From the Oak to the Olive: A Plain record of a Pleasant Journey

by Julia Ward Howe

Here is a little specimen of his talk, the subject being that of dreams and revelations: "What is to happen, that God alone can know. But that which is already happening, or which has happened at a distance, this the demonio may know and reveal. And he will reveal it to you in a dream, or in a vision, or by a presentiment."

"But what does the demonio get, Père Michel, for the trouble of revealing it to us?"

"The satisfaction of making men superstitious?"

Non c'e male, Père Michel. And what, thought I, is the chief advantage of being pope, cardinal, arch-priest, confessor? The satisfaction of making men superstitious. At another time I remarked upon the fact that the monasteries in Greece are usually situated at some height on a mountain side. "They are of the order of St. Basil," said the old man; "he always loved the retirement of the mountains, and his followers imitate him in this." Père Michel had a pleasant smile, with just enough of second childhood to be guileless, not foolish. And I may here say that the Armenian priesthood appear to me to have quite an individuality of their own, corresponding to no order of the Romish priesthood with which I am acquainted.

The excessive heat of the cabins and after deck one day induced me to head a valorous invasion of the forward deck, followed by as many of the sisterhood as I was able to recruit. The steamer being a very long one, we had to make quite a journey before we entered that almost interdicted region, crossing a long bridge, and passing the captain's sacred office. We carried books and work; our fauteuils followed us. And here we found cool breezes and delicious shade. The sailors and deck passengers lay in heaps about the boards, taking their noonday nap in a very primitive manner. We profited by this discovery so far as to repeat the invasion daily while the voyage lasted.

But it came to end sooner than one might suppose from this long description. We had left Syra on Sunday night; on Thursday afternoon we landed in Trieste. Farewell, Turco-Italians, Austro-Italians, Sieben Gebirgers, Transylvanians, Dalmatians, ladies, babies, priests, and all. When shall we meet again? Scarcely before that great and final analysis which promises to distinguish, once for all, the sheep from the goats. And even for that supreme consummation and its results, all of you may command my best wishes.

FRAGMENTS.

Up to the point last reached, my jottings down had been made with tolerable regularity. Living is so much more rapid than writing, that an impossible babe, who should begin his diary at his birth, would be sure to have large arrears between that period and the day of his death, however indefatigable he might be in his recording. A man cannot live his life and write it too; hence the work that men who live much leave to their biographers. So, of the space that here intervened between Trieste and Paris, I lived the maximum and wrote the minimum; that is, the little death's-head and cross-bone mementos with which the diary is forced to record the spot at which each day fell and lay, together with the current expenses of its interment. In some places even these are wanting, and the stricken soul, looking over the diary, cries out, "O, my leanness!" or words to that effect. Yet the poor document referred to shall help us what it can, beginning with the return from cheap, cosy Trieste to that polished jewel of the Adriatic, which now shines doubly in its new setting of liberty.

We went, as we came, in the Lloyd steamer, declining, however, to engage a state-room, mindful of the exceeding closeness of that in which we suffered on our outward voyage. The embarkation was made, like that from Venice, at the mysterious hour of midnight; and we, coming on board at half past ten, secured such sofa and easy-chair privileges as moved the wrath of a high-talking German party who came at the last moment, and shouted for a quarter of an hour the assertion that his Damen were fully equal, if not superior, to any other Damen on board the steamer, and that if the other Damen had places, his surely ought much more to have them. The cameriere merely shrugged his shoulders, and we failed to be convinced that our first duty would be to vacate our limited accommodations, and stand at large for the benefit of these or any other virgins of the tardy and oily description. The blatant champion thereon took himself and his Damen up stairs. We reserved to ourselves the good intention of sharing our advantages with them at a later period, when the passage of the present acerbity should make intercourse possible. The cabin soon became insufferably hot and close. After various ineffectual attempts at repose, in a cramped position on the sofa, with a shawl bundle for a pillow, I went on deck, where I at least found fresh air and darkness, the blazing lamp in the cabin being enough, of itself, to banish sleep. Every available spot here was occupied by groups or single figures, whose tout ensemble, what with the darkness and their draping, constituted a very respectable gallery of figures, much resembling the conspirators in Ernani, or Mme. Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors, in the absence of the illuminating medium. I unconsciously seated myself on one sleeping figure, which kicked and cried, O! With difficulty I found a narrow vacancy on one of the side benches, after occupation of which I wrapped my shawl about me, and gave up to the situation.

"For we were tired, my back and I."