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.