File:Mentone, Cairo and Corfu (1896) (14597064908).jpg

Identifier: mentonecairocorf00wool (find matches)
Title: Mentone, Cairo and Corfu
Year: 1896 (1890s)
Authors: Woolson, Constance Fenimore, 1840-1894
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Publisher: New York : Harper & Brothers
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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nspicuous in the Greek places of worship than it isin Roman Catholic churches. Those who come in makethe round of the walls, kissing every picture, and theydo it fervently, not formally. The service is chantedby the priests very rapidly in a peculiar kind of inton-ing. The Corfu priests did not look as if they werelearned men, but their faces have a natural and humaneexpression which is agreeable. In the street, with theirflowing robes, long hair and beards, and high blackcaps, they are striking figures. The parish priest mustbe a married man, and he does not live apart from hispeople, but closely mingles with them upon all occa-sions. He is the papas, or pope, as it is translated, anda lover of Tourguenieff who meets a pope for the firsttime at Corfu is haunted anew by those masterpiecesof the great Russian — the village tales across whosepages the pope and the popess come and go, and seem,to American readers, such strange figures. In the suburb of Castrades is the oldest church of
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307 the island. It is dedicated to St. Jason, the kinsmanof St. Paul. St. Jasons appeared to be deserted.Here, as elsewhere, it is not the church most interest-ing from the historical point of view which is the fa-vorite of the people, or which they find, apparently,the most friendly. But when I paid my visit, therewere so many vines and flowers outside, and such ablue sky above, that the little Byzantine temple had acheerful, irresponsible air, as if it were saying*: •• Its notmy fault that people wont come here. But if theywont, Im not unhappy about it; the sunshine, thevines, and I—we do very well together. The interiorwas bare, flooded also with white daylight—so whitethat one blinked. And in this whiteness my mind sud-denly returned to Hellas. For Hellas had been for-gotton for the moment, owing to the haunting icons inthe dark churches of the town. Those silver-incrustedimages had brought up a vision of the uncounted mill-ions to-day in Turkey, Greece, and Russia who bow

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