A
boy woke up the mother of a family of young turkeys and pushed her
towards the dinner with his foot. She hurried there involuntarily and
sat down for a nap with her back to the plate, the picture of outraged
dignity.
We got into conversation with a priest, who insisted we should call upon
the archbishop. The Metropolitan was a cheery soul, wearing a
Montenegrin pork-pie hat very much on one side, and black riding
breeches which showed as his long robes fluttered during his many
gesticulations.
While with him we lost the impression that we were living in the unreal
times of the Rose and the Ring. He was intensely civilized, spoke French
excellently, and had many a good story of his life in Constantinople and
other places. For the English he had great affection. The last
Englishman in Ipek, a king's messenger, had flown to the monastery to
escape from the Hotel Europe and its bugs. The next morning he would not
get up. The archbishop went to his room to remonstrate.
"No, no," said he; "I spent two nights under a ceiling which rained bugs
upon me, and I know a good bed when I've got it.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186