A tale of the troubles caused by war is always sad to hear, and the family, at whose hospitable board we were seated, had been absolutely ruined by their losses, and were now attempting to begin the world afresh; but though Monsieur B—— is an energetic farmer and works, his wife says, early and late, he has hitherto reaped but little reward for his toil. Life, commerce, energy, have alike deserted Sevastopol, and there is but little or no market either there or in the neighbourhood.
Poor little Madame B——, with tears in her pretty eyes, deplored in fervent language the loss of her comfortable home. Her husband was with his regiment on the north side, when the rapid approach of the allies obliged her and her children to fly for safety to Simpheropol. She left a house, well, almost luxuriously furnished, and returned at the end of the war to find but bare walls—not even a chair had been left. The farm and garden gone—gone also the woods and valuable vineyards, the very roots of which had been torn up and burnt. Our graceful little hostess, however, with a tender regard for the feelings of her stranger guests, hastened to add that the ruin of the place was not owing to the English army, whose generals had kindly striven to save and to spare as much as possible, but to those human locusts, the Tartar camp-followers.
From Cathcart’s Hill we drove to Kerani, a desolate little village lying amongst the hills near Balaclava. There were about half-a-dozen half-ruined wooden hovels, and a couple of better-class houses, although these were also built of wood. To one of these we were most kindly welcomed by Colonel S——.
The long sloping roofs, weighted by large stones, and the peculiarly small windows, only seen in stormy countries, showed how severe the winters must sometimes be here, and we were told that, though cold is seldom of long continuance, and though snow rarely remains for many days upon the ground, yet the gales of wind during the winter months are of extraordinary violence, the long narrow gullies with which the hills are intersected acting as funnels, down which the raging tempest hurries with increasing fury and strength. In general, however, the gales, though severe, are short, and in the memory of man no such terrible winters had been known as those experienced by our troops during the two years they were in the Crimea. Never before had such intense cold been known; never before had the storms been so prolonged and incessant. Direct manifestations, it was believed by the lower order of Russians, that Providence itself was against the unrighteous invasion of the land.
We had a pleasant luncheon at Colonel S——’s, and the live stock of the yacht was increased by the kind gift (rather to Mr. Harvey’s horror) of a pair of quite lovely geese. We had not believed the usually despised goose could be so beautiful a bird. These geese were as white as snow, had backs and wings covered with long curling feathers like ostrich plumes, and had bright pink bills and feet; but for their unfortunate voices they might have set up for swans. Our dear birds, however, did not approve of being summarily torn from the paternal pond and packed in a basket, so they hissed and cackled all the rest of the day in a thoroughly goose-like and provoking manner.
From Kerani we went to St. George’s Monastery—a long low building, standing apparently in a flat, ugly country; but on passing through an archway, and descending a few steps, an enchanting view was before us.
The convent is built upon the extreme edge of a steep wooded cliff overhanging a little bay. Paths had been cut through the wood, and wound down between trees and rocks to the verge of the sea, where tiny waves were coming quietly in upon a shining beach, trickling back amongst the many-coloured shells and stones with a pleasant murmur, most refreshing on such a burningly hot day. But the sun was now glowing with almost blinding heat upon this the western side, so we retired into the interior of the building until the intolerable glare should have somewhat subsided.
There are now only five brethren of the order living at St. George. Since the war the number has greatly diminished, and some are required for another house at Simpheropol. We were invited to have some tea, an offer we thankfully accepted, and while it was getting ready were asked to pay a visit to the cells. They were fairly comfortable, indeed better than may be found in many religious houses in Italy and France, that have not so strict a rule as the Greek convents.
Each brother was provided with a table, a stool, some boards on tressels for a bed, a mattress (certainly very thin), and a blanket; but what can monks wish for more? In the Greek Church, the severity of monastic life consists principally in the length and rigid observance of the frequent fasts, and in the small amount of sleep that is permitted. There is scarcely a religious house in which meat is ever eaten, and twice a week, during the long fast of Easter, only one meal a day is allowed, consisting of beans boiled with oil.
As there are no inns in this part of the world, excepting in towns, monasteries answer the purpose, and though payment is not permitted, each traveller, ere he departs, is expected to drop an offering into the poor-box.