Childish Loves

by Benjamin Markovits

  *

  No, it is all off. Browne came first to Argostoli on his way home, where I met with him, and his account of the Provisional Government does not command in me sufficient confidence to give it the stamp of my approval, which is, after all, what my visit would suggest. He means to ask the Committee for a steamboat – he believes a great deal may be accomplished with an armoured steamboat. And this is also the opinion of several of the naval officers he has consulted with. The two Greek Deputies – Luriottis is one of them, and asked after Madame Guiccioli; he is a gentleman – have been authorized by the Provisional Government to beg another loan of me, of some three hundred thousand piastres, which is no more than what is required, he says, to activate the fleet. I agreed to give two hundred thousand, for the Greeks always expect some negotiation and have been so conditioned by the distrust that usually meets them that even honest Greeks (of which there are very few) begin to exaggerate a little, in anticipation.

  It is now December. The fire in my apartment (which is always burning) smokes terribly, as the wood we had put aside was most of it stolen, and what remains is damp and green. I have been here almost five months. Yesterday I had a letter from Augusta, concerning my daughter. It appears that Ada suffers terribly from headaches, which begin to affect her sight. I was subject to the same complaint, but not at so early an age nor in so great a degree. Besides, it never affected my eyes but rather my hearing. This last news has left me more miserable than I can at all account for, as I was not fond of her mother and have not seen the child herself (who is now eight) since she lay sucking in that woman’s arms. Perhaps she will get quite well when she arrives at womanhood, but that is some time to look forward to, especially where the climate is cold. In Italy and the East, it sometimes occurs at twelve or even earlier. (I knew an instance in an Italian house, at ten, though this was considered uncommon.) But Ada, Ada – I have been writing the word in the margins of the page, when I am meant to be writing my poem; and it is more suggestive to me than … anything else that I write. I find the idea that my peculiar habit of suffering is shared by another human creature almost inexpressibly moving. Poor girl, if she is at all like her father she will not be very happy. It occurs to me that if I once get this business over, I might return to England – if only to report to the Committee.

  *

  Well, it is settled; tomorrow we sail. In two boats – to Missolonghi. Stanhope is there already and has seen Prince Mavrocordatos, from whom he has sent this very handsome appeal. He tells me that I will be ‘received as a saviour’, and that it depends ‘only on myself to secure the destiny of Greece’. They expect my presence will ‘electrify the troops!’. There has been a kind of contest of inaction on both sides, Greek and Mussulman, but the Turks have at length come down in force (sixteen thousand they say) on Missolonghi, which however is stronger than it was last year, when they repulsed the attempt. And their blood is up at last. The Greek fleet has lately crushed a much smaller Turkish squadron (it was fourteen ships against four), driving one ashore onto the coast of Ithaca, to which they pursued it, in spite of the island’s neutrality, murdering every survivor. For the sake of the treasure on board – they would not have been so forward over a question of honour. It was a cowardly business, but then, the pretence of neutrality, when there is a war, is equally shameful.

  On Christmas Day (or the day after, it is not much minded here), I left Metaxata, and am staying at my banker’s in Argostoli, while the boats are fitted out. The first, which is called a ‘mistico’, being designed for speed, will take us to Missolonghi; the second will transport supplies. I have asked Pietro to accompany it.

  Bruno and Fletcher come with me, along with the dog Lion and the page-boy Lukas. Today I took him to pay his respects to his mother, to see that they were paid. She is a large-breasted comfortable-looking woman, who does not often stand up. At least, she was sitting when we came, and sent one of her daughters to open the door; and did not leave her sofa once in the course of our visit. It was another daughter who served us tea and dates. But she wept freely, and under this provocation, the boy wept, too. ‘You will see that he does not dishonour us,’ she said. (They are after all a fierce people!) ‘If he dies, he should die as his father did.’ His sisters clung to him and kissed his face and lips.

  I promised to present myself foremost to every danger. Afterwards, we went to inspect the boats, and he stood by my shoulder, a little behind, to escape showing his eyes to the crew.

  It is imagined that we shall attempt either Patras or the castles on the Straits; and it seems, by most accounts, that the Greeks, or at any rate, the Suliotes, expect that I should march with them. I have been running in my mind through the ranks of poets who have died in battle (or its consequences): there are Kleist, Korner, Kutoffski and Thersander; Garcilasso de la Vega. If the wind is favourable, we sail tomorrow – it wants but two days until the new year. God knows why I am going, though after all, it is better to be playing at nations than gaming at Almacks or Newmarket or piecing or dinnering. I have hopes that the cause will triumph, but whether it does or no, still ‘Honour must be minded as strictly as a milk diet.’ I trust to observe both.

  ***

  Our passage was not uneventful. We set sail a little after sunset. The air was fresh but not sharp, and the sailors’ voices (for they were most of them singing) rang faintly against the clear sky. The mistico was the fastest and soon out-paced Pietro’s ‘bombard’. Until the waves separated us, we fired pistols and carabines into the night, calling out, ‘Tomorrow we meet at Missolonghi – tomorrow.’

  At two in the morning, we came in sight of a frigate, which I took at first to be Greek (it was within pistol shot), until the captain assured me it was not. But we kept very still and the dogs (who had been barking all night) were equally quiet, and managed to evade them. At dawn, we stood out a little way from the coast and saw two large ships – one of them chasing Pietro’s bombard (which, after all, is the more valuable vessel, containing not only my horses, negro, steward and Stanhope’s press, but eight thousand dollars of mine, with which I meant to make up the arrears of the soldiers’ pay), and the other lying wait in front of the port. It appears (though I learned this only later) that several of the Greek ships, which had been guarding the entrance, had turned tail at the sight of the Turks in protest, because they could not wait – to be paid, that is.

  By this stage I had begun to have serious concerns for the safety (not of myself, which matters little to me), but of my page, who would be most in danger in the event of our capture, morally as well as physically. The Turkish treatment of their prisoners of war, especially of young boys, is rather to be avoided. I would sooner cut him in pieces than have him taken by those barbarians. Besides, I had promised his mother to do everything in my power; so we ran up a creek (the Scrofes, I believe) and landed Lukas and one of the crew, with some money for themselves and a letter for Stanhope, and sent them up the country to Missolonghi. Lukas was at first very unwilling to leave the boat, until I explained to him the nature of the danger he faced – that was particular to him; at which he said very little but agreed to go.

  In less than an hour, the vessel in chase neared us, and we dashed out again (showing our stern) and got in before night to Dragomestre. There we were welcomed by the Primates and officers of the town, who invited me into their several homes, each praising the excellence of his cook; but I preferred to stay on board, where I generally sleep very well, and my diet in any case is not various. A boiled potato, well-soaked in vinegar, or failing that, a little ship’s biscuit and hard cheese, for I had got fatter again in Metaxata, on indecision, and mean to grow slim.

  We stayed two nights in Dragomestre, for the wind was against us. The weather has turned wintry in the new year, and the rocks along the coast send up a fine cold spray. On the second day, three gunboats arrived from Missolonghi, which had been sent by Prince Mavrocordatos by way of convoy. (The mistico was practically undefended. We had taken with us only a
few small arms. Whatever munitions we possessed were in the bombard with Pietro.) Lukas was in one of the gunboats. I was both glad and sorry to see him, as the danger was by no means past; but, after all, he is a brave child and shows a proper sense of duty to his benefactor. On the third day, the wind had turned sufficiently to allow us to progress into the straits, where we were twice driven on to the rocks at Scrofes (the sea being considerably fiercer than a few days previously, and the waves churning around us in such an ecstasy, that the spray reached a patch of sail three feet above my head). To Fletcher, who has a horror of drowning, I gave up my bunk and slept on deck, which enabled me to take this measurement. We were in constant danger, not only of splitting against the rocks, but of foundering in the open sea. I asked Lukas, who was on deck with me and observing very coolly the chaos of wind and wave, whether he could swim. He replied in the negative, but I assured him not to mind this, as I was an excellent swimmer and capable of saving both myself and him; for though the water was rough, the shore was not very distant. Meanwhile, we kept a look-out for the Turkish ships, but they had lost patience or tired of striving with the wind, and we reached at last the quiet of the lagoon outside Missolonghi.

  I was in very good spirits throughout (as I love necessity) though a little obscured by five days and nights without ablution or change of clothes. The shortest way to kill fleas is to strip and take a swim, which is what I did. At Argostoli, I had ordered a scarlet coat, cut square on top and short below, in the naval manner, with golden epaulettes, as these suited the plume of Aspe’s helmet – which however I had not got with me, as Pietro had taken it in the bombard. But I put on the coat and around eleven o’clock – on a cool unsettled morning, with the sea calmer, but the clouds being driven through a blue sky – we made our first appearance at Missolonghi. The inhabitants had gathered to greet us: Prince Mavrocordatos, Colonel Stanhope, Dr Missingen, etc. beside several other officers and citizens of the town, together with soldiers, priests, banditti, women and children, arranged in two rows, all screaming or singing, while we stepped ashore and the canons at a nearby fort fired off a royal salute.

  *

  Pietro was there, too; I was very relieved to see him. It appears he has had an escape no less miraculous than our own. The bombard succumbed to capture, and though Pietro had taken the precaution of loading all my letters in a sack, together with a five-pound shot, and dropping it overboard, there was nevertheless sufficient evidence of our preparations – shot, cannons, helmets, press, etc. – to convict them of war-like intentions. In fact, the Turkish commander was on the point of ordering the execution of the bombard’s master, and the sinking of his boat, when he recognized Pietro, who had saved him once from shipwreck (with a half-dozen Turks) in the Black Sea a few years ago. After which they were treated very handsomely. Pietro was invited on board, to share a bottle of rum with him, and they were dispatched unmolested to Missolonghi.

  We were taken directly to the house prepared for me, which sits on stilts on a narrow spit of land protruding into the lagoon; with a view on one side of the water, and on the other, of outhouses, stables, sties. It is a low damp dispiriting town, which I had visited once before, with Hobhouse fifteen years ago, and time and war have not improved it. There are a few government buildings, arranged around the landing, and then a scattering of huts and some more substantial dwellings further inland. Even in winter, the air is bad and dank as a cellar. But we have been given the finest private house, or at least, the tallest, which amounts to the same thing; and my rooms are on the second floor, with a view of the sea and dimly beyond it (in that dim air) of the mountains of the Morea. (Stanhope has installed himself on the first.) When it rains for any length of time, the house becomes unapproachable on foot – even after a morning’s drizzle; but it was dry on our arrival, and not more than three minutes’ walk from the jetty.

  This was my first meeting with Prince Mavrocordatos, who is ‘fair, fat and forty’ (or looks it), and wears little round spectacles and a large moustache. Napier, who is a good judge of men, speaks highly of him, and my impressions were favourable. There is always an element of flattery, when I am introduced to a stranger, particularly if he is a Greek, and this obscures for a while his better and soberer qualities; but I believe, when once we have got through the dross, there will be a vein of ore. Stanhope was present, too; I was almost happy to see him. There was a great deal of excitement at the house, soldiers milling, civilians arguing, women cooking and shouting, but comparatively little furniture, so we sat on the floor, on cushions, around a little table, and made plans. I felt my old eagerness returning, which I had felt at Vathy, but this time better directed.

  Our first object is Lepanto, which the Prince believes, with a small sacrifice of men and moneys, might be retaken. And what an object! to be a second Santa Cruz! An expedition of about two thousand men is planned for an attack. For reasons of policy with regard to the native capitani, the Prince suggested assigning the command to me. The artillery corps is made up of such fragments as might combine to form a second tower of Babel: there are German, English, American, Swiss, Swedish officers, all offering their services. There is no one else, the Prince said, who could unite such divergent loyalties. Besides, he does not want the nomination himself (which is considered no sinecure), and can think of nobody who will take it; and so the responsibility falls to me. I did not decline it, as I had just arrived and was tired in any case of hearing nothing but talk at Argostoli – of constitutions, and Sunday Schools and what not. All excellent things in their time and place, and here also, but not much use until we have the means, money, leisure and freedom to try the experiment.

  In practical terms, I agreed to give a hundred pounds towards the artillery corps; and Stanhope has won from me another subscription to support his press, on the subject of which he is incapable of keeping silent for more than an afternoon. Well, we spent the afternoon together, and I promised him fifty pounds. It appears he has found a Swiss doctor, a Mr Meyer, to run it; another Benthamite. The first issue is expected in a couple of weeks.

  At sundown the party broke up, as Lukas, who does not leave my side and was tired and hungry, began to chafe at his confinement; and it was determined that there was nothing to be decided today that could not be put off until the morning. We can in any case do nothing until the firemaster arrives, who has been sent by the Committee, and is expected daily with a supply of materials and men, for the manufacture of Congreve rockets and every other sort of incendiary fire. His name is Parry, and our future depends to a large extent on him and on the foresight of the Committee. He set out from England more than a month ago, on the Ann, but there have been unaccountable delays. The Prince has explained to me the state of our preparations: a few cannon, in very poor condition; almost no powder; a regiment of disunited foreigners, who speak no Greek and are (many of them) without the least experience of warfare, together with an equal rabble of native soldiers, who speak nothing else, and have no intention of fighting until they are paid.

  I retired at last to bed with a good deal of mail (as we were expected much sooner), including several letters from Teresa. She writes very prettily and properly. I mean that the script is legible and correct, though her spelling even in Italian is often out. But her situation improves. Her father, in spite of promises made, was stopped outside Ravenna and sent to Ferrara, where he lies imprisoned. This I knew before, but Teresa, who has had nowhere to turn, has found someone to turn to. Her old tutor (a very clever and liberal man, by the name of Paolo Costa, with whom I was briefly acquainted) has given her a room in his house, in Bologna, and it is from there she writes, not very happily but at least resignedly. But she never pretends to be happy when I am not with her, and in this respect, one place to her is as good as another, so long as she is not here.

  What a contradiction she is – or rather my love for her, for she is consistent enough (and not least towards me). But I have always maintained that I am the easiest of men to manage, and she ha
d the art of it: which is, to let me do exactly as I please in the few matters on which I have an opinion, and in all other affairs to decide everything for herself. There is no other way to account for how I have spent the last four years of my life, except to say, that they went smoothly; although there were passages (at the time) which seemed to me sufficiently rough. In her last letter, which was dated Christmas Eve, she could not resist complaining of my neglect, so that I made a final effort, and before snuffing my candle, wrote her a short note to be included in a package from her brother. For the first time I have something to tell her of which I am not ashamed, and which in a measure justifies my decision to leave her. ‘It appears we may be really about to fight,’ I began to write, when it struck me that this was not the news to relieve her anxiety, and that she cared after all very little for my justifications. So I contented myself with old assurances: that we are well, and that all here is well, and that I would write soon at greater length.

  *

  Lukas is no longer shy of me; that is, he begins to presume on my indulgence. The other morning I found him admiring a brace of pistols, which had been given me several years before by an American officer, on behalf of his ship and country, for which reason I had always valued them – as the respect of Americans means more to me, perhaps, than that of any other nation, since my rank counts for nothing with them, and they are not very practised dissemblers. What they admire, they admire honestly. Lukas told me he would like to have them ‘for himself. So I said, ‘This is what I suggest. We will go into the courtyard and set a bottle on the stable-wall. If you strike it at twenty paces with one of these pistols before I do (you may have the honour), I will give you the brace.’