and illustrate. Their merits and demerits I am not here to discuss. How
much of polite culture, of sufficient philosophy, goes with their honest
purpose, it is not at this time my business to know or to say. Neither
is their special theology mine. They believe in a literal atonement,
while I believe in the symbolism which makes a pure and blameless
sufferer a victim offered in behalf of his enemies. They look for a
miraculous, I for a moral regeneration. They make Christ divine of
birth, I make him simply divine of life. Their dogmas would reconcile
God to man, mine would only reconcile man to God. Finally, they revere
as absolute and divine a book which I hold to be a human record of
surpassing thoughts and actions, but with the short-comings, omissions,
and errors of the human historiographer stamped upon them. With all this
diversity of opinion between the church of their communion and that of
mine, I still honor, beyond all difference, the Protestant cause for
which they stand in Greece, and consider their representation a just and
genuine one.
In writing this I have had in mind the three dissenting missionaries,
Messrs. Kalopothaki, Constantine, and Zacularius. The older mission of
Dr. and Mrs. Hill is an educational one. I believe it to have borne the
happiest fruits for Greece. Whenever I have met a scholar of Mrs. Hill,
I have seen the traces of a firm, pure, and gentle hand--one to which
the wisest and tenderest of us would willingly confide our daughters. In
raising the whole scale of feminine education in Greece, she has applied
the most potent and subtle agent for the elevation of its whole society.
She herself is childless; but she need scarcely regret it, since whole
generations are sure to rise up and call her blessed.
Dr. Hill is at present chaplain to the English embassy, at whose chapel
he preaches weekly. Mrs. Hill and himself seem to stand in very
harmonious relations with Athenian society, as well as with the
travelling and visiting world.
The missionaries preach and practise with unremitting zeal. They also
publish a weekly religious paper. Their wives labor faithfully in the
aid and employment of the Cretan women and children, and, I doubt not,
in other good works. But of these things I have now told the little that
I know.
THE PIAZZA.
Venice has a Piazza, gorgeous with shops, lights, music, and, above all,
the joyous life of the people. Athens also has a Piazza, bordered with
hotels and cafes, with a square of trees and flowering shrubs in the
middle. It lies broadly open to the sun all day long, and gives back his
rays with a torrid refraction. When day declines, the evening breezes
sweep it refreshingly. Accordingly, as soon as the shadows permit, the
spaces in front of the cafes--or, in Greek, _caffeneions_--are crowded
with chairs and tables, the chairs being filled by human beings, many of
whom have ripened, so far as the head goes, into a fez--have unfolded,
so far as the costume goes, into pali-kari petticoats and leggings.
Between the two hotels is mortal antipathy. Ours--"Des Etrangers"--has
taken the lead, and manages to keep it. The prices of the other are
lower, the _cuisine_ much the same, the upper windows set to command a
view of the Acropolis, which is in itself an unsurpassable picture.
Where the magic resides which keeps our hotel full and the other empty,
I know not, unless it be in the slippery Eastern smile of the
landlord--an expression of countenance so singular that it inevitably
leads you, from curiosity, to follow it further. In our case it led to
no profound of wickedness. We were not cheated, nor plundered, nor got
the better of in any way that I remember. Our food was good, our rooms
proper, our charges just. Yet I felt, whenever I encountered the smile,
that it angled for me, and caught me on a hook cunningly baited.
I must say that our landlord was even generous. Besides our three meals
_per diem_,--which grew to be very slender affairs, so far as we were
concerned,--we often required lemonades and lokumia, besides sending of
errands innumerable. For these indulgences no extra charge was made. In
an Italian, French, or English hotel, each one of them would have had
its penitentiary record. So the mystery of the smile must have had
reference to matters deeply personal to its wearer, and never made known
to me.
The cafes seemed to maintain a thrifty existence. But one of them took
especial pains to secure the services of a band of music. Hence, on the
evenings when the public band did not play, emanated the usual
capriccios from Norma, Trovatore, and the agonies of Traviata. Something
better and worse than all this was given to us in the shape of certain
ancient Greek or Turkish melodies, obviously composed in ignorance of
all rules of thorough-bass, with a confusion of majors and minors most
perplexing to the classic, but interesting to the historic sense. I
rejoiced especially in one of these, which bore the same relation to
good harmony that Eastern dress bears to good composition of color. It
was obviously well liked by the public, as it was usually played more
than once during the same evening.
Before the shadows grew quite dark, a barouche or two, with ladies and
livery, would drive across the Piazza, giving a whiff of fashion like
the gleam of red costume that heightens a landscape. And the people sat,
ate and drank, came and went, in sober gladness, not laughing
open-mouthed--rather smiling with their eyes. From our narrow hotel
balcony we used to look down and wonder whether we should ever be cool
again. For though the evenings were not sultry, their length did not
suffice to reduce the fever of the day. And the night within the
mosquito-nettings was an agony of perspiration. I now sit in Venice, and
am cool; but I would gladly suffer something to hear the weird music,
and to see the cheerful Piazza again. Yet when I was there, for ten
minutes of this sea-breeze over the lagoons I would have given--Heaven
knows what. O Esau!
DEPARTURE.
Too soon, too soon for all of us, these rare and costly delights were
ended. We had indeed suffered days of Fahrenheit at 100 deg. in the shade.
We had made experience of states of body which are termed bilious, of
states of mind more or less splenetic, lethargic, and irritable. We
dreamed always of islands we were never to visit, of ruins which we
shall know, according to the flesh, never. We pored over Muir and Miss
Bremer, and feebly devised outbreaks towards the islands, towards the
Cyclades, Santorini, but especially towards Corinth, whose acropolis
rested steadily in our wishes, resting in our memory only as a wish.
Towards Constantinople, too, our uncertain destinies had one moment
pointed. But when the word of command came, it despatched us westward,
and not eastward. By this time our life had become somewhat too
literally a vapor, and our sublimated brains were with difficulty
condensed to the act of packing. Perpetual thirst tormented us. And of
this as of other Eastern temptations, I must say, "Resist it." Drinking
does not relieve this symptom of hot climates. It, moreover, utterly
destroys the tone of the stomach. A little tea is the safest
refreshment; and even this should not be taken in copious draughts.
Patience and self-control are essential to bodily health and comfort
under these torrid skies. The little food one can take should be of the
order usually characterized as "nutritious and easy of digestion." But
so far as health goes, "Avoid Athens in midsummer" will be the safest
direction, and will obviate the necessity of all others.
In spite, however, of all symptoms and inconveniences, the mandate that
said, "Pack and go," struck a chill to our collective heart. We visited
all the dear spots, gave pledges of constancy to all the kind friends,
tried with our weak sight to photograph the precious views upon our
memory. Then, with a sort of agony, we hurried our possessions, new and
old, into the usual narrow receptacles, saw all accounts discharged,
feed the hotel servants, took the smile for the last time, and found
ourselves dashing along the road to the Piraeus with feelings very unlike
the jubilation in which we first passed that classic transit. It was all
over now, like a first love, like a first authorship, like a honey-moon.
It was over. We could not say that we had not had it. But O, the void of
not having it now, of never expecting to have it again!
Kind friends went with us to soften the journey. At the boat, Dr. and
Mrs. Hill met and waited with us. I parted from the apostolic woman with
sincere good-will and regret. Warned to be on board by six P. M., the
boat did not start till half-past seven. We waved last adieus. We clung
to the last glimpses of the Acropolis, of the mountains; but they soon
passed out of sight. We savagely went below and to bed. The diary bears
this little extract: "The AEgean was calm and blue. Thus, with great
pleasure and interest, and with some drawbacks, ends my visit to Athens.
A dream--a dream!"
RETURN VOYAGE.
To narrate the circumstances of our return voyage would seem much like
descending from the poetic _denouement_ of a novel to all the prosaic
steps by which the commonplace regains its inevitable ascendency after
no matter what abdication in favor of the heroic. Yet, as travel is
travel, whether outward or inward bound, and as our homeward cruise had
features, I will try, with the help of the diary, to pick them out of
the vanishing chaos of memory, premising only that I have no further
_denouement_ to give.
"Story? Lord bless you, I have none to tell, sir."
On referring, therefore, to Clayton's quarto, of the date of July 21,
1867, I find the day to have been passed by us all in the hot harbor of
Syra, on board the boat that brought us there. At seven A. M. we did
indeed land in a small boat with Vice-Consul Saponsaki, and betake
ourselves through several of the steep and sunny streets of the town. At
one of the two hotels we staid long enough to order lemonades and drink
them. The said hotel appeared, on a cursory survey, to be as dirty and
disorderly as need be; but we soon escaped therefrom, and visited the
theatre, the Casino, and the Austrian consul. The Casino is spacious and
handsome, giving evidence at once of wealth and of taste in those who
caused it to be built. Such an establishment would be a boon in Athens,
where there is no good public reading-room of any kind. The theatre is
reasonable. Here, in winter, a short opera season is enjoyed, and, in
consequence, the music books of the young ladies teem with arrangements
of Verdi and of Donizetti. We found the square near the quay lively with
the early enjoyers of coffee and the narghile. Every precious inch of
shade was, as usual, carefully appropriated; but the sun was rapidly
narrowing the boundaries of the shadow district. Our chief errand
resulted in the purchase of an ok of _lokumias_, which we virtuously
resolved to carry to America, if possible. The little boat now returned
us to the steamer, where breakfast and dinner quietly succeeded each
other, little worthy of record occurring between. One interesting half
hour reached us in the shape of a visit from Papa Parthenius, a young
and active member of the Cretan Syn-eleusis. He came with tidings for
our chief veteran,--tales of the Turks, and how they could get no water
at Svakia; tidings also of brave young DeKay, and of his good service in
behalf of the island. While these, in the dreadful secrecy of an unknown
tongue, impart he did, I seized pen and ink, and ennobled my unworthy
sketch-book with a _croquis_ of his finely-bronzed visage. His
countenance was such as Miss Bremer would have called dark and
energetic. He wore the dress of his calling, which was that of the
secular priesthood. He soon detected my occupation, and said, in Greek,
"I regret that the kyrie should make my portrait without my arms."
We parted from him very cordially. Consul Campfield afterwards gave us a
refreshing row about the harbor, bringing us within view of the two
iron-clads newly purchased and brought out to run the Turkish blockade.
One of these was famous in the annals of Secessia. Both served that more
than doubtful cause. Then we went back to the vessel, and the rest of
the day did not get beyond perspiration and patience.
Towards evening a spirited breeze began to lash the waters of the harbor
into hilly madness. White caps showed themselves, and we, who were to
embark on board another vessel, for another voyage, took note of the
same. The friendly Evangelides now came on board, and scolded us for not
having sent him word of our arrival. We pleaded the extreme heat of the
day, which had made dreadful the idea of visiting and of locomotion of
any sort. He was clad from head to foot in white linen, and looked most
comfortable. While he was yet with us, the summons of departure came. In
our chief's plans, meanwhile, a change had taken place. Determining
causes induced him to return to Athens, minus his female _impedimenta_:
so the little boat that danced with us from the Lloyd's Syra to the
Lloyd's Trieste steamer danced back with him, leaving three disconsolate
ones, bereft of Greece, and unprotected of all and any. Nor did we make
this second start without a _contretemps_. Having bidden the chief
farewell, we proceeded at once to take account of our luggage; and lo!
the shawl bundle was not. Now, every knowing traveller is aware that
this article of travelling furniture contains much besides the shawl,
which is but the envelope of all the odds and ends usually most
essential to comfort. For the second in command, therefore, previously
designated as _a megale_, there was but one course to pursue. To hire a
boat, refuse to be cheated in its price, tumble down the ship's side,
row to the Syra steamer, pick up the missing bundle, astonish the chief
in a pensive reverie, "_sibi et suis_," on the cabin sofa, and return
triumphant, was the work of ten minutes. But the sea ran high, the
little boat danced like a cockle-shell, and the neophytes were afraid,
and much relieved in mind when the ancient reappeared.
The America (the Trieste steamer) did not weigh anchor before midnight.
Soon after the adventure of the shawl bundle, the Syra steamer fired a
gun, and slipped out to sea. We had seen the last of the chief for a
fortnight at least, and our attention was now turned to the quarters we
were to occupy for four days to come. These did not at first sight seem
very promising. Our state-rooms were small, and bare of all furniture,
except the bed and washing fixtures. Just outside of them, on the deck,
was the tent under which the Turkish women horded. For we found, on
coming on board, a Turkish pacha and suite, bound from Constantinople to
Janina, to take the place of him whom we had, a month before,
accompanied on his way from Janina to Constantinople, via Corfu, where
we were to be quit of the present dignitary. But before I get to the
Turks, I must mention that good Christian, the Austrian consul at Syra,
who came on board before we left, and introduced to me a young man in an
alarming condition of health, a Venetian by birth, and an officer in the
Austrian navy. His illness had been induced by exposure incident to his
profession in the hot harbor of Kanea.
The first night we made acquaintance only with various screaming babies,
the torment of young mothers who did not know how to take care of them,
their nurses having been left at home. The night was sufficiently
disturbed up to the period of departure, and these little ones vented
their displeasure in tones which argued well for their lungs. The next
morning showed us a rough sea, the vessel pitching and tossing, the
ladies mostly sea sick--we ourselves well and about, but much incommoded
by heat and want of room. A tall member of the pacha's suite came into
our little round house, dressed principally in a short, quilted sack of
bright red calico. He carried in his arms a teething baby, very dirty
and ill-dressed, and tried to nurse and soothe it on his knee, the
mother being totally incapacitated by seasickness. This man was tall and
fair. I thought he might be an Albanian. I made some incautious remarks
in French concerning his dress, which he obviously understood, for he
disappeared, and then reappeared dressed in a handsome European suit,
with a bran-new fez on his head, but carrying no baby. Another of the
suite, unmistakably a Turk, pestered the round-house. This individual
wore white cotton drawers under a long calico night shirt of a faded
lilac pattern, which was bound about his waist with a strip of yellow
calico. The articles of this toilet were far from clean. Glasses and a
fez completed it. The wearer we learned to be a fanatical Turk, who came
among us in this disorderly dress to show his contempt for Christians in
general. His motive was held to be, in his creed, a religious one. It
further caused him to take his meals separately from us--a circumstance
which we scarcely regretted. He was much amazed at the worsted work in
the hands of one of the neophytes, and went so far as to take it up, and
to ask a bystander who spoke his language whether the young girl spun
the wools herself before she began her tapestry. He then asked the price
of the wools, and on hearing the reply exclaimed, "What land on earth
equals Turkey, where you can buy the finest wool for twelve piastres an
ok!"
Besides these not very appetizing figures, we had on board some
Fanariote Greeks, of aristocratic pretensions and Turkish principles;
some Hellenes of the true Greek stamp; a Dalmatian sea captain, his wife
and daughters, who spoke Italian and looked German; an Armenian lady and
young daughter from Constantinople, bound to Paris; several Greeks
resident in Transylvania, speaking Greek and German with equal facility;
two Armenian priests returning from an Eastern mission, and _en route_
for Vienna; the Austro-Italian before spoken of; a Bohemian glass
merchant; and an array of deck passengers as varied and motley as those
already enumerated as belonging to the first cabin. With all of the
latter we made acquaintance; but although we moved among them with
cordiality and good-will, the equilibrium of sympathy was difficult to
find. The Fanariotes were no Philhellenes, the Armenian ladies were
frequenters of the sultan's palace; the Italian was thoroughly German in
his inclinations, and spoke in utter dispraise of his own country when
his feeble condition allowed him to speak. Of the Armenian priests, one
was quite a man of the world, and somewhat reserved and suspicious. The
other showed something of the infirmity of advanced age in the prolixity
of his speech, as well as in its matter. In this Noah's ark _e megale_
moved about, mindful of the bull in the china shop, and tried not to
upset this one's mustard-pot and that one's vase of perfume. And as all
were whole when she parted from them, she has reason to hope that her
efforts were tolerably successful.
In the human variety shop just described, I must not forget to speak of
my sisters, the Turkish women, imprisoned in a small portion of the
deck, protected by a curtain from all intrusion or inspection. As this
sacred precinct lay along the outside partition of the ladies' cabin, I
became aware of a remote window, through which a practicable breach
might be made in their fortress. Thither, on the first day, I repaired,
and paid my compliments. They were, I think, five in number, and lay
along on mattresses, disconsolately enough. With the help of the
stewardess, I inquired after their health, and learned that seasickness
held them prostrate and helpless. Nothing ate they, nothing drank they.
Two of them were young and pretty. Of these, one was the wife of the bey
who accompanied the pacha. She had a delicate cast of features,
melancholy dark eyes, and dark hair bound up with a lilac crape
handkerchief. The other was the mother of the teething child spoken of
above, and the wife of the tall parent who nursed it. By noon on the
second day the sea had sunk to almost glassy smoothness. All of the
patients were up and about; the children were freshly washed and
dressed, and became coaxable. One of the Armenian ladies now volunteered
to go with me to look in upon our Turkish friends. We found them up and
stirring, making themselves ready to land at Corfu. And to my companion
they told what good messes they had brought from Constantinople, and
thrown into the blue AEgean; for the heat of the vessel spoiled their
victuals much faster than they, being seasick, could keep them from
spoiling. And they laughed over their past sufferings much after the
fashion of other women. The pretty mother now appeared in a loose gown
of yellow calico, holding up her baby. I made a hasty sketch of the pair
as they showed themselves at the cabin window; but the flat, glaring
light did not allow me to do even as well as usual, which is saying
little. The oval face, smooth, black brows, and long, liquid eyes, were
beautiful, and her smile was touchingly child-like and innocent. The
bey's wife wore a lilac calico; another wore pale green. These dresses
consisted of loose gowns, with under-trousers of the same material; they
were utterly unneat and tasteless. I presently saw them put on their
yashmacs, and draw over their calicoes a sort of cloak of black stuff,
not unlike alpaca. They now looked very decently, and, being covered,
were allowed to sit on deck until the time of the arrival in Corfu. The
pretty one whom I sketched begged to look at my work. On seeing it she
exclaimed, "Let no man ever behold this!" Nor could I blame her, for it
maligned her sadly. Concerning the landing in Corfu, the meagre diary
shows this passage:--
"Went on shore at Corfu at 5.45 P. M., returning at 6.50. Expenses in
all, ten francs, including boat, ices, and _valet de place_. The steamer
was so hot that this short visit on shore was a great relief, Corfu
being at this hour very breezy and shady. Every one says that the Ionian
Islands are going to ruin since the departure of the English. This is
from the want of capital and of enterprise. So it would seem as if
people who have no enterprise of their own must be content to thrive
secondarily upon that of other people. The whole type of Greek life,
however, is opposed to the Occidental type. Its luxury is to be in
health, and to be satisfied with little. We Westerns illustrate the
multiplication of wants with that of resources, or _vice versa_. [The
diary, prudently, does not attempt to decide the question of antecedence
and consequence between these two.] The Greeks seem, so far, to
illustrate the converse. Whether this opposition can endure in the
present day, I cannot foresee. But this I can see--that Greece will not
have more luxury without more poverty. The circle of wealth, enlarging,
will more and more crowd those who are unfitted to attain it, and who
must be content with the minimum even of food and raiment."