GREECE AND THE VOYAGE THITHER.
"in a transition state."
We have left Venice. We have passed an intolerable night on board the Austrian steamer, whose state-rooms are without air, its cabin without quiet, and its deck without shelter. So inconvenient a transport, in these days of steamboat luxury, makes one laugh and wonder. Trieste, our stopping-place, is the strangest mongrel, a perfect cur of a city (cur-i-o-sity). It is neither Italian, Greek, nor German, but all three of these, and many more. The hotel servants speak German and Italian, the shop-keepers also. Paper money passes without fight or agio upon the prices demanded. It seems to be par, with gold and silver at a premium. Much Oriental-looking merchandise is seen in the shop windows. The situation is fine, the port first rate.
Our consul here, Mr. Alex. Thayer, is the author of the Life of Beethoven, already favorably known to the world as far as the first volume. The second, not yet completed, is looked for with interest. Mr. Thayer's kind attentions made our short stay in Trieste pleasant, and our transit to the Austrian Lloyd's steamer easy, and within thirty-six hours after our arrival we found ourselves embarked on board the latter, en route for Syra, where we should find another Austrian Lloyd waiting to convey us to the Piræus, the well-known port of Athens.
Our voyage began with a stormy day. Incessant rain soaked the deck. A charming little upper cabin, cushioned and windowed like a luxurious carriage, gave us shelter, combined with fresh air—the cordial of those who "cœlum et animum mutant, quia trans mare current." Here I pillowed myself in inevitable idleness, now become, alas! too familiar, and amused myself with the energetic caquet of my companions.
An elderly Greek gentleman, Count Lunzi of Zante, with a pleasing daughter; a young Austrian, accompanied by a pretty sister; an elderly Neapolitan bachelor,—these were our fellow-passengers in the first cabin. In the second cabin were eleven friars, and an intelligent Venetian apothecary, with whom I subsequently made acquaintance. The captain, a middle-aged Dalmatian, came and went. He wore over his uniform a capote of India rubber cloth, which he laid aside when he came into our deck-parlor for a brief sitting and a whiff of tobacco. The gentlemen all smoked without apology. The little Greek lady soon became violently seasick, and the Austrian maiden followed. The neophyte and the Austrian brother felt no pang, but the neophyte's mother was dizzy and uncomfortable. Count Lunzi and the Neapolitan kept up a perpetual conversation in French, having many mutual acquaintances, whose absence they found it worth while to improve. I blessed their loquacity, which beguiled for me the weary, helpless hours. We went down to dinner; at tea-time we were non compos mensis. The state-rooms below being intensely hot and close in consequence of the rain, we all staid up stairs as long as possible, and our final retreat was made in the order of our symptoms.
The following morning brought us the sun. The rain was at an end, and the sea grew less turbulent. The day was Sunday, and the unmistakable accents of theological controversy saluted my ears as I ascended the companion-way, and took my place in the deck-parlor. Count Lunzi, a liberal, and a student of German criticism, was vigorously belaboring three of the friars, who replied to him whenever they were able to get a word in, which was not often. His arguments supported the action of the Italian government in disbanding all monastic fraternities throughout its dominions, giving to each member a small pension, and inviting all to live by exercising the duties of their profession as secular priests. Our friars had concluded to expatriate, rather than secularize, themselves, and were now en route for Kaiafa, a place concerning which I could only learn that it was in Syria. They were impugned, according to the ancient superstition, as the causes of our bad embarkation and rough voyage. They were young and vigorous men, and the old count not unreasonably urged them to abandon a career now recognized as useless and obsolete, and to earn their bread by some availing labor. The circle of the controversy widened. More friars came up from below. The ship's surgeon joined himself to them, the Venetian siding with the count. The Neapolitan stood by to see fair play, and a good part of the day of rest was occupied by this symphony of discord.
I confess that, although the friars' opinions were abhorrent to mine, I yet wished that they might have been let alone. Even Puritan Milton does not set a Calvinistic angel to argue with Adam and Eve concerning the justice of their expulsion from Paradise. The journey itself was pain enough, without the reprobation. As the friars had been turned out of their comfortable nests, and were poor and disconsolate, I myself would sooner have given them an obolus unjustified by theory than a diatribe justified by logic. But the old count was sincere and able, and at least presented to them views greatly in advance of their bigotry and superstition. While this conversation went on, we passed Lissa, where the Italian fleet was repulsed by the Austrians, during the war of Italian unity. Our fellow-passenger of the nation second named quietly exults over this event. He does well. Austrian victories have been rare of late. Of the day following my diary says,—
June 17.—In sight of the Acroceraunian mountains and shore of Albania. Vessel laboring with head wind, I with Guizot's Meditations, which also have some head wind in them. They seem to me inconclusive in statement, and insufficient in thought, presenting, nevertheless, some facts and considerations of interest. At a little before two P. M., we pass Fano, the island in which Calypso could not console herself; and no wonder. At two we enter the channel of Corfu, but do not reach the shore itself until five o'clock. A boat conveys us to the shore, where, with our Austrian friends, we engage a carriage, and drive to view the environs.
This is my first experience of Greece. The streets are narrow and irregular, the men mostly in European costume, with here and there a fustanella. Our drive took us to a picturesque eminence, commanding a lovely prospect. It led us through a sort of Elysian field, planted with shade trees, where the populace on gala days go to sip coffee, and meet their friends and neighbors. Returning to the town, we pass several large hotels and cafés, at one of which we order ices. I puzzle myself in vain with the Greek signs over the shop windows. Our leave of absence having expired, we hasten back to the steamer, but find its departure delayed by the labor of embarking a Turkish dignitary, Achmed Pacha, who, with a numerous suite, male and female, is to take passage with us for the Dardanelles.
A steamer, bearing the Crescent flag at her mast-head, was anchored alongside of our own. Our hitherto quiet quarters were become a little Babel of strange tongues and costumes. Any costume artist would have gone mad with delight over the variety of coats and colors which our new visitors displayed. Those wonderful jackets and capotes, which are the romance of stage and fancy-ball attire, here appeared as the common prose of every-day dress. Every man wore a fez. I remember a handsome youth, whose crimson head-gear contrasted with a white sheepskin jacket with wide, hanging sleeves—the sleeves not worn on the arms, but at the back; the close vest, loose, short skirt, and leggings were also white—the whole very effective. He was only one figure of a brilliant panorama, but treacherous memory does not give me the features of the others.
Our vessel, meanwhile, was engaged in swallowing the contents of the Turkish steamer with the same deliberation with which an anaconda swallows a bullock. The Turks and Albanians might scream and chatter, and declaim the whole Koran at their pleasure, the great crane went steadily on—hoisting bale after bale, and lowering the same into our hold. This household stuff consisted principally of rugs and bedding, with trunks, boxes, and kitchen furniture, and some mysterious bundles whose contents could not be conjectured.
The sight of this unwholesome-looking luggage suggested to some of us possible communication of cholera, or eastern plague. The neophyte and I sat hand in hand, looking ruefully on, and wondering how soon we should break out. But when the dry goods were disposed of, the transfer of the human merchandise from one vessel to the other seized our attention, and put our fears out of sight.
Our first view of the pacha's harem showed us a dozen or more women crouching on the deck of the Turkish steamer, their heads and faces bundled up with white muslin veils, which concealed hair, forehead, mouth, and chin, leaving exposed to view only the triangle of the eyes and nose. Several children were there, who at first sight all appeared equally dirty and ill-dressed. We were afterwards able to distinguish differences between them.
The women and children came on board in a body, and took up a position on the starboard side of the deck. With them came an old man-servant, in a long garment of whitish woollen cloth, who defined their boundaries by piling up certain bales of property. In the space thus marked off, mattresses were at once laid down and spread with coverlets; for these women were to pass night as well as day on deck. Five ladies of the pacha's family at once intrenched themselves in one of the small cabins below, where, with five children, they continued for the remainder of the voyage, without exercise or ventilation. Too sacred to be seen by human eyes, these ladies made us aware of their presence by the sound of their incessant chattering, by the odor of their tobacco, and by the screaming of one of their little ones, an infant of eight months.
When these things had been accomplished, our captain sent word to the pacha that he was ready to depart. The great man's easy-chair—by no means a splendid one—was then carried on board, and the great man himself, accompanied by his son-in-law and his dragoman, came among us. He was a short, stout person, some fifty years of age, and wore a dark military coat, with a gold stripe on the shoulder, and lilac trousers. His dragoman was a Greek. He and his suite smoked vigorously, and stared somewhat, as, with the neophyte on one side and the little Austrian lady on the other, I walked up and down the deck. The women and the old servant all slept à la belle étoile. The pacha and his officers had state-rooms in the saloon; the other men were in the third cabin. I forgot to say that at Corfu we left Count Lunzi and his amiable daughter, whose gracious manners and good English did credit to Mrs. Hills's excellent tuition, which the young lady had enjoyed for some years at her well-known school in Athens.
When we came on deck the next morning, we found some of the Turkish women still recumbent, others seated upon their mattresses. Two of the children, a girl of ten years and a boy of twelve, went about under orders, and carried dishes and water-vessels between the cabin and the deck. We afterwards learned that these were Albanian slaves. The girl was named Haspir, the boy Ali. The first had large dark eyes and a melancholy expression of countenance; the boy also had Oriental eyes, whose mischievous twinkle was tempered by the gravity of his situation. The old servant, whom they called Baba, ate his breakfast in a corner. He had a miscellaneous looking dish of fish, bread, and olives. The women fed chiefly, as far as I could judge, on cucumbers and radishes, which they held and munched. Water was given from a brazen pitcher, of a pattern decidedly Oriental. Coffee was served to the invisible family in the small cabin. I did not see the women on deck partake of it. But from this time the scope of my observations was limited. A canvas partition, made fast to the mast overhead, now intervened, to preserve this portion of the harem from the pollution of external regards. Henceforth, we had glimpses of its members only when a lurch of the steamer swayed the canvas wall far out of equilibrium. The far niente seemed to be their fate, without alternative. Nor book nor needle had they. The children came outside, and peeped at us. Baba, grim guardian of the household, sat or squatted among his bales, oftenest quite unoccupied, but sometimes smoking, or chattering with the children. I took my modest drawing-book, and, with unsteady hand, began to sketch him in pen and ink. He soon divined my occupation, and kept as still as a mouse until by a sign I released him, when he begged, in the same language, to see what I had drawn. I next tried to get a croquis of a pretty little girl who played about, wearing a pink wadded sack over a gown and trousers of common flowered calico, buff and brown. She was disposed to wriggle out of sight; but Baba threatened her, and she was still.
Presently, the slave-boy, Ali, came up from the select cabin below, bearing in his arms an ill-conditioned little creature, two years of age, who had come on board in a cashmere pelisse lined with fur, a pink wadded under-jacket, and a pair of trousers of dirty common calico. He had now discarded the fur-pelisse. On his round little head he wore a cap of pink cashmere, soiled and defaced, with a large gold coin attached to it. A natural weakness drew me towards the little wretch, whom I tried to caress. Ali patted him tenderly, and said, "Pacha." This was indeed the youngest member, save one, of the pacha's family—the true baby being the infant secluded down stairs, whose frequent cries appealed in vain for change of air and of scene. The two-year-old had already the title of bey.
"Can a baby a bey be?" I asked, provoking the disgust which a pun is sure to awaken in those who have not made it.
We met the pacha at meals, interchanging mute salutations. He had a pleasant, helpless sort of smile, and ate according to the orthodox standard of nicety. On deck some attendant constantly brought him a pipe composed of a large knob of amber, which served as a mouth piece, and a reed some eight inches in length, bearing a lighted cigar.
As we sat much in our round house, it was inevitable that I should at last establish communication with him through the mediation of a young Greek passenger, who spoke both Turkish and French.
It was from the pacha that I learned that Haspir and Ali were slaves. The little girl whom I had sketched was his daughter. I inquired about a girl somewhat younger, who played with this one. The pacha signified that he had given the mother of his daughter to one of his men, and that the second little girl was born of this connection. The two younger children already spoken of were born of another mother, probably each of a different one.
"O Christian marriage!" I thought, as I looked on this miscellaneous and inorganic family, "let us not complain of thy burdens."
With us the birth of a child is the strongest bond of union between its parents; with the Oriental it is the signal for separation. No society will ever permanently increase whose structure rests on an architecture so feeble. The Turkish empire might spread by conquest and thrive by plunder. But at home it can never compete with nations in which family life has individuality of centre and equality of obligation. With Greeks and Albanians to work for them, and pay them tribute, the Turks are able to attain a certain wealth. It is the wealth, however, which impoverishes mankind, exhausting the sources of industry and of enterprise. Let the Turk live upon what he can earn, and we shall hear little of him.
The women sometimes struggled out from their canvas enclosure, and went below on various errands. On these occasions they were enveloped in a straight striped covering, white and red, much like a summer counterpane. This was thrown over the head, held together between the teeth, and reached to the feet. It left in view their muslin head-dresses, and calico trousers, gathered at the ankle, nothing more. A few were barefoot—one or two only wore stockings. Most of them were shod with brodequins, of a size usually worn by men.
At a late hour in the afternoon, Ali brought to their enclosure a round metal dish of stewed meat, cut in small pieces for the convenience of those whose customs are present proof that fingers were made before knives and forks. A great dish of rice simultaneously made its appearance. Baba chattered very much, Ali made himself busy, and a little internal commotion became perceptible behind the canvas wall.
My opportunity of observing Turkish manners was as brief as it was limited. Having taken the Moslems on board on Monday, well towards evening, the Wednesday following saw, at ten A. M., my exit from the steamer. For we were now in the harbor of Syra. When I came on deck, soon after five A. M., the pacha sent me coffee in a little cup with a silver stand. It was prepared after the Turkish manner, and was fragrant and delicious. While we were at breakfast, Mr. Saponzaki, American consul at Syra, came on board in search of me, followed soon by an old friend, Mr. Evangelides. With real regret I took leave of the friendly captain and pleasant companions of the voyage. I shook hands with the pacha, not unmindful of the miseries of Crete. Baba also gave me a parting salutation. He was a nice observer of womanly actions, and his farewell gesture seemed to say, "Although barefaced, you are respectable;" which, if he really meant it, was a great deal for him to allow. Our luggage was now transferred on board the smaller steamer, which was to sail at six P. M. for the Piræus, and the neophyte and myself soon found ourselves under the shelter of Mr. Evangelides' roof, where his Greek wife made us cordially welcome.