There was a Greek at Limasol who hoisted his flag as an English
vice-consul, and he insisted upon
My accepting his hospitality.
With some difficulty, and chiefly by assuring him that I could not
delay my departure beyond an early hour in the afternoon, I induced
him to allow my dining with his family instead of banqueting all
alone with the representative of my sovereign in consular state and
dignity. The lady of the house, it seemed, had never sat at table
with an European. She was very shy about the matter, and tried
hard to get out of the scrape, but the husband, I fancy, reminded
her that she was theoretically an Englishwoman, by virtue of the
flag that waved over her roof, and that she was bound to show her
nationality by sitting at meat with me. Finding herself inexorably
condemned to bear with the dreaded gaze of European eyes, she tried
to save her innocent children from the hard fate awaiting herself,
but I obtained that all of them (and I think there were four or
five) should sit at the table. You will meet with abundance of
stately receptions and of generous hospitality, too, in the East,
but rarely, very rarely in those regions (or even, so far as I
know, in any part of southern Europe) does one gain an opportunity
of seeing the familiar and indoor life of the people.
This family party of the good consul's (or rather of mine, for I
originated the idea, though he furnished the materials) went off
very well.
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