The survey we now made of the vessel to which we were consigned was not at all encouraging. We had travelled before only in English ships, of the East India Company and the Levant Company, and this craft was not at all like those we had become used to. It was much, much smaller for one thing. It was very low in the water, and we had to climb but a few feet to mount from our boat onto the maindeck. It only had two masts, and the sails upon them were of an unaccustomed, triangular shape. Above all, there appeared to be nothing below deck but an open hold, stacked with barrels and packing cases, and nowhere could we see any accommodation for passengers.
Taking this point up with the captain proved more difficult than might be anticipated, even with the help of the invaluable Mrs Margaret. I had thought him merely insolently taciturn at first, but my interpreter soon put me right.
“I don’t think he speaks Italian more than a few words,” she said. “As far as I can make out he is Albanian or Croatian or something like that. From oltremar, at any rate.”
“But are they not all Turks on the other side of the Adriatic sea?” I cried, “or at least, Mohammedans of some sort, except the Greeks of course.”
For now I gave myself leisure to observe, the long mustachioes, baggy trousers and high boots worn by our new host did have something of an exotic look to them, as did the long dagger stuck through his sash.
The captain seized upon my mention of the heathen prophet to shake his head vigorously.
“No Turk, no mussulmano,” he cried “Gheg. Mirdite. Christiano. Credo in unum deum, patrem omnipotentem.”
And he tossed his head proudly.
I had not planned to take notice of Albania, for the ancients took no notice of it likewise, but I remembered reading somewhere that the Ghegs were an Albanian tribe who had preserved their Christianity in spite of the long Turkish rule, and that that Christianity was of the western, Catholic variety. Encouraged by this and by the perfectly intelligible opening lines of the Creed which he had just recited, I was inspired to address him in Latin.
I will not say that it was easy, but communication at last proved possible thanks to a language long dead, with the result that we were ushered into a kind of shed, or cabin, as I suppose I must call it, behind the rearmost mast, with four tiny cots, or bunks built into the walls on each side. Other furniture there was none, but we were hardened travellers by now, and had all brought our own bedding. It looked as though we must all share a cabin for one night at least.
“I will trust you to explain the straitened accommodation to the other ladies, my dear Mrs Morland,” I remarked. “But where are the gentlemen to sleep?”
The answer, it transpired, was either in the same cabin, or on deck, with the crew, whose quarters these normally were, and no amount of persuasion, whether verbal or fiscal, could produce anything more than a spare sail slung over a line down the middle of the cabin, to serve as a curtain and provide some small semblance of privacy.
“Well, my dear,” I said to Mrs Bennet after we had emerged, “should you like to see your accomodations for the night? I dare say you will have something to say about it.”
She certainly had, as did Kitty, and it was as well that they had the rest of the day in which to say it, for night was falling before we set sail.
Fortunately, it was a calm night, with none of the swells or gales that I had been fearing. A steady breeze from the north was all that could be discerned of the dread Etesians. Morland, who had set himself up as an authority on all things maritime on the strength of having once crossed the channel to witness a dissection in Paris, assured us that we could not have better conditions for our journey.
He assured us so often and with such conviction that I began to wonder whether he was quite convinced himself, or merely longed for our agreement. The ladies took him at his word, however, and retired behind their sailcloth curtain with as good a grace as might be expected.
I had expected to lie awake all night, listening to the snorings and shufflings of my companions, and the noise of the mariners on deck, but it had been a long, hard day, standing around in the sun on the open deck, and I slept almost as soon as my head touched the pillow, stuffed with sawdust though it might be.
When I think back, I sometimes wonder if it was my head that was stuffed with sawdust rather than the pillow, for I recall very little about the voyage other than waking and going on deck to see land on both sides, with great, tawny mountains rising from the sea.
“Sqiperia,” said captain Milosh after some incomprehensible greeting, pointing to the land on our left hand side.
“Kerkyra,” he continued, pointing to our right. “Insula Corfu. Veni domine, veni.”
And, leading me to the front, he pointed to a headland jutting out into the water ahead of us like a great lion. The white walls of a fortress could just be made out on its seaward peak.
“Civitas Corfu. Ecce.”
And behold I did. I cannot possibly have made it out at such a distance, and it must all be imagination, or a trick of the memory, but I distinctly recollect shivering at the sight of the flag flying from the crest of the fortress.
Foreigners are all very well, in fact excellent in their place. But their place is abroad, and no tripes à la mode nor pasta al ragù can compare with the roast beef of old England.
Chapter Thirteen : Family Reunions
It took us the rest of the day to ‘make port’, as the maritime expression has it.
It was, of course, unreasonable to expect any kind of welcome on the quayside, but I fear that reason and Mrs Bennet – and, indeed, any of the Bennet womenfolk, with two notable exceptions – have long been strangers.
“But where is Lydia?” cried my darling wife, the minute after the boat had left us with our baggage on the quayside below the towering walls of the fortress. “Where is Wickham? Where are my grandchildren? I do think they might have made the effort to meet us after we have come all this way. It is most annoying! Lydia always was a thoughtless wretch, and I dare say Wickham is not much better. I take it most unkindly, I do.”
“But consider, my darling,” I was constrained to reply, “how was Lydia to know we were on our way? How is she to know that we are here now? We sent no message, and if we had it would not have arrived yet, for there has been no other ship from Otranto. Indeed, we did not know we were coming ourselves until two days ago.”
“If Lydia cared at all for her poor mother,” was the reply, “she would have had a servant waiting here for our arrival ever since our first letter that we were on our way.”
“Well, perhaps, she has, my dear. We have not yet enquired, and, perhaps, ought to do so.”
“Yes, do enquire, Mr Bennet, you are always so good and so clever, you always know what to do. And then we can all go to Lydia’s new home and have a nice cup of tea and a comfortable coze.”
I could not help but applaud such an ambition, but the realization of it proved less easy than I had anticipated, for it was at this moment that I discovered that a lifetime’s knowledge and a scholar’s fluency in the Greek of Plato is quite as useful to the modern-day traveller east of the Adriatic as the language of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle would be to a traveller in England.
Our arrival had attracted the usual crowd of hangers on, offering, I assumed, the usual miscellaneous services, but I found I could do no more than assume since they appeared to be employing no tongue known to civilized man. The effort must be made, however, and I braced myself to address the least disreputable-looking individual, a tall, thin man with a serious look and remarkable moustaches.
“Chairete, kyrie,” I said, in my best Attic, “eip’ eme, pou estin to tou kubernetou megaron?”
I was met with a puzzled frown and the retort “Ti? Ti eepes? Xéree kánenas ethó ti eepe?”
A further attempt brought the response “Then milate Elliniko?” of which but the last word was recognizable, as had been only the first of his previous speech.”
“What does he say?” asked Golight
ly, Kitty having pushed him forward to take part in arrangements.
“You may well ask,” I replied. “I think it is Greek he is speaking, but it is not Greek as we know it, I fear. It is certainly not Attic, nor Dorian, nor Ionian nor Aeolian, nor even Epic or Arcadian. You have studied the Septuagint. Perhaps you could try him in Koine?”
Golightly then addressed our interlocutor, who by now was grinning broadly and surrounded by a crowd of admiring cronies, in the accents of the New Testament. He met with equal success, although his pronunciation did sound more like that of the bystanders, who were by now inviting each other to marvel at the show.
We were at a loss, and might have stood there all day but for the intervention of the invaluable Mrs Morland, who now weighed in with her staccato but gratifyingly effective Italian, with the result that within ten minutes we were on our way, escorted by a crowd of willing porters, to the palazzo of “Il Generale Wickham.”
It turned out to be quite at the other side of the town. The day was hotter than even Italy had been, and we soon began to wilt as we marched through the narrow streets, eventually coming out upon a broad open space surrounded by trees giving a welcome shade. Here we acquired a carriage selected by our guide from those assembled there, which greatly assisted us.
“Spianada” called our guide, with a gesture towards the open green, where I observed, to my surprise, two gangs of boys playing what looked suspiciously like cricket.
This gave me an idea and I leant over to Mrs Morland.
“I must thank you for your quick wits as well as your linguistic skills, my dear Mrs Margaret,” I said. “I should have thought to try Italian since the island has been under Venetian rule for so long. But who would have thought the islanders should have forgotten their own tongue in that time? We are fortunate to have such a paragon with us.”
“You are very good, Mr Bennet, but I fear my Italian is very indifferent. I am a very poor Italian scholar."
"Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the language to care for our every need right across Italy and to Corfu itself. You need not say anything more of your ignorance. Here is complete proof."
"I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should be sorry to be examined by a real proficient."
“You need have no fear of that with me, my dear. But what I should like you to do, if you would be so kind, is to ask our guide his name, and whether he would wish to be considered as our dragoman while we are here.”
“I am not sure what ‘dragoman’ is in Italian, sir. Indeed, I am not entirely sure what it is in English, but I will do my best.”
“Your best, I am sure, will be more than good enough.”
Our guide had all this time been walking alongside the carriage on the right hand side. Mrs Morland had but to turn slightly to address him. The only word I could make out was ‘dragomanno’, which seemed to be the right thing to say, for our guide turned to me with a bow, and, seizing my hand, smothered it with kisses.
Spyros Papadakis, milor,” he said, which I assumed to be his name. “Servizio. Milor choose good. Spik Englezi.”
Sitting in the carriage had given me leisure to recollect the advice of both the Neapolitan Prince and the English Viscount.
“Wherever you go, the locals will cheat you. Choose one of them as your major domo, to act for you in your dealings with them. He will cheat you too, but he will make sure that nobody else does, and if he is too blatant or too incompetent he can always be replaced.”
We continued on our road, crossing the open space, with a colonnaded walkway on our right and the massive ramparts of the fortress on our left, and passed on down a slight incline along the edge of a wide bay, with shady groves to our right and the sea itself on our left and a wooded headland directly in front. Shortly we veered inland and pulled up outside a white villa, quite in the Italian style and almost as large as Longbourn, surrounded by a dusty garden bordered with what I took to be orange trees.
Here we were at a stand for a moment, for at first no amount of banging at the door and shouting could provoke a response from within the house. The door remained resolutely closed and the shutters likewise, although from an upper window the curtains twitched.
We had by now descended from the carriage, and stood staring at each other in the shade of the portico. Both Morland and Golightly were far too well-bred to put it into words, but I could feel them thinking, “Well, Mr Bennet, this is your daughter’s house to which we are denied access. What are we to do now?”
Fortunately, we were diverted at this point by the appearance round the corner of the house of a fat little boy, dressed all in white, with a wide-brimmed straw hat on top of his golden curls.
He was at first more of a diversion than a help, however, for he merely bestowed upon us one look of appalled shock and horror and bolted back whence had come.
We could hear his voice receding as he called “Mamma, Mamma, Strangers!”
I was still making my mind up to follow him when a matronly figure in white muslin appeared round the corner, surrounded by rather more children, of all shapes and sizes, than my memory could quite account for.
“Well,” said my daughter Lydia, “you took your time.”
Chapter Fourteen : Welcome to Corfu
Whatever else Lydia might have had to say was drowned by shrieks of delight as both her mother and her sister ran to embrace her.
The delight was not apparently shared by the crowd of infants, however, most of whom began their peculiar howling at seeing their parent assaulted so.
“Mother,” cried the curly haired boy. “Why are the strange ladies kissing you?”
Recollections of our time in the North East came back to me.
“Fitzwilliam, isn’t it?” I addressed the boy, “Don’t you remember me? I am your grandfather.”
He responded with a look of the uttermost scorn.”
“I’m not Fitzwilliam,” he replied. “Fitzwilliam is out with Papa. I’m Tom. And you’re not my grandfather. My grandfather is a great and important gentleman, in England. He has a big house, and an estate, and is the first gentleman of his neighbourhood. And he is tall and handsome and always elegantly dressed.”
Thus firmly put in my place, I was at a loss what to do next, but was rescued by my dragoman performing his function of easing relations with the natives by producing a handful of raisins to distribute among the shrieking children, who rapidly found more important things to do with their mouths and provided us with leisure for something resembling rational conversation.
“Thank you for your welcome, my dear Lydia,” I said. “I, too, am overjoyed to see you again, and looking so well, so blooming. But I must make known to you your new brother, Mr Golightly, Kitty’s husband, and my dear friends Doctor and Mrs Morland. Doctor Morland is greatly caressed by the College of Physicians, and is so good as to accompany me on my travels for the sake of my health, which has given some concerns, as you know. Mrs Morland’s sister is the wife of the famous Colonel Brandon, the hero of Conjeevaram, and Doctor Morland’s sister is married to the brother of a viscountess.”
I was thus minute lest the Morlands be consigned to the servants’ quarters or otherwise snubbed by my daughter, the position of medical men being so open to interpetration. No-one loves a lord like Lydia, however, and to be thus obliquely connected with nobility would ensure her complaisance.
I was not deceived in my expectations, and, indeed, was rather amused, eventually, by the contrast between the perfunctory greeting merited by a mere clergyman, and the attention lavished on the near relations of a viscount.
Before this, however, I was at a loss for a moment, as my daughter simply stood looking at the new acquaintances, with an expectant air.
There was an embarrassed pause before Mrs Morland saved the situation by nudging her husband and stepping forward.
“I am honoured to meet you, Lady Wickham,” she said, with an exaggerated curtsy. “Ple
ase forgive the maladroitness of Mr Bennet’s introduction.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” replied Lydia, basking in the new status, which I had quite forgotten to accord her. It was perfectly ridiculous that she should be Lady Wickham, and take precedence over every person in the room, her own parents and sister included, but it was even more ridiculous that that rascal Wickham should now be Sir George.
“You are all staying with us, of course,” continued Lydia, “and you must make it a long stay. What fun we shall have! I cannot tell you how one longs for someone new to talk to. Colonial Society is very restricted, you know. But let us go inside. The sun will soon be insupportable, and we can have a cool drink.”
She looked about and raised her voice.
“Arianna! Arianna! Oh, where is that girl? Never there when wanted. Arianna! Oh, there you are. Take the children, Arianna, and do whatever it is you do with them. I am quite tired already.”
The young nymph fresh from a Grecian vase who answered this summons led the infantile mob away with a bob, chattering to them the while in the same sort of argot we had been met with at the port, while I congratulated myself on finding some evidence of continuity at last. Indeed, had I been a superstitious man, I might have congratulated myself upon the omen, and taken heart that this modern day Ariadne might provide the clue to the labyrinth of my researches, and the Key to all Mythologies be unearthed among the remains of ancient Greece.
But first we must cope with modern Greece, or at least that part of it which was free from Turkish tyranny. Settling in to the Villa Daphne proved remarkably similar to settling in to Pemberley or Garthdale, if rather warmer.
“Do you think it warm?” asked Lydia when I commented upon this after we had all gathered for coffee. “I dare say it is, but after Australia one hardly notices. It would be nice to have a little coolness now and again, and when we first came I tried to train up a punkah-wallah, such as the Governor had in his palace at Sydney Cove, but the Greeks make hopeless servants, as you may have guessed from the conduct of the nursery maid you met earlier. But we must get you dressed for the heat, certainly. English broadcloth will not do in this climate. The dressmakers are very reasonable here, I will say that, but they have no notion of French fashions. And speaking of French fashions, what have you brought me?”
Our Neighbours' Sport Beyond the Seas Page 9
