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

by Annie Vivanti

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.