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From The King of the Mountains, by Edmond About, Translated from the French; with a Critical Introduction by Andrew Lang; a Frontispiece and Numerous Other Portraits with Descriptive Notes by Octave Uzanne; The French Classical Romances Complete in Twenty Crown Octavo Volumes, Editor-in-Chief Edmund Gosse, LL.D; New York : P. F. Collier & Son; 1902; pp. 10-43.
YOU can judge easily for yourself, from the dilapidated state of my clothes, that I am not rich. My father was an innkeeper that was ruined by the railways. When times were good there was bread and to spare on the shelf. But when it was otherwise we had to content ourselves with potatoes. And please to remember there were six of us, all furnished with excellent grinders, and as voracious as young ravens. Great therefore were the family rejoicings on the day when I successfully competed for an appointment in the gift of the directors of our Botanical Gardens. Not only did my leaving home increase the miserable pittance that my brothers shared between them, but I was also to have a salary of ten pounds a month, besides a capital of twenty pounds down for travelling expenses. This was fortune. The family no longer called me “the doctor,” but thanks to this increase of wealth they deemed me worthy of the 11 title of “cattle merchant!” My brothers were quite sure that when I returned from Athens I should be elevated to the rank of Professor at the University.
My father’s hopes shaped themselves otherwise. He expected that when I returned it would be as a married man. He evidently had not been an innkeeper for nothing. During the course of his career he had seen more than one romantic affair, and was persuaded that fortunes were to be picked up on the high-roads. At least three times a week he told us the story of the marriage of Princess Ypsoff with Lieutenant Reynauld. The Princess, her two maids, and her courier had occupied his first floor, for which she paid twenty florins a day. The young Frenchman had a garret at the top of the house, and was charged a florin and a half, everything inclusive. Nevertheless love overcame all social barriers between the happy pair, and in a month the Princess eloped with the Lieutenant. My father never doubted but that the romantic episode ended properly before the hymeneal altar. Looking at me with paternal partiality, the dear old boy fancied that I was in every way superior to the lucky soldier, and did not for a moment doubt that I should also fall in love with a Princess that would prove a beneficent fairy to us all. 12 If she did not introduce herself to me at once at some table d’hôte or other, I should surely meet her in a train; perhaps even on board a steamer. In short, he contemplated my future under the rosiest aspects. The evening before I left home we drank a bottle of old Rhenish, and by chance the last drop was poured into my glass, a sure sign of the realization of his flattering dreams, and also, that I should be married within the year. Far from me was it to destroy these illusions — so I did not even hint that princesses were not given to travel third-class, nor that they were hardly to be found in the humble inns that I should be obliged to frequent.
The truth is, I arrived at the Piræus without having met with the shadow of an adventure.
Thanks to the army of occupation, prices were enormously high in Athens just then, and hotels such as the Angleterre, Orient, and Des Étrangers out of the question.
I had a letter of introduction to the Chancellor of the Prussian Legation, and he was good enough to get lodgings for me. The house was at the corner of Hermes Street and the Palace Square, and belonged to a pastry-cook named Christodulos, who charged me four pounds a month for food and lodging. Christodulos, an 13 old Palikar, had won the Iron Cross during the War of Independence. He was the Lieutenant of his company, and received his pay behind his counter. He wore the national costume, consisting of the red cap and blue tassel, the vest embroidered with silver, the white skirt, and golden gaiters — and thus gorgeously attired sold ices and cakes. Maroula, his wife, like all Greek women past fifty, was enormously fat. In the days when the war was still raging and the sex was at a premium, he had bought her for eighty piastres. Born in the island of Hydra, she dressed like an Athenian in a black velvet jacket and a light-coloured skirt, with a bright-coloured handkerchief twisted in the plaits of her hair. Neither Christodulos nor his wife knew a word of German, but their son Dimitrius, a guide, dressed in the French fashion, understood and spoke a little of most of the European dialects. For the matter of that I was not in need of any interpreter. Without having received the gift of tongues, I am something of a polyglot, and can chatter with tolerable fluency in Greek, as well as in English, French, and Italian. My hosts were excellent people, not a rare thing in Athens. They furnished me with a little white-washed room, a wooden table, two straw-seated chairs, a mattress, 14 which was good if thin, a blanket and cotton sheets. A wooden bedstead is an article with which Greeks easily dispense, and we lived in native fashion. The bill of fare was extremely simple. In the morning a cup of salep. At mid-day a dish of meat accompanied by plenty of olives and salt fish. For supper, we had vegetables, honey, and cakes. There was plenty of jam in the house, and from time to time I evoked the memory of the Fatherland by treating myself to a leg of lamb with currant-jelly. I need not tell you that my pipe was my constant companion, and that Athenian tobacco is much better than French. I was reconciled to my quarters at Chrisodulos’s by the excellent quality of the Santorinos wine, which he unearthed from some place I never could discover. I am not much of an expert, and my education on this head had been unhappily somewhat neglected. Still I think I can safely affirm that the wine in question would have been appreciated at a king’s table. It is as yellow as gold, transparent as the topaz; it shines like the sun, and beams upon you with the smile of a child. It absolutely lighted up the table, my dear sir, and we needed no other candle. I see it before me now in the bulky flagon, which stood in the middle of the 15 oil-cloth with which my economical hosts replaced the ordinary table-cloth. I never drank much of it because it soon flew to the head; yet at the end of the meal I found myself reciting Anacreontic verses, and discovering traces of beauty even in Maroula’s full-moon face.
I took my meals with Christodulos and the other boarders. There were four of us besides a day-boarder. The first floor was divided into four rooms, the best of which was occupied by a French archæologist, M. Hippolyte Mérinay. If all Frenchmen were like him, the race must be a wretched one indeed. He was a little man of any age between eighteen and forty-five, red-haired, very mild, a great talker, and he had the atrocious habit of catching hold of the person to whom he was speaking with a pair of warm clammy hands. Two ruling passions, archæology and philanthropy, divided his soul, and of course he belonged to a number of learned and benevolent societies. All the same, apostle of charity as he was supposed to be, and certainly in very affluent circumstances, I don’t remember having seen him give a penny to a beggar. As regards his archæological acquirements, I am inclined to think they were greater than his love of humanity. He had been crowned by I don’t know what provincial Academy for a 16 monograph on the price of paper in the days of Orpheus. Encouraged by this success, he had come to Greece to collect materials for a more important work, having the ambition to decide upon the quantity of oil that had been consumed by the lamp of Demosthenes while he was writing his second Philippic.
My two other neighbours were not nearly so learned, and cared little for the things of the past. Giacomo Fondi was a poor Maltese employed by one of the Consulates, and earned six pounds a month by sealing letters. Nature, who has peopled Malta with a race destined to furnish street-porters to the East, had given poor Fondi the arms and hands of the Milo of Crotona. He was born to wield a club, and not to burn sticks of sealing-wax.
This wandering Islander never was in his right place except at meal-times. He helped Maroula to lay the table, and I scarcely need say that he always brought in the viands with outstretched arms. He ate like a hero of the Iliad, and I never shall forget the way in which he smacked his jaws, and dilated his nostrils, or how his eyes glittered, or how his thirty-two dazzling white teeth suggested formidable millstones of which his jaw might have been the mill. I must 17 confess that I remember very little of his conversation. It was easy to reach the limit of his intelligence, but quite impossible to discover that of his appetite. Christodulos gained nothing by boarding him for four years, although he made him pay ten francs extra a month for his food. The insatiable Maltese devoured every day, after dinner, an enormous plateful of nuts, which he cracked by simply pressing them between his forefinger and thumb. Our host, old Christodulos, although a prosaic fellow, watched the performance with a look of fearful admiration. He trembled for his fast-disappearing dessert, yet was proud to see at his table so prodigious a nutcracker. Giacomo’s face would have suited one of those toys made to surprise and scare children. He was not as dark as a negro, but the difference of shade was not striking. His front hair touching his eyebrows looked like a sort of cap. By a curious contrast, the foot, the ankle, and the leg of this Caliban were so finely formed, that a sculptor might well have envied them; but these details did not particularly interest us.
I’ll only just mention little William Lobster. He was a twenty-year-old cherub who hailed from the States, fair, rosy, and fat. The House of Lobster and Sons of New York had sent him to 18 the East to learn export trade. The day-time he spent at Philip’s office; at night he read Emerson. The first rays of dawn saw him practising pistol-shooting at Socrates’ gallery.
John Harris, little Lobster’s uncle on the mother’s side, was certainly the most interesting member of our colony. The first time I dined with him I understood America. John was born in Vandalia, in Illinois. From the first he had breathed the life-giving air of the New World, which is as intoxicating as champagne, and which, like that sparkling wine, carries one out of one’s self. I don’t know whether his family was rich or poor, if he was sent to college, or allowed to educate himself.
But what is certain is, that at twenty-seven his independence is amazingly self-assertive. He counts on himself alone, expects nothing from any one, is never surprised, believes nothing impossible, never recedes, but triumphs over all obstacles. If he falls, he gets up again; begins again if he fails; never stops, never loses courage, and goes straight ahead, looking neither to the right nor to the left. He has been a planter, a school-master, a lawyer, a journalist, a gold-digger, a labourer, and a tradesman. He has seen everything, read everything, done everything, and has 19 travelled half the globe over. When I made his acquaintance at the Piræus, he commanded a steam-launch, which mounted four guns and had a crew of sixty men. He was the Eastern correspondent of the Boston Review ; did business with an indigo house in Calcutta, but nevertheless found time to come and dine three or four days a week with his nephew and the rest of our company.
One anecdote in a thousand will suffice to illustrate his character. In 1853 he was partner in a Philadelphia firm. His nephew, then seventeen, went to see him. He found him standing, with his hands in his pockets, before a burning-house in Washington Square. William tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round.
“Oh!” said he, “it’s you? Couldn’t have come at a worse moment. That fire there is just ruining me. I had 40,000 dollars in the house, and shan’t save a stiver.”
“What will you do?” said the youth.
“Do? Why, it’s eleven o’clock. I’m hungry. I’ve still a few coppers in my pocket, so let’s go and have some breakfast!”
Harris is one of the best built, and most elegant man I ever saw. He is thoroughly manly, with a high forehead, and a clear, searching eye. 20 Those Americans are never weak or deformed; do you know why? They are not crippled by the swaddling-clothes of a narrow civilization. Their minds and bodies develop at leisure; their school is in the open air; their master, exercise; their nurse, Liberty.
I never thought much of M. Mérinay; and examined Fondi with the indifferent curiosity I feel for the beasts in a menagerie. I cared little for Lobster, but had a sincere friendship for Harris. His frank face and simple manners, his good-tempered brusquerie, violent yet chivalrous disposition, his eccentricities, and the vivacity of his feelings all drew me towards him by their force of contrast. We appreciate in others what we do not find in ourselves. Giacomo wore white because he was black, and I adore Americans because I am German. As for the Greeks, I knew but little of them, having spent only four months in their country. Nothing is easier than to live in Athens without coming across its natives. I did not go to the cafés, and I read neither the Mandora, the Minerva, nor any other local paper. Still less did I frequent the theatres, because my ear is so delicate that I dread a false note more than a blow. I lived quietly at home with my hosts, my herbarium, and John Harris. I might 21 have been introduced at the palace, in virtue of my official title and diplomatic passport. My card had been left at the house of the Master of Ceremonies, and at that of the Grand Mistress, so that I was sure of an invitation to the first Court Ball. I was keeping in reserve for this occasion a fine red coat embroidered in silver, which my aunt Rosenthaler had brought me the evening before I left home. It was the uniform of her departed husband, who had been Professor of Natural History at the Philomathic Institute of Minden. My dear old aunt, a clever woman, knew that a uniform is well received everywhere, and especially when it is red. My eldest brother had said on seeing me wear it that I was a bigger man than the uncle, as the sleeves of his coat stopped far short of my wrists. But father answered quickly that “All would be dazzled by the silver embroidery, and that Princesses paid no attention to such trifling details as ‘fit.’ ”
Unfortunately, there were no Court Balls that season, and consequently there were only rural recreations to fall back upon, such as the pleasant spectacle of the blossoming of the almond, peach, and citron trees. A possible Court Ball for March 15 was vaguely hinted at about the town, and believed in as a probability by some sanguine 22 semi-official papers; but nothing was less certain. My studies, like my pleasures, were unambitious. There was not much of interest to be obtained at the Botanical Gardens, which were not particularly large nor rich in specimens. The Royal Garden, however, afforded me a better scope for my studies. An intelligent Frenchman had selected for it all that was worthy of note to be found in the country, from the palms of the Isles to the saxifrages of Cape Sunium. Many a happy day did I pass in M. Bareaud’s plantations. This garden is only open to the public at certain hours, but I bribed the sentinels by talking Greek to them, and they made no objection to my entrance at any time. M. Bareaud also was pleased to see me. He took me all over the place for the sake of improving his botany and German with me. When he was not there I formed the acquaintance of a gardener with bright red hair, and questioned him in German. After all, there is an advantage in being even a moderate polyglot.
Every day I botanized a little in the country, but dared not go as far as I would have liked. Athens was surrounded by brigands. I’m not a coward as the sequel of this tale will prove, but consider my life precious — at least to myself. I value existence. It is a gift from my parents, 23 and for their sakes I wish to preserve it as long as possible.
In April, 1856, it was dangerous to go outside the town, and not particularly safe either to remain within its walls. I never ventured so far as the slope of Lycabetos without thinking of poor Madame Durand, who was robbed there in full mid-day. The hills of Daphnæ reminded me of the well-known captivity and adventures of two French officers. On the road to the Piræus I remembered, in spite of myself, the band of robbers who went about, somewhat after the fashion of a wedding-party, in six coaches, from the windows of which they fired on the passers-by. When I turned towards Pentelicos my imagination dwelt on the abduction of the Duchess of Placentia, or the more recent adventures of Messrs. Harris and Lobster. On returning from a ride on two Persian horses belonging to Harris, these gentlemen fell into an ambuscade. Two brigands, pistols in hand, stopped them in the middle of a bridge. They cast a furtive glance around, and lo and behold! perceived that the ravine below them was full of armed rascals mounting guard over fifty or sixty captives. All who had passed that way since sunrise had been robbed, and then bound so as to prevent the possibility of giving 24 the alarm. Harris and his nephew were without arms. He said to him in English : “Let’s give up our cash. It’s not worthwhile losing one’s life for the sake of a few dollars.” The brigands picked up the money without releasing the reins, and pointing to the ravine signified that they were to go down there. That was the last straw, and Harris lost his temper. He hated being bound, and is not an easy man to deal with. He looked at Lobster, and forthwith two well-directed blows sent the brigands sprawling. The fellow who had attacked William, in falling, fired off his pistol; the other, more rudely served, toppled over the bridge among his companions. Meanwhile Harris and Lobster, mercilessly spurring their poor beasts, were already far away. The band as with one accord now fired upon them and killed their horses. The couple were, however, able to get clear of the gang, and taking to their heels warned the carabineers, who waited two days before they opened pursuit. Christodulos was much cut up when told of the death of the horses, but did not in the least blame the thieves. “What else could you expect?” said he with delightful simplicity. “It’s their trade.”
Almost all Greeks think like our host. Not because the brigands spare their countrymen and 25 attack foreigners. No! but a Greek robbed by one of his own people consoles himself with the reflection that the money does not go out of the family. The natives allow themselves to be ransomed by the brigands as cheerfully as a woman of the people acknowledges the strength of the husband who beats her. Local moralists deplore the excesses committed in the country very much as a fond father does the wild frolics of a son. He is scolded publicly, and petted in private.
This is so perfectly true, that when I arrived there the hero of Athens was the scourge of Attica. In the cafés and other public resorts, in the barbers’ shops frequented by the working classes, at the chemists’ where respectable tradesmen assemble, in the muddy streets of the Bazaar, at the theatres, round the band, and on the Pâtissia road, nothing was spoken of but the great Hadji Stavros. Everyone swore by Hadji Stavros; the invincible Hadji Stavros; Hadji Stavros, the terror of the carabineers; Hadji Stavros, the King of the Mountains! I assure you, a little more, and litanies would have been sung in his honour!
One Sunday, a short time after his adventure, John Harris dined with us, and I started Christodulos on the chapter of Hadji Stavros. Our host had at one time seen a great deal of him. They 26 had been intimate during the War of Independence, when brigandage was thought much less of than it is now.
He emptied his glass of Santorinos, smoothed his grey moustache, and began a long story interrupted by sighs. It seems that Stavros was the son of a pope or priest of the island of Tinos. God knows when he was born! Greeks of the good old time don’t know their age. Civil registers belong to the decadence. His father, who destined him for the Church, taught him to read. At twenty he went to Jerusalem, and tacked on to his name the title of Hadji, which means — a pilgrim. When on his way back to his home, he was seized by a pirate. His captor discovered possibilities in the youth, and turned him into a sailor. Thus he learned to fight against Turkish ships, and one might add against all vessels that were not armed. At the end of a few years he grew tired of serving a master, and determined to set up for himself. He had no ship, and no money to buy one, and thus was forced to turn land pirate. An excellent opportunity offered itself in the rising of Greece against Turkey. He never knew exactly whether he was a brigand or an insurgent, whether his men were thieves or patriots. No doubt his hatred of the Turks was 27 great, but it did not blind him to the advantages to be derived from pillaging a Greek village. All was fish that came into his net, let the owner be friend or foe. A simple theft or a glorious raid was equally welcome. This wise impartiality rapidly increased his fortune. Shepherds on learning that they had a chance with him of getting as much gold as glory, flocked under his lead, and thus it came to pass that, thanks to his reputation, he soon had an army at his command.
The Powers that were favourable to the insurrection heard only the heroic side of his exploits, and at that time indulgence was the fashion. Lord Byron dedicated an ode to him. Parisian poets and rhymsters compared him to Epaminondas, and even to poor Aristides. Flags were embroidered in his honour in the Faubourg St. Germain; and the more important question of finance had its turn. He received money from France, England, and Russia. I wouldn’t like to swear that he didn’t get even some from Turkey : in a word, he was a true Palikar! At the end of the war he was, with the other chiefs, besieged in the Acropolis at Athens. They lodged at the Propylleum, between Margarites and Lygandas, and each of them kept his booty at the head of 28 his bed. One summer’s night the roof of the house conveniently fell in and crushed them all except Hadji, who was smoking his pipe in the open air. Naturally he took possession of all his comrades’ goods and chattels, and received the congratulations of his friends in consequence. But an unforeseen misfortune checked his successful career : peace was declared. Hadji Stavros, while enjoying his money in the country, witnessed a very strange spectacle.
The Powers that had freed Greece sought also to convert the redeemed Peninsula into a kingdom. The unwelcome words, government, army, public order, reached the ears of the old Palikar. When told that his lands were included in a certain divisional region he burst out laughing. But when the collector called for the yearly taxes, he found the report other than a joke. He forthwith turned that official out of the house after relieving him of all the money in his possession. A prosecution followed. To avoid further trouble, with the best grace in the world, for in his eyes the only advantage of a roof was that he could sleep on the top of it in the hot weather, he took to the mountains.
His old comrades were dispersed about the kingdom. The Government had given them land, 29 which they reluctantly cultivated, for they at least had no liking for bread earned by sweat of brow. As soon as they heard that their chief was at odds with the law, they sold all their land and joined him, while the more prudent Hadji only “let” what belonged to him.
Peace and idleness had injured his health. The pure mountain air set him up again, and, in 1840, he decided to marry. True, he was past fifty, but half a century doesn’t count with men of his stamp; even death seems to pass them by. He married a rich heiress belonging to one of the best families of Laconia, and thus became connected with some of the first people in the kingdom. After having borne him a daughter, his wife, who had followed him in his wanderings, fell a victim to malaria and died. He brought up his child himself with quite maternal care, and when he danced it on his knees, one easily could see that the rough old fellow was a born nurse. Paternal love inspired him with new ideas. In order to amass a right royal dower for his daughter he studied finance, a science concerning which he had hitherto possessed the most rudimentary notions. Instead of hiding, as heretofore, his money in old coffers, he invested it, learned the tricks of speculation, and followed the 30 movements of the public funds in Greece and abroad. It is even said that he wanted to form brigandage into a company, and float the shares. He travelled a good deal in Europe with a Greek from Marseilles, who acted as his interpreter.
During his stay in England he was witness of an election in some rather close Yorkshire borough. This made him reflect seriously on the advantages of a constitutional government. On his return to Greece he determined to turn the institutions of his country to his own advantage. To serve the Opposition he burnt a number of villages : then to satisfy the Conservatives destroyed a few more. If a ministry was to be upset, the best thing to do was to ask his assistance. He would prove in the most irrefutable manner that the police was worthless, and that there was no chance of security unless the Cabinet were changed. On the other hand, he punished severely the enemies of order, and obliged them to expiate their sins. In short, his political talents were so highly esteemed that all parties sought his alliance. his advice was almost always followed in electoral affairs, with the result that instead of the principles of the representative government being maintained, which decrees that one member 31 should be the mouthpiece of a number of men, he was represented by some thirty or so, entirely devoted to him.
An intelligent Minister, the celebrated Bhalettis, seeing that a man who was constantly interfering with the working of the official machine might eventually put it out of order, tried to bribe him. A meeting was arranged at the country house of a foreign Consul at Carvati between Hymettos and Pentelicos. Hadji Stavros came without an escort, and unarmed. The Minister and the brigand, who were old acquaintances, breakfasted in the most friendly manner together. At dessert, Bhalettis offered him a full and free pardon for himself and his men, the rank of Lieutenant-General, the title of Senator, and 10,000 hectares of forest as a freehold. The Palikar hesitated for some time, and then said : “No; twenty years ago I should perhaps have accepted. Now, I am too old. I can’t, at my age, change my mode of life. The dust of Athens would choke me. I should go to sleep during the sittings of the Senate; and if you gave me soldiers to command, by sheer force of habit I should shoot them. No, let me go my own way, and go you yours.”
Bhalettis did not take him at his word. He tried to make him see the infamy of the trade he 32 was pursuing. Hadji merely laughed, and asked simply enough :
“Old comrade, if we were each to make a list of our sins, which would be the longer of the two?”
“But reflect,” urged the Minister, evading the answer, “that you will not escape fate, and will one day die by a violent death!”
“Allah Perim! God is great!” answered the other in Turkish. “Neither you nor I have read the stars. But I have the advantage. My enemies wear uniforms, and I can see them at a distance, whereas you are not so lucky. Adieu, brother.”
Six months later the Minister was murdered by his political enemies — the brigand still lived.
Our host did not tell us all he knew about his hero — the day would not have been long enough for that — but he told us some remarkable things. I don’t think that in any country the rivals of Hadji Stavros have ever done anything more artistic than the looting of the Niebuhr, an Austrian Lloyd’s steamer that the Palikar pillaged on land. The Niebuhr came from Constantinople. She discharged her cargo and passengers at Kalamaki, to the east of the Isthmus of Corinth. Four wagons and two omnibuses were loaded up with passengers 33 and merchandise to take them to the small port of Loutrakis, on the opposite side of the Isthmus, where another boat awaited them. It waited long. Hadji Stavros, in full daylight, on a good road, flat, and destitute of trees, carried off the merchandise, the luggage, the travellers’ money, and the ammunition of the carabineers of the escort : a stroke which brought him in ten thousand pounds — here Christodulos sighed with more than a shade of envy and regret.
Much has been said of the cruelty of Hadji Stavros. Our host declared that he did not do evil for evil’s sake. “He is essentially a sober man, who never loses his head,” he continued with rising enthusiasm. “If he does warm the soles of a peasant, it is because the man has persistently refused to tell him where he keeps his money. Generally he treats prisoners well whom he expects will be ransomed. In the summer of 1854, he went with his band to the house of a Mr. Voïdi, a rich merchant of the island of Eubœa. He found the family assembled, and in their company an old Judge from Chalkis, who was playing cards with the host. Hadji offered to play with the Judge, the stake being the latter’s liberty. His Honour consented, lost, and had to accept his fate with the best grace at his command. The 34 brigand carried of Voïdi, his son and daughter, but left the wife behind, in order that she might occupy her leisure in procuring the ransom of the rest of her family. When they were captured, the merchant was suffering from gout, the girl had fever, and the boy was a pale, puffy-looking thing. Two months later they returned home, entirely cured, thanks to regular exercise, a life in the open air, and the kind treatment that they had met with. After all, you must allow that two thousand pounds was not an exorbitant price to pay for the recovered health of an entire family!
“I must admit,” said Christodulos, “that our friend is pitiless with bad payers. If a ransom is not forthcoming when it falls due, he kills his prisoners with commercial punctuality : that’s his way of protesting notes. In spite of my admiration for him, and the friendship between our families, I never have forgiven him the murder of the two little girls of Mistra. They were twins of fourteen, beautiful as Venus, and betrothed to two young men of Leondari. They were so much alike that it was impossible to tell one from the other. Hadji spied them one morning as they were going to sell cocoons at the factory, carrying a large basket between them, and running along the road as lightly as if they had 35 wings, and carried them off to the mountains. He wrote to their mother, telling her that he would restore them to her for four hundred pounds, payable at the end of the month. The mother was a widow in easy circumstances. She had a fine plantation of mulberry-trees, but like the rest of us she had very little ready cash. She raised a loan on her property, not an easy thing to do in these parts even at twenty percent. With all her endeavours the transaction took more than six weeks. As soon as she had collected the money, she hired a mule and loaded it with the silver tied up in sacks, and started off on foot for Hadji’s camp. But on arriving at the big ‘langada’ valley of the Taygetos, at the spot where there are seven fountains under a plane-tree, the beast stopped short and refused to budge. To her horror the poor mother saw her two little girls lying on the road. Their throats had been cut to the backbone, and their pretty heads were almost severed from their bodies. Overwhelmed with despair she placed their bleeding bodies as best she could on the mule, and took them back to Mistra. The poor soul did not shed a tear. She went mad and died soon afterward. I know that Hadji Stavros has regretted this crime : he thought the widow richer 36 than she was and unwilling to pay. The two children had been killed by way of an example. It is quite certain that since that time, debts owing to him are regularly paid : no one dares to keep him waiting.”
“Brutta carogna!” (vile beast!) cried Giacomo, giving the table a blow that shook the house. “If he ever falls into my hands, he’ll get ten thousand blows, which will allow him to retire from business.”
“As for me,” said little Lobster with a quiet smile, “I should like to cover him at fifty paces with my revolver. And you, Uncle John?”
Harris whistled between his teeth an American tune, which seemed to cut through the air like a dagger’s point.
“Can I believe my ears?” cried good M. Mérinay, in his shrillest tone. “Can such horrors be possible in our time? I know that ‘The Society for the Moralization of Criminals’ has no branches in this country; but meanwhile have you no mounted police?”
“Certainly,” replied the host. “It is composed of 50 officers, 152 brigadiers, and 1250 carabineers of whom 150 are mounted. It’s the best troop in the kingdom after that under the command of Hadji.”
37“What surprises me,” said I, “is that the rascal’s daughter did not interfere.”
“She was not with him.”
“Ah! now I understand! Where is she?”
“At school.”
“In Athens?”
“Now you’re asked me more than I can tell you. But the man who marries her will be a lucky fellow.”
“Yes!” said Harris. “People say that Calcraft’s daughter is not a bad match.”
“Who’s Calcraft?”
“The London hangman.”
At these words, our host’s son Dimitrius blushed up to his ears.
“Excuse me, sir,” said he to John Harris. “There is a great difference between a hangman and a brigand. The trade of the one is infamous, that of the other honoured. Government is obliged to keep the executioner of Athens shut up in Fort Palamedes, or he would be lynched, while no one wishes harm to Hadji Stavros, and the most honest men in the country would be proud to shake hands with him.”
Harris opened his lips to reply, when there came a ring at the shop-door. It was a servant, 38 who entered, accompanied by a young girl of about fifteen to sixteen, dressed in the latest Paris fashion.
Dimitrius rose, saying, “It’s Photini!”
“Gentlemen,” said the confectioner, “let us talk of something else if you please. Tales about brigands are not meant for young ladies’ ears.”
Christodulos introduced the girl to us as the daughter of one of his brother-officers, Colonel Jani, commandant of the town of Nauplia.
According to the custom of the country, surnames being rarely used, she was addressed as Photini, daughter of Jani. The young girl was plain, like nine-tenths of the Athenian maidens. Her teeth were white and even, and her hair abundant, but that was all. Her thick waist looked ill at ease in a Parisian corset. Her feet, rounded like a pair of smoothing-irons, dragged along ungracefully in wide slippers instead of being pinched into smart boots. Her type was so thoroughly un-Grecian that she had absolutely no profile — far from it, her face was as flat as if it had been sat upon in infancy by a careless nurse. Dress doesn’t suit all women, and it made Photini look ridiculous. Her flounced gown, stretched over a big crinoline, displayed to disadvantage the ungainliness of her figure and awkwardness 39 of her gait. The Palais Royal trinkets with which she was bedecked seemed like so many dots of exclamation emphasizing her imperfections. One was reminded thereby of a common servant-girl dressed up in her mistress’s clothes.
None of us was surprised to see the daughter of a simple colonel so richly dressed pass her Sundays in a confectioner’s house. We knew the country well enough to be aware that the love of finery is one of the worst curses of Grecian society. Country girls have holes bored in silver coins, sew them together, and wear them in their caps on holidays. That is to say, they carry their marriage portions on their heads. Their town sisters spend their time and their pocket-money in the shops. Photini was at school at the Hetairia, which is to a certain extent an educational establishment modelled after the fashion of that of the “Légion d’Honneur,” but boasts of more liberal and tolerant rules. Brigands’ heiresses as well as soldier’s daughter are sometimes brought up there.
Colonel Jani’s daughter knew a little French and English, but her shyness did not allow her to shine in conversation. I learned later that her family counted upon us to increase her familiarity with foreign languages. Her father, having heard 40 that Christodulos had some honest, even learned, foreign boarders, begged him to have her on Sundays, and to act towards her as his deputy. The bargain appeared to please our host, and still more his son. Young Dimitrius literally devoured with his eyes the school-girl, who, however, seemed unconscious of his admiration. We proposed to go together to hear the band. On Sundays, the parade there is quite one of the sights of Athens. The inhabitants, in full dress, assemble in a dusty field, to hear the military band play waltzes and quadrilles. The poor go on foot, the rich drive, the swells of the sterner sex ride on horseback. The Court invariably attends. It would not miss one of these occasions for an empire. When the echo of the last tune dies away, every one goes home, covered with dust, but happy. The worthy Athenians say to each other“What a capital time we’ve had!”
Without doubt Photini intended to exhibit herself and her finery at the band, and the devoted Dimitrius was but too happy to attend her there, for he had on a brand-new frock coat, purchased ready-made at the dépôt of the “Belle-Jardinière.” At the last moment it unfortunately began to pour with rain, so we were all obliged to stay at home. Maroula proposed to play for sweets, a 41 game much in favour with the Athenian middle class. She brought a large bottle of sweeties out of the shop-window and gave each of us a handful of bull’s-eyes flavoured with cloves, aniseed, chicory, and so on. Thereupon cards were dealt out, and he who got nine of the same colour was paid three sweets by each of the other players. Giacomo’s earnest attention to the game showed that its profits were not indifferent to him. Chance was in his favour. He swept the table, and we saw him swallow seven or eight heaps of sweets, which had passed from one hand to another, including those of M. Mérinay. I, being less interested in the sport, perceived a side game in progress at my left. While the ardent glances of Dimitrius fell harmlessly, shattered by Photini’s indifference, she seemed irresistibly attracted by Harris. He held his cards carelessly, yawned now and again with American candour, or, utterly ignoring the others, whistled a few bars of “Yankee Doodle.”
I believe that he had been impressed by our host’s story, and that his mind was in the mountains with Hadji Stavros. At any rate, whatever might have been his thoughts, they evidently had nothing to do with love. Neither perhaps had those of the young girl, for Greek women are 42 reputed to be unusually indifferent to matters of the heart. Nevertheless Photini was manifestly as much attracted by our new friend Harris as they say is a lark by a piece of looking-glass : she devoured him with her eyes, and never ceased staring at him the whole time the game lasted.
She had not, however, heard him utter a word, and even if she had, she was quite incapable of knowing whether he was clever or the reverse. But she saw that he was handsome, and that sufficed. The Greeks of old adored beauty; the Greek of to-day, and in spite of his actual decadence, knows perfectly well how to distinguish an Apollo from a baboon. A song in M. Fauriel’s collection is eloquent on this head.
It continued to rain in torrents, and Dimitrius passed his time in gazing at the girl, and she in adoring Harris. Giacomo sucked his sweets, and Mérinay wearied Lobster to death with an interminable story to which he gave but half hearing. At eight, Maroula laid the table for supper. Photini was placed between Dimitrius and my insignificant self. She spoke little, and ate nothing. At dessert, when the servant talked of her going back to school, she made an effort, and whispered in my ear, “Is Mr. Harris married?”
43To tease her a bit I answered : “Yes, he married the widow of the Doge of Venice.”
“Is it possible? How old is she?”
“As old and everlasting as the world.”
“Don’t laugh at me, please. I am but an ignorant girl, and do not understand your foreign jokes.”
“In other words, young lady, his spouse is the sea, for he commands the American stationary, the Fancy.”
She thanked me by a really radiant look; so great was her joy that it lighted up her otherwise unusually plain face, and lent it for a moment an expression that I thought was almost beautiful.
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