hear franker and fairer suggestions that the English have after all (as indeed they have) embarked on a spirited and stirring adventure; and that there has been a real romance in the extending of the British Empire in strange lands.  But the real case for these semi-eastern occupations is not that of extending the British Empire in strange lands.  Rather it is restoring the Roman Empire in familiar lands.  It is not merely breaking out of Europe in the search for something non-European.  It would be much truer to call it putting Europe together again after it had been broken.  It may almost be said of the Britons, considered as the most western of Europeans, that they have so completely forgotten their own history that they have forgotten even their own rights.  At any rate they have forgotten the claims that could reasonably be made for them, but which they never think of making for themselves.  They have not the faintest notion, for instance, of why hundreds of years ago an English saint was taken from Egypt, or why an English king was fighting in Palestine.  They merely have a vague idea that George of Cappadocia was naturalised much in the same way as George of Hanover.  They almost certainly suppose that Coeur de Lion in his wanderings happened to meet the King of Egypt, as Captain Cook might happen to meet the King of the Cannibal Islands.  To understand the past connection of England with the near East, it is necessary to understand something that lies behind Europe and even behind the Roman Empire; something that can only be conveyed by the name of the Mediterranean.  When people talk, for instance, as if the Crusades were nothing more than an aggressive raid against Islam, they seem to forget in the strangest way that Islam itself was only an aggressive raid against the old and ordered civilisation in these parts.  I do not say it in mere hostility to the religion of Mahomet; as will be apparent later, I am fully conscious of many values and virtues in it; but certainly it was Islam that was the invasion and Christendom that was the thing invaded.  An Arabian gentleman found riding on the road to Paris or hammering on the gates of Vienna can hardly complain that we have sought him out in his simple tent in the desert.  The conqueror of Sicily and Spain cannot reasonably express surprise at being an object of morbid curiosity to the people of Italy and France.  In the city of Cairo the stranger feels many of the Moslem merits, but he certainly feels the militaristic character of the Moslem glories.  The crown of the city is the citadel, built by the great Saladin but of the spoils of ancient Egyptian architecture; and that fact is in its turn very symbolical.  The man was a great conqueror, but he certainly behaved like an invader; he spoiled the Egyptians.  He broke the old temples and tombs and built his own out of fragments.  Nor is this the only respect in which the citadel of Cairo is set high like a sign in heaven.  The sign is also significant because from this superb height the traveller first beholds the desert, out of which the great conquest came.