After all, Noémi has some good points, but she is deucedly irascible and fierce.
One thing that astonishes me is the fact that these girls are completely insensible to the beauties of nature.
Thanks to the Greek I learned at college, I am able to understand and speak modern Greek passably well, and I have often tried to awaken in these girls some poetic sentiment. All was in vain; nothing was ever more barbaric or uncultivated than their minds.
With the exception of some Greek national songs, they know nothing at all.
They can neither read nor write. Their rivalries, their jealousies, their calumnies, and a few exaggerated tales of Turkish cruelty, furnish the subjects of their usual conversation.
In other ways they are the best of girls. I remember a scene, which shows marvellously well the characters of my three favourites.
I was mounting a Syrian horse I had purchased, for the first time. He became excited, reared, and fell on me. Noémi flew at the horse, caught him by the bridle, and beat him with a whip. Daphné ran to help me up. Anathasia never moved, but burst into tears and then fainted away.
Some time ago I tried to awaken the souls of these poor girls to some remembrances of their Fatherland,—a sentiment that is so strong in half-civilised natures.
It was not without some hesitation that I made the attempt. I felt a certain remorse at the idea of awakening sad recollections.
Poor girls! They lived in slavery, and their melancholy thoughts must often turn with regret to the land of their youth. Poor caged swallows! they only awaited an opportunity of flying home to their nests.