Travels and Discoveries in the Levant/Volume 1/Letter XX
XX.
Three large Turkish steam frigates passed down a few days ago for troops from Beirout. This portends mischief: I hope it is not the forerunner of a revolution in Constantinople. As I write, the thunder of Zeus Atabyrios is rolling over my head; it is just 400 years since the last of the Palæologi fell, nobly fighting for the remnant of an empire in the breach at Constantinople; we have had a comet with a long tail all the summer, and my superstitious mind is picturing to itself a great massacre of the Christians, or some such catastrophe, at Constantinople. We are entering on a strange crisis now. Though our little island is as tranquil and as radiant in the autumn sun as ever, we begin to be infected with the general war mania. In the harbour are three Ottoman ships of war, which I suppose are intended to take care of us in time of need. The Turkish authorities here have been for some time past in a fussy, restless state of mind which betokens vague alarms. Their efforts to put the place in an efficient state of defence are rather amusing. They are destroying the rich brown tone of the fortifications with whitewash, and patching with plaster the time-hallowed breaches made by the stone balls of Mahomed II. and Solyman the Magnificent, with the vague hope that this white- wash will scare away the Russians. Every day a miserable handful of sailors and marines are landed from the Turkish brig-of-war stationed here, and go through an elementary drill, by which it is hoped in time to teach them how to use their cutlasses. These unpleasant preparations do not appear to disturb much the mind of the Greek population. The Rhodian peasant continues to dance at his paneggris to the old monotonous tune of his λύρα; he inquires now and then about the chance of war, but with no very distinct idea of what it is all about, and with no apparent wish to change masters. In the part of Turkey which I have had the opportunity of judging of from personal residence, that is to say the Archipelago, the Greek peasantry do not appear discontented with the present state of affairs. Their physical and moral condition has certainly much improved under the guarantee of the Tanzimat, especially in places where its action can be enforced by consuls, and where constant communication by steam with Constantinople and Europe brings the force of public opinion to bear upon the local abuses of places, such as Rhodes and Mytilene, which formerly were governed by petty tyrants, against whom no village Hampden could appeal.
In an excursion in the villages the other day, I heard a sermon almost worthy of old Latimer, from my friend Nikandros, the Greek priest, whom I described in my account of the visit to Archangelo. He preached on the day of the feast, and rebuked his audience for too much revelling. He said, "You come to these feasts, you eat, drink, dance, and what not besides, and then in the morning you come into the church, and think, by the offering of one little candle, to make your peace with God. Do you think God cares for your candles?" Then he began to talk about death and another world, till, by his energetic language, he had created a visible sensation among his audience, and moved some of them to tears. Then he paused, and rubbed his hands with that inward feeling of satisfaction which all extempore orators experience when they begin to perceive that the discourse tells. Then he turned off to the subject of politics, and told them that these were times in which every one must look after his own personal safety, and that of those belonging to him, like a man (the Rhodiotes are noted cowards); and for the women, he said, let them not wear any gold or silver ornaments about their persons, lest they should excite the cupidity of robbers. When the discourse was over, I asked my knowing muleteer, Panga, whether all the Greek priests in the villages preached as good sermons as that. "No," he said, "there is but one Nikandros among priests, as there is but one Panga among muleteers."
It is not, however, with impunity that Nikandros indulges in such freedom of speech; he is detested by his less learned and zealous brethren, who intrigue against him at Rhodes. The other day I invited him to dinner. My Greek cook, Hadgi, who is a model of devout hypocrisy, was so shocked at my entertaining such a Lutheran, that I had some difficulty in persuading him to give us any dinner.
I have already remarked that the Greek priests in Rhodes have little personal influence. The Roman Catholics here attribute this want of influence to the lax manner in which confession is conducted in the Greek Church. In illustration of this view, an amusing anecdote was told me of a former Pasha of Rhodes, who, like Haroun al Raschid, was in the habit of going among his subjects in disguise. One day, attired as a Frank, he presented himself before a Catholic priest and confessed that he had slain a Turk. "My son," said the priest, "the Turk is an infidel, but you have not the less sinned in the eyes of God." He then dismissed him, ordering a severe penance. The Pasha, then taking a different disguise, confessed the same crime to a Greek priest, who immediately gave him absolution, thanking God at the same time that there was one Mussulman less in the world. The next day, the Pasha, taking his place on his judgment seat, summoned the two priests before him, and when he had made known the deceit he had practised on them, proceeded there and then to hang the unfortunate Greek priest. It is hardly necessary to add, that this Pasha lived in the good old times before the Tanzimat.