All this was reassuring to my better nature, and yet I cherished a grudge against the Professor.  For it was a stiff climb to the Villa of Tiberius, and I wanted something to show for it.  It was difficult to adjust one’s mind to the fact that nothing had happened there which might not have happened in any well-conducted country house.

I like to contrast this with our experience in Algiers.  We knew beforehand what Algiers was like in the days of its prime.  It had been the nest of as desperate pirates as ever infested the seas.  For generations innocent Christians had been carried hither to pine in doleful captivity.  But the French, we understood, had built a miniature Paris in the vicinity and were practicing liberty, fraternity, and equality on the spot dedicated to gloomily romantic memories.  We feared the effect of this civilization.  We had our misgivings.  Perhaps Algiers might be no longer worth visiting.

Luckily our steamer was delayed till sunset.  We were carefully shepherded, so that we hardly noticed the French city.  We were hurried through the darkness into old Algiers.  Everything was full of sinister suggestion.  The streets were as narrow and perilous as any which Haroun Al Raschid explored on his more perilous nights.  Here one could believe the worst of his fellow men.  Suspicion and revenge were in the air.  We were not taking a stroll, we were escaping from something.  Mysterious muffled figures glided by and disappeared through slits in the walls.  There were dark corners so suggestive of homicide that one could hardly think that any one with an Oriental disposition could resist the temptation.  In crypt-like recesses we could see assassins sharpening their daggers or, perhaps, executioners putting the finishing touches on their scimitars.  There were cavernous rooms where conspirators were crouched round a tiny charcoal fire.  Groups of truculent young Arabs followed us shouting objurgations, and accepting small coins as ransom.  We had glimpses of a mosque, the outside of a prison, and the inside of what once was a harem.  On returning to the steamer one gentleman fell overboard and, swimming to the shore, was rescued by a swarthy ruffian who robbed him of his watch and disappeared in the darkness.  When the victim of Algerian piracy stood on the deck, dripping and indignant, and told his tale of woe, we were delighted.  Algiers would always be something to remember.  It was one of the places that had not been spoiled.

I am afraid that the sunlight might have brought disillusion.  Some of the stealthy figures which gave rise to such thrilling suspicions may have turned out to be excellent fathers and husbands returning from business.  As it is, thanks to the darkness, Algiers remains a city of vague atrocities.  It does not belong to the commonplace world; it is of such stuff as dreams, including nightmares, are made of.

It is not without some compunction of conscience that I recall two historical pilgrimages, one to Assisi, the other to Geneva.  Assisi I found altogether rewarding, while in Geneva I was disappointed.  In each case my object was purely selfish, and had nothing in common with the welfare of the present inhabitants.  I wanted to see the city of St. Francis and the city of John Calvin.