TROADITISSA.
The stumbling of my horse roused me from the foregoing reflections, on
the history of the famous mountain beneath the shadow of which we now
rode. Our path lay over steep and rugged rocks, and after a long course
of scrambling, my horse at last refused to stir from the spot on which
he stood. We dismounted in hopes of discovering his cause of alarm, and
found ourselves on the very brink of a yawning precipice. By a vigorous
effort we again found our path, and after some hard climbing, descended
into a valley through which ran a small stream.
In the distance I observed lights, and felt convinced they must proceed
from the monastery we were in search of. As we approached they turned
out to be bonfires, lit to celebrate the Easter fête, and that the
supposed cloister was only a small village. We plunged our horses
into the midst of the rushing stream in order to gain the opposite
bank, but found it far too high. We now rode up and down the bed of
the stream shouting for assistance till we were hoarse, but all was
useless. Almost in hopeless despair, Hussein made one more vigorous
effort to rouse the indolent inhabitants, and shouted at the top of his
voice for some one to come with torches and show us our way.
No one answered, and we sought in vain for some means of reaching the
bank. At last, as a final effort, Hussein gathered himself together
and once more exerted his powerful voice. This time the shout was a
menace. In the name of the pacha, he commanded the villagers to appear
and conduct a noble stranger to the cloister of Troaditissa, under the
penalty of having their houses pulled about their ears should they
refuse to comply. This had the desired effect; two men immediately
appeared bearing torches and led us on our way. From them we learnt
that a foreign gentleman who spoke good Greek, had called at the
village about two hours previously with his servant, and had requested
to have a guide to the cloister; this could have been no other than my
courageous dragoman, and I pictured to myself his anguish when he found
himself lost and belated.
When our guides heard I had ascended to the summit of Olympus they
assured me I might consider myself lucky to have escaped any attack
from the demons and kobolds who haunted the spot. Had I not heard, they
inquired, that the temple of Aphroditissa had been removed lower down
because of the machinations of these evil ones?
The village of Fini, which we now left, lay about 1000 feet below the
monastery, and was separated therefrom by a steep and rocky road. My
whole frame was exhausted, and had I had any idea of the distance we
must still traverse before reaching our destination, I should certainly
have insisted on remaining for the night in any one of the village
huts, however squalid it might be. As it was, I was in the hands of
my energetic zaptieh, who hurried on our guides with all possible
speed. For myself I was quite past everything, except clinging on to my
horse, to keep myself from falling, letting him stumble on by himself,
guided only by his instinct through the pitchy darkness of the night.
I thanked Heaven loudly when about eleven o’clock we reached the gate
of the cloister. An Easter bonfire was also burning here, formed of two
huge trees, which as they slowly burnt were pushed further into the
flames in order that the fire might not die out before sunrise.
I was at once conducted to my apartments, which, though the best in the
house, bore a most disgusting resemblance to a stable; and had scarcely
set my foot upon the floor, when my dragoman’s head appeared out of his
bedclothes, and he commenced a woeful tale of sufferings and alarms.
He was starving with hunger, and the monks had only given him a piece
of wretched bread that he could scarcely put his teeth into! For my
supper, the worthy brethren brought me an earthen pot of the dirtiest,
containing some cold turnips and a small piece of salt beef. Hungry as
I was I could not have touched them. Luckily for us the superior of the
cloisters appeared and ordered some wine and eggs to be brought. The
wine, which was excellent, revived us, and loosened the tongues of the
two monks who bore us company, and we chatted gaily far into the night.
This capital wine (Mavro) is of a very deep red colour, and is made in
the neighbouring village of Fini. Its effect upon my exhausted frame
was marvellous. I have often found during my journey in Cyprus that
a glass of Commanderia was the finest remedy for over fatigue, and I
quite understood the popular idea of its being by far the best medicine
in many cases of illness.
Early next morning I was roused by the bells, which were hung almost
directly over my head. Mass was being celebrated in the little church;
this was far too small for its village congregation, and the men were
standing outside with lights in their hands, whilst the women kept
farther in the background. When the celebration was over, the women and
girls seated themselves upon the trunks of some trees, and began eating
the food they had brought with them, whilst the men mounted to a rough
balcony in front of the cloister, and sat down upon some benches. The
two monks now appeared with baskets and earthen vessels, and after the
men had kissed their hands, presented each with a linen cloth to spread
over his knees, and then gave a plentiful supply of bread, cheese, and
wine. This repast was followed by a cup of coffee.
Amongst the women I noticed many with truly classic features, but in
most cases they had heavy figures. Two girls, however, were perfect
types of statuesque beauty, and would have made a sculptor’s heart leap
with joy.
Whilst I was enjoying this scene a third old monk appeared who was
suffering terribly from a wound in his leg, which had not been properly
attended. I showed the poor old soul how to make some lint, and lay it
on the sore, thickly overspread with tallow from the fat of a goat.
This act of charity performed, I followed the good brothers into the
chapel. Like most cloister churches in Cyprus, it appeared to date from
very ancient times, and was probably built when Christianity first
reached the island. Near this little edifice stood two rough buildings,
containing a few rude chambers which, with the chapel, formed the
whole of the monastery. Should anyone wish to pass a week in this spot
he must accustom himself to the pangs of hunger, as the worthy monks
practise the abstinence on fast days, which they require of their flock.
This cloister can boast one most curious and valuable relic, namely,
a picture of the Madonna worked in silver and gold, with the heads of
mother and child painted on ivory. This curiosity is five and a half
feet long, by three and a half feet wide. When I raised the veil that
(as is usual in the island) hung over the face of the Mother of God,
I observed two large silver plates, bearing the device of the Russian
double eagle, and the date 1799, from which it would appear that this
fine work had been the gift of imperial piety. This was no doubt an act
of wisdom, as the whole surrounding country still seems pervaded by
a host of superstitions dating from heathen times. This monastery is
the constant resort of pilgrims on account of the healing powers with
which this picture is supposed to be endowed, and the poor brotherhood
are often hard pressed to find food for themselves and their numerous
visitors.
When we were leaving, the old monk again appeared; his leg was much
better, and he fell upon my neck and embraced and thanked me with much
gratitude. Our road lay through the scene of our last night’s troubles,
and I trembled as I saw the pitfalls we had passed in the pitchy
darkness, and yet escaped with our lives.
I was now desirous of riding through the country to the monastery of
Chrysorogiatissa, which I understood to be about seven or eight leagues
distant; we found, however, that it took us an entire day to reach the
spot.
Shortly after leaving the village of Fini we entered a magnificent
valley, enclosed by reddish brown mountains, with trees scattered here
and there upon the declivities. These reminded me of the trees upon the
open prairies of America, which are only met with at about every 200
or 300 feet. On the prairies, however, the trees when they do appear,
form pleasing objects in the landscape, whilst the stunted growth upon
the Cyprian mountains only gives an impression of barrenness and
decay. We saw a few firs at an elevation of 4000 feet, and in some of
the upper peaks a few pines are still to be met with. A very different
scene presented itself in the valley beneath us. From every stone
and rock hung long grass and clumps of flowers, and in some places,
these were entirely covered with brilliant mosses and a variety of
creeping plants. Bushes of sage, marjoram, cistus, arbutus, laurel,
and myrtle covered the ground, whilst oaks, juniper, and mastic trees
spread their roots in all directions near the rippling waters of the
stream that irrigated this beautiful valley. The soft foliage of the
tamarisk contrasted finely with the dark branches of the pines and the
silver-grey of the wild olive.
On the trees and bushes were perched a host of feathered songsters, and
every cleft and fissure in the low-lying rocks streamed and rippled
with sparkling water. Every here and there we came upon a spot where
the moist swampy earth was covered with peonies, tulips, and a variety
of bulbous plants, whilst every decaying tree stump showed a luxuriant
crop of orchids and rare creepers. The whole air was so charged with
heavy perfume from these multitudinous flowers, that I breathed more
freely when we reached a slight eminence and were met by a refreshing
breeze, which bore with it the delicious odour of some neighbouring
fig-trees.
In passing through one of these valleys we found the sun intolerable.
It actually seemed as if the heat were rising from the ground and would
scorch our legs. I have, however, never felt in Cyprus, except on this
occasion, that overpowering sultriness which is so often experienced
in Sicily; still, it of course must be thoroughly understood that I
travelled through the island in the freshness of early spring.
Let no one imagine that our path through these picturesque valleys was
without its difficulties and annoyances. Over and over again we lost
our way, and at last we were compelled to plunge into the bed of the
stream and let our horses swim and struggle as best they could over the
loose stones that beset them at every step. When we again landed our
way lay along the edge of a steep declivity and over walls of rock,
without a trace of roadway or anything to indicate the course we ought
to take. A tedious ride at length usually brought us to a deep gully,
beyond which lay another luxuriant and laughing valley. In this manner
we journeyed all day, following the course of the stream and the goat
paths, whenever it was possible, and stumbling on as best we might when
these were not available.
At noon we stopped to rest upon a hill above the murmuring waters of
the mountain stream, and for the first time that day heard the distant
sound of sheep-bells. Gradually the tinkling became more distinct, and
in a short time two shepherds with guns on their shoulders appeared
upon the scene. They were fine fellows, and gave me many interesting
particulars of their life on the mountains, whilst gratefully sharing
the meal we were enjoying. They belonged to a nomad race, wandering
during the greatest part of the year about these mountains with their
flocks, and sleeping in little huts roughly made of branches for the
occasion. On my asking if many shepherds lived this life they laughed,
and assured me that not only men and boys, but women and girls passed
whole months in this manner among the mountains, the women carrying
a light spindle about with them, and plying their wool spinning, a
work they much prefer to labouring with the hoe and sickle in the
fields. Exactly such a life as this I have often witnessed in the Greek
islands of Samothrace and Thasos, and exactly such features, build, and
dress as these men exhibited. Like their Grecian brothers our Cyprian
friends, imitated the shriek of the vultures and the calls of a great
many birds, in the most perfect manner. I inquired of these shepherds,
if they could give me any particulars concerning the mufflons, a
species of wild goat, but could only learn that it was but very rarely
met with. From what I could gather, I imagine that it is nearly
extinct.