of the leading industries of the Mediterranean coast-lands. But this
industry, too, is frequently carried on in a primitive way, and only
in the course of the present century have scientific methods been
introduced in connection with it. The Mediterranean is admirably suited
for the production of salt, for its waters have a high temperature,
they hold a very large quantity of salt in solution, the rise and fall
of the tides are inconsiderable, and flat seashores alternate with
steep coasts and promontories. The most productive salt marshes of the
Mediterranean are probably those on the Lagoon, or Étang de Thau, near
Cette, and on the littoral of Hyères; but considerable ones may also be
met with on the coasts of Spain, in Italy, in Sardinia, Sicily, Istria,
and even on the “limans” of Bessarabia, bordering upon the Black Sea.
The annual production of salt is estimated at more than a million tons,
and exceeds, therefore, the entire tonnage of the commercial marine of
France.[10] But this quantity, large as it is, is infinitesimal if we
compare it with the saline contents of the sea, and science will enable
us one day to raise a far more abundant treasure from its sterile
depths.[11]
III.—COMMERCE AND NAVIGATION.
Whatever advantages may be yielded by fisheries and salt-works,
they shrink into insignificance if we compare them with the great
gain—material, intellectual, {32} and moral—which mankind has derived
from the navigation of this inland sea. It has repeatedly been pointed
out by historians that the disposition of the coasts, islands, and
peninsulas of the Mediterranean of the Phœnicians and Greeks admirably
favoured the first essays in maritime commerce. Many causes have
contributed to make this sea the cradle of European commerce: the faint
summits of distant lands visible even before the port has been quitted;
numerous nooks along the coasts where a safe refuge may be found in
case of storms; regular land and sea breezes; an equability of climate
which makes the sailor feel at home wherever business takes him; and,
moreover, a great variety of productions resulting from the diverse
configuration of the Mediterranean coast-lands. And this commerce,
does it not lead to a peaceful intercourse between peoples on neutral
ground, and to mutual enlightenment, brought about by an interchange
of ideas? Every coast-line which facilitates the intercourse between
nations is, therefore, of immense value as a means of developing
civilisation.
Civilisation for many centuries marched from the south-east towards the
north-west, and Phœnicia, Greece, Italy, and France have successively
become great centres of human intelligence. This historical phenomenon
is due to the configuration of the sea, which has been the vehicle
of migratory nations. In fact, the axis of civilisation, if this
expression be allowed, has become confounded with that axis of the
Mediterranean which extends from the coast of Syria to the Gulf of
Lions, on the coast of France. But the Mediterranean has ceased to be
the only centre of gravitation of Europe, which sends its merchantmen
now to the two Americas and the farthest East; and civilisation no
longer marches in that general line from east to west, but rather
radiates in all directions. Civilising streams depart from England and
Germany towards Northern America, and from the Latinised countries of
Europe towards Southern America. Their direction is still westerly,
but they have been deflected towards the south, to meet the conditions
imposed by climate and the geographical configuration of land and sea.
It is interesting to trace the changes which have occurred in the
historical importance of the Mediterranean. As long as that sea
remained the great highway between nations, the commercial republics
were content to extend this highway towards the east, by establishing
caravan routes to the Gulf of Persia, to India, and to China. In the
Middle Ages Genoese factories dotted the coasts of the Black Sea, and
extended thence through Trans-Caucasia as far as the Caspian. European
travellers, and particularly Italians, at that time crossed Western
Asia in all directions; and many a route hardly known in our days
was then frequented almost daily. But for several centuries direct
commercial intercourse with Central Asia has dwindled down to small
proportions.
The Mediterranean had ceased to be a great ocean highway. Our
navigators, no longer dreading a boundless sea, took their ships into
every part of the ocean. The difficult and perilous land routes were
abandoned, the once busy markets of Central Asia became solitudes,
and the Mediterranean itself a veritable blind alley, as far as the
world’s commerce was concerned. This condition of affairs lasted for
many years, but since the middle of this century our relations with
the East have {33} been renewed, and the lost ground is rapidly
being recovered. Within the last year a great commercial revolution
has been effected through the opening of one of the ancient gates of
the Mediterranean, and the Suez Canal has become the great highway of
steamers between Western Europe, the Indies, and Australia. Possibly,
at no distant future, a similar canal will enable our merchantmen to
proceed from the Black Sea to the Caspian, and perhaps even to the Amu
and the Syr, in the very heart of the ancient continent.
It is thus that the great centres of intercommunication, or vital
points of our planet, as we should like to call them, become shifted in
the course of time. Port Said, an improvised town on a desert shore,
has thus become a centre of attraction for travellers and merchandise,
whilst the neighbouring cities of Tyre and Sidon have dwindled down
into miserable villages, with nothing to indicate the proud position
they held in the past. Carthage, too, has perished, and Venice decayed.
Many a thriving place on the shores of the Mediterranean has been
reduced to insignificance through the silting up of its harbour, the
employment of larger vessels, the loss of independence, or through
political changes of all kinds. But in nearly every instance some
neighbouring town has taken the place of these decayed harbours, and
most of the great routes of commerce have maintained their original
directions, and their terminal points, as well as intermediate
stations, have remained in the same localities.
There are, moreover, certain places which ships are almost obliged
to frequent, and where towns of importance arise as a matter of
course. Such are the Straits of Gibraltar and of Messina; such,
also, are places like Genoa, Trieste, and Saloniki, which occupy
the bottom of gulfs or bays penetrating far into the land. Ports
offering the greatest facilities for embarking merchandise intended
for foreign countries, such as Marseilles and Alexandria, are likewise
natural centres of attraction to merchants. One town there is in the
Mediterranean which enjoys at one and the same time every one of the
geographical advantages which we have pointed out, for it is situated
on a strait connecting two seas and separating two continents. This
town is Constantinople, and despite the deplorable maladministration
under which it suffers, its position alone has enabled it to maintain
its place amongst the great cities of the world.
The ports of the Mediterranean no longer enjoy a monopoly of commerce
as they did for thousands of years, but the number of ships to be met
with in that inland sea is, nevertheless, proportionately far greater
than what we meet with on the open oceans. The commercial marine of
the Mediterranean numbers thirty-seven thousand vessels, of a capacity
of two million seven hundred and ninety-six thousand tons, without
counting fishing-boats. This is more than one-fourth of the entire
commercial marine of the world, as respects the number of ships, and
one-sixth of it as regards tonnage. This inferiority of tonnage is due
to the small vessels of ancient types which still maintain their ground
in Greece and Italy, and which possess certain advantages for the
coasting trade.
To this marine of the Mediterranean should be added the vessels
belonging to foreign ports, which visit it for purposes of trade, and
amongst which those of {34} England take the most prominent rank.
The Government of Great Britain has even taken care to secure itself
a place amongst the Mediterranean powers. It has occupied Gibraltar,
at the eastern entrance to this basin, and taken possession of Malta,
which commands its centre; and although the western entrance, formed by
the Suez Canal, is not in its possession, its garrisons on Perim and
the rock of Aden are able at any moment to close up the only approach
to it which leads from the Indian Ocean through the Red Sea.
[Illustration: Fig. 8.—STEAMER ROUTES AND TELEGRAPHS IN THE
MEDITERRANEAN.
Scale 1 : 45,000,000.]
The share which England takes in the commerce of the Mediterranean is
considerable, but it is surpassed by far by that of France and Italy.
A sovereign who aspired to the dominion of the world once spoke of the
inland sea extending from the Strait of Gibraltar to Egypt as a “French
lake;” but with equal justice might it be called a Greek, a Dalmatian,
or Spanish lake, and with still greater an Italian lake. The pirates
of Barbary were, in reality, the last “masters” of the Mediterranean:
their swift vessels presented themselves unexpectedly before the coast
towns, and carried off their inhabitants. But since their predatory
fleets have been destroyed, the Mediterranean has become the common
property of the world, and the meshes of an international network of
maritime highways become closer from year to year. The merchantmen no
longer pursue their voyages in company as they did in former times,
discharging their cargo from port to port, for a single vessel may
venture now into any portion of the Mediterranean in safety. Still
there remain the dangers of reefs and of storms. The art of navigation
has made vast progress; most of the capes, at least on the coasts
of Europe, are lit up by lighthouses; the approaches to the ports
are rendered easy by lightships, buoys, and beacons; but shipwrecks
are nevertheless of frequent occurrence. Even large vessels founder
sometimes, without leaving a stray plank behind to indicate the place
of their disappearance.
Steamers travelling along prescribed routes are now gradually taking
the place of sailing vessels, and where they cross at frequent
intervals they may be {35} likened to ferry-boats crossing a river.
The regularity and speed of these steam ferries; the facilities which
they afford for the conveyance of merchandise; the increasing number of
railways which convey the produce of the interior to the seaports; and
lastly, the submarine telegraphs, which have established instantaneous
means of communication between the principal ports, all contribute
towards the growth of Mediterranean commerce. This commerce, including
imports and exports, and the transit through the Suez Canal, actually
amounts to about £353,000,000, a year.[12] This may not be much for a
maritime population of a hundred millions, but a perceptible increase
is taking place from year to year. We should also bear in mind that,
face to face with the busy peninsulas of Europe, there lies torrid
Africa, an inert mass, avoided by the sailors of our own age as much as
it was by those of ancient Greece. Its coasts are hardly ever visited,
with the exception of those portions which extend from Oran to Tunis,
and from Alexandria to Port Said. It is matter of surprise, too, that
certain localities which formerly attracted crowds of vessels, such as
Cyrenaica, Cyprus, and beautiful Crete, at the very entrance to the
Archipelago, should still remain outside the ordinary track of our
steamers.
[Illustration]
{36}
GREECE.
I.—GENERAL ASPECTS.
Greece, within its confined political boundaries, to the south of
the Gulfs of Arta and Volo, is a country of about nineteen thousand
square miles, or at most equal to the ten-millionth part of the earth’s
surface. Within the vast empire of Russia there are many districts
more extensive than the whole of Greece, but there is nothing which
distinguishes these from other districts which surround them, and
their names call forth no idea in our mind. The little country of the
Hellenes, however, so insignificant upon our maps—how many memories
does it not awaken ! In no other part of the world had man attained
a degree of civilisation equally harmonious in all respects, or more
favourable to individual development. Even now, though carried along
within an historical cycle far more vast than that of the Greeks,
we should do well to look back frequently in order to contemplate
those small nations, who are still our masters in the arts, and
first initiated us into science. The city which was the “school of
Greece” still remains the school of the entire world; and after twenty
centuries of decay, like some of those extinct stars whose luminous
rays yet reach the earth, still continues to enlighten us.
The considerable part played by the people of Greece during many
ages must undoubtedly be ascribed to the geographical position of
their country. Other tribes having the same origin, but inhabiting
countries less happily situated—such, for instance, as the Pelasgians
of Illyria, who are believed to be the ancestors of the Albanians—have
never risen above a state of barbarism, whilst the Hellenes placed
themselves at the head of civilised nations, and opened fresh paths to
their enterprise. If Greece had remained for ever what it was during
the tertiary geological epoch—a vast plain attached to the deserts
of Libya, and run over by lions and the rhinoceros—would it have
become the native country of a Phidias, an Æschylos, or a Demosthenes?
Certainly not. It would have shared the fate of Africa, and, far from
taking the initiative in civilisation, would have waited for an impulse
to be given to it from beyond. {37}
Greece, a sub-peninsula of the peninsula of the Balkans, was even more
completely protected by transverse mountain barriers in the north than
was Thracia or Macedonia. Greek culture was thus able to develop itself
without fear of being stifled at its birth by successive invasions of
barbarians. Mounts Olympus, Pelion, and Ossa, towards the north and
east of Thessaly, constituted the first line of formidable obstacles
towards Macedonia. A second barrier, the steep range of the Othrys,
runs along what is the present political boundary of Greece. To the
south of the Gulf of Lamia a fresh obstacle awaits us, for the range
of the Œta closes the passage, and there is but the narrow pass of the
Thermopylæ between it and the sea. Having crossed the mountains of
the Locri and descended into the basin of Thebæ, there still remain
to be crossed the Parnes or the spurs of the Cithæron before we reach
the plains of Attica. The “isthmus” beyond these is again defended by
transverse barriers, outlying ramparts, as it were, of the mountain
citadel of the Peloponnesus, that acropolis of all Greece. Hellas has
frequently been compared to a series of chambers, the doors of which
were strongly bolted; it was difficult to get in, but more difficult to
get out again, owing to their stout defenders. Michelet likens Greece
to a trap having three compartments. You entered, and found yourself
taken first in Macedonia, then in Thessaly, then between the Thermopylæ
and the isthmus. But the difficulties increase beyond the isthmus, and
Lacedæmonia remained impregnable for a long time.
At an epoch when the navigation even of a land-locked sea like the
Ægean was attended with danger, Greece found herself sufficiently
protected against the invasions of oriental nations; but, at the
same time, no other country held out such inducements to the pacific
expeditions of merchants. Gulfs and harbours facilitated access to
her Ægean coasts, and the numerous outlying islands were available as
stations or as places of refuge. Greece, therefore, was favourably
placed for entering into commercial intercourse with the more highly
civilised peoples who dwelt on the opposite coasts of Asia Minor. The
colonists and voyagers of Eastern Ionia not only supplied their Achæan
and Pelasgian kinsmen with foreign commodities and merchandise, but
they also imparted to them the myths, the poetry, the sciences, and the
arts of their native country. Indeed, the geographical configuration
of Greece points towards the east, whence she has received her first
enlightenment. Her peninsulas and outlying islands extend in that
direction; the harbours on her eastern coasts are most commodious,
and afford the best shelter; and the mountain-surrounded plains there
offer the best sites for populous cities. Greece, at the same time,
does not share the disadvantage of Turkey, which is almost cut off from
the western world by a mountain region difficult to cross. The Ionian
Sea, to the west of the Peloponnesus, it is true, is, comparatively
speaking, a desert; but farther north the Gulf of Corinth almost cuts
in two the Greek peninsula, and the sight of the distant mountains of
Italy, which are visible from the Ionian Islands, must have incited
to an exploration of the western seas. The Acarnanians, who knew how
to build vaults long before the Romans, were thus brought early into
contact with the Italians, to whom they imparted their {38} knowledge,
and at a subsequent period the Greeks became the civilisers of the
whole western world of the Mediterranean.
The most distinctive feature of Hellas, as far as concerns the relief
of the ground, consists in the large number of small basins, separated
one from the other by rocks or mountain ramparts. The features of the
ground thus favoured the division of the Greek people into a multitude
of independent republics. Every town had its river, its amphitheatre of
hills or mountains, its acropolis, its fields, pastures, and forests,
and nearly all of them had, likewise, access to the sea. All the
elements required by a free community were thus to be found within each
of these small districts, and the neighbourhood of other towns, equally
favoured, kept alive perpetual emulation, too frequently degenerating
into strife and battle. The islands of the Ægean Sea, likewise, had
constituted themselves into miniature republics. Local institutions
thus developed themselves freely, and even the smallest island of the
Archipelago has its great representatives in history.
But whilst there thus exists the greatest diversity, owing to the
configuration of the ground and the multitude of islands, the sea acts
as a binding element, washes every coast, and penetrates far inland.
These gulfs and numerous harbours have made the maritime inhabitants
of Greece a nation of sailors—amphibiæ, as Strabo called them. From
the most remote times the passion for travel has always been strong
amongst them. When the inhabitants of a town grew too numerous to
support themselves upon the produce of their land, they swarmed out
like bees, explored the coasts of the Mediterranean, and, when they had
found a site which recalled their native home, they built themselves a
new city. It was thus Greek cities arose in hundreds of places, from
the Mæotis Palus to beyond the columns of Hercules—from Tanais and
Panticapæum to Gades and Tingis, the modern Tangier. Thanks to those
numerous colonies, some of them more powerful and renowned than the
mother towns which gave birth to them, the veritable Greece, the Greece
of science and art and republican independence, in the end overflowed
its ancient cradle, and sporadically occupied the whole circumference
of the Mediterranean. The Greeks held the same position relatively to
the world of the ancients which is occupied at the present time by
the Anglo-Saxons with reference to the entire earth. There exists,
indeed, a remarkable analogy between Greece, with its archipelago, and
the British Islands, at the other extremity of the continent. Similar
geographical advantages have brought about similar results, as far as
commerce is concerned, and between the Ægean and the British seas time
and space have effected a sort of harmony.
* * * * *
The admiration with which travellers behold Greece is due, above all,
to the memories attaching to every one of its ruins, to the smallest
amongst its rivulets, and the most insignificant rock in its seas.
Scenery in Provence or Spain, though it may surpass in grace or
boldness of outline anything to be seen in Greece, is appreciated only
by a few. The mass go past it without emotion, for names like Marathon,
Leuctra, or Platææ are not connected with it, and the rustle of bygone
ages is not heard. But even if glorious memories were not associated
with the {39} coasts of Greece, their beauty would nevertheless
entitle them to our admiration. In the gulfs of Athens or of Argos
the artist is charmed not only with the azure blue of the waters,
the transparency of the sky, the ever-changing perspective along the
shores, and the boldness of the promontories, but also with the pure
and graceful profile of the mountains, which consist of layers of
limestone or of marble. We almost fancy we look upon architectural
piles; and the temples with which many a summit is adorned appear to
epitomize them.
It is verdure and the sparkling water of rivulets which we miss most
on the shores of Greece. Nearly all the mountains near the coast
have been despoiled of their large trees. There remain only bushes,
mastic, strawberry, and juniper trees, and evergreen oaks; even the
carpet of odoriferous herbs which clothes the declivities, and upon
which the goat browses, has in many instances been reduced to a few
miserable patches. Torrents of rain have carried away the mould,
and the naked rock appears on the surface. From a distance we only
see greyish declivities, dotted here and there with a few wretched
shrubs. Even in the days of Strabo most mountains along the coasts
had been robbed of their forests, and one of our modern authors says
that “Greece is a skeleton only of what it used to be !” By a sort of
irony, geographical names derived from trees abound throughout Hellas
and Turkey: Caryæ is the “town of walnut-trees,” Valanidia that of the
Valonia oaks, Kyparissi that of cypresses, Platanos or Plataniki that
of plane-trees. Everywhere we meet with localities whose appellation is
justified by nothing. Forests at the present day are confined almost
entirely to the interior and to the Ionian coast. The Œta Mountains,
some of the mountains of Ætolia, the hills of Acarnania, and Arcadia,
Elis, Triphylia, and the slopes of the Taygetus, in the Peloponnesus,
still retain their forests. And it is only in these forest districts,
visited solely by herdsmen, that savage animals, such as the wolf, the
fox, and the jackal, are now met with. The chamois, it is said, still
haunts the recesses of the Pindus and Œta Mountains; but the wild boar
of the Erymanthus, which must have been a distinct species if we are to
judge by antique sculptures, exists no more in Greece, and the lion,
still mentioned by Aristotle, has not been seen for two thousand years.
Amongst the smaller animals there is a turtle, common in some parts of
the Peloponnesus, which the natives look upon with the same aversion as
do many western nations upon the toad and the salamander.