"Villa Somariva is situated on the slope of a mountain, or on one of the many terraces which are formed from the slopes. Behind the villa lies, somewhat higher up the mountain, a little village of white-washed, small, den-like houses, and a yet whiter church; and still higher up than the village, a square tower—Pyrgos—in the style of the Middle Ages. Below, and on both sides of our villa, spread out extensive grounds, consisting of private gardens and groves, separated from each other by two walls, almost concealed from the eye by the number of trees and bushes which grow there in a state of nature and with all its luxuriance. Vines clamber up into the lofty olive trees, and fall down again in light green festoons, heavy with grapes, which wave in the wind. Slender cypresses rise up from amidst brightly verdant groves of orange, fig, pomegranate, plum, and peach trees. Tall mulberry trees, umbrageous planes, and ash trees glance down upon thickets and hedges of blossoming myrtles, oleanders, and the aguus cactus. From amidst this garden-paradise, which occupies the whole higher portion of the entire extent of the valley, rise here and there white villas, with ornaments upon their roofs and balconies, with small towers, which show a mediæval Venetian origin. Around the valley ascend mountains in a wide circuit, their slopes covered with shadowy olive woods, and cultivated almost to their summits, which are rounded and not very high. These larger villages, with their churches, and half a dozen lesser homesteads, are situated on the terraces of the hills, surrounded by cultivated fields and olive groves. All these houses are of stone, and white-washed, and all approach the square or dice-like form. From our windows and balconies which face the west, we can overlook almost the whole of this extensive valley, and beyond a depression in its ring of mountains, we see the white-grey marble tympanum of Paros, with its two sister cupolas, surrounded by that clear blue vapour which makes it apparent that the sea lies between them and our island. On the side opposite to the softly-rounded crown of Paros shines out the interior summit of Naxos, high above the mountain of Melanès, a giant head upon giant shoulders, which are called Bolibay, and have a fantastic appearance.
CORINTH.
"But I have not yet mentioned the Fountain of Beauty, in the valley of Melanès, the fountain of its fertility—the Fleurio, which flows in many small streams through the gardens, and supplies us with the most glorious water.... The river Fleurio bounds along the middle of the valley, and makes its fields green; it murmurs meanderingly along over a deep bed of marble blocks and stones, its banks garlanded with fine-leaved, white-flowering savin and oleanders; besides being overshadowed in many places by the most beautiful plane trees stretching out their high branches to each other across the little stream, which in its calm but fresh career, and its romantic meanderings, is a living image of a beautiful quiet life."
Not the least interesting of Miss Bremer's many pilgrimages was the one she made to that plain of Marathon, where the genius of Miltiades beat back the legions of Persia under Datis—the scene of the first great victory of the West over the East. The lower portion of the plain, which skirts the coast, was clothed with abundant harvests of wheat and rye, which waved softly in the wind. What monument, asks Miss Bremer, could have been more beautiful for those brave men whose dust has been mingled with the earth?[16] After thousands of years their heroic contention for liberty had prepared freedom and peace for Greece. The seed they sowed was "flaming" seed, which continues to live even in the darkness of the grave; seed from which the harvests of peace spring up in all their glory.
The Swedish novelist and her companions rested and dined on the greensward at a spot where a number of white marble slabs indicated that the ancient monuments had stood there. Around them spread the shining corn-fields, and myriads of beautiful flowers gleamed amid the grass. In the afternoon they rambled to the village of Viana—old Marathon—picturesquely situated at the foot of Pentelicus. Old and young gathered round them in the village—a poor, ignorant, half-savage people, but not one of them begged; on the contrary, they were generous and hospitable according to their means. They fetched straw mats and mattresses, and laid them on the ground round a large tree.... In a cleft of the mountain, just above the village, stood a little monastery church, wonderfully picturesque. The prospect over the extensive plain, the gleaming straits, and the cliffs of the island of Eubœa, is full of inspiration. Visitors to Marathon, in search of mementoes, generally look for the arrows that are sometimes found upon the shore; but Miss Bremer, as a more appropriate souvenir, carried away a bouquet of wheat ears and wild everlastings.
It would be pleasant to follow Miss Bremer from place to place throughout her classic wanderings, for such a companion enhances the delight and utility of travel; it is like studying a fine poem with the help of a poet's interpretation of it. But our space is exhausted, and the reader who would go further must be referred to her interesting volumes. Every page bears the stamp of a sympathetic intelligence.