FROM PARIS TO THE PIRAEUS
ATHENS, November, 1915.
At home we talk glibly of a world war. But beyond speculating in
munitions and as to how many Americans will be killed by the next
submarine, and how many notes the President will write about it, we
hardly appreciate that this actually is a war of the world, that all
over the globe, every ship of state, even though it may be trying to
steer a straight course, is being violently rocked by it. Even the
individual, as he moves from country to country, is rocked by it, not
violently, but continuously. It is in loss of time and money he feels it
most. And as he travels, he learns, as he cannot learn from a map, how
far-reaching are the ramifications of this war, in how many different
ways it affects every one. He soon comes to accept whatever happens as
directly due to the war--even when the deck steward tells him he cannot
play shuffle-board because, owing to the war, there is no chalk.
In times of peace to get to this city from Paris did not require more
than six days, but now, owing to the war, in making the distance we
wasted fifteen. That is not counting the time in Paris required by the
police to issue the passport, without which no one can leave France. At
the prefecture of police I found a line of people--French, Italians,
Americans, English--in columns of four and winding through gloomy halls,
down dark stairways, and out into the street. I took one look at the
line and fled to Mr. Thackara, our consul-general, and, thanks to him,
was not more than an hour in obtaining my laisser-passer. The police
assured me I might consider myself fortunate, as the time they usually
spent in preparing a passport was two days. It was still necessary to
obtain a vise from the Italian consulate permitting me to enter Italy,
from the Greek consulate to enter Greece, and, as my American passport
said nothing of Serbia, from Mr. Thackara two more vises, one to get out
of France, and another to invade Serbia. Thanks to the war, in obtaining
all these autographs two more days were wasted. In peace times one had
only to go to Cook's and buy a ticket. In those days there was no more
delay than in reserving a seat for the theatre.
War followed us south. The windows of the wagon-lit were plastered with
warnings to be careful, to talk to no strangers; that the enemy was
listening. War had invaded even Aix-les-Bains, most lovely of summer
pleasure-grounds. As we passed, it was wrapped in snow; the Cat's Tooth,
that towers between Aixe and Chambery, and that lifts into the sky a
great cross two hundred feet in height, was all white, the pine-trees
around the lake were white, the streets were white, the Casino des
Fleurs, the Cercle, the hotels. And above each of them, where once was
only good music, good wines, beautiful flowers, and baccarat, now droop
innumerable Red Cross flags. Against the snow-covered hills they were
like little splashes of blood.
War followed us into Italy. But from the war as one finds it in England
and France it differed. Perhaps we were too far west, but except for the
field uniforms of green and the new scabbards of gun-metal, and, at
Turin, four aeroplanes in the air at the same time, you might not have
known that Italy was one of the Allies. For one thing, you saw no
wounded. Again, perhaps, it was because we were too far south and west,
and that the fighting in Tyrol is concentrated. But Bordeaux is farther
from the battle-line of France than is Naples from the Italian front,
and the multitudes of wounded in Bordeaux, the multitudes of women in
black in Bordeaux, make one of the most appalling, most significant
pictures of this war. In two days in Naples I did not see one wounded
man. But I saw many Germans and German signs, and no one had scratched
Mumm off the wine-card. A country that is one of the Allies, and yet not
at war with Germany, cannot be taken very seriously. Indeed, in England
the War Office staff speak of the Italian communiques as the "weather
reports."
In Naples the foreigners accuse Italy of running with the hare and the
hounds. They asked what is her object in keeping on friendly terms with
the bitterest enemy of the Allies. Is there an understanding that after
the war she and Germany will together carve slices off of Austria?
Whatever her ulterior object may be, her present war spirit does not
impress the visitor. It is not the spirit of France and England. One man
said to me: "Why can't you keep the Italian-Americans in America? Over
there they earn money, and send millions of it to Italy. When they come
here to fight, not only that money stops, but we have to feed and pay
them."
It did not sound grateful. Nor as though Italy were seriously at war.
You do not find France and England, or Germany, grudging the man who
returns to fight for his country his rations and pay. And Italy pays her
soldiers five cents a day. Many of the reservists and volunteers from
America who answered the call to arms are bitterly disappointed. It was
their hope to be led at once to the firing-line. Instead, after six
months, they are still in camp. The families some brought with them are
in great need. They are not used to living on five cents a day. An
Italian told me the heaviest drain upon the war-relief funds came from
the families of these Italian-Americans, stranded in their own country.
He also told me his chief duty was to meet them on their arrival.
"But haven't they money when they arrive from America?" I asked.
"That's it," he said naively. "I'm at the wharf to keep their
countrymen from robbing them of it."
At present in Europe you cannot take gold out of any country that is at
war. As a result, gold is less valuable than paper, and when I exchanged
my double-eagles for paper I lost.
On the advice of the wisest young banker in France I changed, again at a
loss, the French paper into Bank of England notes. But when I arrived in
Salonika I found that with the Greeks English bank-notes were about as
popular as English troops, and that had I changed my American gold into
American notes, as was my plan, I would have been passing rich. That is
what comes of associating with bankers.
At the Italian frontier, a French gentleman had come to the door of the
compartment, raised his hat to the inmates, and asked if we had any
gold. Forewarned, we had not; and, taking our word for it, he again
raised his hat and disappeared. But, on leaving Naples, it was not like
that. In these piping times of war your baggage is examined when you
depart as well as when you arrive. You get it coming and going. But the
Greek steamer was to weigh anchor at noon, and at noon all the port
officials were at dejeuner; so, sooner than wait a week for another
boat, the passengers went on board and carried their bags with them. It
was unpardonable. It was an affront the port officials could not brook.
They had been disregarded. Their dignity had been flouted. What was
worse, they had not been tipped. Into the dining-saloon of the Greek
steamer, where we were at luncheon, they burst like Barbary pirates.
They shrieked, they yelled. Nobody knew who they were, or what they
wanted. Nor did they enlighten us. They only beat upon the tables,
clanked their swords, and spoiled our lunch. Why we were abused, or of
what we were accused, we could not determine. We vaguely recognized our
names, and stood up, and, while they continued to beat upon the tables,
a Greek steward explained they wanted our gold. I showed them my
bank-notes, and was allowed to return to my garlic and veal. But the
English cigarette king, who each week sends some millions of cigarettes
to the Tommies in the trenches, proposed to make a test case of it.
"I have on me," he whispered, "four English sovereigns. I am not taking
them out of Italy, because until they crossed the border in my pocket,
they were not in Italy, and as I am now leaving Italy, one might say
they have never been in Italy. It's as though they were in bond. I am a
British subject, and this is not Italian, but British, gold. I shall
refuse to surrender my four sovereigns. I will make it a test case."
The untipped port officials were still jangling their swords, so I
advised the cigarette king to turn in his gold. Even a Greek steamer is
better than an Italian jail.
"I will make of it a test case," he repeated.
"Let George do it," I suggested.
At that moment, in the presence of all the passengers, they were
searching the person of another British subject, and an Ally. He was one
of Lady Paget's units. He was in uniform, and, as they ran itching
fingers over his body, he turned crimson, and the rest of us, pretending
not to witness his humiliation, ate ravenously of goat's cheese.
The cigarette king, breathing defiance, repeated: "I will make of it a
test case."
"Better let George do it," I urged.
And when his name was called, a name that is as well known from Kavalla
to Smyrna in tobacco-fields, sweetmeat shops, palaces, and mosques, as
at the Ritz and the Gaiety, the cigarette king wisely accepted for his
four sovereigns Italian lire. At their rate of exchange, too.
Later, off Capri, he asked: "When you advised me to let George make a
test case of it, to which of our fellow passengers did you refer?"
In the morning the _Adriaticus_ picked up the landfall of Messina, but,
instead of making fast to the quay, anchored her length from it. This
appeared to be a port regulation. It enables the boatman to earn a
living by charging passengers two francs for a round trip of fifty
yards. As the wrecked city seems to be populated only by boatmen, rowing
passengers ashore is the chief industry.
The stricken seaport looks as though as recently as last week the German
army had visited it. In France, although war still continues, towns
wrecked by the Germans are already rebuilt. But Messina, after four
years of peace, is still a ruin. But little effort has been made to
restore it. The post-cards that were printed at the moment of the
earthquake show her exactly as she is to-day. With, in the streets, no
sign of life, with the inhabitants standing idle along the quay,
shivering in the rain and snow, with for a background crumbling walls,
gaping cellars, and hills buried under acres of fallen masonry, the
picture was one of terrible desolation, of neglect and inefficiency. The
only structures that had obviously been erected since the earthquake
were the "ready-to-wear" shacks sent as a stop-gap from America. One
should not look critically at a gift-house, but they are certainly very
ugly. In Italy, where every spot is a "location" for moving-pictures,
where the street corners are backgrounds for lovers' trysts and
assassinations, where even poverty is picturesque, and each landscape
"composes" into a beautiful and wondrous painting, the zinc shacks, in
rigid lines, like the barracks of a mining-camp, came as a shock.
Sympathetic Americans sent them as only a temporary shelter until
Messina rose again. But it was explained, as there is no rent to pay,
the Italians, instead of rebuilding, prefer to inhabit the ready-to-wear
houses. How many tourists the mere view of them will drive away no one
can guess.
People who linger in Naples, and by train to Reggio join the boat at
Messina, never admit that they followed that route to avoid being
seasick. Seasickness is an illness of which no one ever boasts. He may
take pride in saying: "I've an awful cold!" or "I've such a headache I
can't see!" and will expect you to feel sorry. But he knows, no matter
how horribly he suffers from mal de mer, he will receive no sympathy. In
a _Puck_ and _Punch_ way he will be merely comic. So, the passengers who
come over the side at Messina always have an excuse other than that they
were dodging the sea. It is usually that they lost their luggage at
Naples and had to search for it. As the Italian railroads, which are
operated by the government, always lose your luggage, it is an admirable
excuse. So, also, is the one that you delayed in order to visit the
ruins of Pompeii. The number of people who have visited Pompeii solely
because the Bay of Naples was in an ugly mood will never be counted.
Among those who joined at Messina were the French princess, who talked
American much too well to be French, and French far too well to be an
American, two military attaches, the King's messenger, and the Armenian,
who was by profession an olive merchant, and by choice a manufacturer
and purveyor of rumors. He was at once given an opportunity to exhibit
his genius. The Italians held up our ship, and would not explain why. So
the rumor man explained. It was because Greece had joined the Germans,
and Italy had made a prize of her. Ten minutes later, he said Greece had
joined the Allies, and the Italians were holding our ship until they
could obtain a convoy of torpedo-boats. Then it was because two
submarines were waiting for us outside the harbor. Later, it was because
the Allies had blockaded Greece, and our Greek captain would not
proceed, not because he was detained by Italians, but by fear.
Every time the rumor man appeared in the door of the smoking-room he
was welcomed with ironic cheers. But he was not discouraged. He would go
outside and stand in the rain while he hatched a new rumor, and then, in
great excitement, dash back to share it. War levels all ranks, and the
passengers gathered in the smoking-room playing solitaire, sipping muddy
Turkish coffee, and discussing the war in seven languages, and everybody
smoked--especially the women. Finally the military attaches, Sir Thomas
Cunningham and Lieutenant Boulanger, put on the uniforms of their
respective countries and were rowed ashore to protest. The rest of us
paced the snow-swept decks and gazed gloomily at the wrecked city. Out
of the fog a boat brought two Sisters of the Poor, wrapped in the black
cloaks of their order. They were petitioners for the poor of Messina,
and everybody in the smoking-room gave them a franc. Because one of them
was Irish and because it was her fate to live in Messina, I gave her ten
francs. Meaning to be amiable, she said: "Ah, it takes the English to
be generous!"
I said I was Irish.
The King's messenger looked up from his solitaire and, also wishing to
be amiable, asked: "What's the difference?"
The Irish sister answered him.
"Nine francs," she said.
After we had been prisoners of war for twenty-four hours John Bass of
the Chicago _Daily News_ suggested that if we remained longer at Messina
our papers would say we thought the earthquake was news, and had stopped
to write a story about it. So, we sent a telegram to our consul.
The American consul nearest was George Emerson Haven at Catania, by
train three hours distant. We told him for twenty-four hours we had been
prisoners, and that unless we were set free he was to declare war on
Italy. The telegram was written not for the consul to read, but for the
benefit of the port authorities. We hoped it might impress them. We
certainly never supposed they would permit our ultimatum to reach Mr.
Haven. In any case, the ship was allowed to depart. But whether the
commandant of the port was alarmed by our declaration of war, or the
unusual spectacle of the British attache, "Tommy" Cunningham, in khaki
while three hundred miles distant from any firing-line, we will never
know.[A] But the rumor man knew, and explained.
[Footnote A: Later we were sorry we had not been held longer in
captivity. The telegram reached our consul, and that gentleman at once
journeyed to Messina not only to rescue us, but to invite us to a
Thanksgiving Day dinner. A consul like that is wasted on the Island of
Sicily. The State Department is respectfully urged to promote him to the
mainland.]
"We had been delayed," he said, "because Italy had declared war on
Greece, and did not want the food on board our ship to enter that
country."
The cigarette king told him if the food on board was the same food we
had been eating, to bring it into any country was a proper cause for
war.
At noon we passed safely between Scylla and Charybdis, and the following
morning were in Athens.