Exodus_[93], a delightful book, in which Palmer has narrated in a
pleasing style the daily doings of the surveyors, and the conclusions at
which they arrived. His own proceedings are kept modestly in the
background; but a careful reader will soon discover that, in addition to
his appointed task as collector of folk-lore, he did his full share of
topographical investigation, in which he evidently took a keen and
growing interest, all the more remarkable as he could have had but
little previous preparation for it. A detailed analysis of the results
achieved would occupy far more space than we have at our disposal. We
will only mention that the investigations of the expedition ‘materially
confirmed and elucidated the history of the Exodus’; that objections
founded on the supposed incapacity of the peninsula to accommodate so
large a host as that of Israel were disposed of by pointing out abundant
traces of ancient fertility; that the claims of Jebel Musa to be the
true Sinai were vindicated by a comparison of its natural features with
the Bible narrative, and by the collection of Arab and Mohammedan
traditions; and, lastly, that the site of Kibroth Hattaavah was
determined, partly on geographical grounds, partly on the traditions
still current among the Towarah Bedouin, whose language Palmer mastered,
and of whose manners and customs he has drawn up a very full and
interesting account. The intimate acquaintance which he thus formed with
one of these tribes stood him in good stead in the following year, when
he took a far more responsible journey. The ease with which he spoke the
Arab language was, however, one of the least of his many gifts: he
thoroughly understood Arab character, and was generally successful, not
merely in making the natives do what he wanted, but, what is far more
wonderful, in making them speak the truth to him. He thus sums up his
method of dealing with them:
‘An Arab is a bad actor, and with but a very little practice you may
infallibly detect him in a lie; when directly accused of it, he is
astonished at your, to him, incomprehensible sagacity, and at once gives
up the game. By keeping this fact constantly in view, and at the same
time endeavouring to win their confidence and respect, I have every
reason to believe that the Bedawín gave us throughout a correct account
of their country and its nomenclature.
‘When once an Arab has ceased to regard you with suspicion, you may
surprise a piece of information out of him at any moment; and if you
repeat it to him a short time afterwards, he forgets in nine cases out
of ten that he has himself been your authority, and should the
information be incorrect will flatly contradict you and set you right,
while if it be authentic he is puzzled at your possessing a knowledge of
the facts, and deems it useless to withhold from you anything
further[94].’
The survey of Sinai had been completed but a few months when Palmer left
England again, for a second journey of exploration. It is evident that
he must have taken a more prominent part in the management of the first
expedition than the precise terms of his engagement with the explorers
would have led us to expect, and that he had thoroughly satisfied those
responsible for it, for this second expedition was practically entrusted
to him to arrange as he pleased. He was instructed in general terms to
clear up, first, certain disputed points in the topography of Sinai;
next, to examine the country between the Sinaitic Peninsula and the
Promised Land—the ‘Desert of the Wanderings’; and, lastly, to search for
inscriptions in Moab. He determined to take with him a single companion
only, Mr Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake, of Trinity College, Cambridge, who had
had already some experience of the East, and who proved himself in every
way to be the man of men for rough journeys in unknown lands; to travel
on foot, without dragoman, servant, or escort; and to take no more
baggage than four camels could carry. The two friends started from Suez
on December 16, 1869, and reached Jerusalem in excellent health and
spirits on February 26, 1870. They had performed a feat of which anybody
might well be proud. They had traversed ‘the great and terrible desert,’
the Desert of El Tih, and the Negeb, or ‘south country’ of Palestine,
exactly as they had proposed to do—on foot, with no attendants except
the owners of the baggage-camels. They had walked nearly 600 miles; but
this fact, though it says much for their endurance, gives but little
idea of the real fatigues of such a journey. The mental strain must have
been far more exhausting than the physical fatigue. They were not
tourists, but explorers, whose duty it was to observe carefully, to
record their observations on the spot, to make plans and sketches, and
to collect such information as could be extracted from the inhabitants.
These various pursuits—in addition to their domestic arrangements—had to
be carried on in the midst of an Arab population always suspicious, and
sometimes openly hostile, who worried them from daybreak until far into
the night, and against whom their only weapons were incessant
watchfulness, tact, and good humour. Readers of Palmer’s narrative will
not be surprised to find him hinting, not obscurely, that the only way
to solve the ‘Bedouin question’ is to adopt what was called a few years
afterwards, with reference to another not wholly dissimilar race, ‘the
bag and baggage policy.’ This deliberate opinion, expressed by one who
knew the Arabs well, and who had obtained singular influence over them,
is worthy of careful attention, as, indeed, are all the chapters in the
second part of _The Desert of the Exodus_, where this journey is fully
described and illustrated. After reading that narrative no one can be
surprised that the mission which ended so triumphantly and so fatally
twelve years afterwards should have been entrusted to Palmer.
After a brief repose in Jerusalem they started afresh, and, passing
again through the South Country by a different route, travelled eastward
of the Dead Sea through the unknown lands of Edom and Moab. They made
numerous observations of great value to Biblical students; but they
failed to find what they had come to seek—inscriptions—though they
succeeded in inspecting every known ‘written stone’ in the country; and
the conclusion at last forced itself upon them, ‘that, _above ground_ at
least, there does not exist another Moabite stone[95].’ It will be
remembered that the famous inscription of King Mesha was found built
into a wall of late Roman work, the ancient Moabite city being buried
some feet below the present surface of the ground. This fact induced
Palmer to adopt the following opinion:
‘If a few intelligent and competent men, such as those employed in the
Jerusalem excavations, could be taken out to Moab, and certain of the
ruins be excavated, further interesting discoveries might be made. Such
researches might be made without difficulty if the Arabs were well
managed and the expedition possessed large resources; but it must be
remembered that the country is only nominally subject to the Turkish
Government, and is filled with lawless tribes, jealous of each other and
of the intrusion of strangers, and all greedily claiming a property in
every stone, written or unwritten, which they think might interest a
Frank.
‘That many treasures do lie buried among the ruins of Moab there can be
but little doubt; the Arabs, indeed, narrated to us several instances of
gold coins and figures having been found by them while ploughing in the
neighbourhood of the ancient cities, and sold to jewellers at Nablous,
by whom they were probably melted up[95].’
But, though there was no inscription to bring home as visible evidence
of what had been done, the expedition was not barren of results. In the
first place, the possibility of exploring the little-known parts of
Palestine at a comparatively trifling cost had been demonstrated; and,
secondly, numerous sites had been discovered where further research
would probably yield information of the greatest value. It is a
misfortune that Palmer was not able in after years to give undivided
attention to these interesting problems of Biblical topography. Unless
we are much mistaken, he would have made a revolution in many of them,
and notably in the architectural history of the city of Jerusalem, upon
which he did throw new light from an unexpected quarter—the Arab
historians. He would, in fact, have pursued for the Temple area at
Jerusalem the method which Professor Willis pursued so successfully for
some of our own cathedrals; he would have marshalled in chronological
order the notices of the Arab works there; and then, by comparing the
historical evidence with the existing structures, have assigned their
respective dates with certainty to each of them.
Palmer returned to England in the autumn of 1870, and soon afterwards
became a candidate for the Professorship of Arabic in the University of
Cambridge. He was unsuccessful, and we should have contented ourselves
with recording the fact without comment, had not Mr Besant stated the
whole question in a way reflecting so unfavourably on the electors, and
through them on the University, that we feel compelled to investigate
the circumstances in detail. This is what he says:
‘In the same year Palmer experienced what one is fully justified in
calling the most cruel blow ever dealt to him, and one which he never
forgot or forgave.
‘The vacancy of the Professorship of Arabic in 1871 seemed to give him
at last the chance which he had been expecting.... He became a candidate
for the vacant post; the place in fact _belonged to him_; it was his
already by a right which it is truly wonderful could have been contested
by any—the right of Conquest. The electors were the Heads of the
colleges.
‘Consider the position: Palmer by this time was a man known all over the
world of Oriental scholarship; he was not a single untried student and
man of books; he had proved his powers in the most practical of all
ways, viz. by relying on his knowledge of the language for safety on a
dangerous expedition; he had written, and written wonderfully well, a
great quantity of things in Persian, Urdú, and Arabic; he was known to
everybody who knew anything at all about the subject; he had been
greatly talked about by those who did not; he was a graduate of the
University and Fellow of S. John’s, an honour which, as was well known,
he received solely for his attainments in Oriental languages; he had a
great many friends who were ready to testify, and had already testified,
in the strongest terms, to his extraordinary knowledge; he was, in fact,
the only Cambridge man who could, with any show of fairness justice at
all, be elected. He was also young, and full of strength and enthusiasm;
if Persian and Arabic lectures and Oriental studies could be made useful
or attractive at the University, he would make them so. What follows
seems incredible.
‘On the other hand, the electing body consisted, as stated above, of the
Heads of colleges. It is in the nature of things that the Heads, who are
mostly men advanced in years, who have spent all their lives at the
University, should retain whatever old prejudices, traditions, and
ancient manner of regarding things, may be still surviving. There
were—it seems childish to advance this statement seriously, and yet I
have no doubt it is true and correct—two prejudices against which Palmer
had then to contend. The first was the more serious. It was at that
time, even more than it is now, the custom at Cambridge to judge the
abilities of every man entirely with regard to his place in one of the
two old Triposes; and this without the least respect or consideration
for any other attainments, or accomplishments, or learning. Darwin, for
instance, whose name does not occur in the Honour list at all, never
received from his college the slightest mark of respect until his death.
Long after he had become the greatest scientific man in Europe the
question would have been asked—I have no doubt it was often asked—what
degree he took. Palmer’s name did occur in the Classical Tripos—but
alas! in the third class. Was it possible, was it probable, that a
third-class man could be a person worthy of consideration at all?
Third-class men are good enough for assistant-masters in small schools,
for curacies, or for any other branch of labour which can be performed
without much intellect. But a third-class man must never, under any
circumstances, consider that he has a right to learn anything or to
claim distinction as a scholar. I put the case strongly; but there is no
Cambridge man who will deny the fact that, in whatever branch of
learning distinction be subsequently attained, the memory of a second or
third class is always prejudicial. Palmer, therefore, went before the
grave and reverend Heads with this undeniable third class against a
whole sheaf of proofs, testimonials, letters, opinions, statements, and
assertions of attainments extraordinary, and, in some respects,
unrivalled. To be sure they were only letters from Orientals and
Oriental scholars. What could they avail against the opinion of the
Classical Examiners of 1867 that Palmer was only worth a third class?
‘As I said above, it seems childish. But it is true. And this was the
first prejudice.
‘The second prejudice was perhaps his youth. He was, it is true, past
thirty, but he had only taken his degree three or four years, and
therefore he only ought to have been five-and-twenty. He looked no more
than five-and-twenty; he still possessed—he always possessed—the
enthusiasm of youth; his manners, which could be, when he chose, full of
dignity even among his intimates, were those of a man still in early
manhood; he had been talked about in connection with his adventures in
the East; and stories were told, some true and some false, which may
have alarmed the gravity of the Heads. There must be no tincture of
Bohemianism about a Professor of the University. Perhaps rumours may
have been whispered about the gipsies and the tinkers, or the
mesmerizing, or the conjuring; but I think the conjuring had hardly yet
begun.
‘In speaking of this election, I beg most emphatically to disclaim any
comparison between the most eminent and illustrious scholar who was
elected and the man who was rejected. I say that it is always the
bounden duty of the University to give her prizes to her own children if
they have proved themselves worthy of them. Not to do so is to
discourage learning and to drive away students. Now, the Professorship
of Arabic was vacant; the most brilliant Oriental scholar whom the
University has produced in this century—perhaps in any century—became a
candidate for it; he was the only Cambridge man who could possibly be a
candidate; the Heads of Houses passed him by and elected a scholar of
wide reputation indeed, but not a member of the University.
‘There were other circumstances which made the election more
disappointing. It was known, before the election, that Dr Wright had
been spoken to on the subject; it was also known that he would not stand
because the stipend of the post, only 300_l._ a year, was not sufficient
to induce him to give up the British Museum. It seemed, therefore, that
the result of Palmer’s candidature would be a walk over. But the day
before the election the Master of Queens’—then Dr Phillips, who was
himself a Syriac scholar—went round to all the electors, and informed
them that Dr Wright would be put up on the following day. He was put up;
he was elected; and very shortly afterwards was made a Fellow of Queens’
probably in consequence of an understanding with Dr Phillips that, in
the event of his election to the Professorship, an election to a Queens’
Fellowship should follow. Of course, one has nothing to say against the
Fellowship. Probably a Queens’ Fellowship was never more honourably and
usefully bestowed; but yet the man who ought to have obtained the
Professorship, the man to whom it belonged, was kept out of it. Palmer
was the kindest-hearted and most forgiving of men, and the last to think
or speak evil; but this was a deliberate and uncalled-for injustice, an
insult to his reputation which could never be forgotten. It embittered
the whole of his future connexion with the University: it never was
forgotten or forgiven[96].’
We notice two errors of fact in the above narrative. The election did
not take place in 1871, but in 1870; and secondly, the Professorship was
then worth only £70 a year. The stipend was not raised to £300 until the
following November. The second of these errors is not of much
importance; but the first is very material, as we shall show presently.
We will next give an exact narrative of what actually took place.
Professor Williams, who had held the Arabic chair since 1854, died in
the Long Vacation of 1870, and on October 1 the Vice-Chancellor
announced the vacancy, and fixed the day of election for Friday, October
21. The only candidates who presented themselves in the ordinary way
were Palmer and the Rev. Stanley Leathes, M.A., of Jesus College, a
gentleman who had obtained the Tyrwhitt Hebrew Scholarship in 1853. It
was thought that his merits were little known, and that he would not
prove a formidable opponent; and Palmer, as Mr Besant rightly states,
looked upon the Professorship as as good as won. However, on the day
before, or the day but one before, the election, the President of
Queens’ College left a card on each of the electors, to say that Dr
Wright would be voted for. One of these cards was given to Palmer, we do
not know by whom. He showed it to a friend, who asked, ‘What does it
mean?’ ‘It means that it is all up with me,’ was Palmer’s reply; and
events proved that he was right in his forebodings. When the electors
met, the Masters of Trinity Hall and Emmanuel were not present, and the
Master of Gonville and Caius declined to vote. The remaining fourteen
voted in the following way:—for Dr Wright, eight; for Mr Palmer, five;
for Mr Leathes, one. Dr Wright, therefore, was declared to be elected.
It will be seen from what is here stated—and the accuracy of our facts
is, we know, beyond question—that it was not the Heads of Houses in
their collective capacity who rejected Palmer, but less than half of
them. Again, we submit that there is no evidence that those who voted
against him were actuated by either of the prejudices which Mr Besant
imputes to them. A high place in a tripos is no longer regarded at
Cambridge as indispensable, unless the candidate be trying for a post
the duties of which are in direct relation to the tripos in which he has
sought distinction. Four years afterwards, the resident members of the
Senate chose as Woodwardian Professor of Geology a gentleman who had
taken an ordinary degree, in opposition to one who had been placed
thirteenth in the first class of the mathematical tripos, on the ground
that they believed him to be a better geologist than his opponent. It
will be said they were not the Heads of Colleges; but we would remark
that, even in the election we are discussing, the case against them
breaks down on this point; for the successful candidate was not even a
member of the University, and surely an indifferent degree is better
than no degree at all. As to the second prejudice against Palmer, we
simply dismiss it with contempt. We never heard of a Cambridge elector
who was influenced by hearsay evidence; and, as a matter of fact, Palmer
was supported by the Master of his own College, who must have known more
about his habits than all the other Heads put together. If we consider
the result arrived at by the light of subsequent events, it is natural
for those who, like his biographer and ourselves, are strongly
prepossessed in Palmer’s favour, to regret that he was unsuccessful; and
we are delighted to find Mr Besant asserting, as he does, that
University distinctions ought to be given, _ceteris paribus_, to
University men. But if we try to put ourselves in the position of the
electors, and survey the two candidates as they surveyed them, there is,
we feel bound to assert, ample justification for the selection they
made, having regard to the particular post to be filled at that time.
They had, in fact, to choose between a tried and an untried man. Dr
Wright was known to have received a regular education in Oriental
languages in Germany and in Holland, and to be thought highly of by the
most competent judges in those countries. He had given proof of sound
scholarship in various publications, and it was considered by several
scholars in the University that the studies to which he had given
special attention, viz.—Syriac, Samaritan, Ethiopic, and the Semitic
group of languages generally—would be specially useful there. He had
held a Professorship in Trinity College, Dublin, where he had been
distinguished as a teacher; he was personally known in Cambridge, not
merely to Dr Phillips, but to the University at large, at whose hands he
had received the honorary degree of Doctor of Law in 1868. Moreover, he
was already an honorary Fellow of Queens’ College, and therefore it was
not strange that a Society which had already gone so far should signify
to him their intention of proceeding a step further, in the event of his
consenting to come and reside at Cambridge as a Professor. He was
accordingly elected Fellow January 5, 1871[97].
Palmer, on the other hand, had submitted to the electors testimonials
which testified to his wonderful knowledge of Hindustani, Persian, and
Arabic as spoken languages; he was known to have given special attention
to the languages of India; he had catalogued the Oriental MSS. in the
Libraries of the University, of King’s College, and of Trinity College;
he had translated Moore’s _Paradise and the Peri_ into Arabic verse; and
he had published a short treatise on the Sufistic and Unitarian
Theosophy of the Persians. But here the direct evidence of his
acquirements ceased; and it is at this point that the date of the
election becomes material. None of his more important works had as yet
appeared. The official Report of his journeys in the East was not
published until January 1871; and the preface to his _Desert of the
Exodus_ is
dated June of the same year[98]. The Heads, therefore, could not know
that he ‘had relied on his knowledge of the language for safety in a
dangerous expedition.’
After a disappointment so severe as the loss of the much-coveted
professorship, it might have been expected that Palmer’s connexion with
Cambridge would soon have been severed; that he would have sought and
obtained a lucrative appointment elsewhere. On the contrary, it was
written in the book of fate, as one of his favourite Orientals would
have said, that he should not only remain at Cambridge, but remain there
in connexion with Oriental studies. Cambridge has two chairs of Arabic:
a Professorship founded by Sir Thomas Adams in 1632; and a Readership,
founded by King George I. in 1724, at the instance of Lancelot
Blackburn, Bishop of Exeter and Lord Almoner. It is endowed with an
income of £50 a year, paid out of the Almonry bounty, but reduced by
fees to £40. 10_s._ If, however, the income be small the duties are
none—or, rather, none are attached to the office as such; and moreover
the Reader is technically regarded as a Professor, and has a Professor’s
privilege of retaining a College Fellowship for life as a married man.
The previous holder of the office, the Rev. Theodore Preston, Fellow of
Trinity College, had regarded it as a sinecure, and moreover had
generally been non-resident. On his resignation in 1871, the Lord
Almoner for the time being, the Hon. and Rev. Gerald Wellesley, Dean of
Windsor, gave the office to Palmer. At last, therefore, he seemed to
have obtained his reward—congenial occupation in a place which had been
the first to find him out and help him, where he had many devoted
friends, and where he was now enabled to establish himself as a married
man; for on the very day after he received his appointment he married a
lady to whom he had been engaged for some years.