November in a Greek Island

Irish Jesuit Province

November in a Greek IslandAuthor(s): Hannah LynchSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 14, No. 157 (Jul., 1886), pp. 377-383Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497430 .

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( 377 )

NOVEMBER IN A GREEK ISLAND.

By EANNAH LYNcH.

W \THILE skies at home are grey and the land enveloped in winter's cold, dark shroud-flowers, foliage, sunshine

equally past-here we enjoy the lovely summery colours and long bright days. We have had one week of cold and rain, which, but for the tropical nature of the rain that poured upon the earth in volumes, rather resembled that which one might remember in the front of June, and at the end of the week everyone was sincerely thankful for what the heavy moisture had brought. All the newly sown grain started up in waves of clearest emerald, making a rich velvet shine of the brown and whitish-mauve hill-sides. Through the gardens and orchards the green of the trees took a deeper tint, acnd the maiden-hair, which makes curtains of its own delicate tracing along the torrent-beds, sometimes edging the marble rocks as they run down to the valleys, sometimes festooning itself with unumaginable grace from the top of the waterfalls, became the loveliest memory from fairyland. On the second of November I spent the entire day wancdering up craggy mountain-sides and down steep valley pathways. It seems like a joke to say out of Australia, that the day was almost as warm as that of my first acquaintance with Syra. It is needless to speak of the colour of the Mediterranean or the Grecian skies. We are in December now, and except uncder the transient influence of rain I have not seen either, other than the proverbial sapphire tint nless when the hours grow cooler, ancd then the intense depth of sapphire changes to the softest azure. The hill-tops were ablaze in the early sunshine, and where a shoulder of mountain broke over another, it lay upon the sea of golden light, a mighty shadow like a wing. The dark cypresses and silver fields of olives madle traces of wavering shade across the bright paths. High up upon a marble ledge, overlooking the breathless, awful stillness of Bolax Valley, the air blew across from the furthest mountains with a stronge touch of sea-breeze through its own purity. Its fresh messagtin that scene of brilliant colour was gratefully received. At the furthest edge of the long valley vista, the Mediterranean cut



378 NoreNnber in a Greek Island.

bluely into the picture, with a scarcely perceptible line of horizon dividing sea from sky, except under the far-off hills of Andros, which melted on a bank of fluffy cream clouds, rose-painted, and vaguely-shaped. Between Andros and Tenos a solitary white sail

made a sunlit division upon the crystal blue of the waters. The circling line of mountain-tops breaking from the sea-edge on either side of the valey, and enclosing all within the cold brilliance of their marble sides, and the long roads of shadowless, colourless light, intensified by the remoter touches of cypress-stain and silver

waves of olive, and the bare branches of the fig-trees making a purple mist rising above the more fragrant mist of the purple thyme, formed a kind of oppressive imprisonment, and, as I was turning away in search - of a less lonely and more shaded spot, a lark suddenly broke the breathless trance of silence. The effect

was magical. The song was not sustained nor even piercingly sweet, but the notes rose and fluttered spasmodically through the air, and the very sense of irritation each pause created in the listener lent the renewed song a dreamier, unanalysable charm.

When I climbed down the other side of the marble ledge in a zigzag mulepath, upon which only the goats ought to feel them selves at home, I found myself in a paradise of moist green. A torrent with a thina, fine line of clear water breaking over a heap of marble and alabaster rocks, covered thickly with maiden-hair, and running with its waterfall music of sound through its glisten ing bed of white stones, kept cool and silver by the inextricable branches of myrtle and oleander that shade it from the sunlight, down as far as Lazaro, where it is content to turn itself into a

public fountain. Its banks are made fresh and pleasant by every kind of green plant. Unfortunately I have no means of discover ing the English for all the wild flowers that grow about in pro fusion. The loveliest are the cyclamen, which I think may be appropriately called the eyes of the mountains here, as the thyme

may be called their scent. One meets them everywhere in varying shades, from the faintest mauve to a violet bordering centrewards on rose. Then comes a less delicate star-shaped flower, also pale violet with points of red flame starting like thin tongues from its heart, which is called the saffron; and the purple wild lilies rising out of a beautiful cluster of rich polished leaves. There is another starry wild flower, purple too, but so frail that it fades almost the

moment it is plucked. The daisies, larger and taller than ours are more plentiful now than when I first came. In some places

they wave bends of earth white, just as the cyclamens gather



-Noveember in a G-reek Island. 379

their purple eyes closely together and shut out all colour but their own from one particular spot. Down in this torrent the air and colouring were so exquisite, acnd the fulness of silence, made more eloquent by the goldfinches and thrushes and linnets chattering and singing to their heart's content, that one unconsciously felt all the instincts and pleasures of unrestrained childhood clamouringly rise. No higher pleasure seemed realisable than that of wading through the clear silver water with its inviting prattle over the stones ancd its running movement, or the chase of the white butter flies that geemed like bright flyi'ng radiances through the air, pausing now on an oleander or myrtle branch, and starting again suddenly, like joyous fluttering sensibilities quickened with life to the wing tips.

It was Sunday, the hunting-day of the island. Upon the dangerous-looking paths breaking over a shoulder of mountain or veering down into a sheer precipice, the island huntsmen looked picturesque stains, with their leathern bags and guns and various costumes, shouting their Greek patois across to recognised friends.

After an hour of idle musing among the beauties of sight and sound down in this torrent-bed, I climbed up with many pauses to

Lutra, wisely skirting the villainous village-of all villages on the face of this earth, I honestly believe the most ineffably dirty anad made my difficult way round an enormous cactus hedge, bordering another torrent, rich in foliage and colour, but as yet barren of water, up to a kind of narrow table-land. This is a

favourite seat of mine for reading or idle make-believe at reading The windmill behiud with its sprawling arms, like a mighty spiders' web, turns itself into an acceptable sunshade, and above, if you are not too lazy to look round, you may see the bishop's village,

my pen shrinks humbly from these massive Greek names-a luminous spot of white under the frowning shadows of the desolate purple Castro, once the Venetian fortress by which Tenos was betrayed to the Turks. On the Sunday I write of, the Castro an appalling purple-grey rock-was partly hidden by the opai ne white fog that lay upon it like a thick bridal veil wedding it to the sky, and through this haze the points of the rock were unevenly visible. But one could see it rapidly melting under the bars of gold that the sun shot down upon it, marvelling, doubtless, that his royal message, of light and clearness should so long have been resisted by this melancholy fortress, held in its gloomy memories of far-off days of pride and glory, and Venetian slendor and importance.



380 November in a Greek Island.

From this point Mycone, IDelos, Syra, and Naxos, are distinctly marked upon the horizon, Mycone and Syra sading out in special illumination upon the picture; the latter with its white eccentric town, peeping out from under its cloud-shadowed hills, and the former a lovely blending of purple and blue. Syphona rises further, a misty margin of grey land, and it is hard to say if

Delos looks more like sky or sea. But there where the sea is touched to silver radiance, reaching across a stretch of vague blue until, turning again into sapphire, it washes the immortal shores of Ariadne's Island, Naxos rises in fuller, clearer, desolately golden curves of hillside, for no wavering shadows seem to break upon this spot of blue and gold. The air is thick with the poignant scent of the thyme, lavender, and rosemary, and other aromatic plants whose names are unknown to me. Farm-souinds break above tho silence, and the cries of the noisy rooks, pursuing through the air bands of frightened pigeons, whose pure wings gather an intense illumination from the light.

The last bloom of the oleander upon a tree near, reminded one of Moore's melody, and seems to remain long after the depar

ture of its odorous companions, to give us a faint idea of what the torrents and gardens must be in their summer decoration of oleander-roses. The borders of solemn cypresses are as still as death, and down through the valleys the countless villages are half-hidden in the olive groves, and the golden and yellow points of the orange and lemon trees, and the clearer green of the fig trees, the poplars, and myrtles, which, upon the hills, grow as free and wild as brushwood. Mixed with the purple mist of thyme and rich spaces of myrtle and a delicate thorny furze, are the stains of dark grey, pale green, silver and golden mosses, growing thickly upon the marbles and rocks, and the lines of stones cutting their way across the land-like furrows, and over the hills the stray shadows of the clouds travel in lines of wavering shade, veiling

momently the wild desolate contours, and making wide paths of blue and rich purple upon brown earth and grey rock. Through out this month the weather has continued exquisite, but for that week of rain, already alluded to, when it certainly was not colder than I have known it in August at home. I have been able to

write and read out in a summer-house every morning without extra clothing-which work I vary by pausing to gather an occa

sional orange-and even on the terrace at night the cautious muffler is rather a nuisance than a necessity. Within doors the long windows are kept open all day; and sometimes when riding



fNovember in a Greek Island. 381

the glare of this November sun is too strong to European eyes, and the discarded coloured glasses are called out of retirement. In the gardens flower stars and brilliant colours continue to flourish in a way that in Ireland we woulld describe as royal. On the first of December I gathered a monster bouquet, composed of tea-roses, double and single geraniums of every colour, carnations, lavender, rosemary, marguerites, heliotrope, verbena, mignonette, snapdragon, bachelor's buttons, maiden-hair, and the three first violets that have appeared. Just as I came in from the garden with my fragrant burden, I received a letter from home describing the sharp winter that had set in. With my flowers, and the sen sation of a very decidedly sun-scorched face, I found it difficult to conceive the picture and feelings of winter.

Having spent the first Sunday of November wandering about on foot, I resolved to spend the last wandering still further upon muleback. A young Greek lady, who is staying here for her health, and who has been leading the life of a melancholy recluse for the past few months, consented, under the influence of my overbearing will, to join me in an expedition to Pirgos-a ride of four hours and a half from Lutra. We started at seven. There

was something weird in the fact that the sky was at that hour a

pale illumination of starlight, gradually vanishing into wistful brilliance, and the clear crescent stood sharply out above the moonlit velvety clouds. Then the night lights fainted away, and the moonlit clouds were touched with rose, which, mounting higher and higher, grew into carmine in the east. Then up sprang the sun and smote down upon the banks of rose and purple, and

beating upon the fields and mossy edges melted their dewy shine. Once his despotic sway was assured all the cold of the sweet

morning air vanished magically, and by the time the Castro and

the grey points of Bolax were out of sight, and the wide, long landscape of unfamiliar shapes and colours stretching over hill and valley to the sea-edge, the reign of heat began. As a pre

caution we had put on some extra clothing, and wildly did we

learn to regret that sin upon the other side of wisdom. Wonder

ful it was to hear the birds sing, especially one exigent sell-inflated fellow, with whose notes I have become familiar-not his name for I always notice that he only condescends to sing when the rest are silent; to watch the prevailing tints of grey upon the hillsides, and distinguish each: the olive is the tallest and

most silvery mist; a grey furze, which melts into the grey rocks and is hardly distinguishable bat for its delicate pattern of thorns,



382 November in a Greek Island.

which are shaped like pointed stars; this mint and a greyish weed wonderfully leaved, with special facilities for catching the dews and preserving them, long- after its companion have succmbed to the majestic will of the sun. Down through the valleys the newly sown grain made patches of brilliant lawny velvet, sometimes as flat squares, sometimes rising like steps of carpeted stairs, with ridges of brown earth separating each step. The bare fig-trees intermingle deep purple shadows among these luminous colours, and the Mediterranean was its own special stirless blue.

But our undivided attention could not, unfortunately, be given over to the contemplation of beauty of sight and sound. There was the extreme inconvenience of sensation to reflect upon perforce. Anything more primitive than the roads of Tenos could not well be imagined by the hardiest explorer. I pretty freely expressed

myself upon the subject to the Greek gentleman who courteously undertook to serve us as guide, relieving my wrath, to his and the muleteers' infinite delight, with all the Greek exclamations I have learned, copiously dispersed through my burst of unpremeditated eloquence. It is almost worth while being shaken from head to foot on a wretched mule, who tranquilly jerks you down an awful precipice, for the pleasure of airing such a classical exclamation as iravayta you, etc. My guide was so delighted with my unflatter ing comments on the backward condition of Tenos that he con templates putting them into an indignant letter and forwarding copies to each of the three Members of Parliament and four Mayors of the island, to show them what a distinguished foreigner thinaks of them. I may mention that it is my private belief that he is at daggers drawn with those three members and four mayors, if one may judge from his acrimonious criticisms. But he was a very interesting and courteous guide, whom Kyria B and I mean

to engage regularly. He waited upon us with cavalier attention, and provided us with most excellent Malmsey wine, which gave

me an insight into the Duke of Clarence's delicate discrimination in the matter of his last choice. A pleasanter and more desperately fatiguing day I have never spent. It was just midday when we

encamped under the shadow of a line of windmills, heading the village of PPirgos below. We passed the seashore where the land breaks into innumerable small bays, and is made a blue clear edge,

pebble and shell swept. The Greek islands rose in confused folds of land upon the sea, ancd which was which even our guide did

not rightly know. Ysternia is undoubtedly the prettiest and largest village I have yet seen in Tenos. Here rival boats start



Nofvember in a Greek Island. 383

for Byra, Paros, and Naxos, and a little below are the famous marble quarries. Looking at them carefully I grew to understand why the colour of the hills has so much mauve and golden mixed with the white. Where the marble has been cut or broken it takes this peculiar golden tint; where it remains intact time blends the white with mauve, and both together produce the

wonderful effects of curve and shadow and luminous light that makes those Grecian hills an everlasting and nameless wonder.

After dinner we sat until near three, resting after our long ride, high upon the mountain-side, indolently musing, and

watching sky and land and sea-it were difficult to admire one more than the other-and then our lovely solitude was disturbed by the reappearance of our guide with a Greek priest, who had brought from the village some antiquities he wished to dispose of. For a moderate sum I bought a broken earthen vase, pale brown with painted black figures representing heaven knows what, and remarkably like those ancient atrocities of the British Museum, and a small stone bellows-shaped lamp, both supposed to be 3,000 years old-3,000, or 300, or 30 is all the same to me, for I fear I am as devoid as Mark Twain of the bump of reverence. I cannot say I feel greatly exhilarated or awed whenever my eyes fall on my purchases. At three we started homewards. It was

astonishing to see how rapidly the river of stirless gold upon the

sea deepened in colour; and as we passed the fields the birds rose

from the hedges and fluttered homewards through the air filling the silence afar and near with their last sweet burst of song. But

increasing fatigue blinded our eyes to the wonders of the sky and

the immense vistas of valley, deepening into a thick palpable dark

ness, as the stars started out like blue points upon the dark polished. sky, and the far-away hills melted into the shadowy horizon.



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November in a Greek Island