Ruins of Athens.--Hill of Mars.--Temple of the Winds.--Lantern of
Demosthenes.--Arch of Adrian.--Temple of Jupiter Olympus.--Temple
of Theseus.--The Acropolis.--The Parthenon.--Pentelican
Mountain.--Mount Hymettus.--The Piraeus.--Greek Fleas.--Napoli.
THE next morning I began my survey of the ruins of Athens. It was my
intention to avoid any description of these localities and monuments,
because so many have preceded me, stored with all necessary knowledge,
ripe in taste and sound in judgment, who have devoted to them all the
time and research they so richly merit; but as, in our community,
through the hurry and multiplicity of business occupations, few are able
to bestow upon these things much time or attention, and, farthermore, as
the books which treat of them are not accessible to all, I should be
doing injustice to my readers if I were to omit them altogether.
Besides, I should be doing violence to my own feelings, and cannot get
fairly started in Athens, without recurring to scenes which I regarded
at the time with extraordinary interest. I have since visited most of
the principal cities in Europe, existing as well as ruined and I hardly
know any to which I recur with more satisfaction than Athens. If the
reader tire in the brief reference I shall make, he must not impute it
to any want of interest in the subject; and as I am not in the habit of
going into heroics, he will believe me when I say that, if he have any
reverence for the men or things consecrated by the respect and
admiration of ages, he will find it called out at Athens. In the hope
that I may be the means of inducing some of my countrymen to visit that
famous city, I will add another inducement by saying that he may have,
as I had, Mr. Hill for a cicerone. This gentleman is familiar with every
locality and monument around or in the city, and, which I afterward
found to be an unusual thing with those living in places consecrated in
the minds of strangers, he retains for them all that freshness of
feeling which we possess who only know them from books and pictures.
By an arrangement made the evening before, early in the morning of my
second day in Athens Mr. Hill was at the door of my hotel to attend us.
As we descended the steps a Greek stopped him, and, bowing with his hand
on his heart, addressed him in a tone of earnestness which we could not
understand; but we were struck with the sonorous tones of his voice and
the musical cadence of his sentences; and when he had finished, Mr. Hill
told us that he had spoken in a strain which, in the original, was
poetry itself, beginning, "Americanos, I am a Stagyrite. I come from the
land of Aristotle, the disciple of Plato," &c., &c.; telling him the
whole story of his journey from the ancient Stagyra and his arrival in
Athens; and that, having understood that Mr. Hill was distributing books
among his countrymen, he begged for one to take home with him. Mr. Hill
said that this was an instance of every-day occurrence, showing the
spirit of inquiry and thirst for knowledge among the modern Greeks. This
little scene with a countryman of Aristotle was a fit prelude to our
morning ramble.
The house occupied by the American missionary as a school stands on the
site of the ancient Agora or market-place, where St. Paul "disputed
daily with the Athenians." A few columns still remain; and near them is
an inscription mentioning the price of oil. The schoolhouse is built
partly from the ruins of the Agora; and to us it was an interesting
circumstance, that a missionary from a newly-discovered world was
teaching to the modern Greeks the same saving religion which, eighteen
hundred years ago, St. Paul, on the same spot, preached to their
ancestors.
Winding around the foot of the Acropolis, within the ancient and outside
the modern wall, we came to the Areopagus or Hill of Mars, where, in the
early days of Athens, her judges sat in the open air; and, for many
ages, decided with such wisdom and impartiality, that to this day the
decisions of the court of Areopagites are regarded as models of judicial
purity. We ascended this celebrated hill, and stood on the precise spot
where St. Paul, pointing to the temples which rose from every section of
the city and towered proudly on the Acropolis, made his celebrated
address: "Ye men of Athens, I see that in all things ye are too
superstitious." The ruins of the very temples to which he pointed were
before our eyes.
Descending, and rising toward the summit of another hill, we came to the
Pnyx, where Demosthenes, in the most stirring words that ever fell from
human lips, roused his countrymen against the Macedonian invader. Above,
on the very summit of the hill, is the old Pnyx, commanding a view of
the sea of Salamis, and of the hill where Xerxes sat to behold the great
naval battle. During the reign of the thirty tyrants the Pnyx was
removed beneath the brow of the hill, excluding the view of the sea,
that the orator might not inflame the passions of the people by
directing their eyes to Salamis, the scene of their naval glory. But,
without this, the orator had material enough; for, when he stood on the
platform facing the audience, he had before him the city which the
Athenians loved and the temples in which they worshipped, and I could
well imagine the irresistible force of an appeal to these objects of
their enthusiastic devotion, their firesides and altars. The place is
admirably adapted for public speaking. The side of the hill has been
worked into a gently inclined plane, semicircular in form, and supported
in some places by a wall of immense stones. This plain is bounded above
by the brow of the hill, cut down perpendicularly. In the centre the
rock projects into a platform about eight or ten feet square, which
forms the Pnyx or pulpit for the orator. The ascent is by three steps
cut out of the rock, and in front is a place for the scribe or clerk. We
stood on this Pnyx, beyond doubt on the same spot where Demosthenes
thundered his philippics in the ears of the Athenians. On the road
leading to the Museum hill we entered a chamber excavated in the rock,
which tradition hallows as the prison of Socrates; and though the
authority for this is doubtful, it is not uninteresting to enter the
damp and gloomy cavern wherein, according to the belief of the modern
Athenians, the wisest of the Greeks drew his last breath. Farther to the
south is the hill of Philopappus, so called after a Roman governor of
that name. On the very summit, near the extreme angle of the old wall,
and one of the most conspicuous objects around Athens, is a monument
erected by the Roman governor in honour of the Emperor Trajan. The
marble is covered with the names of travellers, most of whom, like
Philopappus himself, would never have been heard of but for that
monument.
Descending toward the Acropolis, and entering the city among streets
encumbered with ruined houses, we came to the Temple of the Winds, a
marble octagonal tower, built by Andronicus. On each side is a
sculptured figure, clothed in drapery adapted to the wind he represents;
and on the top was formerly a Triton with a rod in his hand, pointing to
the figure marking the wind. The Triton is gone, and great part of the
temple buried under ruins. Part of the interior, however, has been
excavated, and probably, before long, the whole will be restored.
East of the foot of the Acropolis, and on the way to Adrian's Gate, we
came to the Lantern of Demosthenes (I eschew its new name of the
Choragic Monument of Lysichus), where, according to an absurd tradition,
the orator shut himself up to study the rhetorical art. It is considered
one of the most beautiful monuments of antiquity, and the capitals are
most elegant specimens of the Corinthian order refined by Attic taste.
It is now in a mutilated condition, and its many repairs make its
dilapidation more perceptible. Whether Demosthenes ever lived here or
not, it derives an interest from the fact that Lord Byron made it his
residence during his visit to Athens. Farther on, and forming part of
the modern wall, is the Arch of Adrian, bearing on one side an
inscription in Greek, "This is the city of Theseus;" and on the other,
"But this is the city of Adrian." On the arrival of Otho a placard was
erected, on which was inscribed, "These were the cities of Theseus and
Adrian, but now of Otho." Many of the most ancient buildings in Athens
have totally disappeared. The Turks destroyed many of them to construct
the wall around the city, and even the modern Greeks have not scrupled
to build their miserable houses with the plunder of the temples in which
their ancestors worshipped.
Passing under the Arch of Adrian, outside the gate, on the plain toward
the Ilissus, we came to the ruined Temple of Jupiter Olympus, perhaps
once the most magnificent in the world. It was built of the purest white
marble, having a front of nearly two hundred feet, and more than three
hundred and fifty in length, and contained one hundred and twenty
columns, sixteen of which are all that now remain; and these, fluted and
having rich Corinthian capitals, tower more than sixty feet above the
plain, perfect as when they were reared. I visited these ruins often,
particularly in the afternoon; they are at all times mournfully
beautiful, but I have seldom known anything more touching than, when the
sun was setting, to walk over the marble floor, and look up at the
lonely columns of this ruined temple. I cannot imagine anything more
imposing than it must have been when, with its lofty roof supported by
all its columns, it stood at the gate of the city, its doors wide open,
inviting the Greeks to worship. That such an edifice should be erected
for the worship of a heathen god! On the architrave connecting three of
the columns a hermit built his lonely cell, and passed his life in that
elevated solitude, accessible only to the crane and the eagle. The
hermit is long since dead, but his little habitation still resists the
whistling of the wind, and awakens the curiosity of the wondering
traveller.
The Temple of Theseus is the last of the principal monuments, but the
first which the traveller sees on entering Athens. It was built after
the battle of Marathon, and in commemoration of the victory which drove
the Persians from the shores of Greece. It is a small but beautiful
specimen of the pure Doric, built of Pentelican marble, centuries of
exposure to the open air giving it a yellowish tint, which softens the
brilliancy of the white. Three Englishmen have been buried within this
temple. The first time I visited it a company of Greek recruits, with
some negroes among them, was drawn up in front, going through the manual
under the direction of a German corporal; and, at the same time, workmen
were engaged in fitting it up for the coronation of King Otho!
[Illustration: Temple of Jupiter Olympus and Acropolis at Athena.]
These are the principal monuments around the city, and, except the
temples at Paestum, they are more worthy of admiration than all the ruins
in Italy; but towering above them in position, and far exceeding them in
interest, are the ruins of the Acropolis. I have since wandered among
the ruined monuments of Egypt and the desolate city of Petra, but I
look back with unabated reverence to the Athenian Acropolis. Every day I
had gazed at it from the balcony of my hotel, and from every part of the
city and suburbs. Early on my arrival I had obtained the necessary
permit, paid a hurried visit, and resolved not to go again until I had
examined all the other interesting objects. On the fourth day, with my
friend M., I went again. We ascended by a broad road paved with stone.
The summit is enclosed by a wall, of which some of the foundation
stones, very large, and bearing an appearance of great antiquity, are
pointed out as part of the wall built by Themistocles after the battle
of Salamis, four hundred and eighty years before Christ. The rest is
Venetian and Turkish, falling to decay, and marring the picturesque
effect of the ruins from below. The guard examined our permit, and we
passed under the gate. A magnificent propylon of the finest white
marble, the blocks of the largest size ever laid by human hands, and
having a wing of the same material on each side, stands at the entrance.
Though broken and ruined, the world contains nothing like it even now.
If my first impressions do not deceive me, the proudest portals of
Egyptian temples suffer in comparison. Passing this magnificent
propylon, and ascending several steps, we reached the Parthenon or
ruined Temple of Minerva; an immense white marble skeleton, the noblest
monument of architectural genius which the world ever saw. Standing on
the steps of this temple, we had around us all that is interesting in
association and all that is beautiful in art. We might well forget the
capital of King Otho, and go back in imagination to the golden age of
Athens. Pericles, with the illustrious throng of Grecian heroes,
orators, and sages, had ascended there to worship, and Cicero and the
noblest of the Romans had gone there to admire; and probably, if the
fashion of modern tourists had existed in their days, we should see
their names inscribed with their own hands on its walls. The great
temple stands on the very summit of the Acropolis, elevated far above
the Propylaea and the surrounding edifices. Its length is two hundred and
eight feet, and breadth one hundred and two. At each end were two rows
of eight Doric columns, thirty-four feet high and six feet in diameter,
and on each side were thirteen more. The whole temple within and without
was adorned with the most splendid works of art, by the first sculptors
in Greece, and Phidias himself wrought the statue of the goddess, of
ivory and gold, twenty-six cubits high, having on the top of her helmet
a sphinx, with griffins on each of the sides; on the breast a head of
Medusa wrought in ivory, and a figure of Victory about four cubits high,
holding a spear in her hand and a shield lying at her feet. Until the
latter part of the seventeenth century, this magnificent temple, with
all its ornaments, existed entire. During the siege of Athens by the
Venetians, the central part was used by the Turks as a magazine; and a
bomb, aimed with fatal precision or by a not less fatal chance, reached
the magazine, and, with a tremendous explosion, destroyed a great part
of the buildings. Subsequently the Turks used it as a quarry, and
antiquaries and travellers, foremost among whom is Lord Elgin, have
contributed to destroy "what Goth, and Turk, and Time had spared."
Around the Parthenon, and covering the whole summit of the Acropolis,
are strewed columns and blocks of polished white marble, the ruins of
ancient temples. The remains of the Temples of Erectheus and Minerva
Polias are pre-eminent in beauty; the pillars of the latter are the most
perfect specimens of the Ionic in existence, and its light and graceful
proportions are in elegant contrast with the severe and simple majesty
of the Parthenon. The capitals of the columns are wrought and ornamented
with a delicacy surpassing anything of which I could have believed
marble susceptible. Once I was tempted to knock off a corner and bring
it home, as a specimen of the exquisite skill of the Grecian artist,
which it would have illustrated better than a volume of description; but
I could not do it; it seemed nothing less than sacrilege.
Afar off, and almost lost in the distance, rises the Pentelican
Mountain, from the body of which were hewed the rough rude blocks which,
wrought and perfected by the sculptor's art, now stand the lofty and
stately columns of the ruined temple. What labour was expended upon each
single column! how many were employed in hewing it from its rocky bed,
in bearing it to the foot of the mountain, transporting it across the
plain of Attica, and raising it to the summit of the Acropolis! and then
what time, and skill, and labour, in reducing it from a rough block to a
polished shaft, in adjusting its proportions, in carving its rich
capitals, and rearing it where it now stands, a model of majestic grace
and beauty! Once, under the direction of Mr. Hill, I clambered up to the
very apex of the pediment, and, lying down at full length, leaned over
and saw under the frieze the acanthus leaf delicately and beautifully
painted on the marble, and, being protected from exposure, still
retaining its freshness of colouring. It was entirely out of sight from
below, and had been discovered, almost at the peril of his life, by the
enthusiasm of an English artist. The wind was whistling around me as I
leaned over to examine it, and, until that moment, I never appreciated
fully the immense labour employed and the exquisite finish displayed in
every portion of the temple.
The sentimental traveller must already mourn that Athens has been
selected as the capital of Greece. Already have speculators and the
whole tribe of "improvers" invaded the glorious city; and while I was
lingering on the steps of the Parthenon, a German, who was quietly
smoking among the ruins, a sort of superintendent whom I had met before,
came up, and offering me a segar, and leaning against one of the lofty
columns of the temple, opened upon me with "his plans of city
improvements;" with new streets, and projected railroads, and the rise
of lots. At first I almost thought it personal, and that he was making a
fling at me in allusion to one of the greatest hobbies of my native
city; but I soon found that he was as deeply bitten as if he had been in
Chicago or Dunkirk; and the way in which he talked of moneyed
facilities, the wants of the community, and a great French bank then
contemplated at the Piraeus, would have been no discredit to some of my
friends at home. The removal of the court has created a new era in
Athens; but, in my mind, it is deeply to be regretted that it has been
snatched from the ruin to which it was tending. Even I, deeply imbued
with the utilitarian spirit of my country, and myself a quondam
speculator in "up-town lots," would fain save Athens from the ruthless
hand of renovation; from the building mania of modern speculators. I
would have her go on till there was not a habitation among her ruins;
till she stood, like Pompeii, alone in the wilderness, a sacred desert,
where the traveller might sit down and meditate alone and undisturbed
among the relics of the past. But already Athens has become a
heterogeneous anomaly; the Greeks in their wild costume are jostled in
the streets by Englishmen, Frenchmen, Italians, Dutchmen, Spaniards, and
Bavarians, Russians, Danes, and sometimes Americans. European shops
invite purchasers by the side of Eastern bazars, coffee-houses, and
billiard-rooms, and French and German restaurants are opened all over
the city. Sir Pultney Malcolm has erected a house to hire near the site
of Plato's Academy. Lady Franklin has bought land near the foot of Mount
Hymettus for a country-seat. Several English gentlemen have done the
same. Mr. Richmond, an American clergyman, has purchased a farm in the
neighbourhood; and in a few years, if the "march of improvement"
continues, the Temple of Theseus will be enclosed in the garden of the
palace of King Otho; the Temple of the Winds will be concealed by a
German opera-house, and the Lantern of Demosthenes by a row of
"three-story houses."
I was not a sentimental traveller, but I visited all the localities
around Athens, and, therefore, briefly mention that several times I
jumped over the poetic and perennial Ilissus, trotted my horse over the
ground where Aristotle walked with his peripatetics, and got muddied up
to my knees in the garden of Plato.
One morning my Scotch friend and I set out early to ascend Mount
Hymettus. The mountain is neither high nor picturesque, but a long flat
ridge of bare rock, the sides cut up into ravines, fissures, and
gullies. There is an easy path to the summit, but we had no guide, and
about midday, after a wild scramble, were worn out, and descended
without reaching the top, which is exceedingly fortunate for the reader,
as otherwise he would be obliged to go through a description of the view
therefrom.
Returning, we met the king taking his daily walk, attended by two aids,
one of whom was young Marco Bozzaris. Otho is tall and thin, and, when I
saw him, was dressed in a German military frockcoat and cap, and
altogether, for a king, seemed to be an amiable young man enough. All
the world speaks well of him, and so do I. We touched our hats to him,
and he returned the civility; and what could he do more without inviting
us to dinner? In old times there was a divinity about a king; but now,
if a king is a gentleman, it is as much as we can expect. He has spent
his money like a gentleman, that is, he cannot tell what has become of
it. Two of the three-millions loan are gone, and there is no
colonization, no agricultural prosperity, no opening of roads, no
security in the mountains; not a town in Greece but is in ruins, and no
money to improve them. Athens, however, is to be embellished. With ten
thousand pounds in the treasury, he is building a palace of white
Pentelican marble, to cost three hundred thousand pounds.
Otho was very popular, because, not being of age, all the errors of his
administration were visited upon Count Armansbergh and the regency, who,
from all accounts, richly deserved it; and it was hoped that, on
receiving the crown, he would shake off the Bavarians who were preying
upon the vitals of Greece, and gather around him his native-born
subjects. In private life he bore a most exemplary character. He had no
circle of young companions, and passed much of his time in study, being
engaged, among other things, in acquiring the Greek and English
languages. His position is interesting, though not enviable; and if, as
the first king of emancipated Greece, he entertains recollections of her
ancient greatness, and the ambition of restoring her to her position
among the nations of the earth, he is doomed to disappointment. Otho is
since crowned and married. The pride of the Greeks was considerably
humbled by a report that their king's proposals to several daughters of
German princes had been rejected; but the king had great reason to
congratulate himself upon the spirit which induced the daughter of the
Duke of Oldenburgh to accept his hand. From her childhood she had taken
an enthusiastic interest in Greek history, and it had been her constant
wish to visit Greece; and when she heard that Otho had been called to
the throne, she naively expressed an ardent wish to share it with him.
Several years afterward, by the merest accident, she met Otho at a
German watering-place, travelling with his mother, the Queen of Bavaria,
as the Count de Missilonghi; and in February last she accompanied him to
Athens, to share the throne which had been the object of her youthful
wish.
M. dined at my hotel, and, returning to his own, he was picked up and
carried to the guardhouse. He started for his hotel without a lantern,
the requisition to carry one being imperative in all the Greek and
Turkish cities; the guard could not understand a word he said until he
showed them some money, which made his English perfectly intelligible;
and they then carried him to a Bavarian corporal, who, after two hours'
detention, escorted him to his hotel. After that we were rather careful
about staying out late at night.
"Thursday. I don't know the day of the month." I find this in my notes,
the caption of a day of business, and at this distance of time will not
undertake to correct the entry. Indeed, I am inclined to think that my
notes in those days are rather uncertain and imperfect; certainly not
taken with the precision of one who expected to publish them.
Nevertheless, the residence of the court, the diplomatic corps, and
strangers form an agreeable society at Athens. I had letters to some of
the foreign ministers, but did not present them, as I was hardly
presentable myself without my carpet-bag. On "Thursday," however, in
company with Dr. W., I called upon Mr. Dawkins, the British minister.
Mr. Dawkins went to Greece on a special mission, which he supposed would
detain him six months from home, and had remained there ten years. He is
a high tory, but retained under a whig administration, because his
services could not well be dispensed with. He gave us much interesting
information in regard to the present condition and future prospects of
Greece; and, in answer to my suggestion that the United States were not
represented at all in Greece, not even by a consul, he said, with
emphasis, "You are better represented than any power in Europe. Mr. Hill
has more influence here than any minister plenipotentiary among us." A
few days after, when confined to my room by indisposition, Mr. Dawkins
returned my visit, and again spoke in the same terms of high
commendation of Mr. Hill. It was pleasing to me, and I have no doubt it
will be so to Mr. Hill's numerous friends in this country, to know that
a private American citizen, in a position that keeps him aloof from
politics, was spoken of in such terms by the representative of one of
the great powers of Europe. I had heard it intimated that there was a
prospect of Mr. Dawkins being transferred to this country, and parted
with him in the hope at some future day of seeing him the representative
of his government here.
I might have been presented to the king, but my carpet-bag--Dr. W.
borrowed a hat, and was presented; the doctor had an old white hat,
which he had worn all the way from New-York. The tide is rolling
backward; Athens is borrowing her customs from the barbarous nations of
the north; and it is part of the etiquette to enter a drawing-room with
a hat (a black one) under the arm. The doctor, in his republican
simplicity, thought that a hat, good enough to put on his own head, was
good enough to go into the king's presence; but he was advised to the
contrary, and took one of Mr. Hill's, not very much too large for him.
He was presented by Dr. ----, a German, the king's physician, with whom
he had discoursed much of the different medical systems in Germany and
America. Dr. W. was much pleased with the king. Did ever a man talk with
a king who was not pleased with him? But the doctor was particularly
pleased with King Otho, as the latter entered largely into discourse on
the doctor's favourite theme, Mr. Hill's school, and the cause of
education in Greece. Indeed, it speaks volumes in favour of the young
king, that education is one of the things in which he takes the deepest
interest. The day the doctor was to be presented we dined at Mr. Hill's,
having made arrangements for leaving Athens that night; the doctor and
M. to return to Europe. In the afternoon, while the doctor remained to
be presented, M. and I walked down to the Piraeus, now, as in the days of
her glory, the harbour of Athens. The ancient harbour is about five
miles from Athens, and was formerly joined to it by _long walls_ built
of stone of enormous size, sixty feet high, and broad enough on the top
for two wagons to pass abreast. These have long since disappeared, and
the road is now over a plain shaded a great part of the way by groves of
olives. As usual at this time of day, we met many parties on horseback,
sometimes with ladies; and I remember particularly the beautiful and
accomplished daughters of Count Armansbergh, both of whom are since
married and dead.[2] It is a beautiful ride, in the afternoon
particularly, as then the dark outline of the mountains beyond, and the
reflections of light and shade, give a peculiarly interesting effect to
the ruins of the Acropolis. Toward the other end we paced between the
ruins of the old walls, and entered upon a scene which reminded me of
home. Eight months before there was only one house at the Piraeus; but,
as soon as the court removed to Athens, the old harbour revived; and
already we saw long ranges of stores and warehouses, and all the hurry
and bustle of one of our rising western towns. A railroad was in
contemplation, and many other improvements, which have since failed; but
an _omnibus!_ that most modern and commonplace of inventions, is now
running regularly between the Piraeus and Athens. A friend who visited
Greece six months after me brought home with him an advertisement
printed in Greek, English, French, and German, the English being in the
words and figures following, to wit:
"ADVERTISEMENT.
"The public are hereby informed, that on the nineteenth instant an
omnibus will commence running between Athena and the Piraeus, and
will continue to do so every day at the undermentioned hours until
farther notice.
_Hours of Departure._
From Athens. From Piraeus.
Half past seven o'clock A.M. Half past eight o'clock A.M.
Ten o'clock A.M. Eleven o'clock A.M.
Two o'clock P.M. Three o'clock P.M.
Half past four P.M. Half past five P.M.
"The price of a seat in the omnibus is one drachme.
"Baggage, if not too bulky and heavy, can be taken on the roof.
"Smoking cannot be allowed in the omnibus, nor can dogs be admitted.
"Small parcels and packages may be sent by this conveyance at a
moderate charge, and given to the care of the conducteur.
"The omnibus starts from the corner of the Hermes and AEolus streets
at Athens and from the bazar at the Piraeus, and will wait five
minutes at each place, during which period the conducteur will sound
his horn.
"Athens, 17th, 29th September, 1836."
Old things are passing away, and all things are becoming new. For a
little while yet we may cling to the illusions connected with the past,
but the mystery is fast dissolving, the darkness is breaking away, and
Greece, and Rome, and even Egypt herself, henceforward claim our
attention with objects and events of the present hour. Already they have
lost much of the deep and absorbing interest with which men turned to
them a generation ago. All the hallowed associations of these ancient
regions are fading away. We may regret it, we may mourn over it, but we
cannot help it. The world is marching onward; I have met parties of my
own townsmen while walking in the silent galleries of the Coliseum; I
have seen Americans drinking Champagne in an excavated dwelling of the
ancient Pompeii, and I have dined with Englishmen among the ruins of
Thebes, but, blessed be my fortune, I never rode in an omnibus from the
Piraeus to Athens.
We put our baggage on board the caique, and lounged among the little
shops till dark, when we betook ourselves to a dirty little coffee-house
filled with Greeks dozing and smoking pipes. We met there a boat's crew
of a French man-of-war, waiting for some of the officers, who were
dining with the French ambassador at Athens. One of them had been born
to a better condition than that of a common sailor. One juvenile
indiscretion after another had brought him down, and, without a single
vice, he was fairly on the road to ruin. Once he brushed a tear from his
eyes as he told us of prospects blighted by his own follies; but,
rousing himself, hurried away, and his reckless laugh soon rose above
the noise and clamour of his wild companions.
About ten o'clock the doctor came in, drenched with rain and up to his
knees in mud. We wanted to embark immediately, but the appearance of the
weather was so unfavourable that the captain preferred waiting till
after midnight. The Greeks went away from the coffee-house, the
proprietor fell asleep in his seat, and we extended ourselves on the
tables and chairs; and now the fleas, which had been distributed about
among all the loungers, made a combined onset upon us. Life has its
cares and troubles, but few know that of being given up to the tender
mercies of Greek fleas. We bore the infliction till human nature could
endure no longer; and, at about three in the morning, in the midst of
violent wind and rain, broke out of the coffee-house and went in search
of our boat. It was very dark, but we found her and got on board. She
was a caique, having an open deck with a small covering over the stern.
Under this we crept, and with our cloaks and a sailcloth spread over us,
our heated blood cooled, and we fell asleep. When we woke we were on the
way to Epidaurus. The weather was raw and cold. We passed within a
stone's throw of Salamis and AEgina, and at about three o'clock, turning
a point which completely hid it from view, entered a beautiful little
bay, on which stands the town of Epidaurus. The old city, the birthplace
of Esculapius, stands upon a hill projecting into the bay, and almost
forming an island. In the middle of the village is a wooden building
containing a large chamber, where the Greek delegates, a band of
mountain warriors, with arms in their hands, "in the name of the Greek
nation, proclaimed before gods and men its independence."
At the locanda there was by chance one bed, which not being large enough
for three, I slept on the floor. At seven o'clock, after a quarrel with
our host and paying him about half his demand, we set out for Napoli di
Romania. For about an hour we moved in the valley running off from the
beautiful shore of Epidaurus; soon the valley deepened into a glen, and
in an hour we turned off on a path that led into the mountains, and,
riding through wild and rugged ravines, fell into the dry bed of a
torrent; following which, we came to the Hieron Elios, or Sacred Grove
of Esculapius. This was the great watering-place for the invalids of
ancient Greece, the prototype of the Cheltenham and Saratoga of modern
days. It is situated in a valley surrounded by high mountains, and was
formerly enclosed by walls, within which, that the credit of the God
might not be impeached, _no man was allowed to die, and no woman to be
delivered_. Within this enclosure were temples, porticoes and fountains,
now lying in ruins hardly distinguishable. The theatre is the most
beautiful and best preserved. It is scooped out of the side of the
mountain, rather more than semicircular in form, and containing
fifty-four seats. These seats are of pink marble, about fifteen inches
high and nearly three feet wide. In the middle of each seat is a groove,
in which, probably, woodwork was constructed, to prevent the feet of
those above from incommoding them who sat below, and also to support the
backs of an invalid audience. The theatre faces the north, and is so
arranged that, with the mountain towering behind it, the audience was
shaded nearly all the day. It speaks volumes in favour of the
intellectual character of the Greeks, that it was their favourite
recreation to listen to the recitation of their poets and players. And
their superiority in refinement over the Romans is in no way manifested
more clearly than by the fact, that in the ruined cities of the former
are found the remains of theatres, and in the latter of amphitheatres,
showing the barbarous taste of the Romans for combats of gladiators and
wild beasts. It was in beautiful keeping with this intellectual taste of
the Greeks, that their places of assembling were in the open air, amid
scenery calculated to elevate the mind; and, as I sat on the marble
steps of the theatre, I could well imagine the high satisfaction with
which the Greek, under the shade of the impending mountain, himself all
enthusiasm and passion, rapt in the interest of some deep tragedy, would
hang upon the strains of Euripides or Sophocles. What deep-drawn
exclamations, what shouts of applause had rung through that solitude,
what bursts of joy and grief had echoed from those silent benches! And
then, too, what flirting and coqueting, the state of society at the
springs in the Grove of Esculapius being probably much the same as at
Saratoga in our own days. The whole grove is now a scene of desolation.
The lentisculus is growing between the crevices of the broken marble;
birds sing undisturbed among the bushes; the timid hare steals among the
ruined fragments; and sometimes the snake is seen gliding over the
marble steps.
We had expected to increase the interest of our visit by taking our
noonday refection on the steps of the theatre, but it was too cold for a
picnic _al fresco_; and, mounting our horses, about two o'clock we came
in sight of Argos, on the opposite side of the great plain; and in half
an hour more, turning the mountain, saw Napoli di Romania beautifully
situated on a gentle elevation on the shore of the gulf. The scenery in
every direction around Napoli is exceedingly beautiful; and, when we
approached it, bore no marks of the sanguinary scenes of the late
revolution. The plain was better cultivated than any part of the
adjacent country; and the city contained long ranges of houses and
streets, with German names, such as Heidecker, Maurer-street, &c., and
was seemingly better regulated than any other city in Greece. We drove
up to the Hotel des Quatre Nations, the best we had found in Greece,
dined at a restaurant with a crowd of Bavarian officers and adventurers,
and passed the evening in the streets and coffee-houses.
The appearance of Otho-street, which is the principal, is very
respectable; it runs from what was the palace to the grand square or
esplanade, on one side of which are the barracks of the Bavarian
soldiers, with a park of artillery posted so as to sweep the square and
principal streets; a speaking comment upon the liberty of the Greeks,
and the confidence reposed in them by the government.
Everything in Napoli recalls the memory of the brief and unfortunate
career of Capo d'Istria. Its recovery from the horrors of barbarian war,
and the thriving appearance of the country around, are ascribed to the
impulse given by his administration. A Greek by birth, while his country
lay groaning under the Ottoman yoke he entered the Russian service,
distinguished himself in all the diplomatic correspondence during the
French invasion, was invested with various high offices and honours, and
subscribed the treaty of Paris in 1815 as imperial Russian
plenipotentiary. He withdrew from her service because Russia disapproved
the efforts of his countrymen to free themselves from the Turkish yoke;
and, after passing five years in Germany and Switzerland, chiefly at
Geneva, in 1827 he was called to the presidency of Greece. On his
arrival at Napoli amid the miseries of war and anarchy, he was received
by the whole people as the only man capable of saving their country.
Civil war ceased on the very day of his arrival, and the traitor Grievas
placed in his hands the key of the Palimethe. I shall not enter into any
speculations upon the character of his administration. The rank he had
attained in a foreign service is conclusive evidence of his talents, and
his withdrawal from that service for the reason stated is as conclusive
of his patriotism; but from the moment he took into his hands the reins
of government, he was assailed by every so-called liberal press in
Europe with the party cry of Russian influence. The Greeks were induced
to believe that he intended to sell them to a stranger; and Capo
d'Istria, strong in his own integrity, and confidently relying on the
fidelity and gratitude of his countrymen, was assassinated in the
streets on his way to mass. Young Mauromichalis, the son of the old Bey
of Maina, struck the fatal blow, and fled for refuge to the house of
the French ambassador. A gentleman attached to the French legation told
me that he himself opened the door when the murderer rushed in with the
bloody dagger in his hand, exclaiming, "I have killed the tyrant." He
was not more than twenty-one, tall and noble in his appearance, and
animated by the enthusiastic belief that he had delivered his country.
My informant told me that he barred all the doors and windows, and went
up stairs to inform the minister, who had not yet risen. The latter was
embarrassed and in doubt what he should do. A large crowd gathered round
the house; but, as yet, they were all Mauromichalis's friends. The young
enthusiast spoke of what he had done with a high feeling of patriotism
and pride; and while the clamour out of doors was becoming outrageous,
he ate his breakfast and smoked his pipe with the utmost composure. He
remained at the embassy more than two hours, and until the regular
troops drew up before the house. The French ambassador, though he at
first refused, was obliged to deliver him up; and my informant saw him
shot under a tree outside the gate of Napoli, dying gallantly in the
firm conviction that he had played the Brutus and freed his country from
a Caesar.
The fate of Capo d'Istria again darkened the prospects of Greece, and
the throne went begging for an occupant until it was accepted by the
King of Bavaria for his second son Otho. The young monarch arrived at
Napoli in February, eighteen hundred and thirty-three. The whole
population came out to meet him, and the Grecian youth ran breast deep
in the water to touch his barge as it approached the shore. In February,
eighteen hundred and thirty-four, it was decided to establish Athens as
the capital. The propriety of this removal has been seriously
questioned, for Napoli possessed advantages in her location, harbour,
fortress and a town already built; but the King of Bavaria, a scholar
and an antiquary, was influenced more, perhaps, by classical feeling
than by regard for the best interests of Greece. Napoli has received a
severe blow from the removal of the seat of government; still it was by
far the most European in its appearance of any city I had seen in
Greece. It had several restaurants and coffee-houses, which were
thronged all the evening with Bavarian officers and broken-down European
adventurers, discussing the internal affairs of that unfortunate
country, which men of every nation seemed to think they had a right to
assist in governing. Napoli had always been the great gathering-place of
the phil-Hellenists, and many appropriating to themselves that sacred
name were hanging round it still. All over Europe thousands of men are
trained up to be shot at for so much per day; the soldier's is as
regular a business as that of the lawyer or merchant, and there is
always a large class of turbulent spirits constantly on the look-out for
opportunities, and ever ready with their swords to carve their way to
fortune. I believe that there were men who embarked in the cause of
Greece with as high and noble purposes as ever animated the warrior; but
of many, there is no lack of charity in saying that, however good they
might be as fighters, they were not much as men; and I am sorry to add
that, from the accounts I heard in Greece, some of the American
phil-Hellenists were rather shabby fellows. Mr. M., then resident in
Napoli, was accosted one day in the streets by a young man, who asked
him where he could find General Jarvis. "What do you want with him?"
said Mr. M. "I hope to obtain a commission in his army." "Do you see
that dirty fellow yonder?" said Mr. M., pointing to a ragged patriot
passing at the moment; "well, twenty such fellows compose Jarvis's army,
and Jarvis himself is no better off." "Well, then," said the young
_American_, "I believe I'll join the Turks!" Allen, another American
patriot, was hung at Constantinople. One bore the sacred name of
Washington; a brave but unprincipled man. Mr. M. had heard him say, that
if the devil himself should raise a regiment and would give him a good
commission, he would willingly march under him. He was struck by a shot
from the fortress of Napoli while directing a battery against it; was
taken on board his Britannic majesty's ship Asia, and breathed his last
uttering curses on his country.
There were others, however, who redeemed the American character. The
agents sent out by the Greek committee (among them our townsmen, Messrs.
Post and Stuyvesant), under circumstances of extraordinary difficulty
fulfilled the charitable purposes of their mission with such zeal and
discretion as to relieve the wants of a famishing people, and secure the
undying gratitude of the Greeks. Dr. Russ, another of the agents,
established an American hospital at Poros, and, under the most severe
privations, devoted himself gratuitously to attendance upon the sick and
wounded. Dr. Howe, one of the earliest American phil-Hellenists, in the
darkest hour of the revolution, and at a time when the Greeks were
entirely destitute of all medical aid, with an honourable enthusiasm,
and without any hope of pecuniary reward, entered the service as
surgeon, was the fellow-labourer of Dr. Russ in establishing the
American hospital, and, at the peril of his life, remained with them
during almost the whole of their dreadful struggle. Colonel Miller, the
principal agent, now resident in Vermont, besides faithfully performing
the duties of his trust, entered the army, and conducted himself with
such distinguished gallantry that he was called by the Greek braves the
American Delhi, or Daredevil.[3]
FOOTNOTES:
[2] They married two brothers, the young princes Cantacuzenes. Some
scruples being raised against this double alliance on the score of
consanguinity, the difficulty was removed by each couple going to
separate churches with separate priests to pronounce the mystic words at
precisely the same moment; so that neither could be said to espouse his
sister-in-law.
[3] In the previous editions of his work, the author's remarks were so
general as to reflect upon the character of individuals who stand in our
community above reproach. The author regrets that the carelessness of
his expressions should have wounded where he never intended, and hopes
the gentlemen affected will do him the justice to believe that he would
not wantonly injure any man's character or feelings.