HELLAS AND THE HELLENES.

Otago Witness, Issue 2914, 19 January 1910, Page 94

HELLAS AND THE HELLENES.

By Edith Suable Giiossmaxn".

I.—PATRAS. Patras was the first town on the Greek mainland in which we stayed, but it is on the whole the least interesting. Even the modern Piraeus, though uncomfortable and dirty, cannot quite shake off its glorious associations; but the most learned of scholars would hardly feel a thrill at the bare name of Patras. There is a good dead that is beautiful and picturesque in its situation, fronting the wide, open Gulf of Patras, on the other side of which lies Mescdonghi. Across the water the volcanic cone known now as Palaea Vouni stands glorified by the pure clear colour of Greek atmosphere—a rugged and stony mount seen close at hand, but taking on the light of afternoon and of sunset perfectly. This. I think, may be what Baedeker calls Varassova, and says is the ancient Chalkis. The town is backed by a range of hills crowned by the remnant of the- Venetian castle or port now known as the Kastro. So fax as situation goes, Patras might be attractive enough, but the buildings and streets themselves have a certain meanness ; an absence of anything striking or attractive, modern; net actually dirty or repulsive, but featureless. One feels the absence of beauty greatly after • Italy. Even Brindisi has ten times as much to olfer in the way of art and antiquity as Patras. The fact is the antiquities and the glories of Greece were utterly obliterated by conquerors more barbarous, more- stupidly, callously destructive than any hordes that ever swept down on the beautiful cities of Italy. By Ins works you may know the Turk. Wherever he has set his foot there can be seen desolation. In travelling through the More a the- tourist, if at all observant, may notice that all, or nearly all, the trees and groves are comparatively young, and may wonder why there are no ancient olives here, when they abound in the neighbouring island of Corfu. ; Then if he is at all interested iu modern Greece, be will remember that in the Greek War of Liberation Ibrahim Pasha, not only massacred the peasants, but burnt vineyards, crops, and groves and made the whole country a waste of ashes. Eighty years a,go Greece was what Armenia is to-day. But to return to Patras. There are shops where you can buy English goods at high prices. There is a square with a few unprosperous-looking plane trees, throwing a scanty shadow on the dusty, ungrassed earth, and here you can sit and drink Greek wine or lemon squash while you are meditating on the Turks, or perhaps on Atalanta in Calydon, on the opposite shore.' Our first or second acquaintance in Patras was a patriarchal “Cook” —that is. Cook’s agent,—who, like many other patriarchs, was a fraud, and who changed our English sovereigns into Greek money, and pocketed a considerable share of the difference. Dora, however, called him to order after she had made inquiries at the bank, whereupon, without being in the least abashed, the patriarch said in his peculiar English, “How much you want?” and handed her the difference. I inquired where the market was, as I wished to buy some fruit, and lie lucidly explained: “It is not what you intend a market, but here is a market in, the corners, everywhere—grapes, fruit, everything.” The Greek fruit, by the way, is curiously hard, and has not half the flavour of the Italian. One might think the hot sun had ripened it without mellowing it. In the eastern, corner of Patras is the Church of St. Andrew, which is worth a visit if one has time- for it. Baedeker says there are some columns of an ancient temple- of Dome ter, and I was shown some broken remains in the church grounds, but they are insignificant. A very holy saint, perhaps St. Andrew himself, lies in a shrine in the church. St. Andrew is the patron saint of Patras, and the legend says ho- was -crucified here. Why the modern descendants of the crucifiers should boast of -such an achievement, as if it -reflected- credit upon their town, is rather mysterious, especially when one considers the hatred- for the Jews felt by all the orthodox. However, it is probably all a myth. One place is still better worth visiting, and that is the Kastro on the bill commanding the town, one of the numerous relics of Venetian dominion found all over Ataaoe and the islands,,

Everywhere that the Venetians ruled tney left enduring monuments, but of the Turkish rule nothing remains, except the ruin that they made of the monuments of nobler races. We did not see the tiers of seats remaining from the Roman Odeou, but were shown the ancient stones built into the strong Venetian walls. We climbed up the hill on a hot afternoon iu September, and, finding" the gate of the Kastro locked, did our best in the way of inquiring for the keys from some Greek women, and children whose cottages were built close to the castle walls. After ■some delay a. soldier appeared, a fine manly fellow in khaki, with a dagger stuck in his belt. Although evidently Greek, for he knew no other language, he was fair, or would have been fair if the sun had not tanned him, and his keen eyes were brightest blue. Altogether be was a most favourable specimen of a Greek soldier, and one did not need to be fold that he at least would fight well. He showed us all over the Kastr-o, the ramparts and prison, and the soldiers quarters, explaining everything as well as be could, with practical courtesy and amiability, though without a.ny flourish. My Greek at that time was infantine, and lie" talked with his own half a dozen English words, four or five Italian, a certain proportion of not very intelligible Greek, and a free uce of gesture. It was characteristic of him, whenever wo had an awkward piece of climbing to do, to stand carefully out of our way, but not to offer bin hand or arm to give assistance. When we were leaving he refused to take money, but shook hands cordially. In the soldiers’ quarters we were sorry to disturb a number of men who were Iving fast asleep in their afternoon siesta in a bare barn-like room. The most interesting eight wiae the Gmeek prison. These prisons are still barbarous, even more so than modern English prisons, for I understand that the prisoners are kept on insufficient food, and are reduced to begging from passers-by. There in each cell or cage sat a number of prisoners behind iron bars begging for pity and for alms, and near the bars outside sat women—friends, no doubt, mothers, sisters, and wives of the prisoners. As we went by on the ramparts and looked down on these poor creatures one cried out loudly in English, “Do you speak English? lam English.” Our sympathies were aroused, and as this was a military prison I imagined “our servant John” might be some luckless Englishman taken in war. We threw down, some money, and one of the women threw up in return a note and a paper knife wrapped in a handkerchief. It seems they make trifles and dispose of them in return for money. Our soldier meanwhile stood off a. little, so possibly the affair was a slight- breach of discipline. On nearer view, however, our “servant John” showed himself to be a fraud, and no more English than our host. Jannii Demakanoulos, himself. John had a peculiarly villainous face, with the odd triangular-shaped nose one -often finds amongst modern Greeks. He was, as our soldier clearly explained, a murderer imprisoned for stabbing a man.