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

This garden was very different from our gardens at home, nor was it the most beautiful of Crete, but it was the first I saw there, and it made the deepest and most lasting impression upon me.

Art has done little, Nature prodigiously much. The flowers grow so luxuriantly, that man’s hand cannot keep them in bounds. They grow high, intertwine, and intermingle; they stretch their long branches full of rich blossoms across the paths; they touch your shoulder and catch your veil, but they are wonderfully sweet and lovely. The scent of the orange blossoms and roses is so strong, that it has a physical effect upon your nerves, and gives you a feeling of unspeakable enjoyment and bliss. The son of Sakhir Bey, the happy proprietor of this little Paradise, received us most kindly. He was the first Turk I ever spoke to. At the beginning of our conversation, carried on in French, I felt a little embarrassed, for I remembered that he belonged to a nation that treats women as slaves, and seems to despise them as such. He however soon made me forget it, by his perfect politeness and courtesy. He told one of his gardeners to bring us fruits of different kinds, some of which I had not seen or tasted before, and when I left I carried away with me a bouquet as large as my hand would hold, and so sweet, that for days after when it stood in my room, I felt as if I were again in Sakhir Bey’s garden. I visited many other gardens, I saw the beautiful “Pine-tree Garden” of Hamet Bey, “the garden of the Red Country” belonging to Memet Bey, and the splendid one of Pasha Mustapha, but none that pleased me more than the first.

Far, far from here, they still bloom in the sun, and in the soft clear moonlight, those gardens of Crete! That my foot ever trod their flower-strewed paths, that my hand plucked their glorious roses, seems now a dream. The stately Bey alone walks them now, and at times when the gates are firmly closed, some veiled woman with slow measured steps, and dark burning eyes, followed by some black slave, whose ugly features appear the more repugnant in that world of beauty.

The day after we arrived at Canea my husband paid, as is customary in the East, a visit to Ismael Pasha, who is Governor-General of Crete. The history of this remarkable man is singular and romantic. He was born at Chio, of Greek parents, made a slave by the Turks when a boy of eleven years of age, and sold to a Turkish doctor in Constantinople, who taught him what little he himself knew of his profession, and employed him as an assistant. When Ismael had grown to be a young man, he showed so much talent and ability, that his master most justly thought his young assistant might, if he received an European education, become a competitor of the French, German, and Italian doctors in Constantinople, who were more frequently consulted, and better paid by the wealthy Turks, than the practitioners of their own nation. He therefore sent the young man to Paris, where he studied for five years. When he returned to Constantinople, he far surpassed his master’s most sanguine expectations; and his great ability and success were soon generally acknowledged, and he rose in a short time to the dignity of physician to the late Sultan; and afterwards, when it was seen that his talents in other directions were equally remarkable, he became the Governor of Provinces. In Crete, where he has been for several years, he is respected and loved by all well disposed people. He encourages agriculture, makes roads, punishes crime, and judges justly. Under his mild and firm rule, the Greek inhabitants have almost become reconciled to the hated dominion of the Turks; and have petitioned the Sublime Porte to prolong his Pashalik. A few days after his visit, my husband received an invitation to dine in the Seraglio. The note of invitation ran as follows: “Le Gouverneur Général de Crête prie Monsieur V. de lui faire l’honneur de venir diner chez lui, demain Jeudi, vers le coucher du soleil.

“Sérail, Mercredi.”

I thought it quite a poetical and Oriental mode of fixing a dinner hour “vers le coucher du soleil;” as however the Turks count their hours differently and in a way that is most puzzling to a European, this was perhaps the best way to prevent a mistake, for the sun sets at the same hour over the faithful and over the infidels. The latter flattering appellation is bestowed upon all who are not Mussulmans. The evening Mr. V. dined with the Pasha was not a gay one for me. Being tired after a long day’s ride on a mule, I sat down at my open window looking at the moon. She shines much brighter there than in England, but it seems she exercises the same influence there as here; I became quite melancholy and sentimental; I longed for my children, and asked the moon to kiss them for me in their little cribs in England.

The next morning I paid my first visit to the Pasha’s Harem. My husband conducted me to the entrance of the Seraglio, that leads into the Harem, the part of the palace occupied by the women, when an old grey-bearded Turk opened the door from the outside with a large key, and locked it again as soon as he had let me in. I must confess I did not quite like the fashion in which that stern old man with daggers and pistols in his belt, had closed the outer world behind me, and I cast “a longing, lingering look behind” at the strongly barred door.

I slowly crossed the yard towards another door I saw before me; and at which the old man had pointed before he locked me in. It opened at my approach, and I was met and saluted by several women in the Turkish costume; the first I saw without veils, who led me up a wide staircase to a landing that resembled a large saloon. At the top of the stairs I was received by the Pasha, who led me into a spacious apartment with divans all around, but no other furniture. He left me there alone, but returned almost immediately, accompanied by two ladies, the one a young and pretty timid looking girl, in a rich Turkish dress; the other a middle-aged lady, in plain European clothes, with a pale face, and two large piercing black eyes, and who, after the Pasha had named his daughter, was introduced to me as Mdlle. Elizabeth.

The windows of the Harem are hermetically closed, allowing no air and but little light to enter, this is admitted through the doors principally, which lead into spacious halls or terraces, overlooking the court-yard, or little inner gardens, and are seldom closed. At the open door of the apartment in which I was, appeared a crowd of slaves, most of them so young as to be mere children. Some were richly, all gaily dressed. The prettiest of them was a little Circassian, of about twelve years of age, the favourite of her mistress, who was dressed in pink silk, and had a wreath of artificial flowers in her hair. But I have not spoken of the mistress yet. Although her father is a Greek by birth, the daughter was of the Turkish type. She is short, and would be considered too stout with us, but has only the “en bon point” indispensable to a Turkish beauty. Her round face wore an expression of kindness and good humour, and was remarkable for a pair of fine large intelligent black eyes. Her dress was entirely composed of green silk, trimmed with crimson velvet. On her head she wore a little round black hat, evidently an European importation, for it was very much like those worn in England; it had a fine white feather fastened to it with a diamond ornament; and a brooch with the miniature of her father, in a setting of diamonds a Queen might have coveted, sparkled on her breast. This splendid ornament had formerly contained the portrait of the late Sultan, who had given it to the Pasha.

When Ismael Pasha had introduced me to the ladies, he left us alone, and the first awkward moments over, my visit became a very interesting one. Mdlle. Elizabeth addressed me in English, which she had acquired at the American Missionary School at Athens, and like most Greeks, possessing a great talent for acquiring languages, she spoke it well and fluently. When however I heard that Mdlle. Leilà could understand and speak a little French, I preferred speaking to her without the aid of an interpreter, and gradually she overcame her bashfulness, and entered into conversation with me. I had often been told, and it is unfortunately to a great extent but too true, that Turkish women, even the wives and daughters of Pashas, can neither read nor write. How much was I therefore surprised and pleased, when I found that Leilà knew not only her own language thoroughly, but Greek and French as well. The Pasha, a most enlightened man, has given to his daughter an education, which under the difficulties with which he had to contend, is truly wonderful. She had studied Turkish when still a child, with the present Caimacam, or under Pasha, of the town of Candia, a man of great learning; and Mdlle. Elizabeth, of whom I shall speak more by and bye, had taught her Greek and French. She possessed several books, among which I remarked a Bible in Turkish, and “Paul et Virginie.” Mdlle. Elizabeth asked me if I wished to hear Leilà sing and play, as she was very musical, and had had good instructions at Constantinople. Of course I said that I should be delighted to hear her, and we then went into a room where I found a good piano from Vienna, which was not much out of tune. Leilà sat down and played with a clear fine touch, a very good arrangement of “God save the Queen.” This was a pretty compliment. She had played but a few minutes when her father came in. He told her to play a Turkish march, which she performed with perfect execution. She played also a Mazurka by Schulhoff, and one or two other pieces. At last her father desired her to sing some Greek songs. Words and music were both perfectly unintelligible to me, but sounded very melancholy; and that feeling so took possession of me, that I found it difficult to prevent its being observed. There sang the poor little bird who, though the bars of her cage were gilded, and her master gentle and kind, was a prisoner for life. She will of course, before long, change her master, and be married to a man, who let us hope will love her, but who will never bestow upon her more than a trifling part of his presence.

But at least she may hope to be his only wife, as Mdlle. Elizabeth told me that the Pasha will not give his precious little daughter but to a man who will marry only one woman. The Pasha himself has had but one wife, by whom he had three children; the eldest is the wife of Kadri Bey, then comes Leilà Hanum, and Foad Bey, a fine boy of fourteen years of age, the father’s hope and pride, who is receiving an excellent education.

When Leilà had finished, I warmly expressed my delight and surprise to the father, who also seemed much delighted. I daresay he had never listened with more pleasure to Leilà’s music than when he saw it approved and admired by another.

Of how much pleasure and happiness this abominable system of seclusion deprives these people. We all know, that however much the fortunate husband of a beautiful clever and virtuous wife may love and admire her, his love and admiration are again and again stimulated by seeing her inspire similar sentiments in others. He cannot become indifferent to her charms, while he witnesses the impression they make upon others. But suppose this paragon to be locked up, and her husband never to see her except in a tête a tête. She may be faultlessly beautiful and exquisitely dressed, he is accustomed to it, and it strikes him no more. The wonderful intelligence of his firstborn, the droll sayings of his little one, which every father delights in showing off before his astonished friends, all these and numberless other joys, he must forego. The life with his family loses all charm, it becomes—but no, I will not describe what it becomes, for that is disgusting. The desire of the Turk to separate his wife from the rest of the world, goes so far, that he even dislikes to hear her mentioned. Mr. A— our host, told me, that he once inquired of a husband after the health of his wife, who was reported to be very ill, when the Turk, who usually was a polite and amiable man, at once looked dark and suspicious, while he answered with a scowl, “What is my wife to you? Do you know her, that you ask after her?” Leilà seemed much pleased with my visit, offering me three times refreshments, consisting of sweets, coffee, and sorbets, which Turkish ladies do when they wish to honour their visitors, and having them served at long intervals, which shows the desire on their part to prolong the visitor’s stay. She asked me to come often, to bring my work or book, and stay as long as it pleased me. I visited her several times, because I liked the lofty airy rooms, and to sit on the broad divan under the window, and peep through the lattice-work down upon the boundless sea, that eternal image of fetterless freedom, and see the slaves glide past, or sip the coffee they offered me. But though I had some book in my hand, I did not read much, but like a regular Turk dreamt a few hours away, thinking of the fate of the poor girls around me, and thanking God that I was born a free woman in a Christian country. There were in this Harem none of the horrid male slaves that disgusted me so much in some Harems I afterwards visited; Ismael Pasha, a wise and high-minded man, does not suffer them in his household.

And now I must not forget to say a few words more about Mdlle. Elizabeth Konta Xaki, whose acquaintance I made at my first visit to Leilà, for our intercourse did not end there. I saw her several times afterwards, and she contributed much to make my stay in Crete interesting and instructive, being always ready to give any information I wanted regarding the country and its inhabitants, and being better fitted for it than anybody else.

Mdlle. Elizabeth of Crete, for that is the name by which she is generally known, is a very remarkable woman. She was born in Crete, but received her education in Athens, and lives in an Eastern Island with the manners and habits of the West. She walks and travels about alone, protected only by the respect all have for her. Her learning and extensive knowledge would excite attention in any place in Europe; it is therefore but natural that in an island, where few women can read or write, she is the wonder and astonishment of all the inhabitants, and occupies quite a distinguished and influential position. The rebellious Greek mountaineers, the terror of the Turkish Government, respect her, and have more than once consulted her, and listened to her advice, for they know that she is a warm patriot, while the Pasha seldom fails to ask her opinion on the measures of reform he wishes to introduce, as he knows how well she can judge of their importance and utility, and that she is not hostile to the Government of the Sultan. She has written more than once to the Grand Vizier in Constantinople, and her communications have always received the attention they deserve. She has a straightforward, fearless mode in stating her opinions, which contrasts singularly with the servile manner of her compatriots. She lives alone with her aged mother, and a female servant, in a little house, in a narrow street, but her room, overlooking a little garden, is large and pleasant. Over her writing table hangs a pleasing portrait of our Queen, which was given to her by an English friend. Some interesting antiquities in marble and terra-cotta, found in Crete, are the only ornaments of the room.

Her large book-case is well filled with books in classic and modern languages. I, who am not at all learned, looked with awe and veneration at the long rows of Greek and Latin authors, which evidently stood there not for ornament, but had been often read and well used. To me she became a most interesting and valuable companion, and I shall always remember, with a feeling of interest and kindness, Mdlle. Elizabeth of Crete.

The first excursion we made was to Galata, a Greek village about two hours ride from Canea, where M. Malatachi, a friend of our host Sig. A—, had a delightful country house. He had taken a great liking to us, for what reason I cannot tell, for we could speak to each other by signs only, or through an interpreter, which is a tedious way of carrying on a conversation. However, he evidently liked us much, and pressed us to pay him a visit in Galata. On the morning fixed for the excursion, M. Malatachi came with a long train of mules and servants to fetch us. My mule was a splendid white creature, with a scarlet bridle, and a rich carpet spread over the wooden Turkish saddle. I mounted it, feeling very proud and elated. One of M. Malatachi’s handsomely dressed Greek servants walked or ran, as the case might be, by the side of my mule, so as to be at my service if required.

I looked down upon him with the dignified air of an Eastern Queen, fancying myself very much like one. My husband observed my look, and broke out into a loud laugh, which I considered very mal à propos, and which rudely destroyed the pretty illusion. He, as well as Sig. A— and his two eldest children, were all well mounted; and in high spirits we set out. O blessed climate of Crete! There was no need to fear rain or cold, nor was the heat oppressive, but the air was delightfully warm, genial, and balmy. The roads were bad, of course they were. Where would have been the fun if they had been like “Rotten Row.”

The Turkish saddle, in spite of its handsome covering, was not very comfortable; but who could think of the saddle, whilst looking at the glory of the sky and earth, or mountain top, and into the flowering valley.

When we were about a mile out of the city, we came to the mud huts where the poor lepers live. These miserable creatures lay or crouched before their doors, and stretched their mutilated hands out towards us, begging for alms. My husband threw a few piasters among them, but I turned my face away, for they were frightful to look at.

The sad impression these poor wretches made upon us however quickly vanished, like a mist before that golden sunshine, which made all nature around us at this moment look smiling and beautiful. Our way led through cornfields and vineyards, up steep hills, and down green valleys, across clear murmuring brooks, and through an olive grove, where the trees were very old and large. Four men could not have encircled with extended arms, some of their old hollow curiously twisted trunks.

When we reached Galata, the little children in the streets called their parents, who rushed to the doors and windows to see us. The Turks are not at all curious, or if so, they hide their curiosity most carefully, for they never seem to look at a stranger. The Greeks, on the contrary, have much curiosity, and show it with the greatest naiveté, following you about, and examining all you have and do. “You are at the house of your slave,” said M. Malatachi bowing, and putting his right hand on his breast, when we had dismounted and entered his house in Galata. It is delightfully situated. The view from the large stone balcony, over hills and valleys, on to mountains and the sea, with the little island St. Theodore, is indescribable. I spent a delightful hour there quietly by myself. Not being able to speak the language of the country, may occasionally prove an advantage. Our interpreter being engaged with a long conversation on the value of land and the produce of the country, between M. Malatachi and my husband, I could not talk with our hostess, who seemed a kind, but very timid lady. She interrupted my musings only by sending me a continued round of sweetmeats, coffee, sorbets, and lemonades. Then came the dinner; “What is mine is yours,” said our Greek host, when we sat down to dine. For so primitive a country as Crete, it was a sumptuous repast, of which however, neither host nor hostess partook. It being Lent, their dinner consisted of vegetables, olives, &c.; but they looked very well satisfied with their frugal meal, and seemed pleased to see us enjoy the good things they had provided, and if they could not eat with us, they drank our health more than once, a compliment which we of course returned.

We left Galata towards five o’clock in the afternoon. A boy ran in front of our cavalcade, carrying a splendid bouquet M. Malatachi had given me, and escorted us back to the very door of Sig. A—’s house. “Your visit has been like a refreshing evening breeze after a sultry day,” said M. M. when he took leave of us. This poetical way of speaking, which is a common mode of expression in the East, there sounds natural and pretty; I felt however to the last rather puzzled how to reply to those high-flown compliments. The people there have another peculiarity which pleased me still more. Whenever for instance I mentioned my children, they would say, “May the great God protect them.” “A long life to them all.” “A happy return to them,” or something like it.

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.