As you may suppose, I was very sorry to lose an opportunity of perhaps making another discovery of importance, but even as it was I did not regret to have made the visit into Maina. In no part of Europe at any rate, if indeed of the world, could one find such singular scenes or come upon a state of society so exactly like that of our ancient barons. The character of Murgino himself was a study. He was very hardy, bold, vigorous in mind and body, used from a boy to battle with all kinds of reverses.
His father was driven out of his home by the Turks, who brought several frigates and regularly laid siege to Scardamula. He escaped, but he was afterwards taken and hanged at Tripolizza. Murgino himself escaped to Coron, where, however, he was discovered and put in chains. A friendly priest brought him a file, wherewith he effected his escape to the house of the English consul, and was by him protected. He then took service on board a French privateer, and wandered into various parts of the Levant. After some time he reappeared at Scardamula, took possession of his father's castle, and became one of the captains or leaders of the Mainiotes. Then the Turks returned and surrounded him a second time. With a few followers he cut his way through and escaped to Zante. Some months later he came back once more, to find a neighbour had seized his possessions. He collected friends and laid siege to him. His rival was, fortunately for him, killed by a stroke of lightning during the siege, and Murgino came into his own again. But he did not hold it long in peace. He was again attacked by the Turks in force. This time he shut himself in the castle with 62 Greeks, who swore to die rather than yield. For forty days they held the place with muskets against artillery, till all his powder was spent and his towers in ruins. Then he sent a message to the enemy to say that if they would give him two cannon and some powder he would hold the castle a year. Having soothed his mind with this taunt, he prepared to escape to the mountains. First he sent his wife off by night, and then followed with the few survivors of his men, and contrived again to get to Zante. It is characteristic of the man that when he learnt that his son was hanged he called, as he told me, for another glass of rum, saying 'Che serve la melancolia?' Among the ruffianly crew who loafed about the place he pointed me out one or two of the poor fellows who had remained hidden in the hills when he went to Zante. Some had lost a toe or a finger in the frost; others had been maimed in the siege. One youth in particular he indicated, saying 'This fellow's father was a fine fellow; he was crushed in the falling of one of the towers!' Every one had a history.
Somehow, before we parted, I had got to feel a sort of affection for this ruthless cateran. He had an uncommonly open frank manner, he was certainly clean, and he had an air of natural superiority which it was difficult to resist.
I should not have written so much about this if I had not thought it the most interesting part of the tour—but it had not, I admit, much architectural instruction to offer.
From Kalamata we went to Sparta, over a rugged and picturesque road, along the brink of precipices and over the Taygetus. Some time ago it was infested by banditti,[30] and so it still is on the borders of Maina. We arrived late at a small village near Mistra. The road, which passed among overhanging rocks and a wild and fantastic scenery, the effect of which was heightened by the moonlight, was so stony and rugged that we were obliged to walk by far the greater part of the way. Sometimes the shepherds on precipices above us would call out, 'What men are ye?' And we answered, 'Good men.' There was no step of the road that had not its annals of murder or robbery. One of our party, to cheer us, sang us the great deeds of a certain Captain Zaccani, who had been something between a highwayman and a patriot not many years back, infesting this part of the country.
Sparta, I need not tell you, was strong only in its inhabitants. It stood, as no other Greek city did, in a plain. There are no remains. Its present inhabitants, far from being independent, are the most oppressed, the meanest and the stupidest of the Greeks. We stayed only three days for Haller, who had various drawings to make, and then rode from Mistra to Tripolizza in one day. Haller had had a fall from his horse on the way which had strained him a good deal, so we had to stop three days there also. It is the capital of the Morea, and has a caimacam, whom we went to call upon one evening. It chanced to be during the Ramazan. He was very civil and gave us a bouyuruldu, an order which provided us horses gratis to Athens. The details of the visit were very much the same as those of other official visits. We drank coffee and smoked large pipes surrounded by a crowd of chiouks. The large and well-lighted room was filled with Albanian soldiers lying and sitting in all positions on the floor, and we had to be careful in picking our way through them.
We did not stop longer at Argos or Tiryns than was necessary to verify Gell's description.
At Napoli di Romagna, where we were detained for want of horses, we narrowly escaped the bastinado.
Napoli is one of the chief fortresses of the Morea, and the custom on entering such places is to get off one's horse. Our servant, who knew nothing of this, was cruelly beaten by the guard. When we came up we were told of it by the grooms who looked after our luggage, and conjured by the Panagia and the Cross to dismount as we went in. We, however, thought it unbecoming our dignity, and rode boldly in. The guard, seeing so many hats, was awed and said nothing; but we could see by the frowns of the bystanders that our presumption was disapproved, and when we complained to the pasha, the head of the janissaries, of the way our servant was mishandled, he took very little notice of us. Generally speaking the Turks in their fortresses are insufferably intolerant and insolent. Our treatment was no inducement to stay, and we made on for Athens as soon as we could. We visited the sacred grove at Epidaurus,[31] the ruins of Mycenæ,[32] and stayed one day in Corinth. But we were glad to get to Athens; it was like home to us. For three weeks I had slept with my clothes on, without a bed, and with only one blanket to wrap myself in."