April xxiii.
This morning we mounted about nine a clock, when the Greeks were preparing for the ceremony of the day. It was pleasant to see them flock together to the number of some thousands, being of different sex, age, and quality; but all equally regardless of the dirt and rain, which then fell very plentifully. We followed them on horseback a little mile out of the village to a large turpentine tree, under the shade and covert of which they had placed the saints, which we had before observed in the church; and there celebrated their mass. This was no other, than what is ordinary in the rites of the Greek church; except only, that it seemed to have some particular reference to St. George. It may be here proper to observe, that as the priest made two elevations of the elements, the one before, and the other after consecration; the people equally adored them at the former, as well as at the latter[8]. Before the consecration of the wine was completed, the priest mingled a little warm water in the cup, and afterwards put the μαργαρίτης, or consecrated bread, therein. All which he, and the deacon who assisted him, received; and after the whole ceremony one of his assistants distributed two loaves of unconsecrated bread[9] in little peices to the people, which they received with as much hurry as superstition. The congregation now break up, and carry back their saints in a tumultuous manner, one still endeavouring to catch them from another; while he that carries them, runs with what speed he can, and often strikes his head with the board, on which they are painted, as a voluntary penance for his sins.
This ceremony ended, we turned aside to satisfy our curiosity with the sight of the famous river Hermus, which flows scarce two bow’s shot below the turpentine tree mentioned above. This large and noble river yeilds an entertaining sight, especially when it abates something of its usual fulness. It appears graced on each side with a sandy shelving bank. The neighbouring pastures afford abundance of tamarisk, and on the edge of the river asparagus is very plentiful. It may be observed, that as the poets of old called it the golden[10], so the Turks at present call it the silver streamed Hermus; either of which names it seems to deserve from that bright and shining sand, which its water washes. But though the sand be clear, yet the water is still thick and muddy[11], and well answers some epithets of that nature, which are bestowed upon it in ancient poetry.
It was now past midday, when we return to the village, and after the refreshment of a diner prepare for our departure towards Magnesia. Our way thither lay through the same plain, into which we entered yesterday at one a clock; where the beauty and verdure of this campain countrey made amends for the great rain, which annoyed us all this day, as well at the Greek ceremony, as now in our way to Magnesia.
In two hours from St. George’s we begin to enter Magnesia, not without a just admiration of its delicious situation at the foot of mount Sipylus; from whence it was antiently called Magnesia ad Sipylum, to distinguish it from that other, which stood near the river Meander[12]. Having rode into the city, we began to be in distress for an house to receive us; for an uncertain recommendation, which we had hitherto over credulously relied on, we now found to have miscarried. This was observed by an effendi, who saw us pass under his window, and therefore courteously acquainted us by his servant, that if we wanted accommodations, we might be welcome to his house. We gladly embraced the motion, and were conducted into a garden, where we were afforded the use of a pleasure house, consisting of a large sophá room, a kitchen, and an open kiosk, with a beautiful fountain in the middle. The effendi himself came down, and welcomed us to our apartment, adding withall, that if we had any other freind to rely upon, he would not deprive us of a better entertainment; if not, he bid us freely make use of what this place afforded. Returning to his house he presented us with a lamb, and desired to know, if there was any thing else, with which he was capable of obliging us. By our dragoman he likewise informed us, that the cadí of the city was at that time making him a visit, before whom it might not be improper for us to shew ourselves; but at the same time not to come empty handed. According to this motion we waited upon the cadí with two okes of sugar, and as many of coffee. He received us and our present very obligingly; and upon the effendi’s invitation, we there drank a dish of coffee in the company of several Turks, who seemed to be of the better rank, and behaved themselves gentilely, that is, according to the genius of this haughty people, with an agreable mixture of civility and reservedness.
This ceremony performed, we returned to our garden, and there entertained ourselves at supper with just and grateful reflections on the great courtesy and hospitality of our landlord, whole name we had now learnt to be Mahomet effendi. His habitation is very pleasant, yet not so much for the splendid furniture of his house, as for that various and diverting prospect, which it commands over the plain of Hermus; though indeed this is an advantage, which by reason of the ascending situation of Magnesia is common to the meanest cottage in the city. It seemed strange to us to observe several pieces of painted glass in the windows of our effendi’s house, inscribed in Turkish characters with the name of the proprietor, together with some religious sentences of Mahometan devotion. But we were much more surprized, when we were informed, that it was the manufacture of this place; for it is stained with a beautiful as well as deep and durable colour, and comes up to the perfection of the best, we have seen in England. This gave us occasion to reflect on the different fortune of arts and sciences, which, like men, seem to take delight in shifting their station; for while other arts have now left these places, and traveled westward, this alone in exchange for all the rest seems to have retired into this, and is deplored as lost in Christendom.