I refused to do so, and for a trifle I
got them to put me on shore, without asking where I was, in order not to
raise their suspicions. It was enough for me to know that I was at a
distance of twenty miles from Corfu, and in a place where nobody could
imagine me to be. The moon was shining, and I saw a church with a house
adjoining, a long barn opened on both sides, a plain of about one hundred
yards confined by hills, and nothing more. I found some straw in the
barn, and laying myself down, I slept until day-break in spite of the
cold. It was the 1st of December, and although the climate is very mild
in Corfu I felt benumbed when I awoke, as I had no cloak over my thin
uniform.

The bells begin to toll, and I proceed towards the church. The
long-bearded papa, surprised at my sudden apparition, enquires whether I
am Romeo (a Greek); I tell him that I am Fragico (Italian), but he turns
his back upon me and goes into his house, the door of which he shuts
without condescending to listen to me.

I then turned towards the sea, and saw a boat leaving a tartan lying at
anchor within one hundred yards of the island; the boat had four oars and
landed her passengers. I come up to them and meet a good-looking Greek, a
woman and a young boy ten or twelve years old. Addressing myself to the
Greek, I ask him whether he has had a pleasant passage, and where he
comes from. He answers in Italian that he has sailed from Cephalonia with
his wife and his son, and that he is bound for Venice; he had landed to
hear mass at the Church of Our Lady of Casopo, in order to ascertain
whether his father-in-law was still alive, and whether he would pay the
amount he had promised him for the dowry of his wife.

"But how can you find it out?"

"The Papa Deldimopulo will tell me; he will communicate faithfully the
oracle of the Holy Virgin." I say nothing and follow him into the church;
he speaks to the priest, and gives him some money. The papa says the
mass, enters the sanctum sanctorum, comes out again in a quarter of an
hour, ascends the steps of the altar, turns towards his audience, and,
after meditating for a minute and stroking his long beard, he delivers
his oracle in a dozen words. The Greek of Cephalonia, who certainly could
not boast of being as wise as Ulysses, appears very well pleased, and
gives more money to the impostor. We leave the church, and I ask him
whether he feels satisfied with the oracle.

"Oh! quite satisfied. I know no