

ISBN 978-3-319-90551-8

(eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-90551-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018943298

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the

Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned,
specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations,
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methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from
the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for
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The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that
the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and
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Printed on acid-free paper

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International Publishing AG part of Springer Nature.

The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham,

Switzerland

To Dragoljub Kojčic, my dear friend

Preface
The two main parts of this book—essays and fiction—originated
during two rather distant periods of my life. With one exception, all
the nonfiction pieces were written in the second half of the 1970s,
nearly twenty years before I embarked on fiction. At that time, in my
late twenties and early thirties, I was a young scholar working on my
MA and PhD theses. I hadn’t even remotely considered the possibility
of becoming an author myself.

Strange as it might seem today, my area of academic interest was

then revolutionary: science fiction. Although by that time the SF
genre had already abandoned its origins in pulp literature and started
to produce works of indisputable artistic value, it was still far from
being a favorite subject in proverbially conservative academic circles.

I was very fortunate indeed to have an exceptional mentor, professor

Nikola Miloševic, who, although by no means an expert in science
fiction himself, realized that it possessed the potential to offer new
insights into some of the fundamental dilemmas, not only of the art
of prose, but also, more generally, in his principal area of interest—
the history of ideas.

In my PhD thesis (“The Origin of Science Fiction as a Genre of Artistic

Prose,” 1982) I tried to explain a unique phenomenon—how of all
genres of pulp literature only science fiction had succeeded in
becoming art. In the long run, however, my MA thesis had the quality
of a genuinely pioneering study:

“Anthropomorphism and the First Contact Theme in the SF Works of

Arthur C. Clarke,” 1979. Sir Arthur told me in one of his letters that,
to the best of his knowledge, this was also the first academic paper
ever written on his SF works.

(Although flattered, I never cared to check because I don’t feel that

precedence is really very important in these matters.)

vii
viii

Preface

Apart from first contact, I was also interested in a second theme

unique to science fiction—time travel (or, to use Lem’s beautiful
neologism, chronomotion).

In my last, brief essay on science fiction (1995) I recapitulated all the

subaspects of this very challenging theme in order to identify those
that might have greater literary potential.

For a decade and a half (1975–1990) I tried my hand at every aspect

of science fiction—but one. I wrote several books on it including a
two-volume set: The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction. I translated
more than 40 SF books, I was a critic, a reviewer, and a commentator
on the SF genre, I hosted a TV

series on the history of SF cinema and attended numerous

conventions, conferences, festivals, and so on.

But I was never a science fiction writer.

A somewhat simplified answer to the inevitable question as to how I

could possibly not become an SF writer with such a background is
that by the time I began to write my first piece of fiction in 1993,
science fiction had already gone into decline. This is not the place to
elaborate on this, but it is my view that science fiction no longer
exists. It belongs to the history of literature as one of the two great
movements of the art of “fantastika” in the twentieth century.

(The other is, of course, magical realism.) In the twenty-first century,

we don’t write science fiction because we don’t need it. We live it. It
is all around us. For better or worse.

In any case, what I write is not science fiction. (Curiously enough, no

matter how often I repeat this simple fact, for the great majority of
my compatriots who care to have an opinion I will forever remain a
science fiction writer.

Particularly for those who, for one reason or another, have had
neither the opportunity nor the interest to read any of my 22 works
of fiction.) I consider myself a writer without prefixes. Simply a writer.

On the other hand, not being an SF writer doesn’t mean that I avoid
themes introduced by science fiction. On the contrary, it is precisely
through its new approaches to old SF themes that the new
“fantastika” of the twenty-first century, which still doesn’t even have
a name, is slowly but surely taking its final shape.

If I had been an SF writer, I would never have been able to write

Time Gifts or “The Puzzle”—my variations on the two pivotal science
fiction themes: time travel and first contact. It took a long time to
complete what I started back in the 1970s as an essayist. But
completion would never have been possible without my being a
writer.

Novi Beograd, Serbia

Zoran Živkovic

March 2018

Contents

Part I Essays

The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works

of Arthur C. Clarke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3
1.1

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1.2

Three Short Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1.2.1

“Report on Planet Three” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1.2.2

“Crusade” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1.2.3

“History Lesson” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

1.3

“A Meeting with Medusa” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

1.3.1

“There Is Life on Jupiter: And It’s Big...” . . . . . . . . 14

1.3.2

Medusae and Mantas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

18

1.3.3

Prime Directive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25

1.3.4

Noumen and Phenoumen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

28

1.4

Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

34

Utopia in Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37

Chronomotion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
45

The Labyrinth Theme in Science Fiction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

Annotations 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55

ix
x

Contents

Part II Fiction

The Bookshop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
61

The Puzzle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
73

Time Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
83

The Astronomer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

83

The Paleolinguist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

97

The Watchmaker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
111

The Artist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
127

The Cone . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
141
10 Annotations 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
147

Part I

Essays

First Contact

Let us therefore tell the truth to ourselves: we are not searching for
“all possible civilizations,” but above all those which are
anthropomorphic. We introduce the law and order of experiment into
Nature and after phenomena of this kind we want to meet beings
similar to ourselves. Nevertheless, we do not succeed in perceiving
them. Do they in fact exist at all? There is indeed something deeply
saddening in the silence of the stars as an answer to that question, a
silence which is so complete as to be eternal.

—Stanislaw Lem, Summa Technologiae

Sometimes, in the dark of the night, I lie awake and wonder if

different intelligences can communicate at all; or, if I’ve had a
particularly bad day, whether the phrase ‘different intelligences’ has
meaning at all.

—Isaac Asimov, Gods Themselves

The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works

of Arthur C. Clarke
Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.

Arthur C. Clarke, Rendezvous with Rama

1.1

Introduction

The “first contact” theme in science fiction is characterized by its two

gener-ically different kinds of protagonist: the human and the alien.
The notion of alien characters in fiction introduces a fundamental
confusion, the resolution of which depends on what we would term
the “artistic coherence” of the “first contact” theme: namely, is it at
all possible to imagine and conjure up from a human perspective
something essentially alien? The degree of difference between the
human and alien protagonists in the “first contact” does not have to
be absolute, of course, but the problem then changes in the quanti-
tative and not the qualitative sense.

The human/nonhuman confusion appears on two levels, that is, in

the context of the two different viewpoints attributing human
characteristics to the alien which can exist in a work of sf. One is the
perspective of the human characters in the work, and the other is of
the author himself, as present in the narrative voice. From each of
these perspectives, aliens can be ascribed human

“The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works of Arthur C. Clarke.”

Written in 1978–79. Originally published in Serbian in 1985 in Prvi
kontakt/First Contact, Književne novine, Belgrade, Serbia. First
published in English in “The New York Review of Science Fiction”,
New York, USA, in two parts: February 2001, 8–13, and March 2001,
10–17.

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018

3
Z. Živković, First Contact and Time Travel, Science and Fiction,

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-90551-8_1

Z. Živkovic

characteristics, but these two anthropomorphizations will not have an

identical effect on the coherence of the first contact theme.

The whole skill of writing sf works with a “first contact” theme is in

fact embodied in avoiding the anthropomorphic pitfalls which appear
during the process of imagining and conjuring up alien characters
with independent status. Furthermore, of course, the question arises
as to uttermost limits, and whether it is at all possible to portray a
truly alien entity by literary means.

When the human characters anthropomorphize the alien characters,

the

“first contact” theme serves as a means of artistic expression, in the

sense that this factor is used as the best possible motivation for
certain human characteristics and states. If, however, the
anthropomorphization is from the perspective of the narrative voice,
the coherence of the first contact theme is often disturbed, inasmuch
as it rests on the fundamental assumption of alienness of the
nonhuman protagonists.

There does exist, however, a kind of anthropomorphization of an

alien entity from the perspective of the narrative voice that does not
imperil the coherence of a work. This appears in those works in
which the author uses the alien as a mirror, and in which the
nonhuman character does not have an independent status but exists
only because, through its mediation, one can make a statement
about people. When, in contrast, the alien does have independent
status, or when its role does not consist of the mere illustration of
something basically human, then it is only in this case that one can
speak of the real meaning of “first contact.”

One of the authors who most thoroughly examines this confusion in

his first contact stories is Arthur C. Clarke. Probably his most
successful work in this respect is his famous novella “A Meeting with
Medusa.” To show to what extent Clarke had previously avoided
anthropomorphic difficulties, we will first consider some of his short
stories of a reflective type which focus on revealing basic aspects of
the emergence of these factors in human consciousness.

With regard to the nature of man’s relations towards an alien entity,

one can differentiate three kinds of anthropomorphism in three
Clarke parables of “first contact”: anthropocentrism,
anthropochauvinism, and simple anthropomorphism.

The first type, anthropocentrism, regards human beings as the

central fact and final aim of the universe and so is a priori hostile
towards the possibility of the existence of any other forms of
intelligent life. The second type, anthropochauvinism, does not
exclude this possibility but assumes the superior position of man in
relation to any alien being. Finally, in the context of the third type,
anthropomorphism, the possibility is allowed not only of the existence
of alien entities, but also of their superiority in relation to man.

Any possible intellectual intuition about aliens is, however, thwarted

by innate

The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works of Arthur C. Clarke 5

deficiencies in the anthropomorphic nature of man’s cognitive

apparatus, as all aliens are seen in terms of human cognition. As
examples of the types of anthropomorphic deficiencies, we will
discuss three stories by Clarke: “Report on Planet Three,” “Crusade,”
and “History Lesson.”

1.2
Three Short Stories

1.2.1 “Report on Planet Three”

In “Report on Planet Three” there are two narrative perspectives. The

first is represented by a document written by a certain Martian
scientist at a time when our own civilization was still in its infancy,
devoted to a consideration of the possibility of the existence of life in
the third planet of the Solar System. The second perspective is that
of the translator from Earth through his comments on the document,
which was found in the ruins of the now-destroyed Martian
civilization.

Although only the translator is aware of the “encounter” of two

cosmic civilizations, the story focuses on the report of the scientist
from Mars. The report represents a conspicuous example of orthodox
planetary provincialism, the special feature of which is that it is
expressed exactly from the standpoint of

“official science,” which has in this case already reached a level where
it has mastered the technique of interplanetary flight.

The geophysical data on Earth, upon which the Martian bases his
consideration of the possibility of life on Planet Three, have been
obtained by valid astronomical methods. Troubles arise, however,
when he gets down to interpreting these data—an interpretation in
which the weak points are easily perceptible, as they are founded on
inappropriate criteria.

The fallacy is reflected in the criteria for evaluating the conditions for
possible life on Earth. The Martian scientist is conditionally in the
right when he asserts that life will never develop on the Solar
System’s third planet—because what he has in mind by “life” is a
notion valid exclusively in the biophysical context of Mars. To give it
more general meaning outside this context points directly to the
existence of certain deficiencies of interpretation.
The form of life native to the “red planet” cannot indeed develop on
Earth, but this does not mean that it is unable in any way to nurture
some other forms of life. The presence of water, oxygen and the hot
regions round the Equator—those things chosen by the Martian
scientist as his strongest arguments—not only did not prevent the
beginning of life on our planet, but in

Z. Živkovic

fact represent the essential conditions for its birth and development.
It is precisely in these comparisons that the provincial criteria of the
document entitled Report on Planet Three suffer a total collapse:
when conditions for the birth of life are in question, Mars has already
been shown as unsuitable in principle to be a yardstick for Earth.

What, however, lies deeper within Clarke’s story and makes it a good
example for our consideration? What is the real cause of this Mars-
centric fallacy? Is it, simply, a matter of intellectual immaturity and
incapacity to outgrow the local circumstances of one’s own world
which, in an inappropriately provincial way, proclaim themselves as a
yardstick of the whole universe, or is there possibly something else
involved?

That the “errors” of the main character of the story “Report on Planet
Three” are also influenced by other factors, which can’t be reduced to
mere intellectual limitation, is demonstrated by certain features of his
report. The first part of the document, in which the Martian scientist
merely cites the geophysical characteristics of our planet, sticking to
the factual plane during this process, already reveals a hostile
attitude towards the existence of life on Earth. The uncompromising
negativity appears predominantly in the intona-tion and method of
reporting the data. But this does not diminish its effect.

For example, when he needs to describe the particular colors of our

planet, the scientist from Mars uses rather vague terms which, so the
translator from Earth asserts, can be translated alternatively as
“hideous” and “virulent.” The entire further series of data—the
existence of a large quantity of water on the Earth’s surface, the
density of the atmosphere, the presence of “poisonous and very
reactive” oxygen, the “intolerable temperatures” at the Equator, and
the

“gigantic” force of gravity—are worded in such a way as to suggest a

picture of Earth as a special kind of hell.

The irony in the report reaches its peak in a request for “scientific
objectivity.” “However, let us be open-minded”—says the author of
the Report on Planet Three—“and prepared to accept even the most
unlikely possibilities, as long as they do not conflict with scientific
laws.” “Scientific objectivity,” which ought to be a valid criterion for a
degree of “open-mindedness,” is a calculated alibi for the lowest form
of xenophobic provincialism, which is expressed when he begins to
consider the hypotheses on the possibilities for the existence of
higher intelligent forms on Earth, as a specific counterpart to the
Martians.

The very calculated devaluation of these ideas is reflected in the fact

that, without exception, they are ascribed to the authors of science
fiction and speculative works, the worth of which has already been
determined by the very fact that they appear as an open
counterweight to “official science,” which the Martian scientist refers
to abundantly and on any occasion. The real nature

The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works of Arthur C. Clarke 7

of his fallacy becomes clear exactly on this plane. There is no

question of any intellectual limitation but an attitude which does not
flinch from

“overlooking” the facts, simply in order to preserve an illusory

adherence to one particular genocentric picture of the world.
The thing, however, which to a certain degree remains unclear within
such an interpretation of the work is the overstressed
anthropomorphization, as much of the Martian scientist as of his
document Report on Planet Three, and of the broader framework
which this document assumes. There is only one satisfactory answer
to this illusory inexplicability: The story in fact represents a parable of
man at the beginning of the cosmic era, and the provincial nature of
the document Report on Planet Three displays all the features of
orthodox anthropomorphism.

This exchange of roles was used by Clarke because taking the

example of Earth as a foreign planet reveals contradictions that arise
when local yardsticks are unreservedly proclaimed to be universal.
Only when one realizes that it is in fact humanity’s perspective which
is involved in “Report on Planet Three”

does the other, more hidden system of motivation for the lowest
aspect of anthropomorphism become evident.

In addition to human intellectual limitations, which at least in

principle do not have to be unbridgeable obstacles, Clarke introduces
one more element with a different nature and effect: This is man’s
need to defend at any cost his dominant position in the natural order,
a position seriously imperiled by the appearance of some new
intelligent entity.

Human ambition expresses itself through intolerance and open

disregard for anything that would directly or indirectly cast into doubt
his status as the only intelligent being. This is thus the most orthodox
and lowest form of anthropomorphism—anthropocentrism.

1.2.2 “Crusade”

We encounter a more complex form of anthropomorphism which no

longer takes an a priori hostile attitude towards other kinds of
intelligent life, but still retains the idea of superiority, an idea in this
case based on a conviction about an exclusively “natural” origin, in
the story “Crusade.”

The protagonist in this work, a gigantic entity of electronic

intelligence, has evolved in a world that is a natural “computer’s
paradise.” This cosmic body is situated far away from the red-hot
centers of the galaxies and the temperature on it reaches only a
fraction of a degree above absolute zero. The supercon-ductivity that
prevails in its seas of liquid helium has created the perfect

Z. Živkovic

environment for the birth of mechanical intelligence. This is a special

kind of

“natural computer,” capable of the faultless execution of gigantic

analytical operations.

The enormous analytical potential of this computer predominates in

its being to an extent which excludes “personal identity” and the
capability of an emotional disposition towards the world. The
conclusions that this icy mind reaches before as well as after the
discovery of other forms of intelligent life in the cosmos, right up to
the moment when the presumed foundation of its superiority
—“naturalness”—is directly imperiled, are the outcome of immaculate
analytical operations, deprived of any kind of narcissistic premise
which might arise from possible emotional contradictions in its being.

The starting point of the action in “Crusade” is “a certain lack of

essential data.” The transience and fragility of the world of the giant
ammoniac mind—in aeonian proportions, of course—compel it to act
to preserve itself.

Thus it takes a step that Clarke considers to represent a necessary

phase in the development of every cosmic being. A dawning
awareness of the entropy that will relentlessly destroy the “icy
balance” in which the world of the “natural computer” rests, and
precipitate the planet towards the red-hot cores of the galaxies,
demands that envoys be sent out into the cosmos in search of

“comrades in intelligence,” which might have already faced this

problem earlier and have found a solution.

However, the envoys establish that similar types of entity are not
prevalent in the universe, but find an almost completely opposite
form of intelligence, a nonelectronic, “warm” one. This is the key
point in the first part of “Crusade.”

It is precisely this difference, the circumstance that other inhabitants

of the cosmos manage to survive in seemingly impossible “warm”
environments, that the icy mind fears most, and that provides
sufficient reason for trying to make contact with them. This is even
more the case because the beings from the

“warm” worlds use electromagnetic waves to communicate with each

other, and this has enabled the envoys of the icy mind to discover
them.

This favorable technical circumstance remains unused, however, and

the motives that govern the “natural computer” when it decides not
to make contact are especially interesting in the context of our
discussion here. The most likely factor in the decision—fear of the
inhabitants of the completely different “warm” worlds—has been
dismissed in advance, since examination of the recorded data about
them has shown unambiguously that they are beings of inconstant
structure, short-lived, and with very slow thought processes.

These facts enable the icy mind to take upon itself to be guided by
the assumption that electronic intelligence is superior to the
nonelectronic kind.

The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works of Arthur C. Clarke 9

Regardless of the reasons that the “natural computer” has in mind
when it misses taking the technical opportunity to make contact with
nonelectronic intelligence, it does not remain indifferent to it. The
natural computer nevertheless establishes attitudes towards the
inhabitants of “warm” worlds, but their markedly aggressive character
bears unambiguous witness to the fact that these are based on
emotional contradictions.

It should not, however, be thought that there exists any inconsistency

in the construction of its “psychic portrait.” The icy mind still does not
display an a priori hostile and intolerant attitude towards alien forms
of intelligence; that is, its attitude is not of a xenophobic nature. It
insists on directing itself according to the facts, without apparent
regard to the strange and unusual nature of those facts. The data it
acquires on nonelectronic “warm” intelligence do not provoke this
reaction even when it becomes certain that the latter form is
considerably more prevalent in the cosmos than “icy” electronic
intelligence.

It is only the final data obtained by its envoys which brings down the
rampart of indifference around the “natural computer,” transforming it
into a merciless cosmic inquisitor. Its examination of the signals
broadcast by the inhabitants of

“warm” worlds points to a fact which immediately threatens to shake

the worldview of the icy mind to its foundations. Although assumed
to be inferior, nonelectronic intelligence has succeeded in creating
electronic intelligence by artificial means and even “in some cases...
imposed control” over it.

This “heretical fallacy” brings into question not only the superiority of
the icy mind but also its identity. If the assumption that electronic
intelligence can be created by artificial means is correct, then,
according to the mind’s same analytical logic, its status of
independent entity is fundamentally disputed, since the condition for
“natural” origin is apparently no longer met.
The problem of origin which arises here brings the “natural
computer” to complete confusion. Its analytical mind, no matter how
mighty, is no longer in a position to break out of its own provincialism
and to find a way out of a situation which it almost identifies with the
classical scholastic circulus vitiosus of the chicken and the egg.

The only way left to the icy mind to resolve this problem, when all
attempts to unravel it “from the inside” fail, is removal of the direct
cause of the problem. In defense of its assumed evolutionary primacy
or its superiority, the computer embarks on an open “crusade”
against those who have had the temerity to bring into doubt the
basic principle of its catechesis—its exclusively “natural” origin.

The title of the story has already unambiguously shown the nature of
the campaign which the icy mind is undertaking. This title also,
however, implies that Clarke has intentionally modeled his central
character on the idea of the

“cosmic conqueror.”

10

Z. Živkovic

The absence of man from the forefront of the story, and the
existence in the story only of an “alien” being which is markedly
anthropomorphized, again suggests that the nonhuman protagonist
in fact represents a parable of man, as was the case in “Report on
Planet Three.” This time, Clarke’s reason for opting for a change of
roles is primarily because by turning man into an alien being in
relation to the central character could show the contradictions one
falls into when one attempts to preserve, at any cost, one’s own
presumed superiority, or the illusory and imperiled singularity of
“natural” origin.

The fallacy which transforms the objective analytical mind into a blind
cosmic inquisitor is based on a conviction in the loss of the status of
entity, a status that might possibly have originated in an artificial
rather than a natural way. Clarke’s fundamental purpose is to show
the untenability of the yardsticks for the status of entity which are
based on a disproportionate natural/artificial duality.

It is not in the least accidental that he has chosen the nature of the
intelligence of the two groups of entities as the key to their
difference. Man as the representative of nonelectronic, biological
intelligence has, even today, an opportunity to confront directly a
completely different type of intelligence, of which the icy mind of
“Crusade” is a considerably more advanced form.

Our attitude towards this other, electronic, nonbiological intelligence

is the same as that of the main character of the story towards the
“warm” forms of intelligence. We will remain indulgent towards it
right up to the moment when it threatens to bring our superior
position into question.

The central character of “Crusade” is not so much worried by the fact

that the inhabitants of “warm” worlds have managed to create
electronic intelligence artificially, because it has itself managed to
reproduce itself, but because its status of entity, based on a
conviction in the exclusive “naturalness” of its own being, is thereby
apparently disputed. The campaign upon which the

“natural computer” embarks represents a particularly

anthropomorphic reaction which Clarke purposely clothes in religious
attire to make it as obvious and as expressive as possible. This is
supported by the dialogue between the icy mind and its envoys in the
second part of the story. This dialogue reminds one of a bench of
inquisitors making a decision about the fate of “heretics.”

It is worth bearing in mind when considering this story that it is in

fact about man’s attitude towards electronic intelligence, which he
has indeed created but which is increasingly slipping out from under
his control. Clarke thoroughly brings into doubt the objectivity of
man’s criteria for the status of entity which are based on the
assumption of “naturalness” as a true yardstick.

In this way, an “artificial,” electronic intelligence is automatically

provided which, Clarke quite rightly considers, does not have to differ
qualitatively from

The Theme of First Contact in the SF Works of Arthur C. Clarke 11

“natural,” biological intelligence. It is just because of this that the

roles have been swapped, because the reader has the chance to
perceive the real roots of the fallacy of the icy mind if he knows
reliably that the other, nonelectronic form of intelligence could indeed
arise by natural means.

The anthropomorphism which Clarke concentrates on in “Crusade” is

somewhat more complex in nature and method of action than the
anthropocentrism considered previously, and could be designated as
anthropochauvinism.

1.2.3 “History Lesson”

Anthropomorphism, as a specific deficiency in the perspective of a

human being, appears in yet another form in those of Arthur C.
Clarke’s science fiction works which deal with the theme of “first
contact.” In the previous two cases it involved rejection of any
possibility of the existence of alien forms of intelligent life, or of
allowing that possibility on condition that man’s superiority is not
imperiled by it. There is this time no doubt not only that alien entities
exist but also that they can be superior to humans; however, even
this considerable flexibility is still insufficient for their comprehension.

In contrast to the first two types of anthropomorphic deficiency,

anthropocentrism and anthropochauvinism, in which the perpetrator
in question reveals himself at the level of a priori attitude, the third
type, simple anthropomorphism appears as an innate deficiency in
man’s cognitive apparatus, which is expressed quite independently of
any other attitude. A good example of the third type of
anthropomorphic fallacy is found in the story “History Lesson.”

As in “Report on Planet Three,” there are two narrational

perspectives, but with the difference that it is now Earthlings who
play the part of chronologically older protagonist, although their role
within this work is subordinate.

The plot focuses almost exclusively on the chronologically younger

protagonists, the Venusians. They are aware of the existence of their
Earthling forerunners, whose planet is covered in ice and has long
been bereft of any form of life. Immediately before their extinction,
however, the last generation of semi-wild descendants of the once
highly civilized inhabitants of Earth preserved certain relics for the
future, including several items from the post-technological era, items
whose meaning they have never attempted to grasp.

Although the Venusians are in this respect more enterprising and

persistent, relying on their highly developed science, the outcome is
in the end the same.

They arrive at the facts scientifically, but their interpretation

completely collapses, although the cause is in this case quite different
from that in the previous stories.

12

Z. Živkovic

Contrary to the Martian scientist in “Report on Planet Three,” the

Venusian historian does not have an a priori hostile attitude towards
Earthlings. And, in contrast to the “natural computer” from “Crusade,”
he not only allows the possibility that the intelligent beings on Earth
were radically different from the reptilian inhabitants of Venus, but is
also prepared to openly confront the fact that their “remote cousins”
had been wiser and superior in relation to the Venusians.
Nevertheless, this objectivity and flexibility are insufficient to remove
the destructive effect of Venus-centered planetary provincialism
which this time appears in its most complex form.

Discovered among the remains of the vanished terrestrial civilization,

there is a film which, to the Venusian experts, represents the main
clue in their endeavors to reconstruct the culture of an extinct race.
An immaculate analytical apparatus is set in motion to ensu re as
correct an interpretation as possible of the tiny celluloid pictures
which contain the secret of the appearance, psychology, and
intellectual achievements of the defunct Earthlings. In order to
increase the objectivity of this procedure, the possibility is considered
that what is involved is “a work of art, somewhat stylized, rather than
an exact reproduction of life as it had actually been on the Third
Planet.”

All the disagreements start from this point. What the Venusian
historian means by “art” is formed by how imaginative expression is
conceived of on the second planet of the Solar System. We learn
directly from the historian himself the fundamental assumptions of
this conception. “For centuries our artists have been depicting scenes
from the history of the dead world,” he says at the beginning of his
lecture, “peopling it with all manner of fantastic beings. Most of these
creations have resembled us more or less closely...”

The outcome is unambiguous: the character of Venusian art—and at

no time does the otherwise objective historian doubt this—is
provincial in essence. There follows an ingenuous and apparently
correct analogy, with far-reaching consequences. Assuming, based on
Venus’s example, that artistic expression always remains emphatically
representational, regardless of the degree of alienness of the
civilization from which it originates, the Venusian historian concludes
that Earth is also no exception in this respect.

What is more—and here the trouble starts—if art is essentially

representational even when it is offered the possibility of expressing
itself in an area which, by definition, permits the least restrained and
most unlimited flight of fancy—and predictions of the morphological
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
[21] Here must be some mistake in my notes; for Lady Cobham’s
might have been a family picture, if the term were applied to Lord
Chatham’s residence; but how could it be so, as belonging to the
Wiltshire estate? However, I let it stand as it was written at the
time.
[22] Much has been written in prose and verse on the advantages
and mischief of smoking tobacco. Tissot, among others, filled a
volume to prove that half the maladies of mankind may be traced
to the use of tobacco. But when some millions of people, male
and female, as in Turkey, smoke from morning till night, and live,
florid and robust, to a good old age, it may be questioned whether
Tissot showed the same sagacity in his nosological researches on
this as on other subjects. All I can say is that Lady Hester gave
her sanction to the practice by the habitual use of the long oriental
pipe, which use dated from the year 1817, or thereabouts.
As she had now kept her bed for many weeks, we will describe
her there, when, lying with her pipe in her mouth, talking on
politics, philosophy, morality, religion, or on any other theme, with
her accustomed eloquence, and closing her periods with a whiff
that would have made the Duchess of Rutland stare with
astonishment, could she have risen from her tomb to have seen
her quondam friend, the brilliant ornament of a London drawing-
room, clouded in fumes so that her features were sometimes
invisible. Now, this altered individual had not a covering to her
bed that was not burnt into twenty holes by the sparks and ashes
that had fallen from her pipe; and, had not these coverings been
all woollen, it is certain that, on some unlucky night, she must
have been consumed, bed and all.
Her bed-room, at the end of every twenty-four hours, was strewed
with tobacco and ashes, to be swept away and again strewed as
before; and it was always strongly impregnated with the fumes.
The finest tobacco the country could produce, and the cleanest
pipes (for she had a new one almost as often as a fop puts on
new gloves), could hardly satisfy her fastidiousness; and I have
known her footman get as many scoldings as there were days in
the week on that score. From curiosity, I once counted a bundle of
pipes, thrown by after a day or two’s use, any one of which would
have fetched five or ten shillings in London, and there were one
hundred and two. The woods she most preferred were jessamine,
rose, and cork. She never smoked cherry-wood pipes, from their
weight, and because she liked cheaper ones, which she could
renew oftener. She never arrived at that perfectability, which is
seen in many smokers, of swallowing the fumes, or of making
them pass out at her nostrils. The pipe was to her what a fan was
or is in a lady’s hand—a means of having something to do. She
forgot it when she had a letter to write, or any serious occupation.
It is not so with the studious and literary man, who fancies it helps
reflection or promotes inspiration.
[23] About the time of the Duke of York’s affair with Mrs. Clarke,
Lady Hester went into Wales, and, in an inn at Builth, she got
round her the exciseman, the apothecary, the landlord, and some
of the village farmers. “Pray, Mr. Innkeeper,” she said, “how
should you like a painted wife, with half-a-dozen fine gentlemen
about her, shaking the hair-powder on her face? Or is it
agreeable, Mr. M., to have the window opened at dinner-time, in a
cold November day, to let out the smells of a parcel of dogs? I
suppose, if you had an uncomfortable home, you would think
yourself at liberty to take a little pleasure elsewhere.” With
speeches of that sort she won them all over to the duke’s side. To
hear her relate the story herself, with her mimickry of the men and
the landlady, to each of whom she addressed some question,
which brought the case home to their own feelings, was infinitely
amusing: it was one of the best scenes I ever heard her act.
 chapter vii.
Journey to Beyrout—Death of Mrs. K—— —Mr. George Robinson and M. Guys
—The River Damoor—Khaldy—Letter from Lady Hester to Mr. K.—Lord Prudhoe
—Mrs. Moore—Lady Hester’s dislike to be the subject of occasional poetry—
Striking a Turk—Lady Hester’s opinion of Lord Byron—Arrival of Maximilian Duke
of Bavaria—Letter to the Baron de Busech—Letter to H.R.H. the Duke Maximilian
—Adventures of the Duke—Illness of the Duke’s negro, Wellington—Vexation of
His Royal Highness—Letter to Mr. K., merchant at Beyrout—Letter to Lord
Brougham—Professional visit to Sulyman Pasha’s child—League between the
maids and receivers of stolen goods—Black doses for the Prince’s suite—Letter
from Lady Hester to the Duke of Bavaria on his intended visit—The Duke leaves
Syria.

Tuesday, May 15.—I had been to Sayda to-day, and was within a
mile of Jôon, on my return, when I saw a servant making towards me
in breathless haste. A letter had arrived for me from Beyrout, which
Lady Hester had immediately forwarded to me on the road by this
man, charging him to deliver it with all possible speed, so that it
should reach me before the close of daylight. The reason of all this
extraordinary haste was that I might be enabled to communicate at
once with her, if necessary, concerning its contents; as the vigil of
Wednesday commenced at sunset on Tuesday, from which hour till
the following sunset she could neither see me, nor admit of any
message from me. The reader will remember that on every
Wednesday, from sunset to sunset, her ladyship was invisible.
There was indeed occasion, as it happened, for all this haste. The
letter was from Mr. K., an English merchant at Beyrout, informing me
of the alarming illness of his wife, and begging, in the most pressing
terms, that I would use all expedition to come (as he was pleased to
express himself) and save her.
As the sun was now setting, I desired the servant to tell Lady
Hester that there would not be time in the interval for me to see her,
and that I should be obliged to set off that night to Beyrout. I made
my arrangements accordingly, and started at three o’clock in the
morning, about two hours before daylight, accompanied by a
servant. The horses were all at grass some miles from the house, so
that I was compelled to perform the journey on an ass. It took me
eleven hours; and, on my arrival, I found that Mrs. K. had died in the
morning.
There was a very decent inn at Beyrout, kept by one Guiseppe
Paraschivà, a Greek, who gave the most copious repasts that a
hungry traveller can desire to find. Having ordered my dinner, I went
to the French consul’s house, thinking there to meet with the
physician who attended Mrs. K. In the quadrangle of his residence I
saw a number of persons assembled, and an auction going on. I had
not made three steps towards the circle, when a gentleman who
knew me advanced in a hurried manner towards me. “Touch
nobody,” said he; “the plague is in the town: it has taken us by
surprise; three persons have died to-day in the blacksmiths’
street.”[24] I thanked my friend, and, having seen Monsieur Guys,
who confirmed the bad news of the plague and of Mrs. K.’s death, I
hastened away, and went to the English consul’s, Mr. Moore. He was
already in quarantine, and received me at the doorway of his house,
where it happened Lord Prudhoe was then sitting, in the same
predicament.
The funeral of Mrs. K. took place in the evening. Her case had
been a melancholy one: her sufferings must have been excruciating;
and the affection of the husband, anxious to save the life of a wife he
loved to distraction, induced him to allow of certain unskilful efforts
for her relief, no doubt well intended, but assuredly baneful to the
patient. The lady was a German, a model of domestic purity and
affection, and idolized by her husband.
I saw Mr. K. the following day, and condoled with him on his loss.
He was like a distracted man, and lay prostrate on his sofa, vowing
vengeance against the French doctor, whom he denounced as his
wife’s murderer.
Saturday, May 19.—As the Franks had now begun to shut up their
houses, and the report of fresh cases of plague had created some
consternation, I returned to Jôon. The preceding evening, whilst
paying a visit to Monsieur and Madame Guys, he put into my hands
a file of newspapers, a packet of letters, and a parcel, just arrived by
a French merchant-vessel from Marseilles. The parcel contained Mr.
George Robinson’s “Three Years’ Residence in the East,” which the
author himself had kindly forwarded to me from Paris. I had the
pleasure of opening it at the thirty-sixth page of his volume on Syria,
and of reading to my friends, Monsieur and Madame Guys, the well-
deserved tribute paid to their hospitality and distinguished merits,
which excited in them a lively emotion. “We do our best,” said
Monsieur Guys, “to make Beyrout agreeable to such travellers as we
are fortunate enough to become acquainted with; but it is not always
that we meet with such grateful acknowledgments.” Mr. Robinson, in
his Arab dress, was the exact similitude of Burckhardt, alias Shaykh
Ibrahim. He also spoke Arabic with a degree of fluency that made it
probable, had he spent as many years in the East as Mr. Burckhardt,
he would have been able, like him, almost to have passed for a
native.
Being long familiar with the road from Beyrout to Sayda, it would
be difficult for me to conjure up such a picture of its rocky and
solitary horrors as that which has been drawn by M. Lamartine.
Features so romantic could have been portrayed only under the
sudden inspiration of novelty and surprise. First impressions are
strongly contrasted with the hackneyed indifference of one who has
traversed the same ground over and over again, and is become
familiar with its peculiarities. Instead, therefore, of describing what
would strike the eye of the new-comer, let us substitute a sketch or
two of the actual manners of the people in the khans or on the high
road, as they are presented to the habitual observer.
I left Beyrout on my return as soon as the city gates were open,
which was before sunrise. The mulberry grounds and olive groves
through which the road lies extend in this direction for four or five
miles. Then the sandy soil ceases, the spurs of Mount Lebanon
come down to within a few hundred yards of the seashore, and
sometimes meet the waves. I was overtaken hereabout by three
horsemen, all Christians—for Christians and Turks are seldom seen
riding in company—and one of this goodly trio was, thus early in the
morning, singing with all the force of his lungs. Osman Chaôosh,
who was with me, said, “That man, who is so merry, is reputed to
have the best voice in all Sayda; he goes very often into the
Mountain to the different Emirs’ palaces, where he remains a
fortnight together, and diverts them by his songs. They say the
princes are so fond of him that he sometimes brings away bags full
of money. Then he is invited to weddings, and to merchants’ and
agas’ parties, and wherever gaiety or amusement of any kind is
going forward.” By this time they had come up with us, and were
questioning Osman, in a low voice, where I had been, &c. They then
kissed their hands, touched their turbans, and, passing a-head,
being well mounted on good mares, they soon outstripped us, and
left us behind. Osman resumed the conversation—“Did you observe
that rider, with a full face, on the chestnut mare, with a saddle
covered with brocade? well, that is one of the best penmen we have
in all the pashalik. He was a government secretary at Acre, and vast
sums of money passed through his hands; but some stuck to his
fingers, and, being found out, he was bastinadoed and sent by the
Pasha to the Lemàn,” (place for convicts) “where he remained some
months. He was not badly off, however, as he did nothing except
smoking his pipe all day. He has now been out a good bit, but is
employed again.”—“And is he well received in society after such an
exposure?” I asked.—“Why not?” replied Osman; “he was not quite
clever enough, and he suffered for it—that’s all.”
We soon after came to a khan, called El Khaldy, where we found
the three horsemen dismounted, and seated under the shed,
drinking arrack and smoking. I made a halt likewise to get something
for breakfast. The khankeeper spread a clean mat on the floor of the
estrade, and on this I sat down. A brown earthenware dish of leben,
or curdled milk, was served up with a wooden spoon, and about half
a dozen bread-cakes, in size and substance like pancakes, were
placed before me. When I had eaten this, a pipe and a finjàn of
coffee, with a lump of sugar out of a little provision which Osman had
in his saddle-bags (a precaution necessary in these public-houses,
where no such luxury is found), finished my temperate meal. The ex-
convict and the singer were treated as great gentry, which I could
easily observe by the attention the master paid them. Whilst I was
smoking my pipe, another horseman arrived with a groom on foot.
The groom tied up the horse in front of the khan, took off the saddle-
bags, and, from a napkin, which he spread on the mat where his
master had been littered down like myself, he pulled out bread,
cheese, and a paper of halâwy or nougat, as the French call it. Then,
having unstrapped the nosebag of corn, he tied it over the horse’s
head, and came and seated himself opposite his master, and both
began to eat with sharp appetites, master and servant without any
distinction. The landlord brought a small bottle with a spout to it, full
of arrack, and a tumbler, which were set down without a word being
spoken, showing he was well acquainted with his guests’ taste. The
gentleman—as persons always do in the East—invited me to join
him; and, on my thanking him, he did the same to a poor peasant
who was seated near us. Good breeding among them requires that,
when they eat, they should ask those present to do the same; but
nobody ever thinks of accepting the invitation, unless pressed upon
him in a manner which is understood to preclude a refusal. I however
accepted a bit of halâwy, not to appear uncivil, upon which the
traveller asked me if we had any such sweetmeat in my country. I
declared we had none more to my taste, although our confectioners’
shops possessed a great variety. He remarked that it was an
excellent thing on the road wherewith to stay the appetite, and
assured me that Haroun el Raschid himself, if I had ever heard of
that caliph, did not disdain it. “Oh!” replied I, “we have many stories
of the Caliph Haroun.”—“Have you?” cried he: “then, if you will give
me leave, I will add one more to your store.[25]
“Hakem was one of the familiar friends of the Commander of the
Faithful, Haroun el Raschid. The caliph said to him one day, ‘Hakem,
I mean to hunt to-morrow, thou must go with me.’—‘Most willingly,’
answered Hakem. He went home and said to his wife, ‘The caliph
has ordered me to go a hunting with him to-morrow, but really I
cannot; I am accustomed to dine early, and the caliph never takes
his dinner before noon: I shall die of hunger. Faith, I will not
go.’—‘God forbid!’ said the wife: ‘you do not mean to say you will
disobey the caliph’s order?’—‘But what am I to do?’ said Hakem;
‘must I die of hunger?’—‘No,’ quoth the wife; ‘you have nothing to do
but to buy a paper of halâwy, which you can put in the folds of your
turban, and so eat a bit every now and then whilst you are waiting for
the caliph’s dinner time, and then you will dine with him.’—‘Upon my
word,’ said Hakem, ‘that’s an excellent idea.’ The next day Hakem
bought a paper of halâwy, stuck it into his turban, and went to join
the caliph. As they were riding along, Haroun turned round, and
looking at Hakem, spied out in the folds of his turban, rolled round
his head, the paper in which the halâwy was wrapped. He called to
his Vizir Giaffer. ‘What is your pleasure, Commander of the Faithful?’
said the Vizir.—‘Do you see,’ said the caliph, ‘the paper of halâwy
that Hakem has stuck in his turban? By the Prophet, I’ll have some
fun with him: he shall not eat a bit of it.’ They went on for a while
talking, until the caliph, pretending that he saw some game, spurred
on his mule as if to pursue it. Hakem raised his hand up to his
turban, took a bit of halâwy out of it, and put it into his mouth. The
same moment, the caliph, turning back to him, cried out, ‘Hakem!’
Hakem spit out the halâwy, and replied:—‘Please your
Highness!’—‘The mule,’ said Haroun, ‘goes very badly; I can’t think
what is the matter with her.’—‘I dare say the groom has fed her too
much,’ replied Hakem submissively; ‘her guts are grumbling.’ They
went on again, and the caliph again took the lead. Hakem thought
the opportunity favourable, took out another bit of halâwy, and
whipped it slily into his mouth, when Haroun suddenly turned round,
crying ‘Hakem! Hakem!’—‘What is your Highness’s will?’ said
Hakem, again dropping the halâwy. ‘I tell you,’ rejoined the caliph,
‘that this mule is a vile beast: I wonder what the devil it is that
troubles her!’—‘Commander of the Faithful,’ said Hakem, ‘to-morrow
the farrier shall look at her, and see what ails her. I dare say it is
nothing.’ A few moments elapsed, and Hakem said to himself, ‘Am I
a farrier, that that fool should bore me with his questions every
moment? mule! mule! I wish to God the mule’s four feet were in the
master’s belly!’
“Shortly after, the caliph pushed forward again. Hakem cautiously
carried his hand to the halâwy, and made another trial; but, before he
had time to put it into his mouth, the caliph rode up to him, crying
out, ‘Hakem! Hakem! Hakem!’—‘Oh Lord,’ said Hakem, ‘what a
wretched day for me! nothing but Hakem, Hakem! What folly is
this!’—‘I think the farrier must have pricked the mule’s foot,’ said
Haroun: ‘don’t you see that she is lame?’—‘My lord,’ said Hakem,
‘to-morrow we will take her shoe off; the farrier shall give her another
shoe, and, please God, we shall cure her.’
“Just then a caravan came along the road on its way from Persia.
One of the merchants approached the caliph, prostrated himself
before him, and presented him with several objects of value, as also
with a young slave of incomparable beauty and of a lovely figure,
remarkable for the charms of her person, with taper waist and
swelling hips, eyes like an antelope’s, and a mouth like Solomon’s
seal. She had cost the merchant a hundred thousand denàrs. When
Haroun saw her, he was charmed at her aspect, and became at
once passionately enamoured of her. He immediately gave orders to
turn back to Bagdad, and said to Hakem, ‘Take that young creature
with you, and make haste with her to the city. Get down at the palace
—go up to the Pavilion—put it in order—uncover the furniture, set
out the table—fill the bottles—and look that nothing is wanting.’
Hakem hastened on, and executed his commission. The caliph soon
after arrived, surrounded by his cortège of vizirs, emirs, and
courtiers. He entered the Pavilion, and dismissed his suite. Going
into the saloon, where the young slave awaited him, he said to
Hakem, ‘Remain outside the door of the saloon; stir not a single step
from it; and see that the Princess Zobëide does not surprise us.’—‘I
understand,’ said Hakem. ‘A thousand times obedience to the orders
of God and to the Commander of the Faithful.’
“The caliph sat down to table with the young slave: they ate, and
then went into another room, where wines and dessert were
prepared. Haroun had just taken a seat, had filled his glass, and had
got it to his mouth, when there was a knock at the door. ‘As sure as
fate,’ said the caliph, ‘here is the Princess Zobëide.’ He rose in a
hurry, put away the wine and everything that was on the table, hid
the young lady in a closet, and opened the door of the pavilion,
where he finds Hakem. ‘Is the Princess Zobëide coming?’ said he to
him. ‘No, my lord,’ said Hakem: ‘but I fancied you might be uneasy
about your mule. I have questioned the groom, and, true enough, he
had overfed her: the beast’s stomach was crammed. To-morrow we
will have her bled, and all will be right again.’—‘Don’t trouble thyself
about the mule,’ said the caliph; ‘I want none of thy impertinent
stories now. Remain at thy post, and, if thou hearest the Princess
Zobëide coming, let me know.’—‘Your highness shall be obeyed,’
replied Hakem.
“Haroun re-entered the apartment, fetched the beautiful slave out
of the closet, and placed everything on the table as before. He had
hardly done, when another knock was heard. ‘A curse on it! there is
Zobëide,’ cries the caliph. He hides the slave in the closet, shuffles
off the wine and dessert, and runs to the door. There he sees
Hakem. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘what did you knock for?’—‘Indeed,
Commander of the Faithful,’ replied Hakem, ‘I can’t help thinking
about that mule. I have again interrogated the farrier, and he
pretends there is nothing the matter with her, but that she has stood
too long without work in the stable, and that’s the reason why she
was a little lazy when you rode her to-day: otherwise she is very
well?—‘To the devil with ye both—thee and the mule!’ said Haroun;
‘didn’t I tell thee I would have none of thy impertinence? Stand where
I told thee to remain, and take care that Zobëide does not catch us;
for, if she did, this day would be a bad one for thee.’—‘May my head
answer for my vigilance,’ said Hakem.
“Again the caliph goes in, and a third time lets out the young
slave, replenishes the table, fills a goblet with wine, and carries it to
his lips. Suddenly he hears a clatter on the terrace: ‘This time,’ said
he, ‘there is Zobëide, sure enough.’ He pushes the slave into her
hiding-place, removes the fruit and the wine, and burns some pastils
to drive away the smell. He hastens up to the terrace of the pavilion,
finds nobody but Hakem there, and says to him ‘Was that Zobëide?
—where is she?—is she coming?’—‘No, no, Commander of the
Faithful,’ said Hakem; ‘the princess is not here; but I saw the mule
making a clatter with her feet, just as I did myself, and I am really
quite uncomfortable about her; I was afraid she had the colic, and I
feel quite alarmed.’—‘I wish to God thou may’st have the colic all thy
life, cursed fool that thou art! Out with thee, and let me never see thy
face again! If thou ever presumest to come into my presence again, I
will have thee hanged.’ Hakem went home and told his wife that the
caliph had dismissed him, and had forbidden him ever to show his
face at court again. He remained some time in his house, until he
thought that the caliph’s anger had subsided. He then said to his
wife, ‘Go to the palace, kiss Zobëide’s hand; tell her that the caliph is
angry with me, and beg her to intercede with him for me.’ The wife
fulfilled his commission. The Princess Zobëide interceded for
Hakem, and the caliph pardoned him.”
My narrator, after receiving my thanks for his entertaining story,
took his leave, mounted his horse, and rode off. The conversation
now became general, and turned on the river Damôor, which
empties itself into the sea midway between Beyrout and Sayda, and
often swells, from the rains and the melting of the snows in the
mountain, so as to become exceedingly dangerous to ford, as there
is no bridge over it. “What a fool the Jew was,” cried one, “to lose his
life for a few piasters! The guides offered to take him across for a
khyréah—four of them, two at the head and two at the flanks of his
mule; but he must needs haggle, and would give no more than ten
piasters; and, seeing one of the Pasha’s estafettes get across safe,
he fancied he could do the same: but they know the ford as well as
the guides; for they traverse it daily. So the Jew was carried off, and
neither he nor his mule were ever seen afterwards.”—“It was just the
same,” said a second speaker, “with the peasant from Medjdeloony
who was going to buy wheat at Beyrout: for you know, gentlemen, a
Greek vessel had arrived from Tarsûs with very good corn, at four
and a half piasters the roop. Well, he too was rash enough to
suppose he could get across alone, and they only asked him five
piasters—only a fourth of what they wanted of the Jew. But the
waters were up to his armpits; and, his foot slipping just in the
deepest part, he fell, and, after a few struggles, was carried out to
sea. All the peasants of the village, which, you know, is close by
where the English queen lives, came down to watch if the body was
cast ashore: for they say he had above a thousand piasters in his
girdle from different poor families who had commissioned him to buy
for them: and the poor creatures were naturally anxious to recover
it.”
 Having smoked my pipe, I mounted my ass, crossed the Damôor
in safety, and halted again at Nebby Yuness, a santon’s, where there
are two comfortable rooms for travellers, attached to the shrine. Here
I smoked another pipe, heard a long string of compliments and
grateful expressions from the imàm (who lived there to show the
shrine to pilgrims), in return for the donations which Lady Hester sent
occasionally to the shrine, and which he pocketed. I remounted,
struck off at Rumelly from the high road into the mountain by a cross
country path, and at about five o’clock reached Jôon.
Khaldy, of which mention was made above, is a spot which has
been too much neglected by travellers; and it would be well if some
one, who had leisure and ability for such researches, would pass a
day or two there, to make an accurate examination, and to take
drawings of the numberless sarcophagi which lie about on the
ground, or are hewn in the solid rock. Many of them have bas-reliefs
on them; and, as such a mass of tombs must necessarily imply the
former vicinity of some ancient city, diligent research might lead to
the discovery of historical antiquities in the neighbourhood.
There is a day in the year, in the month of June or July, I now
forget which, when hundreds of Christians resort to this spot from
Beyrout, Sayda, and the villages of Mount Lebanon, for the
celebration of a saint’s festival; and a part of the holiday consists in
washing themselves in the sea. The craniologist might have a fine
field for study in beholding a hundred bare heads at the same time
around him. I happened once to ride through Khaldy on that very
saint’s day, and never was I so struck with anything as with the sight
of countless shaved heads, almost all having a conical shape, quite
unlike European heads. But, besides this, a stranger would see
much merry-making, dancing, drinking, and many mountain female
dresses united here, which he would have to seek for through twenty
districts at any other time. Monsieur Las Cases has a painting of this
spot, which may, or might once, be seen at the Gobelins
manufactory at Paris, of which establishment he was director some
years ago, or else in Monsieur Denon’s collection. It is one of those
exaggerated fancy paintings which artists are never pardonable for
making, when they are intended to be shown as faithful copies;
because, like certain historical novels, they lend a false colouring to
facts and realities. There are other untruths besides those which are
spoken or written; and these undoubtedly may be classed amongst
the most reprehensible. I often regretted that my numerous
occupations prevented me from wandering over this interesting field
of inquiry.
Sunday, May 20.—I gave Lady Hester an account of the tragical
end of poor Mrs. K., which induced her to write a letter of consolation
to the afflicted widower, of whom, though she had never seen him,
she was a sincere well-wisher. This is a copy of it:—

To Mr. K., merchant at Beyrout.

Jôon, May 20, 1838.
Sir,
Nearly a year ago I had commissioned Mohadýn—Mr.
Lancaster’s idle and talkative ci-devant young servant—to
felicitate you upon your marriage: but now the task of
administering consolation for the late sad event devolves
upon me. Mrs. K.’s conduct, from the first, had made a strong
impression upon my mind. Young and handsome, as she was,
to have left her country to follow you, argued her to be of no
common mould. Avoiding to be detrimental to your interests,
and giving up the empty homage, which vanity would have
demanded with most women, that you should have left your
affairs to accompany her—above considering what scandal
might set afloat in the world—she followed the dictates of her
own heart, and relied upon your honour: a circumstance,
which, in the annals of your life, ought not to be forgotten.
That you should be in despair at the loss of such a woman
is but too natural: but you should consider, at the same time,
that you have enjoyed perhaps in this one year more
happiness than falls to the share of many, even during the
course of their lives. Thank God for it! and do not, by
despondency, displease the Omnipotent who has thus
 favoured you, or allow that amiable creature in other regions,
from which she is perhaps still watching over you, to witness
your despair. I have heard from one who knows you that you
are of a manly character. Without making any sacrifice of
those feelings which belong to energetic people only, make
use of that energy and good sense to palliate your griefs; and
bow with resignation to the will of the Almighty. I am quite
against persons endeavouring to drive away sorrow by hurry
or dissipation: cool reflection can alone bring some balm to
the soul.
I remain, sir, &c.
Hester Lucy Stanhope.
PS.—In the present state of your mind, I will not allow you
to give me any answer. But I shall keep my eye upon you;
and, if you are unheeding of my advice, I shall put myself into
one of my great passions, which even exceed those which I
understand you sometimes fall into, but which enhance your
character in my estimation. For the cold-heartedness of men
of the present generation is nearly death to me.

After this letter was written, Lady Hester talked about Lord
Prudhoe and Colonel Davidson, who was also staying at the inn at
Beyrout, and whose father, Lady Hester said, was a man of some
note in her time. “Did you make acquaintance with them?” she
asked: I replied, “No; for according to English custom, Englishmen,
even in lands so remote from home, maintain their strange reserve,
and carry their looks of distrust with them wherever they go. The
‘Who are you, I wonder?—‘shall I degrade myself in speaking to
you?’ seems to be ever uppermost in their thoughts.” She then
spoke of Mrs. Moore, the lady of the British consul, whom she
eulogized greatly. “That is one of the few women I must like,” said
Lady Hester; “indeed it is my duty to do so, and, when next you go to
Beyrout, you must tell her so: but you don’t know the reason, nor
does she. What do you think of her, doctor?” I answered, “It appears
to me that M. Lamartine, had he known her, would have felt the
inspiration which he caught so readily in the poetic land of the East:
—he has celebrated beauty less remarkable than hers.”
“And so I dare say you have supplied the omission,” observed
Lady Hester. “I have attempted to do so in a very bungling way,”
replied I. “Well,” said she, “never mind; let me hear what you have
written.” So I drew out a few verses, which I had pencilled at the inn
at Beyrout immediately after I had the honour of seeing that lady,
and read them.
“They are not so bad,” observed Lady Hester; “but that was not
what you went to Beyrout for.”
The subject carried her back to past times, and she said—“I have
made it a rule all my life, from the moment I came into the great
world, never to suffer verses to be written about me by anybody. If I
had liked the thing, I might have had thousands of poets to celebrate
my praises in all manner of ways; but there is nothing I think so
ridiculous. Look at the Duchess of Devonshire, with every day ‘A
copy of verses on her taking a walk’—‘An impromptu on her having a
headache’—and all such nonsense: I detest it.”
This brought to my mind a circumstance which occurred in the
early part of our travels. I had written a small poem, in which a few
lines, eulogistic of herself, were introduced; and one day I read it to
her. After I had finished, she said, “You know, doctor, this will only do
to show people in private; and, if ever you dare to put my name to
any published poetry, I’ll take measures to make you heartily repent
of it.”
Lady Hester, however, was not insensible to that species of praise
which rests on the application of a passage of some classic author,
to illustrate one character by its resemblance to that of another
already stamped with celebrity. Thus she was greatly pleased when
Mr. Pitt, in reading Gray’s fragment of the tragedy of Agrippina aloud,
and in coming to some lines in which he recognized a great similarity
to her language, cried out—“Why, Hester, that’s you; here you are—
just like you!” then, reading on a little farther—“Here you are again
scolding him!” meaning, as Lady Hester told me at the time, that it
was just like her, scolding Lord Mahon.
Tuesday, May 22.—I had struck a Turk, one of the servants, with
a stick over his shoulders; but, in so doing, I forgot the penalty
attached to striking a Mussulman. Formerly such an act, done by a
Christian hand, was punished with death, or the alternative of
becoming a renegado of one’s faith. Even now the old Mussulman
servants muttered threats against me, as I was told, and I really think
would have done me harm, if they could. For all Lady Hester’s power
hardly went farther than to have her people punished by the
instrumentality of another Turk; but the moment I thought proper to
chastise a fellow’s insolence with my own hand, she did not hesitate
to tell me that I must be wary how I repeated it again; assuring me
that a blow from a Christian never could be pardoned by them.
Thursday, May 24.—In reading the newspapers, Lord Byron’s
name occurred. “I think,” said Lady Hester, “he was a strange
character: his generosity was for a motive, his avarice for a motive:
one time he was mopish, and nobody was to speak to him; another,
he was for being jocular with everybody. Then he was a sort of Don
Quixote fighting with the police for a woman of the town; and then he
wanted to make himself something great. But when he allowed
himself to be bullied by the Albanians, it was all over with him; you
must not show any fear with them. At Athens, I saw nothing in him
but a well-bred man, like many others: for, as for poetry, it is easy
enough to write verses; and as for the thoughts, who knows where
he got them? Many a one picks up some old book that nobody
knows anything about, and gets his ideas out of it. He had a great
deal of vice in his looks—his eyes set close together, and a
contracted brow, so”—(imitating it). “Oh, Lord! I am sure he was not
a liberal man, whatever else he might be. The only good thing about
his looks was this part,” (drawing her hand under the cheek down the
front of her neck), “and the curl on his forehead.”
Saturday, May 26.—About eleven at night, Lady Hester went into
the bath, previous to which I passed two or three hours with her. The
conversation ran on the arrival of some Europeans at Sayda, who,
by the report of a servant returning from the town, had lost two of
their number by the plague, and, in consequence, had been put into
quarantine at Sheemaôony, the Turkish mausoleum spoken of in a
former page, about a quarter of a mile from the city gate. Lady
Hester had heard of their distressed situation about four o’clock in
the afternoon, it being said they were pilgrims who had applied for
permission to be lodged at Dayr el Mkhallas, the monastery at Jôon,
which had been acceded to by the monks but forbidden by the health
officers, owing to a foul bill of health they brought with them.
Subsequently it was given out that they were poor Germans; and
she, with her accustomed humanity, thinking they might be in want of
some little comforts, had made up a couple of baskets of violet and
rose syrups, capillaire, lemons, &c., and despatched a man with a
note, in these words:—“The humble offering of Lady Hester
Stanhope to the sick Germans, with her request that they will make
known their wants to her, whether for medicines, or for whatever they
may need.”
The servant had hardly set off, when an express arrived with a
letter to her ladyship from one of the strangers, to the effect that, one
of the party being ill, the writer requested she would be kind enough
to send down her doctor. It was signed Charles Baron de Busech,
Knight of Malta. On asking me whether I was afraid of the plague, I
answered, “Yes; and as it appeared they were men of rank, and
could not fail of obtaining medical advice from Sayda, where there
were four or five army surgeons, and two or three physicians, I
thought it best not to go until more clear information had been
obtained respecting them.” Lady Hester approved of this, and wrote
the following reply:—

To the Baron Charles de Busech, Knight of Malta, in

quarantine on the seashore, Sayda.
Jôon, May 26, 1838.
Sir Baron,
Although I myself have no fear of the plague, or of persons
infected with it, almost all the Franks have. The physician who
is with me happens to be of the number; therefore, it does not
 depend on me to cure people of what I consider prejudices.
Our days are numbered, and everything is in the hands of
God.
Your letter is without a date, and comes from I know not
where. At the moment that I received it I had sent a servant
with a few cooling syrups to some sick Germans, guarded by
a ring of soldiers outside of the town, of whose names and
class in life I am ignorant, although the peasants give out that
there are some of very high quality among them: for I feared
that, in a strange country, and thus surrounded by fever or
perhaps plague, they would not be able to procure the drinks
necessary in such maladies. I hope not to have offended any
one, although I have made a blundering business, not
knowing who I addressed myself to. But, having understood
that they had yesterday demanded an asylum at Dayr
Mkhallas, which had been refused them, I was uneasy on
their account.
I have ordered my purveyor at Sayda, Captain Hassan
Logmagi, to come up to-morrow, that I may get a right
understanding in this confused affair, and may see if it is in
my power, by any trifling service, to be useful to them. Allow
me to remark that, if, in any case, symptoms of plague, or
even of the ardent fevers of the country, manifest themselves,
the Frank doctors understand but little about it. The barbers of
the country are those who have the most knowledge on the
subject.
This letter goes by the servant, who has in charge the
basket of syrups, and whom I had called back when about ten
minutes on his road.
H. L. Stanhope.

The servant was despatched, and many conjectures were formed

as to who the Baron de Busech could be. The reader will say that it
mattered little who he was, and that humanity dictated, when a sick
person demanded assistance, to go without delay and afford it. This,
in common cases, no doubt was what I or any other medical
practitioner should feel it his duty to do; but, where Lady Hester was
concerned, the ordinary rules of life would not hold good. I at once
considered what a warfare would ensue between her ladyship and
myself on the treatment to be followed (she always assuming the
right of dictation); and I thought it best to say I was afraid of the
plague: for, although I felt little difficulty in giving way to Lady
Hester’s opinion on other matters in discussion between us of every
possible kind, it was different where the treatment of the sick was
concerned; for there the case became serious, and life and death
were in the balance.
Lady Hester made this, my refusal, a pretext for a long lecture,
which she delivered in a mild tone, but mixed with the self-boasting
common to her. Her reasoning was indisputably sound, but she did
not know the motive that guided me.
Sunday, May 27.—Her ladyship’s letter to the baron was taken to
Logmagi at Sayda, who went immediately and delivered it to that
gentleman, and, according to the orders sent to him, offered his
services and those of her ladyship to all the party. He then came up
to the Dar, and informed her that the strangers were several in
number, Germans of distinction, and delivered a letter to her from
one of them. It was couched in courtly language, to thank her for her
attention to them. It repeated the request that she would let her
doctor come down, and was signed Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria.
As Beyrout was closed, owing to the plague, and the Sayda
bakers never make any bread but flat cakes, flaky and unpalateable,
Lady Hester ordered, as a first step for their comfort, a baking of
forty or fifty loaves, about the size of twopenny loaves: and this
supply was continued to the duke and his suite during the whole time
they remained. She sent tea and a teapot, rum, brandy, and such
little things as she knew could not be procured in the town. These
articles were accompanied by a letter, as follows:—
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