Greece and the Ægean Islands

by Philip Sanford Marden

Our boats set off shoreward across a placid sheet of water that varied from a deep indigo at the ship to the palest of greens as it surged among the fringes of slippery rock along the foot of the bluff. The landing stage was but a narrow shelf of pebbly beach, from which a rough paved way led steeply up to the town just above the sea. The contrast of the blue sky and the white purity of the town was dazzling in the extreme, and the glare accounted in a measure for the veiled women and sore-eyed children we met in the courtyards of the town. Our own eyes soon ached sufficiently to make us walk in single file along the shady side of the high-walled streets, looking chiefly at the shadow and only occasionally at the houses and shops as we wound along into the heart of the village. But even these occasional glimpses revealed the most fascinating of little details in the local architecture, curious Gothic and Moorish windows surviving from a bygone day and ornamented with the border of “rope” pattern worked in the stone. Almost everything had been covered with the dazzling whitewash, save here and there a relic of former days which was allowed to retain the natural color of the native rock.

In most of the cases the actual dwellings were set well back from the streets, which were extremely narrow and crooked. Between the highway and the house was invariably a tiny courtyard, screened from the view of passers by a lofty wall, always of white. The yards were occasionally to be peered into, however, through a gate left temptingly ajar. These diminutive courts were floored with pebble work in black and white designs throughout their extent, save where the matron of the house had a flower bed under cultivation. These beds and boxes of flowers were a riot of color and filled the air with fragrance, while the green foliage furnished a lively contrast with the dead white of the walls behind.

In the doorways of the dwellings within could be seen groups of bashful women, and shy children hiding in their mothers’ skirts, who looked furtively at us as we stopped hesitatingly before their gates. Growing bolder we finally ventured to set foot within the courtyards now and then, charmed with the sweetness of the tiny gardens; and at length we made bold to enter and to walk over the pleasant firmness of the pebbly pavements of white and black tracery to the doorways, where the women gave a timid but welcoming good-day and bade us come in. The absence of men was notable. We were later told that the male population of Lindos was temporarily away, being largely employed in the construction of the great dam at Assouan, on the Nile; and that in consequence the women had practically the sole charge in Lindos at the time, which may have accounted for the immaculateness of everything. We were likewise told that in the evening a certain hour was reserved for the sole use of the women, who might be free to wander at will through the streets, chiefly to get water for their households, without fear of molestation. Lindos for the time was an Adamless Eden, and as spick and span a town as it would be possible to find on earth.

The houses into which we were welcomed proved to be as clean within as without. The lower story apparently consisted as a general thing of a single great room, with possibly a smaller apartment back of it for cooking. This large room was the living room and sleeping room as well. The floor was scrubbed until its boards shone. The walls were of the universal white. On one side of the room—and occasionally on both sides—was to be seen a sort of dais, or elevated platform, which apparently served for the family bed. The bedding, including blankets and rugs of barbaric splendor, was neatly piled on the platform or hung over the railing of it. And it was here, according to all appearance, that the entire household retired to rest in a body at night, in harmonious contiguity.

What interested us most of all, however, was the decoration of the rooms. Nearly every one that we entered was adorned with numerous plates hung on the wall in great profusion, seldom more than two being of the same pattern, and including all sorts of designs, from the valuable Rhodian down to the common “willow” patterns of our own grandmothers’ collections at home. This heterogeneous array of plates puzzled us not a little at first. It was so universal among the householders, and representative of so wide a field of the ceramic art, that some explanation of the presence of these plates seemed necessary. Later it developed that the Rhodian custom has long been to mark the birth of each child by the addition of a plate to the family collection, the fewer duplicates the better. The agglomeration of these dishes that we saw represented the family trees for generations. Despite the connection presumably existing between the plates and the family history, however, we found the women not reluctant to part with specimens for a price, and we carried away not a few. The comparatively rare instances in which we found any of the genuine and celebrated Rhodian ware, however, proved that its great value was well known by the native women. Their prices in such cases proved prohibitive, especially in view of the risk of breakage involved in getting the plates home from so distant an island. These plates, notable for the beauty of their design and for the distinguishing rose pattern in the centre, are often to be found in museum collections, and their great rarity and consequent value unfits them for other uses than those of the collector. The few that we found in Lindos were to be had for prices equivalent to about eighty dollars apiece in our money, which seemed exorbitant until we were later told that even one hundred dollars would have been reasonable enough for some of the finer specimens. Indeed, it is getting to be rather unusual to find one of these for sale at all.

There are opportunities enough, as we discovered, to purchase the famous Rhodian embroidery; but we were cautioned to leave the bargaining to experts familiar with values, for the infrequent visitor is almost certain to be imposed upon in any such transaction. These embroideries, or at least the older ones, are very elaborate creations of colored wools on a background of unbleached linen, the colors being remarkably rich and fresh despite their age, an age that is eloquently testified to by the stains and worn places in the cloth. The subject of Rhodian embroidery is a most interesting one, but too intricate and technical to be gone into here. The study of the growth of certain well-defined groups of conventionalized figures might well furnish material for a considerable body of literature, if it has not already done so. We were informed that the wealth of Rhodian embroidery was due to the ancient custom—which may still exist among the Rhodian girls—to begin the preparation of the nuptial gear at a tender age, they plying their needles almost daily, until by the time they are marriageable they have accumulated a surprising amount of bizarre blankets, cloths, and bits of finery for their dower chests.

The leisurely progress through the town required some time, occupied as we were by frequent visits to the odd little houses in the quest of curious wares to carry away. And by the time we had reached the centre of the town, the hot sun made us glad indeed to step under a spacious arch, washed underneath with a sky-blue tint which was restful to our tired eyes, and thence to go into the cool and aromatic quiet of a very old Greek church, where the glare of the sun on the white buildings could be forgotten. Most notable of all the curious things shown us by the attendant priest was the quaintly carved roof, which, after so much excessive light out of doors, it was decidedly difficult to see at all in the grateful gloom of the church.

We delayed but a little while there, for the acropolis above was the ultimate goal of our visit to the spot. Thither we were conducted by the Danish gentleman who had charge of the investigations being prosecuted there. The way led out of the dense buildings of the town and along the base of the overhanging cliff to the side toward the open sea, always upward and above the flat roofs of the little town below, until we came to the foot of the stairway of stone leading up through a defile in the rock to the arched portal of the castle on the height. It was a long flight of steps, one side against the smooth face of the rock, the other unprotected. And at the foot of the impressive approach to the citadel was one of the most interesting of the discoveries made on the site. It was a gigantic sculpture in bas-relief hewn out of the face of the cliff itself and representing, in “life size,” so to speak, the stern of an ancient trireme. The relief was sufficiently high to give a flat space on what was intended to be the deck of the ship, supposably as a pedestal for some statue which has disappeared. The curved end of the trireme with its sustaining bolt, the seat of the helmsman, and a blade of one of the oars, were still intact, and as a large representation of a classic ship the sculpture is doubtless unique, To all intents and purposes it is as perfect to-day as when the artists first carved it.

SCULPTURED TRIREME IN ROCK AT LINDOS
From a Sketch by the Author