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GIBRALTAR gI
tions, is not to be found here. You will not find here
arrogant pride, thoughtless generosity, the unselfish
spirit of sacrifice, nor proud contempt of the petty
tradesman’s morality. Here no one will get off his
donkey to offer a tired traveler his seat, or rather,
everybody does it—for money. If you ask a man to
show you the way, he will first mention his fee and then
speed you on your quest.
Yes indeed, Anglo-Teutonic civilization may be
proud of its victory; it has crowded all the light and
care-free way of the sun from the people and molds
them now in the image of solid Anglo-Teutonic money-
making utilitarianism. You fancy sometimes you are
at a masquerade: costumes, faces, voices, gestures—
everything seems genuinely oriental, but behind the
mask stands John Bull always formal and correct. One
day I was in Gibraltar. A man came dashing down the
street with a policeman after him. The policeman was
waving his arms wildly: “Stop, thief!’ An Arab
tripped the fugitive. He fell to the ground and was
made a prisoner by the policeman. At home in Den-
mark I know people would probably have done the
same thing; but in Spain or Morocco certainly they
would have tripped the policeman.
Gibraltar is a fortress. Officers’ dwellings with
sentry-boxes, officers’ clubs, barracks, soldiers’ saloons,
soldiers’ missions and garrison churches lie one next to
the other as far as the road runs. And after the road
passes out of the open gate in the city wall, you come
to the strand promenade, which runs on and on, past
drill grounds, arsenals and huge barracks. Under rich
foliage, of an African richness, French and Swiss
nursery-governesses play with little English babies—
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