as to make me believe that we were about to have a few days of that
winter weather which is "rarer than a day in June," and so, taking a
train to Eleusis, to spare myself a little at the start, I rode over
the famous Treis Kephalai Pass into Bœotia. I thought when I was at the
top of the pass that the view presented was the finest in Greece. Not
to mention lesser glories, Parnassus was close at hand on the left,
Dirphys almost equally close on the right, while very distant, but very
clear, directly in front, was "snowy Olympus," a perfect mass of white.
After lunching at Thebes, I wheeled easily along to Lebadea, entering
it as the setting sun was turning the white mountains into pink.
The next day, more clear and beautiful than the first, if that were
possible, brought me to Lamia in Thessaly, via Chæronea, Doris, and
Thermopylæ. The third day, in order to get a nearer view of Olympus,
I rode and climbed up to the top of the ridge which formed the old
border between Greece and Turkey, before Thessaly was incorporated into
the kingdom of Greece, and on which, in the late war, the Greeks made
their last stand after the battle of Domoko. From this point Olympus
is, indeed, grander than from the passes of Cithæron, while the whole
Pindos range, and the grand isolated peak of Tymphrestos, which some
think would prove, if properly measured, to be the highest peak in
Greece, stand up in majesty. Parnassus and the Ætolian Mountains make
a fine showing on the south. From this point, on this same third day,
as clear as the two preceding, I reached Amphissa at evening, after
climbing two passes and enjoying new glories at each. It was, in fact,
a continuous intoxication, to recover from which it required two days
of archæological study at Delphi. This was, to be sure, almost equally
intoxicating, but, being an intoxication of another sort, it let me
down gently. In three days I had got a glimpse of nearly all Greece in
such weather as only a Greek winter can give.
ACARNANIA
In many respects the most interesting journey which I have made in
Greece was my last one through Acarnania and Ætolia. To be sure, my
last journey in Greece is always my best one; yet there was a special
attraction in this journey from the fact that it was the fulfilment of
a long-cherished desire. There was a gap in my knowledge of western
Greece which I keenly felt. I had tramped over the Ionian Islands,
visited Joannina and Dodona, and passed over the Pindos range into
Thessaly. In passing Prevesa and Nikopolis the sight of the Ambrakian
Gulf had filled me with a desire to explore its innermost recesses.
The grand mountains of Acarnania to the south challenged especially
to a nearer view. Three years later, coming up from Patras by the
Northwestern Railroad of Greece to Agrinion, the capital of Ætolia,
I had visited in bad weather Œniadæ, the most important city of
Acarnania, mused over the Ætolian acropolis of Calydon, famous in song
and story, and gone as far north as Stratos, Acarnania's capital; but
although in looking out from Stratos it seems as if all the glory was
farther north, my travelling companion was obliged to retreat, and I
followed his fortunes. All this had but whetted my appetite; and,
three years later, at the end of February in that most marvellous of
winters, which gave us six consecutive weeks of April temperature with
unclouded sky, I set out from Piræus one moonlight night to satisfy my
desire, with a companion who was not in a hurry.
Our first goal was Arta, the terminus of a line of steamers from
Piræus. No mean part of the journey on a clear winter day is the view
of the three masses of snow-covered mountains to the north of the
Corinthian Gulf, each over eight thousand feet high, and the three to
the south, falling just short of the same height, to say nothing of
many others which would be impressive if the giants were absent. The
effect is not unlike that of Lake Lucerne somewhat broadened out. A
stop at Samos, in Kephallenia, on the morning of the second day, and
a sail between Kephallenia and Ithaca, during which the latter may be
studied at short range, is no slight advantage "thrown in." At Leukas,
in the afternoon, came a stirring scene. About a hundred recruits were
taken on board. Greece had had troops in Crete for a week, and so,
although war had not actually been declared, she was gathering troops
to protect her border or to advance into Epirus, as circumstances
might dictate. Two hours later, in sailing through the waters where
the battle of Actium took place, we passed under the guns of the
Turkish forts at Prevesa. As the Greek color-bearer was inclined to
flaunt his flag a good deal, it seemed something like an adventure.
But the Margarita escaped the fate that a few weeks later overtook the
Macedonia, which was sunk by the Turkish fire, while the passengers had
to swim for their lives. At Vonitza we took on another hundred of the
recruits pouring into Arta from all over western Greece. The men were
cheerful and orderly, but brimful of the war feeling which pervaded
Greece.
Delayed by these embarkations of troops, we did not reach Koprena, the
port of Arta, until eight o'clock in the evening. Then there was a lack
of boats to bring such a crowd to shore, and with a long drive of ten
or twelve miles in the dark, over a bad road crowded with soldiers, it
was after midnight when we reached Arta. Our host, a man whom I had
never seen, but to whom I was introduced by a friend in Athens, had
been waiting for us at Koprena since noon, and did not appear to think
that he had done any more for us than any proper man would do.
[Illustration: TEMPLE AT STRATOS]
The next morning, with a captain of artillery who had been our
fellow-passenger from Athens, we went out through orange groves to
the famous bridge of Arta, over the Arachthos, which here forms the
border, the Greeks having secured, in 1881, Arta and its adjacent
fields up to the river, along with Thessaly. The present border is the
most unrighteous one that could be devised. A river is generally no
proper boundary-line, but in this case especially it is intolerable.
The plain across the river belongs by nature to the city, and, in fact,
is owned largely by the people of Arta, who have suffered manifold
inconveniences in the management of their property. Who can wonder that
the Greeks were anxious for an offensive campaign here which should
give them back their own?
The finest feature of Arta is its view. From the hill, at the foot of
which lies the city, one sees the mountains near Dodona, and farther
south and quite close at hand, is Tsoumerka, in the spring a mass of
snow, falling just short of eight thousand feet. Behind this, over
beyond the Acheloos, the snowy peaks of the Pindos range crowd one upon
another in such thick array that one despairs of identifying them all
with the names given on the map. To the south lie the three mountains
of Acarnania in _echelon_, impressive although only a little over five
thousand feet high, and the glorious gulf itself.
Arta has also a history. One hurries by the interesting Church of the
Consoling Virgin, a brick structure of the tenth century, perhaps, and
a mediæval castle, to the days when Arta was Ambrakia. Even the days
when it was the capital of the famous Pyrrhus seem recent, compared
with the really great days when it was a democratic city of free
Hellas long before the Persian war. Cropping out from under the shabby
houses of the town are walls made of massive blocks which speak of
days of greatness. This blooming colony of Corinth, foreordained by
its situation to be the principal city of the region, gave its name in
antiquity, as now, to the great gulf which it overlooks.
Corinth had the misfortune, rare in Greek history, to plant one
unfilial colony, Corcyra, which, as early as 665 B.C., worsted the
mother in a great naval battle, and, from a daughter, became a lasting
enemy. To recover her influence in these regions, Corinth, in the days
of Kypselos and Periander, which seem pretty old days, planted Ambrakia
besides Anaktorion, just inside the entrance of the gulf, and Leukas
just outside. As if to prove that Corinth was not an especially hard
mother, these colonies always remained filial, and their contingents
were always drawn up in the Persian war alongside those of Corinth.
Ambrakia, besides dominating the rich plain which by nature belongs
to her, but by the will of Europe now belongs to Turkey, had also an
especial significance as standing on the road to Dodona for nearly all
of Greece.
But it is not my purpose to rewrite any portion of the history of
Greece, but only to set forth clearly the physical and moral position
of Ambrakia, that one may realize more clearly the satisfaction of the
sturdy Demosthenes, the man of deeds, not the man of words, when, at
Olpæ and under the walls of Amphilochian Argos, a few miles to the
south, he crippled Ambrakia as thoroughly as Cleomenes had crippled
Argos at Tiryns a few years before the Persian war, and made Corinth
feel in the woes of her favorite daughter that she had not kindled the
flames of the Peloponnesian war with impunity. Since certain Messenians
took part in this battle, it has been supposed by some that the famous
Nike of Pæonios at Olympia was set up to commemorate their share of the
victory.
We proceeded southward from Arta by a very good carriage-road skirting
the west end of the gulf. About one-third of our day's journey was
taken up in traversing the famous Makrynoros Pass, where the mountains,
as high as Hymettus, come down almost perpendicularly to the sea for
a space of about ten miles. This is called the Thermopylæ of western
Greece; but it is a much more difficult pass to force than Thermopylæ,
where two foot-hills come down to the sea with a more gentle slope.
Thermopylæ, too, in modern times has lost its original character by
the formation of quite a plain at the foot of its mountains by the
alluvial deposit of the Spercheios and the incrustation formed by
sulphur springs; while Makrynoros remains a mountain running straight
down into the sea, necessitating the making of the modern carriage-road
with great difficulty and expense. But as this road is a thousand feet
above the water, it affords a fine view over the gulf and its setting.
The railroad which connects Patras with Agrinion must come some day to
Arta, so all the people of the region were saying. The Makrynoros Pass
would be the chief difficulty in the way; but the railroad could keep
the same height all the way, and no steep grades would be required. The
main difficulty would be the crossing of the many gullies which run
down from the side of the mountain. In the ordinary march of events,
Arta will be included in the slowly extending network, although the
claims of Sparta may have to be attended to first. It depends somewhat
upon the relative influence and push of the delegates of the sections
concerned.
This pass has a strategic importance, and we may soon hear of it
again in connection with military operations. The Ambrakian Gulf and
Maliac Gulf, by Thermopylæ, reach out toward each other, making what
is sometimes called an isthmus, an echo of the Isthmus of Corinth; but
if anyone tries to make his way across this he will realize that it is
only an isthmus by courtesy, and will have vividly impressed upon his
mind that "the longest way around is the shortest way home." The pass
of Thermopylæ may be circumvented; but so piled up are the mountains to
the west of Makrynoros that, in order to circumvent it, one might as
well go to Thermopylæ itself.
In the Greek war of independence, the first severe defeat of the Greeks
took place in the second year of the war, near the northern end of
Makrynoros. Maurocordatos, the President of the new State, wishing to
be a Washington and to be general as well as statesman, took command
of the regular army, and pushed northward through the pass, as if to
take the offensive against the Turks at Arta, and then, as if not quite
certain what he wanted to do, waited for the Turks to attack him, which
they did in good time, annihilating his army at Peta. His head-quarters
were farther back at the opening of the pass. Had he decided to take
the defensive soon enough he might have immortalized Makrynoros and
saved his army, instead of simply saving himself and his staff. At
Peta, which lay on the hill to the left of our road from Arta to the
mouth of the pass, is a tablet on which are inscribed the names of
the members of the regiment of Philhellenes who, to give the Greeks
an example, stood their ground until they were all shot down, except
twenty-five, who succeeded in cutting their way through the enemy.
In the battle fought near the south end of the pass in which
Demosthenes crushed the Ambrakians, the pass played no rôle at all.
Here our road passed between Olpæ and Amphilochian Argos, and half an
hour was well spent in making a part of the circuit of the walls of the
latter, which are fairly well preserved. A sure token that Amphilochian
Argos lay here, and not at Karvasara, as was once supposed, is the
name of the plain between the old walls and the sea. This still bears
the name "Vlichia," which is all that is left of "Amphilochia"; but it
is enough to prove the identity.
At evening we came to Karvasara, at the foot of one of the most
imposing acropolises in Greece. Here we were in Acarnania, where, as
in Ætolia, it is more difficult to find names for imposing remains
than to find remains for important names. But it is quite likely that
the name Limnæa will stick to this great acropolis, inasmuch as Limnæa
lay on the sea, and its name is justified by the presence of something
half lake and half marsh that almost laps its walls on the south, or
landward, side, although certain distances given in Polybius do not
quite tally with this identification. From this elevation we could
look to the south farther than Stratos, which was hidden by a bend of
the long mountain at the south end of which it lay. I had in a certain
sense joined hands with my former journey, although the best of the
present journey, which was cumulative in its enjoyment, was still to
come.
Among many walled cities of Acarnania the three most important are
Limnæa, Stratos, and Œniadæ. Limnæa, which plays a comparatively
insignificant rôle in history, has the most commanding position, on a
high hill overlooking the east end of the Ambrakian Gulf. The walls
are well preserved, and, for their height as well as extent, excite
admiration. Stratos, situated on the west bank of the Acheloos, is
not quite so high, but its walls are fully as extensive and high. It
has also well-preserved foundations of a temple of white limestone.
It confronted Agrinion, the capital city of the Ætolians, the eternal
enemies of the Acarnanians; and these two grim fortress capitals
frowned at each other for ages with nothing but the rolling river
between them.
But Œniadæ is, after all, the most impressive of all the Acarnanian
ruins. It crowns an irregular hill which was once an island, but has
become a part of the mainland by the action of the Acheloos. Down to
the fourth century before Christ, and perhaps even later, the sea
touched its western side, for here are clear traces of a harbor, as
well as some fairly preserved ship-sheds. The walls are not only of
great extent, but wonderfully well preserved, with gates of most varied
forms, in which the arch is seen in various stages of formation. The
whole vast enclosure is covered with a grove of great oaks, which,
in some cases, have pushed down the walls. In one case, the growing
oak has pulled out one stone from its place and carried it up in its
embrace several feet above the rest of the wall. So luxuriant is the
vegetation all over the hill that one who will see the whole wall
outside and inside--and no less will satisfy one--must give up a whole
day to the task, and force his way through thorns and briers that
scratch and tear, paying with his person.
The result of four or five visits to Œniadæ was finally a plan to make
excavations there, and, in 1901, several members of the American School
undertook the work. With a comparatively small outlay of money, but
with great hardship, they laid bare a theatre, mostly rock-cut, with
many inscriptions, the ship-sheds, and near by them a bath. The theatre
is most picturesque. Anyone who fails to visit Œniadæ makes a mistake.
ÆTOLIA
On my first visit to Ætolia and Acarnania I went in at the front
door, _i.e._, by the Northwestern Railroad from Patras, past Calydon,
renowned in legend, and Messolonghi, of deathless fame, to Agrinion,
the terminus of the railroad, and thence northward. On the second visit
I went in at the back door by steamer to Arta, and journeyed southward.
On a third visit I jumped in, as it were, at the window.
Having returned from a flying visit to Olympia, I and my companion
met at Patras two other members of the American School, with whom we
intended to bicycle as far north as Arta, diverging to the right and
left to visit a half-dozen ancient sites of the region. But twenty-four
hours of heavy rain made us feel that the Messolonghi route would
be nothing but a bed of mud; and we let the morning boat of the
Northwestern Railroad cross over in the rain without us. When at eleven
o'clock it was clear, I proposed that we should take a sail-boat over
to Naupaktos, and push our way up into Ætolia from that point. Since a
good part of the way would be uphill, the water would have run off and
the road would be passable. I should at least get something new out of
the journey, and realize how short was the distance which separated the
Lake of Agrinion (Trichonis) from the Corinthian Gulf. We could see by
the map that this was not more than twelve miles as the crow flies, and
I pictured to myself some water-shed from which we should see both the
sea and the lake.
We sailed to the point called now Kastro Roumelias, the ancient
Antirrhion, and mounted our wheels at half-past one. Three-quarters
of an hour brought us to Naupaktos. This city was flourishing in the
seventh and sixth centuries before Christ; but its plain was not large
enough, and the places in the interior to which it was a key were not
important enough to give it permanent prosperity. In the fifth century
it was taken by the Athenians, and given to the exiled Messenians,
who made it a stanch ally of Athens in the sphere of Corinthian
influence. Besides being most picturesquely situated, it has looked
down on important events. Under its walls and in its harbor Phormio,
the Athenian admiral, twice annihilated a Peloponnesian fleet of
more than double the size of his own. The greatest naval battle that
ever took place between Christendom and Islam, though fought in the
open sea twenty miles to the west, was named after it, because the
Turkish armada set out from it to meet Don John of Austria. One hardly
recognizes the name in the Venetian form, Lepanto. The Greek name of
to-day, Epaktos, is nearer to the ancient form.
We stopped only a few minutes here, as our intention was to reach
Kephalovrysi (Thermon) that night, and, if we failed in that, it
seemed child's-play to reach at least Makrinou on the lake. Even when
bicycling ceased and we settled down to steady climbing, we felt no
misgivings; and when at four o'clock we began to descend we thought
our work for the day about finished. But our confidence was rudely
shaken when we saw before us the broad, pebbly bed of the Evenos, which
flows down through these mountains, taking a sharp turn to the west
and passing under the walls of Calydon. We had forgotten to reckon
with this. We now paid dearly for our descent by another climb, which
seemed unending, and before we reached our greatest altitude far from
Kephalovrysi, and, for aught we knew, far from Makrinou also, it became
dark.
This road seems an excellent example of the way in which the little
kingdom of Greece ought not to make internal improvements. The fine
carriage-road, built at great expense, winds with gentlest grade along
every projection and indentation of the mountains; and yet we met on
our whole journey to the top only a single cart, and in many places the
road was so overgrown with grass that no ruts appeared. When it was
growing dark we saw another reason why the road might not be popular.
In some places it had slipped downhill; and in other places the hills
had slipped down into it, which was almost as bad. There is no call
for a fine highway from Naupaktos to the lake. The great interior
basin of Ætolia is provided with a good course for its traffic _via_
Messolonghi; and no power on earth can force it to come this way. It is
useless for some silly people in Naupaktos to complain that favoritism
was shown in not laying out the Northwestern Railroad with their town
as a starting-point. For a town doomed to decline, a steamer stopping
two or three times a week, supplemented by sail-boats to and from the
more lively and more important southern shore of the Corinthian Gulf,
may well suffice. The Northwestern Railroad will soon be prolonged to
Arta, giving to him that hath, according to the habit of railroads;
and even this finely built carriage-road will continue to be avoided
by every self-respecting traveller, as it is now, until only pieces of
this monumental folly shall remain. The demarch of Kephalovrysi told me
that the primary object of this road was to enable the Government to
move troops by land in case of the blockade of the coast by stronger
Powers. But even with that explanation the road seems useless without
good roads farther east to connect with it, to say nothing of the
futility of Greece attempting to resist the stronger naval Powers.
When darkness was fairly upon us, and just as we were beginning to
descend, we found a wretched village of four or five houses. At one
of these with a wine-shop below and living-rooms above, we were well
fed, but in a rather primitive style, I eating my rice from the same
bowl with the host, as we all sat cross-legged in front of the fire.
Since it was very cold, we were glad to lie down for the night on
rugs, with other rugs over us, with our feet to the fire, making one
end of a semicircle, at the other end of which was the host with his
wife and five small children, while below, in the business part of the
establishment, were five larger children.
When we got off at sunrise the next morning, the view to the west
was something over which one may well grow enthusiastic. Low down at
our feet, but stretching far away to the west, was the lake which we
had sought, and beyond its farther end another smaller one. At that
farther end, too, was the fertile plain of Agrinion, where grows the
best tobacco in Greece. Beyond that and across the Acheloos rose the
snowy mountains of Acarnania and Leukas, just touched by the rising
sun. On our right, rising up from the north shore of the lake and
stretching far to the north, were the gigantic mountains which make the
larger and wilder part of Ætolia. On our left were the lower peaks of
Mount Arakynthos bordering the lake on the south. This is the heart of
Ætolia. It has a wonderfully drawing power to one who has once seen it.
The lake, enclosed by mountains on its eastern end, and on its western
end by a plain, is wonderfully beautiful. It is striking that its
surface is hardly stirred by either row-boats or sail-boats. The only
time I ever saw a sail upon it was on this particular morning.
It was matter for sad reflection that this great plain did not all
belong to Ætolia, but that the part beyond the Acheloos was Acarnania.
Rivers cannot divide peoples; and these two peoples through all their
history dyed this unnatural boundary with their blood. The Ætolians, as
the stronger if not the better people, generally succeeded in keeping
a foothold on the other bank, holding even Stratos, the capital of
Acarnania, and Œniadæ, its strongest city, for periods of centuries.
But the Acarnanians were tough antagonists, and never said die till all
was merged in the supremacy of Rome.