Leading the Blind (26 page)

Locomotion is by horse. ‘One hour is, on average, equivalent to about 3 English miles; though in level parts of the country, and with good horses, the traveller may ride much faster', but ‘the usual rate of progress does not exceed from 20 to 25 miles a-day'.

Though hotels existed in Athens and other large places, charging about ten francs a day for full board, it was different in the countryside, where: ‘The keepers of coffee-houses and billiard-rooms (which are now very general) will always lodge a traveller, but he must expect no privacy here. He must live all day in public, and be content at night to have his mattress spread, with some twenty others belonging to the family or other guests, either on the floor or on a wooden divan which surrounds the room. When particular honour is to be shown to a guest, his bed is laid upon the billiard table: he never should decline this distinction, as he will thereby have a better chance of escape from vermin.'

The traveller can take some comfort on reading that: ‘The stranger is almost invariably received with much natural courtesy; and in the domestic arrangements, manners, and language of his hosts, he will find much to remind him of their forefathers. The description in Homer of the cottage of Eumaeus is not inapplicable to the hut of a Greek peasant of the existing generation; while the agricultural implements and usages of the present day are not far removed from those of the times of Hesiod.'

On the inhabitants, after a few words each about the Ghegs, Toskes, Liapes, and Tjames, we are told that the genuine Skipetar (or Albanian) is ‘generally of the middle stature, and of lighter complexion than the Greeks; very spare and muscular, and particularly slight around the waist. The lower classes are filthily dirty, often wearing the same coarse woollen skirt and kilt till they fall to pieces. The peasant women are generally handsome and well formed when young, but hard fare, exposure, and the field labour which they undergo, soon nip their beauty in its bud.'

As for the Greeks, they are ‘often called assassins, robbers, etc.', says one of Mr Murray's correspondents quoted in the book, ‘yet I knew the commander of the police well, when in a whole winter at Athens – the population being 20,000 – there was no case of
housebreaking
or murder. Indeed, my kitchen was cleared of its contents, being an outhouse, and a householder killed in a village; but the one, as most other pilferings, was the work of Bavarians, and the other the crime of a British subject – a Maltese. Greeks are generally called rogues, yet in commerce no Greek merchant of consequence has failed; and both an astute English merchant and a canny Scotch agent have often told me a bill, with three good Greek names to it, is security never known to fail.'

Murray tells us that the Greek character has suffered much from centuries of slavery: ‘All the vices which tyranny generates – the abject vices which it generates in those who quail under it – the ferocious vices which it generates in those who struggle against it – have occasionally been exhibited by Greeks in modern times. Despite their many faults we call to mind their misfortunes and the blood that is in them, and still love the Greeks. Their forefathers were the intellectual aristocracy of mankind.'

Should the British traveller wish to learn more of the country he might with advantage meet ‘Mr. Black, professor of English etc., and husband of Lord Byron's “Maid of Athens”, who gives lessons in Modern Greek and other languages, and may be applied to for general information with regard to the country where he has been established amidst all its vicissitudes for many years.'

There is no street plan of Athens in Murray, and the traveller may be forgiven for getting lost on his way to the Acropolis. ‘The minor streets are hardly deserving of the name, being merely narrow lanes displaying a marked contempt for all regularity.'

Forty-four lines of Milton and eighteen lines of Byron are given the traveller to read while pausing with wonder on the steps of the Acropolis. Perhaps it will not surprise him to note that, concerning the nature of democracy among the Ancient Greeks, ‘The chief authority for the population of ancient Attica is the census of Demetrius Phalerus, taken in B.C. 317. According to this census, there were 21,000 Athenian citizens, 10,000 resident aliens, and 400,000 slaves.'

The Acropolis suffered in repeated wars, during which the ten Doric columns of the Parthenon were ‘together with the whole of the central building and the adjoining columns of the peristyle, thrown down by the explosion of a magazine of gunpowder, ignited by the Venetian bombardment in 1687'.

According to Baedeker: ‘The Turks entrenched themselves on the Acropolis and concealed their store of powder in the Parthenon. The latter accordingly became the target of the Venetian artillerymen, and on Friday, Sept. 26th, [1687] at 7 p.m., a German lieutenant had the doubtful honour of firing the bomb which ignited the powder and blew the stately building into the air.'

Some distinguished travellers had a fine time archaeologically looting while in Greece, and the museums of Europe have much to thank them for, depending on your point of view, if not your nationality. With an eye, as it were, to the main chance, the Venetian commander, Morosini, ‘after the capture of the city' – back to Murray – ‘attempted to carry off some of the statues in the western pediment; but, owing to the unskilfulness of the Venetians, they were thrown down as they were being lowered, and were dashed in pieces'.

Then of course there is the issue of the Elgin Marbles, on which Murray says: ‘At the beginning of the present century, many of the finest sculptures of the Parthenon were removed to England.' More recent archeological investigations (1835) had revealed ‘fragments of columns of a sculptured frieze, exactly answering to four pieces in the British Museum brought over by Lord Elgin …' as if that might in some way make up for his depredations.

One of the caryatides found in an excavation at the Erechtheum in 1846 was ‘restored to its former place, and a new figure cast in cement was sent out from England in place of the sixth, which was, and is, in the British Museum'.

There was no making amends, for Baedeker in his second English edition says rather tartly: ‘In 1787, the French agent
Fauvel
managed to secure a few fragments of the Parthenon sculptures for the French ambassador. But to the British ambassador
Lord Elgin
belongs the discredit of instituting a systematic removal of the art-treasures of the Acropolis. In 1801 he procured a firman authorising him to remove “a few blocks of stone with inscriptions and figures”, and with the aid of several hundred labourers, he removed the greater part of the metopes, the pediments, and the frieze. The priceless sculptures, and their conveyance to England cost about £36,000. In 1816, after various abortive negotiations, during which the value of the sculptures had been set in a proper light, they were purchased by the British Government; and they now, under the name of the “Elgin Marbles”, form the most valuable possession of the British Museum.'

So much for that, but the Germans were no babes at the game, either. Schliemann looted Troy, where excavations were carried on, says Murray, showing commendable understatement, ‘with such success'. Most of the treasures went to Athens, where Schliemann had married a Greek lady, some of the treasures going around her neck.

The Prussians were busy excavating at Pergamon, also in modern Turkey, from 1879 and, according to Hachette's
Eastern Mediterranean
, ‘The principal sculptures were removed to Berlin.' I saw them there in 1970, and very impressive they were, for whole buildings had been taken from their rightful home.

Baedeker tells us in 1894 that a journey to Greece ‘no longer ranks with those exceptional favours of fortune which fall to the lot of but few individuals. Athens, thanks to modern railways and steamers, has been brought within four days of London.'

Even so, conditions had changed little since Murray's handbooks was written forty years previously, because at places in the interior: ‘The inns are usually miserable cottages, with a kitchen and one large common sleeping-room; nowadays some of them also possess a few separate rooms, which are, however, destitute of furniture, glass windows, and fire-places. The traveller must bring his own coverings with him, as the rags presented to him for bedclothes are almost always full of vermin.' The point is made that the civilized traveller will find so much dirt and vermin ‘that their deep enthusiasm for treading classic soil and their deep admiration for Greek scenery become seriously impaired'.

Hospitality from the locals had its drawbacks in that ‘consideration for the feelings of his host limits the traveller in various ways, and this is increased by the fact that the modern Greek has generally very little idea of the value of time. The only return the stranger can make for his reception is a gratuity to the servants. In small houses, however, where the traveller has been received without the formality of introduction, the sum of 4–5 dr. is expected for the night's lodging, while, on the other hand, the visitor may take his ease almost as freely as at an inn.'

Should the traveller prefer to avoid such complications and cruise among the islands: ‘The small coasting steamers are usually very poorly appointed, and the cabins often swarm with vermin. The want of order on almost all the Greek steamers is particularly disagreeable. In spite of the nominal prohibition, the steerage passengers, who are often more picturesque at a distance than agreeable at close quarters, occasionally invade the after-deck, and the notice forbidding smoking in the saloon is sometimes more honoured in the breach than in the observance.'

Baedeker goes on to say that those who do not know modern Greek ‘should not attempt to travel in the interior without a guide', then gives a facsimile of the necessary contract for engaging one: ‘In concluding the agreement, which is best done in a café over a cup of coffee, the traveller should preserve an air of indifference and should avoid all indications of hurry.'

Taking walks of more than a day or two is practically impossible ‘owing to the climate, the difficulty of obtaining food and shelter, and the badness of the roads. Travellers should never quit the main roads without a guide, partly on account of the savage dogs.' As a protection against this menace the traveller to remote parts is recommended to carry a stout cane or long riding whip, which will sometimes be found useful in repelling them, ‘though stone-throwing is perhaps still more effective'.

Public safety is said to be ‘all that can be desired. Since the bold acts of brigandage in 1870 (an Italian and three English gentlemen were shot by the bandits) the Greek government has exerted itself strenuously to extirpate this national evil; and only a few isolated cases have occurred near the Turkish frontier.'

Baedeker's
Lower Egypt
, 1885, informs us that since the publications of the French scholars attached to Napoleon's Expedition, Egypt has ‘attracted the ever-increasing attention of the scientific; its historical and archeological marvels have been gradually unveiled to the world; it is the most ancient, and was yet at one time the most civilised country of antiquity; and it therefore cannot fail to awaken the profoundest interest in all students of the history and development of human culture.'

Murray's handbook of 1858 was written by Sir I. Gardner Wilkinson, who puts the cost of travelling via Marseilles and then to Alexandria by steamer at twenty-seven pounds. Rather than take the French boat, the English vessel is considered ‘far preferable on the score of living, civility, cleanliness, a greater certainty of arriving at the promised time, and the smaller number of extra charges. Complaints are also made of the great confusion on arriving at Alexandria from the admission of so many natives, touters from the hotels and others, on board the French boats.'

Items useful for a journey to Egypt are said to include: ‘Iron bedstead to fold up; pipes, Wire for cleaning pipes, put into a reed; Mouth-pieces and pipe-bowls; Washing-tub; Flags, for boat on Nile; Small pulley and rope for flag; Fireplaces. In the boat going up the Nile have a set put together in a large fireplace with a wooden back; Gun, pistols; Powder and shot; For observations, a sextant and artificial horizon; An iron rat-trap for the boat.'

Notes on health tell us that: ‘Bathing in the Nile is by no means prejudicial in the morning and evening; and, except in the neighbourhood of sandbanks, there is no fear of crocodiles. It is unnecessary to say much respecting the plague, which seldom now visits Egypt; and if it should appear, any one may escape it by leaving the country on the first alarm.'

Most guidebooks go into the practicality of Europeans donning oriental dress, Murray telling us that is by no means necessary, and indeed that anyone wearing it ‘who is ignorant of the language, becomes ridiculous … a person is never respected who is badly dressed, of whatever kind the costume may be, and nowhere is exterior appearance so much thought of as in the East.'

When the ship reaches the vicinity of Alexandria it is not easy to get into port, Murray says, due ‘to the complicated channels which are beset with shoals and reefs. But on making the coast late in the evening, the steamer lays to till daylight, and early in the morning the pilot comes off; for no captain thinks of entering the harbour without him; the buoys laid down by the English in 1801, to mark the passage, having been removed as soon as they left the country.'

The stranger is told that if he escapes the rapacity of the boatmen who, like everyone at Alexandria, are
never satisfied
, however well paid, ‘he is immediately pressed on all sides by the most importunate of human beings, in the shape of donkey-drivers. Their active little animals may be called the cabs of Egypt; and each driver, with vehement vociferations and gesticulations, recommending his own, in broken English or bad Italian, strives to take possession of the unfortunate traveller, and almost forces him to mount.'