In England, At The Time That I Am Writing,
Money Is Not Worth 2 Per Cent.
Owing to the general depression of trade;
the money-market has been in this plethoric or dropsical state for the
last three years, and there appears to be no hope upon the commercial
horizon of a favourable change.
In Cyprus the resources are great, but
the capital is wanting, and the strange anomaly is presented that the
exchange of the British for the Turkish flag has not increased public
confidence. Something must be done to change the present stupor; if
Cypriotes were Candians (Cretans) their voices would be forcibly heard,
and the Turkish rule beneath the British uniform would be quickly
overthrown. The Cypriote, down-trodden for centuries, is like sodden
tinder that will not awaken to the spark: he is what is called "easily
governed;" which means an abject race, in which all noble aspirations
have been stamped out by years of unremitting oppression and injustice;
still, like the Cyprian ox, he ploughs the ground. It is the earth alone
that yields the world's wealth: if we have no other thoughts but
avarice, let us treat the Cypriote as we should his animal, and make him
a wealth-producer. England has acquired the reputation of the civiliser
of the world; it is in this character that we were expected to effect a
magic change in the position of Cyprus; instead of which we have
hitherto presented a miserable result of half-measures, where
irresolution has reduced the brilliant picture of our widely-trumpeted
political surprise to a dull "arrangement in whitey-brown" . . . which
is the pervading tint of the Cyprian surface in the absence of
artificial irrigation.
CHAPTER XV.
LIFE AT THE MONASTERY OF TROODITISSA.
The life at our quiet camp at Trooditissa was a complete calm: there
could not be a more secluded spot, as no human habitation was near,
except the invisible village of Phyni two miles deep beneath, at the
mountain's base. The good old monk Neophitos knitted, and taught his
boys always in the same daily spot: the swallows built their nests under
the eaves of the monastery roof and beneath the arch which covered in
the spring, and sat in domestic flocks upon the over-hanging boughs
within a few feet of our breakfast-table, when their young could fly.
Nightingales sang before sunset, and birds of many varieties occupied
the great walnut-tree above our camp, and made the early morning
cheerful with a chorus of different songs. There was no change from day
to day, except in the progress of the gardens; the plums grew large: the
mulberries ripened in the last week of July, and the shepherd's pretty
children and the monastery boys were covered with red stains, as though
from a battlefield, as they descended from the attractive boughs. It was
a very peaceful existence, and I shall often look back with pleasure to
our hermitage by the walls of the old monastery, which afforded a moral
haven from all the storms and troubles that embitter life. On Sundays we
sent a messenger for the post to the military camp at Troodos, about
five and a half miles distant, and the arrival of letters and newspapers
restored us for a couple of days to the outer world: after which we
relapsed once more into the local quiescent state of complete rest. It
must not be supposed that we were idle; there were always occupations
which by degrees I hope improved the place, and to a certain degree the
people. Occasionally I asked the old monks to sit and smoke their
cigarettes in our "rachkooba," when they sipped their hot coffee, and
explained difficult theological questions to my intense edification; of
course I always listened, but never argued. My particular friend old
Neophitos treated me to long stories which he imagined must be new and
interesting, especially the history of Joseph and his brethren, which he
several times recounted from beginning to end with tears of sympathy in
his eyes at Joseph's love for the youngest brother Benjamin. The Garden
of Eden, the Deluge, including the account of Noah's Ark, and several
equally modern and entertaining stories, I always listened to with
commendable attention. Yet even in this solitude, where the chapel-bell
on Saturday night, and at daybreak upon Sunday mornings, was in harmony
with the external peaceful surroundings, and it appeared as though
discord could never enter the walls of Trooditissa, the old monks had
their cares and difficulties.
The principal cause of trouble was "servants!" I was quite surprised, as
I thought we were nearer heaven in this spot than in any earthly
locality I had ever visited; but even here the question of "servants"
was an irritation to the nerves of the patient monks. My own servants
were excellent, and never quarrelled or complained; they appeared to
have been mesmerised by the placid character of their position, and to
have become angelic; especially in not fatiguing themselves through
over-exertion. With the monks the case was different. In this quiet
retreat, where man reigned alone, as Adam in the Garden of Eden; where
the cares and anxieties of married life were unknown within the sacred
walls of celibacy, a single representative of the other sex existed in
the ubiquitous shape of a "maid of all work;" and as Eve caused the
first trouble in the world, so the monastery "maid" disturbed the
otherwise peaceful existence of Neophitos.
This maid's name was "Christina," and she received the munificent sum of
one hundred piastres per annum as wages, which in English money would be
fifteen shillings and sixpence every year. The world is full of
ingratitude, and strange to say, Christina was dissatisfied, which
naturally wounded the feelings of the good monks, as in addition to this
large sum of money she received her food and clothes; the latter
consisting of full trousers, and a confusion of light material, which,
having no shape whatever, I could not describe.
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