It may perhaps be expected that I should say something respecting the literary society of Ioannina: but to confess the truth, I saw very little to describe; and if this city is called by some writers the Athens of modern Greece, I must own the term seems to me no bad specimen of the figure of speech called amplification.
The style of conversation amongst a people is generally found to be a good criterion of their literature; and as I have before observed, that of Ioannina, though superior to what is met with in the rest of Greece, is not much distinguished for brilliancy and flow of soul. We certainly met with many persons who have improved their manners by an inspection of foreign countries, as well as their faculties by the acquisition of modern languages and some few other accomplishments, but we neither saw nor heard of any that were noted for attainments beyond mediocrity: we found some who had gained a smattering of philosophy, falsely so called, and who had paid very dear for it by acquiring a skepticism on more serious (matters) subjects. Upon the whole therefore, the chief interest in the society of Ioannina is derived from novelty, and when this wears off, nothing succeeds to relieve its monotony, agitate the stagnant ideas, and occupy the faculties of a reflective being; no musical or theatrical exhibitions, no exhibitions of the fine arts, no political discussion, no courts of law, not even a new book or a pamphlet; for neither a printing press nor a bookseller’s shop is to be found in this capital.
Books however may sometimes be procured at the shops of different trades: for instance, I myself purchased a Romaic translation of the Persian Tales at the window of a tobacconist.
