CRETE, OR THE ENCHANTED ISLAND.
“Hier ruhn im Kranze
Von Blüth’ und Frucht, als Zwilling
Herbst und Frühling,
Doch Idas Scheitel strahlt im Silberglanze.”
E. GEIBEL.
Is it not a dream, a delusion? Am I really in Crete? Shall I not awake
suddenly and find myself at home, and hear the voices of my children?
Those flower wildernesses, which people call here “gardens,” those noble
snow-covered mountains, they belong to fairy-land; and the strange crowd
of people, and the curious little half clad black children that play on
the sea-shore yonder, are they real beings of flesh and blood, or
phantoms that haunt the enchanted island?
Thus I felt when first I came to Crete. My life here seemed so strange,
so new, that it was like a dream. But when I awoke to it morning after
morning, then that brilliant sky, and the flowers that grew beneath it,
the deep blue sea, down upon which I had sometimes looked through the
latticed windows of the Pasha’s harem, the pretty little Circassian
slaves, and the ugly black ones, in gay fantastic dress, that stood at
the open doors, the strange sounds of the Turkish band playing on the
old walls of the city, and the melancholy Greek songs of Leilà, the
Pasha’s daughter--all became a reality that neither dazzled nor confused
me any longer. But they were happy days, those days in Crete; and when I
think of them, it is as if I felt again the fresh breeze of the sea, and
the balmy one that blows from the south; and wafts to us the smell of
orange-groves in blossom, and of all the roses that bloom in the gardens
of Crete, and I see the land and the sea smiling under the bright sun of
the East.
There was no hotel of any kind on the island; we had therefore, accepted
the invitation of an Italian gentleman residing there, who, when
apprized of our intention to visit Crete, had asked us most pressingly
to stay at his house in Canea, the principal town.
He expected our arrival on the 3rd of April, and came on board our
steamboat as soon as it had anchored in the harbour of Canea.
There was no difficulty in identifying us, we were the only first-class
passengers on board. After exchanging some kind words with Signor A--,
and seeing to our luggage, we stept into the little boat which had
brought him on board, and crossed the harbour. How strange and new a
world it seemed in which I was; the town, the people, the sky, the sea,
the very air I breathed.
What is that large white palace on the left side of the harbour? I
asked. “The Pasha’s Seraglio,”[C] Sig. A-- answered: “and do you see
that part of it which faces the sea, and where all the windows are
covered by thick lattice work, that is the Harem.” Not far from the
Seraglio I noticed a row of large vaults. Sig. A-- told me that they had
been built by the Venetians, who used to keep their gallies in them. The
fortress at the right hand of the harbour was also built by them. So
were the fine strong city walls, on which I afterwards noticed in
several places the sign of the Lion of St. Mark. We landed and wound our
way through a crowd of strange looking people. They were Turks and
Greeks in their national dresses, and Africans with not much dress of
any kind. The streets were decently clean, and would have looked almost
cheerful if there had not been a great number of large dogs, with a
wild, hungry, wolf-like look, who were lying everywhere on the pavement.
Most of the houses round the harbour were coffee houses, the doors of
which were wide open. In these open places, and outside the doors too, a
great number of Turks and Greeks were sitting and smoking long chiboucs
and hookahs; I noticed but very few people that wore the European dress.
A walk of about five minutes brought us to the house of Sig. A--, a
modest dwelling, although it was perhaps the best furnished private
house in Canea. But if the floors were bare, they were faultlessly
clean, and the plain bed and window curtains, were of a dazzling
whiteness.
[C] Seraglio means a palace. Harem means sacred, and is that
part of the Seraglio which is assigned to the women.
Round the windows of my bedroom grew some pretty creepers, and the sky
that peeped through this green frame into my room was of a brilliancy
such as I had never seen before, and the air that streamed through the
open window was so soft and fresh at the same time, that but to breathe
was an enjoyment. Sig. A-- was, as I said before, an Italian by birth.
Chance had brought him, when a young naval officer, from St. Remo, near
Genoa, to Crete, and fate had ordained that he should fall in love with
the daughter of the Italian consul there, who made him forget his home,
which he never saw again, for he gave up his profession and settled at
Crete. He had been a widower now, poor man, for several years, his wife
having died young, leaving him four little children and a wretched
portrait of herself, which some roving dauber had made, which he however
held in high estimation, and could never look at without emotion.
Towards us he was the most amiable of hosts, and showed his pleasure in
entertaining us in a kind and hearty manner. We found it difficult to
remember under how many obligations we were to him, for he almost
succeeded in persuading us that it was he who was beholden to us. His
children were kind, good-natured and timid, and never more pleased than
when they could be of some little service to me. The Genoese
housekeeper, a tall, masculine-looking, middle-aged woman, who had a
moustache many a young ensign would have coveted, did also what she
could to make me comfortable, and appeared to feel over-rewarded for all
her trouble by my listening now and then to her complaints against Canea
and its wooden houses, the slovenly Greek servants, and the wicked
Turks, the lean butcher’s meat, and the coarse flour; it was an endless
catalogue of complaints, interrupted only by her praises of her Genoa,
which, through the distance of time and space, appeared to her even more
beautiful than it is. There all the people live in marble palaces, which
have nothing of wood but the window frames and doors; the ladies wear
only silk and velvet, and the large beautiful churches are covered with
rich paintings. But if her praises were somewhat exaggerated, I must own
that her complaints were not wholly groundless. The beef I found
decidedly uneatable, as they kill only cows which are too old to give
milk, and oxen too old for work. The mutton was of the very poorest
quality, lamb and chicken only just eatable, but very inferior to what
we are accustomed to. The people seem to eat a great deal of salted
sardines, caviare, olives, and such like things. I did not care for
them, and lived principally upon eggs, salad, and oranges, the latter of
a size and flavour unknown in England. With Nicolo and Marico, the Greek
servant boy and maid, I could however find no fault. It is true they
wore no stockings, and I suppose Marietta, the housekeeper, did not
accuse them without reason of having but a very slight feeling of the
obligation of telling the truth, but then they were so nice looking,
their dress was so picturesque, their manners so gentle and winning,
that I could not help liking them.
We were a fortnight under the roof of kind Sig. A--, with the exception
of the few days we spent on an excursion to Rettimo, and a pleasant,
never to be forgotten time it was. I generally spent my mornings alone
most quietly and happily at the little table, near my open bedroom
window, reading or writing, and sometimes forgetting both, and looking
dreamily into the blue sky, or at the fragrant flowers in the glass
before me. For there were never wanting some flowers from garden and
field to sweeten my room. The kind people with whom I lived finding that
I was fond of flowers, supplied me abundantly with bouquets of such
marvellous beauty, that to look at them and to breathe their fragrant
odours gave me a lively pleasure, even now the recollection produces a
gentle emotion, like the remembrance of some happy childhood’s
Christmas, or some moonlight walk in spring time, when the heart has
just learned what love is. The wild flowers I gathered myself, and that
I did so much astonished my host and his family. They thought it
decidedly eccentric to gather wild flowers, put them into water, and
look at them with pleasure, as if they had been garden roses or orange
blossoms.
In the afternoon we always went out, either for an excursion on mules or
for a long walk. I was very fond of a stroll round the old
fortifications of the city, from which I could see the cheerful animated
looking town, with its elegant minarets, and the blue sea beyond it--the
fruitful plain bordered by the glorious chain of the Sphakistiki,
meaning “white mountains,” whose snowy crowns shone in the light of the
declining day, and formed a picture more beautiful than anything I had
ever seen or dreamt of. Here the Turkish band used to play in the
evening. They sometimes performed European music, but their national
marches and the hymn to the Sultan they played with more spirit and
gusto, and the strange wild sounds seemed also to me more in harmony
with the scene around.
The crowd of little black urchins that always congregated near the band
also preferred the latter music. They stared sulkily, or with
indifference at the performers when they played some of Bellini’s or
Meyerbeer’s compositions, but as soon as they began some oriental tune
the sulky look changed into a broad grin, which showed their white
teeth; and their legs, arms and heads began to move about in a lively
and droll manner.
They contrasted singularly with the grave and dignified look of the
Turks that were sitting or standing about, smoking cigarettes, or
playing mechanically with a string of large beads in their hands. The
Greeks that were present walked about engaged in conversation, which
they accompanied with expressive movements of the face and lively
gesticulations. The Turkish soldiers also assembled near, being called
together by a flourish of trumpets. Before they dispersed they bowed
several times low down, touched breast and forehead as if in salute, and
shrieked out some barbarous word which means “Long life to the Sultan.”
Far apart, on a green slope, sat the Turkish women, with their children
and black slaves. These women, wrapped in satin cloaks, their heads and
faces covered by their white veils, the gaily dressed little children
with their bright happy faces and dark sparkling eyes, the black female
slaves in cotton dresses of the Turkish cut, and most gorgeous colours
and patterns, produced altogether a charming picture. When we had
listened for a while to the music we usually took a walk into the
country. Our road led sometimes through lanes formed by high cactus and
aloe hedges, or across corn fields where the corn (it was the beginning
of April) was already beginning to ripen; over green meadows full of
brilliant and beautiful flowers, or through cool orange and sombre
olive groves, till we reached one of the many and beautiful gardens for
which the island has been renowned in all ages.[D] Out of the snow-white
foam lying on the breast of the azure waves which kiss the shores of
Cyprus, rose Aphrodite the goddess of love and beauty, but Flora must
have been born in Crete, or why should the flowers that bloom in its
gardens have more brilliant hues and exhale sweeter odours than all the
other flowers of our beautiful earth. Yet thus it is. I shall never
forget the evening when I first entered through a humble gate in a
whitewashed wall, the garden of Sakhir Bey. Then for the first time I
knew why Eden was a garden, no splendid palace, but a garden with the
sweet smell of flowers, with the shade of noble trees, and the sound of
murmuring waters. Oh! thought I, that I might be allowed to dream my
life away here, that that gate would shut out for ever the noisy
bustling world.
[D] “Oranges, lemons, pomegranates, and all other fruits, are
produced in the greatest abundance, and sold at the vilest
prices. The gardens are rich and beautiful, and adorned
with many plants unknown in other countries.”--_History of
Candia_, published in 1550.
This garden was very different from our gardens at home, nor was it the
most beautiful of Crete, but it was the first I saw there, and it made
the deepest and most lasting impression upon me.
Art has done little, Nature prodigiously much. The flowers grow so
luxuriantly, that man’s hand cannot keep them in bounds. They grow high,
intertwine, and intermingle; they stretch their long branches full of
rich blossoms across the paths; they touch your shoulder and catch your
veil, but they are wonderfully sweet and lovely. The scent of the orange
blossoms and roses is so strong, that it has a physical effect upon your
nerves, and gives you a feeling of unspeakable enjoyment and bliss. The
son of Sakhir Bey, the happy proprietor of this little Paradise,
received us most kindly. He was the first Turk I ever spoke to. At the
beginning of our conversation, carried on in French, I felt a little
embarrassed, for I remembered that he belonged to a nation that treats
women as slaves, and seems to despise them as such. He however soon made
me forget it, by his perfect politeness and courtesy. He told one of his
gardeners to bring us fruits of different kinds, some of which I had not
seen or tasted before, and when I left I carried away with me a bouquet
as large as my hand would hold, and so sweet, that for days after when
it stood in my room, I felt as if I were again in Sakhir Bey’s garden.
I visited many other gardens, I saw the beautiful “Pine-tree Garden” of
Hamet Bey, “the garden of the Red Country” belonging to Memet Bey, and
the splendid one of Pasha Mustapha, but none that pleased me more than
the first.
Far, far from here, they still bloom in the sun, and in the soft clear
moonlight, those gardens of Crete! That my foot ever trod their
flower-strewed paths, that my hand plucked their glorious roses, seems
now a dream. The stately Bey alone walks them now, and at times when the
gates are firmly closed, some veiled woman with slow measured steps, and
dark burning eyes, followed by some black slave, whose ugly features
appear the more repugnant in that world of beauty.
The day after we arrived at Canea my husband paid, as is customary in
the East, a visit to Ismael Pasha, who is Governor-General of Crete. The
history of this remarkable man is singular and romantic. He was born at
Chio, of Greek parents, made a slave by the Turks when a boy of eleven
years of age, and sold to a Turkish doctor in Constantinople, who taught
him what little he himself knew of his profession, and employed him as
an assistant. When Ismael had grown to be a young man, he showed so
much talent and ability, that his master most justly thought his young
assistant might, if he received an European education, become a
competitor of the French, German, and Italian doctors in Constantinople,
who were more frequently consulted, and better paid by the wealthy
Turks, than the practitioners of their own nation. He therefore sent the
young man to Paris, where he studied for five years. When he returned to
Constantinople, he far surpassed his master’s most sanguine
expectations; and his great ability and success were soon generally
acknowledged, and he rose in a short time to the dignity of physician to
the late Sultan; and afterwards, when it was seen that his talents in
other directions were equally remarkable, he became the Governor of
Provinces. In Crete, where he has been for several years, he is
respected and loved by all well disposed people. He encourages
agriculture, makes roads, punishes crime, and judges justly. Under his
mild and firm rule, the Greek inhabitants have almost become reconciled
to the hated dominion of the Turks; and have petitioned the Sublime
Porte to prolong his Pashalik. A few days after his visit, my husband
received an invitation to dine in the Seraglio. The note of invitation
ran as follows: Le Gouverneur Général de Crête prie Monsieur V. de lui
faire l’honneur de venir diner chez lui, demain Jeudi, vers le coucher
du soleil.
“Sérail, Mercredi.”
I thought it quite a poetical and Oriental mode of fixing a dinner hour
“vers le coucher du soleil;” as however the Turks count their hours
differently and in a way that is most puzzling to a European, this was
perhaps the best way to prevent a mistake, for the sun sets at the same
hour over the faithful and over the infidels. The latter flattering
appellation is bestowed upon all who are not Mussulmans. The evening Mr.
V. dined with the Pasha was not a gay one for me. Being tired after a
long day’s ride on a mule, I sat down at my open window looking at the
moon. She shines much brighter there than in England, but it seems she
exercises the same influence there as here; I became quite melancholy
and sentimental; I longed for my children, and asked the moon to kiss
them for me in their little cribs in England.
The next morning I paid my first visit to the Pasha’s Harem. My husband
conducted me to the entrance of the Seraglio, that leads into the Harem,
the part of the palace occupied by the women, when an old grey-bearded
Turk opened the door from the outside with a large key, and locked it
again as soon as he had let me in. I must confess I did not quite like
the fashion in which that stern old man with daggers and pistols in his
belt, had closed the outer world behind me, and I cast “a longing,
lingering look behind” at the strongly barred door.
I slowly crossed the yard towards another door I saw before me; and at
which the old man had pointed before he locked me in. It opened at my
approach, and I was met and saluted by several women in the Turkish
costume; the first I saw without veils, who led me up a wide staircase
to a landing that resembled a large saloon. At the top of the stairs I
was received by the Pasha, who led me into a spacious apartment with
divans all around, but no other furniture. He left me there alone, but
returned almost immediately, accompanied by two ladies, the one a young
and pretty timid looking girl, in a rich Turkish dress; the other a
middle-aged lady, in plain European clothes, with a pale face, and two
large piercing black eyes, and who, after the Pasha had named his
daughter, was introduced to me as Mdlle. Elizabeth.
The windows of the Harem are hermetically closed, allowing no air and
but little light to enter, this is admitted through the doors
principally, which lead into spacious halls or terraces, overlooking
the court-yard, or little inner gardens, and are seldom closed. At the
open door of the apartment in which I was, appeared a crowd of slaves,
most of them so young as to be mere children. Some were richly, all
gaily dressed. The prettiest of them was a little Circassian, of
about twelve years of age, the favourite of her mistress, who was
dressed in pink silk, and had a wreath of artificial flowers in her
hair. But I have not spoken of the mistress yet. Although her father is
a Greek by birth, the daughter was of the Turkish type. She is short,
and would be considered too stout with us, but has only the “en bon
point” indispensable to a Turkish beauty. Her round face wore an
expression of kindness and good humour, and was remarkable for a pair of
fine large intelligent black eyes. Her dress was entirely composed of
green silk, trimmed with crimson velvet. On her head she wore a little
round black hat, evidently an European importation, for it was very much
like those worn in England; it had a fine white feather fastened to it
with a diamond ornament; and a brooch with the miniature of her father,
in a setting of diamonds a Queen might have coveted, sparkled on her
breast. This splendid ornament had formerly contained the portrait of
the late Sultan, who had given it to the Pasha.
When Ismael Pasha had introduced me to the ladies, he left us alone, and
the first awkward moments over, my visit became a very interesting one.
Mdlle. Elizabeth addressed me in English, which she had acquired at the
American Missionary School at Athens, and like most Greeks, possessing a
great talent for acquiring languages, she spoke it well and fluently.
When however I heard that Mdlle. Leilà could understand and speak a
little French, I preferred speaking to her without the aid of an
interpreter, and gradually she overcame her bashfulness, and entered
into conversation with me. I had often been told, and it is
unfortunately to a great extent but too true, that Turkish women, even
the wives and daughters of Pashas, can neither read nor write. How much
was I therefore surprised and pleased, when I found that Leilà knew not
only her own language thoroughly, but Greek and French as well. The
Pasha, a most enlightened man, has given to his daughter an education,
which under the difficulties with which he had to contend, is truly
wonderful. She had studied Turkish when still a child, with the present
Caimacam, or under Pasha, of the town of Candia, a man of great
learning; and Mdlle. Elizabeth, of whom I shall speak more by and bye,
had taught her Greek and French. She possessed several books, among
which I remarked a Bible in Turkish, and “Paul et Virginie.” Mdlle.
Elizabeth asked me if I wished to hear Leilà sing and play, as she was
very musical, and had had good instructions at Constantinople. Of course
I said that I should be delighted to hear her, and we then went into a
room where I found a good piano from Vienna, which was not much out of
tune. Leilà sat down and played with a clear fine touch, a very good
arrangement of “God save the Queen.” This was a pretty compliment. She
had played but a few minutes when her father came in. He told her to
play a Turkish march, which she performed with perfect execution. She
played also a Mazurka by Schulhoff, and one or two other pieces. At last
her father desired her to sing some Greek songs. Words and music were
both perfectly unintelligible to me, but sounded very melancholy; and
that feeling so took possession of me, that I found it difficult to
prevent its being observed. There sang the poor little bird who, though
the bars of her cage were gilded, and her master gentle and kind, was a
prisoner for life. She will of course, before long, change her master,
and be married to a man, who let us hope will love her, but who will
never bestow upon her more than a trifling part of his presence.
But at least she may hope to be his only wife, as Mdlle. Elizabeth told
me that the Pasha will not give his precious little daughter but to a
man who will marry only one woman. The Pasha himself has had but one
wife, by whom he had three children; the eldest is the wife of Kadri
Bey, then comes Leilà Hanum, and Foad Bey, a fine boy of fourteen years
of age, the father’s hope and pride, who is receiving an excellent
education.
When Leilà had finished, I warmly expressed my delight and surprise to
the father, who also seemed much delighted. I daresay he had never
listened with more pleasure to Leilà’s music than when he saw it
approved and admired by another.
Of how much pleasure and happiness this abominable system of seclusion
deprives these people. We all know, that however much the fortunate
husband of a beautiful clever and virtuous wife may love and admire her,
his love and admiration are again and again stimulated by seeing her
inspire similar sentiments in others. He cannot become indifferent to
her charms, while he witnesses the impression they make upon others. But
suppose this paragon to be locked up, and her husband never to see her
except in a tête a tête. She may be faultlessly beautiful and
exquisitely dressed, he is accustomed to it, and it strikes him no more.
The wonderful intelligence of his firstborn, the droll sayings of his
little one, which every father delights in showing off before his
astonished friends, all these and numberless other joys, he must forego.
The life with his family loses all charm, it becomes--but no, I will not
describe what it becomes, for that is disgusting. The desire of the Turk
to separate his wife from the rest of the world, goes so far, that he
even dislikes to hear her mentioned. Mr. A-- our host, told me, that he
once inquired of a husband after the health of his wife, who was
reported to be very ill, when the Turk, who usually was a polite and
amiable man, at once looked dark and suspicious, while he answered with
a scowl, “What is my wife to you? Do you know her, that you ask after
her?” Leilà seemed much pleased with my visit, offering me three times
refreshments, consisting of sweets, coffee, and sorbets, which Turkish
ladies do when they wish to honour their visitors, and having them
served at long intervals, which shows the desire on their part to
prolong the visitor’s stay. She asked me to come often, to bring my work
or book, and stay as long as it pleased me. I visited her several
times, because I liked the lofty airy rooms, and to sit on the broad
divan under the window, and peep through the lattice-work down upon the
boundless sea, that eternal image of fetterless freedom, and see the
slaves glide past, or sip the coffee they offered me. But though I had
some book in my hand, I did not read much, but like a regular Turk
dreamt a few hours away, thinking of the fate of the poor girls around
me, and thanking God that I was born a free woman in a Christian
country. There were in this Harem none of the horrid male slaves that
disgusted me so much in some Harems I afterwards visited; Ismael Pasha,
a wise and high-minded man, does not suffer them in his household.
And now I must not forget to say a few words more about Mdlle. Elizabeth
Konta Xaki, whose acquaintance I made at my first visit to Leilà, for
our intercourse did not end there. I saw her several times afterwards,
and she contributed much to make my stay in Crete interesting and
instructive, being always ready to give any information I wanted
regarding the country and its inhabitants, and being better fitted for
it than anybody else.
Mdlle. Elizabeth of Crete, for that is the name by which she is
generally known, is a very remarkable woman. She was born in Crete, but
received her education in Athens, and lives in an Eastern Island with
the manners and habits of the West. She walks and travels about alone,
protected only by the respect all have for her. Her learning and
extensive knowledge would excite attention in any place in Europe; it is
therefore but natural that in an island, where few women can read or
write, she is the wonder and astonishment of all the inhabitants, and
occupies quite a distinguished and influential position. The rebellious
Greek mountaineers, the terror of the Turkish Government, respect her,
and have more than once consulted her, and listened to her advice, for
they know that she is a warm patriot, while the Pasha seldom fails to
ask her opinion on the measures of reform he wishes to introduce, as he
knows how well she can judge of their importance and utility, and that
she is not hostile to the Government of the Sultan. She has written more
than once to the Grand Vizier in Constantinople, and her communications
have always received the attention they deserve. She has a
straightforward, fearless mode in stating her opinions, which contrasts
singularly with the servile manner of her compatriots. She lives alone
with her aged mother, and a female servant, in a little house, in a
narrow street, but her room, overlooking a little garden, is large and
pleasant. Over her writing table hangs a pleasing portrait of our Queen,
which was given to her by an English friend. Some interesting
antiquities in marble and terra-cotta, found in Crete, are the only
ornaments of the room.
Her large book-case is well filled with books in classic and modern
languages. I, who am not at all learned, looked with awe and veneration
at the long rows of Greek and Latin authors, which evidently stood there
not for ornament, but had been often read and well used. To me she
became a most interesting and valuable companion, and I shall always
remember, with a feeling of interest and kindness, Mdlle. Elizabeth of
Crete.
The first excursion we made was to Galata, a Greek village about two
hours ride from Canea, where M. Malatachi, a friend of our host Sig.
A--, had a delightful country house. He had taken a great liking to
us, for what reason I cannot tell, for we could speak to each other
by signs only, or through an interpreter, which is a tedious way of
carrying on a conversation. However, he evidently liked us much, and
pressed us to pay him a visit in Galata. On the morning fixed for the
excursion, M. Malatachi came with a long train of mules and servants
to fetch us. My mule was a splendid white creature, with a scarlet
bridle, and a rich carpet spread over the wooden Turkish saddle. I
mounted it, feeling very proud and elated. One of M. Malatachi’s
handsomely dressed Greek servants walked or ran, as the case might
be, by the side of my mule, so as to be at my service if required.
I looked down upon him with the dignified air of an Eastern Queen,
fancying myself very much like one. My husband observed my look, and
broke out into a loud laugh, which I considered very mal à propos, and
which rudely destroyed the pretty illusion. He, as well as Sig. A-- and
his two eldest children, were all well mounted; and in high spirits we
set out. O blessed climate of Crete! There was no need to fear rain or
cold, nor was the heat oppressive, but the air was delightfully warm,
genial, and balmy. The roads were bad, of course they were. Where would
have been the fun if they had been like “Rotten Row.”
The Turkish saddle, in spite of its handsome covering, was not very
comfortable; but who could think of the saddle, whilst looking at the
glory of the sky and earth, or mountain top, and into the flowering
valley.
When we were about a mile out of the city, we came to the mud huts where
the poor lepers live. These miserable creatures lay or crouched before
their doors, and stretched their mutilated hands out towards us, begging
for alms. My husband threw a few piasters among them, but I turned my
face away, for they were frightful to look at.
The sad impression these poor wretches made upon us however quickly
vanished, like a mist before that golden sunshine, which made all nature
around us at this moment look smiling and beautiful. Our way led through
cornfields and vineyards, up steep hills, and down green valleys, across
clear murmuring brooks, and through an olive grove, where the trees were
very old and large. Four men could not have encircled with extended
arms, some of their old hollow curiously twisted trunks.
When we reached Galata, the little children in the streets called their
parents, who rushed to the doors and windows to see us. The Turks are
not at all curious, or if so, they hide their curiosity most carefully,
for they never seem to look at a stranger. The Greeks, on the contrary,
have much curiosity, and show it with the greatest naiveté, following
you about, and examining all you have and do. “You are at the house of
your slave,” said M. Malatachi bowing, and putting his right hand on
his breast, when we had dismounted and entered his house in Galata. It
is delightfully situated. The view from the large stone balcony, over
hills and valleys, on to mountains and the sea, with the little island
St. Theodore, is indescribable. I spent a delightful hour there quietly
by myself. Not being able to speak the language of the country, may
occasionally prove an advantage. Our interpreter being engaged with a
long conversation on the value of land and the produce of the country,
between M. Malatachi and my husband, I could not talk with our hostess,
who seemed a kind, but very timid lady. She interrupted my musings only
by sending me a continued round of sweetmeats, coffee, sorbets, and
lemonades. Then came the dinner; “What is mine is yours,” said our Greek
host, when we sat down to dine. For so primitive a country as Crete, it
was a sumptuous repast, of which however, neither host nor hostess
partook. It being Lent, their dinner consisted of vegetables, olives,
&c.; but they looked very well satisfied with their frugal meal, and
seemed pleased to see us enjoy the good things they had provided, and if
they could not eat with us, they drank our health more than once, a
compliment which we of course returned.
We left Galata towards five o’clock in the afternoon. A boy ran in front
of our cavalcade, carrying a splendid bouquet M. Malatachi had given me,
and escorted us back to the very door of Sig. A--’s house. “Your visit
has been like a refreshing evening breeze after a sultry day,” said M.
M. when he took leave of us. This poetical way of speaking, which is a
common mode of expression in the East, there sounds natural and pretty;
I felt however to the last rather puzzled how to reply to those
high-flown compliments. The people there have another peculiarity which
pleased me still more. Whenever for instance I mentioned my children,
they would say, “May the great God protect them.” “A long life to them
all.” “A happy return to them,” or something like it.
We also spent a delightful day with Sig. A-- and M. Malatachi at
Plantagna, so called on account of the noble old plane trees that grow
there, round each of which a gigantic vine grows, covering stem and
branches. A fine clear mountain stream, of which this favoured island
has many, flows through the valley, and near its banks, under the finest
of all the noble trees that shed their shade over the flowery grass, we
halted. It was the same tree under which Mehemet Ali, the famous Pasha
of Egypt, had once dined and rested, when he had come to Crete to
chastise the rebellious Greeks. We spread our carpet, dined and rested,
walked about and rested again, till the declining sun reminded us that
it was time to think of our return to town. We had gone by an easy road
along the sea shore; we returned by one that lay inland, and very
different from the first. It was a regular Crete road, a stony path, up
and down steep hills, through brooks and across shaky bridges. We had
not calculated that we should not be able to ride so quickly on this
road as we had done on the other; so it happened that the sun set when
we were still at least an hour and a half’s ride from the gates of
Canea, and they are always shut an hour after sunset. We made our tired
mules step out as fast as the roads would allow, but it was a hopeless
case, we could not have arrived in time. Sig. A-- who knew my great
horror of the very ugly and dirty black people, “Arabs” as they are
called there, who live in mud huts and dirty tents outside the town,
proposed that we should ask them to take us in, whereupon I declared
with great energy and decision, that for my part I should prefer to
spend the night with the pretty little white lambs on the hill side,
whose bells were heard tinkling in the stillness of the night, rather
than with those ugly black sheep. Sig. A-- therefore promised that I
should be driven to neither extremity, but sleep comfortably in my own
bed. All the inconvenience resulting from our being too late would be
that we should have to wait at the gate of the town till one of the
soldiers had fetched the keys from the Pasha’s palace, where they are
kept after the gate is shut. But we were spared even this trifling
inconvenience. That is the advantage of living in a place like Canea
where M. Malatachi, who is a judge, Sig. A--, and we, two distinguished
foreigners, were of great importance.
The guard of the gate knew that we left Canea in the morning, and had
not yet returned, so they kept the keys for half an hour, and we entered
without delay. What a difference to living in London, where like a drop
of water in the sea, the individual is undistinguished, lost in the
immensity.
The longest and most interesting of our excursions was the one to
Rettimo, which is two days’ journey from Canea. Unfortunately the
weather, which had been faultless all the week, changed the day before
we intended to start. The blue sky became overcast, and a strong
tramontane, as the north wind is there called, was blowing. As however
it did not rain, we started on Saturday, in hopes of a change for the
better, as people said a strong tramontane was a very unusual thing in
April, and occurred only in December or January, and could not therefore
last.
The Pasha had given us his Capo Cavalliero, which means the head of his
guards, as an escort, which he does when he wishes to honour the
visitors of Crete. He was, as became so great a personage, a very
imposing looking man, and had so many splendid pistols, daggers and
knives in his scarf, that he looked as if he alone could have killed a
whole regiment of brigands. Besides, the Pasha had kindly sent us one of
his black servants, who, he told us, _understood_ a little French,
having been in the service of Prince Napoleon during the Crimean war. If
the Pasha had said that Sali could _speak_ a little French he would have
been more correct, for he did talk French a little; but was it that I
did not speak with a pure Parisian accent, like Prince Napoleon, or like
a governess that has been six months abroad; certain it is, he never
understood what I said to him, and gave the most extraordinary answers
to some of the very simple questions I put to him. But, as with Mrs.
Blimber, of whom Mr. Dickens says that she was not learned, but that she
pretended to be so, and that did quite as well, so with Sali; he
pretended to understand French, and that was quite enough. We got every
thing we wanted, and more than we wanted; and if I wished to know the
name of some place we passed, by pointing at it with my hand the
intelligent Greek muleteer that was walking by the side of my mule knew
at once what I wanted, and told me. However Sali was useful in his way;
he rode behind us, looked picturesque, and gave to our cavalcade a more
imposing and eastern look. The Capo of course led the party. He rode a
little beauty of a horse. Close behind him followed my husband on a
mule, I came next, also on a mule; Arif, another guard the Pasha had
sent, rode behind me. He carried, besides his pistols, &c., an immense
long gun over his shoulder, of which I was rather afraid, knowing that
it was loaded; for he prepared once or twice to shoot some bird with it.
However, he did not shoot me nor any bird, or robber either, none of the
last coming within range. Then followed the mules with our luggage and
provisions, and Sali concluded the train. But cruelly cruel one gets in
the East. One cannot keep on being sorry that a poor man runs by your
side, while you sit comfortably on your mule, which, as a matter of
course, takes the only narrow little bit of road, while the man jumps
over stones and through thorns. For four miles, between Canea and Suda,
the road was comparatively speaking good; it has lately been repaired,
because the Sultan has declared his intention to visit Crete ere long,
and he will land at Suda, which has the best port in the island, and the
only safe one in rough weather; but after passing Suda we came to the
mountains, and then began the Stradaccie, as our host Sig. A-- had most
properly called them. Our mules however did wonders, picking their way
through the stones, walking up and down steep steps in the rock, in a
marvellous manner. Had I, after having travelled for a little while in
this way, been told that we should go up some perpendicular wall, I
should have believed it. If our way was strewn with stones instead of
flowers, they at least grew in perfection on each side. Wild roses, of
singular bright colours, and many other strange and beautiful flowers,
which I do not mention, for the simple reason that I do not know their
names; and shrubs and trees as strange and new to me. I only recognized
here and there a familiar face, as gorse, rhododendrons, and wild
fig-trees. Among the flowers there were more old friends, buttercups and
daisies, dandelions and wild thyme, which used at home to tell that
spring time had come. The stones and rocks were also strange and
curious. What they were I do not say, for the very same reason that I
did not tell the names of all the flowers. Ah, whoever wants useful
information about Crete must go there himself, or send somebody else. I
can describe but little of what I saw, although my eyes were wide open,
and my heart had unlocked all its chambers, and rejoiced that “this
beauteous world is made so bright.” I should however have liked to press
many of the flowers, only my supply of blotting paper was limited. Not
being of a botanical turn of mind, I had not brought any for that
purpose with me, and could not supply the want, as there was none to be
got on the island. After three hours’ ride we arrived at Armenos, a
hamlet, where we halted, and Sali and Arif unpacked some of our
provisions. I never enjoyed a lunch more. It consisted of cold chicken,
hard boiled eggs, oranges, and Turkish coffee, and we partook of it in
the shade of a splendid plane tree, on the borders of a clear murmuring
stream. On leaving Armenos, the country became wilder, and the roads
even worse than they had been; an ascent of about half an hour, the
whole country around was strewed with fragments of rocks. It would have
looked terribly wild and desolate, had not the wild flowers and plants
covered and hidden a great deal. As it was, it reminded me of the
Turkish cemetery at Canea, the pieces of rock resembling the
gravestones, which tumble and lie about there in all directions. But if
the going up was difficult, the going down was a great deal more so. We
came at last to a point where we had to dismount and clamber down for
about half an hour, for the road was very steep, and turned and twisted
about at sharp angles. However, about three hours after we had left
Armenos, we arrived safely at Xopoli, where we intended to spend the
night.
Xopoli, a Greek village, is the most desolate place I ever saw. It gives
one the impression of one great ruin. Having been built entirely of
stone, it has not the mean wretched look of a Turkish village, but
partakes rather of the melancholy grandeur of a ruined castle. To judge
from the remains, it must once have been a large place, and was like so
many others destroyed by the Turks, after they had butchered the Greek
inhabitants. A few of the very poorest of this once glorious race still
find shelter in these ruins. I noticed here and there a door or a
shutter, and a thin column of smoke rising from some chimney. But when
we rode, and afterwards walked through the village, we hardly met a
creature.
But thanks to the great kindness and civility of the Pasha, who had the
day before sent a messenger there, we found a shelter prepared for us,
and although a most singular kind of a lodging, I did not wish it
different. The house in which we were going to spend the night was the
only one that had preserved a second story, standing also on the highest
spot of the village, it rose like a tower above the others. Stone steps
led on the outside of the house up to a little stone landing, and from
thence into a kind of loft. Two mattresses, and a few pillows, covered
with clean white linen, had been laid on the ground, they represented
the beds, the chairs, the sofas, the tables, and every thing else. There
was however, hanging in a large old fire-place, a little brass lamp, of
an antique shape, intended to light our apartment, if the moon should
refuse to do so; which seemed likely, as the sky continued to look
threatening, and the wind was high. But if there was not much to be seen
in the room, the look out was splendid. Through the little open door we
could see the hills and mountains, on which light and shade constantly
changed with the passing clouds. Through the solitary little window
which had a shutter, but no panes of glass, never having been able to
boast of such unnecessary finery, we overlooked a deep valley stretching
northward as far as the sea, which we saw at a distance. Our host,
although a Turk, showed us every possible attention; if only in
consequence of the Pasha’s orders, or because he did not absolutely hate
all Christians, I cannot tell, for I could not talk to him. We dined at
twelve o’clock Turkish time,[E] which, as we were in the middle of
April, is about half-past six o’clock, and our room being rather dark,
we had a carpet spread on the little stone landing outside the door, and
took our meal there. I call the landing little, for it was only four
feet square, without any kind of railing round it, and there we sat
perched up high; high, for the hill on which the house stands slopes
rapidly down in front of it. But a glorious dining room it was. At our
feet, a valley full of cornfields and olive woods, beyond it, noble
mountains rising into the clouds; yea, here and there lifting their
venerable snow-covered heads, glowing in the evening light, above them;
and in the distance to our left the rolling sea. We sat there a long
time after our simple meal was over, and watched the effect of shades
and moonshine on the landscape, and the stars that shone forth as the
clouds swept away. It was very still all around us. I heard no sound but
that of some hidden brook flowing over stones and pebbles; but now and
then the wind sighed past us, and made the olive trees murmur.
[E] The Turks count their hours from sunset, which is always
12 o’clock; when the next day begins.
All at once I heard a sound that seemed strange and yet familiar. It was
the song of the cuckoo of Crete. It resembles the call of our cuckoo, in
so far as it also consists of two notes; but they are not the same
notes, and he rests longer on the last than our cuckoo does. He sang a
long time, I heard him still in my sleep. Of other birds of any kind I
heard or saw little on my excursions through Crete. A few large black
creatures, which I took for ravens, a flock of what seemed a kind of
pigeon, swallows, and sparrows, who there as here made as much noise as
they could; but I heard no sound that resembled the song of the lark,
the thrush, the blackbird, or the nightingale. Altogether the island
seemed to me poor as regards animal life. Horses and mules are very
beautiful in form, but extremely small; so are the cows and oxen, which
are not larger than a fine donkey is with us. The sheep and goats are
also quite diminutive creatures. The little lambs are lovely, but when
they get a few months old, they look very lean and miserable. After a
night which had not been very refreshing, for I was not quite accustomed
yet to that kind of night accommodation, we set out early in the morning
for our second day’s expedition.
Our way led us through the valley I had looked down into from our castle
tower at Xopoli, towards the sea-shore. When we had reached it, my guide
jumped up on the horse behind Sali, and the party put itself into a
canter, which with little intervals lasted two hours; we only fell into
a walk when sometimes the shore became very shingly, or when the sand
was very soft and wet, which the mules particularly disliked. They
seemed never to mind how steep, or stony, a road was, but on damp and
muddy places they looked with great suspicion, and could only be coaxed
or driven across. After two hours sharp riding we came to a little river
that flows into the sea. Mustapha led us to a point where we could
cross, and then under the broken arch of a ruined bridge we halted and
breakfasted with a hearty appetite. What however somewhat disturbed our
enjoyment of the meal was, that Sali told us, now would begin the bad
roads. After what we had gone through, to be told that the bad roads
were but coming, was rather hard. However, as like to Küsnach “there
led no other road” to Rettimo, we set out for it, when we had rested
ourselves. And the reality was far worse than my gloomiest anticipations
had pictured. As I had never thought of trying a ride on the top of
Milan Cathedral, I could have formed no idea of the road from Petres
(our halting place) to Rettimo. Like the top of that famous building, we
were in a forest of stone. The sea, the rain, the air, had worked almost
as elaborately as the mason and sculptor. And through this forest of
stone and rock, up steep mountains and down again, sometimes high above
the sea, then again so near to it that the spray wetted the feet of our
mules, we had to pick our way for two hours. To make matters worse
still, a heavy shower came on, and in order to protect ourselves a
little against it, we had to turn our backs to it, and halt till it
passed over. Happily the high wind prevented the shower from continuing,
so after a little while we were able to proceed on our journey. My
husband, who had put on his waterproof, and tied a handkerchief round
his ears, over his battered wide-a-wake, to prevent its being blown
away, looked anything but dignified, which however, under the
circumstances, was of small consequence.
Our guides, on the contrary, pulling the capuch of their cloaks over
their heads, looked if anything more picturesque and imposing. The worst
part of the road lasted about two hours. That seems a short time; not
worth mentioning, but any one who for instance has crossed the Channel
in very rough weather, and been wretchedly sick all the time, will know
that two hours may seem very long. However, our mules carried us safely
along, and by and bye the road, although still very bad, was on
comparatively level ground, which made it much less trying. For the last
mile or so the road was good, and thus we reached Rettimo. It lies on a
promontory, which ends in a cliff, on which a fortress is built that
looks strong and foreboding. There are no gardens here like in Canea,
the shrubs and trees here and there are stunted, and grow in a
horizontal direction, as trees and shrubs will do near a sea-shore which
is exposed to high winds. One solitary palm-tree is an exception; it
stands in some little garden in the town, and rises high above the
houses, waving its graceful leaves. “What is this town here for, in this
stony wilderness, on a rocky coast, with but a small harbour, which can
be entered in fair weather only?” I asked our host, M. G--. He told me
that behind these mountains are fruitful valleys full of olive-trees,
the fruit of which the peasants bring to Rettimo, where it is made into
oil and soap. We visited one of the many soap manufactories in Rettimo;
the soap was very nice and pure, and I heartily wished that it had been
more extensively used in the island, instead of being exported to
Constantinople, Trieste, &c.
M. G--, the English Vice Consul, in whose house we lived, and who
received us with great kindness, is an Ionian Greek. He spoke Italian,
and one of his sons had also a slight knowledge of that language, which
enabled him generally to make out what we said, though he seemed to have
great difficulty in replying. My husband, however, persisted in saying
that M. Pietro’s want of fluency in speech, arose from another cause
than from a want of knowledge of the language. He said he was sure I had
made a conquest, and I am inclined not altogether to disbelieve that
assertion, for he certainly seemed uncommonly fond of being in the same
room with us, and whenever he was there he stared at me with a mixed
expression of kindness and wonder in his face, which was so ridiculous
that it cost me a supreme effort to suppress a smile whenever I looked
at him. When he heard that I was fond of flowers he brought me some
twice or thrice a day. Where he got them from I cannot tell, for they
are not so plentiful at Rettimo as they are at beautiful Canea.
M. G--’s wife, daughter, and daughters-in-law understood nothing but
Greek. I could, therefore, only speak with them by signs, and as one can
convey but very simple ideas by that mode of communication, we did not
tell one another much. They were dressed in a way that was a mixture of
primitive simplicity and gorgeous finery. With a plain cotton dress, and
a handkerchief tied round the head, they would yet wear splendid diamond
ear-rings, pearl necklace, bracelets, etc. There was the same
incongruity observable in their houses, which were wanting in many of
what seem to us the very first and indispensable comforts of life, while
the beds had gold embroidered counterpanes. With the children I got on
better than with these ladies. I won at once the heart of a little boy
to whom I showed my air-cushion, and who never tired of filling it and
then letting the air escape again. He would abandon this delightful
occupation only in order to look through my opera-glass; but, of course,
using it the wrong way, so as to make things that were near appear far
off and small, which he seemed to think much more interesting than
bringing distant objects near.
But it was not only my air-cushion and opera-glass which excited the
curiosity and wonder of the little and big children at Rettimo. Every
thing I had and wore seemed to astonish them--my kid gloves, my straw
hat and feather, the cut of my dress, my diary. They saw me once or
twice write down some little note into it, and seemed to watch the
operation with a kind of awe. I, for my part, was surprised at the
absence of many common things. I have already mentioned that I could not
buy any blotting paper; they told me that for a pair of kid gloves one
would have to send to Smyrna, which is a forty-eight hours’ sea-voyage,
four times the journey between London and Paris, and I found it even
difficult to get a few hair-pins. The wary Greek shopkeeper of whom I
inquired for the latter article, as he could not serve me with it,
offered me instead, to my great amusement, a whole chest of Holloway’s
pills and ointment at a greatly reduced price. The enterprising quack
had actually sent a chest of his valuable medicines to Rettimo, but the
natives evincing no inclination to take them, the Greek hoped he might
get rid of his stock by selling it to me, thinking, as he told me, that
all English people took these pills as regularly as their dinners or
suppers. Why had not Mr. Holloway read in the “Museum of Antiquities”
that extract from a history of Candia, published in 1550, where they
say:--“The primitive name by which this country was known was Aëria,
which was given to it on account of the temperature and salubrity of the
air, and from the fertility and abundance which reigned in the island.
It is, indeed, most temperate, insomuch that the inhabitants have much
less need of medicine than in other countries, and consequently live to
a great age--occasionally to one hundred and twenty or one hundred and
thirty, and the author confirms having seen one who, by his baptismal
records, proved himself to be one hundred and thirty-four, and was then
in the possession of all his faculties.” What will become of the pills
in so provokingly healthy a country? Probably they will be eaten by the
ants which abound there in summer; with what effect upon their
digestion, I cannot conjecture. I am sorry to say that the weather,
which had not been very favourable on our journey to Rettimo, became,
after our arrival there, very rough and stormy indeed. The people there
said they never remembered such a Tramontane (north-wind) except in
December or January. The gale blew for twenty-four hours, the sea had
become exceedingly rough, and now and then we had a pelting rain. Under
these circumstances we found Rettimo anything but a pleasant sejour, and
the worst was that as long as this weather lasted the Lloyd steamer,
which was to take us back to Canea, could not be expected to arrive.
When on the next day the wind had abated a little, and the weather was
altogether finer, we went out for a stroll to the sands. The sea was
still very rough, and we looked disconsolate towards the horizon,
feeling very much like two poor shipwrecked creatures on a desert coast,
and evincing a strong inclination to quarrel with every thing and every
body. All at once I cried delighted, like Enoch Arden, “A sail, a sail,”
it was however no sail, but what was a thousand times more welcome
still, the funnel of a steamer. We saw however, at once, that it was not
the Lloyd, but the Greek steamer, as it came from the opposite direction
from which the former was expected; still we conjectured that if one
could come the other would also arrive ere long. We hurried to the port
to see her come in, and to get our letters, which we knew were on board.
The fine vessel rode gallantly on the waves, and seemed to rock but
little. It approached the entrance of the harbour: now it will stop, I
thought, and in half an hour I shall have my letters, when coolly and
proudly she passed on, finding the sea too rough to venture the
disembarcation of either letters, merchandize, or passengers. My dear
longed-for letters went to Candia, and although it is but forty miles
from Rettimo, they could not return before the lapse of a whole week,
when the steamer would bring them back. Ah! one must be patient and in
no hurry in Crete. The forty poor passengers for Rettimo, who as I
afterwards heard had been on board the Greek steamboat, must have found
that out. They too were left at Candia, and had to wait there a week
till the steamer returning from Sira brought them to their destination.
Our impatience drove us again to the shore after dinner, to look out for
the Austrian steamer, but we spied for it in vain. The weather, however,
became clearer and pleasanter as the day declined, and shortly before
sunset all the clouds that had hung over the island vanished, and then
appeared, as if by magic, the mountain giant Ida shining in the evening
light.
We had intended to make an excursion from Rettimo to Mount Ida, and
visit the “Cradle of the Gods,”
“Rea la scelse già per cuna fida
Del suo figliolo * * * * *”--_Dante._
and try to discover the sources of the infernal streams,
“Lor corso in questa valle si diroccia;
Fanno Acheronte, Stige e Flegetonta;”
but this plan could not be carried out on account of the weather. I felt
a pang of regret that I had not been able to reach it, “it seemed so
near, and yet so far.”
But the sun set, the rosy light on the snowy mountain top disappeared,
and we had to return to our quarters with the disagreeable impression
that we might have to sleep another night at Rettimo. I longed to be in
Canea again, which was much the pleasanter place.
We sat up later than usual, and had only just gone to bed when our host
knocked at our door and told us that the steamer was in sight. We
dressed quickly, and then our host and his son, of whom I have spoken
before, conducted us to the Marina. The boy carried in one hand a
bouquet of roses he had given me in the morning, in the other a little
lantern, for the streets of Rettimo are not lighted up, and after dusk,
every one is obliged under pain of imprisonment, to carry a lantern
about with him.
When we arrived at the harbour I saw the lights of the steamer at what
seemed to me a great distance out at sea.
A row in a small boat at night, and in a rough sea, is not at all a
thing I am particularly fond of, for I am not of a romantic turn of
mind; I dislike adventures, and have, above all, a great objection to
being drowned.
However, in Rettimo I could not remain, so I must try to reach the
steamer. When in the boat, I clung tightly to my husband, who promised
to take care of me. How much were we surprised when the young man with
the lantern and the flowers boldly entered the boat after us, for I had
been told by his brother-in-law that M. Pietro was afraid of the water,
having once had a very bad passage to Smyrna. But in answer to our
remonstrances he said, as well as he could in his broken Italian, that
he would see us safely on board.
When we were out of the harbour, and the little boat went up and down
the high waves, he called out every time a new wave came, “Non paura,
non paura!” if to encourage me or himself I cannot tell. But he did me a
service by coming; it amused me so much that I forgot my fear while
laughing at my husband’s good-humoured jokes at the poor fellow. When he
had given me my roses, and we had shaken hands and thanked him, he left
with his lantern. We watched the little light as it danced up and down
on the waves till it reached terra firma, and knew then that the kind
soul had no more need to call out “Non paura!”
We arrived safely at Canea; and two days after Marietta packed my trunks
while I went to pay a farewell visit to Leilà, at a country-house in
Kaleppa, where the Pasha had removed his family during my absence from
Canea. I drove there in the Pasha’s carriage, the only vehicle of any
kind on the island, and which resembled somewhat the Lord Mayor’s coach.
On Monday, the 17th of April, we left Canea and paid a flying visit to
Candia, the ancient capital of the island. We walked through the town,
which is a desolate place--ten times too large for its inhabitants.
Grass grows in all the streets, and the very dogs seem more lean and
hungry here than elsewhere. The fine massive old Venetian walls that
surround the harbour and town have been cracked by earthquakes, and they
seem unable to resist the general decay. There are many palm-trees in
Candia whose graceful forms rise up amidst the ruin and desolation which
surround them; and beyond the town, as in Canea, one sees a chain of
snow-covered mountains.
It was noon when we weighed anchor, and the steamer left. I remained on
deck as long as I could see the island; the sea in the blaze of the
mid-day sun was of a brilliant blue, the sky showed all shades of it
from a deep azure over head, to a pale milky-white on the horizon. And
thus, encircled by sea and sky, lay like a giant emerald the enchanted
island to which a kind fairy had led me to dream away a few weeks that
had passed like so many hours. Farther and farther it receded. Now, I
can no longer distinguish the snow-covered mountain-tops from the clouds
above them; all becomes misty and indistinct. I shut my eyes for a
little while, for I have strained them in looking so fixedly. I open
them again--it is gone like a dream. I see it no more! the enchanted
island has vanished.