From the Oak to the Olive Part 8

The women sometimes struggled out from their canvas enclosure, and went below on various errands. On these occasions they were enveloped in a straight striped covering, white and red, much like a summer counterpane. This was thrown over the head, held together between the teeth, and reached to the feet. It left in view their muslin head-dresses, and calico trousers, gathered at the ankle, nothing more.

A few were barefoot--one or two only wore stockings. Most of them were shod with _brodequins_, of a size usually worn by men.

At a late hour in the afternoon, Ali brought to their enclosure a round metal dish of stewed meat, cut in small pieces for the convenience of those whose customs are present proof that fingers were made before knives and forks. A great dish of rice simultaneously made its appearance. Baba chattered very much, Ali made himself busy, and a little internal commotion became perceptible behind the canvas wall.

My opportunity of observing Turkish manners was as brief as it was limited. Having taken the Moslems on board on Monday, well towards evening, the Wednesday following saw, at ten A. M., my exit from the steamer. For we were now in the harbor of Syra. When I came on deck, soon after five A. M., the pacha sent me coffee in a little cup with a silver stand. It was prepared after the Turkish manner, and was fragrant and delicious. While we were at breakfast, Mr. Saponzaki, American consul at Syra, came on board in search of me, followed soon by an old friend, Mr. Evangelides. With real regret I took leave of the friendly captain and pleasant companions of the voyage. I shook hands with the pacha, not unmindful of the miseries of Crete. Baba also gave me a parting salutation. He was a nice observer of womanly actions, and his farewell gesture seemed to say, "Although barefaced, you are respectable;" which, if he really meant it, was a great deal for him to allow. Our luggage was now transferred on board the smaller steamer, which was to sail at six P. M. for the Piraeus, and the neophyte and myself soon found ourselves under the shelter of Mr. Evangelides' roof, where his Greek wife made us cordially welcome.

SYRA.

Mr. Evangelides was one of a number of youths brought to the United States, after the war of Greek independence, for aid and education. The latter was the chief endowment with which his adopted country returned him to his native land. The value of this gift he was soon to realize, though not without previous hardships and privations. After a year or two of trial, he commenced a school in Syra. This school was soon filled with pupils, and many intelligent and successful Greeks of the present day are among his old scholars. Besides methods of education, he brought from America a novel idea--that of the value of real estate.

Looking about Syra, and becoming convinced of its inevitable growth, he invested the surplus of his earnings in tracts of land in the immediate neighborhood of the then small town, to the utter mystification of his neighbors. That one should invest in jewels, arms, a house, or a vineyard, would have seemed to them natural enough; but what any man should want of mere land scarcely fit for tillage, was beyond their comprehension. The expected growth was not slow in coming. Mr.

Evangelides soon began to realize handsomely, as we should say, from his investment, and is now esteemed a man of wealth. His neighbors thereafter named him "the Greek Yankee;" and I must say that he seems to hold equally to the two belongings, in spite of the Scripture caution.

Under the escort of my old friend, I went out to see the town, and to make acquaintance with the most eminent of the inhabitants, the custom of the country making the duty of the first call inc.u.mbent upon the person newly arrived.

Unfurling a large umbrella, and trembling with the fear of sun-stroke, I proceeded to climb the steep and narrow streets of the town. We first incommode with our presence the governor of the Cyclades, a patriotic Greek, who speaks good English and good sense. We talk of Cretan affairs; he is not sanguine as to the efficient intervention of the European powers.

We next call upon the archbishop, at whose house we are received by a black servant in Frank dress, speaking good French. Presently the prelate appeared--a tall, gentlemanly person in a rich costume, one feature of which was a medallion, brilliant with precious stones of various colors. His reverence had made his studies in Germany, and spoke the language of that country quite fluently. Tholuck had been his especial professor, but he had also known Bauer; and he took some pains to a.s.sure me that the latter was not an irreligious man, in spite of the hardihood of his criticism. He deplored the absence of a state religion in America. I told him that the progress of religion in our country seemed to establish the fact that society attains the best religious culture through the greatest religious liberty. He replied that the members should all be united under one head. "Yes," said I, "but the Head is invisible;" and he repeated after me, "Indeed, the Head is invisible." I will here remark that nothing could have been more refreshing to the New England mind than this immediate introduction to the theological opinions of the East.

Other refreshment, however, was in store for me--the sweetmeats and water which form the somewhat symbolical staple of Greek hospitality. Of these I partook in the orthodox manner. One dish only is brought in, but many spoons, one of which each guest dips into the _gliko_ (sweet), and, having partaken, drops the spoon into the gla.s.s of fresh water which always follows. Turkish coffee was afterwards served in small cups without spoons. And now, not knowing what sermons or other duties my presence might impede, I took leave, much gratified by the interview.

We pa.s.sed from hence to the house of the Austrian consul, Dr. Hahn, a writer of scientific travels, and a student of antiquities. He had not long before visited the Island of Santorin, whose recently-awakened volcano interests the world of science. He told me of a house newly excavated in this region, containing tools and implements as old, at least, as those of the Lacustrine period, and, in his opinion, somewhat older. This house had been deeply buried in ashes by an ancient eruption, so violent as to have eviscerated the volcano of that time, which subsequently collapsed. The depth of ashes he stated as considerably greater than that found in any part of the Pompeian excavation, being at least thirty yards. Hewn stones were found here, but no metal implements, nor traces of any. Caucasian skulls were also found, and pottery of a finer description than that belonging to the Lacustrine period. He gave me a model of a small pitcher discovered among the ruins, of which the nose was shaped like the beak of a bird, with a further imitation of the eye on either side. Another small vessel was ornamented by the model of a human breast, to denote plenty. He had also plaster casts of skulls, arm and jaw bones, and flint saws, upon which he descanted with great vivacity.

Dr. Hahn's courteous and charming manners caused me to remember him as one of the many Austrians whose amiable qualities make us doubly regret the _onus_ which the untimely policy of their government throws upon them.

These visits at end, Mr. Evangelides took me home to dinner, where the best Greek dishes were enhanced by Samian wine. We had scarcely dined when the archbishop, followed by an attendant priest, came to return our visit. The Greeks present all kissed his hand, and _gliko_ and coffee were speedily offered. We resumed our conversation of the morning, and the celibacy of the clerical hierarchy came next in order in our discussion. The father was in something of a strait between the Christian dignification of marriage and its ascetic depreciation. The arrival of other visitors forced us to part, with this interesting point still unsettled. We next visited the wife of the American vice-consul--Mr. Saponzaki--a handsome person, who received us with great cordiality. After a brief sojourn, we walked down to the landing, visiting the foundery, where they were making bra.s.s cannon, and the _Acadi_, the smart little steamer given by the Greeks of London to the Cretan cause. She ran our blockade in the late war, but is now engaged in a more honest service, for she runs the Turkish blockade, and carries the means of subsistence to the Cretans. Here we met Mr. DeKay, a youthful Philcandiote of our own country. He had already made himself familiar with the state of things in Candia, and, like the blockade-runner, was serving in his second war, with the difference that his former record showed him to have been always on the side of Christian loyalty.

Finally, amid thanks and farewells, a small boat took us alongside of the Austrian steamer, which carried us comfortably, and by magnificent moonlight, to the Piraeus.

PIRaeUS--ATHENS.

We were still soundly asleep when the cameriere knocked at the door of our cabin, crying, "Signora, here we are at the Piraeus." The hour was four of the morning, but we were now come to the regions in which men use the two ends of the day, and throw away the middle. We, therefore, seized the end offered to us, and as briefly as possible made our way on deck, where we found a commissionaire from the Hotel des Etrangers, at Athens. We had expected to meet here the chief of our party, who had gone before us to Athens. The commissionaire, however, brought us a note, telling of an accident whose fatigues did not allow him to wait upon us in person. We were soon in the small boat, and soon after in the carriage, intent upon reaching Athens. Pireo, as they call the cla.s.sic port, is quite a bustling place, the harbor gay with shipping and flags of all nations. The drive to the Capitol occupies three quarters of an hour. The half-way point of the distance is marked by two rival _khans_, at one of which the driver of a public vehicle always stops to water his horses and light his cigar. Here a plate of _lok.u.mia_, a sweetmeat something like fig-paste, and gla.s.ses of fresh water, were brought out and offered to us. Soon we came in sight of the Acropolis, not without an indescribable puzzle at beholding, in commonplace existence, one of those dreams whose mystical beauty we never expect to realize, and fear to dissipate. Now we drive through many streets and squares, and finally stop at a hotel in front of one of the prettiest of the latter, from whose door our chief issues to welcome us. With him is the elder neophyte, who has so far shared his wanderings, and latterly the near danger of shipwreck. Under her guidance we walk out, after breakfast, to look at the shops in Hermes Street, but the glaring sun soon drives us back to our quarters. We take the midday nap, dine, and at sunset drive to the Acropolis. On our way thither, we pa.s.s the remaining columns of the Temple of Jupiter Olympius, a Roman-Greek structure, the work of Adrian. These columns, sixteen in number, stand on a level area of some extent. One of them, overthrown by an earthquake, lies in ruins, its separate segments suggesting the image of gigantic vertebrae. The spine is indeed a column, but it has the advantage of being flexible, and the method and principle of its unity are not imitable by human architects.

At the Acropolis a wooden gate opens for our admission, and a man in half-military costume follows our steps.

We visit first the Propylea, or five gates, then the Parthenon. Our guide points out the beauty of its Doric columns, the perfection of their execution--the two uniting faces of each of their pieces being polished, so as to allow of their entire union. Here stood the great statue of Minerva Medica; here, the table for sacrifice. Here are the ways on which the ponderous doors opened and shut. And Pericles caused it to be built; and this, his marble utterance, is now a lame sentence, with half its sense left out. In this corner is the high Venetian tower, a solid relic, modern beside that which it guards. And worse than any wrong _denouement_ of a novel is the intelligence here given you that the Parthenon stood entire not two hundred years ago, and that the explosion of a powder magazine, connected with this Venetian fortification, shattered its matchless beauty.

Here is the Temple of Victory. Within are the bas-reliefs of the Victories arriving in the hurry of their glorious errands. Something so they tumbled in upon us when Sherman conquered the Carolinas, and Sheridan the valley of the Shenandoah, when Lee surrendered, and the glad president went to Richmond. One of these Victories is untying her sandal, in token of her permanent abiding. Yet all of them have trooped away long since, scared by the hideous havoc of barbarians. And the bas-reliefs, their marble shadows, have all been battered and mutilated into the saddest mockery of their original tradition. The statue of Wingless Victory that stood in the little temple, has long been absent and unaccounted for. But the only Victory that the Parthenon now can seize or desire is this very Wingless Victory, the triumph of a power that retreats not--the power of Truth.

I give heed to all that is told me in a dreamy and desolate manner. It is true, no doubt--this was, and this, and this; but what I see is none the less emptiness--the broken eggsh.e.l.l of a civilization which Time has hatched and devoured. And this incapacity to reconstruct the past goes with me through most of my days in Athens. The city is so modern, and its circle so small! The trumpeters who shriek around the Theseum in the morning, the _cafe_ keeper who taxes you for a chair beneath the shadow of the Olympian columns, the _custode_ who hangs about to see that you do not break the broken marbles further, or carry off their piteous fragments, all of these are significant of modern Greece; but the ruins have nothing to do with it.

Poor as these relics are in comparison with what one would wish them to be, they are still priceless. This Greek marble is the n.o.blest in descent; it needs no eulogy. These forms have given the model for a hundred familiar and commonplace works, which caught a little gleam of their glory, squaring to shapeliness some town-house of the west, or southern bank or church. So well do we know them in the prose of modern design, that we are startled at seeing them transfigured in the poetry of their own conception. Poor old age! poor columns!

And poor Greece, plundered by Roman, Christian, and Mussulman. Hers were the lovely statues that grace the halls of the Vatican--at least the loveliest of them. And Rome shows to this day two colossal groups, of which one bears the inscription, "_Opus Praxitelae_," the other that of "_Opus Phidiae_." And Naples has a Greek treasure or two, one thinks, besides her wealth of sculptural gems, of which the best are of Greek workmanship. And in England those bas-reliefs which are the treasure of art students and the wonder of the world, were pulled from the pediment of the Parthenon, like the pearly teeth from a fair mouth, the mournful gaps remaining open in the sight of the unforgiving world. "Thou art old and decrepit," said England. "I am still in strength and in vigor. All else has gone, as well thy dower as thy earnings. Thou hast but these left. I want them; so give them me."

Royal Munich also had his share. The relict of Lola Montes did to the temple at Egina what Lord Elgin did to the Parthenon, inflicting worse damage upon its architecture. At the time, the unsettled state of the country, and the desire to preserve things so costly and beautiful, may be accepted as excuses for such acts. But when Greece shall have a museum fit to preserve the marbles now huddled in the Theseum, or left exposed on the highways, then she may demand back the Elgin and Bavarian marbles. She will then deserve to receive them again. Nor could she, methinks, do better than devote to this n.o.ble purpose some of the superfluous extent of Otho's monstrous palace, whose emptiness afflicts the visitor with sad waste of room and of good material. Making all allowance for the removal of the Penates of its late occupants, it is still obvious that these two luxurious wrens occupied but a small portion of this eagle's nest. A fine gallery could as easily be spared from its endless apartments as are the public galleries from the Vatican.

Nor should this new kingling and his Russian bride be encouraged to people such an extent of masonry with smart aid-de-camps, lying diplomats, and plundering stewards and _dames d'honneur_. For pity's sake, let the poor kingdom have a modest representative, who shall follow the spirit of modern reform, and administer the people's revenues with clean hands. A sculpture gallery, therefore, in the palace by all means, open to the public, as are the galleries of Italian palaces. And these marbles in the Theseum and elsewhere--fie upon them! Not only are they so crowded that one cannot see them, but so dirty that one cannot discern their features. "Are they marble?" one asks, for a thick coating of the sand and dust in which they were embodied for ages still envelops them, and can only be removed by careful artistic intervention.

A little money, please, king and Parliament, for these unhappy ones. The gift would repay itself in the end, for a respectable collection of authentic Greek remains on the very soil in which they were found would bring here many of the wide-ranging students of art and antiquity. A little money, please, for good investment is good economy. Moreover, despite the velvet flatteries and smiling treasons of diplomacy, the present government of Greece is, as every government should be, on good behavior before the people. Wonderfully clever, enterprising, and liberal have the French people made the author of the Life of Julius Caesar. Wonderfully reformative did the radicals of twenty years since make the pope. And the Greek nation, taken in the large, may prove to have some common sense to impart to its symbolical head, of whom we can only hope that the something rotten in the state of Denmark may not have been taken from it to corrupt the state of Greece.

EXPEDITIONS--NAUPLIA.

A few days of midsummer pa.s.sed in Athens make welcome any summons that calls one out of it. Majestic as the past is, one likes to have its grim skeleton a little cushioned over by the aesthetic of the present, and, at the present season, this is not to be had, even in its poorest and cheapest forms. The heat, moreover, though tempered by healthful breezes, is yet of a kind and degree to tell heavily upon a northern const.i.tution. To take exercise of any kind, between ten A. M. and six P.

M., is uncomfortable and far from safe. How delightful, therefore, to pack one's little budget, and start upon a cruise!

For the government, we must confess, is very hospitable to us. Our chief veteran goes about to distribute clothing to the Cretan refugees, who, in advanced stages of nakedness, congregate in Egina, Syra, Argos, and other places, as well as in Athens. And he asks the government, and the government lends its steamer, the Parados, for the philanthropic voyage.

So we drive down to the Pireo and embark, and are on our way. A pleasant little Athenian lady accompanies us, together with her father, a Cretan by birth, and a man who has been much in the service of the government.

Our travelling library for this occasion is reduced to a copy of Machiavelli's Principe, a volume of Muir's Greece, and a Greek phrase-book on Ollendorff's principle. We have also some worsted work; but one of us, the writer of these notes, has added to these another occupation, another interest.

Take note that the beds of the hotel at Athens are defended by mosquito-nets, which show, here and there, the marks of age. Take note that we close these nettings the first night a little carelessly, remembering Cuba, and expecting nothing worse. Take note that we neither wear gloves at night, nor bandage our arms and wrists, and then take note of what follows.

A fiery stinging of needle points in every accessible part of your body.

Each new bite is like a new star of torment in the milky way of your corporeal repose. These creatures warn not, like the honest American mosquito, rattlesnake, or bore, of their intended descent upon you. In comparison with their silent impudence, the familiar humming of our Yankee torments becomes an apologetic murmur, significant of, "We are very sorry indeed, but we cannot well do otherwise." This is the language of the dun--the Greek insect has the quiet of the thief.

So much for the action; now for the result. You awake uncomfortably, and, provoked here and there, begin to retort upon your skin a little.

Never was more salient ill.u.s.tration of the doctrine of the forgiveness of injuries. Let by-gones be by-gones; suffer the bites to rest. Ah! the warning comes too late. The fatal process has begun. At every touch you get worse, but cannot stop. You now realize what a good gift your Anglo-Saxon skin was, and so clean, and so comfortable! and it cost you so little! But just because it was so good, these foreign vermin insisted on sharing it with you. And you exemplify in little the fate of Italy and of Greece, which have been feasted on for ages, and cursed by the absolute mosquito for not continuing in perpetuity to yield their life-blood without remonstrance. This for the moral aspect of the case.

The material aspect is that of intolerable pain and itching, accompanying a distinct suppuration of every spot punctured by the insect. For some days and nights the princ.i.p.al occupation of the writer of these notes was to tear the unhappy hands and arms that aid in their production. A remedy is casually mentioned--vinegar. Bandages dipped in this fluid, and closely wrapped around the suffering members, give instant relief, but have to be frequently renewed, the fever of the skin rapidly drying them. The sufferings of Job were now understood, and his eminent but impossible virtue appreciated. Even he, however, had recourse to a potsherd. Never were my human sympathies so called out towards the afflicted Scotch nation! Well, let this subject rest.

Recovery is now an established fact. From the height of experience we can look down upon future sufferers and say, "This, too, shall pa.s.s away."

But now, to return to the deck of the Parados. Scenery, worsted work, the Principe, and a little conversation caused the time to pa.s.s very agreeably. We took also the Ollendorff book, and made a short trial of its lumbering machinery. And we had _dejeuner_ on board, and dinner. And Georgi, the cameriere, had the features of Edwin Booth--the strong eyes, the less forcible mouth, something even of the general expression. At about 7.30 P. M., we made the harbor of Nauplia, otherwise called Napoli de Romania. The harbor being shallow, the steamer anch.o.r.ed at some distance from the land, whither its boats conveyed us. On the quay stood a crowd of people, waiting to see us. They had discerned the steamer afar, and had flocked together from mere curiosity. Something in the landing made me think of that portion of the quay at Naples which lies before the Hotel de Russie. Much of the present town was built by the Turks. The streets are narrow and irregular, and many of the houses have balconies. One of these streets is nearly blocked by a crowd. We inquire, and learn that the head of a brigand has just been brought in.

For the brigands, long tolerated in some regions by usage and indolence, have now set foot in a region in which they will not be endured. The Peloponnesus will not have them, and the peasants, who elsewhere aid the brigands, here aid the _gens d'armes_. Upon the head of their leader, Kitzos, a large price has been set. But the head which causes the commotion of this evening is not that of Kitzos. Getting through the crowd at length, we come upon a pretty square, surrounded by houses, and planted with pepper-trees.

Here is the house of the prefect, at whose door we knock, imploring shelter. Our Cretan friend, M. Antoniades, is well known to the prefect; hence the daring of this summons. The prefecture receives us. The prefect--a vivacious little man, with blue eyes and light hair--capers about in great excitement. He has to do with the war against the brigands, and joy at the bringing in of the head before mentioned nearly causes him to lose his own. His large _salon_ is thronged with visitors, who come partly to talk over these matters, partly to see the strangers. We, the ladies, meanwhile take refuge on a roomy balcony, where we have chairs, and where _gliko_ and cold water are offered to us. I make my usual piteous request for vinegar, and renew my bandages, while the others enjoy cool air and starlight. The prefect goes off to supper at nine, having first signified to us that his wife is occupied with a baby two days old, and cannot wait upon us; that his house is at our disposal, and that he will send out among his neighbors and obtain all that we may require. One of his visitors--M. Zampacopolus, a major of cavalry--promises to wait upon us at five in the morning, to conduct us up the steep ascent of the fortress Palamides. By ten o'clock the mattresses are brought. They are spread in a row on the floor, and we weary women, four in number, lie down and sleep as only weary people can.

The summons that arouses us at five the next morning does not awaken enthusiasm. We struggle up, however, and get each a minimum of the limited basin and towel privilege. Descending, we find Major Zampacopolus in full uniform, and are admonished by him for being so late. He came for us at four o'clock; but the chief veteran would not suffer us to be disturbed. The sun had already risen, and the ascent looked most formidable. Invoking the courage of our ancestors, we unfolded the umbrellas and began. We had six hundred steps to climb, and steep ones at that. The labor caused such perspiration that at any turn commanding the breeze we were forced to shield ourselves, the sudden evaporation being attended with great danger. The ascent is everywhere guarded by loopholes for musketry, and could not be carried by any party of human a.s.sailants. There is, however, another route of access to the fortress, which may be pursued on horseback. It was by this latter path that the Greeks ascended during the war of independence. They took the fortress from the Turks, but were admitted within the gates by treachery. After weary efforts and pauses, we reach the plane of the main structure, which consists of a number of independent bastions in strong positions, commanding each other and the pa.s.s. It was built by the Venetians, and vouches for their skill and thoroughness in military architecture. The officers receive us, and accommodate us in an airy bedroom, whose draughts of air we avoid, being _en nage_ with perspiration. We cool by degrees, and enjoy the balcony. A pot of basil is offered us for fragrance, at which we smell with little pleasure. We are then told the legend of the discovery of the true cross beneath a growth of this plant, which circ.u.mstance consecrates it among Eastern traditions forever. In the mean time a functionary enters, and furtively carries away a small box. Not very long afterwards its contents are returned in the shape of a cup of delicious coffee for each of us, with a piece of the ration bread of the garrison. "This bread," said the major, "is made with the hands, as we know, for it is made by the soldiers; but the bread you commonly eat in Greece is made with the feet." Here was indeed a heightening of present enjoyment by a somewhat unwelcome disparagement of unavoidable past and future experiences. We now proceeded to visit the bastions in detail. Each of them has its own name. One is called Miltiades. The most formidable one is called Satan.

The view from the highest parapet is very grand. We go about, wondering at the grim walls and the manifold openings for musketry. They show us an enormous cistern for rain water. The place contains several of these, and is thus capable of standing a very long siege. We pa.s.s an enclosure in which are detained "the military prisoners," whoever they may be. As a _bonne bouche_ we are promised a sight of the criminals condemned to death. These are kept in the strongest recess of the fortress. They lead us to it, and bid us look down into a court below, in which we perceive twenty-five or more unfortunates refreshing themselves in the open air.

At the door and grated window of the prison behind them appear the faces of others. Stationed on a narrow bridge above stand the military guard, whose muskets command the court. These men have all been convicted of crimes of violence against the person. Sentence has been pa.s.sed upon them, and its execution follows the convenience and pleasure of the officers of the law. At short intervals a little group of them is led out to endure the last penalty. "Do not pity them, madam," said the major; "they have all done deeds worthy of death." But how not to pity them, when they and we are made of the same fragile human stuff, that corrupts so easily to crime, and is always redeemable, if society would only afford the costly process of redemption. A sad listlessness hung over the melancholy group. Some of them were busied in preparing breakfast--coffee, probably. Most of them sat or stood quite idly, with the terrible guns bristling above them. They looked up in our women's faces as if they sought there something, some compa.s.sionate glance that might recall mother or sweetheart--if such people have them. One old brigand lifted his voice, and pet.i.tioned the officers that his single daily hour of fresh air might be extended to two hours, pleading the pain he suffered in his eyes. This was granted. Our guides directed our attention to a man of elastic figure and marked face--tall, athletic, and blond. All that they could tell us was, that there seemed to be something remarkable about this man, as, indeed, his appearance indicated. In his face, more than in those of the others, we observed the blank that Hope leaves when her light is extinguished. All days, all things, were alike to him now; the dark, close prison behind, before him only the day when one in command shall say, "This is thy last!" If the priest shall then have any hidden comfort to bestow upon him! Shade of Jesus, we will hope so!

These men, however, go to death with bold defiance, singing and laughing. A rude sympathy and admiration from the mult.i.tude gives them the last thrill of pleasure. As I looked at them, I was struck by a feeling of their helplessness. What is there in the world so helpless as a disarmed criminal? No inner armor has he to beat back the rude visiting of society; no secure soul-citadel, where scorn and anger cannot reach him. He has thrown away the jewel of his manhood; human law crushes its empty case. But the final Possessor and Creditor is unseen.

In our wanderings we catch glimpses of a pretty little garden, disposed in terraces, and planted with flowers, vegetables, and vines. This garden recalls to memory a gentle-hearted commandant who planted it, loving flowers, and therefore not hating men. It is a little gone to decay since he left it, but its presence here is a welcome and useful boon. After visiting its beds and borders, we take leave of the hospitable officers, and by rapid and easy descent return to the prefecture, where the breakfast-table is set, and where a large tea-pot and heaped dish of rice attest the hospitable efforts of our host.

I have only forgotten to say that on one of the ramparts of the fortress they showed us two old Venetian cannon, both of which served in the last revolution; and further, that, in returning, pa.s.sing through the old gate of the town, we saw sculptured in stone the winged lion of St.

Mark, the valorous device of Venice.