Too soon, too soon for all of us, these rare and costly delights were ended. We had indeed suffered days of Fahrenheit at 100° in the shade. We had made experience of states of body which are termed bilious, of states of mind more or less splenetic, lethargic, and irritable. We dreamed always of islands we were never to visit, of ruins which we shall know, according to the flesh, never. We pored over Muir and Miss Bremer, and feebly devised outbreaks towards the islands, towards the Cyclades, Santorini, but especially towards Corinth, whose acropolis rested steadily in our wishes, resting in our memory only as a wish. Towards Constantinople, too, our uncertain destinies had one moment pointed. But when the word of command came, it despatched us westward, and not eastward. By this time our life had become somewhat too literally a vapor, and our sublimated brains were with difficulty condensed to the act of packing. Perpetual thirst tormented us. And of this as of other Eastern temptations, I must say, "Resist it." Drinking does not relieve this symptom of hot climates. It, moreover, utterly destroys the tone of the stomach. A little tea is the safest refreshment; and even this should not be taken in copious draughts. Patience and self-control are essential to bodily health and comfort under these torrid skies. The little food one can take should be of the order usually characterized as "nutritious and easy of digestion." But so far as health goes, "Avoid Athens in midsummer" will be the safest direction, and will obviate the necessity of all others.
In spite, however, of all symptoms and inconveniences, the mandate that said, "Pack and go," struck a chill to our collective heart. We visited all the dear spots, gave pledges of constancy to all the kind friends, tried with our weak sight to photograph the precious views upon our memory. Then, with a sort of agony, we hurried our possessions, new and old, into the usual narrow receptacles, saw all accounts discharged, feed the hotel servants, took the smile for the last time, and found ourselves dashing along the road to the Piræus with feelings very unlike the jubilation in which we first passed that classic transit. It was all over now, like a first love, like a first authorship, like a honey-moon. It was over. We could not say that we had not had it. But O, the void of not having it now, of never expecting to have it again!
Kind friends went with us to soften the journey. At the boat, Dr. and Mrs. Hill met and waited with us. I parted from the apostolic woman with sincere good-will and regret. Warned to be on board by six P. M., the boat did not start till half-past seven. We waved last adieus. We clung to the last glimpses of the Acropolis, of the mountains; but they soon passed out of sight. We savagely went below and to bed. The diary bears this little extract: "The Ægean was calm and blue. Thus, with great pleasure and interest, and with some drawbacks, ends my visit to Athens. A dream—a dream!"
RETURN VOYAGE.
To narrate the circumstances of our return voyage would seem much like descending from the poetic dénouement of a novel to all the prosaic steps by which the commonplace regains its inevitable ascendency after no matter what abdication in favor of the heroic. Yet, as travel is travel, whether outward or inward bound, and as our homeward cruise had features, I will try, with the help of the diary, to pick them out of the vanishing chaos of memory, premising only that I have no further dénouement to give.
"Story? Lord bless you, I have none to tell, sir."
On referring, therefore, to Clayton's quarto, of the date of July 21, 1867, I find the day to have been passed by us all in the hot harbor of Syra, on board the boat that brought us there. At seven A. M. we did indeed land in a small boat with Vice-Consul Saponsaki, and betake ourselves through several of the steep and sunny streets of the town. At one of the two hotels we staid long enough to order lemonades and drink them. The said hotel appeared, on a cursory survey, to be as dirty and disorderly as need be; but we soon escaped therefrom, and visited the theatre, the Casino, and the Austrian consul. The Casino is spacious and handsome, giving evidence at once of wealth and of taste in those who caused it to be built. Such an establishment would be a boon in Athens, where there is no good public reading-room of any kind. The theatre is reasonable. Here, in winter, a short opera season is enjoyed, and, in consequence, the music books of the young ladies teem with arrangements of Verdi and of Donizetti. We found the square near the quay lively with the early enjoyers of coffee and the narghilé. Every precious inch of shade was, as usual, carefully appropriated; but the sun was rapidly narrowing the boundaries of the shadow district. Our chief errand resulted in the purchase of an ok of lokumias, which we virtuously resolved to carry to America, if possible. The little boat now returned us to the steamer, where breakfast and dinner quietly succeeded each other, little worthy of record occurring between. One interesting half hour reached us in the shape of a visit from Papa Parthenius, a young and active member of the Cretan Syn-eleusis. He came with tidings for our chief veteran,—tales of the Turks, and how they could get no water at Svakia; tidings also of brave young DeKay, and of his good service in behalf of the island. While these, in the dreadful secrecy of an unknown tongue, impart he did, I seized pen and ink, and ennobled my unworthy sketch-book with a croquis of his finely-bronzed visage. His countenance was such as Miss Bremer would have called dark and energetic. He wore the dress of his calling, which was that of the secular priesthood. He soon detected my occupation, and said, in Greek, "I regret that the kyrie should make my portrait without my arms."
We parted from him very cordially. Consul Campfield afterwards gave us a refreshing row about the harbor, bringing us within view of the two iron-clads newly purchased and brought out to run the Turkish blockade. One of these was famous in the annals of Secessia. Both served that more than doubtful cause. Then we went back to the vessel, and the rest of the day did not get beyond perspiration and patience.
Towards evening a spirited breeze began to lash the waters of the harbor into hilly madness. White caps showed themselves, and we, who were to embark on board another vessel, for another voyage, took note of the same. The friendly Evangelides now came on board, and scolded us for not having sent him word of our arrival. We pleaded the extreme heat of the day, which had made dreadful the idea of visiting and of locomotion of any sort. He was clad from head to foot in white linen, and looked most comfortable. While he was yet with us, the summons of departure came. In our chief's plans, meanwhile, a change had taken place. Determining causes induced him to return to Athens, minus his female impedimenta: so the little boat that danced with us from the Lloyd's Syra to the Lloyd's Trieste steamer danced back with him, leaving three disconsolate ones, bereft of Greece, and unprotected of all and any. Nor did we make this second start without a contretemps. Having bidden the chief farewell, we proceeded at once to take account of our luggage; and lo! the shawl bundle was not. Now, every knowing traveller is aware that this article of travelling furniture contains much besides the shawl, which is but the envelope of all the odds and ends usually most essential to comfort. For the second in command, therefore, previously designated as a megale, there was but one course to pursue. To hire a boat, refuse to be cheated in its price, tumble down the ship's side, row to the Syra steamer, pick up the missing bundle, astonish the chief in a pensive reverie, "sibi et suis," on the cabin sofa, and return triumphant, was the work of ten minutes. But the sea ran high, the little boat danced like a cockle-shell, and the neophytes were afraid, and much relieved in mind when the ancient reappeared.
The America (the Trieste steamer) did not weigh anchor before midnight. Soon after the adventure of the shawl bundle, the Syra steamer fired a gun, and slipped out to sea. We had seen the last of the chief for a fortnight at least, and our attention was now turned to the quarters we were to occupy for four days to come. These did not at first sight seem very promising. Our state-rooms were small, and bare of all furniture, except the bed and washing fixtures. Just outside of them, on the deck, was the tent under which the Turkish women horded. For we found, on coming on board, a Turkish pacha and suite, bound from Constantinople to Janina, to take the place of him whom we had, a month before, accompanied on his way from Janina to Constantinople, via Corfu, where we were to be quit of the present dignitary. But before I get to the Turks, I must mention that good Christian, the Austrian consul at Syra, who came on board before we left, and introduced to me a young man in an alarming condition of health, a Venetian by birth, and an officer in the Austrian navy. His illness had been induced by exposure incident to his profession in the hot harbor of Kanea.