A Journey to Crete, Costantinople, Naples and Florence: Three Months Abroad. Annie Vivanti

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      She had travelled much, and seen a good deal of the world and its life. She spoke indifferent French with a loud voice, and had generally two veils over her face to protect her complexion, trying to remedy defective sight by looking at one through an eye-glass.

      Fräulein S– was a pretty girl of eighteen, who went to Jerusalem “because Papa took her there,” and he went there, as he had gone to many other places, for the simple love of change and travelling. She was, as I said, pretty, wore a neat becoming travelling dress, and was of course the centre of attraction to all the young men of the party. But being engaged to be married (this she told me in private), and apparently of a naturally modest and retiring disposition, the young men found it difficult to approach her. She stayed a great deal in the ladies’ saloon, writing long letters, which I suppose went to Prague, where she was shortly going to live.

      After a pleasant voyage of about forty-eight hours, we arrived at the island of Corfu, which is separated from the mainland by a small sheet of water only, resembling a lake rather than the sea; for when one nears the town of Corfu, the water seems entirely enclosed by land, and the view is then most charming. On the left, the rocky coast of Albania looks wild and picturesque; while the island to your right, covered by a luxuriant vegetation, has altogether a smiling and cheerful aspect.

      But how strange and new everything appeared to me when we arrived at Corfu, the country, the town, the people. Fifty hours before I had been among mountains of snow, in an almost Siberian cold. Here, under a golden sun, palm trees were growing, and roses and geraniums were in full bloom. When we had gone on shore, we went through dirty, narrow little streets, up to the Spianata, a beautiful promenade, where the palace stands in which the English Lord High Commissioner formerly resided. I was sorry to think that this beautiful land enjoys no longer the blessing of English protection, under which it would surely have prospered. It has not much chance of doing so now.

      Mr. H–, from Cologne, reminded me that Corfu was old Scheria, where King Alkinous lived, whose beautiful, innocent daughter, Nausikaa, the “lily-armed maiden” had saved the life of the noble sufferer Ulysses.

      Before we had gone on shore, about a hundred Montenegrian labourers, going to Constantinople, came on board our vessel; their arrival, in about ten boats, was the strangest thing I had ever witnessed; the noise, the violent gesticulations, the scramble in getting on board, was indescribable, and quite frightened and perplexed me, who had not yet become accustomed to such manners. Some, finding that they could not approach the steps that led up to the deck, climbed like cats up the side of the vessel; and their luggage, consisting of dirty bundles, was hurled after them by their companions below. They wore the Greek costume, which is becoming and picturesque, loose blue pantaloons instead of trousers; a white, or coloured shirt, and a red fez for a head covering. Feet and legs were bare, and over their shoulders hung a shaggy cloak, with a three-cornered capuch to it. Their features were generally good; the straight line of the Greek profile well defined in many. They had lively eyes, and a profusion of dark curly hair.

      When, after a few hours stroll through the town, and on the Spianata, we returned to the boat, I found that we had also an addition to our saloon passengers. They were all Greeks. One of them was M. Brilas, who had just been called to Athens to fill the office of Foreign Minister there. His only child, a fine, intelligent looking boy, accompanied him. A fortnight after, at the festivities in commemoration of the Greek Revolution, the boy had a sunstroke, and died. I grieved for the poor father when I heard of it. Mr. Conemenos, with his wife, also embarked at Corfu. He is a Greek, in the diplomatic service of the Ottoman Empire. Between myself and his young wife, an amiable and accomplished lady, an almost friendly relation soon sprang up. I was sorry to part from her at Sira, and promised to go and see her when I got to Constantinople, to which place she was now going on a visit to her parents. And there came another young Greek on board, whom I remember only because he was very beautiful, and looked exactly as Homer describes some of the “curly-headed Achaians.” He sat at meal-times next to General T–, and nearly opposite me. The contrast they formed was most striking. It being Lent, the pale-faced young Greek ate nothing but a little bread, and a few olives, while the old soldier, with his florid complexion, swallowed at breakfast alone, four eggs, a quantity of garlick sausage, and uncooked ham, besides fish and fowl, potatoes and rice.

      The weather, which had been so fine on our way to Corfu, did not continue so favourable. The Sirocco blew fresh against us, and gradually the sea became very rough. The vessel rocked so much, that I did not care to remain long on deck, but retired early to my little cabin. I am a good sailor, and therefore did not suffer, but I slept little that night, being disturbed by the movements of the ship, which near Cape Matapan became lively in the extreme. How disappointing it is in such a night to wake after a short doze, thinking it must be near morning, and to find that it is just eleven o’clock, then dozing again, waking up with a start, and discovering by the dim light of the cabin lamp that it is not yet one. And how glad one feels when the morning dawns through the thick little pane of glass, and the scrubbing of the deck is heard overhead. Now it is day; the terrors of the night are passed, fear vanishes like an uneasy dream. And how refreshing is the morning breeze on the still wet deck, when the foaming sea begins to look blue and clear again, and the sun breaks forth through the clouds. The Montenegrians on the foredeck, also seemed to enjoy the bright morning after the rough night they had spent there. They made an early breakfast of brown bread, curd-cheese, and garlick; and looked very happy in their picturesque rags. A lad who sat on a kind of mat, his legs crossed, smoking a long Turkish pipe, looked the image of contemplative contentment. After another rough night we arrived the next morning in Sira, from whence we intended to proceed to Crete. Unfortunately there was no boat leaving for that island for four days, and thus the question arose what to do with those days. Remaining in Sira was out of the question, for although, in a commercial point of view, I am told that it is the most important Greek town; all that anybody can care to see of Sira is seen from the harbour. Perhaps I should mention that from the top of the hill on which the Roman Catholic Church stands, there is a fine view over the town; the harbour, which is full of all kinds of vessels, and looks very animated, and the blue Ionian Sea.

      But then the way up that little hill is very steep, and the sunbeams strike down upon the streets paved with slippery stones, which makes the going up fatiguing, and the coming down difficult. Carriages cannot be used at all. The houses of Sira are all painted white, or of some very light colour, and look neat and clean, but the country around wants entirely the charm of vegetation. There are about a dozen trees planted round a little square in the town, which form the only promenade of its inhabitants. I saw no other tree or shrub anywhere on the hills around, so that the inhabitants know only by the higher or lower degree of temperature whether it is summer or winter; nothing else tells them of the pleasant changes of the “circling year.” And what is worse still, Sira has no fresh water. This indispensable necessary of life, this great element of our existence, which I always thought belonged to every man like the air he breathes, as his birth-right, is brought to Sira from a distance and sold like wine by the quart, and of different qualities; that fit for drinking being the dearest.

      The town has no historical recollections, no antiquities, no art treasures, ancient or modern; nothing but ships and warehouses, and stones, and a burning sun. We could not stop four days in such a place; that was evident. But where to go?

      We committed a grievous error in the way in which we solved that question. Athens, with its glorious remains of antiquity was, so to say, at our door, being but ten hours’ journey from Sira. But unfortunately there was at the same time a boat leaving for Smyrna, which would return in time for us to catch the boat for Crete; and so, partly from a childish impatience to see an eastern town, as if I had not been going to Crete and Constantinople afterwards; partly because I liked to spend another day with the excursionists, we went on board the “Germania;” had forty-eight hours of rough sea (twenty-four each way) two days at Smyrna, with what enjoyment I shall tell by and by, and lost the opportunity of seeing Athens, to which I could afterwards only pay a flying visit of a few hours on my way СКАЧАТЬ