Greece and the Ægean Islands

by Philip Sanford Marden

After a steady ascent of a mile or so, the temple comes suddenly into view, framed in a foreground of green boughs, which add immensely to the effectiveness of the picture, and which make one regret the passing of the Greek forests in other places. Once upon a time the ordinary temple must have gained greatly by reason of its contrast with the foliage of the surrounding trees; but to-day only those at Ægina and at Bassæ present this feature to the beholder. This Ægina temple is variously attributed to Athena and to Zeus Panhellenius, so that, as at Sunium, there is a chance for doubt. The chief peculiarity seems to be that the entrance door, which is as usual in the eastern side, is not exactly in the centre of the cella. The columns are still standing to a large extent, but the pedimental sculptures have been removed to Munich, so that the spot is robbed, as the Acropolis is, of a portion of its charm. It is a pity, because the Æginetan pedimental figures were most interesting, furnishing a very good idea of the Æginetan style of sculpture of an early date. The figures which survive, to the number of seventeen, in a very fair state of preservation, represent warriors in various active postures, and several draped female figures, including a large statue of Athena. Those who have never seen these at Munich are doubtless familiar with the reproductions in plaster which are common in all first-class museums boasting collections of Greek masterpieces.

THE APPROACH TO ÆGINA

THE TEMPLE AT ÆGINA

The island of Ægina, which is large and mountainous, forms a conspicuous feature of the gulf in which it lies. It is close to the Peloponnesian shore, and from the temple a magnificent view is outspread in every direction, not only over the mountains of the Argolid but northward toward Corinth,—and on a clear day it is said that even the summit of Parnassus can be descried. Directly opposite lies Athens, with which city the island long maintained a successful rivalry. The chief celebrity of the spot was achieved under its independent existence, about the seventh century B.C., and before Athens subjugated it. It was then tenanted by colonists from Epidaurus, who had the commercial instinct, and who made Ægina a most prosperous place. The name is said to be derived from the nymph Ægina, who was brought to the island by Zeus. The hardy Æginetan sailors were an important factor in the battle of Salamis, to which they contributed not only men but sacred images; and they were not entirely expelled from their land by the Athenian domination until 431 B.C. Thereafter the prominence of the city dwindled and has never returned.

It remains to describe an excursion which we made to the north of Athens one day shortly after Easter, to witness some peasant dances. These particular festivities were held at Menidi, and were rather less extensive than the annual Easter dances at Megara, but still of the same general type; and as they constitute a regular spring feature of Attic life, well worth seeing if one is at Athens at the Easter season, it is not out of place to describe them here. Either Megara or Menidi may be reached easily by train, and Menidi is not a hard carriage ride, being only six miles or so north of Athens, in the midst of the plain. It may be that these dances are direct descendants of ancient rites, like so many of the features of the present Orthodox church; but whatever their significance and history, they certainly present the best opportunity to see the peasantry of the district in their richest gala array, which is something almost too gorgeous to describe.

The drive out to the village over the old north road was dusty and hot, and we were haunted by a fear that the dances might be postponed, as occasionally happens. These doubts were removed, however, when Menidi at last hove in sight as we drove over an undulation of the plain and came suddenly upon the village in holiday dress, flags waving, peasant girls and swains in gala garb, and streets lined with booths for the vending of sweetmeats, Syrian peanuts, pistachio nuts, loukoumi, and what the New England merchant would call “notions.” Indeed, it was all very suggestive of the New England county fair, save for the gorgeousness of the costumes. The streets were thronged and everybody was in a high good-humor. What it was all about we never knew. Conflicting reports were gleaned from the natives, some to the effect that it was, and some that it was not, essentially a churchly affair; but all agreed apparently that it had no connection with the Easter feast, although it was celebrated something like five days thereafter. Others mentioned a spring as having something to do with it,—suggesting a possible pagan origin. This view gained color from the energy with which lusty youths were manipulating the town pump in the village square, causing it to squirt a copious stream to a considerable distance,—a performance in which the bystanders took an unflagging and unbounded delight. That the celebration was not devoid of its religious significance was evident from the open church close by thronged with devout people coming and going, each obtaining a thin yellow taper to light and place in the huge many-branched candelabrum. The number of these soon became so great that the priests removed the older ones and threw them in a heap below, to make room for fresh-lighted candles. Those who deposited coins in the baptismal font near the door were rewarded with a sprinkling of water by the attendant priest, who constantly dipped a rose in the font and shook it over those who sought this particular form of benison.

Outside, the square was thronged with merrymakers, some dancing in the solemn Greek fashion, in a circle with arms extended on each others’ shoulders, moving slowly around and around to the monotonous wail of a clarionet. Others were seated under awnings sipping coffee, and to such a resort we were courteously escorted by the local captain of the gendarmerie, whose acquaintance we had made in Athens and who proved the soul of hospitality. Here we sat and drank the delicious thick coffee, accompanied by the inevitable huge beaker of water drawn from the rocky slopes of Parnes, and watched the dancers and the passing crowds. The dress of the men was seldom conspicuous. Many wore European clothes like our own, although here and there might be seen one in the national costume of full white skirts and close-fitting leggings, leather wallet, and zouave jacket. But the women were visions of incomparable magnificence. Their robes were in the main of white, but the skirts were decked with the richest of woolen embroideries, heavy and thick, extending for several inches upward from the lower hem, in a profusion of rich reds, blues, and browns. Aprons similarly adorned were worn above. Most impressive of all, however, were the sleeveless overgarments or coats, such as we had seen and bickered over in Shoe Lane,—coats of white stuff, bordered with a deep red facing and overlaid with intricate tracery in gold lace and gold braid. These were infinitely finer than any we had seen in the Athens shops, and they made the scene gay indeed with a barbaric splendor. To add to the gorgeousness of the display, the girls wore flat caps, bordered with gold lace and coins, giving the effect of crowns, flowing veils which did not conceal the face but fell over the shoulders, and on their breasts many displayed a store of gold and silver coins arranged as bangles—their dowries, it was explained. Most of these young women were betrothed, it developed, and custom dictated this parade of the marriage portion, which is no small part of the Greek wedding arrangement. The cuffs of the full white sleeves were embroidered like the aprons and skirt bottoms, and the whole effect was such as to be impossible of adequate description.