From the Oak to the Olive: A Plain record of a Pleasant Journey

by Julia Ward Howe

The summons that arouses us at five the next morning does not awaken enthusiasm. We struggle up, however, and get each a minimum of the limited basin and towel privilege. Descending, we find Major Zampacopolus in full uniform, and are admonished by him for being so late. He came for us at four o'clock; but the chief veteran would not suffer us to be disturbed. The sun had already risen, and the ascent looked most formidable. Invoking the courage of our ancestors, we unfolded the umbrellas and began. We had six hundred steps to climb, and steep ones at that. The labor caused such perspiration that at any turn commanding the breeze we were forced to shield ourselves, the sudden evaporation being attended with great danger. The ascent is everywhere guarded by loopholes for musketry, and could not be carried by any party of human assailants. There is, however, another route of access to the fortress, which may be pursued on horseback. It was by this latter path that the Greeks ascended during the war of independence. They took the fortress from the Turks, but were admitted within the gates by treachery. After weary efforts and pauses, we reach the plane of the main structure, which consists of a number of independent bastions in strong positions, commanding each other and the pass. It was built by the Venetians, and vouches for their skill and thoroughness in military architecture. The officers receive us, and accommodate us in an airy bedroom, whose draughts of air we avoid, being en nage with perspiration. We cool by degrees, and enjoy the balcony. A pot of basil is offered us for fragrance, at which we smell with little pleasure. We are then told the legend of the discovery of the true cross beneath a growth of this plant, which circumstance consecrates it among Eastern traditions forever. In the mean time a functionary enters, and furtively carries away a small box. Not very long afterwards its contents are returned in the shape of a cup of delicious coffee for each of us, with a piece of the ration bread of the garrison. "This bread," said the major, "is made with the hands, as we know, for it is made by the soldiers; but the bread you commonly eat in Greece is made with the feet." Here was indeed a heightening of present enjoyment by a somewhat unwelcome disparagement of unavoidable past and future experiences. We now proceeded to visit the bastions in detail. Each of them has its own name. One is called Miltiades. The most formidable one is called Satan. The view from the highest parapet is very grand. We go about, wondering at the grim walls and the manifold openings for musketry. They show us an enormous cistern for rain water. The place contains several of these, and is thus capable of standing a very long siege. We pass an enclosure in which are detained "the military prisoners," whoever they may be. As a bonne bouche we are promised a sight of the criminals condemned to death. These are kept in the strongest recess of the fortress. They lead us to it, and bid us look down into a court below, in which we perceive twenty-five or more unfortunates refreshing themselves in the open air. At the door and grated window of the prison behind them appear the faces of others. Stationed on a narrow bridge above stand the military guard, whose muskets command the court. These men have all been convicted of crimes of violence against the person. Sentence has been passed upon them, and its execution follows the convenience and pleasure of the officers of the law. At short intervals a little group of them is led out to endure the last penalty. "Do not pity them, madam," said the major; "they have all done deeds worthy of death." But how not to pity them, when they and we are made of the same fragile human stuff, that corrupts so easily to crime, and is always redeemable, if society would only afford the costly process of redemption. A sad listlessness hung over the melancholy group. Some of them were busied in preparing breakfast—coffee, probably. Most of them sat or stood quite idly, with the terrible guns bristling above them. They looked up in our women's faces as if they sought there something, some compassionate glance that might recall mother or sweetheart—if such people have them. One old brigand lifted his voice, and petitioned the officers that his single daily hour of fresh air might be extended to two hours, pleading the pain he suffered in his eyes. This was granted. Our guides directed our attention to a man of elastic figure and marked face—tall, athletic, and blond. All that they could tell us was, that there seemed to be something remarkable about this man, as, indeed, his appearance indicated. In his face, more than in those of the others, we observed the blank that Hope leaves when her light is extinguished. All days, all things, were alike to him now; the dark, close prison behind, before him only the day when one in command shall say, "This is thy last!" If the priest shall then have any hidden comfort to bestow upon him! Shade of Jesus, we will hope so!

These men, however, go to death with bold defiance, singing and laughing. A rude sympathy and admiration from the multitude gives them the last thrill of pleasure. As I looked at them, I was struck by a feeling of their helplessness. What is there in the world so helpless as a disarmed criminal? No inner armor has he to beat back the rude visiting of society; no secure soul-citadel, where scorn and anger cannot reach him. He has thrown away the jewel of his manhood; human law crushes its empty case. But the final Possessor and Creditor is unseen.

In our wanderings we catch glimpses of a pretty little garden, disposed in terraces, and planted with flowers, vegetables, and vines. This garden recalls to memory a gentle-hearted commandant who planted it, loving flowers, and therefore not hating men. It is a little gone to decay since he left it, but its presence here is a welcome and useful boon. After visiting its beds and borders, we take leave of the hospitable officers, and by rapid and easy descent return to the prefecture, where the breakfast-table is set, and where a large tea-pot and heaped dish of rice attest the hospitable efforts of our host.

I have only forgotten to say that on one of the ramparts of the fortress they showed us two old Venetian cannon, both of which served in the last revolution; and further, that, in returning, passing through the old gate of the town, we saw sculptured in stone the winged lion of St. Mark, the valorous device of Venice.

ARGOS.

We found the prefect at the very maximum of excitement. Another telegram concerning the brigands, and yet another. Kitzos is closely beleaguered by peasants and gens-d'armes; he cannot get away. Another head will be brought in, and the country will be free of its scourge. With much jumping up and declaiming, our entertainer shared the morning meal with us. We feed the discontented servant, whose views of life appeared to be dismal, kissed the sweet-eyed children of the family, and, as a party, leaped into two carriages, leaving the prefect intent upon welcoming with grim hospitality the prospective heads of bandits, which did not hinder him from shaking hands with us, cordially inviting us to return to the shelter of his roof. But shelter was not for us under any roof, save the ambulating cover of the carriage. We were now en route for Argos. Our drivers were clothed alike, in well-worn bags of blue homespun, peaked babouches without stockings, and handkerchiefs bound about the head. The thermometer was ranging in the upper regions. Dust and overwhelming heat assail us. Stopping to water the well-flogged horses, we take refuge for a few minutes in a shady garden, planted with flowers, vines, and merciful trees with flat, not pointed, foliage. We sit around a tiny fountain, at whose small spouts the smaller bees refresh themselves on the wing. This sojourn is brief; our next halt is on the burning, dusty high-road, where the chief veteran says, "Tiryns," and leads a very forlorn hope across thorny fields and stony ditches to a Cyclopean ruin—a side and angle of old wall, built after the manner so denominated, and so solidly that it outlasts at least three thousand years. We stand and consider this grim old remnant as long and as attentively as the fear of sun-stroke will permit. The veteran, however, leads us farther in pursuit of a cave in which, during the war of Greek independence, he was wont to seek shelter from sun and rain. This cave is probably one of the galleries of the ancient fortress; for that the ruin was a fortress, they say who know. It is perhaps twenty yards in length, and three in its greatest height; for it has a pointed roof, laboriously formed by the fitting and approximation of the two sides, no arch being then invented. The stones that form this roof are very large, rather broken than hewn, and are laid together with great care. Some of them are of very hard material. From these most venerable relics we creep back, under the deadly fire of the sun, to the carriage. The remainder of our drive leads across the plain of Argos, the "courser feeding," as Homer denominates it. We come in sight of its lofty Acropolis long before we reach the town, through whose narrow streets we drive, and after a brief pause at the prefecture, find rest and shelter in a private house.

The proprietors of this house ranked among the best people of the place—oi megaloi, as the multitude naively denominate them. They received us in a large salon without carpets, darkened by green blinds, and furnished with a mahogany centre table and chairs, all of a European pattern, with a cushioned divan occupying one corner of the room, according to the favorite fashion of these parts. The lady of the house wore a dress of ordinary figured jacconet, open at the neck, and a red fez, around which her own hair was bound in a braid. Her husband appeared in full Palicari dress, with an irrepproachable fustanella, and handsome jacket and leggings. They welcomed us with great cordiality, and bestirred themselves to minister to our necessities. Gliko and water were immediately brought us, together with the vinegar for my fevered hands. We next begged for mattresses, which were brought and spread on the floor of a bedroom adjoining. The four feminines, as usual, dropped down in a row. In the drawing-room mattresses were arranged for the gentlemen. We rested from 12.30 until 2 P. M., the hour appointed for the distribution of clothing to the destitute Cretans, of whom there is a large settlement at Argos. For I may as well mention here that our pursuit of pleasures and antiquities in the terms of this expedition was entirely secondary to the plans of our veteran for clothing the nakedness of these poor exiles. In his energetic company we now walked to a large building with court enclosed—a former convent, in whose corridors our eager customers, restrained by one or two officials, were in waiting. We were ushered into a well-sized room, in which lay heaps of cotton under-clothing, and of calico dresses, most of them in the shape of sacks and skirts. These were the contents of one or two boxes recently arrived from Boston. Some of them were recognized as having connection with a hive of busy bees who used to gather weekly in our own New England parlor. And what stress there was! and what hurrying! And how the little maidens took off their feathery bonnets and dainty gloves, wielding the heavy implements of cutting, and eagerly adjusting the arms and legs, the gores and gathers! With patient pride the mother trotted off to the bakery, that a few buns might sustain these strenuous little cutters and sewers, whose tongues, however active over the charitable work, talked, we may be sure, no empty nonsense nor unkind gossip. For charity begins indeed at home, in the heart, and, descending to the fingers, rules also the rebellious member whose mischief is often done before it is meditated. At the sight of these well-made garments a little swelling of the heart seized us, with the love and pride of remembrance so dear. But sooner than we could turn from it to set about our business, the Cretans were in presence.

Here they come, called in order from a list, with names nine syllables long, mostly ending in poulos, a term signifying descent, like the Russian "witzch." Here they come, the shapely maiden, the sturdy matron, the gray-haired grandmother, with little ones of all small sizes and ages. Many of the women carried infants at the breast; many were expectant of maternity. Not a few of them were followed by groups of boys and girls. Most of them were ill-clothed; many of them appeared extremely destitute of attire. A strong, marked race of people, with powerful eyes, fine black hair, healthy complexions, and symmetrical figures. They bear traces of suffering. Some of the infants have pined; but most of them promise to do well. Each mother cherishes and shows her little beggar in the approved way. The children are usually robust, although showing in their appearance the very limited resources of their parents. Some of the women have tolerable gowns; to these we give only under-clothing. Others have but the rag of a gown—a few stripes of stuff over their coarse chemises. These we make haste to cover with the beneficent growth of New England factories. They are admitted in groups of three or four at a time. As many of us fly to the heaps of clothing, and hastily measure them by the length and breadth of the individual. A papa, or priest, keeps order among them. He wears his black hair uncut, a narrow robe much patched, and holds in his hand a rosary of beads, which he fingers mechanically. We work at this distribution for a couple of hours, and return to the house to take some necessary refreshment. We find a dinner-table set for us in one of the sleeping-rooms, and are cordially invited to partake of fish cooked in oil, bread, acrid cheese, cucumbers, olives, and cherries, together with wine which our Greek companions praised as highly stomachic, but which to us seemed at once bitter, sour, and insipid—a wine without either sugar or sparkle, dull as a drug, sufficient of itself to overthrow the whole Bacchic dispensation. Having enjoyed the repast, we returned to the Cretan settlement, and continued the distribution of the clothing until all were provided. The dresses did not quite hold out, but sufficed to supply the most needy, and, in fact, the greater number. Of the under-clothes we carried back a portion, having given to every one. To an old papa (priest) who came, looking ill and disconsolate, I sent two shirts and a good dark woollen jacket. Among all of these, only one discontented old lady demurred at the gift bestowed. She wanted a gown, but there was none; so that she was forced to content herself, much against her will, with some under-clothing. The garments supplied, of which many were sent by the Boston Sewing Circle, under the superintendence of Miss Abby W. May, proved to be very suitable in pattern and in quality. The good taste of their assortment gave them an air of superiority over the usual dress of the poor in this and other countries of the old world. The proportion of children's clothing was insufficient; but who could have foreseen that the Cretans would have had such large families of such little children? Finally, we rejoiced in the philanthropic energy of our countrywomen, and in the good appearance of our domestic manufactures. As we descended the steps, we met with some of the children, already arrayed in their little clean shirts, and strutting about with the inspiration of fresh clothing, long unfelt by them.

We now went on foot to visit a fine amphitheatre in the neighborhood of the town, called by the ignorant "the tomb of Helen." The seats are hewn out of the solid rock, and occupy the whole ascent of a lofty hill-side. From the ground to the middle row they were faced with fine white marble. The remainder consisted simply of the stone itself, without covering. The division first mentioned is in better condition than the second, the marble incasement having protected the softer stone against the action of the elements. In front are some remains which probably represent the stage and its background. The extent embraced is unusually large; and as we sat in the chief seats and looked towards the proscenium, we wondered a little as to what manner of entertainment could be given to an assembly so vast. The ancient masks were indeed necessary to enable the distant portion of the audience to have any idea of the expression of countenance intended to be conveyed. But I should suppose that games of strength and agility, races, combats of wild beasts, would have been best suited to such an arena. To us it was sufficiently melancholy in its desertion and desecration—grass and thorny shrubs growing profusely between its defaced stones, the heavy twilight forming the background, while the stars that enlivened the evening were real ones, not their human symbols. As we descended, however, from our half hour of contemplation, we received notice of the incursion of busy western life even into this charmed domain. In a field hard by, a threshing machine was winnowing the Argive grain,—a thing of wonder to the inhabitants, probably an object of suspicion,—the property of a rich land-owner. Beggars are rare in Greece; but the Argos children followed us both to and from the amphitheatre with mendicant solicitations. They went thither under the plea of showing us the way, and pursued our return under that of being paid for the same. We endeavored to satisfy two or three of them; but, the whole troop following and tormenting, one of our companions appealed in Greek to the parents, as we passed their thatched dwellings. These called off the little hounds with threats of the bastinado. We reached the hospitable roof of our entertainers, first taking a lemonade at a little booth in the dark street. The mattresses were spread, the sick hands bathed, and we lay down to rest as we could, an early start being before us. A variety of insects preyed upon us, and made not very unwelcome the dawning of the early hour that saw us roused and dressed.

But here I have forgotten to make mention of a fact which had much to do with our immediate movements at this time. The evening of our sojourn in Argos saw an excitement much like that which blocked the street in Nauplia. The occasion was the same—the bringing home of a brigand's head; but this the very head and front of all the brigands, Kitzos himself, upon whose head had been set a prize of several thousand drachmas. Our veteran with difficulty obtained a view of the same, and reported accordingly. The robber chief, the original of Edmond About's "Hadji Stauros," had been shot while sighting at his gun. He had fallen with one eye shut and one open, and in this form of feature his dissevered head remained. The soldier who was its fortunate captor carried it concealed in a bag, with its long elf-locks lying loose about it. He showed it with some unwillingness, fearing to have the prize wrested from him. It was, however, taken on board of our steamer, and carried to Athens, there to be identified and buried.