WE had our misgivings when the caique which had brought us from
Ios left us alone on the shores of Sikinos, some two hours'
distance from the town.
'There is no harbour in Sikinos,' said our captain when
we remonstrated and wished him to stay, and when we remarked that
if he did not come back for us at the appointed time we should take
another caique he only laughed at us and told us that there was
only one caique belonging to Sikinos, and this was now at Ios.
It was a fact; we found that Sikinos had only one caique and
four rotten fishing-boats which will never venture in winter time
a hundred yards from the shore; it is likewise a fact that the solitary
caique and the four rotten fishing-boats have to be drawn up
on the beach every night, for there is no harbour. And a proverb belonging
to this island aptly describes the position, 'If an army of
rats tried to land on the north shore of Sikinos not one would be
saved.' There is an indentation called a bay on the southern
coast line into which the solitary caique can run, otherwise
Sikinos is a mere rock running down sheer into the waves, about eight
miles long by two wide.
When our caique had left us we sat down on the rocks on which
we had landed and ate our food, thinking kindly of the Lorenziades
as we did so; then we despatched our servant to the town for mules,
and sat guarding our luggage in one of the most solitary places I
ever was in for four hours and a half. It was a bleak, barren, weird-looking
spot, with grey marble rocks towering above us, and nothing to be
heard except the cry of the red-legged partridges and the occasional
shriek of a sea bird. And as the wind began to rise, and gloomy clouds
appeared, we looked regretfully across the narrow and now rough strait
which separated us from Ios, the steamer, and the world, and wondered
whether we were quite wise in visiting Sikinos at this season of the
year.
It was almost dark when, to our inexpressible delight, muleteers arrived,
and soon we were on our way to the Chora, across fearfully rocky,
pathless hills, and long before we reached our destination it was
darkness visible. The Chora, or town of Sikinos is the only inhabited
place on the island, and consists of two villages about five minutes
distant from each other, which divide between them the 1,200 inhabitants
of the island; consequently they have not much difficulty about nomenclature—one
bears its original name of the 'Kastro,' or camp, the other is called
'the Other Place' [N.B. in 2000 it is called 'Chora']; and no further
distinction is necessary.
The Sikiniotes are a very primitive race of people, pure, unadulterated
Greeks, who colonised the island, which was uninhabited during the
middle ages. About 300 years ago refugees came hither from Crete to
get out of the way of Turkish oppression, and built themselves the
Kastro, high up on the mountain side, where they could be safe from
pirates and Turkish supervision; and here they lived ever since, mingling
hardly at all with the outer world, and never likely to be disturbed
by the advent of steamer or telegraph. Perhaps if we had previously
known how quaint and primitive the Sikiniotes were we should have
arranged for a longer stay amongst them; but the elements settled
this question for us: a good steady northern gale set in almost immediately
we arrived, which effectually prevented our caique coming, as
we had arranged, after two days to take us on to Folegandros, and
we were left stormstayed amongst them for five whole days.
We plunged into the dirty Kastro through a gateway, and in the dark
sank ankle-deep in slush which in other countries would only have
been encountered in a pigsty, and found ourselves housed by an exceedingly
hospitable and jovial demarch, rough, indeed, and uncivilised; but
what could we expect better at Sikinos? His house is one of the oldest
and decidedly the most respectable in the place, having about it some
rather feeble traces of architectural development, for our bedroom
had two hideously grotesque animals as capital to the doorjambs, and
most of the doors boasted of some ornamental decoration more or less
important according to the rooms into which they led. But a damper
house I never saw in all my life; all our clothes were wet and dew
stood on our boots in the morning. Some boots belonging to the family
which they had left under the bed were quite green with mould, but
the demarch made up for any deficiencies of climate by his joviality
and good fare; he seemed to live in a perpetual state of jokes, some
of them not the most choice to be sure, but then he was the demarch
and an old man, and had unlimited licence. He fed us well, too, and
had a sucking pig expressly killed and cooked for our benefit just
twelve days old. It was according to the Greek idea then at its perfection,
for they say, 'A lamb or a kid should be three days old, a sucking
pig twelve days old, and a heifer forty days old, before it is fit
to eat.'
The Kastro has about it all the elements of a fortified town—two
entrances, one of which is a mere passage, and easily closed up in
time of danger. The backs of the houses, as usual, form the wall of
the town. There is the church in the middle, and in front of it the
square space for dancing; it is eight hundred feet above the sea;
and immediately on leaving the town, on the northern side, you descend
an almost precipitous cliff to the shore, where up a little gully
are drawn up the four rotten fishing-boats belonging to the island.
Every January 7, on St. John the Baptist's Day, the priests
of the place, with all their sacred paraphernalia, and followed by
all the people, go down this steep path to bless the waves and the
four rotten fishing-boats. Of course this ceremony is usual all over
the coast of Greece, but it strikes one as rather ludicrous here in
Sikinos, where there is so very little to bless. After the customary
prayer the priest throws a cross into the sea, with a stone attached
to it, and an expert diver, with his clothes on, jumps in to get it
out, receiving some coppers for his pains; when this ceremony is over,
the priests and the people wend their steep way home again, and the
sailors' minds are at peace once more, for between Christmas
Day and this ceremony they are very chary about trusting themselves
to the mercy of the elements.
The sailors of Sikinos, too, have another curious superstition: that
if they wash their feet during the first six days of August—that
is to say, 'until the candle of Christ's transfiguration
is lit,' as the expression goes—they will get those round
sores of which we saw so many on the bare legs of our sailors, and
which doubtless come from poverty of blood and poor fare: these sores
they call 'Drumes'. Now in other islands there exists
a kindred superstition—if linen is washed during these days
it will get holes in it, also called 'Drumes'. Theophilus
Kaires, the Andriote schoolmaster, had a theory about these—
that during the early days of August he had often noticed a wind to
blow, which brought with it microscopic 'animalculae',
which settled on anything damp, and which produced the holes in the
clothes. In a similar way I should not think it unlikely that the
fast which the Church enforces at this time, coupled with the heat,
would have the same effect on the blood. Schmidt goes so far as to
connect the word 'Drumes' with the Dryads of ancient days,
but this appears to me a little strained.
Amongst other curious maladies known to the Sikiniotes, and which
I never met elsewhere, is a disease called bird-blindness ('ornithoskountouphlas').
It must be a species of ophthalmia, arising from the exposed position
of the town and the great damp always prevailing here. It is quite
certain, at all events, that many here suffer from their eyes, and
they attribute it to the following cause—that if anyone, especially
a child, drinks of water out of which a bird has previously drunk
he is liable to this disease; he will become blind after sunset, and
he will suffer from an unpleasant buzzing in the ears. When a child
is suffering from this disease they adopt the following remedy. Several
other children accompany the patient, whom the eldest and strongest
carries in his arms— and as they go from house to house they
sing, 'Our little So-and-so is ill; he has bird-blindness; and
whosoever refuses to tell him how to be cured God will cast out.'
But if the person be grown up the treatment is different: they take
the heart of a black lamb and throw it raw to a black cock, and when
he has pecked at it three times they cook it and give it to the patient
to eat.
We climbed one day down the cliff to see the little cleft on the northern
coast below the town which they grandly call 'the northern harbour.'
The four rotten boats were there drawn up the gully, with their oars
and gourds ready for their owners to go out fishing on the first fine
day. There seems to be no fear of robbers in this island, for boathouses
and stores for fishing tackle are unknown. It is very wild and beautiful,
this northern coast line of Sikinos, fertile in every kind of wild
herb and flower, clinging to its precipices in spite of the keenness
of the north wind which blows upon them. The cliff was a perfect garden
just now of narcissus, anemone, and euphorbia; the little Church of
St. Nicholas, which guards the four boasts, is almost buried in luxuriantly
growing wild mastic. Sikinos is famed for its honey far and wide,
and Tournefort in his day tells us what a valuable field it was for
botanical research.
The morning after our arrival was fairly fine, with the ominous gatherings
of a tempest in the air; so we decided forthwith to make our one expedition
in the island to the temple of Pythian Apollo, and the ruins of the
old town.
Episkopi they now call the old temple, which has been converted into
a church; it is about an hour's mule ride from the town, and
the road which leads to it is high up above the sea, and lined with
immense fig-trees and extensive vineyards, showing the fertility of
the place. The church, as may be supposed, is now covered with whitewash,
and is surrounded by ruined outhouses, where once monks used to live
before the disestablishment, and where the people are put up at the
annual panegyris on August 15.
Few remains in Greece are more perfect than this temple of Apollo
at Sikinos. Somehow it has escaped observation, and it has been too
high above the sea to make it of any use for building material; hence
it escaped during the earlier years of Vandalism; and then when it
was turned into a place of Christian worship a certain amount of respect
was secured for it, which other ruins did not obtain until later years.
The roof is of modern date, being a Byzantine cupola, and round the
edge are battlements where the monks at the approach of pirates used
to take refuge; there are still the remains of their kitchen where
they used to cook when compelled to live on the roof, and of the loopholes
out of which they used to shoot their assailants, in the memory of
the man who now owns and tills the lands around.
This personage received us with civility; he is quite a better sort
of man, and considered himself superior to our muleteers; yet he is
content to live in one of the deserted cells: though he has a house
in the town he hardly ever occupies it. Certainly the Greeks of all
classes are most frugally minded: here at Episkopi his bed is composed
only of the staves of a broken barrel over which a coverlet ('paploma')
is cast; his plough, his firewood, some pots, and a helmet like a
meat safe, which he calls his 'korax' (for collecting
honey), a bright green jar for oil, with a bit of sponge stuck in
as a stopper, lie in hopeless confusion about his cell. In the wall
are two or three niches where his lantern, his water bottle, and cooking
utensils are kept. His only chair is composed of two loose stones
with a board on the top of them, yet he is a superior man and has
'Kurie' put before his name whenever he is addressed.
He gave us wine, water, and a horribly nasty cake, composed of pastry
mixed with all sorts of grasses, and called 'pitta'. Luckily
we had provisions of our own with us, or we should have fared badly.
The demarch had a capital repast for us on our return—partridges,
pilaff, and local wine of the first quality—after which the
inhabitants trooped in to see us, to laugh at our host's jokes,
to drink wine, and to pick up any crumbs that might fall to them from
our table. Sikinos is as celebrated for its wine as for its honey,
and the demarch had the best vineyards in the island. Even as far
back as the days of Pliny and Strabo there was a report that the island
in former days had been called 'Oinoe' from the wine ('oinos')
which it produced.
Outside the wind was howling; the storm which had been threatening
all day had now burst upon us; the bottle passed freely, we began
to roll our cigarettes, and everyone combined in prophesying that
we should not leave Sikinos, as we intended, on the morrow.
At the prospect of our detention in the island, and consequent festivities,
our jocular host grew gayer and gayer, and the jokes he cracked with
the women who came in would have brought a blush to the cheeks of
the most barefaced Englishwoman. The result of this conversation was,
that I discovered how a young Sikiniote had been born the day before,
and that if we liked to witness the ceremony they would have him baptized
on the day after the morrow; 'for,' concluded the demarch,
'the storm will not go down for three days and the habits of
our islanders on the subject of births are well worth your study.'
We were well contented at this news, and exceedingly grateful to the
good woman who had so well timed her arrangements that they would
provide us with an object whilst storm-stayed at Sikinos.
The storm was raging next morning, with the fury that characterises
these island hurricanes. Nowhere can more terrible northern gales
be encountered than in the Aegean Sea, as they sweep over the islands
and cover the sea with foam; we could scarcely stand for the violence
of the gusts; but nevertheless the air was invigorating, and our quarters
not too wretched despite the damp, though an earthenware pot a foot
in diameter, with a handful of burning charcoal in it, is but a poor
substitute for a fire on a cold day, even though bits of lemon peel
are thrown in to make a pleasant odour in the room.
An old man, the former demarch, came in shortly after we were up,
and begged for the privilege of taking us about the town. In many
respects he seemed a man more respected and looked up to than our
jocular host; for we were told that if his age and infirmities had
not interfered with the fulfilment of his duties he would still have
been in office. Wrapped in a shawl, and stick in hand, he seemed to
despise the cold, and trudged on at a good pace to show us his garden.
Every landowner in Sikinos has a garden outside the town, surrounded
by a wall, in which he grows his vegetables and figs for household
consumption, and containing buildings in which are his winepress,
his threshing floor, his mule stable, and his store ('apotheke'),
where the produce of his country estate is housed, his honey, his
corn, and his wine; and this is closed with a cleverly constructed
wooden key. All along the hillside stretch these gardens, which have,
from a distance, quite the appearance of a separate village with exceedingly
mean houses.
'We are very law-abiding, quiet people ('hesuchoi anthropoi')
here in Sikinos,' said our conductor with the usual insular
pride which leads you to infer that this is not the case in other
islands; and it was obvious to us that thieves cannot exist here,
or these gardens would soon be pillaged. Kortes was the name of the
old man, and after showing us his garden he conducted us to his house,
a large cold place, without any glass in the windows, just over the
town gateway; there he regaled us with coffee, and showed us with
pride an old altar which had come from the temple in the old town,
and was dedicated to Hermes.
At the top of the hill, just above the town, the wind howled and blew
most terribly; in spite of it, however, we climbed up to visit a monastic
institution, lately dispersed, which was dedicated to the Life-giving
Stream; on one side it overhangs a yawning precipice, down which it
will soon fall if means are not taken to prevent its final ruin. But
it is the same with all these deserted monasteries in Greece—another
generation will hardly see one stone upon another. In Sikinos, as
elsewhere, churches abound; in fact, there are more churches than
houses on the island!
On our descent we were glad of our midday meal, and as soon as this
was over we were taken off to pay a visit to the interesting woman
whose child next day was to be received into the bosom of the orthodox
Church. She was the wife of a poor man, who lived in a cottage outside
the town walls, consisting of but one room, at the extreme end of
which was a large bed, where the mother was perched who had presented
Sikinos two days before with a male child.
In all primitive societies male children are deemed a special cause
for rejoicing; here in Sikinos they are very strong in this opinion,
considering a daughter a curse to a house if possible to be avoided.
With this view an expectant mother is sure to provide herself with
a sprig of a certain flower, called 'male-flower' ('arsenikobotano'),
which is supposed to conduce to the desired result. What slaves to
superstition these unfortunate women are, to be sure, before the happy
event takes place! On St. Simeon's Day no expectant mother would
think of cooking or washing, or dusting, for fear the child should
have ugly marks upon it. We suffered from this once in our travels,
and had to be content with cold fare and male administrations for
the day. When they go to the oven on Saturday—for in Sikinos
bread is baked only on a Saturday—expectant mothers must use
the greatest care not to tear their dress, or the child will have
marks upon it called 'pannistai'; if, by chance, this
misfortune occurs the only thing then to be done is to smack their
hips, for thereby they will localise the mark on the unborn child.
The happy father of a male child, immediately the sex is announced
to him by Mrs. Gamp, goes outside his house and lets off his gun several
times to let the neighbours know the good fortune that has befallen
his family.
On our arrival at the cottage the place was full of visitors and relatives,
bringing the customary gifts. A table was spread with sweets and glasses
of 'raki', and all were wishing the mother 'a happy
forty days,' for according to custom for forty days after the
event she does not go to church—a custom which seems to have
been directly borrowed from antiquity.
As soon as we arrived Mrs. Gamp, an estimable neighbour, who had come
in for the occasion, put a bowl on the middle of the table, into which
warm water was poured, and lemon leaves, which had previously been
boiled, were thrown, and then the relatives who stood near cast in
a little salt and sugar, after which the good woman set to work to
wash the infant publicly, 'My Iron,' as his mother called
him ('Sidere mou'); for it is a custom in these parts
to call a child Iron, or Dragon, or some such name, to indicate prospective
strength before the christening takes place.
When Master Iron's first ablutions were over Mrs. Gamp called
a kinswoman, and bade her bring water to wash her hands, saying, as
she did so, 'Kyrie Eleison' forty times, which is intended
as a thanksgiving to the Creator that He has permitted her to receive
a male child amongst the living.
Before the priest blesses the child, after this ceremony is over,
no one is allowed to come in or to go out of the room; but as soon
as the priest got to the liturgy of the Highest the door was thrown
open, for then, say they, there is no fear of Nereids or Lamiae getting
possession of the newborn infant. If the family are rich the priest
receives a handsome present on this occasion; but the father to-day
was but a poor man, and could only give the priest a cake, which he
took gladly, and went his way, after giving the babe and mother a
final blessing.
Mrs. Gamp now swaddled her charge tightly from head to foot, and the
guests began to depart, dropping, as they went away, a copper into
the nurse's hands.
For many days to come no one is allowed to enter the house after sunset,
and mother and babe are strictly forbidden to wear clothes which have
been exposed to the stars unless they have been fumigated by a censer.
There is something practical in this rule, for in damp Sikinos everything
that is exposed to the night air becomes impregnated with moisture.
About births in general, and those at Sikinos in particular, our host,
the demarch, told us many curious things that evening. Generally a
babe is not christened for some days after birth, unless it is a weakling,
and then if no priest is at hand any person of the orthodox persuasion
can baptize it by plunging it into water and saying the necessary
words, to be supplemented by the priest if the child survives.
St. Eleutherios is the protector of newborn babes, and is usually
called upon by the mother in her distress, as anciently was the goddess
Eileithyia. Mrs. Gamp of course hurries at the first intimation that
her services are required, and is sure to take with her an olive branch,
which is called, from its resemblance, 'the virgin's hand'
('tis Panagias to cheri'), which the patient is to hold
in her hands to alleviate her pangs. In like manner a red straggling
creeper which covers the bushes in the spring is called 'the
virgin's hair' ('tis Panagias ta mallia'),
and is considered useful to hold in cases of fever.
Greek women who work for hire in the fields are very strong, and do
not allow their maternal troubles to interfere with their industry;
and about these things the demarch told us much that will not bear
repetition here. After birth it is considered a good thing for the
handsomest man to be the first to embrace the child, so as to give
it a part of his beauty, and for the strongest and wisest woman to
be the first to suckle the infant for the same reason. This idea of
imparting beauty and strength is an ancient one, for in 'Herodotus'
vi. 61 we have the story of an ugly child becoming the most beautiful
girl in Sparta because her nurse took her to the temple of the heroine
Helen, whom they met there one day; and the plot of the Ethiopians
of Heliodorus turns on the belief that the queen of the Ethiopians
had a white child because she had an image of Hesione before her when
the child was born.
Generally the baptism is on the seventh or eighth day after birth;
it was in honour of us that Master Iron was to be baptized on the
third day, on the afternoon of which we and many others found ourselves
gathered in the metropolitan church of Sikinos to receive Master Iron.
The font was in the middle of the nave, a large goblet-shaped one
made of lead; jugs of hot and cold water were brought in, and then
the priest, as he conducted the service, mingled them in the font
until he thought the temperature suitable for the immersion of so
frail an object. In many cases, where deep fonts are scarce, and adults
have to be immersed, there is considerable difficulty attending this
ceremony. An Italian miner came to work at Antiparos, and got engaged
to a Greek girl, who refused to marry him unless he became a baptized
orthodox. No vessel could be found large enough to immerse him in
in the church, so the priest and the congregation repaired to a jetty,
from which the Italian was pushed off and ducked three times in the
sea.
Meanwhile Mrs. Gamp was busily engaged in removing the swaddling clothes,
and as the service went on Master Iron's clothing was reduced
to a white cloth and a cap. As the priest mixed the water he continued
reading the service vigorously, and constantly made a cross in the
water by blowing upon it in that shape, as he likewise did to the
baby which Mrs. Gamp held up, and to keep his long hair out of the
water he fastened it behind his ears. Oil was then poured three times
into the font in the form of a cross. On either side of the font stood
the two sponsors with lighted candles. When all was ready the priest
turned up his coloured silk cloak till it was nearly inside out, rolled
up his sleeves, and prepared for action. Finally the godmother took
Master Iron from his nurse, divested him of the white cloth and the
cap, and a wee red object, like a skinned rabbit, was held up for
public gaze in the hands of the priest. After oiling him in various
parts the priest held him aloft, and then proceeded to plunge him
over head and ears three times in the font. This ceremony over, the
godmother received her charge into three white cloths with which to
dry him, and after a tiny shirt and cap had been blessed the priest
put them on; then Mrs. Gamp came to the fore again, seized the infant
as her lawful property, swaddled him tightly once more, as she kissed
him and called him 'her little Johnny' ('Giannakki
mou'), which simple serviceable name had now taken the place
of Iron.
Johnny was not done with yet by any means, for no sooner was he swaddled
than he was held upright by his legs, his cap was taken off again,
and the priest cut four locks of hair, which there was considerable
difficulty in finding, saying, 'One for the Father, one for
the Son, one for the Holy Ghost, and one for Eternity,' as he
mixed the hair with candle wax and burnt it. A blue cloak was then
put on the child by the priest, likewise a hat, and a ribbon tied
round his waist, which the priest dexterously crossed round at the
back, brought over the shoulders, and tucked in in front. Then the
godmother took her charge and carried him three times round the font,
bowing as she did so to the priest, who fumigated her with incense.
This dancing round the font at births, and round the altar at marriages,
reminds one strongly of the 'amphidromia' of antiquity.
The priest then took poor little Johnny once more from his godmother
to kiss all the holy pictures on the 'tempelon', and laid
him on a bench alone, as if to give him time for meditation, after
which he took him into the holy of holies, which was the concluding
ceremony, and Master Johnny was at last properly enrolled as a member
of the orthodox Church.
After leaving the church we formed a procession, headed by the priest
and the baby, and accompanied by the monotonous chanting of psalms.
We walked thus all round the walls of Sikinos until we came again
to the mother's cottage, and delivered her up her infant, which
ceremony is called the 'paradosis' (giving up). Great
was our surprise to find her about, and bustling to do the honours
of her home. She had honey cakes covered with sesame seeds and other
sweets spread on a table, and lots of glasses of 'raki'
to regale us with. Again complimentary wishes were heaped upon her—a
rapid recovery, a good forty days, and success to the child. Then
we took our departure, promising to look in the next day to see how
she and her infant were getting on.
The belief in charms for protecting newborn infants is very strong
in Greece. Amulets, like those used in antiquity to avert the glance
of the god Fascinus, are still hung round children's necks to
charm them from the evil eye. Here in Sikinos we found the belief
in the evil eye especially strong; people who are possessed of this
unfortunate glance can wither up a fruit tree by simply admiring it.
Old Kortes, the ex-demarch, told me that once he had an apple tree
covered with lovely fruit; some one with the evil eye went past and
said, 'Oh, what lovely apples!' Two hours afterwards they
returned that way, and found not a single apple on the tree, and basketfuls
lying on the ground. The demarch showed me a charm which his son had
worn: it was a round, prettily carved bit of wood, about an inch and
a half in diameter; in little circles round the outer edge were eight
prophets, the bottom one representing Jonah just coming out of the
whale's mouth, and in the centre was the Annuncation. Another
plan for averting the evil eye is for an old woman to spit in the
face of the possessor of this unfortunate attribute; for generally
it only affects beauty and youth; but to secure herself from all danger
she must spit three times into her own bosom, muttering, as she does
so, 'Cursed baskaneia' (evil eye). A good thing for everybody
to wear round their necks is a three-cornered amulet with salt, coal,
and garlic inside, and on tying it the mother or other officiating
relative should say, 'Salt and garlic be in the eyes of our
enemies.' When a man is grown up he is often ashamed of such
trivialities; so his anxious mother ties a bit of salt in the corner
of his handkerchief, or else ties a knot in the tail of his shirt,
which in some places is considered as an excellent safeguard against
stomach-aches.
One other ceremony I must mention here, which is always carried on
at Sikinos in connection with childhood, namely the fate-telling,
or 'moirisma' of the babe; for the old Fates are thoroughly
believed in still; and for three nights after a birth friends will
put valuable articles and sweets in the mother's bed to propitiate
the fickle goddesses.
At Sikinos this ceremony takes place on the child's first birthday,
when all the relatives are gathered together. A tray is brought out,
and on it are put various objects—a pen, money, tools, an egg,
etc.—and whichever the infant first touches with its hands is
held to be the indication of the 'Moira', or Fate, as
to the most suitable career to be chosen for it. The meaning of the
first-mentioned articles is obvious. The demarch told me that his
son had touched a pen; consequently he had been sent to the university
at Athens, and had there made considerable progress; but the meaning
of the egg is not quite so clear, and the egg is the horror of all
parents, for if the child touches it he will be a good-for-nothing—
a mere duck's egg, so to speak, in society.
Some ceremony such as this must have been the one alluded to by Apollodorus
when he tells us that seven days after the birth of Meleager the Fates
told the horologue of the child, and the torch was lighted on the
hearth. In some places still the seventh day is chosen as the one
for this important ceremony, and it is called 'hephta'.
When it is dark, and the lamps are lighted, a table is put in the
middle of the house, a basin full of honey in the centre of the table,
and all around quantities of food. Numerous oil lamps are then lighted;
one is dedicated to Christ, another to the Virgin, another to the
Baptist, and so forth. A confession of faith is then read, and deep
silence prevails, and the saint whose lamp is the first to go out
is chosen as the protector of the infant. At this moment the Fates
are said to come in and 'kalomoirazousi' the child, and
take some of the food from the table.
The demarch of Sikinos was very communicative, too, on the subject
of the Fates. He told me that they are supposed to be three in number—old
women who inhabit inaccessible mountains—and none but magicians
are aware of their whereabouts. 'I shall go to the mountain
to call on my Fate' is a common expression of dissatisfaction
with destiny.
Men who are fortunate from birth are called 'well-legged,'
as opposed to 'bad-legged,' whose undertakings invariably
fail. It is most unpleasant to establish a reputation for ill luck
in the Greek islands; your best friend will close his doors against
you on the first day of the year, month, or week. And, again, it is
not an enviable post to be a noted person for good luck; you will
be pestered with applications to be best man, godfather ('comparos'),
and to be godfather to a Greek child means something, for the obligation
of providing a trousseau for the child accompanies the title.
The Fates of to-day closely resemble their predecessors: they are
always spinning the thread ('nema'), as symbolical of
the life of a man. They preside over three events of life—birth,
marriage, and death, 'the three evils of destiny' a discontented
Greek will call them, who considers it a misfortune to have been born,
a still greater one to be married, and the greatest of all to die.
The Fates are in some places supposed to write on the forehead of
a man his destiny. Pimples on the nose and forehead are called 'the
writings of the Fates' . The decrees of the Fates are unalterable.
According to various legends attempts have been made to change them,
but without avail. Only once a girl of Naxos, so I was told, up in
a mountain village, who was excessively ugly, managed to learn from
a magician where the Fates lived, and that, if she could get them
to eat salt, they would go blind and change her fate. So she contrived
to bring this about, and became exceedingly lovely, married a prince,
but had no children; 'showing,' concluded the legend,
'that the Fates never consent to any person being altogether
happy.'
The next day was fine, and we almost thought our caique would
come, but no; the Greeks are not courageous sailors, and only gave
as their excuse when they did come, that they thought the sea would
have been too rough after the storm. But it is a peculiarity of these
northern gales on the islands, as soon as the wind goes down the sea
is calm; whereas with a southern gale the contrary is the case: so
we did not believe them.
On the afternoon of this day, which was very lovely, after paying
visits to various houses and gardens we were informed that if we liked
we might go and see the tail end of a wedding. Now weddings last five
days in Sikinos; so I was rather annoyed that we had not been told
that it was going on before, for we could easily have seen more of
the ceremony, which it would have been interesting to compare with
the one we saw at Santorini.
This is what they do at Sikinos on the occasion of a wedding. On the
first day, Thursday, when the festivities usually begin, the crier
is sent round to summon the guests to the bride's house. As
a rule, in Greece the house which is to be occupied by the young couple
belongs to the bride; a Greek girl without a house has but little
chance of marrying, and it is a father's care to provide houses
for his girls. The trousseau has been made on a simple but co-operative
principle during the last week; all the lady friends of the bride
have been assisting her, and now the wedding festivities have been
formally announced. On Thursday afternoon they have the ceremony of
the mixing of the yeast for the cakes, etc. A reception is given for
the occasion, and guns are let off to announce to all the world the
coming event: this is called 'he proeidopoiesis tou gamou'
(the announcement of the wedding).
On Friday they make the sweets, to assist at which all the female
friends of the bride are bidden; and they bring with them presents
of food and wood, which last commodity is exceedingly valuable in
Sikinos, where few trees bigger than a fig tree grow. Guns are again
let off, and healths are drunk.
On Saturday they make the honey cake, covered with sesame seeds, and
the evening is passed in dancing and other amusements. On Sunday there
is the usual ceremony of crowning, and the Church services are followed
by dancing in the evening. On Monday they again have dancing, drinking,
and feasting to any extent. To-day was Monday, and when we went to
the house the second wedding feast, the social dinner ('he trapeza'),
was just concluded, and they were just preparing to dance the whole
afternoon. Poor bride! we pitied her very much. She was not very beautiful
to begin with, and after all the dancing and excitement of her marriage
festivities she looked thoroughly worn out and fit to drop with fatigue.
We were given honey cakes ('pastelli') and 'raki'
on an old Venetian brass dish, and then placed on the divan to watch
the dancing. I have watched the 'syrtos' so often in Greece
that it usually bores me, but I have seldom seen it so well done as
at this wedding at Sikinos. The men danced in their stocking feet,
and they and the women were highly elastic in their movements. The
bridegroom and his bestman wore fezes, no coats, red embroidered waistcoats
laced behind, red sashes, and blue glazed calico baggy trousers. The
semicircle of five dancers, holding to each other by handkerchiefs,
waved backwards and forwards, the line closed and opened again, and
the men at either end with a sort of wild Highland fling performed
their acrobatic feats with consummate grace. No wonder the natives
imagine the dance-loving Nereids for ever moving in this graceful
'syrtos'. As they revolved round and round the dancers
seemed scarcely to touch the ground, so light was their step.
As a finale to the wedding feast the game of packsaddle was played:
the bestman, with a packsaddle tied on his back, and another man,
with the same awkward encumbrance, perform a sort of tournament. There
is a subtle meaning in their performance which amused the guests and
made the bride look shy, and thus was concluded the wedding at Sikinos.
At the neighbouring island of Folegandros the agony is even more prolonged,
lasting eight days sometimes; on the Tuesday they always have what
is called the 'mother-in-law's feast,' another dinner
followed by another dance.
On the following day our caique came to take us to Folegandros,
and we bade farewell to our hospitable friends; as we sailed slowly
away on an azure sea it looked so calm, and the islands so placid
in their framework of lapis lazuli, we could hardly believe that we
had been storm-stayed at Sikinos.
The temple of Apollo at Sikinos is eleven yards fourteen inches long
by eight yards wide, and the entrance, curiously enough, is to the
west. Outside the temple is a little stone bench, now used at the
feasts for the seats of the priests and magnates; one of these stones
is covered with an ancient inscription, which is fast disappearing,
and which states that it is a votive tablet ('psyphisma')
set up by the Sikiniotes in the temple of Pythian Apollo; from the
lettering we may date this inscription about the first half of the
second century B.C. All around are bits of marble let into the walls,
one being the remains of a statue of indifferent workmanship.
The outer walls of the temple are built of various-sized colossal
stones, after the fashion of Hellenic buildings, and the corners are
neatly finished off. To the east is an apse let out for the altar
of the Christian church, but from the plainness of this wall and the
nature of the foundations it is quite obvious that no entrance ever
existed here. On the south side the wall is very deep, and the Christians
evidently found it necessary to support it with buttresses, made for
the most part out of fragments of the old roof; hence to its Christian
occupation we owe the preservation of the relic. We entered between
two pillars, which from base to capital are five yards high. The capitals
are Doric, with two rings; the columns are unfluted, and stand on
round bases. The vestibule is the modern pronaos, the roof of which
is formed out of stone beams resting on the pillars and on the walls
of the cella, thus forming three divisions. On these beams stone slabs
rest in two cases, and in the third the roof has been opened by the
monks to make room for a ladder.
The door into the cella is handsome, being about two yards wide, and
over it is an inscription, now quite obliterated with whitewash. Round
the temple runs a cornice, with a frieze under it, representing a
stem with branches coming out of it above and below. On the frieze
rests a toothed cornice. Inside the cella one of the stones of the
floor takes up, and you descend by a ladder into a two-chambered vault,
the ceiling of which is vaulted, and there are places for tombs around,
now empty. The inner chamber of the vault is walled off on two sides
from the outer, and is approached by a narrow passage. In the church
there is a tempelon of considerable merit, screening off the apse,
and containing on it the prized picture of the Madonna of Episkopi.
Several banners and the usual Church decorations hang about, which
strike one as odd in the ruins of a temple of Pythian Apollo.
Accompanied by the proprietor of the soil, we walked through the ancient
necropolis of Sikinos, which lies where probably was once a sacred
road from the town to the temple. Many of the graves are still unopened,
and would doubtless repay research; and if it had not been for that
keen north wind I had hoped to return on the following day to open
some of them, but the storm prevented me.
A bleaker and more exposed place can never have existed than that
old town of Sikinos. It covered a precipitous height, fully one thousand
eight hundred feet above the sea, and from the summit the rock goes
down on the north side fully five hundred feet without a break. The
rock is of blue marble, covered with a yellow lichen, which gives
it an exceedingly rich appearance. Here and there out of crevices
grow thick bunches of wild mastic; ravens rush out of their eyries
and croak; quantities of partridges, too, disturbed by the unwonted
noise of human voices, take flight. The foundations of houses, cisterns,
and public buildings are extensive, all of the same blue marble stone
of the island; one of these was the temple of Hermes and Dionysos,
as an inscription tells us.
As a romantic spot nothing can equal the old town of Sikinos, as from
the little chapel of St. Marina, on the summit, you look on one side
down a precipitous cliff, on the other side over a sloping field of
ruins; but the archaeological value of Sikinos is centred in the temple
of Apollo down in the hollow below; there is but little else to be
seen of any tangible value on the island, though probably excavation
might expose some treasures.
