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 33 

 
 MODERN GREEK STORIES
 
 THE INTERPRETERS' SERIES 
 
 MODERN GREEK 
 STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 DEMETRA VAKA 
 
 AND 
 
 ARISTIDES PHOUTRIDES 
 
 With a foreword by 
 
 DEMETRA VAKA 
 
 ' > , »> 
 
 J , , 1 , > ' i » 
 
 J J 3 > , '3, 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 
 
 1920
 
 Copyright, 1920. by 
 DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 
 
 C ( c • c c 
 c «. c c c c 
 
 c . f C C C «^ 
 
 « ■; - t « «^ 
 
 « C * * ' * c 
 
 
 « « ,* «. ' t c c 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 6\ 
 
 To 
 
 Those American Men and Women 
 who have bound themselves to- 
 gether in the society of FRIENDS 
 OF GREEK WOMEN this volume 
 is dedicated by the translators 
 
 446al
 
 NOTE 
 
 Of the writers whose stories have been selected for 
 this volume of translations, Polylas, Bizyenos, and 
 Papadiamantes are dead; all the others are living. 
 Without exception, they have cultivated other forms of 
 literary expression beside the short story. Most of them 
 are leading figures in the literary world of Modern 
 Greece. It is worthy of note that the writers of the ' * Sin 
 of My Mother" and of ''The Frightened Soul" come 
 from Thrace, the original home of the cult of Dionysus 
 and of the Drama, which after almost five hundred years 
 of Turkish misrule is to return to Greece again. Chrono- 
 logically, Polylas' "Forgiveness" is the oldest story in 
 the collection ; the most recent is ' ' The Frightened Soul, ' ' 
 which appeared in the pages of a Greek magazine in 
 Constantinople, started after the occupation of the city 
 by the Allies in 1918. 
 
 Demetra Vaka translated "The Sin of My Mother," 
 "The God-Father" and "She That Was Homesick." 
 The rest were translated by Dr. Aristides E. Phoutrides. 
 
 The translators wish to express their gratitude to 
 Professors Socrates Kugeas and Andreas Andreades of 
 the University of Athens for the generous assistance they 
 rendered by providing most of the material from which 
 the selections were made, and to Mr. Kenneth Brown for 
 editing the whole book.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Foreword 3 
 
 Sea 23 
 
 The Sin of My Mother 57 
 
 The God-Father 93 
 
 Mangalos 105 
 
 Forgiveness 133 
 
 Angelica 157 
 
 A Man's Death 1'73 
 
 The Frightened Soul 221 
 
 She That Was Homesick 237
 
 MODERN GREEK STORIES
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 It may fairly be said of modern Greece that she owes 
 her independence to the enthusiasm and inspiration of 
 her poets and other writers. When the Hellenic civi- 
 lization of the middle ages fell under the yoke of an 
 Asiatic conqueror, when Constantinople, the last hold 
 of the Greek race, was taken by the Turks in 1453, the 
 Greeks seemed to have come ta an end. Indeed, for 
 years they were so absolutely under the heel of the 
 Turkish conqueror that the thought of ever freeing them- 
 selves must have seemed to them a dream beyond the 
 possibility of realization, especially since at that time 
 the whole of Europe was trembling before the all-con- 
 qtiering Moslem. 
 
 Yet, gradually, unknown Greek poets began to write, 
 or rather to compose, songs of patriotism, which were 
 repeated from mouth to mouth ; and the youngsters were 
 taught by their illiterate mothers the songs of these 
 unknown bards, while look-outs were posted on the 
 thresholds of the doors to guard against their being 
 overheard. Thus, after the first hundred years of 
 slavery the descendants of the Hellenes felt less hope- 
 lessly under the heel of their conqueror, and began to 
 
 3
 
 4 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 walk less timorously, because along with them, walked 
 Hope, infused in them by their poets. It was the power 
 and fervor of their poems which presently inspired some 
 of the more adventurous young men to take to the moun- 
 tains to form themselves into revolutionary bands, to 
 drill, and to prepare their infinitesmal strength to revolt 
 against the mightiest empire then in existence. Half 
 brigands, and wholly patriotic, they drilled and exer- 
 cised in their remote fastnesses, and instituted petty 
 guerrilla warfare against the Turks, which must have 
 seemed as preposterous, at first, as the attack of a 
 mosquito on a rhinoceros. 
 
 To the western educated world. Mount Olympus is 
 known as the abode of the gods of Ancient Greece. To 
 the Greeks of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, 
 Mount Olympus became the shrine whereon the fires of 
 hope and patriotism were kept alive. And if in the 
 days of Greece's glory, Mount Olympus had been in- 
 habited by imaginary gods, the creations of Greek 
 imagination, during the dark and bitter days of her 
 slavery, the holy mountain became the abode of the 
 forerunners of her rebirth. 
 
 To that mountain at first resorted a few — then more 
 and more, until it became the one stronghold for free- 
 dom, the one independent state in the mighty Turkish 
 Empire; and there those modern Greeks, mostly illiter- 
 ate, though still intellectual, led a life totally apart from 
 the Turks, with the games of the ancient Greeks, to keep
 
 FOREWOED 5 
 
 their bodies fit, and with their historical traditions to 
 keep their minds fit. There, those who had education, 
 initiated the others into the past grandeur of their race ; 
 and those who could create, composed the great ballads 
 of patriotism wrought with hope, which are among the 
 proudest achievements of the Hellenic race. 
 
 These modem Greeks had their leaders, their teach- 
 ers, and above all, their bards. And up there, in the 
 air of that free and holy mountain, inspired by its 
 grandeur, they created their songs and set them to 
 music. Then youths, disguised as beggars, went down 
 from Mount Olympus and trudged from place to place, 
 singing their songs to their fellow-countrymen, making 
 recruits, and preparing the people for the revolution to 
 come. Thus, through the power of poetry, hope was 
 kept alive in the breasts of the much-tried race. 
 
 Gradually the ej'-es of the whole of enslaved Greece 
 looked toward Mount Olympus with worship and exalta- 
 tion ; and presently even the Turks began to respect the 
 mountain, since the detachments of soldiers they sent 
 against it were constantly defeated on its precipitous 
 slopes. After a while they ceased the thankless task, 
 and left it alone. 
 
 During this time the women of Greece played their 
 part well, since to them was entrusted the work of 
 instilling in the minds of the little children the songs 
 that came down from the twice sacred mountain. Among 
 those who were brought up under the inspiration of
 
 6 MODERN GEEEK STOEIES 
 
 this laic poetry was Eigas Phereos, the greatest of all 
 the poets of enslaved Greece, Eigas was born in 1752, 
 in Thessaly, where the cruelty of the Turks was at its 
 worst. He must have been an exceptional child, as 
 later he became an exceptional and extraordinary man ; 
 for at the age of seventeen he had finished his studies 
 at home and abroad, and, imbued by his mother with 
 the inspiration of the idea of independence, he at first 
 went to Mount Athos, the mountain whereon are the 
 Greek monasteries. When, from the highest summit, 
 Eigas looked down upon the lands of ancient Greece — 
 kept in ignorance and squalor by a cruel conqueror — 
 he wept. Then, wiping away his tears, he cried aloud: 
 "This is no time for tears, but time for action." 
 He left the monasteries, and set out for Mount 
 Olympus. His fame as a poet had preceded him, and 
 he received a great ovation. Among the leaders were 
 members of his own family, who made much of the 
 young bard with his foreign education. He remained 
 with the outlaws, learning what they had to teach, and 
 drilling with them. One day, when each bard had sung 
 his fiery song, one of them turned to Eigas, and asked 
 him to improvise. Inspired by his surroundings, Eigas, 
 on the spur of the moment, created what was to become 
 one of the trumpet songs of his struggling race. He 
 apostraphised the leaders thus: 
 
 * ' How long, oh, my brave ones, shall we live in narrow 
 confines, alone, like lions on the slopes of the mountain?
 
 FOREWORD 7 
 
 How long shall we inhabit caves, our only outlook the 
 tops of the trees beneath us? How long shall we hav€ 
 to abandon the world in order to be free? For how 
 long shall we leave behind our Fatherland, our brothers 
 and parents, our friends, our offspring, and our rela- 
 tives? Better one hour's freedom than forty years' 
 slavery and prison ! ' ' 
 
 Then, making an appeal to all the men present, he 
 cried : 
 
 ''Your mother-country is calling you. She needs you 
 and longs for you, and with a mother's anguish is ask- 
 ing for your help." 
 
 The poem is lengthy and fiery, and in the midst of 
 it once more he turns to the leaders, and, referring to 
 the dissensions among the various factions — that curse 
 of Greece at all times — he cried: 
 
 * * Come at this chosen hour, and let us take oath upon 
 the cross to choose wise and patriotic counsellors. We 
 must have law and order amongst ourselves, and for 
 our Motherland's sake, we must appoint but one chief." 
 
 .^nd that seventeen-year-old boy went on to say these 
 remarkable words: 
 
 **For anarchy is another form of slavery, and if we 
 live like wild beasts, we shall be consumed in vain." 
 
 The poem grows more religious, and at the end comes 
 the oath: ''Oh, King of the Universe, to Thee I swear 
 never to submit to the will of the tyrant ; never to work 
 for him, nor to be deceived by him ; and not to be seduced
 
 8 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 by liis promises and bribes. So long as I live on this 
 earth my one aim shall be his destruction. Faithful to 
 my Motherland I must break his yoke, and always fight 
 by the side and under the orders of my leader. And 
 if I do not keep the oath, let the lightning from heaven 
 fall and turn me to ashes!'* 
 
 . All on the mountain took the oath, and Rigas, kissing 
 the leader, went away, and journeyed from place to 
 place, trumpeting his song. I believe that every Greek 
 child was taught the oath, as soon as it could under- 
 stand and memorize it. 
 
 In Constantinople Rigas asked an audience of the 
 great Greek, Ypsilanthy, and when he was in his pres- 
 ence, he spoke of the oath. He must have been a very 
 convincing person, this young Rigas, for Ypsilanthy took 
 him for his secretary, and the two worked together to 
 spread the movement in the very heart of the Turkish 
 capital. After a while he left Constantinople and went 
 from place to place, working with pen and word for 
 the revolt against Turkey. So great was his power that 
 rich Greeks everywhere gave him their fortunes for 
 the cause, and followed him themselves. 
 
 In Valachia and Moldavia (present Roumania), then 
 rich Greek centres, Rigas formed the "National Organi- 
 zation," which became later the sustaining heart of the 
 revolution. From there he went to Austria, where many 
 rich Greek merchants dwelt, and while in Vienna he 
 had his work printed for the first time. From there
 
 FOREWORD 9 
 
 he wrote to Napoleon, the all-powerful Buonaparte, then 
 in Venice, and asked for his military aid. Eloquently 
 he pictured what an achievement it would be to free 
 Greece from the Turk. With his letter he sent a cigar- 
 ette case made from the wood of a laurel tree which 
 had grown close to the temple of Apollo. 
 
 Napoleon was pleased, both with the gift and the 
 letter, and invited young Rigas to go to see him in 
 Venice. On his way, his books and his correspondence 
 fell into the hands of the Austrian government. The 
 immediate arrest and trial of Rigas and his adherents 
 followed. That was in 1797. As far back as that, 
 Austria was scheming to conquer the Balkans, establish 
 herself in Saloniea, and from there prepare for the 
 capture of Constantinople. The rebirth of Greece, the 
 real claimant to the Ottoman Empire, was not at all 
 to the liking of Austria, and naturally a man like Rigas 
 was looked upon as a destructive and pernicious in- 
 fluence against Austria's imperialistic designs. 
 
 The trial of Rigas stirred the Greeks all over the 
 world, and the defence he made was magnificent. "All 
 these poems, all these writings are mine," he acknowl- 
 edged. **I produced them for the sake of my race, and 
 since I could not print them where barbarous tyrants 
 live, I came here to this enlightened, Christian nation 
 to publish them. And that I might not involve the 
 Austrian government in any way, I had the printing 
 done secretly, in the dead of night. I cannot dream
 
 10 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 that your Emperor Avill stand against the freeing of a 
 formerly glorious race which today lies under the heel 
 of a barbarous conqueror." 
 
 In spite of this defence, Austria found Rigas guilty, 
 and he and his companions were surrendered to the 
 Turk. 
 
 The European press protested; the rich Greeks all 
 over the world offered fabulous sums for his freedom; 
 but the chancelleries of Europe remained mute. In 1797 
 men like Rigas were looked upon with disfavor by the 
 governing classes, because each great nation had alien 
 subject races of its own, and there was no telling where 
 the spirit of freedom might break out next. 
 
 Prom Trieste the condemned Greeks were taken cap- 
 tive to Turkey, and while passing through Belgrade, 
 their guards, hearing that Greek bands were going to 
 attempt their rescue, decided to put them to death. 
 
 "You may kill me!" Rigas cried, as the guards were 
 about to behead him, *'I have sown: others will reap." 
 
 He was killed in 1798, on the 29th of May, which 
 happened to be the anniversary of the fall of Con- 
 stantinople, and in that year in which Rigas died, an- 
 other great Greek poet was born, Solomos, who was 
 some day to write : 
 
 "Take Greece to your heart, and you will feel gi'an- 
 deur quivering in you." 
 
 While in his teens, Solomos took up the work of 
 Rigas, and one of his great poems not only was the
 
 FOREWORD 11 
 
 inspiration of the revolution, but is today the* national 
 hymn of free Greece. Solomos was the most fortunate of 
 his country's poets, since during his life the struggle 
 for freedom came. The revolution started in 1821, and 
 ended in 1829, and during those years deeds were per- 
 formed which not only equal those of ancient Greece, 
 but often surpass them. In those nine years the blood 
 of the best was shed, their capital was spent, their build- 
 ings were destroyed. The land was as devastated as 
 part of France is today, and long years of toil . were 
 required to restore its fertility. 
 
 But all that was nothing compared with the wrong 
 juerpetrated upon the Greek people by the so-called 
 great Christian Powers. Self appointed arbiters, they 
 decided — after the Greeks had fought with the most 
 heroic desperation for eight long years — that more than 
 two-thirds of the land in revolt should be returned to 
 the kind ministration of the Turk — as again today they 
 are considering retaining him in Constantinople. 
 
 What was permitted to become free Greece in 1830 
 was hardly a nation. It consisted of less than three 
 quarters of a million people, and a tract of land of 
 less than fifty thousand square miles. Greece was freed, 
 — ^but the fertile Greek lands, the commercial centres, 
 the ports, the industries, the granaries, the rich islands, 
 all were returned to the Turk, and millions and millions 
 of Greeks were forced to remain under the Asiatic yoke, 
 because those great Christian powers themselves wanted
 
 12 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 ultimately to possess the heritage of Greece, They 
 wronged the Greek people in 1830 — they have ever con- 
 sidered the rights of little nations as subservient to their 
 own interests, and for this policy France and England 
 have paid from 1914 to 1919 with the best of their blood, 
 while Austria and Russia, the greater culprits, have 
 seen their own dissolution the price they have had to 
 pay for their cruel selfishness. Had Europe been 
 merely just to the Greek people, and to the other small, 
 struggling nations, many of the subsequent wars would 
 have been avoided, with their following unjust peace 
 arrangements; and the great world war itself would 
 have been impossible, because, although it is true that 
 Germany started the war in 1914, that war had been 
 prepared by all the great powers, by the treaty of 
 Berlin in 1878. 
 
 Greece was free, but there was nothing in it with 
 which to start life — ^nothing, except that pile of ruins 
 on the Acropolis for which men had given their blood, 
 and to which all through the ages every enlightened 
 soul had turned for inspiration. Yes, such as she was, 
 there was a free Greece, and after four centuries of 
 slavery, the Acropolis was Greek once more, and three- 
 quarters of a million Greeks were able to breathe freely, 
 and openly to study their own history. True, most of 
 the great leaders had been killed; others were maimed 
 and useless; while the rest bowed their heads with the 
 black despair born from injustice.
 
 FOREWORD 13 
 
 No gold was sent in from sympathetic nations to re- 
 build Greece. There were no funds raised for her or- 
 phans — no Red Cross appropriations, no Y. M. C. A. 
 help — nothing at all. And there are people who dare 
 to say that the world has not advanced. 
 
 In 1830 there was no conscience in Europe, and 
 Greece was left to stand solitary in her own destitution 
 free, and dazed — dazed not only at her freedom after 
 centuries of slavery, but dazed at her own confines. 
 Hers was the fate to keep her eyes lowered, if they were 
 to be kept in her own frontiers. If she lifted them ever 
 so slightly, she saw her own lands in slavery, her en- 
 slaved children stretching their hands toward her, im- 
 ploring her to break their chains and make them free. 
 Is it a wonder, then, that small, weak, and dazed, she 
 has still been forced to fight, and fight, and always to 
 fight, ever since 1821 ? 
 
 Yet, along with the fighting, schools began to be built 
 everywhere, and the people once more could openly take 
 their children to Greek schools on free Greek soil. The 
 illiteracy, which was appalling, began to disappear, and 
 once more the Greeks could read and write, and those 
 who lived in other countries and were rich, sent money 
 back, and so Greece, instead of dying — as some of the 
 great powers hoped she would — was actually beginning 
 to prosper. 
 
 Although they had nothing to start their housekeep- 
 ing with they had the Acropolis to guide and sustain
 
 14 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 them. They had the Past, and that past lighted the way 
 to the Future. 
 
 Unfortunately for Greece, a king was selected by 
 Europe to govern her, a king who was a Bavarian, a 
 kindly soul, but a foreigner who brought with him his 
 foreign queen. Neither understood the Greek language, 
 nor the Greeks, who, though illiterate, were steeped in 
 glorious traditions. And along with Otto of Bavaria 
 and his German queen, came the Bavarians, who occu- 
 pied the big positions in Greece, and in the wake of 
 the king and his consort came the representatives of the 
 powers with secretaries and clerks. 
 
 They were different, those first free Greeks, from the 
 Europeans who came either to rale them or to influence 
 their political affiliations. They felt the difference that 
 existed between them and their guests, and, being proud 
 and sensitive, they suffered acutely. Just let the imagi- 
 nation dwell a little on what took place: on the one 
 side the foreigner, supercilious, critical, bent on playing 
 his political game ; on the other the Greek, uneducated, 
 crude, conscious of his past grandeur, conscious of his 
 mentality, conscious of his gifts, and, above all, con- 
 scious of the littleness of his present. 
 
 It is not possible in a preface to enter upon the long 
 anguish of the first three-quarters of a million. Suffice 
 it to say that they did not like to be thought uncivilized 
 by the court and the diplomatic circle. With the unre- 
 strained abilities of precocious children, they threw
 
 FOREWORD 15 
 
 themselves into the process of becoming Enropeanized. 
 Foreign governesses swarmed, and the children of the 
 Hellenes began to be brought up no longer by the trum- 
 pet-songs of Mount Olympus but by creations of alien 
 minds and alien aspirations. Gradually a royalist class 
 grew up around the court and in the big cities, which 
 was truly a slave class. When they were slaves, the 
 Hellenes had been free, since they adhered passionately 
 to their language and to their national traditions. Free, 
 under a foreign king, they became slaves to foreign 
 influences. The upper classes now neglected their own 
 traditions. They spoke French and English and Ger- 
 man, and knew the literature of those countries better 
 than their own. It was a phase through which they had 
 to go. Alas! it has lasted too long. 
 
 Yet, while the better classes were eagerly European- 
 izing themselves, the native life was growing stronger 
 and healthier. Schools multiplied everywhere, and per- 
 haps there is no country in the world which has so 
 many newspapers and so many newspaper readers. 
 Athens has 250,000 inhabitants, and 250 publications 
 a week. Peasants will walk miles, or flag the trains, to 
 obtain their newspapers. The quality of the editorials 
 is excellent. And so esteemed is a writer in Greece that 
 he expects little pecuniary gain. The fact that he can- 
 not hope to make a living from literature has never 
 prevented the Greek from writing, and thus modern 
 Greece has always had an abundance of both poets and
 
 16 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 prose writers. This little volume gives a good average 
 of modern Greek short stories. If no woman's name 
 appears it is not that the women of Greece are not writ- 
 ing, but that we have had to choose from what was at 
 hand. Indeed, some of the best work has come from 
 the pens of women, such as Madame Parren, editor and 
 publisher of the Ephemeris ton Kyrion, in Athens, and 
 whose novel, "The Emancipated," in spite of its short- 
 comings, is one of the best, if not the very best of modern 
 Greek novels. Another woman. Mile. Zographo, pub- 
 lisher and editor of the Helleniki EpitJieorisis, has also 
 written some very able and graphic short stories and 
 plays. And readers of the Atlantic Monthly are fa- 
 miliar with the charm of style and beauty of narrative 
 of Mme. Julia Dragoumis. 
 
 The Hellenic race has ever been intellectual, and to 
 express itself is one of its greatest necessities. Thus, 
 in spite of the fact that Greece has most of the time 
 been at war, for the sake of her enslaved children, in 
 spite of the fact that writing does not pay in Greece, 
 men and women wrote, depicting life around them, and 
 the life of the sea. Many of them also devoted them- 
 selves to translating the masterpieces of Europe, for 
 the education of those of their race who could not read 
 the originals. Shakespeare had several translators, and 
 the Greeks enjoy him on the stage immensely, because 
 he resembles their own classics. 
 
 Although Greece has been free less than a hundred
 
 FOREWORD 17 
 
 years, and during that time has had to eradicate the 
 illiteracy forced on them by the Turk, and to scratch 
 hard for a living, the literary genius of the people de- 
 veloped steadily. She had her serious writers and her 
 comic writers, and, above all, her satirists. The leader 
 of the last was Kokkos, who, like Aristophanes, ridiculed 
 on the stage the weaknesses of his fellow-countrymen, 
 especially their passion for aping the Europeans. His 
 plays were in the form of musical comedies, and one of 
 them, "Maroula," became so popular that amateur com- 
 panies played it all over free and enslaved Greece. Half 
 a dozen companies gave it in Constantinople and its 
 suburbs alone, and gave it well, too. 
 
 For his satire, Kokkos paid with his life. A soldier 
 shot and killed him as he was coming out of a theatre 
 where one of his comedies had been satirizing the army. 
 
 Athens has also the unique distinction of having pos- 
 sessed for nearly half a century a satirical publication 
 written entirely in verse. Its name was Romeos, an 
 appellation like ' ' Yankee. ' ' It announced that it would 
 be published once a week, on whatever day it pleased 
 to appear, and that it would accept as subscribers only 
 those whom it liked. This was more than a mere form, 
 and it refused to deliver Romeos to many public men, 
 whom it did not like, and even to the Palace itself ; and 
 these disliked ones were obliged to buy it in the street, 
 since everyone read it. 
 
 It was written in the vernacular, and always con-
 
 18 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 tained the dialop:ue between two characters, Fasonlis 
 and Pcricletos, predecessors of Mr. Dooley and Mr. Ilen- 
 nesey. The satirical little sheet became the delight and 
 dread of modern Greece; for Romcos spared no one. Ilis 
 satire was clean-cut and to the point, and the Danish 
 dynasty, which replaced the Bavarian in 1863, came in 
 for its share of ridicule. In 1897, during? that unfor- 
 tunate war against the Turk when Const^ntine, then 
 Crown Prince, led his armies always to retreat, Romeos 
 depicted him, in one of its crade lampoons, as standing 
 in the midst of his women folk, being adorned for the 
 fray. And a little verse underneath began : 
 
 "They dressed him, they combed him, they made him 
 look brave," and ended up bitingly that when he saw 
 the firing, he scooted for mother and home. 
 
 Many a time the office of Romeos was wrecked, either 
 by enraged army officers, or by susceptible politicians; 
 but Souris, owner, creator, and typesetter of Romcos, in- 
 domitably put his house in order, and reappeared with 
 his weekly. 
 
 He made light of all his country's misfortunes, as 
 if realizing that the burden was too great for the little 
 race, and that to keep up its courage it needed humor. 
 He has just died, when it looks as if Greece at last had 
 a chance of gathering under her flag the major part of 
 the lands inhabited by her children. Then Souris will 
 not be needed to lighten the sorrow of his countrymen 
 with his dry wit. Let us hope that the intrigues of
 
 FOREWORD 19 
 
 the big nations will not foster new injustices to the small, 
 and that Greece, no longer harassed by wars, and by 
 the lack of everything that feeds a nation, united at last, 
 free to develop her gifts and to follow her great tradi- 
 tions, will rise once more and, to use Mr. Venizelos's 
 words, will surprise those who look on her today with 
 mistrust and suspicion. 
 
 At any rate, such as Greece is, she has given to the 
 world Mr. Venizelos in her political life, and has pro- 
 duced Mr. Karkavitsas in her literature. A nation that 
 can do this must be a nation with a future.
 
 SEA 
 
 By a. Kakkavitsas
 
 SEA 
 
 My father — ^may the wave that buried him be holy 
 oil for him — never meant to make a sailor of me. 
 
 *'Keep away, my boy," he said, "keep away from the 
 lying monster! She has no faith nor mercy. Worship 
 her as you will — honor her — she never moves from her 
 own aim. Don't look at her deceiving smile, promising 
 her countless wealth. Sooner or later she will dig a 
 grave for you, or she will cast you on the world a useless 
 ruin, with nothing to own but your skin and bones. Sea 
 or woman — it's all the same!'* 
 
 These were the words of a man who had spent a whole 
 life on a ship's deck, a man whose father and grand- 
 father and great-grandfather had died by the mast. 
 And he was nat alone of this opinion. The other old 
 men of the island, veterans of the ships, and the younger 
 people whose hands were still callous, whenever they 
 took their seats in the coffee-house to smoke their water 
 pipes, would waggle their heads sadly and say with a 
 sigh: 
 
 "There's no more bread to be gained from the sea. 
 Let me have just a root of vine on the solid earth and 
 I would throw a black stone behind me.'* 
 
 23
 
 24 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 The truth was that many of them had money enough 
 to own not only a vine but a whole island. Yet they 
 would spend it all on the sea. They competed against 
 each other to see who could build the biggest vessel or 
 who would be a captain first. I, who often heard their 
 words and saw their acts, contrary and inconsistent 
 with their words, could not understand the mys- 
 tery. 
 
 Some God's breath, I said to myself, some power sent 
 from infinity was coming down to drag with it 
 all those souls and hurl them captives against their wills 
 into the open sea, just as the raging north wind beating 
 on the bare cliffs bites off the weathered pieces and hurls 
 them down in a mass of fragments. 
 
 But the same impulse was pushing me, too, that way. 
 Ever since my childhood days, I loved the sea. You 
 might say I took my first steps in the water. My first 
 play was a box of beans with a little stick set up in 
 the center for a mast, with two pieces of thread for 
 hawsers and a sheet of paper for a sail, and my imagi- 
 nation made of this little box a triple-decked bark. I 
 put it to sea vnth emotion, and imagined myself in it. 
 Of course, as soon as I took my hand off, my bark sank 
 to the bottom, but I was not slow in building another 
 of timber. My dockyard was at the little harbor of 
 St. Nicholas. I put my boat to sea and I followed it, 
 gwimming to the entrance of the harbor, where the cur- 
 rent swept it far away from me. Later I became first
 
 SEA 25 
 
 in rowing and first in swimming. All I lacked was a 
 fish's scales. 
 
 "Bravo!" said the old sailors to me with their good- 
 natured smiles as they saw me ripping the water like 
 a dolphin. "You will put us aU i;o shame!" 
 
 I was proud because of these words and I hoped that 
 some day I would fulfill their prophesy. I remember 
 it was my seventh year at school when I closed my books 
 forever. I found nothing in them that would respond 
 to my longings, while everything else about me, living 
 or not, whispered to me a thousand tales: The sailors 
 with their faces bronzed by the sun; the old men with 
 their reminiscences; the piled timber with its story 
 told at sight; the lasses with their songs: 
 
 "How handsome is my little mate when wet with the 
 sea-spray, 
 Puts on his change of snow-white clothes and takes 
 the helm in hand." 
 
 This song I heard ever since my cradle days and it 
 seemed to me like a hymn sung by my island to lure 
 its inhabitants to the life of the sea. My dream, too, 
 was some day to be a mate and, wet with the sea spray, 
 to hold the helm in hand. Surely I would be handsome 
 then and strong — a real man. I would be the pride 
 of my island and I would be loved by every lass. 
 
 Yes, I did love the sea! At times I saw her spreading
 
 26 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 from the headland far away and mingling with the blue 
 firmament, like a sapphire floor, smooth, calm and silent 
 with a secret that I longed to know. At times I saw her 
 mad, spattering the shore angrily with white foam, 
 toppling over the reefs, scaling the caves of the great 
 rocks with a restless thundering roar as if she sought 
 to penetrate the earth's fiery womb and to extinguish 
 the flames that burned there. This intoxicated me, and 
 I ran to play with her, to make her angry and provoke 
 her, so that she might rush against me and chase me, 
 and lash my body with her spray — tease her as we like 
 to tease wild beasts bound with chains. Then, when 
 I saw a ship lifting anchor and sailing out of the harbor 
 into the open sea, and heard the cheering chanties of the 
 sailors laboring at the capstan sheets and the farewells 
 of the women, my soul would fly like a lonely bird after 
 it. The sails of dark gray, swelling with the wind, the 
 stays stretching like delicate lines against the horizon, 
 the golden trucks leaving behind them a trail of light in 
 the blue sky called out to me to go with them, promising 
 new lands, new men, riches, joys, strange kisses that, 
 though I knew it not, were stored in my heart as the 
 inherited pleasures of my fathers. So, day and night, 
 my soul longed for nothing else but the day of sailing 
 away. Even when the news of a shipwreck reached 
 the island, and the death of the drowned men lay heavy 
 on everybody's heart, and silent grief spread from the 
 frowning faces to the inanimate pebbles of the beach,
 
 SEA 27 
 
 even when I met the orphans of the dead in the streets, 
 like gilded pieces of wood among the ruins of a once 
 prosperous home, and saw the women clothed in black, 
 and the bereaved sweethearts left disconsolate, and heard 
 the survivors of the shipwreck tell of their misfortune, 
 even then I was soriy and jealous that I had not been 
 with them to see my own sweetheart in her wild majesty 
 and to wrestle with her, wrestle unto death. 
 
 At last I could no longer control myself. My father 
 had sailed away with his schooner. My uncle, Kalli- 
 geres, was just about to set sail for the Black Sea. I fell 
 on his neck; and my mother, too, fearing I might get 
 sick, intervened in my behalf. He consented to take me 
 along. 
 
 "I will take you," he said, "but you'll have to work. 
 A sailing ship needs care, it's no fishing boat for food 
 and sleep." 
 
 I was always afraid of my uncle. He was as rude and 
 mean to me as he was to his sailors. Men avoided work- 
 ing under him. 
 
 "Better slaving in Algiers 
 Than with Captain Kalligeres." 
 
 they would say to show his heartlessness. He would 
 "bake a fish on their lips" not only in the work he 
 exacted but even in the food and the pay he gave them. 
 Whatever there was of old salt junk, mouldy dry cod,
 
 28 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 bitter flour, weevilly biscuit and chalky cheese could 
 be found in Kalligeres' stores to be used for his sailors. 
 He would never speak, except to command, to swear, 
 or to abuse somebody. Only men who despaired of any 
 other chance would offer to be hired by him. So I knew 
 well I was not going to indiilge in caresses and good 
 times. But the lure of the sea made me disregard every- 
 thing. 
 
 "Only take me aboard," I said, "and I'll work as 
 much as you want." 
 
 To make my word good, I plunged into work. I made 
 the futtock-shrouds my play. The higher I had to go 
 the more eager I was to climb up first. Perhaps my 
 uncle wished to make it especially hard for me from 
 the beginning and to acquaint me with the endless trials 
 of a sailor's life in order to make me change my mind. 
 He surely kept me going, from deck-washing to deck- 
 scrubbing, from sail-mending to rope-twisting, from let- 
 ting go and clewing up the sails to stowing them ; from 
 the quay to the capstan, from loading to unloading, from 
 calking to painting. I had to be first in everything. 
 First be it ! "What did I care ? I was satisfied to climb 
 high to the topyard and with my big toes grasping the 
 backstay to look down into space and watch the sea open 
 a way and retreat before me as my humble subject. 
 Drunk with joy I compared myself to a proud bird wing- 
 ing its way triumphantly across the skies. I was in a 
 magic trance. I looked with pity on the rest of the
 
 SEA 29 
 
 world, on the men who lived on dry land. They seemed 
 to me like ants, creeping snakes, or slow-moving tor- 
 toises cursed to wear their shells forever as a useless 
 burden. 
 
 "Bah!" I would say with contempt. "They think 
 they live ! ' * On such a surge of enthusiasm I heard one 
 day the Captain's voice roar like a peal of thunder 
 beside me: 
 
 "Let go the sails! Clew up and let go all!" 
 I was frightened and ran to follow the other sailors 
 without understanding exactly what the trouble was. 
 Everyone to his post, and I to mine. They flew to the 
 jibs; I followed them. They climbed up to the yards. 
 I was among them, making fast and stowing every sail. 
 Within five minutes the bark was a skeleton of spars. 
 In front of his cabin the captain stood shouting and 
 
 abusing and cursing. I looked at him but d d if 
 
 I knew what he was talking about. 
 
 "What in h 1 is the matter?" I asked the man 
 
 next to me as we were making the sky-sail fast. 
 "The squall — don't you see? The water-spout!" 
 The water-spout ! A shiver ran down my back. I 
 had often heard of its awful wonders; how it sweeps 
 everything away on its path, how it makes tatters of 
 sails, breaks down masts, and downs all sea-sailing 
 things. There was not only one but three or four. Two 
 of them rose towards Batum. The others were on our 
 port bow sweeping over the waters from gray distance
 
 30 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 where sky and sea met. Ahead Caucasus, a frowning 
 monstrous mass, showing his darkened coast walled with 
 great cliffs like bare teeth ready to tear a world. Above 
 us the sky draped with thick heavy curtains of clouds; 
 below, the sea, blackish-gray, trembling from end to 
 end like a living thing shuddering with fear. For the 
 first time I saw my sweetheart frightened. 
 
 The one water-spout was high and arched like an ele- 
 phant's proboscis, and hung over the waters, a black 
 motionless monster. The other, at first like an immense 
 thick pillar rising straight up, was suddenly broken in 
 two like a column of smoke ; its lower half was shattered 
 into a thousand fragments while the upper half hung 
 from the clouds like a many-forked serpent's tongue. I 
 saw the serpent moving on, stretching his neck, now this 
 way and now that, brandishing his tongues as if seeking 
 something on the face of the waters, and then suddenly 
 flinging his body backward and gathering it in coils to 
 nestle among the clouds. But a third one, black and 
 gray and as thick as the trunk of a plane-tree one thou- 
 sand years old, stood motionless for some time sucking 
 up the water and swelling in size; and then tottering 
 like a menacing beast, it started sweeping against us, a 
 monstrous mass of terror. 
 
 **Down there! Get down!" I heard a voice from the 
 deck calling me. 
 
 Turning around, I saw that all the others had climbed 
 down while I had been clinging fast to the topmast,
 
 SEA 31 
 
 watching the strange miracle. I glided down the 
 shrouds quickly and landed beside the captain. I saw 
 him face the fearful monster with a savage frown and 
 deep watchful eyes as if he were to bind it with an evil 
 eye spell. In his right hand he held a knife with a 
 black handle and stood in front of the mizzen-mast as 
 if he had chosen it for a target. Near him the mate was 
 filling up the rusty horn by throwing into its empty 
 belly a powder of all kinds of old nails and pieces of 
 lead. Round about, the rest of the crew stood with 
 arms crossed, speaking no word, looking now at the 
 sky and now at the sea with the indifference of fatalists. 
 
 Meanwhile the water serpent was advancing with 
 winged feet and with swelled breast, sucking up the 
 water like a thirsty Tantalus and casting it up as a 
 smoky cloud of storm into the sky. At moments you 
 might think it would sweep the whole deck clean of 
 every spar or snatch up the whole bark, hull and all, 
 and hurl it skyward. It must have been just about two 
 yards from us. Never faltering, it rose before us a 
 shining rounded mass of gold and green like a smoked 
 ciystal, and, deep in its trunk, a roughly hammered 
 piston of black and gi'ay, the water hissed upward eager 
 to flood whole worlds through the great sky. 
 
 "Strike!" commanded the captain. 
 
 The mate, with a quick movement, emptied his horn 
 against it. Old nails, pieces of lead and hemp, all were 
 lost in its side. It seemed to tremble from top to toe.
 
 32 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Some doubt had entered its heart, or some cold fear 
 had chilled its wind and it stopped. It made an effort 
 to move again but it tottered, whirled about twice and 
 stood again motionless, a tower of glass uniting sea and 
 sky. 
 
 "Missed it!" said the captain bitterly. 
 
 "Missed it! — I see that," said the mate; "Just 
 draw the pentalpha, captain, and let the sin be on my 
 neck. ' ' 
 
 "My God," whispered the captain with resolution, "I 
 am a sinner." He made the sign of the cross and, 
 drawing with the knife a pentalpha on the mast, 
 he pronounced the spell three times with a low 
 voice : 
 
 "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was 
 with God and God was the Word." He fixed it in the 
 midst of the sacred symbol with the fury of a man who 
 was striking at the heart of a wild beast. 
 
 Something like thunder was heard, as if a gun was 
 discharged on our broadside, and a monstrous wave 
 rolled down our deck. At the same time light- 
 ning flashed from the Caucasus, and the mountain 
 roared with loud rumbling. The squall burst now, 
 and the sea, stirred with fright, foamed and raged 
 over the whole main from end to end. A wild tempest, 
 truly ! 
 
 "Aloft the sails!" commanded the captain quickly. 
 "Top-sails! Jibs! Top-gallants! Royals!"
 
 SEA 33 
 
 We spread our sails and soon the bark was on its 
 course again. 
 
 n 
 
 Three weeks later we anchored at Constantinople with 
 a cargo on board. There I received the first letter from 
 my mother, a first letter that came like a first stab at 
 my inexperienced heart. 
 
 "Yanne, my boy," said the old woman, "when you 
 come back to the island with St. Nicholas' help and 
 my blessing, you will not be any longer a captain's son 
 as you were on the day you sailed away — your father 
 is gone with his schooner and all our fortune! The 
 Black Sea has swallowed them all. Now you have noth- 
 ing left but this one-story house, me, a helpless woman, 
 and God. May your arms be strong. "Work, my boy, 
 and respect your uncle. If you have anything left over 
 from your earnings, send it to me to buy oil and burn 
 a candle before the Saint for your father's soul." 
 
 I crossed my hands and looked with tearful eyes at 
 the sea. The words of the letter seemed to me like an 
 echo of my father's words. He was a captain, owner of 
 his own vessel for many years, and now his widow had 
 to depend on my savings to make a wheat offering* for 
 
 *KiXvPa, boiled wheat seasoned with sugar, cinnamon, burned 
 flour, nuts, etc., and placed on a tray before the altar. The 
 priest prays for the forgiveness of the dead person's sins and 
 the wheat is distributed among all present, who take it saying, 
 "God forgive him," and eat it.
 
 34 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the dead man's soul! His wheat offering, not to speak 
 of the poor widow's own needs ! Meanwhile, who knows 
 against what reefs his iron strong arms are dashing, 
 what gulls are tearing his flesh, or what waves are 
 bleaching his fleshless bones! 
 
 How significant were his last words ! We had met for 
 the last time just as we were sailing into the port of 
 Theodosia when he saw me high on the top-yard 
 stowing the skysail. He crossed himself and stood 
 dumb with emotion. He had not expected such a 
 thing. 
 
 "Why do you look at him, Captain Angele?" Kali- 
 geres shouted to him as we sailed by. "I won't ex- 
 change him for your best hand. ' ' 
 
 At the same moment I was praying earnestly that 
 the sea might open and swallow me. I could not rest 
 as long as I felt his stem eyes fixed on me. I ran 
 hurriedly from one end to another, as if I was too busy 
 to stop. So down into the forecastle I would go, and 
 up the futtock-shrouds ; or I would pass from the cap- 
 stan to the pump and do anything to avoid him. He 
 understood my confusion and did not rise from his 
 seat; but from the place where he sat he followed 
 me with a sad, complaining eye as if he was looking 
 on a deathbed. 
 
 Next day he met me as I was going to town with the 
 other men. As soon as I caught sight of him, I tried 
 to hide, but he nodded and even from the distance his
 
 SEA 35 
 
 nod was so commanding that my legs refused to obey 
 my will. 
 
 "My boy, whatever was the matter with you? Have 
 you thought over what you are trying to do?" 
 
 For the first time I knew there was gentleness in my 
 father's voice; but I did not hesitate. 
 
 "Father," I said with courage, "I did think it over. 
 Maybe my act is foolish and bad; but I can't help it. 
 I can't live otherwise. The sea calls me; don't try to 
 cross me. Else I might go where you will never see 
 me again." 
 
 He made the sign of the cross, puzzled by my deter- 
 mination. He looked straight into my eyes for some 
 time, then he shook his head and said: 
 
 "Very well, my boy; do whatever God prompts you 
 to. I have done my part. Remember, I have spared 
 neither words nor money. You will have no reason to 
 curse me in the future. Go with my blessing. ' * 
 
 His last blessing was my first regret. The sea did 
 reward my love on my first trip. 
 
 I was now truly a hired man for Captain Kaligeres, 
 to earn my bread and my mother's, who had been a 
 captain's wife. Yet in spite of her advice, I could 
 neither respect him nor work for my uncle any longer. 
 If I must be a hired sailor, I thought, thank God there 
 are other vessels. I would much rather get a hail 
 of abuse from a stranger than from my own kin. A 
 stranger would be more likely to respect my name. And
 
 36 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 so I made up my mind, if all was well, to disembark 
 at the first port. 
 
 "Out for a better job? You will see!" said Kila- 
 geres, who guessed my thoughts. 
 
 One day I went to ask a little olive oil for the meal. 
 
 "No," he said, "that's for the man who stands by 
 the wheel." 
 
 I went a second time and a third. The same answer. 
 It wasn't enough for him to feed us with every decay- 
 ing thing ; he had to strike even olive oil off our rations. 
 His avarice and his heartlessness were his most detest- 
 able traits. I decided to get back at him once, and one 
 day when I was at the wheel and he was out of sight, 
 I took the picture of St. Nicholas from the chart-house, 
 where a candle filled with olive oil burned before it, 
 tied it on the wheel and left the deck. The bark, like a 
 crazy person, wandered all over the sea. 
 
 "Yanne!" shouted the captain, "who ia at the 
 wheel?" 
 
 * ' He who eats the oil ! " I answered. 
 
 All the crew split themselves laughing and that an- 
 gered him. 
 
 "Get out!" he said. "Pack your things and go!" 
 
 "All right. Give me my pay." 
 
 He took me into the chart-house and opened his 
 account book. He reckoned up my' dues in his usual 
 manner. 
 
 "I hired you on such a day. The next day you came
 
 SEA 37 
 
 aboard; the day after you brought in your clothes and 
 one day later you started work. Not so?" 
 
 He cheated me altogether out of five days' pay. Still 
 it might have been worse. 
 
 "Just as you say," I said. 
 
 And so, with two pounds in my pocket, I landed in 
 Messena 
 
 III 
 
 From now on I lived like a real sailor. A life of toil 
 and turmoil. Ant-like as far as being always busy, but 
 never ant-like in saving. How could you ever save 
 with such work from hand to mouth? One pair of 
 shoes took one month's wages. A waterproof, another 
 month's pay. One good time on shore, a third month. 
 One month out of a job, six months in debt. How could 
 you save and support a home? My home did not last 
 long. Merciful death sealed its door. "Within a year 
 my mother died and her care was taken off my shoulders. 
 
 Wandering from ship to ship, from captain to cap- 
 tain, and from trip to trip, I wasted ten years on the 
 sea. It was a troubled life; one pleasure, three misad- 
 ventures. Before you could say * ' praise God, ' ' you had 
 to yell "God help us!" Day and night my father's 
 words resounded in my ears. What was the use? Yon 
 might knock your fist against a knife or your head 
 against a mast; the mast can't break. If I had a root 
 
 44t>o^
 
 38 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 of grapevine on land I might throw a black stone be- 
 hind me and leave the sea forever. But where was the 
 vine? I had one of two fortunes coming to me; either 
 some wave would bury me or I might turn into the 
 world a beggar. Very well, then. A blessed life had 
 to be mine. I might stick to the Job and have a good 
 time. I wasn't alone — ^was I ? Eveiy sailor in the world 
 has the same bad luck. I was a hired hand on many 
 vessels and worked with many foreigners, too, but never 
 did I envy anyone. A sailor's life is the same every- 
 where; abuse from the captain, contempt from the 
 charterer, threats from the sea, kicks from the land. 
 Wherever he turns, he faces an enemy. 
 
 Once, when I had come to Piraeus on an English brig 
 I thought of going to my island which I had never 
 seen since the day I had sailed away with Captain Kalli- 
 geres. Fate had taken me on her wings and made me 
 spin about the earth like a top. On my return I found 
 my home a ruin, my mother's grave overgrown with 
 weeds and my young sweetheart a grown-up girl. I 
 had the priest read prayers for my mother, I burned a 
 taper for my father's soul, and cast two glances on my 
 sweetheart. I shivered all over. 
 
 "Who knows?" I thought bitterly. *'If I had list- 
 ened to my father's words might I not now be Mary's 
 husband?'* 
 
 Her father, Captain Parares, was an ancient ship- 
 owner, of the same age as my father. He was lucky
 
 SEA 39 
 
 with the sea. He struck it at the proper time and so 
 he reaped a rich han^est from it. Then he sold hia 
 bark, St. Stephanos, bought some dry fields, turned 
 them into a garden, and dropped his travels forever. 
 
 I did not leave on the next day as my plan was. Nor 
 the day after. A week went by and I was still there. 
 Something held me back, though I had nothing more 
 to do. Only the same thought came again and again 
 to my mind, putting out, like a light extinguisher, all 
 other thoughts. 
 
 "If I had listened to my father's words, might I not 
 now be Mary's husband?" 
 
 At the same time I kept passing and repassing her 
 home, and towards evening I would take the road to the 
 village — ^well. Just to catch a glimpse of her. In other 
 words, I was in love with Mary. Whenever she passed 
 with lowered eyes and light step before me and I saw 
 her full breast and her hair hanging in black waves down 
 her back, I felt a desire to run to her and lock her in 
 my arms with unfailing passion. Her black, almond- 
 shaped eyes seemed to promise to me a calm, happy and 
 restful nest, and her bosom looked like a harbor of tran- 
 quil waters and smooth sands where a mariner might, 
 without any fear, moor his boat. 
 
 It was like the vision that always haunts me. Waves, 
 sky, earth and its crops, men, life itself always transi- 
 tory and changing, tire our souls. As a balance of 
 necessity, nature must seek stability; and our mind
 
 40 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 looks for a place where it can rest by day and by night 
 while the body goes on with its endless trials and strug- 
 gles. So a woman is found and a marriage is sought. 
 Do you think it of small importance while you wander 
 over the world to know that there is a little corner for 
 you somewhere, where love burns for you expecting your 
 return anxiously ? The same magnet that once had lured 
 me, inexperienced lad, to the sea, was now drawing me, 
 a full-grown man, towards the woman — only with much 
 greater force. With the same blind passion, I followed 
 the footprints of my fair one. I first sent Captain 
 Kalligeres as messenger of my love. Then Kalomoira, 
 "the Good Fortune," an old woman famous through- 
 out the island as a matchmaker. 
 
 **I will not go," I thought, "until I have an answer." 
 
 But my messenger brought everything to a happy end. 
 There was honey in her words and she won both the 
 girl and her father. 
 
 "I want to speak lo you," said Captain Parares to 
 me one evening, after taking me apart. "Your purpose 
 is good and your way is honest. There is nobody I 
 would like to have in my house better than the son of 
 a friend who was like a brother to me. Mary will be 
 yours. But on one condition: You will have to give 
 up the sea. I stand by your father's words. The sea 
 has no faith nor mercy. You must give it up." 
 
 "But what am I to do?" I asked. "How can I live? 
 You know I have learned no other trade."
 
 SEA 41 
 
 "I know it. But Mary has a fortune of her own." 
 It came like a slap to me and I turned all red. 
 "Then am I to take a wife to support me?" 
 "No, she will not support you. Don't be angry. I 
 did not mean to offend you. You will work together. 
 There is the orchard, the vineyard, the field. They need 
 workers. ' ' 
 
 The truth was, I needed nothing better. I was ready 
 to give up the sea forever. I felt like St. Elias, who 
 shouldered his oar and took to the mountains, looking 
 for a place to live where men had never heard of his 
 name. He didn't care either to look on the sea or to 
 hear of it any longer. I felt exactly the same. Her 
 name, her color, her charms had no more secrets for 
 me. The spell had been broken. 
 
 "Agreed!" I said, "you have my word for it." 
 
 IV 
 
 Three years went by, spent with Mary up in Trapi, 
 my father-in-law's village. Three years of real life. I 
 learned how to handle a pick and worked with my wife 
 in the orchard, the vineyard and the field. "With work 
 and love, I never felt the passing of time. When we 
 did not dig together we chased each other under the 
 citron trees like birds just learning how to fly. Her 
 word followed on my. word; her kiss on mine. I learned 
 how to dig around the citron trees, how to prune the
 
 42 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 vines, and how to plough the field. Then I knew hoTT 
 to pick the citrons in the fall, how to gather the grapes 
 when vintage time came in August, and how to reap the 
 wheat-field in the month of harvest. I earned fifty 
 dollars from my citrons yearly, twenty from my vine, 
 and forty from my wheat, besides the seed I kept for 
 next year's crop and the provisions for my own home 
 use. It was the first time that I really knew what earn- 
 ing was, and realized that my labor was received grate- 
 fully and rewarded wath plenty. The speechless earth 
 tried in a thousand manners, colors, shapes, fragrances, 
 fruits and flowers to speak and thank me for my taking 
 care of it. 
 
 If I ploughed, the furrow remained faithfully where 
 I opened it. It would receive the seed and hide it dili- 
 gently from the flying things; then it would keep it 
 warm and damp until the day when it would show it 
 before my eyes fresh with dew, green with living sap, 
 and finally mature with gold. The earth seemed to 
 say : * ' See how I have brought it up ! " If I lightened 
 the burden of a vine by pruning it, the vine would seem 
 to burst into tears with emotion, and shaking with de- 
 light would open its eyes like bright butterflies and sud- 
 denly bring forth its hea%^ burden of new clusters. If 
 I trimmed the citron tree, it would rise lithe with grace 
 and dazzling with beauty, and with its tufted branches 
 would build wonderful shady arches to cool our bodies 
 from the noon-day heat and to shower fragrances on our
 
 SEA 43 
 
 sleep at night, while its light golden fruit would refresh 
 our very being. 
 
 Yes, it is the earth God has blessed with feeling and 
 not that senseless monster that wipes off your track 
 as soon as your keel has opened it, jealous of any sign 
 that anyone might try to leave on eternity. Praise 
 the sea all you may ; flatter it, sing of it ; its answer is 
 a thrust for you to get away, a murmur of discontent 
 at your presence, or an untamed tiger's roar with which 
 it tries to open a grave for you. Cain, after his crime, 
 should have been condemned to a seaman's life. 
 
 At sunset we would walk back to the village. Mary 
 would go ahead in the midst of her playful goats shak- 
 ing their bells as they frisked about merrily. I would 
 follow with the pick on my shoulder leading behind 
 me the mule loaded with logs for fuel. Then, at home, 
 while Mary lighted the fire to make supper, I would light 
 my pipe and sit down comfortably at the threshold in 
 the midst of a blond honeysuckle that spread lustily 
 over the walls in the midst of scented royal mints and 
 spearmints and sweet marjorams, generous little plants 
 that asked for nothing but a handful of proper earth 
 and a drop of water to bathe us with fragrance and 
 grace. 
 
 From this place I would exchange greetings with 
 passing neighbors, greetings that trickled from the very 
 heart. 
 
 "Good evening!"
 
 44 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 ' ' Good evening to you ! ' * 
 
 ''Goodnight!" 
 
 ''Good luck to you!" 
 
 I did not have to look anxiously at the sky any longer. 
 I did not have to consider the position of the moon, the 
 trembling light of the stars, the course of the wind, the 
 rise of the Pleiades. And late at night, when I east 
 anchor in my love's arms, what bay or what luring port 
 could ever give me such happiness! 
 
 So two years passed and now we M'ere in the third. 
 One Sunday in February I went with my wife to my 
 old town of St. Nicholas bj^ the Sea. Her cousin. Cap- 
 tain Malamos was christening his brig and had invited 
 us to the joyful occasion. It was a beautiful day, which 
 was the first awakening of my old longing. The dock 
 was covered with timber, masts, beams, splinters, and 
 woodshavings. The air was filled with the smell of the 
 sea brine, the scent of freshly cut timber, the heavy odor 
 of tar, pitch and ropes. There were hills of hemp and 
 piles of steel pieces. From one end of the beach to the 
 other there was an array of little row-boats beautifully 
 painted, brigs careened, luggers stripped of all rigging 
 and old hulls covered with barnacles and seaweeds. 
 There were skeletons of cutters, schooners, and brigan- 
 tines, some with just the keel and the sea-steps, others 
 ribbed and planked up to the gunwale, others only half- 
 way up. Any tool a seaman might wish for was there ; 
 ftnd any seaman's dreams, ambitions, simple longings,
 
 SEA 45 
 
 and great hopes could be found on that gold-sanded 
 beach, expressed vividly in some wooden structure by 
 some shipbuilder's hands. The guests — the whole island, 
 it seemed — old men and young boys, old women and 
 young girls, moved in their Sunday clothes from one 
 ship's frame to another. The boys hopped from place 
 to place. The men handled their parts with knowing 
 pride and often they spoke to them as if they were living 
 things. The veterans of the sea sized up each ship's 
 worth, estimated its speed, measured its tonnage, re- 
 counted the profits it might bring, and gave their advice 
 to the master builder on everything. At last, they con- 
 cluded by wishing the owner of each ship that its nails 
 might turn to gold for him. 
 
 Captain Malamos' brig was standing in its dock with 
 its fine and lovely hull, with its many props on both 
 sides like a huge centipede sleeping on the sandy beach. 
 Its prow curved like a delicately wrought saber ; its 
 stern was girded with garlands of flowers. A glistening 
 meadow of pure azure, the sea, spread before it, shim- 
 mering playfully and reaching for the ship's feet with 
 little tongues of rippling water. She sprinkled it with 
 her lukewarm spray, made it fragrant with her salt 
 breath and sang to it a secret confiding song: "Come," 
 she sang, "come to lie on my bosom. I will give you 
 life with my kiss; I will breathe a soul into you and 
 will make you fly on strong wings. Why do you lie 
 there, a mass of soulless timber, like something heavy
 
 46 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 with sleep? Are you not weary of the torpor of the 
 forest and its life of no will? Shame to you! Come 
 out into the sun, and the air, and the light! Come to 
 wrestle with the wave and ride victor over it! With 
 raised breast meet the strong wind and tear him into 
 tatters. You will be the whale's envy, the dolphin's 
 mate, the sea-gull's comfort, the sailor's song; your cap- 
 tain's pride. Come, my bride, come!" and the ship 
 seemed to feel the spell of the sea and began to creak, 
 eager to leave its bed where it lay in idleness. 
 
 All about, the guests were crowding. Captain Mala- 
 mos stood by with a smooth-shaved, smiling face, 
 dressed in his best, with a broad scarf about his waist. 
 Near him, his wife, in a dress of silk, looked like a bride. 
 They seemed to live their wedding day once more, while 
 a violin, a mandolin, and a drum played their gay 
 melodies with a spirit that seemed determined to carry 
 the glad tidings to the ends of the earth. 
 
 "Would you believe it? I was not happy in the least. 
 As I was sitting towards the end nearest the sea, I 
 would see her little ripples reaching at my feet, and a 
 certain sadness wrung my heart. My first sweetheart, 
 whom I had not seen for years, was now facing me again, 
 young and beautiful, clothed in her raiment of sapphire 
 blue. Her face smiled with perfect gladness; and I 
 thought that she had her eyes fixed on me and that she 
 spoke words of regretful complaint: 
 
 "Faithless one! Deceiver! Coward!"
 
 SEA 47 
 
 "Get thee behind me, Satan!" I said to myself, and 
 made the sign of the cross. 
 
 I wanted to get away but my feet refused. My body 
 seemed like a mass of lead that was stuck to the rock; 
 and my eyes, my ears, my soul were a helpless 
 prey to the wave which continued to sing its sad com- 
 plaint : 
 
 "Faithless one! Deceiver! Coward!'* 
 
 Tears almost came to my eyes. My hatred for the 
 sea, her tyranny, her crimes, the sleepless nights and 
 my fruitless labor, all, vanished from my mind like bad 
 dreams. I only remembered my first joys, the glad 
 drunkenness of the sea, the charm of wandering over 
 her, the magic shiver of her dangers, the sheer enjoy- 
 ment of escaping them, the recklessness of a sailor's 
 life. All these joys I had abandoned for the sake of a 
 woman. 
 
 "Well, what makes you so thoughtful, life of mine?" 
 I heard a voice beside me. I turned and saw Mary, 
 beautiful and smiling, with her lithe body, her fresh 
 lips, her full breast, her shining eyes, and her coal- 
 black hair. I felt confused and guilty as if I had been 
 caught in the act of deceiving her. 
 
 * * Nothing, ' ' I murmured ; * * nothing ! Lend me a hand 
 to get up. I feel dizzy," 
 
 I took her hand and grasped her with intense eager- 
 ness as if I were in danger of falling into the cold dark- 
 ness of an abyss. The priest, in his vestments, was read-
 
 48 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 ing Ms prayers over the new ship. The shipbuilder 
 began giving his commands: 
 
 "Let go the stern prop! Let go the prow! Loosen 
 the sides now!" 
 
 One after another the props fell from the hull and 
 the brig began to shake as if still stiff from sleep and 
 hesitating to plunge forward into its new life. The boys 
 that had climbed on deck were running from stern to 
 prow and from starboard to port, making a noise like a 
 flock of sheep. 
 
 The hands had taken their places beside the hull in 
 order to push it into the sea. The master-builder com- 
 manded again: 
 
 "Let go!" 
 
 At the united effort of so many breasts, the ship 
 groaned, shook once more, and finally glided, like a duck, 
 into the water with its youthful crew on deck. 
 
 * ' Good luck to it. Captain Malamos ! Good luck to it. 
 May her nails turn to gold for you ! ' ' the crowd of sea- 
 men shouted, and sprinkled the captain and his wife with 
 spray. 
 
 But at that moment one of the boys on deck stumbled 
 as he ran and fell senseless overboard. On the same 
 instant, I plunged into the sea with my clothes on. With 
 the second dive I pulled the boy to the surface. I saved 
 the boy but the meshes of the sea were tight about me 
 and none could save me. From that time on I could 
 neither sleep nor rest. Joy had left me forever. That
 
 SEA 49 
 
 plunge into the sea, her warm water that had embraced 
 me, was now dragging my soul a slave behind it. I 
 remembered its touch was like warm kisses that sent an 
 electric current down my back. With my open eyes I 
 saw before me a bride clothed jn blue ; young, glad, and 
 tender, nodding to me from the distance to follow her. 
 I could hear her call: "Come! Come!" 
 
 I could not work any longer. I tried to go back to 
 my orchard, field and vineyard, but all seemed to me 
 walled in and narrow. The shade of the citron tree was 
 heavy and cold. The vine-twigs with their knots seemed 
 disgustingly ugly, like a lobster's legs. The furrows 
 of the field, cheap. So I spent day after day on the 
 beach plunging in the water. I felt its touch with 
 shivers of delight. I caught hungrily its salt breath 
 and I wallowed in bliss among the seaweeds as on a bed 
 of soft feathers and silk. I would spend hours picking 
 sea urchins and crabs. Often I would go down to 
 the harbor and with some hesitation draw near the 
 groups of sailors to hear them talk about their rigs, and 
 travels, and storms, and shipwrecks. They would hardly 
 look at me. You see, I was only a peasant, an old 
 farmer, while they were sailors, dolphins of the sea. 
 What could a poplar have to do with rhubarb? How 
 could it stoop trom. its height to see the little weed at 
 its feet? They could not even count me as present in 
 their company. The younger sailors would look at me 
 with wonder as if they said: ** Where does this ghost
 
 50 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 come from?" The older men who once had been my 
 friends and my mates would occasionally deign to ad- 
 dress me with a jest: 
 
 "Now, Yanne, you have your hawsers pretty tight. 
 You don't have to worry about wind or sea. You've 
 cast anchor for good!" 
 
 Their eyes had such an expression of pity that I could 
 read in them what they did not speak in words: **You 
 are a dead man! You don't belong to the living world 
 any longer!" So I turned to the beach to tell my 
 troubles to the waves. At the end, I turned back to 
 my early years and consoled myself with little ships 
 which I built with my hands. My skill was mature now 
 and I could make them with oak masts and actual stays 
 and sails, while my imagination was again aflame 
 and made triple-decked barks out of them. I was a 
 child again. 
 
 Mary watched me and wondered about my change. 
 Often she thought I was turning insane and prayed to 
 Virgin Mary to help me. She made more than one vow 
 to the Holy Virgin of Tenos, and went on many pil- 
 grimages to the neighboring country shrines with bare 
 feet. She had prayers read over my clothes, and often 
 beating her breast with anxiety, she called on the saints 
 and tried to secure their help in bringing me back to 
 my senses again. 
 
 "Mary," I said to her once, "there's nothing that will 
 help. Neither saints nor vows can cure my trouble. I
 
 SEA 51 
 
 am a child of the sea. It calls and I must go. Sooner 
 or later I must return to my old trade. Else I could 
 not live." 
 
 As soon as she heard it she put on mourning. At last 
 she knew the serpent that had been biting her so long 
 in secret. 
 
 **Your trade!" she cried; **to be a sailor — and poor 
 again!" 
 
 "Yes, a sailor! I can't help it. The sea is calling 
 me!" 
 
 But she could not understand. She would not hear 
 of it. She cried and prayed. She threw her arms about 
 me, pressed me to her bosom, and covered me with 
 kisses, clinging to me with despair, anxious in her 
 jealousy to make me see the toil of the sea, its dangers, 
 and shipwrecks. She would abuse the sea, find a thou- 
 sand faults with it, and curse it as if it was her rival. 
 But all was in vain. Neither her arms nor her kisses 
 could bind me any longer. Everything seemed cold and 
 wearisome, even my bed. 
 
 One evening, about sunset, as I was sitting on the 
 rocks by the sea, plunged in my usual thought, I saw 
 before me a brig sailing by, with all her sails bulging 
 with the wind. It looked like a cliff of light rising sud- 
 denly from the midst of the sea. All her spars and 
 stays were painted with wonderful distinctness against 
 the blue sky. I saw the jibs, the courses, the top-sails, 
 the top-gallants, the trucks. I believe I could even see
 
 52 MODEEN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the billet-head. My eyes seemed to get a supernatural 
 power so that they could turn timber to crystal and reach 
 the very depths of the ship. I could see the captain's 
 cabin adorned with the picture of St. Nicholas and his 
 never-failing candle. I could see the sailors' bunks, hear 
 their simple talk, and feel their sour smell. I could see 
 the kitchen, the water-barrels, the pump, the capstan. 
 My soul, like a homesick bird, had perched on the full- 
 rigged ship. I heard the wind whistling past the stays 
 and shrouds, singing with a harmony more than divine 
 of a seaman 's life ; and before my eyes passed on winged 
 feet virgins with fair hair and black hair, virgins with 
 blue eyes and dark eyes, and virgins with flowers, show- 
 ing their bare breasts and sending me distant kisses. 
 Then I saw noisy ports, taverns filled with smoke and 
 wine-cups and resounding with sweet voiced guitars and 
 tambourines. Suddenly I saw a sailor pointing at me 
 and heard him say to his companion : 
 
 "There goes one who renounced the sea for fear of 
 it!'» 
 
 I sprang up like a madman. Never for fear ! Never, 
 I thought, and ran back to the house. Mary had gone 
 out to the brook. So much the better. I took a purse 
 from under my pillow, cast a last glance on the bed, 
 and with a pack of clothes on my shoulder, I disappeared 
 like a thief. It was dark when I reached St. Nicholas, 
 but without losing any time I jumped into a boat and 
 rowed to the brig.
 
 SEA / 53 
 
 Life has been a phantom for me ever since. If you 
 ask me if I regret it, I would not know what to answer. 
 But even should I go back to my island now, I could 
 never rest. 
 
 The sea claims me.
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 
 By George T. Bizyenos
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 
 
 We had only one sister, little Annio, the pet of our 
 small family, and beloved by all. Mother cared more 
 for her than for any others, and at table she placed 
 Annio by her side, and gave her the best of whatever 
 there was to eat. And she always bought new materials 
 for little Annio 's dresses, although the rest of us had 
 our clothes made out of the old garments of our late 
 father. Annio was not even urged in her studies. She 
 went to school only when she wanted to, and remained 
 at home when she wished. To us boys such indulgence 
 was never permitted 
 
 Such partiality might easily have led to destructive 
 jealousies, especially among such small children as my 
 two brothers and mj^self. We felt, however, that our 
 mother's inner affection was equally divided among us, 
 and that this preference she showed was merely because 
 Annio was the only girl of the family. Besides Annio 
 was very delicate. Even our youngest brother, bom 
 after Father's death, who had a right to expect his 
 mother's caresses more than anyone else, willingly con- 
 ceded to his sister all his privileges. 
 
 With all this spoiling at the hands of the whole fam- 
 
 57
 
 58 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 ily, Annio was neither spoiled, nor conceited. On the 
 contrary, she was always docile and affectionate, and 
 her tenderness to ns increased as the disease which was 
 consuming her developed. How vividly I remember her 
 large black eyes, and her beautifully curved eyebrows, 
 which became blacker as her face grew ever paler. Her 
 expression, usually sad and dreamy, assumed a sweet 
 serenity when Ave were with her. She kept under her 
 pillow the fruit which the neighbors brought her, and 
 divided it among us when we came back from school. 
 She had to do this on the sly, because Mother did not 
 like to see us devour what was meant for her sick 
 daughter. 
 
 As Annio 's health became worse, Mother's attentions 
 were more and more concentrated on her. Up to this 
 time Mother had never gone out of the house, because 
 she had been left a widow too young, and was ashamed 
 to use the freedom which, even in Turkey, was granted 
 to the mother of manj^ children ; but from the day that 
 Annio took seriously to her bed. Mother cast all restraint 
 aside. Did she hear that some one had an illness like 
 Annio 's, she would rush to inquire how it was being 
 cured ; did she learn of some old woman who had herbs 
 of wonderful curative powers, she would hasten to buy 
 them; or if she heard that a stranger famed for his 
 knowledge had come to town, she would not hesitate to 
 call for his help. According to the popular belief among 
 us, any learned person knew everything ; and often mys-
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 59 
 
 terious beings of superhuman powers appeared under 
 the guise of poor travelers. 
 
 The fat barber of our neighborhood used to call upon 
 us, uninvited, conscious of his right to do so as the only 
 accredited doctor of our district. As soon as we espied 
 him it was my duty to run to the grocer, because the 
 barber never approached our sick one without gulping 
 down at least fifty drams of raki. 
 
 *'I am an old man, my good woman," he would say 
 to my impatient mother, "I am an old man, and unless 
 I warm up a bit, my eyes cannot see very well. ' ' 
 
 Indeed, he was not lying about this, since the more 
 he drank the easier it was for him to find out which 
 was the fattest hen in our yard, to take with him when 
 he left the house. 
 
 After a while Mother no longer made use of his medi- 
 cines, although she paid him regularly and uncomplain- 
 ingly, first because she did not wish to displease him, 
 and secondly because he was often able to comfort her 
 with the assurance that the disease was progressing 
 according to science and to his prescriptions. 
 
 Unfortunately his statements were only too well 
 founded, and every day our little sister's condition 
 grew worse. The persistence of the unknown malady 
 worked on our mother 's mind, since any sickness foreign 
 to the country, in order to be thought natural, must 
 either soon yield to the simple remedies known to the 
 district, or kill the patient. If it persists, it is con-
 
 60 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 sidered supernatural, and is attributed to the devil. 
 The sufferer must have sat in a cursed spot ; must have 
 crossed a river at night, when invisible fairies were per- 
 forming their rites; or must have ridden a black cat, 
 which was the devil in disguise. 
 
 Our mother was more religious than superstitious. 
 She gave no credence to these causes for the illness, and 
 absolutely declined to use the prescribed magics, fear- 
 ing to sin against God; yet to be on the safe side, she 
 summoned the priest to Annio's bedside to exorcise the 
 evil spirit. Later, however, as the condition of our 
 sister grew worse, mother-love triumphed over the fear 
 of sin, and religion was forced to compromise with super- 
 stition. Next to the cross on Annio's breast. Mother 
 placed a charm, written in mysterious Arabic letters. 
 The blessing of the priest was succeeded by magic art, 
 and after the holy water, came consultation with various 
 magicians. 
 
 All was in vain. Annio became ever weaker, and 
 Mother seemed to forget that she had any other children. 
 An old woman who had lived with us for many years 
 looked after us as well as her extreme age permitted. 
 Sometimes we did not see our mother for days. She 
 was either running to some miraculous place, there to 
 tie a piece from a dress of Annio's, in the hope that the 
 evil and mysterious disease might be left there; or else 
 she was going to some nearby village whose church hap- 
 pened to be celebrating its anniversary, carrying with
 
 THE SIN OP MY MOTHER 61 
 
 her a yellow wax taper, as tall as our sister, made with 
 her own hands. 
 
 Again all was in vain. Our poor little sister's disease 
 was incurable. Everyone said she must be possessed. 
 Mother no longer doubted it, and even Annio began to 
 suspect it. 
 
 After all other means had been exhausted, she came 
 to the last resort. She lifted the withered child in her 
 arms and carried her to the church. My older brother 
 and I shouldered the bed-clothes and followed her. 
 There, before the very ikon of the Virgin, upon the 
 damp, cold tiles, we made up the bed and laid upon 
 it the sweetest object of our care, our one and only 
 sister. 
 
 She was to remain forty days in the church, before 
 the holy altar and the ikon of the holy Mother of our 
 Saviour. Only their mercy and pity could now save 
 her from the satanic ailment gnawing at the tender tree 
 of her life. It had to be forty days since it is known 
 that in the invisible fight between divine Providence 
 and the devils, the terrible persistency of the latter was 
 able to endure for that length of time. After that 
 length of time Evil is defeated and retreats shame- 
 fully. Tales are rife of the sufferer's feelings in his 
 organism, the awful agonies of the last battle, and of 
 his seeing the enemies departing in all sorts of shapes, 
 especially at the moment when the priests carry the 
 holy vessels, chanting: ''With fear!"
 
 62 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Fortunate those who have strength to endure the 
 shock of the battle. The weak ones are broken by the 
 grandeur of the miracle performed within them, but 
 they do not regret it; for if they lose life, they gain 
 something far more precious: the salvation of their 
 souls ! 
 
 The possibility that Annio was too weak to withstand 
 the miracle was worrying Mother. No sooner had she 
 settled her in her bed than she began to ask her how 
 she felt. But Annio was not depressed. The sanctity of 
 the place, the holy ikons, and the incense had a kindly 
 influence over her spirit, and she became cheerful and 
 jesting. 
 
 Mother went on: ** Which one of your brothers 
 would you like to have stay here with us, as a play- 
 mate?" she asked tenderly — ^"little Christos, or little 
 George?" 
 
 Annio gave her a sidelong glance full of meaning, 
 as if wishing to reprove her for her long indifference 
 to us, as she replied: 
 
 "Which one do I want? I don't want one without 
 the others. I want all — all the brothers I have." 
 
 Mother felt the rebuke, and remained silent. Then 
 she returned home and brought our youngest brother 
 to the church, but only for that first day. Late in the 
 evening she sent the other two home, and only kept 
 me with them. 
 
 I still remember the impression that first night in the
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 63 
 
 church made on my childish imagination. The feeble 
 flames of the tiny oil lamps hanging before the ikons 
 barely lighted them and the steps in front of them, 
 leaving us in a blackness far more awesome and terrifying 
 than if we had been entirely in the dark. Whenever the 
 nearest light to us flickered, it seemed to me as if the 
 saint hanging on the wall opposite, in his flowing red 
 robes and with his crown upon his head, his eyes staring 
 from his pale, lifeless face, began to move and try to 
 detach himself from the wood on which he was painted. 
 And again, when the cold wind shrilled through the 
 tall church windows, shaking their little panes noisily, 
 I imagined that the dead, buried in the churchyard, had 
 risen and were trying to climb the walls and come into 
 the church. Trembling with horror, I fancied I saw a 
 skeleton warming his fleshless hands at the little char- 
 coal fire we had brought with us in a brazier. 
 
 And I dared betray nothing of my fear. I was proud 
 to have been chosen to stay with my beloved sister and 
 my mother, and the latter would undoubtedly have 
 packed me home had she suspected that I was afraid to 
 remain in the church. So, on this night, and on those 
 that followed I endured my miseries with forced 
 stoicism, doing my duty cheerfully, and trying to be as 
 helpful as possible. I tended the fire, I brought water 
 from the well, and on week-days I swept the church. 
 On Sundays and holidays, during mass, I helped my 
 sister to walk up to the gate of the altar, while the Bible
 
 64 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 was read, and to stand there. Then I spread the home- 
 spun rug on which Annio stretched herself, face down- 
 ward, so that the priest carrying the holy vessels might 
 step over her. At the end of the service I brought her 
 pillow to the left door of the Inner Shrine, where Annio 
 knelt while the priest laid his vestments on her as he 
 took them off, and, touching her with the holy lance, 
 whispered: "By Thy cross, oh, Christ, the enemy's 
 tyranny was overthrown, and the power of darkness 
 lay underfoot." 
 
 During all these ceremonies my poor little sister fol- 
 lowed me with her slow and uncertain steps, her sad and 
 melancholy face exciting the pity of the congregation 
 and invoking their prayers for her recovery, a recovery, 
 alas ! that was terribly slow in coming. On the contrary, 
 the dampness and the unaccustomed cold of the church, 
 which was very intense during the night, aggravated 
 Annio 's condition, which inspired the worst fears in us. 
 My mother, even in church, began to show a lamentable 
 indifference to everything that did not directly concern 
 her sick child. She no longer opened her lips except 
 to speak to Annio, or to pray to the saints. 
 
 One day, while on her knees, she was weeping before 
 the ikon of the Saviour, I approached her, unnoticed, 
 and heard her say : 
 
 "Take whichever child Thou wilt, only let me keep 
 Annio. I see that Thou must take one. Thou hast re- 
 membered my sin, and art determined to have one of 
 
 '
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 65 
 
 my children to punish me. I thank Thee, oh Lord." 
 
 After a minute of silence so intense that I could hear 
 her tears dropping on the tiles, she sighed from the depth 
 of her heart, and added: 
 
 **I have brought two of my children to Thy feet. 
 Take them — but let me keep the little girl. ' ' 
 
 As I heard these words icy shivers ran up and down 
 my spine, and my ears rang. I stopped to hear no 
 more. My mother, overcome by her great grief, fell in 
 a heap on the floor. Instead of running to her assistance, 
 I rushed out of the church and ran like mad, screaming 
 at the top of my lungs, as if Death were actually pur- 
 suing me. 
 
 My breath gave out and I could scream no more, but 
 my teeth chattered as I ran on and on. When next T 
 noticed where I was, I found myself far from the church. 
 I ventured to look back. No one was chasing me. Little 
 by little I came to myself, and began to recall all my 
 life. I remembered all the love and tenderness I had 
 felt for my mother, and the caresses I had bestowed 
 on her. Had I ever failed her or been unkind to her f 
 No ! Yet ever since my sister had been bom I had not 
 been loved as I should have been, but had constantly 
 been pushed aside. Then it came to my mind — and for 
 the first time I understood its meaning — that my father 
 had often referred to me as his slighted one. My heart 
 ached, and I began to cry. 
 
 '*My mother doesn't love me!" I sobbed. "She no
 
 66 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 longer wants me. I shall never again go back to the 
 church." I returned home sad and discouraged. 
 
 Soon after^vards Mother came, too, with Annio, be- 
 cause the priest, disturbed by my cries, had gone into 
 the church and, seeing the condition of our sister, had 
 advised Mother to take her home. 
 
 "God is great, my daughter," he had said. "His 
 divine mercy reaches all over the universe. If your little 
 girl is to be cured. He can cure her just as well at 
 home." 
 
 Unhappy the mother who hears such words, since 
 this is the usual formula of the priests when they send 
 away those about to die, in order that they may not 
 breathe their last in the church and thus pollute its 
 holiness. 
 
 When I next saw my mother she was sadder than ever. 
 Toward me, however, she had never been gentler or 
 kinder. She took me in her arms, patted me, and kissed 
 me tenderly, over and over again. One would say she 
 was trying to atone to me for what she had prayed. 
 
 That night I could neither eat nor sleep. When I 
 went to bed, I lay awake with burning eyes, and with 
 ears aware of every movement of my mother's, who, as 
 usual, was watching by the bedside of Annio. It must 
 have been about midnight when I heard her move around 
 the room. At first I thought she was getting ready for 
 bed, but I was mistaken, for presently she sat down and 
 began to chant in a low voice. It was the death lamen- 
 
 1
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 67 
 
 tation for our father, which Mother often used to sing, 
 before Annio was taken ill. It was the first time I had 
 heard her sing it since then. 
 
 The chant was one which a certain ragged, sunburned 
 gipsy — renowned in our district for such improvisations 
 — had composed at the express order of my mother, at 
 the time of our father's death. I well remember the 
 gipsy's black oily hair, and his small flaming eyes, as 
 seated inside our door, surrounded by the kitchen uten- 
 sils he had come to re-tin, he composed the lamentation 
 to the accompaniment of a three-stringed lyre. Before 
 him our mother had stood, Annio in her arms, attentively 
 listening and crying. I, holding tight to her dress, hid 
 my face in its folds, since the sweeter the tones of the 
 music, the more terrible had seemed the face of the wild 
 singer. 
 
 When Mother had learned the sad improvisation by 
 heart, she had untied the corner of her indoor veil, taken 
 from it two gold pieces and given them to the gipsy. 
 (At the time we still had many gold pieces.) After 
 paying him she offered him bread, wine, and other food. 
 While he was eating downstairs, Mother, on the 
 upper floor repeated the chant again and again, so 
 that she might burn it into her memory. She seemed 
 to find it very beautiful indeed, for when she saw the 
 gipsy leaving, she rushed after him and presented 
 him with a pair of Father's long, loose trousers. 
 
 **May God absolve your husband, bride," the singer
 
 68 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 had cried, surprised, and, shouldering his kit, had gone 
 his way. 
 
 That chant Mother was singing now. My tears flowed 
 silently as I listened to her, and I dared not move. Sud- 
 denly the scent of incense came to my nostrils. 
 
 "Oh! our little Annio is dead!" I said to myself, 
 and jumped from my bed. 
 
 I found myself before a most peculiar scene. Sister 
 was not dead, but breathing heavily, as usual. Near her 
 was laid out a man's attire, in the order in which it is 
 worn. At the left was a stool, covered with black cloth. 
 A bowl full of water was on it, with two lighted candles, 
 one on either side. Mother, on her knees, was waving 
 the incense-burner before these objects, attentively 
 watching the surface of the water. 
 
 I must have turned yellow with fright, for she has- 
 tened to reassure me: 
 
 "Don't be afraid, my little one," she said mys- 
 teriously. "These are your father's clothes. Come 
 and pray to him, too, so that he may save our little 
 Annio." 
 
 She made me sit down by her side, and I, carried 
 away by her exaltation, between my sobs, prayed: 
 
 "Come, Father, come and take me instead, so that 
 Annio may be cured!" 
 
 I cast a pathetic look upon my mother, to show her 
 that I knew she had prayed for my death, not realizing 
 that I was pushing her despair to its limit. I hope
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 69 
 
 she has forgiven me. I was little then and unable to 
 judge her heart. 
 
 After a few moments of deep silence she once more 
 waved the incense-burner, and again concentrated her 
 whole attention upon the water in the bowl. 
 
 Suddenly a tiny moth, circling over the water, touched 
 it with its wings, lightly ruffling its surface. Mother bent 
 reverently, and made the sign of the cross, as if she 
 were in church before the holy altar. 
 
 "Make the sign of the cross, my boy," she whispered, 
 deeply moved, and not daring to raise her eyes. 
 Mechanically I obeyed. 
 
 When the little moth vanished in the depth of the 
 room. Mother gave a sigh of relief, and arose serene 
 and content. 
 
 **Your father's soul has passed by," she said, her 
 eyes still following the course of the moth with affec- 
 tion and worship. Then she drank from the water, and 
 made me drink, too. Afterwards she approached the 
 bed of little Annio. Sister was not asleep, nor was she 
 altogether awake. Her eyes were half closed, and 
 through the dark, thick lashes a curious light could be 
 seen. Mother raised the emaciated body of the little 
 girl carefully. Supporting her back with one hand, she 
 brought the vessel to her withered lips with the other. 
 
 **Come, my little love, drink from the water that wiU 
 cure you!" 
 
 Annio did not open her eyes, but she seemed to hear
 
 70 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the voice and understand the words. A sweet smile 
 moved her lips, then she drank a few drops of that 
 water which was indeed destined to cure her. As soon 
 as she swallowed it, she opened her eyes and tried to 
 breathe; a gentle sigh escaped her lips, then she fell 
 back upon our mother's breast. Poor little Annio was 
 at last free from pain. 
 
 Many people had criticized Mother, at Father's fun- 
 eral, because while outsiders lamented him loudly, the 
 tears she shed were silent. The poor woman had acted this 
 way through fear of being misunderstood, and of going 
 bej^ond the limits assigned to youth. As I have already 
 said, Mother was extremely young when she became a 
 widow. 
 
 When sister died, IMother was not much older, but she 
 cared nothing as to what the world would say, and with- 
 out restraint did she abandon herself to her heart- 
 breaking sorrow. The whole neighborhood came to con- 
 sole her; but her terrible grief was inconsolable, and, 
 seeing her lamenting between the graves of our father 
 and sister, people whispered to each other: 
 
 **She surely will go mad!" 
 
 "She will leave her other children in the streets!" 
 said others, afterwards, meeting us, neglected and aban- 
 doned. 
 
 It required time, it required all the counsels and even 
 the reprimands of the Church to bring her to her senses, 
 to remind her that she had living children, to force her
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 71 
 
 to assume once more her home duties. Only then did 
 she realize where the long illness of our sister had 
 brought us to. 
 
 All our money had gone for doctors and medicines. 
 Many of our rugs and coverings, the work of her own 
 hands, she had sold for almost nothing, or had given 
 away as rewards to magicians and miracle-workers. 
 Others of our goods had been stolen by those same charla- 
 tans, who had made capital out of the disorders reign- 
 ing in our household. Worst of all, our food supplies 
 were all exhausted. 
 
 This serious condition of affairs, instead of fright- 
 ening our mother, seemed to double the energy she had 
 possessed before our sister had fallen ill. She put aside 
 her grief, conquered the timidity of her youth and sex, 
 and hired herself out to work with the pick in the fields, 
 as if she had never known an independent and comfort- 
 able life. For a number of years thereafter she sup- 
 ported us by the sweat of her brow. Her earnings were 
 small, our necessities great, yet she permitted none of 
 us to relieve her by working with her. Nightly, before 
 the open fire, we discussed the plans for our future. 
 The first-born was to learn our father's trade, so that 
 he might take his place in our family, while I was to 
 emigrate to a foreign land. Above all, we were to con- 
 tinue our school, and finish our studies, Mother con- 
 tinually repeating the proverb, "An uneducated man is 
 like unplaned wood.'*
 
 72 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Our economic difficulties reached their height one year 
 when there was a bad crop, and the price of eatables 
 rose. Instead of letting this discourage her, Mother 
 decided to adopt a little girl into our family — one whom 
 she had made many previous efforts to adopt. This 
 event changed the monotony and severity of our lives, 
 and brought some cheerfulness into them. 
 
 The rite of adoption was made a festival. Then, for 
 the first time, Mother dressed in her best clothes, and 
 led us boys to church, as clean and tidy as if we were 
 to partake of communion. At the close of service we 
 all stood before the ikon of Christ, and there, sur- 
 rounded by the congregation, and in the presence of 
 the child's parents, Mother took from the hand of the 
 priest the adopted girl, promising to love and bring her 
 up as if she were flesh of her flesh and bone of her bone. 
 
 The little girl's entrance into our house was made 
 with no less ceremony, and triumphantly. The oldest 
 man of the village and Mother, leading the little girl 
 between them, headed the procession. We followed. 
 Then came the parents and relatives of our new sister, 
 who accompanied us to the very entrance of our 
 home. 
 
 The oldest man, lifting the girl above the crowd, 
 asked loudly: ** Which one of you present is more her 
 parent, more her relative, or belongs more to her than 
 Mistress Michaliessa and her people?" 
 
 The father of the little girl was pale, and stared sadly
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 73 
 
 in front of him. His wife, leaning on his shoulder, was 
 weeping. Mother trembled, fearing lest she should 
 hear a voice cry, "I!" which would have put an end 
 to her happiness. Fortunately no one answered. Then 
 the parents of the child embraced her for the last time, 
 and went away, accompanied by their relatives, while 
 ours, with the oldest man of the village, entered our 
 home and partook of our hospitality. 
 
 From that time on Mother bestowed upon our adopted 
 sister a care that she had denied to us, her sons, at her 
 age, and when our condition was much more prosperous. 
 Later, when I was a homesick wanderer in a foreign 
 land, and my other brothers were undergoing all the 
 hardships of apprenticeship, and sleeping in the shops 
 of their masters, the stranger girl reigned in our house- 
 hold as if it had been her own. 
 
 Although the small earnings of my brothers were not 
 enough to support our mother, instead of using them 
 for her own benefit, she laid them aside for the dowry 
 of her adopted daughter, and continued to work for 
 the support of both. I was far away, and for many 
 years did not know what happened in our home. Before 
 I could return, the adopted girl grew up, was educated, 
 dowried, and given in marriage as though she were a 
 real member of our family. Her marriage was a real 
 joy for my brothers, and they drew sighs of relief at 
 getting rid, at last, of the added burden. Moreover, 
 the girl had never felt for them true sisterly love, and
 
 74 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 finally even proved ungrateful to the woman who had 
 done so much for her. 
 
 There was thus ample reason for their feeling of relief 
 at getting rid of the girl, and there was also good reason 
 for them to hope that Mother had learned her lesson. 
 What, then, was their stupefaction when a few days 
 after the marriage, Mother appeared, tenderly hugging 
 another little girl, this time a wee baby. 
 
 "The poor little thing!" she exclaimed, bending lov- 
 ingly over the infant. "As if it were not enough to 
 be bom after its father had gone, its mother died, too, 
 and it was left in the streets." 
 
 It seemed as if the unfortunate occurrence was ac- 
 tually pleasing to her, and she exhibited her booty 
 triumphantly to my brothers, who stood aghast. Their 
 filial respect was great ; their mother 's authority equally 
 80 ; but so disgusted were they with this action of their 
 mother, that they did not hesitate politely to suggest 
 to her that it would be better if she gave up the child. 
 All was of no avail: she was determined to keep it. 
 Only then did they openly give voice to their dis- 
 pleasure, and threaten to withhold their earnings from 
 her. Even this had no effect. 
 
 "Don't give me anything!" she cried. "I will sup- 
 port her myself, as I have supported you, and when 
 my little George returns from his wanderings, he will 
 dower her and find her a husband. You may not know 
 it, but he has promised that to me, 'Mother,' he said,
 
 THE SIN OP MY MOTHER 75 
 
 ' I will support you and the child of your soul. ' Those 
 were his exact words, bless him!" 
 
 "Little George," of course, was I, and I had given 
 the promise years ago, under the following circumstances, 
 when Mother was working to support our first adopted 
 sister as well as ourselves. During my vacations I used 
 to accompany her to the fields, and play by her side 
 while she dug and planted. One day of extreme heat, 
 she almost fainted, and was forced to stop work and 
 return home. On the way we were overtaken by a ter- 
 rific rainstorm, such as often follows great heat in our 
 part of the country. We were not far from our village, 
 but had to cross a small stream which, swollen by the 
 rain, was turbulently rushing along between its banks. 
 Mother wanted to carry me across on her shoulders, 
 but I would not let her. 
 
 ' * You are still weak from your fainting spell, ' * I said. 
 "You might let me fall." 
 
 Before she could hold me back I raised my dress and 
 sprang into the stream. Unfortunately I had counted 
 too much on my own strength. The rushing water swept 
 me from my feet, and I was carried away like a nut- 
 shell. After that all I remember distinctly was my 
 mother's agonized shriek as she cast herself into the 
 water after me. 
 
 It was little less than a miracle that we were not 
 both drowned. The stream was the most treacherous in 
 the district. Whenever they said "The river took him,"
 
 76 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 they meant this particular stream. Yet, exhausted as 
 Mother had been, and handicapped by her heavy native 
 costume, which alone might have drowned even an ex- 
 pert swimmer, she did not hesitate to risk her life to 
 save the child whom formerly she had been willing to 
 offer to God in exchange for her little daughter. 
 
 Somehow she saved me. When we reached home, and 
 she put me down from her shoulder, I was still dazed, 
 and instead of attributing the accident to my reckless- 
 ness, I thought it was the result of her having labored 
 in the hot sun. 
 
 "Don't w^ork any more. Mother mine!" I urged, while 
 she was changing my wet clothes. 
 
 "Who will feed us, if I don't work?" she asked with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "I will. Mother, I will!" I cried, with boyish eager- 
 ness. 
 
 "And the child of my soul — ^who will feed her?" 
 
 "I will support her, too." 
 
 In spite of herself, Mother smiled at the grandiose 
 manner in which I made this declaration. She put a 
 stop to the conversation by saying: "You had better 
 feed yourself first, and then we'll see." 
 
 Not long after this, young as I was, I went away for 
 foreign parts. Mother probably did not consider that 
 promise seriously. I did, and always remembered that 
 I owed my life to her for the second time. I kept the 
 promise in my heart, and the older I grew the more
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 77 
 
 seriously I considered myself bound by it. When I bade 
 her good-bye I said : 
 
 "Don't weep, Mother, dear. I am going to make 
 money, and you must not forget that from now on I 
 am going to support you and your adopted daughter. 
 Do you hear ? You are no longer to work yourself ! ' * 
 
 I was far from realizing that a boy of ten not only 
 was unable to support his mother, but would find it hard 
 to support himself. I could not imagine the terrible 
 hardships that were in store for me, nor the bitterness 
 that my mother was to taste through that separation 
 which I thought would enable me to lighten her burden. 
 For years I was unable to send her any money — was 
 unable even to send her a letter. During those years 
 she continually watched the road, and inquired of all 
 travellers if they had seen me anywhere. Sometimes 
 people told her that I was so miserable in Constanti- 
 nople that I had turned Turk. 
 
 **May they eat their tongues, those who say that!" 
 answered my mother. * * That boy could never be mine. ' ' 
 
 Yet, after a while the thing began to prey on her. 
 She would shut herself up in front of the ikonostase, 
 and, weeping, would ask God to guide me to return to 
 the faith of my fathers. 
 
 At other times people would tell her that I had been 
 shipwrecked on the shores of Cyprus, and was begging 
 in the street in rags. 
 
 "May fire burn them!" was her reply. "It is their
 
 78 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 jealousy that makes them say those things. My son 
 probably has made a fortune, and has gone to visit the 
 Holy Sepulchre." 
 
 Yet she went more than ever on the street, speaking 
 with the travelling beggars, and whenever she heard 
 of a shipwrecked sailor, she hunted him up, in the 
 hope of discovering in him her own son, and denying 
 herself to give to him, in the hope that others might 
 do for her boy what she was doing for him. 
 
 But when it became a question of her second adopted 
 daughter, she forgot all her fears concerning me, and 
 used me as a threat against my brothers, telling them 
 that I should put them to shame with my generosity 
 when I returned home. She announced stoutly that I 
 would dower and find a husband for her new daughter, 
 with all pomp and ceremony. 
 
 "Yes, you may not know it, but my boy has promised 
 that to me, my blessings be upon him." 
 
 Fortunately, the bad news about me was not true, 
 and when, after a long absence, I returned home, I was 
 in a position to keep my promise as far as my mother 
 was concerned. Toward her adopted daughter, how- 
 ever, she did not find me as willing as she had hoped. 
 On the contrary, much to my mother's surprise, I ex- 
 pressed myself as unwilling to support the girl. 
 
 It was not that I objected to my mother's weakness 
 for girls, since I, too, liked them, and desired nothing 
 better than to find a sister at home whose happy face
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 79 
 
 and gentle ministrations would banish loneliness from 
 my heart and help to wipe the vicissitudes of my exile 
 from my memory. In exchange I would have related 
 to her the wonders of foreign lands, the details of my 
 wanderings and of my achievements ; I would have been 
 willing to buy her whatever she wished, to take her to 
 dances and to fairs, to dower her, and finally to dance 
 at her wedding. 
 
 But that sister I imagined as beautiful and sympa- 
 thetic, clever and cultivated, bookish and skilled in em- 
 broidery — in short, possessing all the virtues of the girls 
 I had met in my travels. What did I find instead ? The 
 exact opposite! Mother's adopted daughter was a little 
 misshapen, hectic child. And, worse than all, she was 
 stupid. 
 
 "Send away Katarinio," I said one day to my mother; 
 ' ' send her away if you love me. I am speaking to you 
 seriously. I will get you another child from Constanti- 
 nople — a pretty, clever child, who will become an orna- 
 ment to our house." In glowing colors I went on to 
 describe the other orphan I was to get for her, and how 
 much I should love her. 
 
 When I looked at my mother I saw with 8UiT)rise that 
 great silent tears were running down her pale cheeks, 
 while her eyes expressed indescribable sorrow. 
 
 "Alas!" she exclaimed despairingly, **I had hoped 
 that you, at least, would love Katarinio, but I was mis- 
 taken. Your brothers don't want any sister at all,
 
 80 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 while you want a different one. Is the poor little thing 
 responsible because God created her as she is? If you 
 had a sister of your own who was neither clever nor 
 pretty, would you have thrown her into the street in 
 order to take another one?" 
 
 "No, Mother, certainly not. She would have been 
 your own child as much as I, while Katarinio is noth- 
 ing but a stranger to us. ' ' 
 
 * * No, ' ' my mother sobbed, ' * she is not a stranger ! She 
 is mine! I took her from the dead body itself of her 
 mother, when she was only three months old, and when- 
 ever she wept, I offered her my breast to make her think 
 she had a mother. I wrapped her in your swaddling 
 clothes and rocked her to sleep in your cradle. She is 
 my child, I tell you, and she is your sister." 
 
 After these words, passionately uttered, she raised 
 her head and looked me straight in the eyes. She waited 
 as though insisting upon an answer. I did not dare 
 to reply, whereupon she cast down her eyes, and went 
 on in sad, weak tones : 
 
 **What can I do? I, too, would have liked her dif- 
 ferent; but you see my sin has not yet been absolved, 
 and God has sent her to me such as she is to test my 
 patience. Forgive me — I thank Thee, oh. Lord." 
 
 She placed her right hand upon her breast, raised 
 her eyes, full of tears, to the heavens, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 "Mother, don't be angry with me, but have you some-
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 81 
 
 thing weighing on your heart ? ' ' and to soften my ques- 
 tion, I bent down and kissed her hand, 
 
 "Yes, I have something heavy there, very heavy, my 
 son. Till now only God and my confessor have known 
 it. You are versed in books, and it may be even better 
 to tell you than my confessor. Go close the door, and 
 then come back and sit by me, so that I may tell you. 
 Perhaps you may be able to comfort me a little, to have 
 pity on me, and to bring yourself to love Katarinio as 
 if she were your own sister." 
 
 Her words, as well as the way in which she said 
 them, troubled me very much. What could there be 
 that Mother wished to confide to me apart from my 
 brothers? All the miseries she had endured during 
 my absence, she had already told me. Her life before 
 that I knew as an oft-told tale. What could there be 
 that she had kept from us, all this time, and had only 
 dared disclose to God and to her confessor? 
 
 When I came back to sit by her, my knees were tremb- 
 ling from apprehension of I knew not what, while my 
 mother hung her head, like one conscious of a terrible 
 crime, before her judge. After a few moments of op- 
 pressive silence, she asked: "Do you remember our 
 little Annio?" 
 
 "Certainly, Mother. I couldn't forget her. She was 
 our only sister, and she breathed her last before my 
 eyes." 
 
 "Yes," my mother went on with a deep sigh, "but
 
 82 MODEEN GREEK STORIES 
 
 she was not my only daughter. You are four years 
 younger than Christaki. Between you, I had my first 
 daughter. She was born at the time that Photis, the 
 miller, was about to be married. Your father was to 
 be the best man, and wanted me to be the matron ; there- 
 fore he had the marriage postponed for forty days, in 
 order that I might mingle with the people and enjoy 
 myself, now that I was a married woman — as a girl 
 I never went out, owing to the strictness of your grand- 
 mother. 
 
 "The ceremony took place in the morning, and in the 
 evening all the guests gathered together for the fes- 
 tivities. Violins were playing, the guests were feasting, 
 and the wine- jug was passing from hand to hand. Your 
 father, who was of a jovial disposition and making 
 merry with the best of them, tossed me his handkerchief, 
 and I rose to dance with him. I was young and loved 
 to dance, so we started and the others followed; but 
 we danced better, and held out longer than anyone 
 else. 
 
 ** Toward midnight I took your father aside and said 
 to him: 'Husband, I have a baby in the cradle, and 
 can't stay here any longer. My wee one must be hungry. 
 I cannot nurse her here before everyone, and with my 
 best gown on, too. You stay, if you like, and enjoy 
 yourself, but I must take my baby and go home. ' 
 
 ** *A11 right, wife,' answered your absolved father, 
 patting me on the back. 'Come and dance once more.
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 83 
 
 and then we will leave here. The wine is really going 
 to my head a little, and I am glad of an excuse to say 
 good-bye. * 
 
 "After our dance we took our leave. The bridegroom 
 ordered the players to accompany us halfway home. 
 We had a long way to go, the marriage having taken 
 place in Karsimaohala. Our servant preceded us with 
 a lantern. Your father carried the baby, and held me, 
 too, by the hand. 
 
 ** *Are you tired, wife?' 
 
 " *Yes, Michalio, I am tired.* 
 
 " *Well, just a little courage and we'll soon be home. 
 I '11 make the beds myself. I am sorry I made you dance 
 so much.* 
 
 " *I don't mind, husband,' I answered. 'I did it to 
 please you. Tomorrow I can rest.' 
 
 **When we reached home I nursed the baby, while 
 Father made the beds. Your brother was sleeping with 
 Venetia whom I had left to guard him. Presently we 
 were all in bed. In my sleep I thought I heard the 
 baby cry. 'The darling!' I said, 'she hasn't eaten 
 enough,' and. leaning over the cradle I began nursing 
 her. I was so tired I couldn't hold myself up, so I 
 picked her up from the cradle and took her into my 
 bed to nurse, and thus I fell asleep. 
 
 "It was dawn when I awoke. 'I had better put the 
 baby back into its cradle,' I thought. When I went to 
 lift it up, the baby was still. I awoke your father at
 
 84 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 once. We opened its swaddling clothes and began to 
 rub it. The child was dead. 
 
 "'Wife, you have smothered my child!' said your 
 father, beginning to cry. I, too, cried and screamed 
 aloud. Your father put his hand over my mouth. 
 
 ** 'Shut up! Why are you screaming, stupid?* he 
 said roughly. 
 
 "May God forgive him, but that was the way he spoke 
 to me, although in all the three years we had been 
 married I had never had a cross word from him before. 
 
 " *What are you shouting about?' he went on. 'Do 
 you want to rouse the neighborhood, and have everyone 
 say that you drank too much last night, and then 
 smothered your own child?' 
 
 **He was right. May the ground in which he lies 
 be blessed by God! Had people known the truth, I 
 should have had to hide myself in the bosom of the 
 earth. But, after all, a sin is a sin. When the burial 
 was over and we returned to our house I aban- 
 doned myself to my grief. I did not have to mourn in 
 
 secret. 
 
 *' 'You are young, and you will have other children,* 
 everyone told me. But time went on, and God sent us 
 none. Then I said to myself: 'Divine Providence is 
 punishing me because I proved incapable of guarding 
 the child given to me. ' I was ashamed to look at people, 
 and I was afraid of your father. He pretended not to 
 mind, and was always comforting me and keeping up
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 85 
 
 my spirits. After a year, however, he also became moody 
 and silent. 
 
 "Three years went by — three years in which I did 
 not relish a mouthful of food — ^three years of praying at 
 all the shrines. Then you came, and I was thankful, but 
 not satisfied. Your father wanted a little girl, and told 
 me so one day. 
 
 ** 'This child is welcome, Despenio, but I wanted a 
 little girl,* he said. 
 
 "When your grandmother made her pilgrimage to 
 the Holy Sepulchre, I sent twelve shirts and three gold 
 pieces by her, to procure a paper of forgiveness. And, 
 indeed, the very month in which your grandmother 
 returned from Jerusalem, Annio was conceived. Every 
 little while, after that, I would call in the midwife: 
 'Come, mistress, come,' I would say, 'and see if it's 
 going to be a girl. ' 
 
 " 'Yes, indeed, it will be a girl. Don't you see that 
 your clothes barely meet,' and I was mad with joy. 
 
 "When the child was born, and proved to be a little 
 girl, my heart returned to its right place. We called 
 her Annio, the name of the departed one, pretending 
 that no one was missing from the home. 'I thank 
 Thee, oh Lord!' I kept on saying, day and night. 'I 
 thank Thee, I, the sinner, whose shame Thou hast lifted, 
 whose sin Thou hast forgiven.' As for Annio, she be- 
 came the apple of our eye, and you almost died of 
 jealousy. Your father called you 'his slighted one,*
 
 86 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 because I stopped nursing you too soon ; and sometimes 
 he scolded me because I neglected you. My heart ached 
 
 A. 
 
 for you, but I could not help it. I simply could not 
 let Annio go from my arms, for fear that something 
 might happen to her. And although your blessed father 
 reproached me for neglecting you, he could not 
 himself bear even to have a drop of rain fall on 
 Annio. 
 
 "But the more we petted the darling child, the more 
 sickly she became. You boys were rosy and lively and 
 full of mischief. She was quiet, good, and ailing. One 
 might have said that God had repented His gift to us. 
 Seeing her so pale I could not help remembering the 
 dead one, and the idea that I had killed her began to 
 possess me once more. And then the second one died, 
 too. 
 
 ** Whoever has not tasted that sorrow, my son, cannot 
 know the bitterness of the cup. Hope of having another 
 there was none, since your father was dead, llad I not 
 found a parent willing to give me his little girl, I should 
 have fled away to the mountains. It is true that she 
 did not prove to be good-natured ; but so long as I had 
 her and worked for her and took care of her, I felt her 
 to be mine. I forgot the one I had lost, and my con- 
 science was at peace. It is true she was a terrible trial 
 to me, yet at the same time she was a consolation. The 
 more I suffer and endure, the less God will punish me 
 for the child I smothered. For this reason, don't ask
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 87 
 
 me to change Katerinio for a good-natured and clever 
 child, and n«ay my blessing be upon you." 
 
 "No, Mother, no!" I cried, interrupting her. **I ask 
 for nothing. After all you've told me I beg you to 
 forgive my unkindness. I promise you to love Katerinio 
 as if she were my sister, and never again to say a dis- 
 agreeable word to her." 
 
 "May the blessings of Christ and of the Virgin Mary 
 be upon you!" Mother said, with a sigh. "You see my 
 heart aches for the miserable child, and I don't want 
 anyone to talk against her. God has willed it. Sinful 
 and unworthy as I am, I have shouldered the burden 
 and must carry it uncomplainingly." 
 
 This confession made a great impression on me. My 
 eyes at last were opened, and I was able to understand 
 many of my mother's actions which at times had ap- 
 peared to be either sheer superstition, or the result of 
 monomania. She was so simple, so virtuous, so God- 
 fearing that her terrible misadventure had clouded her 
 whole life. To be conscious of a sin, to feel the neces- 
 sity of atonement, and at the same time the impossibility 
 of atonement — what a terrible, what an unrelenting 
 hell ! For twenty-eight years the poor woman had been 
 tormented, and had been unable to appease the pangs 
 of conscience. 
 
 From the moment of hearing her sad story I concen- 
 trated all my efforts on lightening her sorrow. I tried 
 to impress upon her the fact that her sin had been
 
 88 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 unpremeditated and against her volition. I dwelt on 
 the great mercy of God, and on His justice in judging 
 us according to our thoughts and intentions. At times 
 I believed my efforts to be crowned with a measure 
 of success. 
 
 However, • when, after another absence of two years, 
 my mother came to visit me in Constantinople, I decided 
 to do something more drastic for her. I had happened 
 to meet the Patriarch, Joachim the Second, at the house 
 of one of the most famous families of the town. One 
 day when we two were walking alone in the pleasant 
 shade of the garden, I revealed to him my mother's 
 story, and implored his cooperation. His high position 
 and supreme authority in religious matters must con- 
 vince my mother of the absolution of her sin. 
 
 The venerable and never-to-be-forgotten old man, 
 after praising my religious zeal, willingly promised me 
 his aid. Soon afterwards I conducted my mother to the 
 patriarchate, and presented her to His Holiness. The 
 confession lasted a long time, and from his manner and 
 gestures I realized that he had to bring to bear all 
 the strength of his simple and forceful arguments to 
 accomplish the result he desired. 
 
 My joy was indescribable. My mother took leave of 
 the old Patriarch with expressions of gratitude, and 
 left the patriarchate as happy and joyful as if a heavy 
 stone had been lifted from her heart. When we reached 
 her hotel, she took from her bosom a cross, a gift from
 
 THE SIN OF MY MOTHER 89 
 
 His Holiness, and kissed it. Her eyes fixed upon it, she 
 became lost in thought. 
 
 "The Patriarch is a fine man," I said. "Don't yon 
 think so, Mother?" 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 "Have you nothing to say. Mother?" I asked, with 
 some hesitation. 
 
 "What can I say, my son," she answered absently. 
 * ' The Patriarch is a wise and holy man. He knows the 
 intentions and wishes of God. He can forgive the sins 
 of the world — but what can I say? He is a celibate. 
 He has never had children, and he cannot know what 
 it is to kill one's baby." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and I remained silent.
 
 THE GOD-FATHER 
 
 By George Deosines
 
 THE GOD-FATHER 
 
 The christening of the child was to take place in the 
 evening because the priest not only had to come from 
 a neighboring village, but was busy harvesting his com, 
 and had no other time at his disposal. 
 
 From the little church we came down to the house 
 of the child's parents, where a simple meal of cereals 
 and vegetables awaited us. We were eight in all, the 
 priest, the god-father, the child's parents, some relatives 
 and I, a self-invited guest, anxious to witness a village 
 christening. 
 
 The god-father, a fat peasant from a neighboring vil- 
 lage, was quite well along in years, but still seemed 
 youthful, with his red cheeks, and was most loquacious. 
 He was one of the most respected landowners of the 
 village and of the whole district, and as a mark of 
 honor had been chosen selectman for many consecutive 
 years. He sat by me at the round tavla, which served 
 as table, and charmed me with his lively conversation, 
 and his shrewd, unaffected remarks on many subjects. 
 
 "Has your honor been god-father to many children?'* 
 
 93
 
 94 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 he suddenly asked, wiping the wine from his moustache 
 with the back of his hand. 
 
 "No, not once," I answered. 
 
 "Let me make a wish, then. May God help you to 
 christen many, and may they all live to grow up and be 
 prosperous, — but let them be either all boys, or all 
 girls." 
 
 * * Why that last ? " I asked with some surprise. 
 
 "So that you may not bring misery into the world 
 without your knowledge." 
 
 "But I don't understand. What difference will it 
 make if they are of both sexes?" 
 
 "Ah! you may well ask me that." 
 
 I could not understand what he meant to imply. **I 
 am asking you," I said. 
 
 "This is not the moment to tell you. We came here 
 to talk of pleasant things — to have a good time, ' ' and to 
 make good his words he began to sing the "Song of the 
 Partridge" in his little old cracked voice. The host 
 strummed an accompaniment on a home-made lyre. 
 
 **A little partridge batlied and played, in a cool, crystal 
 stream, 
 But when I sang my song of love, sJie never answered 
 me." 
 
 It was late at night when the god-father and I left 
 the little farmhouse. The priest had already gone.
 
 THE GOD-FATHER 95 
 
 "Now, Uncle Nasso, you will tell me, won't you, why 
 one should christen only boys or only girls, and not mix 
 them up?" 
 
 "I shall be glad to, if you must know; though it al- 
 ways upsets me to tell that story. But never mind. My 
 mistake may save others. Let's go yonder to the thresh- 
 ing floor and sit under the large pine tree. The clouds 
 have stopped the wind tonight, and we sha'n't catch 
 cold." 
 
 The threshing floor was dark and abandoned. Around 
 us, among the dark corn-stacks, we could dimly see 
 moving cattle, and in the silence of the night wc could 
 hear their tinkling bells even farther than we could 
 see them. We sat on the ground and leaned against 
 the thick trunk of the tree. The old man took 
 the black monk's cap from his head and scratched his 
 thick white hair. Then, in a low voice, he began to tell 
 his story: 
 
 II 
 
 "A league from here, in the village of Galatsona lives 
 Stathis Koutsonikolos. He is admitted to be the 
 thriftiest and richest man in Galatsona. In Kamaria he 
 has as much land as two yoke of oxen can plough in a 
 day. Also he owns two hundred head of goats, so you 
 can see how well off he is. God has blessed his house- 
 hold as He has blessed his fields. His wife, the pretty
 
 96 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Almond, gave him seven children, five boys and two 
 girls. One of the girls I christened myself, and named 
 her Taso, after my dear lamented sister. She was born 
 in '60, and in '77 was like a peach tree in blossom. The 
 Fates, who came three days after her birth, adorned 
 her with all the graces of life. She was tall and slender, 
 with eyes as black as the olives of Salona. Her eye- 
 brows curved like scimitars, and her cheeks bloomed 
 like full-colored pomegranates. The lads were mad over 
 her, and the girls jealous. She was the first at every 
 fair, and when I saw her, light and gay, leading every 
 dance, I, swelled with pride, would take a silver neck- 
 lace from my bag and throw it over her head 
 crying, 'Health to you, my dashing Taso! May your 
 god-father live long to enjoy the sight of you!* 
 
 "That fall I left our village and was gone for a few 
 months. First I went to Xerochory to attend to some 
 contracts ; then to Chalkis to be witness at a trial. While 
 I was there everyone said to me, 'Now that you are 
 here. Uncle Nasso, why don't you go as far as Athens 
 to see the great world, in your old age?' So to Athens 
 I went. What houses! What streets! I wandered abont 
 the great place like a dog who has lost his master. Used 
 to the mountains and to the mountain trails I could not 
 help slipping on those smooth marble pavements. Those 
 houses, higher even than our Mount Karababa in Chal- 
 kis, I thought might tumble on my bonnet any minute. 
 IVfy brain was spinning in its shell, so I says to mj^elf :
 
 THE GOD-FATHER 97 
 
 *Wliat business has the Fox in the market place?' So 
 I packed and beat it for Chalkis. I reached there on 
 the second day, and stayed for about a week with some 
 people from my village, and after that took the road 
 back home to Gerake. I got there in the evening, and 
 the next morning who should come to see rae but 
 Stathis, my Taso's father, from Galatsona. 
 
 * * * "Welcome home ! ' says he. 
 
 " 'Well met!' says I. 
 
 "He asked me first how I got along in my travels, 
 and from one thing to another we got to talking about 
 his affairs. 'While you were away, my old Nasso,' says 
 he, 'great things have happened in my household.' His 
 face was laughing. I could see he had some good news 
 to tell. 
 
 " 'What is tickling you?' I asked. 
 
 " 'Well, Uncle Nasso, I have got your god-daughter 
 engaged. ' 
 
 " 'That so? And to whom?' 
 
 " 'To a handsome lad from beyond the border.' 
 
 " 'Good luck to them, and a happy wedding day! 
 And where did you happen to find the bridegroom, if I 
 may ask? Is he new in our village?' 
 
 " 'Yes. The Master brought him over as keeper for 
 his olive orchards. From the first day Taso noticed 
 him, and the boy was struck with her. I talked it over 
 with the Master, who told me that he was a good boy, 
 well-to-do, and from good people. At home he had a
 
 98 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 quarrel with some one. He shot at him and wounded 
 him, and had to leave Turkish soil and come over here. 
 To make a long story short, the Master settled it all in 
 a few days, and by Christmas the wedding will take 
 place. They are a good match and love each other, 
 Nasso. I '11 send you the boy this evening to look over. ' ' ' 
 
 III 
 
 "At sunset my door opened, and in came a strapping 
 youth of about twenty-five, fine looking, and with a 
 black moustache. He knelt before me, kissed my hand, 
 then sat beside me and we started chatting. 
 
 " 'My boy, what village do you come from?' 
 
 " *I come from Promyri.' 
 
 '* 'Indeed! I was there once. Let me see, that was 
 about twenty-five years ago. I went there to buy a 
 mare. Is Manolis, the miller, still living?' 
 
 " 'Why, he was my uncle. He died six years ago.* 
 
 " 'And his sister, Christo's widow?' 
 
 " 'She was my blessed mother.* 
 
 ' ' ' What ! You are her son. You don 't say so. Why, 
 I christened a child of hers.' 
 
 " 'So, we are relatives,' says he joyously. 'We'll 
 be double relatives now.* 
 
 " 'My boy,' I said, 'tell me your name.' 
 
 " 'Yannios Zesis.' 
 
 " 'Then you are my god-child. You were just seven
 
 THE GOD-FATHER 99 
 
 days old, and dying. I happened to be there, and 
 christened you. I never thought you would live to 
 become such a strapping lad.' 
 
 "The boy Avas delighted. Once more he took my hand 
 and kissed it. 'It was good luck,' says he, 'for my 
 Taso and me to have the same god-father. Now you 
 must also be my best man.' 
 
 "For a spell I had forgotten that Taso was my god- 
 daughter. When he spoke of it, something like a black 
 cloud covered my mind. 
 
 " 'Listen, Yannios, I can't be your best man, and you 
 can't have Taso for jonr wife, either. Don't you see, 
 you are both my god-children. That makes you brother 
 and sister.' 
 
 "Had a thunderbolt struck Yannios he could not have 
 looked worse. He was pale as a wax taper. The blood 
 seemed to have left his veins. 'Not marry Taso?* he 
 cried. 'Is this the time to tell me that? I wouldn't 
 be honest to drop her now.' 
 
 " 'And you'll be damned forever if you marry your 
 sister. ' 
 
 "He began to cry, that big strapping giant of a boy — 
 to cry like a baby. My heart was aching for him, but 
 what could I do? Fate had written it so. 
 
 "Yannios got up and wiped his eyes. His face had 
 changed, and he looked like a madman. 'Whatevei- I 
 do, god-father, don't curse me,' he said, as he opened the 
 door and went from my sight. I did not close my eyes
 
 100 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 all night long. I kept thinking of that look on Yannio's 
 face, and of his last words. An evil foreboding was in 
 my heart. Just before daybreak I heard the dog bark. 
 Someone was coming. Then someone was knocking at 
 the door. 
 
 " 'Who is there?' I asked, springing up from my mat. 
 
 ** 'It's me, Yannios!' said a hoarse voice. 
 
 ** 'What do you want here, at such an hour, my boy?' 
 
 " 'Open, god-father, open!' 
 
 "I unlocked the door and he came in. The dim light 
 from the embers of the fire fell on him. What a look! 
 I shall never forget it. His eyes bulged out as if he 
 were a killed lamb. 
 
 " 'If I can't have her, then no one else shall have 
 her, either, and I won't let her live in the village, 
 jilted!' He spoke as if talking to himself. 
 
 " 'What are you saying, my boy? Of whom are you 
 speaking?' I cried, the shivers running up and down 
 my spine. 
 
 " ' Of Taso. I have killed her ! ' He showed the rifle 
 he was holding in his hand. 
 
 "I stood there like a piece of stone. My voice stuck in 
 my throat. I could neither see nor hear. Then I 
 dropped in a heap on the chest. As if in a dream I 
 heard Yannios' last words to me: 
 
 " 'Good-bye to you, god-father. Never ask about me 
 again. Some day a bullet will get me, too.' 
 
 "He told the truth. Nothing was heard of him for
 
 THE GOD-FATHER 101 
 
 a year. Then word came that he had been killed in 
 Makrynitsa." 
 
 IV 
 
 The old peasant rose, covered his head with his black 
 cap, and said: "You have learned what you wanted to 
 know. Now, good-night to you." 
 
 I did not move from my place, neither did I return 
 his salutation. In my mind I could see enacted on the 
 earth's infinite stage, the village tragedy which the old 
 selectman had related to me while my eyes followed his 
 white shadow fading gradually into the darkness of the 
 night.
 
 MANGALOS 
 By Geegorios Xenopoulos
 
 1
 
 MANGALOS 
 
 It was an afternoon in summer time. I was about 
 twelve years old, and was playing with my brother and 
 my sisters in the garden when we heard , noises and 
 murmurs from the street. 
 
 "That must be crazy Costas," I said, ready to run. 
 
 **It may be the clown!" said my brother more hope- 
 fully, though ready to follow me. 
 
 "And what if it is a runaway ox?" suggested my 
 sister. "You'd better wait." 
 
 We could now hear the barking of dogs and cries 
 of fear. Whenever an ox escaped either from Hanunos' 
 slaughter house or from the wharfs of Marine Street 
 where the ships from Morea unloaded their cargoes, the 
 street was not safe; so instead of running out of doors 
 we rushed upstairs and looked out of one of the win- 
 dows of our living room. 
 
 The street was in uproar ; men and women, hurried by 
 curiosity, were running from the streets nearby to see 
 what was up. People came out of the shops, houses, and 
 taverns. The windows were crowded with wondering 
 girls' heads; old women stood in the doorways, and the 
 children of the neighborhood were watching eagerly from 
 the street corners, ready to run back to shelter. 
 
 105
 
 106 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 "What is it? What is it, my son?" 
 "Just what is the matter, good Christians?" 
 Something was coming from far away, from Hammos. 
 A big and strange parade. At the head of it came "the 
 little fish," street urchins, dirty and ragged, jumping 
 with excitement as they turned back to look at the sight. 
 Then came an empty space and then a lot of people, 
 a great dark crowd, which jammed the whole width of 
 the street and seemed to have no end. In the middle 
 of the empty space, nearer to the urchins than to the 
 crowd behind, we saw a man, the hero of this parade. 
 As soon as we caught sight of him, even before we 
 learned who he was, we felt a cold shiver of fear. Had 
 it been an ox we could never have been moved so much. 
 Wrapped in a white woolen peasant cape, though it was 
 in the heart of the summer, with new highland shoes, 
 and a worn-out pair of trousers, he walked, thin and 
 tall and pale — like a ghost. With coal-black beard and 
 long, curly, thick hair that seemed never to have had 
 any dealings with a comb, and was covered with a piece 
 of black cloth bound into a cap, the man was advancing 
 with the queerest step one could imagine. Had he been 
 a crazy drunkard, he would never walk that way. You 
 might have thought his shoes — the only new article he 
 was wearing — stepped for the first time on the stone 
 pavement of the street, or that the street was scattered, 
 here and there, with burning coals which he was trying 
 to avoid. He was going now this way and now that,
 
 MANGALOS 107 
 
 mostly sideways. He would sometimes take a step back 
 and dive into the air just as a poor diver might jump 
 into the sea. Hop! Hop! For a moment he would 
 lean over as if he were about to fall, but with a move- 
 ment of his arm which he thrust from the cape, he would 
 recover his balance and make an abrupt sideward move. 
 I believe the empty space about him was left because 
 of his irregular walk. Without meaning to, he kept the 
 people away from him ; and the children from the street 
 corners stepped back toward the wall as he passed them 
 in mortal fear that he might fall on them. 
 
 He spoke no word and looked at nobody and at noth- 
 ing. His eyes, small and black, like lights that had gone 
 out, were fixed on empty space. One could hear the 
 shouts of the men running ahead to get a glimpse of 
 him, and the general hubbub that rose from the distant 
 crowd, making a long train behind him, and mingled 
 with the barking of the dogs. The urchins ahead of 
 him and the people that were behind and next to him 
 were serious and silent, and their silence — I might al- 
 most say respect — made his passing even more mys- 
 terious. If he were crazy or drunk, the urchins would 
 surely pest him and jeer at him. If he were a bandit, 
 a runaway, or a criminal, that Hammos gang, who were 
 so proud of their strength, would have caught him. 
 What in the world could this man be, and why was he 
 followed by this crowd? 
 
 A boy walking behind him was carrying a big pack
 
 108 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 of clothes and blankets of a faded color, bound with an 
 old rope. At the boy's side and at the head of the 
 serious looking escort, I saw Yannes Mangalos, our good 
 neighbor, the butcher, who was the father of Mary, my 
 girl-friend of my own age. He was talking in a low 
 voice to his companions and gesticulating with excite- 
 ment while he often pointed at the strange man. It 
 was evident that Yannes Mangalos, the father of my 
 little girl-friend, was very much moved. His round, 
 ruddy face seemed to me to have lost its color, but I 
 could not say whether it showed joy, astonishment, 
 worry, sorrow, anger or fear. Everything at that hour 
 seemed to me strange and unexplainable. I was eagerly 
 listening for the word that would explain it all. 
 
 At last, I heard it. As the tall man with the cape 
 passed our window, and we were watching him from 
 behind, we were struck with the appearance of his shoul- 
 ders, which seemed to be of different height. Just then, 
 Taso, the weaver woman, who lived across the street 
 and had two great eyes that made me always afraid, 
 raised her voice and spoke plainly and clearly to another 
 woman neighbor. 
 
 "Isn't he Constantine, the brother of Mangalos, who 
 has spent, oh my eyes! fifteen years in prison for kill- 
 ing Kalligeros?" 
 
 "Bah! Bah!" exclaimed the other woman, "and 
 today, my son, his term has come to an end and he is 
 out again!"
 
 MANGALOS 109 
 
 "Sure enough! Free again!" 
 
 At that moment the crowd turned left at the first 
 corner, which in our neighborhood was known as 
 Mangalos' corner, because the Mangalos home was 
 there. Those who found room slipped behind Con- 
 stantine and his brother. The others were jammed at 
 the crossing, pushing each other and standing on tip- 
 toe to see how the man just freed would step on the 
 threshold of his home after fifteen years in prison. 
 There was some good reason for the curiosity of the 
 crowd that had rushed to the place to see this sight. In 
 truth, it was something one could not see every day! 
 
 Now that we had found out the cause of it all and 
 felt sure that we were not running any risk with lion 
 or ox, we ran downstairs and mingled with the crowd. 
 We had enough courage then to slip between the big 
 men's legs and to reach Mangalos' home, but mother 
 interferred with our intentions and sent the servant to 
 pick us up. 
 
 I don't remember whether I learned Constantine Man- 
 galos' story on that day or later. But I will tell it 
 to you as I know it. 
 
 He was twenty-five years old before he got into 
 trouble, a fine man and a butcher by trade, like his 
 brother. As most people were in Zante, at that time, he 
 was a devoted radical and a blind follower of Lom- 
 bardos, the leader of his party. Lombardos was then in
 
 110 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 all his glory and the people's idol, the object of their 
 worship. They had him for a second god and sang 
 about him : 
 
 (( 
 
 Lombardos mine, your way may lead 
 Through lovely meadows green, 
 And may you feed your riding horse, 
 In fields of royal mint. 
 
 "I wish the hills might stoop for me, 
 To see the town of Athens, 
 And hear my own Lombardos speak, 
 Before the people's fathers." 
 
 But the much beloved Lombardos had an enemy. 
 Rather, many enemies, I should say; for the party of 
 nobles was not small even at that time. But one was 
 counted above all the others; Kalligeros, a lawyer and 
 a journalist, a man with good brains and with a strong 
 and fearless pen. He had a paper of his own and in its 
 columns he knocked relentlessly at Lombardos and his 
 party. Of course, the followers of Lombardos struck 
 back often, either with their leader's pen or with some 
 hired man's club. Sometimes with both. But the ear 
 of Kalligeros "would not sweat to anything" and he 
 continued to wage war. One Sunday morning, his paper 
 came out with a terrible article, the worst of all. It 
 must have contained some great truth or some great lie
 
 MANGALOS 111 
 
 because Lombardos himself was deeply hurt, and not 
 only was he hurt — which might have happened more 
 than once — ^but he showed it, too. His followers saw 
 him sad that day and heard him say a few angry words. 
 One of them, whether really angry or anxious to dis- 
 play his loyalty, dropped a word in the leader's parlor. 
 
 "That scoundrel needs killing!'* 
 
 Did Lombardos hear this? Or was he too troubled to 
 hear what had been said? Nobody knows. But, it 
 seems, he said nothing. Neither yes nor no. Or if he 
 did say a few words later, the usual ones, to calm down 
 the spirits of his men — for he always liked to mix a 
 little water with the wine of his followers — Constantine 
 Mangalos had not heard them. He had already rushed 
 out of the parlor beside himself. 
 
 "Where are you going, fellow?" asked his friend 
 Klapatsas, the pet of the Hammos gang, who met him 
 in the hall. 
 
 "Let me go, damn him!" Constantine roared and ran 
 down the stairs as if he was chased by somebody. His 
 friend Klapatsas followed him. 
 
 This had happened Sunday noon. On the same day, 
 Kalligeros was found dead. At midnight, as he was 
 going home from the club, three shots were fired at 
 him. The assassination stirred up all the island of 
 Zante. It caused so much sensation that the authorities 
 were obliged to hunt up the assassins with unusual zeal 
 and actually to arrest them— a very rare event in those
 
 112 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 days of party terror. They proved to be Constantine 
 Mangalos and his friend Klapatsas. They were be- 
 trayed by a woman who had seen and recognized them. 
 At the end they confessed themselves. The trial was 
 quick and short. They were hit hard; fifteen years 
 for the one and ten for the other. Lombardos was un- 
 willing to do anything in their behalf and he did not 
 even try to influence the agents of justice, for fear of 
 his enemies who had spread the rumor that he had set 
 these men to kill Kalligeros. Mangalos, however, de- 
 clared before the court in plain words that he had not 
 been influenced by anyone, that he had been actuated 
 only by his own feelings and that he had alone come 
 to the conclusion to offer himself "as a sacrifice." For 
 it had made a terrible impression on him to see Lom- 
 bardos, his god, made miserable because of Kalligeros 
 and his article. He also said that he had influenced 
 his friend Klapatsas to help him in the crime of re- 
 venge. This explanation, coming with all sincerity from 
 an otherwise blameless man whose feelings, stirred up 
 by his faith in his ideal, had made him a criminal in 
 an unlucky hour, not only cleared Lombardos from all 
 suspicion but it lightened the position of Mangalos him- 
 self. It was his confession and no influence from the 
 party leader that induced the court to impose a lenient 
 sentence on him. But his fifteen years were spent in 
 the dark prison without a single day's grace; and when 
 the last day had come, his brother Yannes went to pay
 
 MANGALOS 113 
 
 all his expenses before they could set him free. So we 
 saw him suddenly in that summer afternoon, returning 
 to his father's home to start life again. 
 
 Start life again! Easily said! But is it so easy for 
 a man who has been shut up in a prison from the twenty- 
 fifth to the fortieth year of his life to make a new begin- 
 ning? Constantine Mangalos had even forgotten how 
 a man walks! Had we not seen him? A crazy drunk- 
 ard would never walk that way! 
 
 From our attic window we could see a back window 
 of Mangalos' home opening on their small yard, which 
 was surrounded by a high and blackened old wall. At 
 that window I happened to see Mangalos again, about 
 five or six days afterward. He was sitting before the 
 window, leaning his hands on the bare sill and looking 
 at something in front of him, fixedly and persistently. 
 As my eyes lighted suddenly on his bare head and his 
 pale face, which appeared small under his thick long 
 hair, I was frightened and drew back. Then I peeped 
 out again with some hesitation, and when I became sure 
 that he would not move his glance from the one point, 
 I took courage to watch him. 
 
 The more I watched him the more I wondered. 
 
 I was still a chilZ feut somehow I could tell one crime 
 from another. The man who had killed in a moment 
 of deep feeling, without intereurt or hatred, could never 
 be for me like the ordinary ''terrible criminal" or 
 ** bloody robber." In my child's conscience, even with-
 
 114 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 out knowing the terminology, I could distinguish a 
 political crime from a common one. But a murderer 
 was always a murderer and I could not help feeling the 
 horror of it. Then there were the angry criticisms of 
 other people, the aversion and horror of the neighbors, 
 the fear and terror of women and children. Once I 
 had heard a woman neighbor saying to my mother: 
 "The criminal, the scoundrel, who blackened the hon- 
 orable name of Mangalos! Why couldn't they let him 
 die in bonds, my lady ? Why have they let him out and 
 brought him here in the midst of us? We can't be safe 
 even in our homes now! Who knows what bad things 
 he will manage to do again ? God preserve us, my lady, 
 from such men!" 
 
 All this impressed me greatly. In my imagination, 
 the ex-convict was unlike any of us. He must be a 
 bad man and one must see his bad character painted 
 on his very face. For that reason the more I looked 
 at him the more I wondered. No trace of such bad 
 character, no trace of inner ugliness could be seen on 
 that pale face, with its unkempt hair and beard ; nothing 
 but the misery of a long imprisonment. On the con- 
 trary, I could detect a strange beauty, almost a saintly 
 look, something noble and sad and martyr-like on his 
 features, and above all, in his dark eyes that seemed 
 lost in dreams under their care-blackened eyelashes. 
 
 It may seem strange but I must say it : In the chapel 
 of our neighborhood, by the right post of the Holy
 
 MANGALOS 115 
 
 Gate, there was a picture of the beheading of St. John. 
 I could remember distinctly the head of John, the Fore- 
 runner, as it lay on a plate held by a soldier. It was 
 pale, sad, and hairy. I was reminded most vividly of 
 this head when I saw Constantine Mangalos leaning on 
 his window. In my imagination I saw iron bars as I 
 had often seen them in prison windows. That man still 
 seemed to me a prisoner even in his own house. I saw 
 him in the midst of a martyrdom cleansing him of his 
 crime in this world and I could not help thinking of him 
 as of a repentant sinner. Unexpectedly and unwillingly, 
 I began from that day on to feel sorry for him and to 
 sympathize with him. 
 
 For a moment only he turned his eyes towards me 
 but did not see me. Then he withdrew, and as I could 
 not see him any longer, I left the attic. 
 
 Next day I heard terrible things, Mangalos was alto- 
 gether beside himself. At night, they said, he saw 
 ghosts, sprang wild and terrified from his bed, aroused 
 his household, stirred up the neighborhood, and acted 
 like mad. Striding up and down the house he shouted 
 "War is coming!" with a wild voice that made every- 
 body shudder. Paraskeve, the wife of his brother, 
 Yannes, was afraid he might strangle them some night 
 and demanded of her husband that they should move 
 from the house. Yannes persuaded her to be patient 
 for a few days by telling her that it was all the result 
 of the prison and that when Constantine became accus-
 
 116 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 tomed to the house and his freedom he would gradually 
 calm down. 
 
 But no improvement took place! Every day he be- 
 came worse. It was impossible for anyone to live with 
 him. Since half of the house belonged to him, Yannes 
 had neither the right nor the desire to make him leave 
 it, and so, after five days' troubles and vain hopes, he 
 decided to take his wife and children and to seek a 
 home elsewhere. The madman was left alone in the 
 deserted Mangalos home to shout ''War — is coming!" 
 all night, without bothering anyone except his nearest 
 neighbors. 
 
 I heard this with considerable regret because, as I 
 have already said, Yannes Mangalos had a daughter of 
 my own age, who was my friend. Her name was Mary 
 and she often came to our garden where we christened 
 my sister's dolls and built houses with mud. I could 
 not find any more pleasure in these plays but I did like 
 to sit near my little blonde friend, who was plump and 
 had a light and fresh complexion. Her voice, too, had 
 a long, caressing drawl that I can hear even now. Espe- 
 cially when she said "Give it to me-eee." And I did 
 give it to her, whatever it was, which made my sister 
 very jealous. But now, for the madman's sake, I had 
 to lose my friend. Here was ample reason for me to 
 hate him asi the whole neighborhood did. 
 
 Still, I could see no evil on his face! I would often 
 watch him, with his dreamy eyes, as he leaned from hi«
 
 MANGALOS 117 
 
 own little window, and every time I saw him I was more 
 convinced of his likeness to St. John, and my con- 
 fidence in him grew stronger and stronger. Perhaps 
 I was the only child in our neighborhood who was not 
 afraid of the wild man. One day I even spoke to him, 
 and nodded when I thought he was looking my way. 
 This made him fix his eyes on me -with curiosity and 
 astonishment, and some sign of pleasure, too. Muster- 
 ing more courage, and I called out to him : 
 
 ''Good day, Constautine ! How are you? How are 
 you getting along?" ' 
 
 He looked at me for a while again and then he asked 
 with a grimace that bore a very faint resemblance to a 
 smile : 
 
 *'Is this Glegorakis?" 
 
 That he should know my name impressed me very 
 much, for I knew he was in prison when I was born. 
 
 "Yes," I said. ''How do you know me?" 
 
 "Well," he answered with a more pronounced smile, 
 "how could I help knowing the little master?" I had 
 forgotten that I was the little master of our neighbor- 
 hood. The compliment was just as flattering to me as 
 my greeting was flattering to Constantino, and from 
 that moment we became friends. 
 
 My mother encountered me as I was coming down 
 from the attic with: 
 
 "Were you speaking with Mangalos, the madman? 
 Don't let me catch you doing it again! Do you hear?"
 
 118 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 I answered no word to Mother. Secretly I promised 
 myself to disobey her. On the following days I could not 
 catch Mangalos at his back window. It seemed that he 
 spent his time shut in the house or before his front 
 window. Besides, I had heard someone say that a newly- 
 wed woman who happened to be passing with her hus- 
 band around Mangalos' corner almost fainted when she 
 saw the madman with the wild hair hanging from the 
 lower window. I laughed at the picture, but on the 
 same night I had reason to be frightened a little my- 
 self by the same madman. 
 
 I woke up just before daybreak and in the quiet of 
 the night, I heard strange voices. I soon knew it was 
 Mangalos, who w^as up again in mad excitement shouting 
 his usual alarm: 
 
 ''War — is coming!" 
 
 I heard his footsteps as he walked back and forth in 
 his house. Now and then their irregular sounds stopped 
 and his shrill voice was heard above everything. When 
 he had done shouting, he resumed his endless walk. 
 His phrase was pronounced in two different tones. 
 First, he uttered a wild, quick, and sudden shout, like 
 a command: 
 
 "War!" 
 
 Then, after a pause, followed a calmer, deeper, and 
 lower sound: 
 
 ''Is coming!"
 
 MANGALOS 119 
 
 And immediately the walk was resumed. 
 
 It seemed to me the madman was very near, almost 
 outside of the half-opened window of my room. I was 
 80 frightened that I sprang up in my nightshirt, ran 
 into my mother's room and woke her up. 
 
 ''Listen, Mother!" 
 
 *'What is it?" she asked, frightened out of her sleep. 
 
 "Mangalos, the madman! Can you hear him?" 
 
 She listened silently for a while, then she made the 
 sign of the cross with a passing expression of pity, and 
 pretending to be angry, said to me: 
 
 *'You had better hear him since you like to talk with 
 him. Only keep quiet; you might wake up the chil- 
 dren." 
 
 I shut my window and went to bed again ; but I could 
 not close my eyes. As I heard the madman's voice and 
 pictured in my mind his dark and wild face, his black 
 hair and beard, his ascetic figure, and his excited move- 
 ments, I was mortally afraid he might at any moment 
 come out, walk over the tiles of the roof and appear 
 at the window, nodding to me like a ghost. . . . 
 
 At last he became silent and quiet again. The dawn 
 was just breaking with a rosy streak when I fell asleep, 
 not before I had promised myself a thousand times that 
 I would never again speak to him. I decided that night, 
 if not to hate him, at least to be afraid of him as all 
 others were. But it so happened that three days went 
 by before I could see him or hear his voice again. It
 
 120 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 seemed that the freed ex-convict had passed the critical 
 stage of his excitement . . , war and everything else. 
 I forgot all my promises and regained my old con- 
 fidence, so that when I saw him again one afternoon 
 from the window of our attic I greeted him and asked 
 him how he was. 
 
 "How could I be?" he answered in bitter melan- 
 choly. *'I am thirsty and have no water to drink!" 
 And he turned over his earthen water-jar to show it was 
 empty. I knew that his brother sent him food every 
 day and I asked again : 
 
 ' ' The boy brings you food, doesn 't he bring you water, 
 too?" 
 
 * ' He does but I drink it too soon. It is so warm. Once 
 more not a drop is left. How can I get any ? You know 
 I cannot go out myself." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Constantine condescended to answer a child's candor: 
 
 "Because I am still a prisoner. Perhaps the men 
 have let me free but He who is high up hasn't forgiven 
 me yet." 
 
 He turned his head towards the sky exactly like the 
 head I had seen painted in the church. His words and 
 his motion made me shudder — I remember that very 
 well. What could a child say to that? So I turned 
 back to the water. 
 
 "Why don't you ask from some of the women neigh- 
 bors?:"
 
 MANGALOS 121 
 
 "Ah," he answered with an expression of contempt, 
 "one cannot expect anything from them!" 
 
 I understood his meaning well, and I thought of him 
 in all his loneliness and abandonment, banned from all 
 society and avoided by everyone, like a man stricken 
 with leprosy or pestilence. He was thirsty! One could 
 see from his pale and parched lips that he was thirsty! 
 And it was so warm I Just then a fine impulse came to 
 me and I called out to him: 
 
 "Just wait a minute! I'll bring you some water!" 
 
 I ran down the double stairway, rushed into the 
 kitchen, seized a tin can, filled it with water from our 
 jar, and, before anyone could see me and hold me back, 
 I was out on the street. Running as fast as I could 
 without spilling the water, I turned Mangalos' corner. 
 
 "Where are you going with it?" asked Mrs. Manta- 
 lena, my first teacher, from her window. 
 
 "To Mangalos," I answered without stopping, "he 
 asked me for some water." 
 
 A good-looking girl, who was living in a single story 
 house next to Mangalos' home, heard my words, looked 
 at me with wonder in her black eyes and whispered: 
 
 "He will strangle you!" 
 
 "Without stopping I answered with a nod. There was 
 no fear of such a thing happening. Yet I was really 
 afraid and almost regretted my rashness. What if, at 
 the moment he should stretch his hands to take hold 
 of the tin can, he should seize me by the neck?
 
 122 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 But it was too late to turn back. I would be ashamed 
 to face the black eyes of that girl, who would laugh at 
 me. Let anything happen — an3i:hing! With a heart 
 beating fast, I passed his door and hurried to climb the 
 stairs. 
 
 As soon as he heard my steps, Mangalos hastened out 
 to the top of the stairs. He came down one or two 
 steps and before I was halfway up, tall as he was, he 
 leaned over and grasped the can. As if in a dream, I 
 waited for him. He went in, emptied the water into his 
 jar, came back and handed the can back to me. 
 
 His face now was actually lighted by a cmile. Oh, 
 that smile! It seemed to me that it lighted the stair- 
 way, the whole deserted gloomy house, his black hair, 
 and even his soul to its very depths — and my own soul! 
 
 * ' I thank you ! " he said with a loud voice. 
 
 "Never mind!" I whispered and fled running, re- 
 joicing and proud. 
 
 The beautiful girl was still in the same place. With- 
 out stopping I cast an arrow at her: 
 
 "Did he strangle me now?" 
 
 "Well," answered my charming mocker, with a grace- 
 ful nod of her head, "why couldn't you wait a minute?" 
 
 True, I had not waited very long. All I took time to 
 see of Mangalos, on whom for the first time I had 
 looked closely, was his smile — and his hands. Probably 
 the fear for my nock had made me pay attention to the 
 latter. His arms were bare to the elbows, and his hands
 
 MANGALOS 123 
 
 were thin and white. I was surprised that his arms 
 were not tattooed with sea-gorgons and double-headed 
 eagles and daggers, for I knew this to be the brave cus- 
 tom of all prisoners. I had expected that Mangalos, 
 who had been fifteen years in prison, would have at least 
 one gorgon on each hand, like Nasos, the tavern-owner, 
 who had not been in prison more than fifteen months. 
 
 But it seems that the murderer of Kalligeros had not 
 lived in prison like an ordinary prisoner. Later, when 
 he had become accustomed to his new condition of free- 
 dom, a condition he was unable to realize at first, when 
 the ghosts left him, and his conscience stopped bother- 
 ing him, when he stopped screaming his terrible "War 
 — is coming!" and had become more peaceful and more 
 human, he actually went as far as to hum a song. Now 
 and then I heard him. His song was slow, monotonous, 
 low, and broken by long pauses like the tune of an 
 organ with many silent notes. One day I listened to 
 catch the words. It was not the ordinary prisoner's 
 song: 
 
 "The bonds of prison are for men. ..." 
 
 nor anything like it. He was singing a church hymn! 
 The poor man had "turned his heart to God." His 
 favorite reading, as he told me later himself, was 
 "Sinner's Salvation" and the "Lives of the Saints." I 
 felt sure, too, although my information had not come
 
 124 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 from him, that he spent his mornings and evenings in 
 long prayers of worship and tears. He was asking God 
 to free him as men had already freed him. 
 
 A child's instinct is never wrong! Constantine Man- 
 galos was just what he had appeared to me to be from 
 the beginning, a repentant sinner. This confinement 
 in his own house and self-inflicted prolongation of his 
 imprisonment, even his abstinence from work was not 
 merely due to his unfamiliarity with people, freedom 
 and work. He was still feeling his sin deep in his soul, 
 and was anxious to purge it through self-inflicted pun- 
 ishment. He lived like a monk or an ascetic. Gradually 
 his head began to lose its likeness to St. John's head, 
 because he got into the habit of trimming his hair and 
 beard and even of combing them at times. Slowly and 
 steadily he was becoming a man again. 
 
 A year went by. The neighbors had now become 
 accustomed to the ex-convict and had ceased talking too 
 much about him. Besides, Constantine was not disturb- 
 ing or frightening them any longer. Even his hymn 
 singing was in a very low voice. He might spend his 
 whole life without making his presence felt to anyone. 
 I could carry on my conversation with him from the 
 window of our attic without provoking a scolding on 
 my mother's part. But his brother, Yannes, was not of 
 the same opinion. He believed this state of affairs could 
 not go on forever and insisted that Constantine should 
 start work. He had to earn his living and to pay back
 
 MANGALOS 125 
 
 the debt his brother had incurred for his sake. Tannes 
 himself had a whole family to support. Yet, he had 
 managed with borrowing and begging to pay all his 
 brother's expenses in prison and now, on top of it all, 
 he had been forced to leave his own home and to pay 
 rent. How could he stand all this? 
 
 But Constantine paid no attention at first: 
 
 "They say I've got to work," he told me one day as 
 we had our usual talk. "Am I now in condition to 
 work? Look at me. What work could I do? Butcher 
 again? No! Never!" 
 
 The expression on his face showed that he utterly 
 abhorred all killing, even of animals. Pure sentimen- 
 tality ! It was clear, the man was not in his senses. 
 
 But one day a strange revolution took place in him. 
 Lombardos, his old leader, had come to Zante, a minister 
 now! There were bells ringing and guns booming, and 
 applause, and cheers ! The whole city was up. A great 
 procession was formed and passed through Hammos, 
 and the shouts could be heard very clearly in Mangalos' 
 home. I saw him again from the window in our attic. 
 He was very pale and his dark eyes were shining with 
 anger. His face reminded me of the first daj^s he had 
 spent out of prison. I was afraid he had turned mad 
 again for good. 
 
 ' ' Honor and glory for him ! " he said to me with fury. 
 "And I, who have sacrificed myself for his love, what 
 good am I getting now from it? What good?"
 
 126 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 He had no more love for Lombardos. He regretted 
 his blind fanaticism and the crime that had been the 
 result of it. He saw clearly how he had wronged 
 himself by having once devoted himself to the worship 
 of a man who had nothing in common with him. Hia 
 love for Lombardos had made a god of a man for him, 
 and for his sake he had forgotten the heavenly God and 
 His commandments, he thought. So, on the very next 
 day, he decided to start work! 
 
 This, I believe, was not entirely unrelated to the shock 
 caused by the ovation given to Lombardos, the man who 
 was still the people's idol, while Mangalos had become 
 their laughing stock. At that time I could not explain 
 this sudden change. But now I understand it perfectly 
 and I take this turn in the martyred man 's life to be one 
 of its most moving points. 
 
 Even a great surprise was for me the incident which 
 I will tell you now before coming to an end. 
 
 Constantine Mangalos was again a butcher, or, to be 
 more exact, a ' ' meat dealer. ' ' Since he could not * * shed 
 blood" himself, he would call on Klapaftes, a young 
 man in his neighborhood who was also a butcher, 
 peddling his meat from house to house, and let him 
 slaughter one or two lambs for him daily. Then he 
 would trim them himself in his own yard and carry 
 them on his shoulders to the end of the street opposite 
 our house, where he would sell them in front of a small 
 low-class barber-shop's entrance, half of which had been
 
 MANGALOS 127 
 
 rented to him, and there he would sit waiting for cus- 
 tomers, especially from among the peasants who fre- 
 quented the barber-shop. At any rate, he would man- 
 age to sell one or two lambs each day. On Sundays, 
 as many as four. 
 
 But what happened one day? Mangalos had left a 
 live lamb in his house tied in his room near the back 
 window. Klapaftes was to slaughter it the next day. 
 The lamb, after eating all the hay that was laid on the 
 window-sill, climbed upon it, and as it tried to walk 
 it slipped and was hung outside the window from the 
 rope it was tied to, which was rather long. His bleat- 
 ings of despair brought our servant to the window of 
 our attic which saw the misfortune and began cry- 
 ing: 
 
 * ' Mangalos ' lamb is hung ! It will be strangled ! Poor 
 thing!'* 
 
 Sister and I heard it and rushed to the window of 
 our parlor, from which we could see the barber-shop 
 across the street. Mangalos was sitting there keeping 
 the flies away from his goods with a paper brush. But 
 it was rather far, and since he could not hear our voice 
 we made signs to him. At last he caught sight of us 
 and looked astonished. What could we want of him? 
 He got up and started toward us. (His walk had now 
 become more natural and the street did not seem to be 
 covered with burning coals.) When he had reached 
 the middle of the street, he could hear us.
 
 128 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 * ' Quick ! Your lamb is hanging from the window. It 
 will be strangled!" 
 
 "Oh, bad luck!" exclaimed the butcher, and ran 
 towards his house. 
 
 I went down to the street and followed him, anxious 
 to see the end of the white lamb that was hanging 
 there. Would he be able to save it? 
 
 "We arrived almost at the same time. Constantine un- 
 locked his door and went up the stairs in big strides. 
 I followed behind. But we could not hear the bleating 
 any longer. When Constantine had pulled the rope he 
 saw he had before him what seemed like a carcass. He 
 acted like a madman. 
 
 "Gone! Dead! . . . Bad luck! . . . Just wait. 
 It's breathing still! ... Its heart is beating! . . . 
 It may come to with rubbing. . . . Let me open its 
 mouth. ..." 
 
 But with all the rubbing and the blowing into its 
 mouth and shaking the lamb did not show any signs of 
 coming to. 
 
 "It will die! It will be a dead lamb!" said Con- 
 stantine with despair, "Two dollars gone! What shall 
 I do? What shall I do?" 
 
 "Kill it!" I advised him. 
 
 * * True ! There is no other way ! ' ' 
 
 He ran like a crazy man to the door and yelled: 
 
 "Klapafte! Ho, Klapafte!" 
 
 No answer.
 
 MANGALOS 129 
 
 "He is out!" said a woman's voice from the next 
 house. 
 
 ''The devil!" 
 
 He came up again, a picture of hopelessness. A 
 moment more and the lamb would be a carcass to be 
 thrown away. What could he do? 
 
 "Kill it!" I said again. "What are you waiting 
 for?" 
 
 "Me? Oh, my God! My God!" 
 
 He raised his eyes towards the blue sky that could 
 be seen from the open window, stretched out his arms, 
 sighed two or three times, and put his hands on his head. 
 Then he took out his knife and knelt over the dying lamb. 
 
 It was done. 
 
 From that day on Constantino Mangalos killed and 
 sold his own lambs. The man had come to his senses 
 again.
 
 FORGIVENESS 
 By Iakovos Polylas
 
 FORGIVENESS 
 
 *' There shall be neither temple without altar 
 nor human being without mercy.*' 
 
 — Phokion in Stoboeus I, 31. 
 
 Anastases, an eighty-year-old man, was found dead 
 at the foot of Dark Mountain about half an hour's walk 
 from his village. He was carried home by his only 
 daughter, Irene, his sister, Helen, and his old friend, 
 Charalampos. Next morning, at sunrise, they buried 
 him, the priest of the chapel of the Annunciation accom- 
 panying the dead man to his grave. No other Christian 
 man attended him except Charalampos, and the old 
 attendant of the church. They carried the coffin, and they 
 dug the grave in the church according to the practice 
 of that time in the town and country of Corfu. 
 
 One evening, soon afterwards, Charalampos entered 
 the wine-shop of his neighborhood, said "good evening" 
 to five or six men seated over their cups, took his seat in 
 a corner and ordered a cup of wine. A lively conversa- 
 tion was going on and Charalampos could not help 
 listening. 
 
 133
 
 134 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 "Surely," said one, "Nicholas' son, Charidemos, "will 
 now marry Irene." 
 
 "He wooed her four years ago. The girl was willing 
 but the father refused to listen." 
 
 "I was just going to say that myself. As long as 
 Anastases lived, the i]^arriage could not take place. 
 The old man was afraid to have Charidemos for a son- 
 in-law because he had lent his father, Nicholas, a few 
 dollars, and later he piled high interest on interest, 
 brought law-suits against him and ended by seizing 
 Nicholas' own vineyard and home." 
 
 "You aren't right about the home; that was always 
 left in the possession of Charidemos." 
 
 "True, but the old man had no good intentions about 
 it. Poor Nicholas had to promise to pay him a barrel 
 of oil yearly for that old home." 
 
 "Oil? How could he squeeze oil out of stones?'* 
 
 "The old fox had his nets well set. He foresaw that 
 Nicholas would never be able to pay it. How could 
 he ? Had the old sinner lived one year longer, Nicholas 
 would have lost his home and every one of the few 
 olive trees left him on the hillside. Three barrels were 
 already due him." 
 
 "Everj'thing will be all right now, with the marriage. 
 Charidemos will get back his own estate and all of 
 Anastases' property in addition to the heiress. God is 
 just." 
 
 "There will be no marriage. How can Charidemos
 
 «1 
 
 FORGIVENESS 135 
 
 wed the girl now ? His father charged him on his death- 
 bed never to marry her. His last words were: 'Chari- 
 demos, if you ever marry Irene, my curse will be on 
 you!'" 
 
 'But Charidemos is willing to, just the same." 
 'Yes, but how about his mother? She keeps remind- 
 ing him of his father's last words and the poor boy is 
 broken-hearted and hasn't even the courage to walk 
 near Irene's home." 
 
 "Well, the old father never knew the young people 
 had an understanding. Her aunt told me they were 
 secretly engaged. One day Irene came down at the 
 usual time to unsaddle her father's horse and water it, 
 when all of a sudden Charidemos jumped the fence and 
 with pretended force kissed her in the presence of two 
 of his friends as witnesses." 
 
 "A kissed girl can never marry another man." 
 
 "Isn't this God's mystery? The old miser, when he 
 lived, ruined other people's homes; now, when he is 
 dead, he is ruining his own." 
 
 **A bad man he was." 
 
 "Do you remember year before last when he was 
 collecting his interest, how he grinned with his black 
 toothless gums, and he complained that our crops were 
 weevilly?" 
 
 "People's misfortunes were his joys. He simply 
 longed to see poor men starve so that they might come 
 to him and beg him for a loan."
 
 136 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 II 
 
 'Andronieos — God rest his soul — treated him right." 
 
 "Yes, I remember; the covetous old man brought a 
 suit against Andronieos for a debt he had already paid. 
 The poor man had neither a written receipt nor wit- 
 nesses, and before the judge Anastases, the old scoun- 
 drel, laid his dirty hand on the Holy Bible and took 
 a false oath." 
 
 **I was just going to say that. Then, when he threat- 
 ened to put the man in jail for a paid debt, Andronieos 
 was so enraged that he put a pullet in him." 
 
 **What good did that do? They say the bullet cured 
 the old man instead of killing him." 
 
 "Yes, no one could locate the bullet, but the doctors 
 said that it had helped in healing an inner wound 
 which often made him spit blood. Poor Andronieos 
 was sentenced for life and died an unjust death after 
 two years in prison. But the old robber, who was bom 
 three days before the devil, lived too well for another 
 twenty years. Thou art great, Lord, and marvelous 
 are Thy works! Surely God kept him in the world to 
 torment good Christians." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments. 
 
 Charalampos sat sipping his wine and smoking his 
 pipe. He was not sure whether he should leave the 
 place or take part in the conversation, when the oldest 
 man in the company, who had been silent until then, 
 spoke to him. 
 
 ' ' Well, Charalampos, haven 't you anything to tell us ? "
 
 FORGIVENESS 137 
 
 "I have been listening all the time," answered Chara- 
 lampos, "and I said to myself that you don't talk like 
 good Christians on this Sabbath eve. Tomorrow we will 
 hear the gospel, and the word of truth." 
 
 ' ' Do you think, then, we have been telling lies ? ' ' 
 
 "I doubt whether everything you said was true. I 
 only want to say that even if Anastases had been as 
 crooked as you picture him, you should not talk so 
 cruelly about him just after his death. If he was wrong 
 in treating living men unjustly, you, too, are wrong 
 in speaking ill of a dead man who cannot answer you 
 from where he is now." 
 
 "It wasn't passion that made us talk that way. None 
 of us here has been his victim. We didn't need his help. 
 But we can't help sympathizing with the poor men he 
 robbed. He surely was bloodthirsty." 
 
 "There is something in Charalampos' stand," said the 
 oldest of the company again, "Anastases saved him from 
 death once." 
 
 "That was the only good act in all his life." 
 
 "Well, then," said Charalampos, encouraged a little 
 by this turn, "you see for yourselves. The man was 
 not so bad. There was some goodness left in him, just 
 as any good man can't help being a little bad, once in 
 a while. Perhaps God created him better. Do you 
 know how he was made so heartless? You, young men, 
 don't know his story, but I can tell you." 
 
 "Well, let us hear it while we wait."
 
 138 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 "This poor Anastases was just four years old when 
 he lost his father, and two or three years after that he 
 lost his mother, too. His trustee, a distant uncle, took 
 the orphan to his home and treated him worse than a 
 bad step-father. For the least of causes he would beat 
 him black and blue." 
 
 ' ' I suppose he was a crook before he was born. ' ' 
 ' ' The trustee was unscrupulous and made up his mind 
 to strip his nephew of his property. He began by steal- 
 ing everything that could be found in the orphan's 
 home. As such trifles as old troughs and mouldy bar- 
 rels could not satisfy him very well, he adopted an- 
 other scheme. He abolished all the old landmarks 
 of the estate left in his trust, changed the position 
 of the original fence that separated his land from 
 his nephew's, and built a new dividing line which 
 left his ward only a few strips of land on the edges. 
 In other words, he disinherited him and left him desti- 
 tute." 
 "Crookedness runs in the family, it seems." 
 "At that time the English needed men to build those 
 famous castles of theirs on the island of Vidos. They 
 paid them well and so they attracted a number of or- 
 phans from our village. Anastases was among them. 
 After two years of hard work he came back with a little 
 money. ' ' 
 
 "He had his first earnings from foreigners." 
 
 **No, from his own labor. With this money he built
 
 FORGIVENESS 139 
 
 his first house, which is now an abandoned ruin. He 
 had learned to be a mason during the two years. He 
 furnished his home and married an orphan girl for a 
 wife, without any dowry. He had two children, Irene, 
 who still lives, and my own little godson, Soteres. Then 
 his wife died and he was left alone to bring up two 
 children, the boy four years old, the girl, five. He had 
 to live by himself." 
 
 "Why didn't he marry another wife?" 
 "I urged him to. But he said he didn't want any 
 step-mother for his children. He would rather suffer 
 than lose them. He was a brave man. I remember still 
 how at summer he would start out two hours before 
 daybreak. He would place his children, two little angels, 
 in a bag with two or three pounds of plain foodstuff, 
 hang a flask of wine from his neck, take his pick in one 
 hand and the bag over his shoulder with the other, and 
 walk for a whole hour to go to the great woods near 
 the main village. Here he sweated the whole day in 
 the sun, cutting down wood from mastick-bushes, holm- 
 oaks, and mountain-strawberry trees to make charcoal. 
 "When he had piled up enough wood to start his kiln, 
 he would stay up all night and keep his children out 
 there, too. Sometimes he would leave half -burned wood 
 or finished charcoal in the pit, and yet nobody would 
 touch them out of pity for him. Would you believe it T ' 
 "He was very prompt in showing pity to others in 
 return, wasn't he?"
 
 140 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 "He spent five years of such labor just to keep him- 
 self and his children alive." 
 
 "Why didn't he go to work for others as we have 
 done?" 
 
 "In those days, even counting the low cost of living, 
 wages were too low, and he was too proud to work for 
 others. He Avas a good, honest, hard-working man with 
 a high spirit who could not stand the whims of an em- 
 ployer. Besides, he did not want to part with his chil- 
 dren or to trust them to the care of any relatives. After 
 what he had suffered at his uncle's hands he had no 
 faith in any kinsman." 
 
 "How did he become a rich man after such misery?" 
 
 "I never heard of a man getting rich from charcoal." 
 
 "They say he found treasure in the ruins of the old 
 castle near Gardiki. The spirit Moros showed him the 
 place. ' * 
 
 "Foolish gossip," said Charalampos. "His treasure 
 was his labor and his economy. Besides, God had made 
 him very strong. He could work eighteen hours a day. 
 In winter he would work nights, too. He could weave 
 the best baskets and make the best wearing bags, though 
 he had never been in a factory. Then he thought of 
 another plan. In summer, he would sell just enough 
 charcoal to provide for the absolute necessities of him- 
 self and his children. The greater part he would store 
 in his house to sell in winter when coal sold much higher. 
 By these methods he saved considerable money."
 
 FORGIVENESS 141 
 
 tti 
 
 'That doesn't moke niiy difference. He may have 
 come honestly by it but he used it dishonestly when he 
 mined so many poor men with it." 
 
 "I told him many times so much usury on his loans 
 was a sin and made people hate him. But he had his 
 own opinion. He would say to me 'Charalampos, I have 
 known want of food and of clothes ever since my early 
 years. I cannot forget it. My childhood was spent in 
 misery. I don't want to go through it again in my old 
 age. I want to leave something for my Irene. ' He had 
 lost his son when he was fifteen years old." 
 
 "God's sword!" 
 
 "He would tell me, 'Is it a sin to give ten in order 
 to take twenty? I don't believe it! My own ten cost 
 me not only twenty but a hundred! They are mixed 
 with the sweat of my brow, with the blood of my heart. 
 They are not like the ready money found by others in 
 their fathers' coffers. My father might have had some- 
 thing but my uncle did not leave me even the ashes of 
 it.' " 
 
 "That was pretty good advice from the devil! Is 
 that how he confessed to his priest?" 
 
 "You can't say that. Who ever saw him take the 
 sacrament ? ' ' 
 
 "He surely knew the Holy Communion would be- 
 come a fire in his heart to burn him. ' ' 
 
 "Let me get through," Charalampos continued. "I 
 am only trying to give you his own words. I am not
 
 142 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 trying to prove him right. Another thing he said was 
 this : *I am not trying to force a loan on anybody. They 
 come of themselves! Idle men and spendthrifts, who 
 waste what they have in dissipation, come to me to bor- 
 row money. If I don 't give it to them, they will borrow 
 it from a Jew. Why isn't it better for a Christian 
 to make a profit out of it?* This reminds me of some- 
 thing that happened in those hard days when we all 
 ate just boiled vegetables without a drop of oil or 
 vinegar. Old Nicholas, the father of Charidemos, just 
 before he married Agatha, borrowed fifty dollars from 
 Anastases for his wedding expenses. They ate and 
 drank and sang and danced for fifteen days and fifteen 
 nights with all their friends and kin. But after two 
 years 'the comb came to a knot.' For this loan, Anas- 
 tases dispossessed him of his vineyard and home just 
 as you said a little while ago. He had always to do 
 with some prodigal or other. Sometimes he would even 
 give a loan without interest to a working man who hap- 
 pened to fall sick. ' ' 
 "Well, well! Pity such men can't live forever!" 
 "If you keep it up you will make him a saint yet!" 
 "That isn't my point. I wanted to let you know 
 that the man had suffered wrong himself and had gone 
 through many hardships. That is how, I believe, his 
 heart was hardened. It is true, he has done harm to a 
 great many; but why not let the Almighty judge 
 him?"
 
 FORGIVENESS 143 
 
 "He has judged him, it seems," said the oldest man 
 in the company. 
 
 "Seems — what?" asked Charalampos. 
 
 "He appeared right after the day of his burial, in the 
 night." 
 
 "This is the harvest month and the moon is full." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Somebody is tired guarding his figs at night and 
 spread this rumor to scare thieves away." 
 
 "What will not Charalampos invent out of love for 
 his friend!" 
 
 "Yet I bet Charalampos has seen him . He is a man 
 of light shadow.* Haven't you told us you have often 
 met with ghosts? You are rather given to psychic 
 things, and you like to wander around nights like a 
 night-owl. ' ' 
 
 "It is true I have seen them often and I am not 
 afraid. They are airy things that can't touch you. One 
 time, a cold clear night in January at the foot of Kakava 
 Cliff, just as I was coming down to cross the ditch, I 
 saw before me a big black dog with eyes like coals afire 
 and a tail two cubits long. I made the sign of the cross 
 three times. On the third it disappeared and I jumped 
 over the ditch without any trouble. Another time I was 
 keeping watch over my grapes in my vineyard opposite 
 the hill of St. Athanases. The Orion showed it was past 
 midnight. There I saw a great stage drawn by two 
 
 * Said of a man who is given to seeing supernatural apparitions.
 
 144 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 great white horses loaded with passengers and driven 
 by an old man. It went uphill at full speed." 
 
 ' ' What of it ? Stages may pass that way any time of 
 day or night." 
 
 "True, but although it went at full speed, you could 
 hear neither wheels rattling nor horse-shoes clinking. 
 Not a single sound ! The whole way seemed to be strewn 
 with loose cotton. It was Charon passing that way with 
 the souls he had taken with him." 
 
 "Then you would make us believe there are no vam- 
 pires!" 
 
 "I don't believe in vampires, because I never have 
 seen them in my life of sixty years. A good many 
 men worse than Anastases have died without repent- 
 ing ; some of them had even robbed churches, a crime not 
 unusual in those days. I say a man can't leave his 
 grave with his whole body before the Day of the Last 
 Judgment, when the Lord will come 'to judge the living 
 and the dead.' " 
 
 "That may be true; but black souls like his are con- 
 demned immediately and God gives a sign of His judg- 
 ment." 
 
 ' ' The Almighty never reveals His judgment. It is His 
 secret. ' ' 
 
 "No priest has ever told us that." 
 
 "I am older than any one of you," said the oldest 
 of the company. "Some learned man told me once that 
 he had read in a book of a criminal whose soul on his
 
 FORGIVENESS 145 
 
 deathbed was taken by one devil while another crept 
 into his body ; and so, while his soul burned in hell, his 
 body was held together by the unclean spirit and re- 
 mained years among the living to torment them." 
 
 * ' Do you remember of late how Anastases looked after 
 a sickness? One might think he had no blood in his 
 face at all." 
 
 "Right! And do you remember how glassy his eyes 
 were ? " 
 
 Charalampos rose, lighted his pipe for the third time 
 and turned to the shop-keeper : 
 
 "Let us all have a drink of wine. My boys, believe 
 all you want; only don't speak about this to anyone 
 else, not for the dead man's sake but for his daughter's. 
 She might die of terror." 
 
 "We will do as you wish. But it is common talk 
 already. " 
 
 They drank their last glass and went out together 
 as if each was afraid to go out alone. Charalampos 
 saw everyone home and then turned towards his own 
 neighborhood. But suddenly he stopped. On second 
 thought, he felt that he did not care to go home yet. 
 
 "I sha'n't be able to close my eyes tonight, anyway," 
 he thought, and took the path toward the ravine that 
 runs alongside of the village. 
 
 The ravine was much like a funnel with sides spread 
 out and the road cutting it in two. One might think 
 the earth had been split here by an earthquake, and
 
 146 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 that the road had been opened by a thunderbolt. In 
 the bottom of the ravine was a small but rushing tor- 
 rent, which swelled with the gathering of the waters 
 from both slopes in the winter, and became almost dry 
 in the spring, leaving just enough water shining 
 between the pebbles of the bottom to keep the wild 
 flowers of the ravine alive. The place never knew sun- 
 rise or sunset and only at noon could it be reached by 
 the sun which flooded the thick grove of olive trees 
 with its light. 
 
 But there was something more remarkable still about 
 the place. On one side it was wild and thickly wooded, 
 stretching up to a ridge of great rocks beaten by the 
 sun and cracked by the winds, like petrified skulls of 
 giants. In spots one could see great caves whose open- 
 ings were partly shaded by wild fig-trees. The natives 
 pointed also to an opening which they thought bottom- 
 less, reaching down to the underworld whence the moun- 
 tain is called Dark. If you should throw a stone into that 
 cavern you would never hear it strike bottom. Those 
 caves, in the old times, were the hiding places of 
 criminals fleeing from the hands of justice and since 
 many have died in them of hunger and thirst, people 
 believed that their ghosts haunted the mountain. No 
 one dared set foot on it in the night for fear of the evil 
 spirits. 
 
 The opposite side was tame and spotted with green 
 vineyards, while on one distinct hilltop there was a
 
 FORGIVENESS 147 
 
 little chapel called St. Athanase, the Ascetic, because it 
 was said, a sainted ascetic lived and died there. So, 
 only a stride took one from a wilderness inhabited by 
 the devil and damned men to a place blessed by God's 
 church and a saint's memory. One's imagination was 
 caught by this symbolic contrast. 
 
 Charalampos mechanically followed the road dimly 
 lighted by the moon which had now reached the zenith. 
 His mind was absorbed in thought and when he reached 
 the bottom of the ravine and started going uphill he 
 forgot to make the sign of the cross as he used to when- 
 ever he faced a chapel. This time he had not taken 
 notice of the little white country temple which was 
 visible on the opposite side. The uphill path ended with 
 a level stretch of considerable length, leading through 
 groves of olive trees to a well-lighted clearing. The soft 
 light of the moon and the pure air of the open caused 
 him to emerge for a moment from his thoughts to look 
 about him for a place to rest. He sat down and plunged 
 into meditation, anxious to clear from his mind the 
 darkness that had been gathering there since he had been 
 left alone by his companions. 
 
 At this spot the one slope came to a sudden end and 
 the ground spread out evenly. On the sides of the 
 Dark Mountain an abrupt edge was formed so that the 
 narrow road bending in a horse-shoe curve had the 
 mountain over it and looked on a tremendous precipice 
 below, at the bottom of which flowed another torrent.
 
 148 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 From this fenceless balcony one could see the greater 
 valley of that district with the hills that bordered on 
 it, while farther out in the distance the mountains and 
 sea of Epirus mingled with the main, dividing the island 
 of Corfu from Italy. The two seas spread silver white 
 under the light of the moon. The night was still. There 
 was no wind stirring, and nothing marred the summer 
 quiet of the hour but the distant barking of the dogs 
 that watched over the flocks, and the clanking of the 
 bells of sheep as they happened to move in their folds. 
 At intervals, too, from the side of the Dark Mountain 
 the howl of the jackal resounded in the valley, break- 
 ing the flow of silence with its weird echo and, mingled 
 with the barking of dogs and the tinkling of bells, it 
 struck the ear just as the quivering flash of lightning 
 in a dark night strikes the eye. 
 
 Charalampos paid little attention to the scenery and 
 the sounds about him. He was concerned with the story 
 that his friend Anastases had turned into a vampire- 
 which was bound to undo all the effort he had made 
 to persuade Charidemos' mother to give her consent to 
 her son's marriage with the dead man's daughter. He 
 owed his life to Anastases and was eager to save his 
 daughter from misfortune. Was his dead friend really 
 a vampire or did the story spring from the hatred 
 people felt toward him? He would like to know the 
 truth even if he had to face the vampire himself. 
 
 At that instant he raised his eyes and suddenly saw
 
 FOKGIVENESS 149 
 
 Anastases walking slowly past the place where he had 
 been found dead. He was there with his whole body, 
 just as Charalampos himself had laid him in his grave. 
 He wore his black cap and had his long beard which 
 he had kept as a sign of mourning since his son's death. 
 Charalampos thought first of making the sign of the 
 cross and calling upon the Lord to remember him as 
 he had always done in the past on meeting with ghosts, 
 but he held his hand and his tongue this time. He did 
 not wish to dismiss Anastases before he had spoken to 
 him. 
 
 "Is that you, Anastases?" he asked. 
 
 But the ghost uttered a pitiful howl like a dog's and 
 disappeared into a grove of cypress trees. Charalampos 
 fell senseless on the ground. 
 
 Next morning there was great excitement in the vil- 
 lage. Some shepherds, passing through the clearing 
 with their flocks, had found Charalampos just able to 
 stand on his feet and had helped him to go home. Until 
 then nobody had claimed to have seen the dead man, but 
 the accident to Charalampos was clear proof to all that 
 he had surely met with the vampire the night before, 
 at the foot of Dark Mountain. 
 
 At noon, when Irene went with her pitcher to the 
 village well, the other women shrank away from her 
 with fear, and grouped themselves apart from her, whis- 
 pering to each other with mystified looks. The poor girl
 
 150 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 grew pale with a feeling of guilt and went back home 
 with trembling knees. Just as she was crossing her 
 threshold a child pointed at her and said to another: 
 
 "Look at her! Her father walks from his grave at 
 night." 
 
 The rumor had spread to all the neighborhood and no 
 one from the village dared pass the dead man's house 
 any longer. The two women were absolutely deserted, 
 and from their silent home, soon after sunset, they would 
 hear the neighbors bar and lock their doors and win- 
 dows. No one visited them, not even their old friend 
 Charalampos, who was still in bed, and had called in 
 his confessor. 
 
 Something worse happened. After Anastases' burial, 
 his sister went upstairs where Anastases kept his bed 
 and his safe, and after taking out enough money to last 
 for forty days after his death, she locked up the trap- 
 door that led to the upper floor and went downstairs 
 again. The two women were sleeping on the lower floor, 
 for some time nothing disturbed them, but early one 
 night, soon after Charalampos' accident, Irene was 
 startled from her sleep and woke up her aunt. 
 
 "What is happening upstairs?" she asked. 
 
 "Keep quiet, my child," answered the old woman, 
 "it must be a mouse rummaging for food." 
 
 "What mouse? I hear a noise like the clanking of 
 chains dragging on the floor. Can't you hear someone 
 trying to open the trap-door?"
 
 FORGIVENESS 151 
 
 "Make the sign of the cross, my child, and go to 
 sleep." 
 
 On the thirty-sixth day after Anastases' death, Chara- 
 lampos was at last able to visit his friend's home. 
 
 ''"We are in a poor state, Charalampos," complained 
 the old woman. "We don't dare leave the house any 
 longer. "We are thought of as women of lost souls. We 
 have to drink the brackish water of our own well. And 
 the fearful nights we spend ! The blessed man will not 
 let us rest at all. Do me the favor of going to Priest 
 Euthymios, and tell him to hold a memorial service for 
 him this Saturday." 
 
 "You are a second father to me, Charalampos," added 
 the daughter. "But you see life is not meant for me, 
 after this I have no hope that Charidemos will take me." 
 
 "Charidemos hasn't changed his mind," said Chara- 
 lampos. 
 
 "I believe you. He is a man of his word. But how 
 can I join his home when his mother does not want me 
 and keeps cursing my father's memory? You know 
 how it is. Perhaps God meant everything for the best. 
 My father was covetous, as people say, and I may not 
 enjoy ill-gotten goods. I am thinking of leaving every- 
 thing to you to give in alms. I will go to a convent 
 to atone for his tormented soul. It was wrong for me 
 to become engaged to Charidemos against my father's 
 will, and now I pay for it. ' '
 
 152 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 "Your plan is pious," said Charalampos, "but let a 
 year go by before you make up your mind. If a man 
 wants to be a hermit lie must forget the world first; I 
 don't believe you will ever forget Charidemos." 
 "If I can't forget him, I shall have to die." 
 Charalampos made a great effort to check his tears. 
 "I must go," he said, "to arrange for the service." 
 "Let it be early, before sunrise," said the old woman, 
 "without the sound of any bell. We will go to church 
 before daybreak and we will come home after dark." 
 "We'll do what is best," said Charalampos. 
 
 Charalampos went first to ask the advice of the pastor 
 of St. John's, who was his confessor. 
 
 "I know why you come to me, Charalampos," said the 
 old priest as soon as he saw him. "Since the day you 
 invited me to your house you have been thinking about 
 nothing else but how to help those poor women." 
 
 "Yes. I have heard that in the old days they had 
 some way of giving peace to the dead." 
 
 "I know it. This time we have to put the people of 
 the village in a forgiving mood first." 
 
 "Especially Charidemos' mother. The poor boy, as 
 I have heard, is planning to leave the country forever. 
 Do what you may think best, with God's help. My mind 
 is at a loss ever since my last blow." 
 
 "Don't mind that — I have told you your sin has been 
 forgiven. In your desire to help your friend's daughter
 
 FORGIVENESS 153 
 
 you forget for a moment that God has His own will and 
 cannot brook a man's interference. Let ns have faith 
 and hope in Him. Saturday is the fortieth day after 
 the poor man's death. Come to the chapel of the An- 
 nunciation at the usual hour and bring the two women 
 with you." 
 
 **The women want the service to be held in secret." 
 
 ** These things must not be held in secret. Tell them 
 there is nothing to fear, ' ' 
 
 The pastor of St. John, ninety years of age and 
 greatly respected, both in his own village and in the 
 surrounding districts, was a keen and far-sighted man. 
 He had foreseen so many things that people thought 
 him a prophet; and he had coped with so many diffi- 
 cult situations that people had come to consider him en- 
 dowed by God with miraculous grace. During the two 
 intervening days the old hermit called to his cell many 
 of the villagers, as well as the mother of Charidemos. 
 These actions mystified the people ; they gathered outside 
 the old man's hut and inquired of each one as he came 
 out what the hermit wanted. No one revealed the 
 secret. On Friday evening the bells of the chapel of 
 the Annunciation sounded mournfully, and the news 
 spread everywhere that on Saturday morning a me- 
 morial service would be held for the repose of the soul 
 of Anastases. 
 
 In the morning, Charalampos, with the two women, 
 went to church and found it full. The old hermit, with
 
 154 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the other tvro priests of the village, celebrated the 
 funeral service. After the prayers for the departed, 
 holy water was consecrated. Then the old hermit, plant- 
 ing the Holy Cross upon the dead man's grave, spoke 
 in a voice that could be heard by those in the church, 
 as well as by all standing outside in the churchyard. 
 
 **This sinner — we are all sinners — cannot find rest 
 until you have forgiven him. From where he now is, 
 he implores your forgiveness." 
 
 With these words he poured the Holy Water into the 
 hole made by the end of the cross. As soon as the ground 
 absorbed it, an earthquake shook the walls of the church, 
 and all those present, as well as the priests, cried: 
 
 "Oh, Lord! let thy servant be at rest!" 
 
 Then the old priest called to him Irene, Charidemos, 
 and his mother, and placing the bride's hand in that of 
 the bridegroom said to the mother: 
 
 * ' Give your blessing to these two orphans. The Omni- 
 potent wills it."
 
 ANGELICA 
 
 By Aegykes Eftaliote*
 
 ANGELICA 
 
 There was great excitement in the village when An- 
 gelica made her first appearance. The people who were 
 used to the timid and restrained ways of all village girls 
 saw suddenly one who descended among them like a 
 goddess. In the first place, she was as white as if the 
 sun had never seen her; then she was pleasant and 
 cheerful and lively and she had beautiful white teeth 
 that drove anyone crazy when she smiled. Third, she 
 never wore peasant costumes, her dresses were all from 
 the city. She was the kind you might look at and never 
 get tired of looking. 
 
 Angelica started a revolution in the village. The 
 good village folks had not been anticipating such a 
 trouble when they brought her there. Their purpose 
 was innocent. All they needed was a good schoolmistress 
 who would teach their girls how to read and write; so 
 they wrote about it to the city, and after a little while 
 they received Angelica as a reply. 
 
 They had not built a schoolhouse yet. They had to 
 rent an ordinary house in which Angelica immediately 
 proceeded to civilize the girls of the village. So far so 
 good. The girls were learning that bread could not be 
 
 157
 
 158 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 eaten in a book unless it took the ancient name, and 
 when they left off the books they began their handi- 
 work. In the evening, when they went home, one would 
 show her father the hemming she had made, another a 
 pair of fancy slippers, and another an embroidered 
 tobacco-pouch. The fathers would look on these achieve- 
 ments with satisfaction and were proud that their 
 daughters were at last learning city ways. 
 
 But this was not the end of the matter. The big girls, 
 who could no longer go to school because of their age, 
 did not like the idea of being left behind. Why should 
 their j^ounger sisters alone get all the merits and graces? 
 So they proceeded to besiege Angelica and would not let 
 her alone. There was no evening party where Angelica 
 was not the central figure. She would tell them stories, 
 explain to them different city customs, sing them city 
 songs, and tell one tale after another. And they would 
 forget their country plays and songs and stories and 
 listen to Angelica with enchantment. 
 
 Of course when the schoolmistress left the party to 
 go home, the village girls would remember their native 
 ways, and so they ridiculed their poor friend in a thou- 
 sand ways. One would mimic her voice; another her 
 uncommon words; another her roguish eyes. But their 
 play was entirely innocent, wathout jealousy and with- 
 out sting; all they were after was a little fun. When 
 they had done with laughing, they would end by ex- 
 pressing their admiration for her red lips, her perfect
 
 ANGELICA 159 
 
 white teeth, her little feet, her light step, her orna- 
 ments, her dresses, her grace, and her beauty. 
 
 By noticing and admiring everything about her, the 
 village girls began to change their ways. Of course, this 
 change was slow and superficial. A peasant girl can- 
 not change her nature. Consequently the change went 
 only so far as a few words, some mannerisms, and some 
 ornaments. This was exactly what made the village 
 fathers look on the fascinating witch with misgivings. 
 The good homespun stuffs, silks and linens were not 
 enough any longer; they had to buy from the shop all 
 kinds of ribbons and buttons and rags in addition. 
 Worst of all, the imitation was not perfect and so you 
 might see all of a sudden queer combinations of city 
 hats and country necklaces, or French furbelows and 
 short country jackets, or something similar. Now, the 
 fathers found no particular fault with the strange 
 fashions; they rather liked them, but what impressed 
 them painfully was the effect they had on their pock- 
 ets, the expense they involved. This was a revolution 
 that was bound to inspire them with fear. So the more 
 fashionable the daughter became the more careful the 
 father was of his greasy fur-coat and his patched 
 boots. 
 
 But the trouble did not stop there. Angelica, as we 
 have seen, was vivacious and talkative. In imitation of 
 her the tongues of the peasant girls began to grow 
 sharper and sharper, sometimes even in the presence of
 
 160 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 strangers. At times they would go as far as to say a 
 pert word to their fathers. 
 
 Now the prominent men of the village and the mem- 
 bers of the school-board were good patriots and had the 
 progress of their village at heart. But their care for 
 their households was superior even to their patriotism, 
 and every time they assembled in the coffee-house to play 
 with their beads, they would consider various plans of 
 curtailing Angelica's influence somewhat. They could 
 not get rid of her — that was plain. A teacher they had 
 to have anyway. Who could guarantee a better one, if 
 they should dismiss her? They might get a worse 
 one. 
 
 "I have found a way out," said one of them one day. 
 His name was Beardless, though he had a beard. "Let 
 us make our schoolmistress marry someone. She will 
 have a home of her own then and there will be peace 
 for her and us, too. ' ' 
 
 "Marry her? How? Didn't you hear what she was 
 telling my daughter the other day ? It was a shame, she 
 said, that a girl should have to marry a man her parents 
 wished on her, instead of getting a man of her own 
 choice!" 
 
 "Well, then, let her make her own choice; a little 
 management and the thing is done." 
 
 As good luck would have it, there lived among them 
 a man with a good, generous heart, Myzethras, the 
 master-mason. He was the victim chosen by Beardless,
 
 ANGELICA 161 
 
 who found him one evening in the wine-shop and with 
 a few words led him into his trap. 
 
 ** Why do you waste your good looks and your youth?'* 
 he said. "Where will you be able to find again such 
 a fairy, such a sea-foam of beauty, such a lily? What 
 is better than such a woman ? You have enough money ; 
 what does it matter if she is without a dowry? Hurry 
 up and get ready for a serenade. If you are afraid of a 
 serenade send her a flower, find some sort of pretext 
 and the rest will take care of itself. Why waste any 
 more words? Go to her home tonight and see 
 whether the new wall is really settling. Just make 
 a beginning and don't worry about the rest. I'll be 
 here. ' ' 
 
 Myzethras at first took all this as a joke on Beard- 
 less' part. He knew Beardless was fond of teasing peo- 
 ple and he did not pay much attention to him. But as 
 he was going home that evening, Myzethras did not sing 
 in his usual way. He was buried in strange thoughts. 
 He had lost his peace of mind. Why should Beardless 
 play that joke on him? he wondered. Why could it not 
 be true as well ? What did he have to lose if he should 
 try anyway? If he succeeded, what man in the village 
 would have such a treasure for a wife ? And if he failed 
 and people made the customary song about it Beardless 
 would have to bear blame, because he would be the 
 cause of it all. 
 
 He took the uphill road that led him to the school-
 
 162 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 house. He stopped for a while to get his breath. Then 
 he cast a glance at Angelica's windows and he felt an 
 impulse to burst into loud song. But he refrained and 
 walked on. At last he came to the door. His heart 
 was trembling now, his throat was getting dry, and 
 he perspired with anxiety. He stooped to peep through 
 the keyhole before knocking. He saw the servant in 
 the hall, and through the open door of the room he 
 could see Angelica sitting before a work-table, bending 
 over her embroidery. 
 
 "Beardless is right," he thought, "she is a devil of 
 a girl ! A fairy! But what shall I tell her first? Well, 
 I might start with a 'good evening,' and God will help 
 me with the rest." 
 
 He knocked at the door. The maid opened it and the 
 master-mason entered. 
 
 Angelica started up half-frightened. She stood as 
 straight as a church-taper with her dark-brown eyes 
 wide open, wondering what he wanted at such a late 
 hour. 
 
 "Good evening to you," he began, "and a lamp, 
 please, to light my way to the cellar; they say the new 
 wall is settling and Beardless has sent me to look it 
 over." 
 
 Angelica directed the maid: 
 
 "Maroula, light a lamp and give it to the mason. I 
 hope there is nothing the matter with the wall." 
 
 "I have already examined it from outside. I found
 
 ANGELICA 163 
 
 nothing wrong there. But I had better examine the 
 inside, too." 
 
 He went down to the cellar, and when he came np 
 reported that there was no cause for fear, and they had 
 better hush the matter up because people might get 
 scared for nothing and stop sending their girls to school. 
 
 During the report he had the chance of facing An- 
 gelica, standing. Myzethras was not a bad looking lad 
 at all. He was tall, had brown eyes, a smart thin mous- 
 tache, and a very fine tongue, an expert in winning 
 words. But just now his tongue was as good as tied. 
 What could he say to her and the maid within hear- 
 ing? He looked all around, examining every wall as an 
 excuse to linger. Then, with a sudden inspiration, he 
 exclaimed: "Since I am here, let us have a look at 
 the schoolroom from the inside." He took the lamp 
 and went into the schoolroom alone, to think out some 
 way to begin. Angelica had not followed him. 
 
 ''See here!" he called out. 
 
 Angelica entered the schoolroom. Light and darknesa 
 blended in the spacious room with no other light than 
 the small wick of the lamp. Angelica walked very 
 lightly and stood like a statue before him, dazzling him 
 with her graceful dress, her dark brown eyes, her white 
 neck, and her little hands pressed against her bosom 
 as if she felt the chill of the room. 
 
 "That crack there must be what made Beardless 
 worry, ' ' he remarked. ' * What it needs is a little plaster.
 
 164 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 that's all. The building is as sound as it is lucky. All 
 our girls improve wonderfully here." 
 
 "It is so kind of you to say that," Angelica replied 
 with a smile. 
 
 ' * Madam, village folks talk straight. I could tell yon 
 another truth if I was not afraid you might take it 
 amiss, ' * 
 
 "What is that?" Angelica was curious and took one 
 step nearer him. 
 
 "There is a soul in the village who is almost crazy 
 about you." 
 
 "Is that so? And who is this soul? Tell me while 
 we are here. Nobody can hear it." 
 
 "What if you get angry?" 
 
 "I can promise you I won't; why should I get 
 angry?" 
 
 ' ' Well, I '11 tell you then. He is a man who is neither 
 old nor poor. He hasn 't got much education but he has 
 seen a little of the world. He learned his trade abroad. 
 You see, he is a skilled workman. He cannot tell his 
 trouble like a book, but he can sing like a bird in the 
 woods. He can't bow like a Frenchman, but he can 
 love like a Greek," 
 
 "And what's his name?" asked Angelica, beating her 
 little foot with impatience. 
 
 "I cannot tell his name; I don't dare," and Myzeth- 
 ras stood silent. 
 
 "I wonder if he can be so tall and handsome and
 
 ANGELICA 165 
 
 strong and sweet-spoken?" Angelica asked, again with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "I can't tell you, I can't; my mind is going out like 
 this lamp." He placed the lamp on a desk and fixed 
 his eyes on the ground, in deep thought. 
 
 "What is the matter, my good lad? You seem to be 
 in trouble." 
 
 His eyes fixed on her, Myzethras had an inspiration. 
 Spontaneously he burst forth: 
 
 **No trouble to the world confessed 
 Brings such a sorry plight 
 As love that bums within the breast 
 And never comes to light." 
 
 The teacher began to understand something. But 
 whether from a desire to play or from her willingness 
 to spend a little more time on the matter, she wanted 
 to hear more about it and displayed unsuspecting inno- 
 cence. 
 
 "It seems to me you are deeply in love," she said. 
 "I wonder who the unfortunate one can be who is 
 ignorant of your affection?" 
 
 Myzethras' eyes were in flames as he murmured; 
 
 ** Angelica, is sugar-sweet. 
 
 As flower-kissed bees, home-flitting; 
 Angelica is water fresh, 
 
 A drink for angels fitting."
 
 166 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Angelica could pretend no more. A shiver ran 
 through her. She could not stay any longer beside him. 
 He might stoop and kiss her. So she took two steps 
 back, put on her air of indifference as to a stranger, 
 and cut the interview short: 
 
 "Well, there's nothing the matter with the wall. It 
 was very good of you to take this trouble." And she 
 went back into the room. 
 
 Myzethras was lost. He felt the sting of both love 
 and shame. He looked around to find some avenue of 
 retreat so that he might not again meet proud Angelica. 
 
 His eyes fell on the outside door of the school through 
 which the girls went when they were dismissed and 
 walked straight to it. . He opened it and slipped out on 
 tip-toe. 
 
 But when he had reached the yard and had started 
 going down the hill the breeze blew on him and he 
 recovered himself. Shame had gone, but love still re- 
 mained. So when he had gone a little further and saw 
 the plain spreading before him, and the moonlight play- 
 ing on the waves, his good heart was again awakened 
 and he made the world resound with his song : 
 
 **I say good-night to my sweetheart, I will not tell her \ 
 name. 
 The name that makes my eyes shed tears, and fills 
 my heart with pain."
 
 ANGELICA 167 
 
 II 
 
 "Tell me, please, tell me some more of your enchant- 
 ing little songs," said Angelica one evening to the girls 
 who were busy sewing and embroidering in the light 
 of the oil lamp. ' * They are very, very pretty and sweet 
 and fragrant like royal mint. Tell me some more! I 
 am just dying for these country blossoms of yours 
 which you scorn, my poor girls, not realizing what a 
 treasure is yours ! my village, my dear little village ! 
 Where can you get such an evening party in a city? 
 Where else can you hear such scented little songs ? Some 
 day I will know them, too, these songs. I just can't live 
 without them." At the same time she began humming 
 one of the village airs : 
 
 "My little cypress, young and tall, I wish to speak to 
 you; 
 Just bend your head to hear my words ; and take my 
 life so true." 
 
 A ripple of laughter ran around the group. The girls 
 seemed to have gone mad. 
 
 * * How well she sings them ! As if she had been born 
 among us in the village, the little rogue!" 
 
 "Bah! Didn't you know I was born in a village? 
 Of course, they took me to the city very young, poor 
 girl, because I had neither father nor mother. My
 
 168 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 old uncle, Father Phlessas, took me to the city and 
 brought me up and gave me my education. Yet I re- 
 member my blessed mother as if she lived only yester- 
 day. I will show you how she looked. Everybody says 
 I am just like her." 
 
 She took a country scarf and bound it about her head 
 and looked at them with quiet and thoughtful eyes. She 
 was exactly like a picture now. 
 
 The country girls sat and looked at her with silent 
 astonishment. They were deeply moved and two of 
 them were actually crying. 
 
 "You are one of us, Angelica. Get it out of your 
 head that you will make Frenchwomen of us," said the 
 oldest of them. 
 
 **Make Frenchwomen of you? God forbid! Better 
 see to it that you don't make a Frenchwoman of me 
 now that I have become a country girl again. One week 
 more and you will sing a bridal song for me!" 
 
 All the girls were thunderstruck! They dropped 
 their handiwork and looked at each other with amaze- 
 ment. Then they started screaming and screeching like 
 mad and jumped up, crowding around Angelica, want- 
 ing to know exactly what she meant. 
 
 "Just let me get my breath, and I will tell you. 
 Simple enough; I fell in love with a young lad and I 
 will marry him. Don't get jealous. He's nobody's 
 sweetheart. He is from another neighborhood. He is 
 neither old nor poor. He hasn 't got much education but
 
 ANGELICA 169 
 
 he knows his trade. He can't tell his love like a book 
 but he can sing like a bird iii the woods." 
 
 "And his name?" all shouted at the same time. 
 
 "His name? Something that tastes nice with honey." 
 
 " Myzethras ! "* exclaimed the oldest girl. 
 
 "Right! And since you are the first to find him out 
 you will come to help the bride dress on her wedding 
 day. It will be at Beardless' home." 
 
 It turned out exactly as she had said. Beardless, like 
 a good man, assumed the part of a kind father and took 
 the whole affair into his hands. 
 
 Angelica insisted on being a real country bride. There 
 was gold-dust and all kinds of ornaments and good times 
 such as make country people call a wedding "joy," 
 
 As for the bridegroom, nobody could ever put a stop 
 to his wild enthusiasm. Even during the ceremony, he 
 bent over and said to Beardless : 
 
 "I am a king! Angelica is my crown! And you are 
 my vizier!" 
 
 He was not far from right. Beardless had managed 
 the whole affair like a regular vizier. He was the man 
 who had gone and stirred up Angelica's flame after that 
 historic evening. He had carried the wedding message 
 to Myzethras' mother. Within two weeks everything 
 was finished and mother Myzethras had settled down 
 with her son and daughter-in-law, determined to live for- 
 
 ♦Myzethra is a kind of soft cheese somewhat like cream 
 cheese, eaten with honey in various places in Greece.
 
 170 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 ever with them and to take care of her grandchildren 
 while Angelica was running her school. 
 
 The schoolmistress had now become a respectable 
 matron; she dressed, spoke and behaved like everybody 
 else; and the village girls were cured of the craze that 
 had been driving them to ape the manners of French- 
 women.
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 
 By KosTES Pat.amas
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 Tms story I dedicate to you, simple and illiterate 
 woman, to you, my poor Dawn. It was from your mouth 
 that I heard it first and I tried to keep it as faithfully 
 as I could so that I might be just your own echo. For 
 when you talk, a whole people whispers your words, 
 and though you don't know it, every story you tell is 
 a poem of the race. You are no woman; you are 
 heralding Rumor. You have nothing of the flesh; you 
 are made of soul. Your eyes are never still, never dusky. 
 Whatever you tell is living before you and you see every- 
 thing as Imagination would see it. For this reason your 
 words are alive and your speech wise, my simple and 
 illiterate woman. Your eyes magnetize me, your words 
 fascinate me, and I feel something that day by day 
 binds me closer to you. You first sang to me, a baby in 
 the cradle; may the last words that reach my ears on 
 my deathbed come from your mouth. 
 
 A Man's Death 
 
 No one had gone to bed; everybody was up. How 
 could they sleep on such a great night, — Good Friday 
 
 173
 
 174 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 night! It was past midnight and the bells of all three 
 little chapels of the Village by the Sea were dumb. 
 When Christ suffers, bells, too, like things with human 
 souls, are silent and cannot make a sound because of 
 their deep pain. But the children deafened every- 
 body with their wooden rattles and ran from street 
 to street and from door to door, shouting at the 
 top of their voices: "Time for Church! Time for 
 Church!'' 
 
 A few sleepy ones were startled, jumped up and 
 rushed to the windows. They thought it was early dawn 
 and the procession of the Holy Sepulchre was passing 
 through the street. 
 
 For love of Christ, once a year, on Good Friday night 
 the bells of the Village by the Sea are dumb; just the 
 bells. Because from end to end the whole village is up 
 and stirring for love of Christ, once a year, on Good 
 Friday night. 
 
 So it happened on that night, too. Women and men, 
 together or separately, were coming out of their homes 
 or their coffee-houses, and starting for church. Their 
 footsteps fell heavy on the pavements and became more 
 and more distant in the echo of the night, dripping with 
 cool April dew. The moon, weary for sleep, was about 
 to set; and its light fell dimmer and dimmer on the 
 dark old huts with their weathered walls and on the 
 crooked streets which somehow were never without a 
 bit of mud. The churches were brilliant with light ; and
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 175 
 
 their doors wide open. Now and then you could hear 
 the reader's voice just before the beginning of the 
 lamentations. 
 
 But the great celebration was taking place outside the 
 churches. Around big fires, fed with rosin, vine-twigs, 
 old lumber, sweepings, wooden troughs, wash-baskets, 
 and sometimes with a whole window frame — God help 
 the low houses and thoughtless housewives on such a 
 night — a whole lot of children of all sorts, and among 
 them even men with moustaches, jumped and ran and 
 shouted and acted like mad. In the dark, quiet night 
 skyrockets went flashing and big cannon-crackers — ^Lord 
 help us! — and Chinese crackers and grasshoppers all 
 skilfully made with reed and heavy paper filled with 
 lots of powder. Inside the church collection was taken 
 for powder. Grown men and boys singed themselves 
 and glistened in the midst of the lights and flames of all 
 these fireworks for the good of the season. The whole 
 Village by the Sea smelled of powder, and one parish 
 seemed at war with another. 
 
 It wasn't the churches only that were open in that 
 hour. Here and there one could find a public kitchen 
 or a coffee-house with half-opened door. It was not in 
 everybody's power to stand on his feet in church all 
 the time, until 3 :00 A. M., when the procession to the 
 Holy Sepulchre was to start out ! With a cup of strong 
 sweet coffee, some tit-bit or other, and a draught or two 
 of wine from Pyrgos, a man could come to, after the
 
 176 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 fasting period, and pick np enough strength to join the 
 procession of the Sepulchre; and so, one after another, 
 small companies with refreshed stomachs were walking 
 slowly toward the church. 
 
 One merry company had forgotten itself in Psemenos' 
 tavern till the very last. There were Metros Rumeliotes, 
 Yannakos Tarnanamas, Markos Kaninias, and Chari- 
 taina's son, whom nobody called by his name till he had 
 forgotten it himself and answered only to the name of 
 Taria Tarela. All four were seamen. The first owned 
 a fishing boat; the second worked on it; the third was 
 working with the transport boats ; and Taria Tarela was 
 a fisherman. All four were twenty-five years old and 
 had lived like brothers since they were small children. 
 Wine and talk had lit up their heads, and if it hadn't 
 been Good Friday they might have taken to loud sing- 
 ing. Song somewhat timid and soft tried to spring from 
 their lips against their will even on such a night. But 
 at last they were aware that it was late. They could 
 hear the lamentations sung in the Chapel of St. Nicholas 
 just a few steps from the tavern. Psemenos was on the 
 wing, ready to close up. They all jumped up and 
 walked out into the street. **I forgot those Roman can- 
 dles ! " shouted Kaninias. They were going to light them 
 in the procession. * * I put them at the foot of the table, 
 on the left side of the cover," said Metros. **Wait a 
 minute; I will fetch them." 
 
 Hurriedly he turned toward the coffee-house, but as
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 177 
 
 he turned on tlie pavement he slipped and — pop! — he 
 fell down flat with a heavy thud. 
 
 Three loud laughs escaped from the mouths of 
 Markos, Yannakos and Taria, while a painful cry, " I 'ra 
 done for," was heard from Metros. 
 
 "Come, now, man, don't say 'done for,' get up; did 
 you hurt yourself?" 
 
 "I say, I am done for! I can't get up! Can't you 
 believe me?" 
 
 He stopped with a groan and his voice sounded 
 broken and plaintive as if it, too, had been hurt in the 
 fall. It struck their ears so painful and so low that it 
 seemed to come from the very heart of the man ; and it 
 was so changed with pain and so faint, that all three 
 felt their bodies covered with sweat. They saw it was 
 no joke. 
 
 ''Metros, old boy!" was all they could say, and they 
 hurried to get hold of him and help him up. 
 
 "All for nothing! A bad step — I slipped — it seems 
 on some fruit — it must have been a lemon peel — such bad 
 luck — I am done for ! Oh ! ! " 
 
 His voice became weaker and more plaintive. He tried 
 to stand up but could not. The others had to lift him. 
 
 "Courage, Metros!" 
 
 Metros could not stand on his feet; one leg, the right 
 one, he could not feel at all. It seemed to him like a 
 piece of iron which he could not move. They held him 
 up by slipping their arms under his armpits. Psemenoa
 
 178 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 had closed his shop and stood by to see whether he 
 could help. Farther away the children's voices were 
 heard from the church, loud and cheerful. The rockets 
 rose into the sky and the night was all flashes and racket 
 and whistles, with showers of sparks. Through the door 
 and windows of St. Nicholas Church the lighted tapers 
 and candles of the procession of the Sepulchre seemed 
 like so many stars. Clear voices from children's throats 
 sang: 
 
 *'Siveet spring, 
 Sweet cliild of mine 
 Where is thy beauty gone?** 
 
 "Let us take him home." 
 
 "Go and fetch my mother, Kaninias; she is gone to 
 church." 
 
 * ' You are right : Kaninias, go through the little back 
 door and speak to the chapel-keeper first. She may tell 
 her that someone is looking for her ; use some tact. ' ' 
 
 "Don't scare the old woman blue, brother; just tell 
 her Metros would like to speak to her." 
 
 The widow of Demos, Metros' mother, was in church; 
 she had been there since the evening before with the 
 other women ; she had spent the night by the Sepulchre. 
 Her husband had died before she reached middle age; 
 and ever since that time good-bye to jackets of gold 
 brocade, dashing skirts and red fez! She kept house
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 179 
 
 only for Metros' sake, her only boy, and when she went 
 out it was to take care of the little vineyard she had 
 inherited from her husband. On her way to the vine- 
 yard she had to go through the graveyard, and now and 
 then she would light a taper and burn some incense on 
 the blessed man's grave. She was a strong, industrious 
 woman. But when her son grew up and sailed with the 
 ships, following his father's trade, and when, by and 
 by, with his mother's blessing and by his own labor, he 
 had become the owner of a sailing boat, the widow of 
 Demos remembered that she was a Christian woman. 
 She had taken care of her little fledgling ; she might now 
 take care of her own soul. From that time on she went 
 to church more often; and as the years went by — she 
 was now in the sixties — she felt she was becoming more 
 and more pious. But, to tell the truth, she was more 
 afraid of witchcraft and of fairies, a state of mind which 
 she could not understand herself. 
 
 **Mrs. Demaina, they are looking for you. Your 
 
 son " The keeper of the church whispered the words 
 
 into the mother's ears as she tugged at her dress. 
 
 "My boy? What does he want of me?" 
 
 She had not finished her question when Markos 
 Kaninias appeared before her, without a hat and pant- 
 ing hard: 
 
 "It is nothing, Mrs. Demaina; Metros has only 
 sprained his ankle." 
 
 Up jumped the old woman. A rumor started about
 
 180 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 her, and the women began talking in whispers. "Keep 
 quiet, women!" shouted the deacons with anger. But 
 how could the women keep silent ? Something had hap- 
 pened. What sort of sprain was this? Someone had 
 heen burned with the cannon crackers ; someone had been 
 stabbed. In a moment half the church was empty. Who 
 could hold the people back ? The church could be found 
 again ; but such accidents — God deliver us ! — cannot hap- 
 pen every day. 
 
 *' My eyes! My eyes! Christ help us !" cried the old 
 woman, running. Outside the church her boy was stand- 
 ing before her, leaning against the wall, with his com- 
 panions near him and five or six other men. 
 
 "It is nothing, Mother; I slipped and fell; my knee 
 is a little hurt. Let us go home and have something 
 done for it.'* 
 
 The poor woman felt a great stone removed from her 
 breast. She had feared that something worse had hap- 
 pened ; but when she saw him standing like that before 
 her in the half-dimmed light of the moon she breathed 
 again. 
 
 "Christ help us! It was an evil hour, my boy!" 
 
 But she did not know that IMetros could not stand 
 upon his legs and that he himself had asked the boys 
 to help him lean against the wall so that his mother 
 might not be shocked too suddenly. While he was ask- 
 ing them to aid him in that position, he had thought 
 also of something else, which did not escape his lips —
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 181 
 
 "How will Phrosyne take it when she sees me!" 
 
 Phrosyne was his sweetheart. 
 
 Holding, dragging, half-lifting him, they finally 
 reached the house. That year neither the widow of 
 Demos, Markos Kaninias, Yannakos Tarnanamas, nor 
 Taria Tarela took any joy in the procession of the Holy 
 Sepulchre. The sick man could not close his eves; he 
 suffered from pain and groaned like a bull. His leg 
 swelled and swelled until it became like a pillar! 
 
 They called the best doctor in the Sea Village, a 
 well-educated doctor with a good name. He had saved 
 many from death's hands. True, the village folk called 
 on him only in the last moment, when they had lost 
 all faith in the men and women quacks. For this reason 
 he appeared chronically angry ; not because he was losing 
 anything from not being called sooner but because they 
 were risking their lives, the fools, by trusting mere 
 cheats. But, just the same, he did his work, and after 
 he had saved his patient he would burst into scoldings, 
 whether you paid him or not. At first men were afraid 
 of him, airs had no effect upon him. But when they 
 got used to his ways they could not do without him. 
 He looked more like a skipper than a doctor. This time 
 Markos Kaninias, Yannakos Tarnanamas, and Taria 
 Tarela acted honestly and wisely; they went directly to 
 the doctor's and would not pay any attention to Mrs. 
 Demaina, who wanted to call on Madame Mariye of Con- 
 stantinople because she could avert the evil eye, overcome
 
 182 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 mysterious diseases, and straighten out dislocated bones 
 and was good for anything. 
 
 The doctor looked the leg over. What a devil's hurt, 
 right on the knee-cap, the very hinge of the leg! He 
 looked at it carefully then he wrapped it tight between 
 reeds — bandaged it, as the doctors say, and then spoke : 
 
 "Don't move it; your leg will be cured but it will 
 take time and patience. "With time the tendon will turn 
 back and your leg will be well. Only, for your sake, 
 don't bother it." 
 
 He repeated the last words again and again : 
 
 "Don't bother it!" 
 
 He knew how stubborn the folks of the Village by the 
 Sea were. 
 
 Metros Roumeliotes had a big heart and great pa- 
 tience. But the trouble that had come to him was God 's 
 curse. The folks of the Village by the Sea might have 
 a thousand minds for one thing; for Metros they had 
 only one: Metros was a man! They laughed about 
 education but they did worship manhood — Metros had 
 never set foot within a school. He had learned his les- 
 sons from the sun, the wind, and the waves ; and among 
 them he had grown from his childhood up. There was 
 nothing uncommon about his appearance. His breast 
 was no "mossy wall," and his head no "castle," like 
 the hero's in the old folk song. He was neither tall 
 nor short; rather thin than stout, of dark complexion, 
 with a thin moustache and thick curly hair; he wore
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 183 
 
 his cap jauntily on one side and a red scarf was wound 
 many times about his waist. Winter and summer he 
 wore a flannel shirt. Yet, in spite of this ordinary ap- 
 pearance, he was bubbling over with manly vigor which 
 one could see in his bearing, in his walk and in every 
 glance and movement. 
 
 So Metros Roumeliotes, with his twenty-five years, his 
 inconspicuous body and his almost shy appearance could 
 make and unmake a world. Nobody could outrun him ; 
 with his fist he could bring down a buffalo. When he 
 planted his feet on the ground, no man could move him. 
 One day Yannakos Tamanamas, Markos Kaninias and 
 Taria Terela struggled for a whole hour, with their hands 
 around his legs, trying to pull him from his place. In 
 vain! He stood as firm as a rock. At the end, with 
 their struggling and sweating they were so dizzy they 
 came very near fainting. But with those legs of his — 
 which were so iron-hard that nobody could even bend 
 them, he could fly and jump and whirl around as if he 
 were made of wings and flame and wind, whenever the 
 son of the widow of Demos led a dance. 
 
 Every year, on the festival of St. Elijah, on the slopes 
 
 of Mt. Zygos, where the cold water runs and the plane 
 
 trees with their leaves make a cheerful shelter of cool 
 
 breezes and shadows and sweet whispers, near the hiding 
 
 places of the old klephts,* Metros Roumeliotes, in his 
 
 ♦ Popular heroes who, under the Turkish yoke, roamed in 
 the mountains whence they made raids on the Turks to avenge 
 the victims of Turkish tyranny. They are the theme of many 
 beautiful folk songs in Greece.
 
 184 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 white kilts and the gold armor of his grandfather, who 
 had been a squire to Makres, the famous mountain chief, 
 would go with the other villagers to the festival and 
 dance. All others then would drop their own fun, gather 
 around him, and forget themselves in gazing. Every 
 step of his in the dance, alert and swift like the motion 
 of wings, diffused sweetness and aroused manhood in 
 everyone. It transported one into another world, the 
 world of legends and of strong warriors who would first 
 dance with other young people on the plains and then 
 fight with Charon on the marble threshing floors.* The 
 women who saw him then would remember him many 
 months after the festival with pride in their hearts. 
 Often companies came from the neighboring villages 
 and even from other towns to St. Elijah's festival, not 
 so much for the festival itself as to see this dancer. 
 
 It was then that Phrosj-ne, the daughter of Sebdas, 
 the best little girl from Melissi, three miles from the 
 Village by the Sea, first saw him. He saw her, too, and 
 they were well matched. After a few months, in the 
 springtime, old Sebdas sent a wedding message to the 
 widow of Demos, and the message was well received. 
 The betrothal took place at Melissi. To this ceremony 
 Metros came bringing along his mother, Yannakos Tar- 
 
 *In many a Greek legend today Charon, the death-god, rides 
 on a black steed over the earth, dragging behind him the souls 
 he vanquishes. Often he meets with stout resistance and defeat 
 at the hands of such heroes as are referred to in the text of the 
 story.
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 185 
 
 nanamas, Markos Kaninias and Taria Terela, his insep- 
 erable friends, and all his relatives. After a few days, 
 he went there again with the same crowd to bring the 
 gifts to his future bride, according to the old custom: 
 cloth and silk stuff, a bracelet, and a dozen silver saucers. 
 For two days they celebrated joyously with violin 
 music, and appointed the day after Easter for their 
 wedding. But before Easter day, the evil hour had 
 come, and Metros could not return to Melissi. 
 
 Many had envied the fortune of young Phrosyne. 
 There was a girl in the village, a small vivid brunette, 
 full of laughter and whim, Morfo,* the daughter of 
 Garoufalia, — Crazy Morfo, as the neighbors called her, 
 — almost died of grief when she heard of the betrothal. 
 She was no more seen in her little piazza, watering her: 
 fragrant flowers and mints, humming the tune of her 
 favorite dance, "Black Little Shoe," and casting sweet 
 glances on anyone who went by. Only late at dusk some 
 of the women neighbors, watching through their window 
 railings, saw Morfo two or three times as she passed 
 Metros' home, covered all over with a scarf. She would 
 linger before his lighted window for a while, and then, 
 casting frightened glances about her, would run away 
 like a scared deer. Love for Metros had burned in her 
 heart and she had hoped that some day he would take 
 her as his wife. 
 
 *The name means "Beautiful." "Garoufalia" means "carna- 
 tion flower." Both are common names throughout Greece among 
 the peasantry.
 
 186 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Metros Roumeliotes was a real man, and had all the 
 gifts of a man ; speech, impulse, sense of humor, beauty, 
 pride, love of life and contempt of death. He had gone 
 through many seastorms and survived many ship- 
 wrecks. On the open sea, his courage -was beyond 
 measure. Without provocation, he gave no trouble. But 
 should you offend him or touch him where you should 
 not, you did so at your peril. He was not afraid of fire- 
 arms, nor did he care much about them. Once he got 
 into trouble with ten Highland soldiers, all picked men, 
 and he chased them all the way back to their barracks. 
 He never took account of danger, never cared for pain, 
 and never feared death. One thought alone chilled his 
 blood and made him marble stiff. He dreaded to be 
 a cripple. 
 
 The injury to his leg cost him more anguish than any 
 other misfortune. He would rather stand the loss of 
 his property and the pains of a thousand pests than 
 be permanently lamed. Better death! If he was to 
 be cured, he must be cured without a sign of lameness. 
 If he was to leave his bed, he must not leave it with a 
 crooked leg. Never that ! For Metros Roumeliotes, 
 without realizing it, worshipped only one God, and that 
 God was Beauty; the holy Beauty of manly vigor and 
 health that has the body for a temple. Let every evil 
 in the world assail that body; but no trace of their 
 attack should be left on it as an insult and defilement. 
 A crippled body is a disgraced body. For men like the
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 187 
 
 son of the widow of Demos, ugliness was dis- 
 honor. 
 
 Prom the night of the accident until the day when 
 he first left his bed to walk, three months went by. He 
 spent them patiently. The doctor had told him he 
 would surely be cured. But when he saw that his leg 
 was crooked and that he could not bend it; that his 
 knee had been turned and that he was limping, he lost 
 all hope. A silent complaint seized him, and a sorrow 
 that no learned man could describe held him fast. He 
 consigned to the dogs doctor and drugs, and lay in bed 
 again, longing for death. In vain his poor mother tried 
 to console him, the mother who within those three 
 months had grown ten years older. 
 
 "Don't say a word. Mother. Either my leg will be 
 cured, or I don't want to live. No man shall call me 
 a cripple!" 
 
 When one day some of his friends went so far as to 
 say, **See, you are all right now! Don't be so par- 
 ticular.. Come, let's go to Melissi. Your girl is crazy 
 to see you," Metros was angry. "May I never look 
 upon her, if it is to be in such a condition. Better a 
 homeless hermit in the mountains than a bridegroom 
 with a crooked leg!" 
 
 The memory of his sweetheart opened his heart's 
 wounds again. How could he go to Melissi ? What could 
 they do with him if he went? Should they embalm him
 
 188 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 in order to look at him? Or should they hang him on 
 the wall for a saint's picture? Then he imagined him- 
 self in the bridegroom's place, at the time when they 
 would have to drag him single-legged about the altar 
 during the sacred Isaiah Dance.* He thought of him- 
 self unable to sit down at mealtimes, unable to lead the 
 dance, to run, to display his strength, to wrestle, to jest, 
 or sport. Then he saw himself as captain of his own 
 ship, unable to stand on his feet, leaning on a staff, hold- 
 ing to the ropes and depending on another for every- 
 thing. They had promised a man to the bride and 
 now they were to give her a cripple! He could never 
 bring himself to enslave the girl. Though she was good- 
 hearted and would never show it, she would certainly 
 feel the secret pain in her heart. Such is the world. He 
 himself would have felt the same way. He would rather 
 shoulder a pest than a crippled woman. 
 
 **I am losing my child," often complained the widow 
 of Demos, "and it won't be his leg that will kiU him, 
 but his grief over it." 
 
 And she would cry and make the sign of the cross. 
 The three inseparable friends thought of their brave 
 Metros every hour in the day, and when the work was 
 over they would run to his side to keep him company 
 
 ♦Just before the conclusion of the Greek wedding ceremony 
 the priest in his vestments leads the bride and bridegroom about 
 the altar in a solemn dance, followed by the maid of honor and 
 best man. With joined hands they dance in a circle, while the 
 guests shower the couple with confetti. The song begins with 
 the words "Isaiah, dance. ..."
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 189 
 
 and comfort him. All in vain ! He would not listen to 
 anyone. He had been patient for three months. He 
 could no more stand the feeling of that cursed limb of 
 his, a withered part of his own body. He would seize 
 a saw and saw it away, or take an axe and chop it off. 
 * ' There is no God ! That is the end of it ! " 
 
 II 
 
 August had come. The sick man could lift his leg 
 but he could not bear other men's eyes upon him; and 
 so he kept himself shut in his own home. From his 
 window one could see the peaceful harbor of the Sea 
 Village changing to a thousand colors like a thousand 
 dreams at every kiss of the sun from morning to dusk. 
 One could face the open sea, rose-blue at dawn, silver- 
 gold at noon, black-green a little later, and violet for a 
 while at sunset. Sometimes it would tremble with all 
 the colors mingling together like a whole world with a 
 world's cares and passions. 
 
 Sometimes the winds would push the peaceful waters 
 of the Village by the Sea far towards the outer bay and 
 sometimes would spread them flooding towards the land. 
 The north wind would give them a different appearance ; 
 the northwest, a different sweetness; the west wind a 
 different smell, the south wind different waves. 
 
 But more than all the colors and murmurings, and 
 breezes, and charms of the sea, the sick man, sitting at
 
 190 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 his window, felt the call of the little ships that skipped 
 lightly and quietly over the water so much like the black 
 terns and snow-white gulls that one could hardly tell 
 them apart. He saw the fishing boats sail empty away 
 and come back laden to the shore. Farther out the 
 freight boats would take in the bales of raisins for the 
 great city. From the back side of the house he could 
 see the green belt of the plains. Amber grapes were 
 gleaming on the vines and the raisins lay darkening on 
 the threshing floors. How the fruitful plain was filled 
 with fragrance! At dawn and at dusk every property 
 owner was busy going and coming. The workers, men 
 from Cephalonia with their picks, and women from 
 Amplanite with their baskets, passed back and forth 
 under his window. The sea sent him its salt smell and 
 the plain its fragrance; and the more he felt himself 
 crippled, the more beautiful he thought the world was; 
 and the more he saw the withering of his own youth, 
 the younger the world appeared to him. At this season, 
 where would he be? On what waters would he be sail- 
 ing ? Where would he be working ? What a life this, if 
 he could call it life ! 
 
 His chums did not bother him, but they tried to cheer 
 him up. They always told him that his leg would 
 straighten out with time. Since he would not listen to 
 any suggestion about any learned doctors from Athens, 
 they began speaking about the quack doctors of the 
 village, the medicine men who could cure every kind of
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 191 
 
 disease with their quack medicines. As always happens, 
 each one of them would recall some story about a sick 
 man given up by the doctor and saved by a practical 
 medicine man. Then young and old fishermen, skippers, 
 merchandise men, official men, scribes, the schoolmaster, 
 the priest, and even the mayor, all who came to see 
 Metros advised him to be patient, and to keep away 
 from doctors. After all, the practical medicine men 
 could do the work. 
 
 One day during the first fortnight of August* Yan- 
 nakos Tamanamas came running in. A famous medi- 
 cine man had come from the village of Lygaria. His 
 name was Kopanitsas. He had been invited to Meletes' 
 home to cure his cancer. He was renowned in all 
 Roumelef and even farther throughout half of the 
 Moreas. As soon as the village folk heard of it, they 
 turned out in crowds to see him. He knew every disease 
 and could cure them all. An excellent surgeon ! Every- 
 one whom Yannakos asked about him told him Kopa- 
 nitsas worked miracles. Why not bring him to see 
 Metros! What could they lose? 
 
 With the grief that burdened his heart, Metros had 
 gradually convinced all those who loved him that the 
 worse evil was not the pain of his leg but the fact of 
 his lameness. His friends felt they should try anything 
 
 * This is a period of strict fasting in preparation for the fes- 
 tival of the Ascension of the Virgin on Aug. 15th. 
 
 fTerm applied vaguely to ancient Sterea Hellas, especially to 
 Aetolia and Acarnania.
 
 192 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 to avoid snch a misfortune. Thus in the end they called 
 in Kopanitsas. The sick man wanted him, the mother 
 wanted him, the friends and all the relatives of Metros 
 wanted him, and everybody they consulted said, *'call 
 him!" 
 
 A white-kilted peasant, he was, about fifty years of 
 age, tall and thin. He had a big nose and a face on 
 which hair could not grow. At first sight of him, the 
 sick man did not like him, but what could he do? 
 
 Kopanitsas had only one eye that looked as big as two 
 under the blackness of his bushy eyebrows. As he stepped 
 into the house he put on such airs of importance! He 
 looked at Metros' leg, he clasped it, turned it. 
 
 "I'll cure it," he declared. "I will do it my own 
 way." 
 
 "May God help your hands, doctor." 
 
 "Let us wait three or four days. We must go to- 
 wards the light of the moon, and these are thin days. 
 We'll find the lucky day though. You must know there 
 are some days when you could bring a great plague on a 
 man; you might even kill him if you should as much 
 as take a little blood from him. Today is the thirteenth 
 of the month. We'll see about it on the sixteenth." 
 
 Then he turned to the widow and prescribed: 
 
 "Five drams of mustard, ten drams of gum, eight 
 drams of rhubarb, five drams of frankincense, two drams 
 of pepper-root, two drams of cinnamon. Pound them 
 together. Take an oka of honey, skim it, boil the other
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 193 
 
 things with it and then stir them well and let him cat 
 it regularly. This is a very nourishing compound. 
 With it he can stand anything, and he needs strength." 
 
 From that day to the sixteenth he made himself per- 
 fectly at home. Nor would they let him leave the house 
 at all. They thought it their duty to please him in every 
 possible way. Of course, the medicine-man did not par- 
 ticularly care to go round the public kitchens of Sea 
 Village or spend his nights in its inns. He was cer- 
 tainly glib in relating the wonders of his medical power. 
 Yannakos Tarnanamas, Markos Kaninias, and Taria 
 Terela never left his side and listened to him with open 
 mouths. 
 
 At last dawned the day they awaited with beating 
 hearts. On the sixteenth of the vintage month, while 
 the must was beginning to flow from the wine-presses, 
 and the first rains were falling, when the last swallows 
 were flying towards the south and the last grape-clusters 
 were being gathered, Kopanitsas turned to Metros. 
 
 ''Courage now! You will feel a little pain and then 
 all will be well." 
 
 **Pain I can stand, doctor; only my leg. ..." 
 
 Kopanitsas made a sign to Markos Kaninias and the 
 other two. 
 
 "You must hold him pretty fast, you understand? 
 Lady, have you got that place ready?" 
 
 In the middle of the room they spread blankets and 
 quilts, and on them they laid Metros.
 
 194 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 **l8 the raki ready? There it is, drink it, Metros!" 
 
 Metros drank about fifty drams of it. 
 
 **Good for you, old lion!" 
 
 Then Kopanitsas laid Metros on his back and, lift- 
 ing the right leg, the one that had been hurt, he placed 
 it over his left shoulder ; then he seized the left leg and 
 placed it over his right shoulder. Then, all of a sudden, 
 he kicked — ^yes, he kicked hard against the suffering 
 leg. A "crack!" was heard as of something breaking, 
 and a groan, a lion's groan from the tortured man. 
 The house was shaken. All three of them could not 
 hold him the way he shook and writhed. 
 
 "Christ and the Holy Virgin help us!" cried the 
 widow of Demos. 
 
 "Don't lose heart, Metros," urged the other. 
 
 "You have killed me! Oh!" Metros groaned. 
 
 "Now you are all right! Within a fortnight you 
 will be on your feet again!" said Kopanitsas, and turned 
 again to the widow to give his orders as fast as he 
 could. 
 
 "Pound lead, soak it in vinegar for two days, then 
 burn it well with sulphur till it is ashes. Mix these 
 ashes with red earth, wax, incense, gum, and green oil, 
 and put this ointment on his leg every day, morning 
 and night." 
 
 He said no other word and he gave no more orders. 
 His mule was waiting outside of the house. He slipped 
 into his purse the two twenty-five drachma bills which
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 195 
 
 he was to have according to the agreement, said good- 
 bye to the sick man and to the others and off he went. 
 No one ever saw him again. 
 
 From that day Metros Roumeliotes saw no improve- 
 ment. The fourteen days went by, but he had not left 
 his bed nor was he ever able to leave it. His leg became 
 inflamed and the sore became worse and worse. Metros 
 lay down like a paralytic man, pining and wearing away 
 with pain. 
 
 Two months went by. The winter set in. Moss cov- 
 ered the old walls ; a leaden sky lay heavy on the heart, 
 and the damp south wind penetrated into the bones. 
 No hope for the sick man! 
 
 It so happened that another medicine man came 
 through the Village by the Sea that winter. This time the 
 news was brought in by Markos Kaninias. He had once 
 fallen into the hands of the quacks and it seemed to be his 
 fate not to be able to escape them. In the midst of 
 the black ashes of grief there comes sometimes some 
 light breath and the spark of hope flies up from the 
 ashes. What? Another doctor had come? The whole 
 house around the sick man was thrilled. Let us try 
 him, too! 
 
 He, too, was a surgeon. He had come from Moreas 
 and his name was Kouzounopoulos. He appeared 
 rather cloudy. He had come to look after some of his 
 own affairs and was in a hurry. It was not to his 
 interest to stay for one patient only. To see him just once
 
 196 MODEEN GREEK STORIES 
 
 could come to no good. He would have to make a spe- 
 cial job of it and to put him through a regular cure. 
 Months had to pass, time and patience were needed. Do 
 they have enough coin to pay him? If they had, all 
 would be well, otherwise he could say nothing more. 
 
 Metros' mother and inseparable friends made their 
 decision. They put together what they had and what 
 they had not, sold here and borrowed there, took out 
 their savings, and started contributions. All the village 
 folks were generous for unfortunate Metros and so they 
 said to Kouzounopoulos : 
 
 "We will give you five hundred drachmas. But 
 you'll have to cure him first. We will trust the amount 
 to another's hands. You will receive it from our priest 
 Thymios. ' ' 
 
 "All right," he said, and took his throne in the sick 
 man's home. 
 
 He started giving his patient all kinds of mixtures to 
 drink and pestered his leg with cupping glasses and 
 plasters and ointments. The sores broke and the pus 
 ran, and the wound spread while he filled it with lint 
 and changed it every day and cut it and squeezed it 
 every dawn. For fifty days he was abusing the suffer- 
 ing man in this manner and for fifty days he ate and 
 drank and slept in his house at the widow's expense. To 
 all who asked him, he would say "the man is getting 
 better and better." At the end he wanted about fifty 
 drachmas.
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 197 
 
 "He is getting better and better!" 
 
 So he took the money and no one saw him again. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The sick nian was getting worse and worse every day 
 and every hour. At last a doctor appeared again in 
 the' house, not the quack from Lygaria nor the other 
 from Moreas, but the real doctor of the Sea Village, 
 the man who had treated him first. Again they fell 
 at his feet. When the doctor saw his patient, seven 
 or eight months since he had left him, he took so much 
 pity on him that he forgot to be angry and to scold 
 in his usual way. He was almost ready to cry but 
 no tears would come out of his eyes. 
 
 "Still in bed?" he asked. "You must have done 
 something to it; you would never never listen to me, 
 hard heads! Hadn't I told you not to move your leg?" 
 
 He looked at the leg, lookfd at it again, and when 
 he saw him speechless and vv^orn out, he said a few 
 more words. 
 
 "Well, you will be all right, you will be cured." 
 
 But to his mother and to the other women who were 
 taking eare of him, he said in plain hard words: 
 
 "Impossible to cure him. Those charlatans you 
 brought in have killed the man. The nerves are cut 
 and knotted. Gangrene has set in and has gone very 
 deep. He cannot be saved unless he loses his leg. Take
 
 198 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 hint, to Athens to a surgeon as soon as you can before 
 it is too late," 
 
 Three days and three nights the widow of Demos, her 
 two brothers, the touring tradesman and the black- 
 smith, Markos Kaninias, Yannakos Tarnanamas and 
 Taria Terela, Father Thymios, the schoolmaster and the 
 mayor were trying to make him agree to it. For 
 three days and three nights he listened to every 
 word and always gave the same answer, the same and 
 unchanged : 
 
 "Better death than walking on a single leg.'* 
 
 The truth was that the mayor and schoolmaster, Taria 
 Tarela, Yannakos Tarnanamas and Markos Kaninias, 
 touring tradesman and blacksmith, even the widow of 
 Demos, despaired about him. They had no faith in 
 man's art. It was his fate, they said, and they were 
 ready to abide by God's will. They did not want to an- 
 noy him too much, nor try to deceive him, nor attempt to 
 take him to Athens by force. After all, let us not hide 
 the truth, they all shuddered most at the thought of 
 Metros with one leg. What difference did it make 
 whether he was dead or crippled for life? They could 
 not very well distinguish the one evil from the other. 
 
 As for the widow of Demos, for months now she had 
 few words and much thought. One idea had gradually 
 grown and spread in her until it flooded her mind. Her 
 child had been bewitched. His sickness was no God- 
 sent sickness, his trouble was the work of man. "This
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 199 
 
 is no chance," she thought, "but witchcraft, hell's 
 work. ' * 
 
 Morfo's mother, whose name was Garoufalia, could 
 tell fortunes from the cards and could conjure the air- 
 spirits. She must have east the evil eye on the boy. 
 She wanted to make him mad for her own daughter 
 and when she saw her victim escape from her hand, she 
 must have decided to put him out of the way. Argyro 
 must be right about what she had told her once. One 
 evening this woman Argyro, while she was returning 
 home from the village fountain with her barrel of water, 
 saw two other women half-covered in front of the 
 widow's house. In the light of the moon she had seen 
 the taller one threaten with her hand stretched towards 
 the house and had heard the other, the short one, cry 
 with a shrill voice: "I have you now!" Argyro recog- 
 nized them as Garoufalia and Morfo. 
 
 The wife of Lampros, too, had told her so, and the 
 wife of Doroyannis, and the daughter of Karasebdas, 
 and Marigo, the divorced woman. The whole village 
 was full with the din of it; it was no more a secret. 
 Garoufalia had taken it on her to put Metros out of 
 the way with her witchcraft so that he might not see 
 a better day. Another rumor had it that Garoufalia 
 had gone out towards Arta and met some Turkish women 
 who gave her some signs. Then that sow, Morfo, since 
 the day of Metros' betrothal at Melissi, had M^ritten his 
 name among the dead and had masses celebrated on him
 
 200 MODEEN GREEK STORIES 
 
 as a dead man, and had all the ceremonies of the dead 
 practiced on him; the ceremony of the third day after 
 death, and of the ninth, and of the fortieth, and of the 
 third month, and of the sixth month, and of the first 
 year. Her mother's daughter! These charms certainly 
 never fail. No man escapes if they are practiced on him. 
 Oh, that Morf o, the filthy beast ! 
 
 Once her mother had sent a wedding message to the 
 widow of Demos, a message for Metros. But the widow 
 had said to the woman messenger: *'I have brought 
 up my boy working at the loom and going through a 
 widow's suffering, day after day, and year after year; 
 and now that I begin to see some good from him, must 
 I see him married so young, a boy of twenty-eight ? And 
 with whom? Morfo!" 
 
 Again Garoufalia had sent another messenger, but 
 the widow answered again : 
 
 "I wash my hands; if he wants her, let him take 
 her ; but let me not see him in my house again ! ' ' 
 
 After a little while, Metros had exchanged rings with 
 Phroso, the daughter of Sebdas. 
 
 So the widow of Demos had decided to drop all doc- 
 tors and their medicines, and instead of hurrying to 
 Athens with her child, she, one morning, left him in 
 bed and set sail for Patras. She went to see an old 
 witch who lived there and who was famous throughout 
 the whole of Greece. She could prophesy about love and 
 hate, about the world above and the world below, about
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 201 
 
 life and death. She could undo a charm and cure the 
 evil eye. She was acquainted with the fairies and could 
 speak with the spirits. The widow found her in the 
 upper town in a little hut stooping over copper horse- 
 shoes, wolves' teeth, cards, bones, embalmed ravens, 
 magic herbs, and countless other things. As soon as she 
 saw the widow of Demos, she shook her white head cov- 
 ered with a scarf and said: *'I know why you come; 
 for your child. Have you brought any signs with 
 you?" 
 
 The widow of Demos, who had come well advised, pro- 
 duced the signs from her son's hair. 
 
 ''Good. Come tomorrow for the answer." 
 
 At dawn she went back and heard from the witch's 
 mouth : 
 
 "Impossible to cure him. They have practiced a ter- 
 rible charm on him. The hour that he fell and hurt 
 himself, — just before he fell — twelve Armenian women 
 were eating and making merry. He stepped on their 
 table" — at this she showed her a lemon rind — "one of 
 them, as she looked on him, envied him and so she 
 pushed him, threw him down and broke him. The Ar- 
 menian women look with evil eyes on him — God preserve 
 us from such spirits — Your child has been charmed for 
 a long time and his name has been written among the 
 dead!" 
 
 She came back to the village bringing the old witch's 
 herbs but not her words. Her son had been expecting
 
 202 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 her like a swallow in March. Of doctors he would hear 
 nothing, but he did believe in witchcraft. For the same 
 reason, a little time afterwards, when they brought him 
 another witch from Melissi, a Jewess, to see him, Metros, 
 on his bed, received her just as a sailing captain would 
 receive a favorite breeze. His eyes gleamed in his pale 
 face and a smile, like a star in a stormy sky, sweetened 
 his lips. No one else had seen him smile like that ex- 
 cept his sweetheart Phroso, just once. The Jewess had 
 come to Melissi from Yannena only within a few days. 
 She had eloped with a man from Yannena who brought 
 her to the village. There she was baptized and they 
 were married. So she was a lover, a new convert, a new 
 bride, and a witch at the same time ! A brunette with a 
 clear skin, nimble, shapely, sweet-spoken. Her eyes did 
 not need any witchcraft. She bent over him and looked 
 at him so softly and pitifully that Metros thought his 
 torments had come to an end and that nothing was left 
 now but that she would take him by the hand and tell 
 him: "Get up and walk!" and then he would get up 
 and walk. He had faith in witchcraft, and beauty was 
 bewitching to him. 
 
 The Jewess asked for his right boot. She took it and 
 threw something in it, something like mercury, and 
 ordered them to place it out on the roof through the 
 night. 
 
 "Whatever you hear tonight, '^ she said, "you must 
 not speak.'*
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 203 
 
 Then she turned to the others in the house: 
 
 "Just see how the boy suffers from the spell! The 
 fairies have ruined the poor child." 
 
 She, too, ordered various herbs which should be boiled 
 in wine for him to drink. 
 
 At night they went to sleep. It was still winter but 
 the night was like a night in spring, with a sky full of 
 stars. The widow alone kept awake for Metros. She 
 always lay by his side and many nights she spent with- 
 out lying down at all. But on that night, had they all 
 the health and happiness in the world, neither mother 
 nor son could have closed their eyes. They remembered 
 the words of the Jewess : ' ' Whatever you hear tonight 
 you must not speak!" 
 
 Both were troubled with the same fear and warmed 
 with the same hope. In the wide room, the shrine lamp 
 was sending out its dim light and one could not see in 
 the lighted space anything but the little shrine with 
 its smoke-darkened Christ and silver-smoked St. Nich- 
 olas and, thrown aside in a corner, a fog-horn and an 
 oar. 
 
 Metros turned his sleepless eyes from the shrine-lamp 
 to the pictures and thence to the comer as if he was 
 expecting something to come out even from the things 
 he could see in the dark, something mysterious and un- 
 hoped for. In the dim light, the shadow that was pro- 
 jected from Christ's image and the silver gleam of St. 
 Nicholas and the length of the oar and the shape of
 
 204 MODERN GEEEK STORIES 
 
 the fog-horn were mingling with each other and taking 
 fantastic shapes, and becoming weird shadows and forms 
 which shook as if they were talking with each other. 
 Strange creatures they seemed, which, if one could only 
 uncover, would manifest themselves as fairies and fates 
 and souls and who knows what else ! 
 
 The poor man felt the beating of his heart and his 
 mind was filled with stories of another world and tales 
 of old times. Like a condemned man he was waiting 
 to see whether they would behead him or give him grace. 
 At midnight, while it seemed like balmy springtime 
 and the sky was full of stars and everything was per- 
 fectly still, all of a sudden they heard a great racket 
 breaking out on the tiles of the roof, like the falling 
 of pebbles. It seemed as if people were stoning the 
 house or as if heavy hail was descending on the roof 
 from the sky. They heard whistling and murmuring 
 voices. The floor shook, the windows moaned, the doors 
 creaked, strange shrine lamps and sacred pictures, and 
 light and shadows danced before the boy's eyes. His 
 breathing stopped. He could not utter a word nor did 
 he want to. He remembered the Jewess' warning and 
 was afraid that the fairies might take his speech away. 
 With the long staff which he kept by his side, he shook 
 his mother to wake her so that she might not miss what 
 was going on ; and the mother, without speaking, tapped 
 at the floor to show him that she was awake and under- 
 stood. From that moment mother and son lay wait-
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 205 
 
 mg, motionless and speechless. The noise had ceased 
 and stillness had come again; but they continued to 
 hear whistling and falling stones and murmurs of voices 
 until daybreak. 
 
 At daybreak the Jewess appeared again. They told 
 her what had happened in the night. She looked for 
 the boot which had been placed for the night on the 
 tiles of the roof, and examined it from all sides ; then 
 she thought for a little while, smiled sweetly at Metros, 
 and took the widow apart to tell her: 
 
 "Didn't I tell you? The boy is bewitched. It is im- 
 possible to cure him. If he had taken up witchcraft 
 from the start and had not tangled himself up with 
 doctors he would have been saved. This is the truth ! ' ' 
 
 IV 
 
 The less comfort they received from the witches the 
 more they fastened their hopes on their witchcraft. The 
 widow of Demos with her brothers, the touring trades- 
 man and the blacksmith, made a great last plan. A 
 sorcerer lived in Epaktos. He could read Solomon's 
 "Witchcraft Book. That was no mean thing. From that 
 book he could learn how to cure the worst diseases. He 
 could exorcise fiends, close them in wine-skins and bind 
 them in clay jars because he had Solomon's seal, and 
 could stamp them with it. He knew where the four-
 
 206 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 leaf clover grew and with it he could make the spirits 
 his subjects. So they sent Taria Terela to Epaktos with 
 money, letters, tokens and a thousand prayers. The 
 sorcerer would say the last word. They were sure of 
 that. From nobody else could they hope anything. 
 
 Taria Terela started on a fishing boat for Epaktos. 
 He arrived in the evening, and without stopping to 
 take his breath or rest, without saying a word to any- 
 body, asking and searching, he found his way to the 
 sorcerer's house the same evening. The sorcerer proved 
 to be a pale fellow in rags with long black beard. He 
 spoke very low and never laughed. Taria Terela put a 
 ten-drachma bill in his hand and said : 
 
 "To treat a sick man and to cure him." 
 
 The sorcerer asked for a sign, hairs from Metros' 
 head, and answered immediately: 
 
 "Be here tomorrow morning at four, at salepi* time." 
 
 In the morning, at four, at salepi time, the sorcerer 
 was speaking again to Metros' companion: 
 
 "Metros is the name of the sick man; he lives in the 
 Village by the Sea; his house is opposite the church. 
 His mother is a widow and they call her Demaina. ..." 
 
 Taria Terela gazed and shuddered with astonishment. 
 He had not told him anything nor had he spoken with 
 anyone in Epaktos. Yet the sorcerer knew everything. 
 He made the sign of the cross. 
 
 ♦A hot popular drink sold by peddlers in the streets very 
 early in the morning. It is prepared on the spot
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 207 
 
 The sorcerer then spoke faster and faster. 
 
 **Put on your mourning clothes from now on. It is 
 more than impossible for him to improve. I assembled 
 all the spirits and commanded all the fairies, and every- 
 one said 'what is to be shall be! What is written shall 
 not be unwritten ! ' If Fate has it on her paper, an axe 
 cannot chop it off. Love charms have ruined him. Bad 
 spirits have touched him. Brother, give him up." 
 
 The winter, too, went by. The snow on Mt. Zygos 
 melted and only its peak was still seen wrapped in thin 
 white jasmine. In Misocampos the almonds were blos- 
 soming and in the houses of the Village by the Sea in 
 every little piazza and on every roof, in all kinds of pots 
 and boxes the fragrant green of royal mint and spear- 
 mint and rosemary were seen and roses and pinks and 
 narcissus and violets were blossoming. Even the poorest 
 house was rich in fragrant plants; for the girls of the 
 village, with their thick tresses of hair and their supple 
 little bodies took particular pride at springtime in 
 watering and ordering their flowers. Under the bal- 
 conies and the eaves, in doors and windows and between 
 the flower pots, the swallows were building their nests. 
 How easily they found a place everywhere to nestle. The 
 humbler their nest the richer and more carefree was 
 the life of the little swallows. One might think they, 
 too, felt so. 
 
 In the home of Metros Roumeliotes no flower blos- 
 somed this year. Two or three flower-pots stood on the
 
 208 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 balcony, hot and dry as if a black man 's foot had stepped 
 on them. In the mind of the widow of Demos, flowers 
 could not displace her cares. During the past winter 
 the wind and the storms had blown down the flower 
 pots adorning the front of the house from one end to 
 the other, with the boards which were supporting them, 
 and, together with them, the nests which were waiting 
 for the return of the swallows. No one had thought 
 about putting them up again; when spring came and 
 the little birds returned, they did not stop at the house 
 but fled from the place of ruin, beating their wings 
 restlessly. 
 
 The days, of the carnival had gone by and the Great 
 Lent was now near its end. The Passion Week had come 
 again. April, young and fresh, made life new and 
 brought with it new strength for life's struggle. The 
 soul felt new joys. New cares sprang up in one's mind. 
 Like flowers, love blossomed. The open chapels were 
 fragrant with incense, and the hearts were fllled with 
 the fragrance of hope. On such a season, the care- 
 worn, too, feels some sweetness ; the despairing man takes 
 a new impulse; and even the dying man clings closer 
 to life and tries to sell it at the highest possible price. 
 
 Metros could no longer be saved. His days were num- 
 bered. Doctors and drugs, witches and witchcraft, all 
 in vain. Gangrene set in. The poison spread constantly 
 in his blood. He lay speechless and motionless and only 
 his eyes spoke, moving swiftly and gleaming with light
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 209 
 
 as if they were watching for Charon's coming to fight 
 with him. The poor widow of Demos became unrecog- 
 nizable with sleeplessness and grief, a complete ruin. 
 Markos Kaninias, Yannakos Tarnanamas, and Taria 
 Terela neither spoke nor moved from his side. On Good 
 Thursday they brought Father Thymios with the Holy 
 Sacrament. 
 
 Good Friday came without the black sky of other 
 years. It was all azure and light. With the first ray 
 of light that slipped through a crack down to Metros' 
 bed, Metros shivered and called out with a loud 
 voice : 
 
 "Mother, I want sunlight and air; open the win- 
 dow!" 
 
 The window was opened and the sun flooded the dark 
 and gloomy house. Like a festival, light spread on the 
 floor, on the walls, on everything. There was light all 
 around the sick man and one might have thought light 
 was the only healer, the only sorcerer. The morning 
 breeze that came in hurriedly from the opened window 
 stirred his long and uncombed hair. Through the same 
 window, his eyes wandered straight towards the peace- 
 ful waters of the Sea Village, the same waters that 
 change a thousand colors like a thousand dreams at 
 every kiss of the sun from morning to dusk. Only Au- 
 gust had not given them the mystic beauty that April 
 gave them now, a beauty made up of all the breaths and 
 longings of life.
 
 210 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 At one end of the mole he caught sight of a small 
 ship, his own ship, neglected there without sail or rig. 
 As if the sun had lighted his mind deeper than his own 
 house, he felt that his last hour had come, that Charon 
 had drawn near and that he should deliver himself 
 like a brave man. The sorcerer Sun charmed him and 
 made him drunk with a strange new wine, a wine made 
 up of life and of death. 
 
 "A looking glass, Mother; a looking glass!" 
 
 Suddenly the care for his appearance flamed in him; 
 he wished to prepare his manhood for the journey t» 
 the world below. He fancied that he was getting ready 
 to go to St. Elijah's festival on the slopes of Mt. Zygos, 
 His mother, who had resigned herself to her misfor- 
 tunes, hearing without feeling and feeling without 
 thinking, brought him the looking glass. He took it 
 and looked at himself; but not so much at himself as 
 at a thousand memories and a thousand scenes from his 
 childhood days to the present. Scenes and memories, 
 long buried in his mind, now were remembered for the 
 last time, and he saw them with his faded eyes rise up 
 fluttering in the glass like little birds with swift wings. 
 It seemed that this looking glass was like that magic 
 one of the famous legend in which one could see all dis- 
 tant things of the past and all distant things of the 
 future. 
 
 Then all of a sudden he saw nothing in the mir- 
 ror but his very pale face and his worn-out body; and
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 211 
 
 with the unspeakable agony of tormented manhood he 
 said: 
 
 ''Ah! Beautiful youth that the earth will swal- 
 low!" 
 
 With the words "beautiful youth," he felt for the 
 last time the desire of youth for beauty and looks, the 
 care that clings to men even in Charon's clasp. So he 
 began combing his hair, his curly, thick, long hair that 
 seemed to have drawn all the freshness and strength 
 of the body, and, for that reason, had grown so thick 
 and long. He trimmed his moustache as if he were get- 
 ting ready for another betrothal. "When he had done 
 dressing himself, as if a sudden light had come to his 
 mind, he said to his mother: 
 
 ' ' Now, my poor mother, for so long I had courage and 
 thought I was not going to die. One favor I would ask 
 of you. Let me hear you mourning for me." 
 
 "Never! My child, what words are these? Mourn 
 lor you? Have you come to this?" His mother stam- 
 mered, beside herself. 
 
 "Ah! and again ah! Mourn for me, Mother, mourn! 
 
 'Youth turns to dust 
 And manhood turns to grass. 
 And bodies fair are earth to tread upon!' 
 
 Say this, Mother, wherever you go." 
 
 He was silent for a while, then he sat up suddenly 
 and said:
 
 212 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 * * I don 't want to die alone. Let me see people around 
 me. Open the door, Mother, and let the people come 
 in." 
 
 It must have been nearly noon. The Sea Village 
 folks were just coming out of the church. Suddenly to 
 the ears of the people who were leaving St. Nicholas' 
 Church and of those who were just passing by — there 
 was much going and coming in that hour — to the ears 
 of all those people came a slow, hoai-se, mournful sound, 
 so mournful that it cut through one's heart, and made 
 one's hair stand on end; a sound that seemed now like 
 a wild beast's, now like a human being's; a sound that 
 rose and feU and died away and again rose and shook 
 the air; a sound that was something like speech, and 
 groan, and dirge, and complaint, and weeping, and 
 laughter, and curse and song, the song of a frightened, 
 maddened, despairing soul. The people who passed by 
 heard the sound, stopped, shuddered, listened eagerly, 
 felt the meaning of it, shook their heads and said to 
 one another: 
 
 "Mourning song! Who is dead?" 
 
 Someone pointed to the house of the widow of Demos 
 and said: 
 
 "Don't you know? It is from Demaina's home the 
 mourning song comes. Metros, the good boy, is dead!" 
 
 Metros dead! Metros that fine man who suffered a 
 whole year's torments in bed. Metros who had been 
 hit by envy and jealousy and who had been bound with
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 213 
 
 witchcraft, had now met an unjust death. The news 
 fell like hail on the Village by the Sea. Every man who 
 heard it sighed and wrung his hands; and the women 
 pulled their cheeks as if they had not been expecting it 
 for so many months. They could not reconcile them- 
 selves to it. 
 
 "When a man like Metros dies, a whole life dies with 
 him, a sun goes out! Something happened then that 
 had never happened in the village before. Everyone 
 who heard the news told it to the next man, and wherever 
 they stood, and however they were, they all walked 
 quickly towards Metros' home. "Where had all that 
 crowd come from ? Women well dressed with their black 
 scarfs; women in ordinary household clothes just as 
 they were in their homes; men of all sorts, property 
 owners and workmen of land and sea ; children held by 
 the hand and children hanging on their mother's 
 breasts. All the church people came there, too. One 
 might have thought Christ's Passion was going on in 
 that house and the Holy Sepulchre was set there. Many 
 were still holding flowers in their hands, the flowers 
 from the Holy Sepulchre, and one might think they 
 were going to lay them on the dead man's bed to make 
 his last sleep fragrant with them and to purify his 
 remains. 
 
 The house was seen with doors and windows wide 
 open. The noonday sun was bathing it with light. If 
 one had not known it, if one had not heard the sound
 
 214 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 one might have thought not that Charon had come that 
 way but that a great festival was taking place. No 
 one could hold that crowd back. Those who had come 
 first had now crossed the threshold, climbed the stairs 
 and gone straight in, filling every place of the house. 
 The rest were waiting outside; and more were coming 
 still. More people came down the street and more people 
 lined up in front of the house. Suddenly again those 
 who had reached the house first looked out of the win- 
 dows and came down panting, worn out, and pale, bring- 
 ing other news : * * He is not dead yet, not dead. He is 
 in his last struggle. He demanded that they should 
 mourn him alive. Did you hear that? Never before 
 did such a thing happen ! ' ' 
 
 It was quite true. Those who came into the house 
 were stunned. Instead of the dead man they were ex- 
 pecting to see and kiss, they looked on a man sitting 
 on his bed with a determined face, eyes wide open, and 
 ears listening eagerly. He seemed like a young horse 
 impatient to run over the plains, like a man who was 
 waiting for his armor to enter a battle. In another cor- 
 ner the widow of Demos sat huddled together and mo- 
 tionless vnth. a body like a corpse, without life, without 
 tears. All her life had turned into her voice, a voice 
 that sounded not like a woman's — the voice of despair. 
 She sang to a tune of her own that no one had heard 
 before, and said:
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 215 
 
 "A handsome lad is struggling with, his life; 
 A handsome lad is dying ; 
 Let your green lamps and yellow tapers bum 
 To light him on his journey; 
 To light the handsome lad upon his path, 
 To the dark world beyond, 
 So step by step he climbs the path uphill, 
 And step by step descends. ' ' 
 
 Vasilo, an old relative of hers, could not stand it and 
 spoke to her: 
 
 "My poor Demaina, the world has never seen such 
 a thing, to lament for your child when he is alive ! ' ' 
 
 Instead of the mother, the son answered : 
 
 ' ' Never mind, I want her to mourn for me now ! ' ' 
 
 Then, turning to his little newly-married cousin Lolo, 
 who was kneeling near him and trying to hide her tears 
 in her handkerchief, he said with a commanding look: 
 
 "Lolo, why don't you lament?" 
 
 The cousin answered immediately with the following 
 dirge : 
 
 'The handsome lad met on his path a worm, 
 A worm who spoke and asked him: 
 'Silver, why take this path where you'll be lost? 
 Gold, why come you to dimness? 
 
 Silver Bell, why do you come this way 
 
 "Where you will lose your song?' "
 
 216 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 So from the mother 's lips the vnrge was echoed on the 
 lips of the other women, just as tears bring tears and 
 laughter brings laughter, just as one taper lights an- 
 other taper, and just as sometimes the high tide of the 
 sea spreads over the village. Among the mourning 
 women, others came with wreaths of flowers and fresh 
 bouquets, while others were busy in the other rooms open- 
 ing boxes and preparing the dead man's clothes while he 
 was still breathing, and people kept constantly coming 
 and going. In the midst of all, Yannakos Tarnanana- 
 mas, Markos Kaninias, and Taria Terela, worn out by 
 sleeplessness and broken down by suffering, were stand- 
 ing with eyes fixed on nothing, speaking no word. 
 Across the street, the carpenter, with tearful eyes, was 
 nailing together the boards of the coffin, and upstairs 
 Vasilo and the wife of Gyftoyannes were unfolding the 
 cloth which was to be used as a shroud. On a table 
 they had placed a cap all covered with gold embroidery, 
 the last gift of his sweetheart to her hapless love who 
 was leaving her forever. With that cap he was to lie 
 in the coffin. 
 
 At noon the fight with Charon began and the struggle 
 lasted the whole afternoon. The young man groaned 
 deeply and shook like a land overtaken by a fiendish 
 earthquake. During the struggle, like last sparks of 
 life's candle, these words came out at long intervals: 
 
 ** Ah, what a fate! . . . You're wearing white kilts. 
 ... Go slow. . . . Don't step on my feet. . . .
 
 A MAN'S DEATH 217 
 
 Bah! What a world this! . . . Come! Come. . . . 
 Mother. . . . Don't choke me. . . . Eoom! Give me 
 room! . . . I want air! . . . Sweet life. . . . Don't 
 hide the snn from me. . . . Give it up ! " 
 
 With these last words, he surrendered to Death. He 
 died before the eyes of the people, in the embrace of 
 the whole village, like a poplar cut down by the wood- 
 cutter after a long struggle in the open before the eyes 
 of the entire forest, standing by helpless. On the same 
 instant a murmur went up from that human forest, 
 spreading from the deathbed to the street, a murmun 
 born of deep sorrow and relief: 
 
 "What a pity for such a m.an to die so untimely I 
 Glory be to thee, Lord, for bringing him to rest ! ' ' 
 
 At the same time, far away at the edge of the sea 
 one could see from the dead man's house the sun setting 
 all in flames. No breath stirred the calm of the waters 
 by the shore. What sweetness was there in nature! 
 Land and sea were still, so that they might not disturb 
 the short-lived sleep of the eternal God or the eternal 
 sleep of the short-lived man. 
 
 At the same time those who were in the wide room, 
 taking care of the dead man with eyes still open, saw 
 something strange. The old widow of Demos, who liad 
 been kneeling by her child's bed in an apathy of de- 
 spair, without a tear and without a sound, suddenly 
 sprang up and rushed through the crowd with an angry 
 look, like a wild cat, with hair dishevelled, arms and
 
 218 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 hands ontstretclied as if she meant to strangle someone. 
 
 In the very midst of the house a young girl had 
 slipped like a snake through the crowd, unnoticed by 
 anyone, and stood motionless and speechless with a per- 
 fectly calm face gazing fixedly toward the dead man's 
 bed. Some mystic joy shone in her eyes and although 
 she did not open her mouth a faint line seemed to mark 
 it slightly — a line that seemed like a smile. She was 
 not tall but her body stood erect; and her face looked 
 more beautiful as it appeared under the black scarf 
 that covered her head. The old, woman rushed towards 
 her. Murmurs again was heard. 
 
 "Bah! The filthy one! The shameless one!" 
 
 "Did you see her, the crazy Morfo?" 
 
 But before the old woman could seize her, Morfo had 
 disappeared quickly like a bad dream and like a sweet 
 temptation. The old woman stood alone trembling and 
 threatening, with her hands in the air; and before she 
 fell senseless on the floor, she cried out: 
 
 "Ah! you witch! You come even here, hangwoman! 
 You who killed him! Where is a pistol to shoot her! 
 Let it be! Better death for him than to be your hus- 
 band!"
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 
 
 By Thrasyvoulos Kastanakis
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 
 
 You will hear something sadly pale, just as sadly pale 
 as the woman who whispered to me these dreams beyond 
 thought. I will tell you something which has nothing 
 to do with my sweetheart, yet lies in the pure and fra- 
 grant embrace of love. 
 
 She was just ten years old, as homely in looks as 
 she was young, the little maid-servant, Nicoletta. She 
 had a frightened soul and that soul I will disclose as I 
 saw it when sorrow held it and gave it its dark heat 
 as she passed before me hurriedly, answering either the 
 call of the cook or that of her mistress upstairs. 
 
 I always saw her, little and young, slip by me anxious 
 to answer the stern call; and I cannot forget the swift 
 shadow that her childish body dragged behind it, a 
 body that seemed ready to become shorter and thinner 
 every time she was scolded. Her hair, reaching to her 
 waist, was bound in a braid which waved restlessly as 
 she ran. Nor can I forget the inevitable white bow 
 which was tightly bound on the blonde braid's tip, sitting 
 on her back like a dying butterfly weary of flying any 
 farther. 
 
 Very seldom could you see a faint smile on the lips 
 
 221
 
 222 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 of the little girl. Her face was of a very dark com- 
 plexion and looked mouldy because of the scars that 
 covered it. Her eyebrows were straight and low, join- 
 ing each other without curving into an arch. Her eyes 
 were small and round, her lips, in her large mouth, were 
 very thin as if drawn with a sharp pointed pencil. 
 
 The first time my eyes fell on her she was pouring 
 wine for me at my country house. The dim light of 
 the smoky lamp from the table lighted her and made 
 me believe that some magician had on the hour of her 
 birth ordained sorrow her life's burden. 
 
 Ever since that moment she was for me a living an- 
 guish, bound forever in her bonds of sadness by the 
 command of a secret fate. 
 
 Her eyes would always look at you stealthily. They 
 seemed afraid lest they might light on some evil thing, 
 but even as they flitted hastily over you they showed a 
 deep pressing insistence for inquiry which chilled you. 
 She would look at you with a curiosity mingled with 
 fear; but the moment you tried to look back at her, 
 she would with quick alertness turn her eyes away to- 
 wards the table or the floor while she would stoop with 
 the instinct of a little housewife to pick up some 
 neglected crumb. 
 
 Her face was marked with the wrinkles of weeping. 
 When she passed you she would walk on tip-toe making 
 her step as light as that of a mouse that comes out in 
 the night, afraid to be heard by you or to attract your
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 223 
 
 eyes toward her. She was terrified whenever anyone 
 looked at her. She would lower her eyes till they were 
 almost shut and a veil of pallor spread over her face 
 down to her thin lips. 
 
 When these lips smiled they were like a garland of 
 thorns in miniature. Her laugh, a wave of sound that 
 whirled and slipped past the garlanded curb, reminded 
 me of worn-out chords which are kept hidden in the 
 hollows of the heart to scatter abroad the sound of pain 
 mingled with the music of despair. It was an ugly 
 laugh that would make others take it for the sound of 
 running water filling a pitcher, but to me it brought 
 back the memory of a song that an old sweetheart had 
 sung to me in the old days, filled with the cold shudder 
 of her agony. It was a laugh that could never be heard 
 except in the numbness of silence and in the darkness of 
 night blurred by the dim light of the smoky lamp. 
 
 In a corner behind an old ancestral chest, hiding the 
 relics of forgotten festivals, she had her shrine. Under 
 cover of a broad sleepy sofa set under the rich images 
 of the saints, she would go alone, and with the piety 
 of loneliness, she would hold there Holy Mass for her 
 frightened soul. The candle flickering before the saints 
 would answer her prayers with the pale whispers of 
 its sparks that sputtered as an echo of her words, and 
 Nicoletta would hold her weak breath to hear them in 
 the solemn silence of the night. 
 
 One such moment, when the room seemed leadened
 
 224 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 with the breath of sorrow, I went near her with the 
 burden of an emotion I felt for the first time, and hold- 
 ing her head with my hands I looked into her eyes, shin- 
 ing with tears. I shall never forget the wild expres- 
 sion of her terror. A green pallor spread over her face, 
 darkening the color of her scars, and her teeth gnashed 
 in strange horror as if a row of glass flowers were 
 cracking. 
 
 I had never seen her in such a terror of despair when 
 she was running away from the angry cook. I had 
 never seen her look so when, escaping someone's punish- 
 ment, she rushed quickly, like a mouse chased by a 
 cat, to hide behind the discreet old chest or behind the 
 sleepy sofa in the same corner where she held holy mass 
 for her frightened soul. I believed for a moment that 
 I had before me the naked skeleton of hopeless fright; 
 and she stared so that I closed my eyes humbly and 
 went away with trembling knees, feeling the pursuit of 
 her eyes that followed me like a flaming punishment for 
 some secret sin. 
 
 On the next day I discovered some other sinner, too, 
 pursued by the same eyes. But they never felt their 
 flaming punishment, and I pitied them for their callous- 
 ness. I was sitting at meal with my friend Agesilaos 
 and his wife, Thecla, who were living in my house at 
 the time, about a wooden table outside the door of my 
 house which faced the sea-shore. I had a bad headache 
 and without saying a word I raised the fork to my mouth
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 225 
 
 mechanically with my thoughts merged in vague revery. 
 Suddenly a restrained laugh made me look towards 
 them although it was a look of cold indifference. But 
 as I turned I saw something horrible, a martyr's tor- 
 ture which in spite of its benumbing tragedy was never 
 felt by the friendly couple. 
 
 Thecla, her pretty face red with pretended anger, 
 was scolding Nicoletta just for fun, a play which was 
 her favorite distraction. She was accusing the little 
 girl of having broken the great mirror of the drawing 
 room which she knew very well that the cook had broken 
 by accident. Agesilaos was laughing to himself and try- 
 ing to hide his enjoyment so that the little girl might 
 not suspect that they were teasing her, and regain her 
 courage. I looked at them only for a moment with 
 disgust and then I turned my eyes full of reverence 
 and inexpressible sympathy towards the poor child. 
 It was sympathy which I had never felt before and I 
 have never found a tear to equal its warmth. 
 
 I cannot say that this time a green pallor made the 
 dark scars of her lowered face appear darker. It was 
 rather the dark color of those scars that spread over 
 her emaciated features. Her whole face seemed covered 
 with it. She had her eyes fixed on the sand immovably 
 and so I could not see their tearful gleam. Her body 
 which, worn with sickness, was casting a thin shadow on 
 the beach, trembled and as the trembling spread over it 
 I felt the depth of its waves in my own heart. She held
 
 226 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 her hands pressed tight against her breast and with 
 sad nervousness was tearing with her fingernails her 
 half-worn apron. 
 
 The scene was reaching its climax. Agesilaos, man- 
 aging to hide his laughter, Thecla raised her voice more 
 angrily, and the little girl, who had not said a word 
 during all this martyrdom, at last spoke with a voice 
 of complaint that trembled as her lips trembled: **I 
 haven't broken anything, madam. If I had done it, 
 madam, I would hide behind the sofa — I would hide, 
 madam!" These words had a special meaning for her; 
 they were a confession of the most sacred secret of her 
 soul which tore the heart from which it came; for im- 
 mediately her eyes filled with tears and she began crying 
 as she covered her face with her apron. 
 
 ''Come, come, whining thing. Go in and see what 
 you have done with your new apron." Thecla dis- 
 missed her in a somewhat milder tone. 
 
 Oh, I wish I had that apron to kneel before it every 
 night and worship the tatters of sorrow left on the 
 half-worn cloth by her finger-nails. But she walked 
 towards the house with head bent low and I saw her 
 disappear into the darkness across the door while my 
 ears were still choked by the trembling of her sobs. 
 
 The others said something meant for a joke and burst 
 into laughter. I didn't care to listen to them and I 
 let my eyes be filled with the red revelry of light in 
 the midst of the blurred gold dance of the sunbeams,
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 227 
 
 a drunken dance accompanied by the song breaking 
 from the innumerable mouths of the infinite sands. 
 
 The day had dawned some time ago and the sea 
 spreading before my window far and wide seemed to 
 be trying in calm composure the foam-born airs of her 
 songs while the kisses of the sun were beginning to glide 
 softly, like sleepy snakes, on its surface. But with the 
 awakening of the day I felt a sweet weakness like the 
 honey of vague swarms of pleasure-bees, hold me slave 
 to the softness of my bed. My eyes Avould now mirror 
 the glitter of the sea and now the shadow of love in the 
 light of my room. Then they would caress carelessly 
 the countless spots reflected from the gold petals of the 
 sea on the walls and the dreams of cobwebs that spread 
 over the sleeping corners. A lonely glass vase, held 
 high in the green embrace of the wall to no purpose 
 and without a flower to adorn it, made an effort to smile 
 with the reflected sunshine which came fleetingly now 
 and then to fill its dry bosom. 
 
 On the lapel of my coat which lay on a chair there 
 were a few jasmines of crushed whiteness, complaining 
 with their faint fragrance for the selfishness of the 
 flower worshipper. The stray little flowers on the verge 
 of death sent forth their fragrance mastering proudly 
 their unspoken complaint and scenting with the last 
 breath of their softly dying life the room where bare 
 joy revelled, maddened with the beauty of full light. 
 
 Slowly, like the sweet nectar which in the shadow
 
 228 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 of vagueness make you believe that you hold in your 
 hands the happiness of drunken dreams, a numbness 
 began to bind me with the charm of black-fringed eyes 
 when suddenly a whisper, like a dirge, shook my 
 thought. It was something infinitely sadder than the 
 complaint of the jasmines, something reminding you of 
 the despair of things that never come to blossom. 
 
 At first I thought I was asleep and that the dirge was 
 a dream. Soon I realized with a creeping terror that 
 just outside my door the frightened soul was crying. 
 It was her own way of crying, a whisper choked by the 
 trembling of her sobs. Lifted with the wings of terror 
 and thinking of nothing but of the tears of the little 
 girl, I found myself facing her before I knew that I 
 had left my bed. I was holding the door ajar and 
 with my eyes wide open I was taking in the picture of 
 that soul crouching under the shroud of fright, a pic- 
 ture of the despair of things that never come to blossom. 
 
 There she stood before me like a dream of tears with 
 eyes cast down. About her waist was bound that apron 
 torn by her finger-nails moved by the countless tremors 
 of sorrow. Her cheeks showed no other color but the 
 bad blackness of her scars. Her lips, which, when she 
 laughed, seemed like a garland of thorns, were covered 
 with red foam like a shadow dipped in rose color or like 
 the blood of crimson flowers without scent. Vaguely I 
 could see at moments that her lips were a well of 
 strange trembling which though clinging fast to the
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 229 
 
 flesh had no relation with it. On her unkempt hair 
 which she had just wetted before combing it the white 
 butterfly of her bow seemed still more drooping than 
 before. 
 
 We were alone. I, a stunned reveller at sorrow's 
 banquet, she the rich cup-bearer. 
 
 The candle before the saints dazed by the bold 
 entrance of day held timidly its weary flicker within 
 its rim. Near it a few everlastings were trying to for- 
 get their death in the dreams of sleep ; and the curtains 
 with their aged transparency were trying to remember 
 their youth and the first golden kiss that the fondling 
 sun had given them. Everything seemed to be plunged 
 in thought and in the midst of thoughtful silence, the 
 crying of the frightened soul was heard, a dance of 
 whispers led by the trembling of her sobs. 
 
 The white butterfly perched on her unkempt hair 
 which she had just wetted before combing, seemed to 
 signify with its drooping weariness the praise of some- 
 thing born of scorned sorrow. 
 
 Without looking at me and with eyes cast down the 
 little girl with the frightened soul opened her lips and 
 with a voice soft and clear in spite of the trembling of 
 her sobs spoke her complaint. 
 
 "The lady beat me . . . beat me hard, first time so 
 hard . . . because I wouldn't clean the dog of his 
 
 vlOxiiS* • • • 
 
 At last Nicoletta, the frightened girl had spoken words
 
 230 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 which if they had been kept unspoken would have in- 
 creased her pain. 
 
 "The lady beat me . . . beat me hard ^ . . because 
 I wouldn't clean the dog of his ticks." Her soft, clear 
 voice impressed these words on my memory and they 
 seemed to sound louder in my ears mingled with her 
 plaintive whispers. 
 
 I pictured her before me as she was beaten by her 
 mistress' hands of rose and ivory color; and I pictured 
 her as she was writhing with her worn apron under 
 Thecla's satin sleeves. I saw the unfortunate child of 
 sorrow feeling the torturing barbarous sting of phys- 
 ical pain and a creeping shiver filled my eyes with 
 tears. I came near her, overflowing with sympathy, and 
 with infinite tenderness I held her head in my hands, 
 wishing in this manner to pour into her frightened soul 
 a few drops from the endless ocean of my love. 
 
 As my hands touched her I felt again the fever of 
 her fright, her incurable illness, passing like a swift 
 stream through my fingers into every part of my body. 
 It spread like fatal numbness. I was so confused with 
 my emotion that I did not know whether I was to faint 
 caressing her or she would sink under the acute fever 
 of her crjning. 
 
 Early next morning I bade good-bye to my friends 
 and left for the city, without mentioning to them the 
 name of Nicoletta.
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 231 
 
 Several months afterwards, which seemed a long 
 while after my first visit, I went back to my country 
 house on a winter evening. At supper I saw Nicoletta 
 again in the dim light of the same smoky lamp set on 
 the same table and in the same hour of the night as 
 before. But she looked very different and I could 
 scarcely recognize her without the help of those scars 
 that had remained still unchanged. 
 
 Her body had now grown up and showed the curved 
 lines of health. Joy reigned on her face and a quench- 
 less smile nestled on the comers of the same lips that 
 held mystic mass for her soul under the rich shrine of 
 images. She wore a new apron, white with a broad 
 lace for hemming. I wondered what had become of the 
 old one when I noticed another change. A bow of dark 
 green was now binding her well-combed hair. When 
 Nicoletta walked this bow looked like a butterfly passing 
 dreamingly through the light breath of languishing 
 fragrance. 
 
 A smiling face with the rich lines of health on her 
 body! A, great miracle, surely. I looked at her with 
 amazement and tried in vain to guess the cause of this 
 change. As I continued to be absorbed in deep thought, 
 she pushed my cup nearer me and spoke with a voice 
 that sounded like a song of joy: 
 
 "Here is a little wine, sir. Let me see if you like 
 
 it." 
 
 I don't know what seized me. Something like the
 
 232 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 mad feeling of despairing sorrow seemed to crush me. 
 Half choked with a sob I whispered to her unwillingly 
 and slowly, as she was filling my large cup: "Do you 
 remember when she beat you because you wouldn't clean 
 the dog of his ticks?" 
 
 I would have said more. I would have spoken words 
 that would be like endless songs but I felt my power fail 
 in the helpless effort. The little girl paid more atten- 
 tfon to the flowing wine than to my words, and when 
 she had filled my cup she spoke with the overflowing 
 love of a child. "Drink it and see if you don't like 
 it. My father brought it from home yesterday." 
 
 Something died within me then and the incense of 
 its death spread through my whole being. The sound 
 of the flowing wine reminded me of her crying which 
 was still dinning in my ears. It was mingled with the 
 songs of the wind expiring on the cold face of the snow 
 and with the sputtering sparks of the candle weary of 
 burning; and in these mingled sounds I could hear a 
 dirge lamenting for the passing of sorrow and for some- 
 thing that had snapped within me and was now dying. 
 I bent over my glass to avoid the joyful face that did 
 not know how to remember. 
 
 Later, with the heat of the wine, I came to believe 
 something strange and beyond belief. I believed that 
 from the midst of my dreams of sorrow I had looked 
 upon that little girl as she had never really been; and 
 that through the burden of these dreams I had created
 
 THE FRIGHTENED SOUL 233 
 
 a child of sorrow living within me while I imagined her 
 living beside me. "With a broken heart, weary and hol- 
 low, I realized now that my own creation had nothing 
 in common with the real one except those scars which 
 marred the faces of both, scars that knew no feeling.
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 
 A. Papadiamanty
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 
 
 The waning moon had just risen above the summit of 
 the hill, and she, all in white, after listening to many- 
 sighs and impassioned songs of the youth, cried : 
 
 "Oh! if I only had a boat. Then we could go over 
 there.** She pointed far over the harbor. 
 
 Perhaps Mathios did not notice that the end of her 
 wish had changed from the singular to the plural. Im- 
 pulsively he answered: 
 
 "I could push this rowboat into the water. What do 
 you say? Shall we try it?" 
 
 He, too, changed from the singular to the plural, and 
 without further discussion, as if he were merely test- 
 ing the strength of his muscles, he began to push the 
 little boat. 
 
 The little waves of the sea, lightly moved by the 
 breeze, were rhythmically falling upon the sand and 
 forever swallowed up by it — never tiring of the 
 monotonous game, as the sand itself never had enough 
 of the salty beverage. The young woman was standing 
 on the terrace of the house which her fifty-three-year-old 
 husband had rented for her. It was built so close to the 
 water that it was in or out of it, according to whether 
 
 237
 
 238 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the south wind swelled the high tide, or the north wind 
 swept out the low. The little boat was partly on land 
 and partly in the sea, its prow deep in the sand, its 
 stern bobbing up and down on the waves. 
 
 It was a light, coquettish little boat. She belonged 
 to a schooner of the island, lying loaded in the bay. 
 For three nights her captain had been enjoying his 
 rest with his wife and children. His sailors, all from 
 this island, were going the rounds of the saloons, making 
 up in three nights for the enforced temperance of the 
 past months. The cabin boy, who was from another 
 part of Greece, had been left alone as guardian of the 
 schooner and her cargo, with only the ship's dog for 
 companion. He was eighteen years old, a tall boy, pos- 
 sessing all a sailor's cravings, if not his pay, and he 
 had rowed ashore in this boat, to seek what consolation 
 he could in a nearby saloon. 
 
 He had left the boat half drawn up, her prow deep 
 in the sand, her stern rocking on the waves, and her 
 two oars in place. They were light oars that a child 
 would have handled with joy, while he admired his own 
 strength, multiplied by the gliding smoothness of the 
 waves — a gliding smoothness which yielded like the 
 weakness of a mother to the tears and entreaties of a 
 petted child, and took it hither and yon at will — oars 
 which led the little rowboat over the sea, as the two 
 wings of the white-breasted seagull, flitting over the 
 waves, carry him to his home by the sea-bathed rock.
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 239 
 
 Mathios leaned his two hands on the prow, steadied 
 himself on his legs, and pushed with all his strength. 
 The little felouka slid into the sea with a splash. She 
 almost escaped from his grasp, since he had forgotten 
 to hold on to the painter, the rope attached to the prow. 
 Instantly Mathios threw his light sandals from his feet, 
 and without taking time to roll up his trousers, sprang 
 into the sea up to his knees, caught the little boat, and 
 drew it to a small nearby mole. 
 
 Meanwhile She disappeared from the terrace only to 
 reappear a minute later, her white dress shimmering in 
 the moonlight. Joy and fear mingled in the breast 
 of the youth at the sight. He was acting almost un- 
 consciously. He had not hoped that she would really 
 dare to come. And she, not caring to express her inner 
 thoughts, said aloud: 
 
 "Let's take a turn in the harbor, in the beautiful 
 moonlight;" then she added, "just to see how it feels 
 to get on board — to go beyond." 
 
 She always said "beyond" when she meant her birth- 
 place. Behind the first green hill, above which the moon 
 had risen — a hill, dark in the night, now grayish under 
 the light of the moon — a tall white mountain raised its 
 head, which sometimes was covered with snow, sometimes 
 was bare and rocky. Up there was her country, the 
 place of her birth. She sighed for it as if a whole oceafi 
 rolled between her and it, and not twelve miles. In the 
 daytime the little green hill could not even hide the tall
 
 240 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 brow of the white monntain. She longed for it as if 
 she had not seen it for years, while it was only a few 
 weeks since her husband had brought her to this neigh- 
 boring island. 
 
 She laid her soft white hand on the shoulder of the 
 youth, who shivered at her touch, and stepped into the 
 little boat. He followed, and taking one oar, awkwardly 
 strove to push off. Instead of pushing the mole, he 
 plunged the oar into the water alongside. The boat 
 tilted and struck a stone. 
 
 "Please don't let us injure another man's boat," she 
 cried. The incident made her think more seriously of 
 her action, and she added: "I wonder if they will not 
 miss the boat. Perhaps they will need it. Whose is it? 
 Do you know?" 
 
 Embarrassed, the young man replied: "Since we are 
 only going for a short turn in the harbor, it doesn't 
 matter whose it is. I don't believe they will need it so 
 soon, anyway.'* 
 
 He took the oars and began to row. She, seated in 
 the stem, was bathed in the full light of the pale moon, 
 which sketched her delicate features as if in silver. 
 Timidly he gazed at her. He was no sailor, but he 
 knew how to row, having been brought up by the sea. 
 He had come back in the middle of the year from the 
 capital of the province, where he had been studying in 
 the high school, because he had refused to accept the
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 241 
 
 punishment imposed upon him for having disputed with 
 one of the professors whom he considered more than or- 
 dinarily stupid. He was barely eighteen, but looked a 
 year or two older, owing to the thick hair beginning 
 to grow upon his lips and cheeks. 
 
 After seating herself, the young woman reverted to 
 her last remark, and added cheerfully: 
 
 **The owner will be looking for his boat, and Uncle 
 Monachaki will be looking for his Lalio.'* 
 
 The youth smiled. Uncle Monachaki was her hus- 
 band's name; Lalio, her own. 
 
 At that moment over the water a dog barked loudly. 
 It was the dog of the loaded schooner to which the little 
 felouka belonged. He rushed to the very tip of the 
 prow. At first he wagged his tail and yelped because he 
 recognized the boat. When she came nearer, and he 
 did not see among the passengers either the cabin boy 
 or any of the crew, he began to bark and growl furi- 
 ously. 
 
 The young student rowed away from the schooner, 
 which made the dog bark more furiously than ever. 
 
 "What ails him?" Lalio asked anxiously. * 
 
 "Evidently he has recognized the boat." 
 
 "Does it belong to the schooner?" 
 
 "It would seem so." 
 
 The youth expressed this possibility with sorrow, see- 
 ing in it the necessity for shortening their dream-like
 
 242 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 expedition. Fortunately Lalio, like a naughty child 
 who takes intense delight in doing what she is for- 
 bidden, clapped her hands and cried: 
 
 **I am delighted. Let the dog bark for his boat — 
 and let them look for me!" 
 
 Encouraged, the youth asked: "Where was Uncle 
 Monachaki when you left the house?" 
 
 '*ln the coffee-house, as usual. All his time is spent 
 there. He can scarcely unglue himself by midnight — 
 always leaving me alone!" 
 
 She seemed ready to weep, and controlled herself with 
 effort. 
 
 The youth continued to row, and after a while they 
 were not far from the east entrance of the harbor. 
 Exactly opposite there lay the long island, over which 
 the white mountain rose, sometimes covered with snow, 
 at others in the naked grey of its rocks. When they 
 drew near the shore of the promontory which formed 
 one of the jaws of the harbor, the young woman fixed 
 her eyes on the horizon, as if anxious to pene- 
 trate farther than the pale light of the moon would 
 allow. 
 
 "Let me look a bit beyond, and then we can turn 
 back," she said with a sigh. 
 
 The young man, encouraged, asked: "What is that 
 song that you sometimes sing?" 
 
 "What song?" 
 
 "The song . . . that tells of the sails, of the rudder
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 243 
 
 ... of the mountains beyond," the young man whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "Ah!" and immediately, with a tender mezzo- 
 soprano voice, and in a pathetic tone she began to 
 hum: 
 
 ** *"When will you come and sail with me? 
 The mountains yonder I long to see. 
 I'll take the rudder as on we go, 
 And bid farewell to my grief and woe.* " 
 
 She repeated the song two or three times to an old 
 tune. 
 
 * ' Now you are seeing the mountains beyond, ' ' Mathios 
 said, * ' only instead of sails we have oars, and the rudder 
 is missing." 
 
 Once more the young woman sighed. 
 
 *'Is it time for us to turn back?" The words fell 
 from the lips of the youth like withered flowers. 
 
 *'Ju8t a little bit farther," Lalio begged. "The 
 shadows cast by those islands prevent me from seeing 
 well beyond. I can only see Derphi." 
 
 "Derphi is there," said the young man, pointing to- 
 ward the south. 
 
 Lalio, pointing to the east, corrected him. "We call 
 Derphi the tall mountain of my birthplace. ' ' 
 
 Once more she hummed her song, changing one 
 word.
 
 244 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 ** 'When will you come and sail with me? 
 My own dear Derphi I long to see. 
 I'll take the rudder, as on we go, 
 And bid farewell to my grief and woe/ " 
 
 The tall young man drew a deep breath, like a sigh. 
 
 "Ah, I forget. Your poor shouldera must be lame 
 with rowing," she cried. "Really, I am behaving like 
 mad. Your poor little hands were not made for rowing, 
 Mr. Mathios." 
 
 The young man protested. "No, no, I'm not tired. 
 The oars are very light. Such oars could not possibly 
 tire one." 
 
 Lalio insisted on taking one of them, and, bending a 
 little forward, tried to loosen one of the oarlocks, to 
 move it nearer her. The youth resisted, and her white 
 hand touched his. 
 
 "You said that my hands were tender," Mathios 
 said, gazing into her eyes. 
 
 "Very well, then, let's put up a sail, as it says in the 
 song," Lalio said playfully. 
 
 "Where shall we find the sail?" he inquired, uncon- 
 sciously looking at her white dress. 
 
 Lalio laughed, and leaned back again in the stern. 
 
 They had now reached the mouth of the harbor, and 
 found themselves between two little islands and the 
 precipitous sides of the promontory. The moon rose
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 245 
 
 higher in the firmament, dimming the stars that were 
 timidly shining in the corners of the sky. The sea was 
 rulBed by the light breeze, remnant of the strong wind 
 of the morning. It was a warm May night, but the 
 breeze became cooler as they approached the entrance 
 of the harbor. Their two figures were silvered by the 
 melancholy light of the moon, in whose semi-obscurity 
 the details of the landscape were lost. The little boat 
 was passing close to one of the small islands on which 
 light and dark objects could be seen: rocks sparkling 
 under the rays of the moon, grey bushes gently stirring 
 under the breath of the night wind, caverns beaten by 
 the rushing waves, where sea-birds must have their home, 
 and whence came the agonized whirring of wild part- 
 ridges, frightened by the sound of the oars and the 
 approach of the little boat. Toward the northeast, on 
 a slope of the mountain, lights trembled, where in the 
 daytime appeared the tiny white houses of the little 
 village high above the sea. 
 
 On a rock, full of caverns and crevices, jutting out 
 from the island, the sea beat, splashing and crashing, 
 and disturbing the harmony of the moonlit scene. It 
 constituted an orchestra of its own, an orchestra that 
 made more noise than did the waves in all the inlets 
 and beaches, on all the shores and the other rocks on 
 which they fell. 
 
 Presently Mathios raised the oars and rested them for 
 a while in the oarlocks. He remained quiet, resembling
 
 246 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the white seabird which Joyfully leans toward the wave, 
 one wing up, the other down, immovable for a minute, 
 before hastening to catch the swimming fish and raise 
 it squirming into the air. The youth was under an 
 indiscribable spell. Lalio, too, was under an unknown 
 enchantment, and their eyes met. 
 
 "Shall we hoist a sail?" she asked. 
 
 Evidently she had never ceased to think of it, since 
 he had first suggested it. She said it now simply and 
 naturally, as if she were interpreting the thought of 
 both. 
 
 "Let us," he answered, still in a trance. He did not 
 know what he was saying: he did not ask with what 
 they should hoist a sail. 
 
 Lalio saved him that trouble. She rose, bent grace- 
 fully, and with a quick movement divested herself of 
 her white dress, and handed it to him. 
 
 "Now get the mast ready." 
 
 Surprised, happy, and spellbound the youth took one 
 of the oars and stepped it through a hole in the for- 
 ward seat ; then he took the white dress, still warm from 
 the young woman's touch, and attached it to the oar 
 for a sail. 
 
 Lalio remained in her short white petticoat, beneath 
 which her shapely, white-stockinged legs could be seen. 
 The beauty of her neck was now partly covered by her 
 red silk scarf, as shyly she sat, looking more than ever 
 like a charming little girl.
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 247 
 
 The breeze had grown stronger, and the improvised 
 sail held the wind well and carried the little boat swiftly 
 along. 
 
 There was no longer a question of returning to the 
 harbor. Why should they? It was evident now that 
 they were sailing for the mountain beyond. Mathios 
 was sitting on the other side of the stern, not very 
 close to Lalio, his eyes on the sea, lest he should keep 
 them too much on his fellow passenger and embarrass 
 her. 
 
 At that moment a song of the Heptanesian poet came 
 into his mind, a song that played a great part in all 
 romantic love affairs of that time. * * Awake, sweet love, * ' 
 it began. He recalled another line: "Only the pale 
 moon," and then still another song recurred to him: 
 
 * * Farewell, my deep ravines, where cooling waters dwell ; 
 Sweet dawns and happy birds, forevermore farewell I" 
 
 He remembered all these songs, but had no wish to 
 sing them. They seemed to him quite out of place. That 
 which seemed most appropriate was the one beloved of 
 Lalio — 
 
 "When will you come and sail with me? 
 The mountains yonder I long to see. 
 I'll take the rudder as on we go, 
 And bid farewell to my grief and woe."
 
 248 MODEKX GREEK STORIES 
 
 He was sitting not very close to Lalio, too close, how- 
 ever, for him to be able easily to look at her, yet so far 
 away that neither her breath nor the warmth of her 
 body could reach him. So intensely did he wish to look 
 at her that he became dizzy watching the sea. 
 
 He took off his short light coat and begged her to 
 pnt it on so that she might not catch cold, because, as 
 the night advanced, the mist from the mountains be- 
 came thicker. She refused it, maintaining that so far 
 from being cold she was quite warm. 
 
 Mathios did not insist. He began to think about her, 
 about her life, and her fate, and whatever he knew of 
 her. The young woman had only known his parents 
 since the time of her short stay on the island. She was 
 not in her first youth, although she still retained almost 
 all her virginal freshness. Neither was she newly wed. 
 She was twenty-five years old, and had been married 
 for five years. She was Mr. Monachaki's second wife. 
 He had been a widower, and after marrjnng off his 
 daughter, one year older than Lalio, he had married 
 her; and the girl's youth had seemed to make him twenty 
 years younger. As long as he had stayed away from 
 his native place — serving as an official wherever the 
 government chose to send him — Lalio did not very much 
 mind. She had remained near her parents, since she 
 was unable to follow Mr. Monachaki all over Greece, 
 where, to use his own words, he was thrown about like 
 an old boot. The wind blowing about him was unsuited
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 249 
 
 to tender flowers, and if devastating hands had dared 
 to transplant her, she would have withered in a single 
 month. The pot was alabaster, the plant delicate, and 
 the blossom exhaled an aroma not meant for vulgar 
 nostrils. 
 
 After much wire-pulling Mr. Monaehaki managed to 
 have himself appointed permanently to the neighboring 
 island. Then he pursuaded his father-in-law, who was 
 of his own age, and whom he greatly respected, to send 
 Lalio to him, so that they might live under the same 
 roof. Weeping, the young woman embarked on a boat, 
 to go to the island. She bade good-bye to her step- 
 daughter, for whom she entertained a real sisterly feel- 
 ing. The latter had just become a mother, and had 
 ceased to fear the arrival of a step-brother. 
 
 Mr. Monaehaki, on the happy day of the arrival of 
 his young wife, gave a party to all his friends, to share 
 in his rejoicing, but on the next day his doors were 
 closed, and he was at home to no one. This was 
 not strange, since he never was at home himself. He 
 spent his time either at his office, or at the coffee-house, 
 with his enormous pipe always alight, and reaching the 
 full length of his baggy light-blue trousers. He was a 
 lively man, constantly talking and laughing noisily. 
 His cheeks were red — almost the shade of his tall fez 
 which tilted over his left ear, its long shiny tassel rest- 
 ing on his shoulder. 
 
 Soon after her arrival, whenever Lalio was awake at
 
 250 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 the midnight hour of her husband's return, she began 
 to complain, and beg to be sent back to her native place. 
 She maintained that she could not live away from her 
 parents. Indeed, from the first day of her coming, her 
 heart had ached, she could not eat, and her color began 
 to fade. 
 
 Uncle Monachaki gave her sweetly to understand that 
 it was not becoming to leave him so soon after her ar- 
 rival. He proceeded to expound long theories showing 
 that the wife should ever be by the side of her husband, 
 arguing that otherwise the object of Christian marriage 
 would be nullified. He explained that according to 
 orthodox vows, marriage was the union of the wisdom 
 of man and woman, and not necessarily for the propaga- 
 tion of the race, since if the latter were the sole object, 
 divorce would be the natural outcome of a childless mar- 
 riage. For the propagation of the race, physical union 
 "was enough, while religious and political marriage was 
 quite another thing. To strengthen his position he 
 quoted from the scriptures such sayings as, "This is 
 bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh," "Whom God 
 had joined together, let no man put asunder," "Man 
 is the head of tke woman," and many others. 
 
 Lalio stifled her sobs in the palms of her hands and 
 in her heavy tresses, and wiped away her tears with the 
 long ends of her white tulle cap. 
 
 As a neighbor, the youth was aware of all this, and 
 secretly had fallen in love with her. The grace of her
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 251 
 
 slender form was not lost in the loose garment she wore. 
 Her lovely face was framed by her abundant and 
 naturally wavy hair. Under her finely arched eyebrows, 
 the light of her dark, deepset eyes burned steadfastly, 
 and her red lips lent color to the pallor of her cheeks, 
 which blushed under the smallest exertion and least emo- 
 tion. The gentle light of her eyes had burned into the 
 heart of the youth. He had fallen in love with her. 
 Often coming out on her terrace, she would for an in- 
 stant look at him dreamily and absent-mindedly. Then 
 her gaze would travel to an object on the eastern horizon, 
 to the mountain beyond. This evening, however, during 
 the absence of her husband, as soon as the moon rose, she 
 had come out on her terrace. She had seen Mathios 
 standing below her, enjoying the sea breeze. Then, at 
 random, and without thinking, she had made the 
 astounding proposition which had led to this strange 
 voyage. 
 
 The young woman now seemed in a mysterious exis- 
 tence, in a life of enchantment from which occasionally 
 for a few minutes she emerged, only to relapse even 
 deeper into her marvellous and wonderful dream. 
 
 It was already midnight, and since they were rudder- 
 less, now the current of the sea, now the breeze from the 
 land, had impelled them little by little northward, oppo- 
 site the twinkling lights of the high village, which at 
 present appeared much nearer. They were also quite 
 near to a solitary and rocky island, known as Aspronesi,
 
 252 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 which was the prison of a few hares, thrown there by 
 the villagers, and also served as a sanctuary for all gulls 
 and other sea-birds. Here it became necessary for 
 Mathios to unfasten their makeshift sail, and give her 
 garment back to Lalio, who was quite cold, although she 
 refused to admit it. After taking down their improvised 
 sail, the youth took an oar and began to use it as a 
 rudder, endeavoring to turn the prow of the boat toward 
 the left, toward the most eastern point of the opposite 
 shore, which was called Tracheli. He realized, how- 
 ever, that he was not succeeding, the current not being 
 propitious, and he was forced once more to begin 
 rowing. 
 
 The spirit of the night breezes which were blowing 
 from the land, and that of the sea waves between the 
 two islands were tonight on the side of Lalio; for no 
 sooner were they a few boat-lengths from Aspronesi than 
 they saw a large scamhavia, a barge, appearing from 
 the harbor, near the three islands to the southeast. She 
 was gliding over the sea at great speed and heading 
 for the promontory, Tracheli. Her six oars rhytli- 
 mically dipped into the water, and she slipped over the 
 surface of the waves, as a young mare gambols in 
 the field, after she has managed to escape from the 
 stable. 
 
 At sight of the scamhavia Lalio was taken aback. The 
 youth turned to see, and stopped rowing, uncertain what 
 to do next.
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 253 
 
 t<i 
 
 'Quick! quick!" Lalio whispered, as if afraid that 
 her voice might carry to the barge. **Row behind As- 
 pronesi — please!'* 
 
 Mathios quickly turned the prow of the boat as she 
 desired. Fortunately they were in the shadow of the 
 shore, which prevented the light of the moon from be- 
 traying them. They turned a jutting point of rock, 
 and were hidden behind the little island. 
 
 "What do you think it is?" Lalio asked anxiously. 
 
 "Without doubt they are searching for us." 
 
 "How big their boat is!" 
 
 "Yes, it has many oars, and eats up the space." 
 
 "So, if we had been in front there, they would have 
 caught us." 
 
 "They are making for Tracheli. In a few minutes 
 they would have been upon us, had we gone there." 
 
 "We did well, then, to come here." 
 
 "We did not come, the current brought us." 
 
 "The good waves knew what they were about," Lalio 
 said, as if she were giving forth that which she had 
 seen in a dream. And she said it believing at that 
 moment that mere inanimate objects had a mind under 
 the direction and will of a god. Indeed, one could al- 
 most believe that the night nymph had actually pushed 
 the little boat with its graceful cargo toward that side 
 on purpose. 
 
 * ' What shall we do now ? ' ' asked Mathios, feeling un- 
 able to cope with the situation, without the assistance
 
 254 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 of a kind nymph, and realizing why from, the beginning 
 of the world woman had been created. 
 
 "Now," said Lalio, speaking persuasively and wisely, 
 as if she had all along foreseen this turn of affairs, "we 
 will wait here for about half an hour, and unless they 
 suspect our being here, and come for us, they will make 
 for Tracheli. Then we can land over there at St. Nich- 
 olas. From there, in about half an hour, on foot, we 
 can make Platana, the high village. From there, when 
 God's daylight comes, we will walk for three hours, and 
 that will bring us to my own big village. Oh! if only 
 my foot could touch its holy soil! But if they suspect 
 where we are, and come here, well, we shall have to 
 make for your island, and reach Kephala as quickly as 
 we can. There we shall leave the boat on the sand, and 
 return home on foot. 'Where were you, Lalio?' * I went 
 for a turn. Uncle Monachaki, and here I am again.' " 
 
 She laughed at her o^vn pertness. Seeing the youth 
 still anxious, she went on: "All I ask is for them not 
 to catch us. I don't care what they will say. So long 
 as we are innocent, let stupid people calumniate us if 
 they like." 
 
 Mathios bent lovingly and kissed the tips of her fing- 
 ers, thinking that he was innocent — yes, as innocent as 
 many who, according to history, had been unjustly con- 
 demned to the slow death by fire. 
 
 She added sternly: "If I wanted a lover, the best 
 way of having him would be to stay with Uncle Mona-
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 255 
 
 chaki. The proof that I don't want a lover is that I 
 have started to go back to my own parents. They can 
 not cover me up. Uncle Monachaki alone could do it." 
 
 A pain like a knife thrust cut through the heart of 
 the youth. He imagined her in love with some one in 
 her native land, and for his sake having undertaken this 
 curious journey. If that were the case, what was his 
 own position? What role was he playing? He was but 
 the bridge over which two lovers stepped who were seek- 
 ing each other. 
 
 Oh ! what a flame burned inside him ! He felt at that 
 moment in the depths of his heart all the instincts of a 
 tragic hero raging and storming. (Did the conscience 
 of the writer permit it, this idyl could easily be turned 
 into a tragedy. Imagine the dramatic pursuit of the 
 two runaways by the scambavia, Mathios escaping 
 through his miraculous rowing, only to learn at the last 
 moment that she that was homesick had a lover there 
 beyond. Thereupon the youth stabs her with a dagger, 
 or, sinking the boat, drowns both her and himself. Then 
 the barge, by the light of the waning moon, searching 
 for the two bodies in the depth of the sea. What a 
 miracle of romanticism! What tears of sentimentality!) 
 
 With a great effort Mathios mastered himself, and, 
 looking straight at the young woman, asked simply: 
 
 "Was no one in love with you, there beyond, before 
 you married Uncle Monachaki?" 
 
 'Of course— a great many!" Lalio answered play- 
 
 «<<
 
 256 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 fully. "Only this was the tronble: girls without 
 dowries are loved like the flowers. One inhales their 
 perfume, and then lets them either wither, or fall to 
 pieces. I didn 't happen to have a big dowry, so no one 
 loved me sufficiently to wish to marry me with pomp 
 and ceremony, or to elope with me and marry me 
 secretly, with only one priest, sure that my parents in 
 the end would be willing to give up the dowry. So you 
 see no one turned to ask for my hand, except Uncle 
 Monachaki. Well, after all, it wasn't so bad," and she 
 hummed the song — 
 
 **My parents gave me in marriage 
 Without asking what I thought." 
 
 <(i 
 
 'Then are you only running away from Uncle Mona- 
 chaki?" the youth asked, referring to the last remark 
 of her confession. 
 
 "I am not running away. I am returning home, I 
 am going to find my parents. If Uncle Monachaki 
 comes to me in my native land he is welcome. He knows 
 very well that I am incapable of betraying him, but 
 he also knows that I cannot live in exile." 
 
 The youth felt uneasy. He suspected that a woman 
 ever deceives. He imagined himself a victim of her 
 wiles. Abruptly he asked: 
 
 "Is it possible that some particular man has not 
 singled you out — and that you do not care for him
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 257 
 
 more than for the others — ^before you were married — 
 or afterwards?" 
 
 Lalio sighed deeply as she replied: "Oh, yes, to be 
 frank with you, he who would have liked to marry me, 
 and whom I should have liked to marry, was taken six 
 years ago by the Black Sea. The sailboat was lost with 
 all on board. But, for mercy's sake, why do you insist 
 on questioning me?" 
 
 Meanwhile the barge, which the two runaways never 
 stopped furtively watching, after continuing for some 
 time toward the east, when it reached the end of 
 the easterly island, stopped. Mathios attracted the at- 
 tention of his companion to this. 
 
 "I know," she said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You will see in a moment." 
 
 The young man looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 "Be patient: I will solve the riddle. Now you will 
 see the barge turn toward Tracheli. ' ' 
 
 "How do you know? Are you a witch?" 
 
 "Yes, I am — I am a witch," she replied with con- 
 viction. 
 
 Mathios felt a vague fear at her sparkling eyes. At 
 that very moment, the barge turned definitely to the 
 east, and started more rapidly on her way. 
 
 Mathios gave a gasp of admiration. 
 'I will tell you what it is," Lalio went on. "I will 
 
 if
 
 258 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 bet you ninety-five to a hundred that Uncle Monaehaki 
 is on the scamhavia." 
 
 "Well?'' 
 
 "Those at the oars, to avoid the long trip, and because 
 they have reasoned it out that way, must have urged 
 him to hunt all around the little islands, thinking to 
 come upon us in some of the inlets. Uncle Monaehaki, 
 who knows very well that I have no business with 
 the islands, but that I have started for my native 
 land, is certain that I have made for Tracheli, and 
 if he can manage to catch up with me before I 
 have set foot on Egnonda, the harbor of my island, 
 he hopes to coax me to return with him to your island. 
 For this reason he does not wish to lose time search- 
 ing around the little islands, and so give me time 
 to escape 'beyond.' So he has pursued those at the 
 oars to make for Tracheli, though inwardly they are 
 cursing." 
 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 "Well, when they get a little way off, we can go over 
 there. Give me one of the oars." 
 
 Mathios did not refuse. Presently the barge was so 
 far away that one could hardly discern her upon the 
 immense horizon. She was a mere dark spot on the 
 silvery surface of the sea. 
 
 Joyfully Lalio cried: "Now row for all we are 
 worth."
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 259 
 
 The homesick bride was right: Mr. Monachaki was 
 aboard the barge. 
 
 Half an hour after the two runaways had embarked, 
 he had heard the disquieting news that his Lalio was no 
 longer in his home. He was sitting in the coffee-house, 
 engaged in an animated political discussion, smoking 
 his enormous pipe, when a ten-year-old boy — barefooted, 
 and dressed in a striped shirt and trousers, rushed in, 
 crying : 
 
 ** Uncle, your wife is gone!" 
 
 "Gone? Where?" asked the good man in surprise. 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "You don't know — then how did you hear about 
 it?" 
 
 "Basil, the son of the widow of Markos, was on the 
 beach, and saw her." 
 
 "And who is this Basil, son of the widow of Markos?" 
 
 The boy pointed toward the door. "That fellow out- 
 side.'' 
 
 The euriosity of Mr. Monachaki and of his companions 
 was now thoroughly aroused, and they all looked toward 
 the entrance. Another boy, eight years old, bare-footed 
 and bare-headed, with one trouser leg rolled up to his 
 knee, and his feet wet with salt water, stood outside, 
 hiding half his face behind the door-post and keeping 
 his body safely behind the wall, while he anxiously 
 watched with his exposed eye to see what was going to 
 happen in the coffee house.
 
 260 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 * * Hey, there ! Was it you who saw my wife go away f ' ' 
 Mr. Monaehaki shouted. 
 
 "I did, uncle," the child answered. 
 
 "Where did she go?" 
 
 *' Don't know." 
 
 Mr. Monaehaki was upset. He rose and made an 
 angry movement with his hand, as if he meant to dash 
 his pipe on the floor. 
 
 The first boy, who was standing only five paces from 
 him, was frightened and started to run. He did not 
 want to get a blow from that pipe. The older boy van- 
 ished behind the wall. 
 
 ** Don't be afraid," said Mr. Monaehaki. "If you are 
 telling the truth, I won't touch you. Just come here 
 and tell me what you know — I have a reason." 
 
 Sorrow, anger and shame dominated the old man. 
 
 "It was this way, uncle," the boy said, picking up 
 courage again, but unwilling to be too distant from the 
 door. "Basil saw the boat when your wife got into it 
 with Kalioras' son, and started rowing away. Then he 
 called me and showed me the boat. It was quite far, 
 I couldn't see the man in it. We thought they would 
 come back soon. Then we saw them row past the point 
 of Pounta, out of the harbor. We wanted to see if they 
 would come back but they never did." 
 
 "How long ago was that?" 
 
 "Two hours or more, I guess." 
 
 "Then why didn't you come to tell me sooner?"
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 261 
 
 **No, it could not have been so long," the boy stam- 
 mered. "One hour — just one hour — no, less than an 
 hour — a little while — just a little while ago. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Munachaki made an angry move to lay his pipe 
 in the comer of the room. The boy ran. 
 
 Basil, the son of the widow of Markos, about three 
 hundred paces ahead of the other boy, was running with 
 the eagerness of a boy having some good, or some bad 
 news to circulate. If it is good news, they run to get 
 a tip from the interested person ; if it is bad news, they 
 run to enjoy watching the unfortunate person's em- 
 barrassment. He stopped, panting, under the piazza of 
 the captain of the schooner, where he had seen the open 
 door of a brightly lighted room, and shouted at the 
 top of his voice: 
 
 "Uncle, your rowboat is gone!" 
 
 Basil had not had the courage to enter the coffee 
 house to tell his news to Mr. Monachaki ; but seeing that 
 his chum had done this with impunity, and considering 
 that the captain's heavy cane could not reach him from 
 the piazza, he had plucked up courage to run ahead of 
 his friend, to enjoy the pleasures of a news carrier. 
 
 Captain Kyriakos was still at the table nibbling at one 
 thing or other, as a stimulant to another drink, in the 
 expert manner of a sailor who has just come home and 
 is eager to prolong and analyze this rare bit of happi- 
 ness. He heard the voice and walked out on the piazza :
 
 262 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Your boat's gone!" 
 
 "Who has gone with it?" 
 
 "Mathios. son of Malamos." 
 
 "And who is Mathios, son of Malamos?" 
 
 "The son of the wife of Malamos Kalioras, I say." 
 
 "Where is he going with it?" 
 
 "Out of the harbor." 
 
 "Is he alone?" 
 
 "He is gone with a woman." 
 
 "With a woman?" Captain Kyriakos was surprised. 
 "What woman?" 
 
 The boy remained silent and took preliminary pre- 
 cautions to hide under the piazza. 
 
 "Why didn't you bring me the news sooner?" shouted 
 the captain. 
 
 But the boy disappeared around the comer and the 
 captain could hear his steps on the pavement as he ran 
 away at full speed. 
 
 "That devil of a cabin boy must have got drunk again 
 somewhere and left that boat to shift for itself." 
 
 Captain Kyriakos reached this conclusion in mono- 
 logue, and immediately sent men to look for the culprit. 
 After much vain searching through the various wine 
 shops of the market place, they found him, at last, in 
 an out-of-the-way shop at the end of the town. 
 
 The captain asked two of his friends, who had been
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 263 
 
 with him at his table, to borrow a boat of some sort 
 in order to row out to the schooner, and let down from 
 its deck the gig, a large rowboat with six oars. He did 
 not seem to care so much for the woman who had eloped 
 or for the lucky young man who had gone with her, as 
 he did for his new, neat and well-built felouka. He 
 also asked them to mobilize two or three boatmen and 
 to hasten in pursuit of the elopers. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Monaehaki had been informed who 
 the owner of the stolen boat was, and presented himself 
 with a sad countenance at the captain's home. 
 
 "Can you come aboard the barge yourself?" asked 
 Captain Kyriakos, on becoming acquainted with the hus- 
 band of the eloping wife — for, of course, everyone in- 
 tepreted the event as a case of elopement. 
 
 To go with the scamhavia was exactly what Mr, Mona- 
 ehaki had been wishing for. He was afraid to stay in 
 the little town, a prey to his anxious thoughts; and it 
 seemed to him that by taking part in the pursuit he 
 would be able to lessen his agony. He had confidence 
 in Lalio. She had said herself that she was incapable 
 of betraying his honor. But who can tell? Who can 
 fathom the mysteries of a woman's temper? He knew 
 she was delicate, inclined to be a dreamer, and a prey 
 to homesickness. But how could he make other people 
 understand such things? Pity him who falls into a pit 
 of water, however clean the water may be. Other people 
 may help you out but they will not fail to ridicule you.
 
 264 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 Still he was as sure of his Lalio as any man could 
 be sure of his wife. Prom the time when he used to 
 visit her father's house as an intimate friend of the 
 family, he had known Lalio ; he would take her on his 
 lap, rock her and kiss her. She was three years old 
 then and he was thirty. When she was five, he would 
 bring her candies as presents without calculating on 
 his part and without ever suspecting what was going to 
 happen in the future. From the time when Lalio, still 
 lisping, called him "Uncle Monachaki" to the time when 
 she became his wife, and still continued to call him 
 "Uncle Monachaki" he had studied her as a child, as a 
 young lady, and as a woman ; so he knew well that more 
 than any other woman Lalio lived with her head and 
 her nerves. 
 
 Half an hour passed before the two sailors whom Cap- 
 tain Kyriakos wanted could be persuaded to leave their 
 houses. Another half hour was spent in finding a boat, 
 boarding the schooner and letting down the gig into the 
 sea. Another half hour passed before they could mobi- 
 lize any boatmen or fishermen from the wharf. Their 
 boats could not be considered for the pursuit because 
 they were too heavy and had only two or, at the most, 
 four oars. A lot of time had to be wasted before they 
 could reach an understanding. At last six of them did \ 
 board the scamhavia. Mr. Monachaki was the seventh 
 man, and he took his place at the rudder. 
 
 Rowing strenuously, they reached the open sea; but
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 265 
 
 then how could they find the felouka? The sea may- 
 chat like a woman, but can also be as stubborn as a 
 woman in keeping a secret. If you could not detect 
 any traces of alien kisses on the lips of a woman, so 
 you could not detect traces of the elusive boat on the 
 endless expanse of the blue sea. 
 
 "Who can tell," thought Mr. Monachaki. **Love be- 
 guiles and youth is easily deceived." How could he 
 know whether she had not sinned already? He had 
 told her once that she would be safe near him because 
 an old husband can also be a father to a young wife; 
 and she had answered that she would be safe near him 
 even if she meant to do wrong. Both were right ; Mona- 
 chaki saw that now, when they were apart ; and even if 
 she were a thousand times innocent, the world would 
 condemn her; but if she was near him she would al- 
 ways be honorable in the eyes of the world though she 
 might be a thousand times guilty. Like the princess in. 
 the old legend, if she were to pass the ordeal of the 
 bow, the arrow would hardly touch her finger tips. 
 
 The felouka was moving between the two islands on 
 the open sea. The kindly spirit of the sea brought a 
 helpful current to its keel, and a favorable breeze blew 
 softly on its stern. Its cool breath gave strength to the 
 arms and shoulders of the young man, and braced the 
 soft muscles of the young woman. They rowed like 
 expert oarsmen. The light oars did not seem to tire
 
 266 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 them, and they had already reached the second half of 
 their watery way. 
 
 The crew of the barge first caught sight of the felouka 
 only when they approached the Neck Point 
 
 *' What's that?" 
 
 "The felouka." 
 
 Mr. Monachaki turned his head to the left: 
 
 **Ah, that is it." 
 
 * ' Who knows ? I don 't believe it can be it, ' ' said one 
 of the sailors, who wished to avoid the additional labor 
 and annoyance of pursuing the distant boat. 
 
 **I am sure that's the boat," said another, whose 
 curiosity made him intent upon seeing this sea drama 
 to its end, and upon catching the boat with the eloping 
 lovers. 
 
 "That is the boat," concluded Mr. Monachaki, "let us 
 turn that way, boys. I'll steer to leeward." 
 
 "Where are they going, that way?'* 
 
 * ' To St. Nicholas ; you see they have taken the shortest 
 way and we have been wearing out our shoulders all 
 this time for nothing." 
 
 "Let us turn, boys," shouted Mr. Monachaki. 
 "Quick! some of you back water, so that I may turn 
 to leeward." 
 
 The six men at the oars had stopped rowing and the 
 barge was going by its own momentum. But Mr. Mona- 
 chaki was impatient over the time they had been wast- 
 ing:
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 267 
 
 ''Back water, boy, I say! Turn that way, to lee- 
 ward." 
 
 But nobody paid any attention to him. A council waa 
 held in the middle of the open sea. Some were of the 
 opinion that they should go on ; others thought that they 
 should turn northward towards the felouka. Finally 
 the majority won, electrified by expectancy of the en- 
 joyable scene they might witness. 
 
 They turned the prow to the left and resumed rowing. 
 Their strength was renewed and refreshed. Only the 
 barge was three times as far from the harbor, which was 
 their goal, as the little boat; and though it was pro- 
 pelled by a crew three times the size of the other boat, 
 it was five times as bulky and its displacement was 
 three times as great. 
 
 Mathios immediately noticed the sudden turning of 
 the barge. 
 
 *'See,'* he cried, "they are after us." 
 
 "They may try to catch us now," Lalio shouted joy- 
 fully. "It seems to me they are farther away from us 
 than we are from land." 
 
 "Much farther. But they have many oars." 
 
 "We have a lot of strength, too." 
 
 With these words she redoubled her efforts at the 
 
 oar. 
 
 For a whole hour the contest continued along the 
 coast, while the pale moon slowly sank in the west and 
 from the farms that studded the valley and the hill-
 
 268 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 sides, the chanticleers crowed their second call. It was 
 the game of the terrible octopus with its long arms pur- 
 suing pilchard, or of the playful dolphin diving after 
 needle fish. The scamhavia moved with pompous mon- 
 otony, like a strong hideous shark, while the oars creaked 
 rhythmically in their forked iron tholepins at each 
 stroke. 
 
 The felouka glided over the waves like a cork, with 
 a ripple as light as the sound of a kiss, while with 
 its playful oars it pushed behind it the waters which 
 caressed it and escorted it, in front and behind, like a 
 guard of honor preceding and following a royal chariot. 
 One might think that invisible Tritons were carrying it 
 upon the face of the waves so that it might not lose 
 speed with its keel under water. 
 
 However, it was clear that the barge was gradually 
 gaining. The race was long and arduous but the barge 
 came nearer and nearer. At last the felouka approached 
 the beach, and Mathios had the satisfaction of running 
 his boat first on the shallow sands. 
 
 *'May we ever have as good a trip as this!" Lalio 
 shouted gaily. Then she rose, made the sign of the 
 cross at the sight of the little chapel of St. Nicholas, 
 gleaming in the moonlight, and sprang on the beach 
 without wetting more than her heels. Mathios jumped 
 after her and pulled up the felouka. The scambavia was 
 now only twenty yards from the beach. 
 
 The young man was eager to accompany Lalio to the
 
 SHE THAT WAS HOMESICK 269 
 
 village. He suspected that the crew of the barge would 
 continue their chase on land, too, and somehow he felt 
 happy for that very reason. Lalio's last confession 
 about her lover who was drowned in the Black Sea was 
 not a sufficient antidote for his misgivings. Evil fore- 
 bodings disturbed him and he thought that a woman 
 who had forgotten her drowned lover to marry an old 
 man, was also capable of abandoning old age for a 
 third one, who might live in her home village. But if 
 they should be pursued on land, too, she would have to 
 depend on his help ; they would have to reach her village 
 together and then — oh joy — their love would be con- 
 secrated by land and sea. 
 
 Suddenly the voice of Mr. Monachaki, standing up in 
 the moonlight on the barge's stem, was heard shout- 
 ing in the silence of the night: 
 
 *'Lalio! Ho, Lalio!" 
 
 Lalio stood thoughtful for a moment with head down. 
 Then she shouted back: 
 
 ''Yes, Uncle Monachaki?" 
 
 "Do you want to see your parents, my sweetheart? 
 That is quite right. Wait a moment. I will go with 
 you. You might find it hard, my love, if you go 
 
 alone." 
 
 "Just as you say, Uncle Monachaki," Lalio answered 
 without any sign of embarassment. 
 
 The young man stood beside her, aghast, unable to 
 understand her, and somewhat afraid for himself.
 
 270 
 
 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 
 **You can go back with the barge, Mathios, my boy,'* 
 said Lalio, with sincere emotion. "It is a pity that I 
 am older than you. If Uncle Monachaki was dead, I 
 might marry you.*' 
 
 
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