You divine, from the appearance of my clothes, that I have not ten
thousand francs with me. My father is an inn-keeper whom the railroads
have ruined. In prosperous times he eats bread, in bad years potatoes.
Add to this, that there are six children, all with good appetites. The
day on which I received my commission from the Jardin des Plantes, there
was a festival given in the family. My departure would not only increase
the portion of each of my brothers, but I was to have two hundred and
fifty francs per month and the expenses for my journey. It was a
fortune. From that moment they ceased to call me Doctor. They dubbed me
beef-merchant, so that I should appear rich! My brothers prophesied that
I would be elected Professor by the University, on my return from
Athens. My father hoped that I would return married. In his position of
inn-keeper, he had assisted in some very romantic adventures. He cited,
at least three times a week, the marriage of the Princess Ypsoff and
Lieutenant Reynauld. The Princess occupied the finest apartments, with
her two maids and her Courier, and she gave twenty florins a day. The
French Lieutenant was in No. 17, way up under the eaves, and he paid a
florin and a half, food included; however, after a month's sojourn at
the hotel, he departed in a carriage with the Russian lady.
My poor father, with the partiality of a father, thought that I was
handsomer and more elegant than Lieutenant Reynauld; he did not doubt
but that, sooner or later, I would meet a princess who would enrich us
all. If I did not find her at a table d'hote, I would see her in a
railway carriage. If the powers which control the railroads were not
propitious, there was still left the steamships. The evening of my
departure, we drank a bottle of old Rhine wine, and by chance the last
was poured into my glass. The good man wept with joy: it was a sure
sign, and nothing could prevent me from marrying within a year. I
respected his superstitions, and I refrained from saying that princesses
rarely travel third class. As for lodgings, my humble luggage would not
permit me to choose any but modest inns, and royal families do not,
usually, lodge in them. The fact is, that I landed in Greece without an
adventure of any kind.
The army occupying the city made everything very dear in Athens. The
Hotel d'Angleterre, the Hotel Orient, the Hotel des Etrangers were
inaccessible. The Chancellor of the Prussian Legation, to whom I had
brought a letter of introduction, was kind enough to assist me in
finding a lodging. He took me to a pastry-cook's, at the corner of the
Rue d'Hèrmes and the Place du Palais. I found there, board and lodging
for a hundred francs a month. Christodule was an old Palikar, decorated
with the Iron Cross, in memory of the War of Independence. He was a
Lieutenant in the Phalanx, he wore the National costume, the red bonnet
with blue tassel, the silver-colored vest, the white skirt, and the
fancy leggins, when he sold ices and cakes. His wife, Maroula, was
enormous, like all Greek women who have passed fifty. Her husband had
purchased her during the war, when women sold for high prices. She was
born in the Isle of Hydra, but she dressed in the Athenian fashion:
upper garment or jacket of black velvet, skirt of a bright color, a silk
handkerchief tied over her head. Neither Christodule nor his wife knew a
word of German; but their son Dimitri, who was a servant hired by the
day, and who dressed like a Frenchman, understood and spoke a little of
each patois of Europe. Upon the whole, I had really no need of an
interpreter. Without having received the gift of tongues, I am a fairly
good linguist, and I murder Greek as readily as English, Italian or
French.
My hosts were worthy people; they gave me a little white-washed room,
with a table of white wood, two straw-bottomed chairs, a good but thin
mattress, and some cotton quilts. A wooden bed is a superfluity which
the Greeks easily deny themselves, and we lived a la Grecque. I
breakfasted on a cup of arrow-root; I dined on a plate of meat with many
olives, and dry fish; I supped on vegetables, honey and cakes. Preserves
were not rare in the house, and occasionally I evoked memories of home
by dining on a leg of lamb and preserves. It is useless to tell you that
I had my pipe, and that the tobacco in Athens is better than yours. That
which contributed to my feeling perfectly at home in Christodule's
house, was a light wine of Santorin, which he bought, I know not where.
I am not a judge of wines, and the education of my palate has,
unfortunately, been neglected, but I believe, however, that this wine is
worthy of a place on a king's table: it is of a fine topaz color,
sparkling as the smile of a child. I see it now, in its large bulging
carafe, on the shining linen cloth. It lighted the table and we were
able to sup without any other illumination. I never drank much of it,
because it was heady; and yet, at the end of a meal, I have recited some
of Anacreon's verses and I have discovered remains of beauty in the
moon-shaped face of the gross Maroula.
I ate with Christodule and his family. There were four regular boarders
and one table boarder. The first floor was divided into four rooms, the
best of which was occupied by a French Archaeologist, M. Hippolyte
Mérinay. If all Frenchmen resemble this one, you would be a sorry lot.
He was very small; his age, as far as one could tell, anywhere between
eighteen and forty-five, very red-haired, very mild, very loquacious,
and never loosening his moist and warm hands, when he had once fastened
them on a person, until he had exhausted himself talking. His two
dominant passions were archaeology and philanthropy: he was a member of
many literary societies and of many benevolent associations. Although he
was an advocate of charity, and his parents had left him a fine income,
I do not remember ever to have seen him give a sou to a beggar. As for
his knowledge of archaeology, I believe that it was of more account than
his love for humanity. He had received a prize from some provincial
College, for a treatise on the value of paper in the time of Orpheus.
Encouraged by these first successes, he had come to Greece to gather
material for a more important work: it was nothing less than to
determine the quantity of oil consumed in Demosthenes' lamp while he
wrote the second Philippic.
My two other neighbors were not so wise, and ancient things disturbed
them not at all. Giacomo Fondi was a poor Maltese employed at, I know
not what consulate; he earned a hundred and fifty francs a month sealing
letters. I imagine that any other employment would have pleased him
better. Nature, who has peopled the Island of Malta in order that the
Orient should never lack porters, had given to poor Fondi the shoulders,
arms and hands of a Milo of Crotona: he was born to handle a club, and
not to melt sealing-wax with which to seal letters. He used, however,
two or three sticks every day: man is not the master of his destiny! The
islander out of his sphere, was in his element only at meal-time; he
helped Maroula to place the table, and you will understand, without
being told, that he always carried it at arms-length. He ate like the
hero of the Iliad, and I shall never forget the cracking of his huge
jaws, the dilation of his nostrils, the flash of his eyes, the whiteness
of his thirty-two teeth, formidable mill-stones of which he was the
mill. I ought to confess that I remember little of his conversation; one
easily found the limit of his intelligence, but one never found the
bounds of his appetite. Christodule had never made anything during the
four years he had boarded him, although the Maltese had paid ten francs
a month extra. The insatiable islander ate every day, after dinner, an
enormous plateful of nuts, which he cracked between his first finger and
thumb. Christodule, old soldier, but practical man, followed this
exercise with a mixture of admiration and fear; he trembled for his
dessert, yet he was proud to see, at his table, so huge a nut-cracker.
The face of Giacomo Fondi would not have been out of place in one of the
jumping-jack boxes, which so amuse children. It was whiter than a
negro's; but it was a question of shade only. His thick locks descended
to his eyebrows like a cap. In strange contrast, this Caliban had a very
small foot, a slender ankle, a fine-shaped leg and as perfect as one
finds in a statue; but these were details which one scarcely noticed.
For whoever had seen him eat, his person began at the edge of the table;
the rest of the body counted for nothing.
I can speak only from memory of William Lobster. He was a cherub of
twenty years, blonde, rosy and chubby, but a cherub of the United States
of America. The firm of Lobster and Sons, New York, had sent him to the
Orient to study the subject of exportation. He worked during the day in
the house of Philips Brothers; in the evening, he read Emerson; in the
early morning or at sunrise he went to Socrates' school to practice
pistol-shooting.
The most interesting person in our little colony was without doubt, John
Harris, the maternal uncle of the little Lobster. The first time that I
dined with this strange man, I was greatly taken with the American. He
was born at Vandalia, Illinois. Breathing the invigorating air of the
new world from his birth, his every movement was joyous. I do not know
whether the Harris family was rich or poor; whether the son went to
College, or whether he educated himself. What was certain was, that at
twenty-eight he relied on himself alone; was astonished at nothing;
believed nothing impossible; never flinched; was amenable to reason;
hoped for the best; attempted everything; triumphed in everything! If he
fell, he immediately jumped up; if he stammered, he began all over
again; he gave himself no rest; never lost courage, and went right
ahead. He was well-educated, had been teacher, lawyer, journalist,
miner, farmer, clerk. He had read everything, seen everything, tried
everything, and had traveled over more than half of the globe. When I
made his acquaintance he was commanding a Dispatch-boat, carrying sixty
men and four cannons. He wrote of the Orient in the Boston Review; he
transacted business with an indigo house in Calcutta, and yet he found
time to come, four or five times a week, to dine with his nephew,
Lobster, and with us.
A single instance, of a thousand, will serve to show his character.
Early in the fifties he was in business in Philadelphia. His nephew, who
was then seventeen, made him a visit. He found him near Washington
Square, standing with his hands in his pockets, before a burning
building. William touched him on the shoulder; he turned.
"Ah: Good-morning, Bill, thou hast arrived inopportunely, my boy. There
is a fire which ruins me; I have forty thousand dollars in that house;
we will not save a match."
"What will you do?" asked the astonished boy.
"What will I do? It is eleven o'clock, I am hungry, I have a little
money in my pocket; I am going to take you to breakfast."
Harris was one of the most slender and most elegant men I have ever
seen. He had a manly air, a fine forehead, a clear and proud eye.
Americans are never deformed nor mean-looking, and do you know why?
Because they are not bound in the swaddling-clothes of a narrow
civilization. Their minds and their bodies develop at will; their
schoolroom is the open air; their master, exercise; their nurse,
liberty.
I never cared especially for M. Mérinay; I looked at Giacomo Fondi with
the indifferent curiosity with which one gazes at foreign animals; the
little Lobster inspired me with luke-warm interest; but I conceived a
warm affection for Harris. His frank face, his simple manners, his
sternness which was not without sweetness, his hasty yet chivalrous
temper, the oddities of his humor, the enthusiasm of his sentiments,
appealed to me more strongly as I was neither enthusiastic nor hasty. We
admire in others what we lack ourselves. Giacomo wore white clothes
because he was black; I adore Americans because I am a German. As for
the Greeks, I knew little of them even after four months' sojourn in
their country. Nothing is easier than living in Athens without coming in
contact with the natives. I did not go to a café; I did not read the
Pandore, nor the Minerve; nor any other paper of the country; I did not
go to the theater, because I have a sensitive ear and a false note hurts
me more cruelly than a blow; I lived with my hosts, my herbarium, and
with John Harris. I could have presented myself at the Palace, thanks to
my diplomatic pass-port and my official title. I had sent my card to the
Master and Mistress of Ceremonies, and I could count upon an invitation
to the first Court Ball. I kept in reserve for this occasion, a
beautiful red coat, embroidered with silver, which my Aunt Rosenthaler
had given to me the night before my departure. It was her husband's
uniform; he was an assistant in a Scientific Institute, and prepared the
specimens. My good aunt, a woman of great sense, knew that a uniform was
well received in all countries, above all if it was red. My elder
brother had remarked that I was larger than my uncle, as the sleeves
were too short; but Papa quickly replied, that only the silver
embroidery would catch the eye, and that princesses would not examine
the uniform closely.
Unfortunately, the Court was not dancing that season. The winter
pleasures were the flowering of almond, peach, and lemon trees. There
was a vague report of a ball to be given the 15th of May; it made a stir
in the city, as a few semi-official journals took it up; but there was
nothing positively known about it.
My studies kept pace with my pleasures, slowly. I knew, by heart, the
Botanical Gardens of Athens; they were neither very beautiful nor very
full; it was a subject soon mastered. The Royal Gardens offered far
more to study: an intelligent Frenchman had collected for it all the
riches of the vegetable kingdom, from the palms of the West Indies to
the saxifrage of the North. I passed whole days there studying M.
Barraud's collections. The garden is public only at certain hours; but I
spoke Greek to the guards, and for love of the Greek, they permitted me
to enter. M. Barraud did not seem to weary of my company; he took me
everywhere for the pleasure of discussing Botany and speaking French. In
his absence, I hunted up the head gardener and questioned him in German:
it is well to be polyglot.
I searched for plants every day in the surrounding country, but never as
far from the city as I should like to have gone; there were many
brigands around Athens. I am not a coward, the following story will
prove it to you, but I love my life. It is a present which I received
from my parents; I wish to preserve it as long as possible, in
remembrance of my father and mother. In the month of April, 1856, it was
dangerous to go far from the city: it was even imprudent to live
outside. I did not venture upon the slopes of Lycabettus without
thinking of poor Mme. Daraud who was robbed in broad daylight. The hills
of Daphne recalled to me the capture of two French officers. Upon the
road to Piraeus, I thought, involuntarily, of the band of brigands who
traveled in six carriages as if on a pleasure tour, and who shot at
passers by from the coach doors. The road to Pentelicus recalled the
stopping of the Duchess de Plaisance, or the recent story of Harris and
Lobster's adventure. They were returning from an excursion, on two
Persian horses belonging to Harris, when they fell into an ambuscade.
Two brigands, weapons in hand, stopped them in the middle of a bridge.
They glanced all around and saw at their feet, in a ravine, a dozen
rascals, armed to the teeth, who were guarding fifty or sixty prisoners.
All who had passed that way since sunrise had been despoiled, then
bound, so that no one could escape to give the alarm. Harris and his
nephew were unarmed. Harris said to the young man in English: "Give up
your money; it will not pay to be killed for twenty dollars." The
brigands took the money, without letting go the bridles; they then
showed the Americans the ravine and signed to them to descend. Harris
now lost patience; it was repugnant to him to be bound; he was not the
kind of wood of which one makes fagots. He looked at the little Lobster,
and at the same instant, two fist blows like two chain-shots, struck the
heads of the two brigands. William's adversary fell over on his back, at
the same time, discharging his pistol; Harris' brigand, struck more
forcibly, toppled over the cliff and fell among his comrades. Harris and
Lobster were by this time quite a distance away, jamming the spurs into
their horses. The band rose as one man and discharged their weapons. The
horses were killed, the young men disengaged themselves, took to their
heels, and when they reached the city, warned the police, who started in
pursuit of the brigands the second morning after.
Our excellent Christodule learned with grief of the death of the two
horses; but he found not a word of blame for the killers. "What would
you have?" he asked with charming simplicity, "it is their business."
All Greeks are, more or less, of our host's opinion. It is not that the
brigands spare their countrymen and reserve their harshness for
strangers, but a Greek, robbed by his brother, says to himself with a
certain resignation, that the money is all in the family. The populace
sees itself plundered by the brigands, as a woman of the people who is
beaten by her husband, admires him because he strikes hard. Native
moralists complained of the excesses committed in the country, as a
father deplores his son's pranks. He groans loudly, but secretly admires
him; he would be ashamed if he was like his neighbor's son who never had
to be spoken to.
It was a fact, that at the time of my arrival, the hero of Athens was
the scourge of Attica. In the salons and in the cafés, in the
barber-shops where the common people congregated, at the pharmacies
where the bourgeoise were to be found, in the muddy streets of the
bazars, in the dusty square of Belle-Gréce, at the theater, at the
Sunday concerts, and upon the road to Patissia, one heard only of the
great Hadgi-Stavros; one swore only by Hadgi-Stavros; Hadgi-Stavros the
invincible, Hadgi-Stavros the terror of the police, Hadgi-Stavros, "The
King of the Mountains!" They almost composed (God pardon me) a litany on
Hadgi-Stavros.
One Sunday, a little while after his adventure, John Harris dined with
us; I started Christodule upon the subject of Hadgi-Stavros. Our host
had often visited him, years before, during the War of Independence,
when brigandage was less discussed than now.
He emptied his glass of Sautorin, stroked his gray mustache, and began a
long recital, interspersed with many sighs. He informed us that Stavros
was the son of a bishop or priest of the Greek Church, in the island of
Tino. He was born God knew in what year; Greeks of early times knew not
their ages, because registries of the civil state are an invention of
the decadence. His father, who destined him for the Church, taught him
to read. When about twenty years of age, he made a pilgrimage to
Jerusalem, and added to his name the title, Hadgi; which means, pilgrim.
Hadgi-Stavros, returning to his own country, was taken prisoner by a
pirate. The conqueror found him amenable to reason and made a sailor of
him. Thus he began to make war on Turkish ships, and, generally, on
those which had not mounted guns. At the end of several years, he tired
of working for others, and determined to push out for himself. He
possessed neither boat, nor money to buy one; necessity compelled him to
practice piracy on land. The rising of the Greeks against Turkey
permitted him to fish in troubled waters. He never could tell exactly
whether he was a brigand or an insurgent; whether he commanded a band of
thieves or insurrectionists. His hatred of the Turks did not blind him
to the degree that he could pass a Greek village without seeing it and
sacking it. All money was good to him, whether it came from friend or
foe, from a simple theft or a glorious pillage. Such wise impartiality
rapidly increased his fortune. The shepherds hastened to place
themselves under his banner, when they learned that good pay might be
expected; his reputation brought him an army. The leaders of the
insurrection knew of his exploits, but not of his thrift: in those
times, one saw only the bright side of everything. Lord Byron dedicated
an ode to him; poets and orators in Paris compared him to Epaminondas,
and even to poor Aristides. Some sent him embroidered clothes from the
Faubourg Saint-Germain; others sent subsidies. He received money from
France, from England and from Russia; I will not swear that he never
received any from Turkey: he was a true Palikar! At the end of the war,
he was besieged, with other chiefs, in the Acropolis at Athens. He slept
in the propyleum, between Margaritis and Lygandas, and each had his
treasure hid in the blanket which covered him. One summer night, the
roof fell so cleverly that it killed every one but Hadgi-Stavros, who
was smoking his pipe in the open air. He secured his companions' money
and every one thought that he well deserved it. But a misfortune which
he had not foreseen checked his successful career: peace was declared.
Hadgi-Stavros retired to the country with his spoils, and became a
spectator of strange occurrences. The powers which had freed Greece
attempted to found a kingdom. Some offensive words came buzzing around
the hairy ears of the old robber; he heard rumors of government--of
armies--of public order. He laughed when told that his possessions were
included in one sub-prefecture. But when an employée from the Treasury
presented himself to collect the yearly taxes, he became serious. He
threw the man out of the door, not without having relieved him of all he
had brought with him. Justice sought to punish him; he took to the
mountains. It was as well, for he was tired of his house. He felt, to a
certain extent, that he owned a roof, but on condition that he slept
above it.
His former companions-in-arms had scattered all over the kingdom. The
State had given them lands; they cultivated them reluctantly and ate
sparingly of the bitter bread of labor. When they learned that their
chief was at variance with the law, they sold their farms and hastened
to join him. As for the brigand, he rented his lands: he had the
qualifications of an administrator.
Peace and idleness had made him ill and unhappy. The mountain air
restored his cheerfulness and health, so that in 1840 he thought of
marriage. He was, assuredly, past fifty, but men of his temper have
nothing to do with old age; death, even, looks at them twice before it
attacks them. He married an heiress with a magnificent dowry, from one
of the best families in Laconia, and thus became allied to the highest
personages of the kingdom. His wife followed him everywhere. After
giving birth to a daughter, she took a fever and died. He brought up the
child himself, with all the care and tenderness of a mother. When the
brigands saw him dancing the babe on his knees, they exclaimed with
admiration.
Paternal love gave a new impetus to his mind. In order to amass a royal
dowry for his daughter, he studied the money question, about which he
had previously held very primitive views. Instead of hoarding up his
treasures in strong boxes, he put them out at interest. He learned all
the ins and outs of speculation; he followed closely the stock-market at
home and abroad. It is asserted that, struck with the advantages of the
French joint-stock company, he even thought of placing brigandage on the
market. He made many journeys to Europe, in the company of a Greek from
Marseilles who served as interpreter. During his stay in England, he
assisted at an election in, I know not what rotten borough of Yorkshire;
this beautiful spectacle inspired him with profound reflections on
constitutional government and its profits. He returned to Greece
determined to exploit his theories and gain an income for himself. He
burned a goodly number of villages in the service of the opposition; he
destroyed a few others in the interests of the conservative party. When
it was considered desirable to overthrow a ministry, it was only
necessary to apply to him; he proved, conclusively, that the police were
very corrupt and that safety could only be obtained by changing the
Cabinet. But in revenge, he gave some rude lessons to the enemies of
order in punishing them in whatever way they had sinned. His political
talents made him so well known, that all parties held him in high
esteem. His counsels, his election methods, were nearly always followed
so well that, contrary to the principle of the government
representative, who wished one deputy to express the wishes of many men;
he was represented, he alone, by about thirty deputies. An intelligent
Minister, the celebrated Rhalettis, suggested that a man who meddles so
officiously in government affairs, might possibly, sometime, derange the
machine. He undertook to bind his hands with golden cord. He made an
arrangement to meet him at Carvati; between Hymettus and Pentelicus, in
the country-house of a Foreign Consul. Hadgi-Stavros came, without
escort and without arms. The minister and the brigand, who were old
acquaintances, breakfasted together like two old friends. At the end of
the meal, Rhalettis offered to him full amnesty for himself and his
followers, a brevet of General of Division, title of Senator, and ten
thousand hectares of forests. The Palikar hesitated some time, and at
last said: "I should, perhaps, have accepted at twenty, but to-day, I am
too old. I do not wish, at my age, to change my manner of living. Dusty
Athens does not please me, I should go to sleep in the Senate-chamber,
and if you should give me soldiers to command, I might discharge my
pistols into their uniforms from force of habit. Return then, to your
own affairs, and leave me to attend to mine."
Rhalettis would not own that he was beaten. He tried to enlighten the
brigand as to the infamy of his life. Hadgi-Stavros laughed and said
with amiability:
"My friend, the day when we shall write down our sins, which will have
the longest list?"
"You think, then, that you will cheat destiny; you will die, some day or
other, a violent death."
"Gracious Lord;" (Allah Kerin;) he replied in Turkish. "Neither you nor
I have read the stars. But I have at least one advantage: my enemies
wear a uniform and I recognize them afar off. You cannot say as much for
yours. Adieu, brother."
Six months afterward, the Minister was assassinated by political
enemies; the brigand still lived.
Our host did not relate to us all the exploits of his hero: the day was
not long enough. He contented himself by relating the most remarkable
ones. I do not believe that in any other country the rivals of
Hadgi-Stavros had ever done anything more artistic than the capture of
the Niebuhr. It was a steamer of the German-Lloyd which the Palikar had
robbed on land, at eleven o'clock in the morning. The Niebuhr came from
Constantinople; it unloaded its cargo and passengers at Calamaki, east
of the Isthmus of Corinth. Four vans and two omnibusses took the
passengers and merchandise to the other side of the Isthmus, to the
little port of Loutraki, where another ship awaited them. It waited a
long time. Hadgi-Stavros, in broad daylight, in plain view of all the
world, in a flat and open country, relieved them of their merchandise,
their luggage, their money and the ammunition of the soldiers who
escorted the company.
"That day's work brought two hundred and fifty thousand francs;" said
Christodule to us in a tone of envy.
"Much was said of Hadgi-Stavros' cruelties. His friend Christodule
proved to us that he did not do wrong for pleasure. He was a sober man,
who never became intoxicated, not even of blood. If it happened that he
warmed, a little too much, a rich peasant's feet, it was that he might
learn where the miser hid his écus. In general, he treated with
kindness the prisoners for whom he hoped to receive a ransom. In the
summer of '54, he descended one evening, with his band, to M. Voidi's
house; he was a rich merchant from the Isle of Euboea. He found the
family assembled, also an old judge of the Tribunal of Chalcis was
present, taking a hand at cards with the master of the house.
Hadgi-Stavros offered to play the magistrate for his liberty; he lost,
and accepted with good grace. He carried off M. Voidi, his daughter and
son; he left the wife that she might busy herself procuring the ransom.
The day of the attack, the merchant had the gout, the daughter was ill
of a fever, and the son was pale and puffy. They returned two months
afterward, cured by exercise, the open air, and good entertainment. The
whole family recovered health for a sum of fifty thousand francs: was it
paying too high a price?"
"I confess," added Christodule, "that our friend was without pity for
poor payers. When a ransom was not paid on the appointed day, he
promptly killed his prisoners; it was his way of protesting notes.
However great may be my admiration for him, however warm the friendship
between our two families, I have never pardoned him the murder of
Mistra's two little daughters. They were twins of fourteen, pretty as
two marble statues, both betrothed to two young men of the Leondari
family. They resembled each other so exactly, that one thought one saw
double and began to rub one's eyes. One morning, they went to sell
cocoons; they carried between them a large basket, and they skimmed
lightly over the road like two doves attached to the same car.
Hadgi-Stavros took them to the mountain and wrote a letter to their
mother, that he would return them for ten thousand francs, payable the
end of the month. The mother was a well-to-do-widow, owner of fine
mulberry groves, but poor in ready money, as we all are. She mortgaged
her property, which is never easy to do, even at twenty per cent
interest. It took her six weeks to gather up the sum required. When at
last, she had the money, she loaded it on her mule and departed on foot
for the brigand's camp. But on entering the large valley of the Taygète
at the point where one finds seven fountains under a plane-tree, the
mule absolutely refused to stir. Then the mother saw at the border of
the path, her little girls. Their throats had been cut and their pretty
heads were almost dissevered. She took the two poor creatures, put them,
herself, upon the mule's back and carried them back to Mistra. She never
wept; she became deranged, and died. I know that Hadgi-Stavros regretted
what he had done; he believed that the widow was richer than she
pretended, and that she did not wish to pay. He killed the two girls as
an example. It is certain that, from that time, his outstanding debts
were promptly paid and that no one dared to make him wait."
"Vile beast!" cried Giacomo, bringing his fist down with a force which
made the house tremble as from an earthquake. "If ever he falls under my
hand, I will serve him with a ransom of ten thousand blows of the fist,
which will enable him to withdraw himself from public life."
"I," said the little Lobster with his quiet smile, "I will only ask to
meet him at fifty paces from my revolver. And you, Uncle John?"
Harris whistled between his teeth a little American air, sharp as a
stiletto point.
"Can I believe my ears?" added the good M. Mérinay in his flute-like
voice. "Is it possible that such horrors are committed in a country like
ours? I am convinced that the Society for the Moralization of
Malefactors has not yet been organized in this kingdom; but while
waiting for that, have you not police?"
"Certainly," replied Christodule, "fifty officers, 152 sergeants, and
1250 policemen, of whom 152 are mounted. It is the finest band of men in
the kingdom after that belonging to Hadgi-Stavros."
"What astonishes me," I said in my turn, "is, that the old rascal's
daughter allows him to do such things."
"She does not live with him."
"Well and good: Where is she?"
"At a boarding-school."
"In Athens?"
"You ask too much; I have known nothing of her for some time. Whoever
marries her will receive a fine dowry with her."
"Yes," said Harris. "One can say as well that Calcraft's daughter is a
good match."
"Who is Calcraft?"
"The Headsman of London."
At these words, Dimitri, Christodule's son, reddened to the roots of his
hair. "Pardon, Monsieur," he said to John Harris, "there is a great
difference between a headsman and a brigand. The business of a headsman
is infamous; the profession of a brigand is honored. The government is
obliged to guard the headsman of Athens in the fort Palamede or he would
be assassinated; while no one wishes evil to Hadgi-Stavros, and the most
respectable people in the kingdom would be proud to shake hands with
him."
Harris opened his mouth to reply, when the shop bell rung. It was the
servant who had entered with a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, dressed
like the latest fashion-plate in the Journal des Modes. Dimitri said, as
he rose from his chair: "It is Photini!"
"Messieurs," said the pastry-cook, "talk of something else, if you
please. Histories of brigands are not for young girls to hear."
Christodule presented Photini to us as the daughter of one of his
companions-in-arms, Colonel Jean, commanding at Nauplie. She called
herself then, Photini; daughter of Jean, according to the custom of the
country, where there were, properly speaking, no family names.
The young maid was ugly, as were nine-tenths of the Athenian girls. She
had pretty teeth and beautiful hair, but that was all. Her thick-set
body did not look well in a Parisian corset. Her feet, which were large,
thick, and ill-shaped, were made for wearing Turkish slippers, and not
to be compressed into the shoes of the fashionable boot-maker, Meyer.
She was as dull-looking as if an imprudent nurse had committed the fault
of sitting down on her face, when an infant. Fashion is not becoming to
all women; it made the poor Photini almost ridiculous. Her flounced
dress, extended over a huge crinoline, accentuated the clumsiness of her
body and the awkwardness of her movements. Jewels from the Palais Royal
with which she was decked seemed like exclamation points, destined to
point out the imperfections of her body. You would have said that she
was a stout and coarse servant-girl, masquerading in her mistress'
clothes.
We were not astonished to see the daughter of a simple Colonel so
extravagantly and gorgeously arrayed, come to pass Sunday at a
pastry-cook's. We knew enough of the country to fully realize that dress
was the incurable evil of Greek society. Country girls pierced silver
pieces, strung them together and wore them upon the head on gala days.
They carried their dowries on their heads. The city girls spent their
money in the shops and carried their dowries on their backs.
Photini was in a boarding-school at Hétairie. It is, as you know, a
school established on the model of the Legion of Honor, but regulated by
rules broader and more tolerant. Usually, only daughters of soldiers
were taught there, sometimes, also, brigands' heiresses.
Colonel Jean's daughter knew a little French and a little English; but
her timidity did not permit of her shining in conversation. I learned
later, that her family counted upon us to perfect her in these foreign
tongues. Her father, having learned that Christodule boarded honorable
and educated Europeans, had begged the pastry-cook to allow her to pass
her Sundays with his family, and he would see that he was recompensed.
This bargain pleased Christodule, and above all, his son, Dimitri. The
young man, working in a servant's place, devoured her with his eyes,
while the heiress never perceived it.
We had made arrangements to go, all together, to a concert. It is a fine
spectacle when the Athenians give themselves up to Sunday pleasures. The
entire population, in gala dress, turns out into the dusty fields, to
hear waltzes and quadrilles played by a regiment band. The poor go on
foot, the rich in carriages, the fashionable men on horseback. The Court
would not have stayed away for an empire. After the last quadrille, each
returned to his home, clothes covered with dust, but with happy hearts,
and said: "We have been very well amused."
It was certain that Photini counted on showing herself at the concert,
and her admirer, Dimitri, was not ashamed to appear with her; for he
wore a new redingote which he had just bought at the Belle-Jardiniére.
Unfortunately, it rained so steadily, that it kept us at home. To kill
time, Maroula offered to let us play for bonbons; it is a favorite
amusement among the middle classes. She took a glass jar from the shop,
and gave to each one a handful of native bonbons, cloves, anise seed,
pepper, and chicory. Then, the cards were dealt, and the first who
collected nine of the same color, received three sugar plums from each
of his adversaries. The Maltese, Giacomo, showed by his eagerness, that
the winning was not a matter of indifference to him. Chance favored him;
he made a fortune, and we saw him gulp down six or eight handfuls of
bonbons which he had won from the rest of us.
I took little interest in the game, and concentrated my attention upon
the curious phenomenon taking place on my left. While the glances which
the young Athenian, Dimitri, cast upon Photini, were met with perfect
indifference, Harris, who did not even look at her, seemed to produce a
wonderful impression upon her, even to almost magnetize her. He held his
cards with a nonchalant air, yawning, from time to time, with American
freedom, or whistling Yankee Doodle, without respect for the company. I
believe that Christodule's story had made a great impression on him, and
that his thoughts were roving over the mountains in pursuit of
Hadgi-Stavros. In any case, whatever his thoughts were, they were not of
love. Perhaps the young girl was not thinking of it either, for Greek
women nearly always have in their hearts a substratum of indifference.
She looked at my friend John, as a lark looks at a mirror. She did not
know him; she knew nothing of him, neither his name, his country, nor
his fortune. She had not heard him speak, and even if she had heard him,
she certainly was not competent to judge of his ability. She saw that he
was very handsome, and that was enough. Formerly, Greeks adored beauty;
it was the only one of their duties which had never had any atheists.
The Greeks of to-day, despite the decadence, know how to distinguish an
Apollo from a baboon. One finds in M. Fauriel's collection, a little
song which may be translated thus:
"Young man, do you wish to know; young girls, would you like to learn,
how love enters into our hearts? It enters by the eyes; from the eyes it
descends to the heart, and in the heart it takes root!"
Decidedly, Photini knew the song; for she opened her eyes wide, so that
love could enter without trouble.
The rain did not cease to fall, nor Dimitri to ogle the young girl, nor
the young girl to gaze, wide-eyed, at Harris, nor Giacomo to eat
bonbons, nor M. Mérinay to relate to the little Lobster, who did not
listen, a chapter from Ancient History. At eight o'clock, Maroula laid
the cloth for supper. Photini had Dimitri on her left, I sat at her
right. She talked but little and ate nothing. At dessert, when the
servant spoke of taking her home, she made a great effort and said to me
in a low tone:
"Is M. Harris married?"