hour the carriages begin again to roll, though the fashionable drive
scarcely begins earlier than six o'clock. One drives to Faleran, to the
Piraeus, or, if it be Sunday, to the Polygonon, where the band plays, and
whither the regent, mounted on a well-bred steed, is sure to betake
himself. This Polygonon is simply a several-sided pavilion, at a
distance of a mile and a half from the palace. A crowd of people flock
to it on Sunday afternoons, either in carriages or on foot, and all in
their best clothes. At a little distance stands a small cafe, where
lemonade and lokumia may be enjoyed, but no ince. The view of the
Acropolis from this spot is a very pleasant one. But to return to our
Athenian streets. Carriages are very dear in the afternoon, being in
request for drives to the bath, which is taken either at Faleran or at
Pireo. A visit to either place refreshes after the long, hot day. When
you return in the evening, you see the streets and squares about the
cafes thronged with people sitting at little tables and enjoying ices or
coffee. The narghile, or water-pipe, is much in use here. At these
tables one often sees it. The sacred herb basil, also, whose legend we
have elsewhere recounted, appears upon these tables, growing in earthen
pots. You will somewhere encounter the military band, which nightly
performs in some stated place. But the cafe opposite our hotel has a
band every evening, and our discussions of Greek politics and of Cretan
prospects are frequently interrupted by strains from Norma, Trovatore,
Traviata, and other late abortions of the muse. From this phrase let me,
however, even in passing, deliver Norma. This statement carefully
enumerates the external resources of Athens during waking hours.
Within doors, besides our grave studies, we have visits. Many Greeks and
Cretans wait upon the veteran, together with American consuls, and
Cretan women bringing silks, laces, and stockings of their own
manufacture, or petitioning for little special helps over and above the
forty lepta per diem allowed to each of them by the committee. Some
mysterious consultations are there, bent on merciful conspiracies and
Heaven-approved stratagems. Omer Pacha and his army have surrounded the
unhappy Island of Candia, and are tightening their folds like a huge
serpent. The severity of the blockade is starving to death the women and
children who are shut up in the towns, or hidden in caves and recesses
of the mountains. England meanwhile feasts the sultan, and pledges the
bloody toast of non-interference. How comfortable is the water-proof by
which my Lords Derby and Stanley ward off the approach of any fact that
might induce compassion or compel indignation! Sympathy at every
entrance quite shut out, and at every appeal for mercy a fat English
laugh, echoed by the House, which may make the angels weep. Smart Argyle
keeps heart of grace against this squad of the heartless. He even takes
the trouble to get facts from Greece from sources less poisoned with
prejudice than the Times' correspondent.[A] And I am fain to believe
that a Scotch Presbyterian may easily have more heart, brains, and
religion than one who combines church and state with the betting-book,
and, among all races, honors least the human race.
[A] It is only fair to state here that the Times'
correspondent, minus his Mishellenism, is a most genial,
accomplished, and hospitable person.
Our war upon the Turks is a war of biscuit and of cotton cloth. We run
every permissible risk to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, both of
these terms being of literal application. Our agent lands his
insufficient cargo, and before his errand is known, the moan and wail of
the suffering ones break out from hill-side and cavern. _Psomi!_
_psomi!_ for God's sake, bread! And here comes the sad procession. The
merciful man is ashamed to look at the women; their rags do not cover
them. Hunted are they and starved like beasts. But the sultan feasts in
England well. O, brave and merciful hearts of men and women, be lifted
up to help them. And O, noble people, poor and hard-working,
unsophisticated by theories which make the Turk's dominion a necessary
nuisance, and his religion a form of Christianity, do you come forward,
and make common cause with Christ's poor and oppressed, whose faces are
ground, whose chains are riveted, in his name.
Last evening the veteran received his Cretan mail. The biscuits arrived
safely. The letters which acknowledge them begin with, "Glory to the
triune God!" They then invoke blessings on the American people, and
fervently thank the veteran, who has been at once the provoker of their
zeal and the distributor of their bounty. Such thanks are painful; they
make us feel the agonized suffering to which our small largess gives a
momentary relief. The Arkadi, our blockade-runner, after landing her
cargo, took on board more than three hundred women and children, fleeing
from the last extremities of want and misery. This morning appears at
the door of our hotel a little group of these unfortunates--a mother
with four small children, the youngest a little nursing babe. Bread we
give them, and a line to the committee. We ask the woman if she would
not go back to Crete. "O God! no," she replies: "the Turks would murder
us."
Before the letters came, last evening, we heard continual cries of
"Pende lepta," betokening the issue of an extra. The servant buys one
and brings it. The news from Crete is, that Mechmet Pacha has been in a
measure surrounded by the Cretans. Our veteran shakes his head, and
fears that it is otherwise. A little later come in some of our Cretan
friends, together with one or two new faces. They are hopeful and in
some excitement. In the midst of this arrives the Cretan budget, as
before mentioned. Eagerly indeed are the letters devoured. But the
veteran remains thoughtful, and not sanguine. And when we are alone, I
find that he will go at once to France and England, jog the easy
conscience of diplomacy, and appeal to the sense and sympathy of the
people. I utter a hearty "God speed!" We had intended visiting
Constantinople; but that is now given up, and scarcely regretted, so
urgent is the need of doing all that can be done for Crete.
EXCURSIONS.
To return to matters purely personal. I must not set down the heat and
monotony of long days in Athens without stating also the _per contras_
of freshness and enjoyment which have been paid in by various small
undertakings and excursions. First among these I will mention a morning
meeting under the columns of Jupiter Olympius. A small party of us, by
appointment, started at five A. M., and reached the columns, some ten
minutes later. They stand quite flatly on a large plain, lifting their
Corinthian capitals high in the blue empyrean. But this we have already
described elsewhere. On this occasion we take seats in the comforting
shadow, around a little table, and call for coffee, lemonade, and
lokumias. The early morning is very beautiful. A company of soldiers
goes through its drill quite near us. Presently its officers also
retreat under the shadows, take chairs and a table, and call for what
pleases them best. The regimental band plays an air or two, perhaps in
compliment to the neophytes, who are of our company. We enjoy the unique
scene and combination--the picturesque costumes, the beauties and
associations of the spot. So rampant does this effort make us, that we
determine to have a meeting in the Acropolis in the afternoon of this
very day, of cloudless promise, like its fellows.
We disperse and return home before the severe heat of the morning sets
in; and this is well, for between the shade of the pepper-tree walk and
the shade of the columns there is a long tract of sunny expanse. At this
hour it is quite endurable; an hour later it becomes overpowering. We
pass the day after the usual fashion. At six o'clock in the afternoon we
do meet in the Acropolis, and hold poetic session in a sheltered corner
of the Parthenon. She who was there invited to read her own and other
verses felt an especial joy and honor in so doing. And we had
recitations besides, and singing, and Bengal lights, which the fairest
of moons put to shame. And we went home afterwards with great
reluctance.
We had three windy days in Athens, really of a cool and boisterous
quality. We took advantage of one of them to visit Eleusis, where stood
the great Temple of Ceres, famous as the scene of initiation into the
Eleusinian mysteries, which formed an epoch in the youth of every Greek.
The road to it leads through Daphne, the spot on which Apollo is
supposed to have chased the classic nymph. The rose laurels (oleanders)
still bloom on its somewhat barren soil. The way leads also by the sea,
commanding a refreshing outlook on the same. A modern Albanian village
covers the greater part of the space formerly occupied by the temple. As
the day is Sunday, we find the inhabitants walking about in picturesque
costumes, the men in embroidered jackets or goatskin capotes, the
shoulder of the garment expanding into a wide, short sleeve; the women
in narrow skirts, wearing long, narrow redingotes without sleeves, in a
coarse white woollen material, with two rows of black embroidery down
the back, between which falls their long, braided hair, tied at the end
with a black ribbon. Some of them wore at the waist large girdle-clasps,
composed of two disks of silvered copper, not unlike a belt ornament
worn by ladies in our own country. We asked leave to enter one of the
small thatched cottages. It consisted of a single room. The walls were
neatly whitewashed. An earthen pot was boiling upon a fire of sticks. I
saw no furniture except a low wooden chest, on which was seated an old
woman, the grandmother of the family. Several young women occupied the
hut with her; all had small children with them. They stood about, all
but one, who sat on the floor in a corner, soothing a sick and crying
child. Of the ruins of the temple a small angle only is exposed. It
includes some square yards of marble pavement, fragments of pillars, and
one very large and fine Corinthian capital. It shows, besides this, some
remnants of masonry indicating a number of small chambers. Near it is a
wall, piled up of large pieces of the finest Greek marble, roughly
broken with a hammer--the wreck, obviously, of former walls or columns.
The magnitude of the temple is marked by some stones lying quite at the
other end of the village street: the space between these and those first
mentioned would indicate a building of enormous extent. Much of its
ruined material probably underlies the little village, and will scarcely
be brought to light in these times. A small cabin adjacent is dignified
with the title of museum. To this we were admitted by a custode, an old
soldier, who has it in charge. The collection consists of a mass of
small fragments, some of which formerly belonged to statues, some to
architectural sculptures. We saw little to move the cupidity of the
visitor, but tried to bargain for one relic less ugly than the rest; in
vain, however. A Frenchman, not long ago, took from these ruins many
valuable objects, marbles, and even jewelry; since which time the
government has strictly forbidden these Elgin thefts. The custode's
domestic arrangements amused me more than did his museum. There was one
very poor little tin, in which he boiled his coffee; another, smaller
and more miserable, held oil and a wick. He had gunpowder in a gourd.
His bed was small and much dilapidated. A fragment of mat thrown upon a
heap of stones was his only seat. Few beggars in America are, probably,
so ill provided with the appliances of life.
One of the women of the cabin I had visited followed me to the museum,
and naturally held out her hand for "pende lepta." Yet beggary is very
rare in Greece, and this petitioner asked in rather a shamefaced
manner, pointing to the little baby on her arm. And this is all that
there is to narrate of the expedition to Eleusis.
Of a more stately character was the expedition to Kephissia. We started
at seven in the morning. There were two carriage-loads of our party;
for, in addition to the veteran's six-syllabled secretary, we were
accompanied by an amiable Greek family, whose guests we became for the
day. In the villages that surround Athens there are no hotels or
lodging-houses of any description. The traveller perforce implores
hospitality, and usually receives it. On this occasion our friends had
asked and obtained the key of a large and sumptuous house at Kephissia,
whose owners are absent. They had also secured the company of three
_gens d'armes_, who galloped along the dusty road beside us. The drive
at this early hour was cool and most refreshing. The only drawback to
its comfort was the dust, which the foremost carriage could not avoid
sending back to that which followed. We reached first the village of
Maroussi, a pretty, shady little place, in whose cafe we saw a group of
peasants playing at cards. The usual appliances, coffee and tobacco,
were also visible. Here we stopped to water the horses. A handsome
marble fountain, beneath a shady clump of trees, bears the names of the
family who caused it to be erected for the public good. Shade and water
are, indeed, the two luxuries of regions such as these. A little farther
on, we came to Kephissia, and stopped at the door of the palatial
residence that was to give us shelter for the day. We entered a hall
paved with white marble, and ascended a marble staircase. We now found
ourselves in a spacious set of apartments, well kept, and furnished
according to the Greek theory of summer furniture. Roomy divans extended
with the walls of each _salon_, of which there were three, opening one
into the other. Tables and chairs there were; and, had the proprietors
resided there, handsome Turkish mats would, no doubt, have variegated
the bare floors. The chief _salon_ opened upon a balcony commanding an
extensive view. The fresh wind blew to quite a gale, greatly raising our
languid energies. On the walls of this apartment hung two
portraits--those of the former master and mistress of the house. She was
sumptuous in dark blue velvet, with a collar of Valenciennes lace and a
fastening bow of blue plaid ribbon. Her fingers were adorned with rings.
Her husband appeared in his best broadcloth, wearing on his head a red
fez with a white under edge. He had begun life in a humble station, and
had raised himself to great opulence by his own exertions. Something of
the consciousness of this was expressed in his countenance, which was a
good-natured one. He and his wife did not long enjoy the fortune so
justly earned. They died almost before the house at Kephissia was
finished, bequeathing its magnificence to two young nephews, also rich,
but resident in Italy.
The freedom of our day here made amends for the many days of hot
imprisonment passed in the hotel at Athens. Breakfast was necessary on
first arriving. We then surveyed the bedrooms and made arrangements for
our midday nap. We found comfortable bedsteads of bright metal. The
servants brought clean mattresses, and unrolled them for us. Water and
towels we enjoyed in abundance. We then walked out to view the environs.
And first our steps brought us to an enormous plane tree, under whose
far-reaching shade the gossips of the village hold their daily meetings.
The boughs of this tree, with the cleared space under them, formed a
sort of rustic _salon_, cool and delightful even in the heat of the day.
The unfailing cafe was near at hand; its chairs and tables were
scattered about these rustic purlieus, and its servants waited for
orders. Here our companions encountered various acquaintances from the
city, who have come hither to pass the season of the great heats. They
wore white veils on their straw hats, as is much the custom here, and
had altogether the enfranchised air which city men are wont to assume in
country retirement. Mail and public conveyance they had none. One of our
party brought them letters, and took the answers back to Athens. We now
went in search of the source of the Kephisus, called Kefalari. We found
a deep spring of the purest water, very cool for these parts, and
constantly welling up. So clear was this pool that one saw without
impediment the smallest objects at the bottom of the water. There were
waving trees beside it. We sat down, and drank, and rested. Our walk
next brought us to a wine factory, and, as we entered to look at it, the
sound of a grand piano, skilfully touched, arrested us. Our friends
guessed the unseen artist, and knocked at her door for admittance.
Entering, we found two ladies, mother and daughter, of whom the elder
was the mistress of the musical instrument. The daughter, very young,
but already married, bears the historical name of Colocotroni, her
husband being the grandson of the old revolutionary chieftain of that
name. These ladies own extensive possessions in this vicinity, and the
establishment in which we were belonged to them. They have a large villa
at some distance; but fear of the brigands induces them to be satisfied
with the shelter of two or three rooms, divided off from the rest of the
factory, in which they live in comfortable simplicity. The table was
laid for their _dejeuner_ in a little arbor made of pine tree branches.
Dinner they took at twilight, without shelter. They entertained us with
the invariable _gliko_ and water, and, at our request, the elder lady
gave us a specimen of her skill in dealing with the piano-forte. Madame
Colocotroni speaks both French and English, and the books and pamphlets
in her drawing-room had quite a cosmopolitan air of culture.
After these doings, we returned to the great house, and sheltered
ourselves in its shady rooms. Here reading, worsted work, and
conversation beguiled the time until dinner was announced. The
gentlemen, meanwhile, had retired to smoke and discuss political
questions. The dinner was much too well-appointed for a country picnic.
Our munificent entertainers had sent out their own valets and _chef de
cuisine_. And so we had potage, and entrees, and dessert, with Kephissia
wine, both white and red, of which I found the former much like a
Sauterne wine, and very mild and pure in quality. One of the guests was
an Asiatic Greek from Broussa. His politics were of the backward
sort--those of the Greek Greeks were radical and progressive. The dinner
arena developed therefore some amicable differences of opinion. He from
Broussa gave me a few characteristic particulars of his life. When he
was but a year old, his father chartered a ship, put much of his
property on board of her, and sent therewith his children to be educated
in Europe. After many years of absence, M. L. returned to Broussa, to
seek some traces of his family. Such as remained of them had been
compelled by the pressure of circumstances to adopt the Turkish
language, and to profess Mohammedanism. Their Christian prayers they
always continued to recite in private, but were fain by every outward
expedient to escape the ill treatment which Christians receive in a
country in which Turkish authority is dominant. He told me--what I hear
strongly corroborated by other testimony--that the Turks had often cut
out the tongues of Greek women, in order that they should not be able to
teach their children either their own language or their own religion.
Under these circumstances the gradual absorption of the race in those
regions seems almost inevitable.
An after-dinner nap and a ramble completed our experience of Kephissia.
At sunset we started homeward, the carriages all open, the _gens
d'armes_ galloping, the dust playing a thousand solid antics, and
writing hieroglyphics of movement all over our garments and faces. We
found the little village of Maroussi cool with the evening shadows, and
the women and children with their pitchers gathered around the marble
fountain. We ourselves came back to Athens in a cooled and consoled
condition, and said at parting, commanding the little Greek we knew,
_Poly kala-evkaristo_.
HYMETTUS.
It happened that the next day was fixed upon for a visit to Hymettus,
whose water is celebrated, as well as its honey. A certain monkless
monastery on the side of the mountain receives travellers within its
shady courts, and allows them to feed, rest, and amuse themselves
according to their own pleasure. We started on this classic journey soon
after five A. M., carrying with us a basket containing cold chicken,
bread, and fruit. We filled one carriage; a party of friends accompanied
us in another. The road to Hymettus is hilly and difficult; and our own
troubles in travelling it were augmented by those of our friends in the
foremost carriages, whose horses, at an early period in the ascent,
began to back and balk. As these horses, who go so ill, insist upon
going first, and refuse to stir the moment we take the lead, it comes to
pass that in some steep ascents they press back upon us, to our
discomfort and danger.
An anxious hour brings us to the convent, which stands at no great
elevation on the side of the mountain. The sun is already burning, and
we are glad to take refuge in the shady inner court of the convent,
where we are to pass the day. Our friends of the other carriage have
brought with them Hatty, a child two years of age, and Marigo, a little
servant of thirteen. The latter has somewhat the complexion of a
potato-skin, with vivacious eyes, and dark hair, bound, after the Greek
fashion, with a handkerchief. A young brother follows on a slow donkey,
which he belabors to his heart's content.
The court just spoken of is a small enclosure, surrounded on all sides
by whitewashed walls, of which one includes a small chapel, with its
tapers and painted images. In one corner a doorway leads into a den
which must once have served as a kitchen. It is roughly built of stone,
with no chimney, its roof presenting various apertures for the issue of
smoke. Here a fire of sticks is hastily kindled on a layer of stones,
and the coffee, boiled at home, is made hot for us. A wooden table is
allowed us from the convent, which we decorate with a white cloth and
green leaves. Rolls, butter, hard-boiled eggs, and fruits, together with
the coffee, constitute a very presentable breakfast. We have around us
the shade of vines and of lemon trees. Our repast is gay. When it is
ended, we amuse ourselves with books, work, and conversation of a scope
suited to the weather. An Athenian Plato could discourse philosophy in
the present state of the thermometer. We need it more than ever he did,
but we cannot attain it.
While we sit cheerful and quiescent, dodging the sharp sunlight, which
slyly carries one position after another, sounds of laughter from the
outer court reach our ears. This is a feast day, and in this outer court
a company of Athenian artisans, of the Snug and Bottom order, are
keeping it after their fashion. Following their voices, we come to a
shady terrace, where some eight or ten men are seated on the ground
around a wooden table, one foot in height, while two or three of their
comrades are employed in cutting up a lamb newly roasted, spitted on a
long, slender pole.
The cooking apparatus consisted of two or three stones, on which the
fire of sticks was kindled, and of two forked stakes, planted upright,
across which the spit and roast were laid. While the two before
mentioned were hacking the paschal lamb with rude anatomy, a third was
occupied with the salad, consisting of cucumbers sliced, with green
herbs, oil, and vinegar. Olives, bread, and wine completed the repast.
As we stood surveying them, one of their number approached us, bearing
in one hand a plate containing choice morsels of the roasted meat. This
he offered to each of us in turn, with great courtesy. In the other hand
he carried a rather dirty fragment of cotton cloth, which he also
presented to each in turn, as a towel. We took the meat with our
fingers, and ate it standing, in true Passover fashion. The doubtful
accommodation of the table napkin also we were glad to accept. Having
fed each of us, he presently returned with a glass and bottle of wine,
which he poured out and offered, saying, "_Eleuthera, eleuthera_" which
signifies "free, free." The wine, however, was a little out of rule for
us, and was therefore declined.
This man wore neither coat nor shoes, but his manners were full dress.
His comrades, meanwhile, had fallen to attacking their provisions with a
hearty good will. When the wine was poured out, a toast was proposed,
and "_Eleutheria tis Cretis_" ("the liberty of Crete") rang from every
lip. "Amen, amen," answered we, and the _entente cordiale_ was at once
established. Having eaten and drunk, they began to sing in a monotonous
strain, keeping time by clapping their hands. Retiring to our court, we
still heard this cadence from theirs. Their song, though little musical,
had no brutal intonations. It breathed a rather refined good nature and
hilarity. When we again visited our neighbors, they were dancing. All,
save two of them, formed a line, joining hands, the leader and the one
next him holding together by a pocket handkerchief. They sang all the
while, stepping rather slowly. The leader, at intervals, made as though
he would sit upon the ground, and then suddenly sprang high, with an
_oich!_ something like the shout in a Highland fling. In another figure,
they all lay upon their backs, springing up again quite abruptly, and
continuing their round.