A Journey to Crete, Costantinople, Naples and Florence: Three Months Abroad

In Short

This travelogue documents a three-month voyage undertaken in 1865 by an English mother leaving her young children behind for the first time. Moving from the rugged, "enchanted" island of Crete to the sprawling, complex streets of Constantinople and finally to the grand celebrations in Florence, the author records her impressions of landscapes, people, and shifting political tides. The book serves as both an intimate diary and a historical snapshot, preserving the perspective of a woman navigating a world of ancient traditions, colonial oversight, and nascent national identities with warmth and keen curiosity.

The Story

The narrative begins in March 1865, as the author leaves her home in Lower Norwood to embark on a "grand wedding tour"—a belated trip intended to replace the abbreviated one she took a decade prior. Accompanied by her husband, she travels via steamship, initially apprehensive about the "Boretta" winds of the Adriatic and the prospect of traveling among strangers. Her fears dissipate as she encounters a diverse group of pilgrims and travelers on the Neptune. She describes these encounters with characteristic openness, noting the cultural divide between the devout and the "profane" passengers.

Upon reaching Crete, the author is struck by the island’s natural beauty, which she describes as an earthly Eden. She explores the landscape with a sense of wonder, moving between picturesque villages and the remnants of past destruction. Central to her experience in Crete is the acquaintance of Mdlle. Elizabeth Konta Xaki, a local woman whose intellect and influence in both Greek and Turkish circles deeply impress the author. Through Elizabeth, the traveler gains a unique vantage point on the island’s social hierarchy and the complexities of Ottoman rule.

The journey continues to Constantinople, a city that offers sensory overload but ultimately leaves the author disillusioned regarding the treatment of women. She expresses moral distress over the isolation of Turkish women in harems, contrasting their restricted lives with her own freedom as an Englishwoman. Despite the grandeur of the mosques and the historical significance of the sites, she finds the stifling social atmosphere of the city difficult to reconcile with its natural splendor. Her stay is brief, punctuated by a trip to Brussa, before she moves on toward Italy.

The final leg of the journey focuses on Florence during the Dante Festival. The tone shifts from the observational distance of the East to the patriotic fervor of a unifying Italy. She describes the elaborate processions, the presence of figures like Mdme. Ristori, and the festive transformation of the Uffizi galleries into a public ballroom. The visit to Florence serves as a contemplative close to her travels, allowing her to reflect on the nature of history and the fleetingness of human glory. The narrative concludes with her return to England, where the exhaustion of travel is instantly replaced by the overwhelming relief of reuniting with her children. Her journey ends not in a foreign port, but in the quiet, grateful restoration of domestic life, which she views through the lens of a traveler who has seen the world but cherishes the sanctuary of home.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins Leaving her children in London, the author sets out for Crete with her husband, quickly overcoming her initial dread of sea-sickness. She finds herself in a crowded company of pilgrims and strangers on the steamer Neptune, setting a social tone for the adventures ahead.

The enchanted island In Crete, the author is captivated by the lush gardens and rugged, desolate villages that tell stories of past conflicts. She forms a lasting connection with the intellectually formidable Mdlle. Elizabeth, whose life in the East provides a window into the local political landscape.

Constantinople and its constraints The journey through the Ottoman capital is characterized by a blend of architectural awe and social unease. While she admires the historical mosques, her narrative is dominated by her critique of the enforced idleness and seclusion of Turkish women.

Italy and the Dante festival The author arrives in Florence as the city celebrates its cultural heritage during a massive, exuberant festival. She describes the transformation of the Uffizi into a ballroom and the sense of national pride, offering a sharp contrast to the more somber notes of her Eastern travels.

The journey home With her heart already fixed on her children, the author experiences the final leg of the trip as a tedious necessity. She returns to London, finding that the grand scale of her travels highlights the profound, singular value of her domestic life.

The People

The author serves as the observant, sensitive anchor of the narrative, constantly measuring foreign customs against the yardstick of her own English upbringing. Her husband acts as a supportive companion who shares her interests but occasionally provides a more pragmatic, sometimes skeptical, counterpoint—such as his desire to see church treasures converted into schools.

Mdlle. Elizabeth Konta Xaki stands out as the book’s most compelling secondary figure. A polyglot and a woman of immense influence, she bridge the gap between the Turkish Pasha and the Greek mountain rebels. Her autonomy and intellectual rigor defy the author’s expectations for women in the region. Meanwhile, the unnamed Turkish women encountered in Constantinople serve as a collective foil to the author’s own values; their restricted, cloistered lives evoke a genuine, heartfelt pity from the narrator, highlighting the author’s firm belief in individual liberty and public participation. The diverse, often loud, and colorful pilgrims on the steamer provide a shifting, energetic backdrop that allows the author to categorize and interact with the "motley crowd" she encounters.

In Its Own Voice

"Oh! thought I, that I might be allowed to dream my life away here, that that gate would shut out for ever the noisy bustling world."

The author finds such profound peace in a Cretan garden that she momentarily desires to abandon her life in England.

"Alas! I thought if this is 'the Pearl of the East,' I have no wish to see the beads."

The author expresses her honest, if perhaps unrefined, preference for English cleanliness over the rustic conditions she encounters in Smyrna.

"Supreme of gifts which God, creating, gave of his free bounty, sign most evident of goodness, and in his account most prized, was liberty of will."

The author quotes Dante to emphasize her central concern regarding human freedom and the tragedy of those denied it.

What It's Really About

The text grapples with the tension between the romantic allure of distant lands and the comfort of moral and social familiarity. While the author is a willing aesthetic traveler—finding beauty in gardens and history in architecture—she is also an ideological one. She consistently weighs the "otherness" of the Mediterranean against the values of Victorian England, particularly regarding gender roles, hygiene, and religious institutions. A recurring theme is the instability of greatness; she uses her visit to Pompeii to meditate on the "glory of the world" passing away, a sentiment she connects to the political upheaval of the Ottoman Empire and the nascent stirrings of a new, unified Italy.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the cadence of Victorian prose and the genre of the "grand tour" will find this a rewarding, unhurried read. The book captures a specific, fleeting moment in the mid-nineteenth century, just before the rapid modernization of the East and the formalization of global tourism. You will enjoy the author’s refreshing lack of pretense; she is as likely to complain about the lack of blotting paper in a shop as she is to offer a deep, literary reflection on Dante.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes. Her perspective is firmly rooted in the worldview of a nineteenth-century Englishwoman, and she does not hesitate to judge local customs—particularly in Constantinople—that offend her sensibilities. She is not a detached anthropologist, but a person navigating foreignness through the biases of her time. The pacing is deliberate, moving from the high excitement of the journey to the mundane reality of the return. Ultimately, the book stays with you not for its political insights, but for its rare portrait of a mother who, while away, constantly measures the wonders of the world against the small, intimate joys of the home she left behind.