A STRING of island rocks almost joins Sikinos to Folegandros—fantastic
barren rocks, which sparkle in the sunshine, and of which we got to
know every form and shape during that long day of patient tacking,
accomplishing our sail of twelve miles in the same number of hours.
Of all the islands of the Aegean Sea Folegandros can boast of the
most majestic coastline; in fact, I doubt if it can be equalled anywhere.
A precipitous line of rocks, in places rising 1,160 feet above the
sea, forms the north-eastern bulwark; as we approached it the sun
had set, and the sky was lurid with that red strange light which astonished
the world, and particularly the superstitious Greek world, in the
winter of 1883-4.
The water was almost transparent, and its depths looked wonderfully
mysterious as we glided in amongst the rocks, some of which were white
and looked like Nereids come to drive us from an enchanted shore.
Such scenes as this make one realise how easy it has been to imagine
the phantasies of the 'Odyssey' and of modern folklore.
When we saw the spot again by daylight we wondered exceedingly how
we had been able to climb up on hands and knees; it is known as the
Plaka, a flat rock which slopes down into the sea at an angle of fifty
degrees, and which is slippery in winter with running water; after
scaling which we had a tremendous scramble in the dark up to the town,
which is built on the edge of the cliff, 750 feet above us; and the
path in winter up this side of the island is little better than a
waterfall.
On reaching habitations we inquired where the demarch lived. 'Outside,'
was the stoical reply. 'Outside what?' we asked. 'Not
Inside,' was the angry rejoinder; and no further information
could we get out of the man. We pursued our way in search of a more
intelligent informant, until at length we discovered that Folegandros
boasts of only one town, which is walled, and called 'Inside'
('mesa'), and of a colony outside this wall, of better-class
houses, which is called 'Outside' ('exo');
and a Folegandriote knows of no other names but these.
Our new host was a very different man from our last. He was horribly
modern in all his ideas; seventeen years ago he had travelled and
gone as far as Paris, and since then he had lived with but one object—namely,
that of modernising his island and rooting out superstitions. He had
been in office as demarch for ten years, and boasted greatly of his
improvements: how he had made a good road from the town down to the
southern harbour, where we should have landed if the wind had been
favourable; how he had encouraged education and new ideas in agriculture:
and concluded by saying, 'You will find our island a little
Paris after Sikinos.'
No one can realise the power a demarch possesses in these far-off
islands in the Aegean Sea, especially in one like Folegandros, where
the steamer does not touch, and where sometimes in winter they are
weeks without a post. He is a sort of king, or rather president of
a small republic, elected every three years; and at these elections
party spirit is most fearfully strained; for every Greek is a politician,
and talks politics at his cafe, at his social gatherings, and
everywhere, just as his forefathers did before him.
The Folegandriotes do not care one jot about the Government at Athens;
they have two joint members with Milos and Kimolos and three other
islands; but they do not care a bit about their election—it
is into the election of a demarch that they throw all their interest.
For Athens, a king, and a parliament seem such miles away to them,
it does not matter much what they do; the demarch is elected by them,
and is theirs alone, and in his rise or fall all the local interest
centres.
Of course there are two parties in Folegandros: one is an aristocratic
party, headed by one Venier, of an old Venetian family, and seconded
by Themistocles Mavrojenes, one of the great Pariote family, who once
could boast of a 'hospodar' of Wallachia as one of their
members; and then there is the democratic party, headed by our new
host the demarch, which just now is in the ascendant.
At the last election they had a furious contest; blood had not been
spilt or murders committed, as was the case at Sifnos on a similar
occasion, but party spirit ran so high, and still continues so, that
Dr, Venier and the democratic demarch are not yet on speaking terms.
One day, during our stay, our hostess came, in grief, to ask our advice
about her father, who was very ill and at the point of death, she
feared, so that the day before they had given him the 'prayer
oil' ('euchelaion'); but still he refused to have
Dr. Venier called in—his hated political rival. 'He would
rather die,' she said, 'unattended by a physician than
have that man in his house.'
It was evident that nothing could be done for the old man, whose days
were numbered; so we tried to change the subject from the hated Venier,
as the name seemed to raise our hostess' ire exceedingly and tried
to console her about her father, and to find out about their customs
in Folegandros at funerals. 'Well,' said she, 'we shall be busy when
the old man passes away. No one is more respected than he, and such
a lot of people would have to be invited to the 'grief table'; whereupon
she was asked to explain what this meant. It appears that in this
island when a death has occurred cooking is not deemed correct in
the house for two or three days, so the relatives and friends bring
food—'bitter food' ('pikrophagia'), as they call it—and spread a 'grief
table' in the house of mourning. They hang the rooms with black, and
remove the inevitable crochet from the sofas for a season. I felt
an inward desire that, if the old man must die soon, he might die
whilst we were there, that we might hear the lamentations and see
the customs: but he did not die, and again we were told to put off
our funeral enquiries till we got to Mykonos.
The prayer oil was administered to the old man, as we had been told;
so I asked our hostess to explain the ceremony. 'Here in Folegandros
we generally have five priests to perform the ceremony: a table is
set in the sick man's room. On which is placed a dish of wheat,
and a vessel on the wheat, into which the oil is poured; five pieces
of stick with cotton tied round them are stuck into the wheat; the
gospel is laid on this, and the five priests stand round with their
chasubles ('phoinolion') on, and sing 'tropaea',
and read the suitable portions of Scripture whilst the censer is waved
in the room. At the end of all this the chief priest dips a twig into
the oil and makes a sign of the cross on the sick man, who kisses
at the same time the proferred Bible, and then is left to die in the
odour of sanctity.'
Here again is the wheat ('kolluba') in connection with
death, and in this place I must relate another ceremony I saw at Egiali,
in the island of Amorgos, which bears on the same subject. It was
on the All Saints' Day of the Greek Church, and every householder
of Egiali sent to the church a plate of boiled corn, generally carried
by an old woman with the top-heavy 'troulos' costume of
that island. She then poured the corn into a basket placed before
the high altar whilst the service was going on, and into this mass
of boiled corn she stuck her lighted candle. Some of the richer inhabitants
sent private plates, which were arranged in front of the 'tempelon'
and adorned with sesame seeds and elaborate patterns of almonds and
raisins. After the service was over all repaired to the square in
front of the church, where the chief priest sat on his throne, a stone
bench with stone arms in front of the church, and the worthies of
the place around him, whilst the baskets and plates of boiled corn
were distributed to all who could squeeze near enough to get any.
Little children got handkerchiefs full of it, and rushed off to corners
to devour their feast, and general hilarity prevailed 'in memory
of the departed.' In other places this boiled wheat and a similar
festival takes the place of a sort of harvest thanksgiving. Strange
it is to see this connection between life and death represented in
the old way, Demeter and her daughter symbolical always of 'sown
in corruption to rise in incorruption.'
The town of Folegandros rejoices in a most glorious situation. 'Inside,'
or the old fortified town, is built on the edge of the cliff, so that
it only requires three walls to protect it; the fourth side looks
straight down the yawning precipice, so that there is no excuse for
dirt when offal can be thrown down 750 feet into the sea without any
trouble; yet 'Inside' is a very dirty place indeed, one
street being quite impassable from the mire of pigs. 'Outside,'
on the contrary, is clean and well-paved, in every way prosperous,
being the pride of its ruler, our host, the demarch. The 'insiders'
represent the old aristocracy, who are slow to introduce the innovation
of cleanliness.
There are lots of ovens in 'Outside'; but they only bake
one day a week in Folegandros, and a busy, amusing sight it is. These
ovens are heated first of all by shoving into them an enormous quantity
of burning brushwood ('kladia').
Loaves of bread ('koulouria'), the twisted cakes covered
with sesame, 'petta' (pasties) are all arranged on long
boards awaiting the moment when the oven is sufficiently heated, and
the burning embers of the brushwood have been swept out. Everybody
is busy and gay, rushing hither and thither with their boards covered
with the weekly supply of bread: after seeing a bread-baking such
as this one can well realise the point of a riddle popular in these
parts:
Q. A black-faced heifer which devours brushwood?
A. An oven.
Towering above the town is a pointed cliff forming the summit of that
wall of precipice which rises straight out of the sea. On the summit
of this cliff is perched the remains of a castle, which once belonged
to the dukes of Naxos, and all that is left of the old Hellenic town.
This is 1,160 feet above the sea, but what one chiefly sees now are
Roman remains, cisterns, and walls. Into the bell tower of a large
church half-way up the hill, dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin,
is let the torso of a Roman figure, and in the church itself there
are traces of old pillars. Part of the modern cemetery is bounded
by an old Hellenic wall, just below this church; and a wretched cemetery
it is, with only rough stones without an inscription to mark the graves.
In a ruined church at the top of the cliff is an inscription of the
date of Tiberius, and below, near the town, is an Hellenic one, two
centuries B.C. A few remains here and there have been found, but all
point to Folegandros in ancient days having been a very insignificant
place, far inferior to Sikinos, and very sparsely inhabited.
It was a most enchanting day that we chose for a visit to the golden
grotto of Folegandros. Out of politeness the demarch determined to
go with us; he had never been inside it he said; and I feel convinced
that our rebukes urged on this energetic but misguided man to undertake
a task for which by reason of increasing years he was totally unfitted.
We rode down the demarch's newly paved mule road to the southern
harbour [Karavostasis], and there beheld the maritime importance of
Folegandros as compared with Sikinos. They have four caiques
belonging to them, and lots of fishing-boats, and the harbour, though
small, shallow, and exposed to the south, is deserving of the name.
A small colony of fishermen's huts forms the port, and here
we noticed a clever little contrivance which they fasten to their
nets in rough weather so that they may know where to find them. A
bell is hung from two bent reeds, which form a little dome built on
some flat reeds, and around the bell hang stones which strike it when
the sea is rough. Here, as elsewhere, we were struck by the universal
use of the gourd for all domestic purposes. A gourd with a long handle
they will put on the table for a decanter; small gourds cut in half
serve as wine-glasses; gourds with handles are used by every fisherman
for baling water out of his boat; they are used for floating nets,
and likewise for sieves through which milk is passed: a hole is made
at one end, and a piece of the equally useful brushwood is stuffed
into it, then the milk passes through the brushwood and is strained.
Gourds properly prepared are used almost exclusively for the carrying
of wine on a journey, and replace bottles in a country where the wine
is quite a secondary consideration; for you pay threepence for your
bottle and perhaps a halfpenny for the wine that is in it.
We got into a small boat at the harbour, and were rowed all along
the wonderful line of cliff to where the grotto is; a cliff which
rises 1,160 feet straight out of the sea, without a break or a ledge
to catch the eye, is by no means a common sight, and this cliff extends
thus for fully two miles. The formation is limestone streaked with
iron, and here and there a few tufts of green relieve the monotony,
the whole contrasting wonderfully with the indigo colour of the sea
under its widespread shadow. Arato, an old writer, tells us that Folegandros
was once called 'Iron,' and that its second name was taken
from a son of Minoa, of Crete; it well deserves the name of Iron,
for this wall of cliff is like a band of rusty iron coming out of
the sea. We were rowed close up to the grotto, the entrance to which
is about thirty feet above the sea, and thirty feet of apparently
horizontal rock.
It was much easier to tell why it was called the golden grotto than
to get into it, for the iron in the surrounding rock makes it look
like a black picture set in a frame of gold; but our climb to it was
fearful, and the energetic demarch won our infinite respect by ultimately
accomplishing it. Anciently this grotto was approached by steps from
above, which are now worn away; they led up to the old town on the
cliff, and their existence was discovered in 1837 by Kyrios Latre;
but now the only way of reaching the grotto from the land-side is
by being let down by ropes for unpleasant distances.
Inside the grotto is curious and adorned with stalactites, like cathedral
stalls, but nothing worthy of admiration after one has seen the grotto
of Antiparos; inside, however, it has some ancient cisterns, which
interested us, still full of water, and the haunt of countless pigeons.
There are three of them—one round, one square, and one semicircular—and
appearances point to its having been a place from whence the inhabitants
in times of siege could get their water; also it appears to have been
used as a cemetery, for rows of tombs have been found here and marble
statuettes. We turned over the thin sandy soil with which the bottom
is covered, and found quantities of ancient broken bits of pottery
of a coarse description; and it struck me as a place that might repay
a little excavation.
It was all very well to have climbed up—the descent was quite
another thing. I would almost warrant that the demarch had never been
so terrified in his life as he was then; our two sailors helped him
down slowly by steadying his tottering steps and finding foothold
for them. Beads of perspiration stood on his brow when he reached
the boat, and if future travellers visit the golden grotto of Folegandros
I feel confident that he will not attempt to accompany them, but remain
prudently in the boat below.
Folegandros is an island of most extraordinary shape, and if we had
not Arato's authority for deriving its name from Minoa's
son we might be tempted to speculate that it had something to do with
a polypus, for the h is only a modern innovation. From the central
height of the island legs stretch out into the sea in every direction,
and this central height divides Folegandros into two parts, one of
which is a perfect wilderness of stones and the other very fertile,
possessing smiling valleys and mountain slopes cultivated up to the
very summit.
Of course the highest mountain is called Mount Profitis Ilias, and
close to it is the summit of St. Eleutherios, with a little church
dedicated to that saint at the top. When there is a drought all the
Folegandriotes with the priests and the sacred pictures of the Madonna
walk in procession first to the top of Mount Profitis Ilias, where
they kneel around his shrine and pray for rain; after which they go
and do likewise at the shrine of St. Eleutherios. 'There is
quite a little historical interest associated with our Church of St.
Eleutherios,' old Themistocles Mavrojenes said to me that evening.
'Seventy years ago there lived a pirate who annoyed the Folegandriotes
excessively. They prayed and prayed to St. Eleutherios for his death,
and vowed a church to the saint's honour whenever that event
should take place. The pirate, however, would not die, and for many
years continued his depredations, until at last, at a ripe old age,
he was gathered to his fathers; and our townspeople, who evidently
think that no limitations can be brought to bear on the answering
of a prayer, felt in duty bound to erect a church. It is a wretched
little concern, however,' concluded Mavrojenes apologetically;
'if he had been more prompt in his succour St. Freedom would
have had a better temple erected in his honour.'
The day before we left Folegandros was a very gay one for us. Themistocles
Mavrojenes, being a privileged person and decidedly shrewd, managed
to keep in with both parties, and was the bearer of a message from
the hostile camp. Dr. Venier presented his compliments to us and expressed
his regret that, his relations with the demarch being so strained,
he could not possibly give himself the pleasure of personally paying
us his respects, but should be delighted to welcome us in his own
house.
Dr. Venier lived in the 'Inside,' in an old-fashioned
house, and from him we learnt the sad truth that under the present
horrible regime all the delightful old customs and costumes
were being abandoned. 'Twenty years ago you could not have seen
quainter customs than here in all the archipelago, and now even Sikinos
beats us.' But I replied, in the words of the demarch, 'Folegandros
is a little Paris as compared to Sikinos,' and I was sorry I
did so, for the ground on which I was treading was treacherous; for
the future I decided to leave Greek politics alone.
Only some of the richer inhabitants, and amongst them Dr. Venier,
have kept their old dresses, ornaments and lace; the poorer people
have by this time sold all theirs, and Dr. Venier showed us some very
lovely things. The ancient headdress seems to have been the same as
that worn still in Sifnos and is also called the 'pina':
besides this Dr. Venier had some exquisite gold and silver lace and
lovely silk embroidery which should be in a museum. On King Otho's
visit to Folegandros he was entertained by Dr. Venier's father,
when Dr. Venier was still a boy, but he remembered quite well that
Queen Amalia had said that she had not slept all night for admiration
of the lovely embroidery with which her bed was hung. Dr. Venier showed
them to us, with pride, as articles which royalty had used. The curtains
were made of striped silk gauze, with gold lace insertion; the pillow-cases
were of red silk edged with gold lace; the sheets were edged with
some of the same gold lace, only wider; and as for the coverlet, it
was made of the richest brocades I ever saw. The valances and bed-tops
were all hung with old Greek point, but then the room was a tiny,
ill-lighted hole, which a servant in England would turn up her nose
at. I do not wonder that Queen Amalia did not sleep.
After a pleasant afternoon spent in the company of the Veniers, we
returned to our host's house, and went into spiteful raptures
over the beauty of Dr. Venier's embroideries. It was in vain
that the democratic demarch smiled and said that they cared for none
of those things, his wife's jealousy was thoroughly aroused
and told a different tale. She went to her cupboard and produced all
she could find of lace and embroidery; but, alas! her stock was very
inferior to what we had seen.
This is always the way to see and hear anything in these islands.
Tell everybody the beautiful things you have seen and heard in other
islands, and you are sure to arrive at the best they have. Jealousy
is wonderfully developed in these parts.
That evening old Themistocles Mavrojenes gave us an invitation to
'a table' at his house in the 'Inside'; so
when it was dark we sallied forth to our meal, with the aid of a lantern.
The domestic who conducted us was not accustomed to dinner parties,
and led us through the kitchen, to Mrs. Mavrojenes' dismay,
who was giving the finishing touch to her dishes of 'risoglio';
our host was very angry with the man, and set to work to talk about
his distinguished ancestor, the prince of Wallachia.
We did not fare at all badly, and for the first time in the islands
did our hostess sit at the top of the table, in European fashion.
We had soup, and the meat which had been boiled in it, served up with
tomatoes. We had an excellent dish called 'Giaprakia'
—meat chopped up with a little rice, onions and spices, and
then wrapped up in vine leaves, which they keep in pickles for this
purpose—over it was thrown a delicious sauce of egg and lemon.
Courses of cold fish (cuttle-fish, and red mullet) followed next,
and then came the rice and milk pudding ('risoglio'),
with an elaborately stencilled pattern of grated nutmeg on the top.
These dishes and lots of little plates containing olives, capers,
etc. were scattered about to adorn the table all the while. It was
quite evident that Themistocles Mavrojenes knew how things should
be done as behoved the descendant of so illustrious an ancestor.
Wine passed plentifully enough during dinner, but with dessert Greeks
never drink wine, but crack their walnuts and munch their almonds
with nothing to wash them down. Long before the meal was over guests
began to troop in, and were very grateful for occasional handfuls
of almonds, raisins, and nuts which our hostess passed to them from
time to time; finally, we wound up the entertainment with a general
smoke and cups of Turkish coffee.
Next morning we left Folegandros, and were surprised to find our boat,
which hitherto had had a white sail, now with a rich coloured one;
the boatmen had found some red mud, in which they had dyed it their
favourite colour. Certainly it looked very picturesque, and contrasted
well with the green boat.
Another surprise awaited us in the shape of an old woman and a big
box; we expostulated a little, saying that we had hired the boat for
ourselves; but they said there was so little opportunity for her to
get away that she should be treated as ballast, and so forth; so we
made no further objection. They shoved her and her box on board with
little respect, put her into a dark and stinking hold with our servant,
and fastened the lid down. We heard nothing more of her until we arrived
at our destination, except terrible yells and groans when it became
rough, for the Greek island women suffer more audibly from sea-sickness
than any people I am acquainted with.
Our voyage was a very characteristic one in these islands. We planned
to go to Antiparos, and we started with a favourable though slight
breeze. This died away altogether before we got an hour on our way;
the exceeding heat of the sun, and ominous clouds on the horizon,
made our sailors anxious about the upshot. We said we would sail for
Amorgos if possible, and started in that direction, for the breeze
was freshening from the west. Before very long the breeze became too
fresh, and our men insisted on running for Ios; but we found we could
by no means go round the northern point of Sikinos, so we had to retrace
our way almost back to the harbour of Folegandros.
It soon began to blow with a vengeance; it was impossible to make
for Ios. 'Let us run for Santorini,' we said, getting
more and more disgusted at our fate. But no; hardly had we gone a
mile than our captain said it would not be safe; we must put in to
Sikinos, on the southern side. What horrors! were we again going to
be storm-stayed at Sikinos? We thought of the demarch's damp
house and the cold and misery of the place. We saw to our delight,
the Sikinos caique put off and make for Ios. 'Surely,'
we said, 'if that craft can go we can;' but it put back
again almost immediately, and our hearts sank within us.
In our despair we implored our captain to make an attempt to reach
Ios, and, the weather having taken a favourable turn, he promised
to try. Though much tossed about and drenched with the waves, we reached
our haven in safety shortly after 10 o'clock, after a day's
bitter experience of the uncertainty of caique-sailing. It is
impossible to make any plans beforehand in the winter time; it is
not where you will go, but where you can get, when amongst the islands
where steamers do not touch.
Our good friends at Ios were delighted at our return, having had a
prognostication of it, and entertained us hospitably till the steamer
came to carry us away.
