ΔΥΟΙΝ ΚΑΚΟΙΝ ΠΡΟΚΕΙΜΕΝΟΙΝ - THE LESSER OF THE TWO EVILS

 

Η ΕΚΛΟΓΗ ΤΟΥ ΚΑΘΗΓΗΤΟΥ   Χατζόπουλος Δημήτριος - Εθνικό Κέντρο Βιβλίου / Από το 18ο ... Πῶς τὰ ἔμπλεξε καὶ μὲ τὰς δύο καί αὐτὸς δὲν ἤξευρεν. Οὔτε φιλήδονος ἦτο οὔτε, γυναικοθήρας, ἀλλ' ἁπλούστατα εἷς ἀγαθὸς καθηγητὴς. Εἶχεν ἐνοικιάσῃ ἕν δωμάτιον εἰς μίαν οἰκογένειαν ἀποτελουμένην ἀπὸ γραῖαν οἰκοδέσποιναν, τὸν ἄγριον κουτσαβάκην υἱόν της καὶ τὰς δύο θυγατέρας της. Ἡ μία μελαγχροινὴ νόστιμη τριακονταέτις χήρα, καὶ ἡ ἄλλη δεκαοκταέτις ξανθοῦλα γαλανόφθαλμος, μὲ προκλητικὸν αὔθαδες στῆθος, οὗ προεπάθει πάντοτε νὰ διαβλέπηται κἄπως τὸ ῥόδινόν του, ἰδιαιτέρως δὲ κατὰ τὴν ἐκ τοῦ δωματίου του ἔξοδον τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ καθηγητοῦ. Πῶς τὰ ἔμπλεξεν ἤδη μὲ ἀμφοτέρας ἦτο ἄγνωστον. Γνωστὸν ὅμως ἦτο πλέον, ὅτι ἐντὸς ὀλίγων ἡμερῶν ἐπρόκειτο νὰ γίνῃ διπλοῦς πατὴρ ἐν τῇ οἰκίῃ, ἧς εἶχεν ἐνοικιάσῃ ἕν μόνον δωμάτιον. Ἐπὶ τῇ ἀποκαλύψει ταύτῃ ἡ οἰκοδέσποινα γραῖα καὶ ὁ ἄγριος κουτσαβάκης υἱὸς προέβησαν εἰς πολύωρον συμβούλιον, οὗ ἀποτέλεσμα ἦτο νὰ εὕρῃ ἐγκαθιδρυμένους ἀμφοτέρους ὁ καθηγητὴς εἰς τὸ δωμάτιόν του ἐπιστρέψας τὴν νύκτα. Ἡ γραῖα ὕψωσεν ἀπειλητικὸν τὸν γρόνθον της, ὁ κουτσαβάκης ἀπειλητικωτέραν τὴν πιστόλαν του − Τελείονε! δάσκαλε, μιὰ ἀπ' τὶς δυὸ, ἔλα παίρνε την! εἶπεν ὁ κουτσαβάκης. Ὁ καθηγητὴς ἐρρίγγησε  καταληφθεὶς ὑπὸ σκοτοδίνης. − Κύριε καθηγητά, κύριε καθηγητὰ, κακὸ ποῦ μᾶς ἔκαμες!.. Ποιὰ θὰ πάρῃς τώρα ἀπ' τὶς δύο; προσέθηκεν ἡ γραῖα. Καὶ ὁ ἀτυχὴς καθηγητὴς σκεφθεὶς ἐπ' ὀλίγον, ἐνέδωκε μὲ τρέμουσαν φωνήν. − Δυοῖν κακοῖν προκειμένοιν ἡ μὴ χήρα βέλτιστος!* * Λογοπαίγνιο: δυοῖν κακοῖν προκειμένοιν τὸ μὴ χεῖρον βέλτιστον...   .

THE TEACHER’S OPTION   By Dimitrios Chatzopoulos  (1868-1920)   Rendered by Vassilis C. Militsis   How he became entangled with both of them, he could not even realize. He was neither lustful nor promiscuous; he was a naïve, kind teacher. He had rented a room in the house of a family, consisting of an aged landlady, her bully, rowdy son and her two daughters. One was thirty years old, a brunette and attractive widow; the other was eighteen, blonde and blue eyed, with a saucy, rosy bosom, which she always strove to flaunt, especially when the kindly teacher was exiting his room. It was really a wonder how he had landed with both of them. But it was already known that he was going to be a double father in the home where he was a tenant of only one room. Upon discovering this, the old landlady and the wild hector of her son consulted for long hours, the result of which was for the teacher to find them both sitting in his room when he returned for the night. The old hag raised a threatening fist, and her bully of a son produced his more threatening pistol.             -          All right, teacher, make up your mind; which of the two? Come on and take her! Said the bully.   The teacher shuddered and went giddy.     -          Teacher, sir, look at what you’ve you done to us. Which will you take now? Added the old crone.   After pondering for a while, the hapless teacher yielded.   -          The lesser of the two evils is the better, and that isn’t the widow.

19th MAY - BLACK ANNIVERSARY OF THE PONTIAN GENOCIDE PERPETRATED BY THE TURKS - Η ΓΕΝΟΚΤΟΝΙΑ ΤΩΝ ΠΟΝΤΙΩΝ

 

 

Γενοκτονία Ποντίων: 102 χρόνια από τη σφαγή και τον βίαιο ξεριζωμό του Ποντιακού Ελληνισμού.

The genocide of the Pontus Greeks: 102 years since the massacre and the violent expatriation of the Pontus Greeks.

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 BLACK LETTER ANNIVERSARIES - THE GREEK PONTIAN GEN...

 

 

Ο ΠΑΣΧΩΝ ΑΜΑΡΤΩΛΟΣ ΣΚΙΑΘΙΤΗΣ - THE SPELL LIFTER

 

Η ΦΑΡΜΑΚΟΛΥΤΡΙΑ

Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης

Τὴν νύκτα ἐκείνην εἶχον ἀναβῆ καὶ πάλιν εἰς τὸ βουνὸν διὰ νὰ συναντήσω τὴν ἐξαδέλφην Μαχούλαν. Τὴν ἀλήθειαν νὰ εἴπω, δὲν ἤξευρα μετὰ βεβαιότητος ὅτι ἔμελλον νὰ τὴν συναντήσω, ἀλλ᾽ ἠλαυνόμην ἀπὸ τὸ πάθος, ἔφερα τὰ βήματά μου εἰς προσκύνησιν, καὶ ᾐσθανόμην τὴν ἀνάγκην ν᾽ ἀναζωπυρήσω ἀρχαίας ἀναμνήσεις.

Ἦτον ἡ τελευταία φορὰ ὁποὺ θὰ ἔβλεπα εἰς τὰ ἐρημικὰ ἐκεῖνα μέρη τὴν ἐξαδέλφην μου Μαχούλαν. Τὴν πρώτην φοράν, πρὸ ἐτῶν εἴκοσι, τὴν εἶχα συναντήσει εἰς τὸ βάθος δρυμῶνος, πλησίον ἀρχαίου παμμεγέθους σηκοῦ ἢ τεμένους ἐκ γιγαντιαίων μαρμάρων, τὸ ὁποῖον πιθανὸν νὰ ἦτο ναὸς τῶν θεῶν, τῆς πρὸ τοῦ Προμηθέως ἐποχῆς. Σύρριζα εἰς τὸ παράδοξον ἐκεῖνο κτίριον, τὸ προβάλλον ὡς πρόσωπον Σφιγγὸς τὴν πρόσοψίν του τὴν γριφώδη, ἦτο ἓν μεταγενέστερον πενιχρὸν παρεκκλήσιον, τιμώμενον ἐπ᾽ ὀνόματι τῆς Ἁγίας Μάρτυρος Ἀναστασίας. Ἐκεῖ εἶχα συναντήσει πρὸ εἴκοσιν ἐτῶν τὴν ἐξαδέλφην μου Μαχούλαν.

Περὶ τὰ τέλη τοῦ φθινοπώρου εἶχεν ὑπάγει ὁμοῦ μὲ ἕνα παπάν, διὰ νὰ λειτουργήσῃ τὸν ναΐσκον. Εἶτα ἀφοῦ ἀπέλυσεν ἡ λειτουργία, ὁ παπὰς ἔπιε τὸν καφὲν καὶ τὴν ρακήν του, ἔξωθεν ἀκριβῶς τῆς θύρας τοῦ ναΐσκου, εἰς τὸ ὕπαιθρον, πλησίον τῆς φωτιᾶς τῆς ἀναμμένης διὰ τὴν ὑπηρεσίαν τοῦ θυμιατηρίου, καὶ διὰ τὸ ζέον, ἀπεχαιρέτισε τὴν γυναῖκα καὶ ἀπῆλθεν. Ἡ ἐξαδέλφη μου Μαχούλα ἔμεινε, μαζὶ μὲ τὴν μικρὰν ἑπταετῆ παιδίσκην της, καὶ μὲ δύο ἄλλας γυναῖκας, γειτόνισσές της, αἱ ὁποῖαι τὴν εἶχον συνοδεύσει εἰς τὴν ἐκδρομήν. Αὗται περιήρχοντο εἰς τοὺς λοφίσκους καὶ εἰς τὰ ρεύματα, εἰς τὰ πέριξ τοῦ ναοῦ, συλλέγουσαι ἀγριολάχανα καὶ μανιτάρια. Ἡ ἐξαδέλφη μου Μαχούλα, ἰδοὺ τί ἔκαμεν.

Αὕτη ἤναψεν ἑπτὰ κηρία εἰς τὰ δύο μανουάλια τοῦ ναΐσκου, ἐμπρὸς εἰς τὰς εἰκόνας τοῦ Χριστοῦ, τῆς Παναγίας, τοῦ Προδρόμου, καὶ τῆς Ἁγίας Ἀναστασίας. Ἐφαίνετο ὅτι ἤθελε μετὰ τὴν ἀναχώρησιν τοῦ παπᾶ, νὰ τελέσῃ αὐτὴ νέαν λειτουργίαν, πλέον μυστηριώδη. Ἀφοῦ ἤναψε τὰ ἑπτὰ κηρία, ἔβγαλεν ἀπὸ τὸ παμμέγιστον καλάθιόν της μακρότατον, ὑπὲρ τὰς ἑκατὸν ὀργυιάς, λεπτὸν σχοινίον, ὁλοκίτρινον, εὐωδιάζον, κηρόπλαστον. Ἦτο γιγαντιαῖον φιτίλιον βαμβακερόν, τὸ ὁποῖον εἶχε κλώσει ὅλον μὲ τὰς χεῖράς της, καὶ μὲ τὰς χεῖράς της τὸ εἶχε περιβάλει μὲ μελικήριον πρόσφατον.

Τοῦτο λοιπὸν τὸ τεράστιον κηρίον τὸ ἔδεσεν ἀπὸ τὴν κρικέλλαν τῆς παλαιᾶς σαρακωμένης θύρας τοῦ ναοῦ, εἶτα ἤρχισε νὰ τὸ ἑλκύῃ, καὶ νὰ τὸ ἐκτυλίσσῃ κατ᾽ ὀλίγον ἀπὸ τὸ καλάθιον, ὅπου τὸ εἶχε τυλιγμένον εἰς ἔντεχνον καὶ εὐδιάλυτον κουβάριον, καὶ παραπορευομένη ἐξωτερικῶς τὸν τοῖχον τοῦ ναΐσκου, νὰ τὸ προσαρμόζῃ σύρριζα εἰς τὸν τοῖχον, πρῶτον εἰς τὸ ἥμισυ πλάτος τοῦ δυτικοῦ τοίχου, μέχρι τῆς γωνίας τῆς μεσημβρινοδυτικῆς, εἶτα καθ᾽ ὅλον τὸ μῆκος τοῦ μεσημβρινοῦ τοίχου, εἶτα μετὰ τὴν καμπὴν τῆς γωνίας τῆς νοτιανατολικῆς, ἀνὰ τὸν τοῖχον τοῦ πλάτους τὸν ἀνατολικόν, μεθ᾽ ὅλης τῆς καμπύλης τὴν ὁποίαν ἐσχημάτιζεν ἡ χηβάδα τοῦ θυσιαστηρίου, εἶτα ἔκαμψε τὴν ἀριστερὰν γωνίαν, παρεπορεύθη τὸν βορεινὸν τοῖχον, καὶ διὰ τῆς γωνίας τῆς βορειοδυτικῆς ἐπέστρεψε πάλιν εἰς τὴν θύραν τοῦ ναΐσκου. Κατόπιν πάλιν ἔφερε νέαν γύραν, ἀπαράλλακτα ὅπως τὴν πρώτην, καὶ προσήρμοσε τὸ νέον ἔμβολον τοῦ κηρωμένου νήματος, παραλλήλως καὶ ἐγγύτατα ὑπὸ τὸ πρῶτον. Εἶτα τὴν τρίτην γύραν καὶ τετάρτην, καὶ καθεξῆς, μέχρι τῆς ἑβδόμης.

Ἑπτάκις ἔκαμε τὸν γῦρον τοῦ κτιρίου, καὶ μὲ ἑπτὰ ἔμβολα κηρωμένου νήματος περιέζωσεν, ἡ ἐξαδέλφη μου Μαχούλα, ὅλον τὸν ναΐσκον. Καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες, αἱ ἐπιστρέψασαι ἄρτι μὲ τὰ καλάθια πλήρη ἐκ βοτάνων καὶ ἀμανιτῶν, ἔκαμνον τὸν σταυρόν των, καὶ τὴν ηὔχοντο λέγουσαι:

― Ἂς δείξῃ ἡ Φαρμακολύτρα τὸ θάμα της! Βοήθειά σου!…

Ἡ Ἁγία Ἀναστασία ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια εἶν᾽ ἐκείνη, ἥτις χαλνᾷ τὰ μάγια, ἤτοι λύει πᾶσαν γοητείαν καὶ μεθοδείαν πονηρὰν ὑπ᾽ ἐχθρῶν γινομένην. Εἰς ἐμέ, παρευρεθέντα κατὰ τύχην ἐκεῖ, τὸ πρᾶγμα ἐφαίνετο παράξενον, ὅσον ἤθελε φανῆ εἰς μαθητὴν τῆς γ´ τάξεως ἐπαρχιακοῦ γυμνασίου, δραπετεύσαντα ἅμα τῇ ἐνάρξει τῶν μαθημάτων, εἰς τὸ μέσον τοῦ ἔτους. Ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ἐξαδέλφη μου Μαχούλα ἤξευρε τί ἔκαμνεν.

Ἕνα υἱόν, μονάκριβον, τὸν εἶχε. Καὶ εἶχε τέσσαρας κόρας μικράς, τῶν ὁποίων ἡ μεγαλυτέρα ἦτον ἤδη δεκαὲξ χρόνων. Καὶ ὁ υἱός της, πρωτότοκος, ἤγγιζεν ἤδη τὸ εἰκοστὸν ἔτος. Καὶ ἤδη ἔχανε τὸν νοῦν του κ᾽ ἐζητοῦσε νὰ νυμφευθῇ.

Τοῦ εἶχαν κάμει μάγια, αἱ γυναῖκες, ἀπὸ τὸν Πέρα Μαχαλάν. Καὶ τοῦ εἶχαν σηκώσει τὰ μυαλά του. Ποῖος ἠξεύρει τί μαγγανείας τοῦ ἔκαμαν, καὶ τί τοῦ ἔδωκαν νὰ πίῃ. Ἐγνώριζαν ἐκεῖναι ἀπὸ μαγείας…

Κι ἀγάπησε μίαν κόρην, ἥτις ἦτον μεγαλυτέρα ἀπ᾽ αὐτὸν στὰ χρόνια, καὶ ἤθελε νὰ τὴν λάβῃ σύζυγον.

«Ἢ θὰ τὴν πάρω, μάνα, ἢ θὰ σκοτωθῶ». Τὸ εἶχε πάρει κατάκαρδα. Ἦτον «ἐρωτοχτυπημένος». Τώρα, τί νὰ κάμῃ ἡ ἐξαδέλφη μου Μαχούλα; Ν᾽ ἀφήσῃ τὸν υἱόν της νὰ ἐμβῇ στὰ βάσανα, τόσον νέος, κι αὐτὴ νὰ ἔχῃ τέσσαρας κόρας ἀνυπάνδρους, νὰ τὰς καμαρώνῃ; Καὶ ποιὸς γονιὸς τὸ δέχεται, αὐτό;

Λοιπὸν ἔπεσε στὰ θεοτικὰ πράγματα. Ἔκαμε λειτουργίας πολλάς, καὶ ἁγιασμούς, καὶ παρακλήσεις. Ἐπῆρε τὰ ροῦχα τοῦ γιοῦ της, καὶ τὰ ἔβαλε νὰ λειτουργηθοῦν ὑπὸ τὴν Ἁγίαν Τράπεζαν. Ἐπαίδευσε τὸν ἑαυτόν της μὲ πολλὰς νηστείας, ἀγρυπνίας, καὶ γονυκλισίας.

Τελευταῖον προσέφυγεν εἰς τὴν χάριν τῆς Ἁγίας Ἀναστασίας τῆς Φαρμακολυτρίας. Αὕτη εἶχε παρὰ Θεοῦ τὸ χάρισμα νὰ διαλύῃ τὰς μαγείας καὶ γοητείας. Ἐπῆγε, τὴν ἐλειτούργησεν, ἔζωσε τὸν ναόν της ἑπτὰ φοράς (τελοῦσα μόνη της ἰδιαιτέραν λειτουργίαν περιπαθῆ ἐκ μητρικῆς στοργῆς) μὲ κηρίον ἑκατονταόργυιον, τὸ ὁποῖον ἡ ἰδία εἶχε παρασκευάσει μὲ τὰς χεῖράς της, καὶ παρεκάλει τὴν Ἁγίαν νὰ χαλάσῃ τὰ μάγια, νὰ ἔλθῃ στὸν νοῦν του ὁ υἱός της, ὁ ἐρωτοχτυπημένος καὶ ποτισμένος ἀπὸ κακὰς μαγγανείας, καὶ νὰ μὴ χάνῃ τὰ μυαλά του ἄδικα…

Ὅλ᾽ αὐτὰ τ᾽ ἀνεπόλουν καὶ τ᾽ ἀναπαρίστων μὲ τὸν νοῦν μου, ὡς νὰ εἶχαν συμβῆ χθές, καὶ εἶχαν παρέλθει ἤδη περισσότερα τῶν εἴκοσιν ἐτῶν ἀπὸ τότε. Εἶχον ἐξέλθει τῆς πολίχνης ἅμα τῇ δύσει τοῦ ἡλίου, καὶ εἶχον πορευθῆ μὲ τὴν ἀμφιλύκην ἕως τοῦ Δράκου τὸ ρέμα, ἐκεῖ ὁπόθεν ἀρχίζει ὁ ὑψηλός, κάθετος ἀνήφορος τοῦ Βαραντᾶ. Ἡ σελήνη δὲν εἶχεν ἀνατείλει ἀκόμη, ἐπειδὴ ἦτο δύο ἢ τρεῖς ἡμέρας μετὰ τὴν πανσέληνον. Μέσα εἰς τὸ ρέμα, βαθιὰ κάτω, ἀντήχει ὁ ρόχθος τοῦ χειμάρρου, τοῦ σχηματιζομένου ἀπὸ τὰς χιόνας τὰς λυομένας. Καὶ εἷς ὑψηλὸς μαῦρος βράχος ἵστατο ἀπέναντί μου, μυστηριώδης εἰς τὸ σκότος.

Ἦτο κατὰ Μάρτιον μῆνα. Ὁ χείμαρρος ἐρρόχθει, ἔβρυχε, καὶ κατεφέρετο μετὰ κρότου, κ᾽ ἐκυλίετο σχηματίζων δύο καταρράκτας, κυρίαρχος εἰς τὴν σιγὴν τῆς νυκτός. Ὁ κρότος ἐκεῖνος ἐνέσπειρε φόβον εἰς τὴν ψυχήν μου, ἥτις ἀνεγνώριζε παρ᾽ ἑαυτῇ ὁμοιότητα μὲ τὸ ρεῦμα ἐκεῖνο. Ἐδεσπόζετο ὅλη ἀπὸ ἓν ὕπουλον πάθος, καθὼς τὸ βαθὺ ρεῦμα καὶ ἡ σιγὴ τῆς νυκτὸς ἐδεσπόζοντο ἀπὸ ἕνα δοῦπον ὑπόκωφον.

Μετὰ δυσκολίας διέκρινα τὸ μονοπάτι τὸ χαρασσόμενον ἀνὰ μέσον βρύων καὶ θάμνων πυκνῶν. Εἶτα, ἀντικρύ μου, εἰς τὴν κλιτὺν τὴν κρημνώδη, ἤρχισα νὰ βλέπω μίαν ἀνταύγειαν. Αἱ πρῶται ἀκτῖνες τῆς σελήνης ἐπηργύρωνον τὰς κορυφὰς τῶν δένδρων. Ἔφθασα εἰς τὴν βάσιν τοῦ ὄρους, καὶ ἤρχισα ν᾽ ἀνέρχωμαι τὸν ἀνήφορον. Ἀφοῦ ἀνέβην ὑπὲρ τὰ δισχίλια βήματα, σπεύδων καὶ ἀσθμαίνων, εἶδα πέραν ἀντικρὺ τὴν σελήνην, ἐκεῖθεν τοῦ συνδένδρου λόφου τοῦ κρύπτοντος ὄπισθέν μου τὸν ὁρίζοντα, εἶδα τὴν σελήνην ἀπαλλαγεῖσαν τῆς λοφιᾶς τοῦ ἀντικρινοῦ, μεμακρυσμένου βουνοῦ, ὅπου ἐπί τινα λεπτὰ ἐφαίνετο ὡς νὰ εἶχε βάλει φωτιὰν εἰς ἓν δένδρον μεμονωμένον, ὄρθιον ἐπὶ τῆς κορυφῆς τοῦ ὑψηλοῦ λόφου, τοῦ φράσσοντος τὸν λιμένα· τὸ δένδρον ἐφαίνετο ὡς νὰ καίεται· εἶτα ἡ Ἑκάτη, ἀφήσασα τὸ δένδρον μαῦρον καὶ σκοτεινὸν ἀπόκαυμα, ἀνῆλθε βραδεῖα, ἐν ἀγλαΐᾳ καὶ ἀποθεώσει φαεινῇ, ὕπερθεν τῆς λοφιᾶς τοῦ ὄρους.

Μετὰ ὥραν ἔφθασα εἰς τὴν κορυφὴν τοῦ βουνοῦ, εἶτα ὥδευσα ἐπὶ τοῦ ὀροπεδίου, ἐν παμφαεῖ σελήνῃ. Εἶτα ἔφθασα εἰς τὴν ἀντίθετον κλιτύν, ὅπου πάλιν εὗρον σκιὰς καὶ σύνδενδρα μέρη καὶ φόβητρα ἐμπρός μου. Ἐκεῖ παρακάτω ἦτον ἡ μικρὰ ἔπαυλις τοῦ Γιάννη τοῦ Στόγιου, ἀγρότου ἁπλοϊκοῦ φίλου μου. Ὑπερέβην τὸν χαμηλὸν φράκτην, εἰσῆλθον εἰς τὴν αὐλὴν κ᾽ ἔκρουσα τὴν θύραν.

Ὁ Στόγιος δὲν εἶχε κοιμηθῆ ἀκόμη, φῶς ἔλαμπε διὰ τοῦ φεγγίτου. Τὸν ἐκάλεσα ὀνομαστί. Ἐγνώρισε τὴν φωνήν μου, καὶ ἐλθὼν μοῦ ἤνοιξε. Μοὶ παρέσχε πρόθυμον ξενίαν καὶ στέγην.

Ἐγὼ ἐντούτοις δὲν ἤξευρα διατί εἶχα κρούσει τὴν θύραν του, ἀφοῦ δὲν εἶχα ὕπνον οὔτε νυσταγμόν. Ἀφοῦ ἐκεῖνος ἀπεκοιμήθη, ἔλαβα τὴν ράβδον καὶ τὸν πῖλόν μου καὶ ἐξῆλθον κράξας πρὸς αὐτὸν νὰ κλείσῃ, ἂν ἤθελε, τὴν θύραν· ἐκεῖνος, ἐπειδὴ «ἐλαγοκοιμᾶτο», πολὺ ἐλαφρά, μοῦ ἀπήντησε δι᾽ ἠρέμου γογγυσμοῦ, μέσα εἰς τὸν ὕπνον του.

Κατέβην ἀκόμη χαμηλότερα τὸ βουνόν. Ἡ σελήνη ἐμεσουράνει ἤδη, κ᾽ ἔφεγγεν εἰς ὅλην τὴν κλιτύν. Εἰς τὰς ποιμενικὰς ἐπαύλεις οἱ πετεινοὶ εἶχον λαλήσει. Κατῆλθον εἰς σύνδενδρον στενωπόν, ἐστράφην ἀριστερά, καὶ ἔφθασα εἰς τὸν ἔρημον ναΐσκον τῆς Ἁγίας Ἀναστασίας.

… Καὶ τώρα, μετὰ εἴκοσιν ἔτη, ὅταν ἤρχισα ἤδη νὰ φθίνω, ἀφοῦ κατὰ κόρον ἐγεύθην τῆς ζωῆς ὅλην τὴν τρύγα καὶ τὴν πικρίαν, ἐὰν ἐγὼ ἐζήτουν νὰ ζώσω μὲ κηρίον τὸν ναὸν τῆς Μάρτυρος, οὔτε κηρίον πλέον ἁγνὸν θὰ ἠδυνάμην νὰ εὕρω, διότι ἀπὸ πολλοῦ ὅλοι οἱ κηροπλάσται ἐπώλουν νοθευμένα κηρία, καὶ οἱ μελισσοτρόφοι αὐτοὶ εἶχον μάθει νὰ νοθεύωσι τὸ κηρίον πρὶν τὸ πωλήσουν. Καὶ ὁ ναΐσκος τῆς Ἁγίας εἶχε περιέλθει εἰς παρακμὴν καὶ ἀτημελησίαν οἰκτράν, διότι ἡ θρησκευτικὴ εὐλάβεια μεγάλως εἶχεν ἐκπέσει ἐν τῷ μεταξύ. Δύο εἰκόνες λαδωμέναι καὶ φθαρμέναι ὑπῆρχον μόνον εἰς τὸ τέμπλον τὸ σαπρόν, ἡ μορφὴ τοῦ Σωτῆρος Χριστοῦ δεξιά, καὶ ἀριστερὰ ἡ εἰκὼν τῆς ἀμνάδος του, τῆς στρεφούσης πρὸς αὐτὸν τὸ πρόσωπον, καὶ φαινομένης ὡς νὰ ἔκραζε μεγάλῃ τῇ φωνῇ: «Σέ, νυμφίε μου, ποθῶ!»* Αἱ εἰκόνες τῆς Παναγίας καὶ τοῦ τιμίου Προδρόμου εἶχον γίνει ἄφαντοι. Ἴσως εἶχον ἀφαιρεθῆ ἀπὸ τὰς χεῖρας φιλαρχαίων ἢ ἐραστῶν τῆς Βυζαντινῆς τέχνης…

Ὑπῆρχον μόνον δυὸ κανδήλια ἡμιθραυσμένα ἢ ραγισμένα, ἡ βορεία πύλη τοῦ ἱεροῦ ἦτο ἄνευ θυρίδος, τὸ μόνον παράθυρον τὸ μεσημβρινὸν τοῦ ναοῦ ἄνευ παραθυροφύλλου, τὸ Θυσιαστήριον καὶ ἡ προσκομιδή, γυμνὰ καὶ ἀνεπίστρωτα, ἦσαν πλήρη κονιορτοῦ… Ὁ ναΐσκος ὁ ἑπταζωσμένος καὶ ἁγιασμένος δὲν ἐλειτουργεῖτο πλέον.

«Οὐ θυσία, οὐχ ὁλοκαύτωμα, οὐ τόπος τοῦ καρπῶσαι». Καὶ ἡ μυστικὴ λειτουργία, τὴν ὁποίαν ἐτέλει πρὸ χρόνων πολλῶν περὶ τοὺς τοίχους του ἡ φιλόστοργος Μαχούλα, ἡ ἐξαδέλφη μου, δὲν θὰ εἶχε ξαναγίνει πλέον ἀπὸ πολλοῦ.

Ὤ! ἑπτάκις μόνον;… Ἑβδομηκοντάκις ἑπτὰ θὰ εἶχον τώρα ἀνάγκην νὰ περιζώσω τὸν ναὸν τῆς Ἁγίας Ἀναστασίας!… Τοσάκις εἶχε περιεζωσμένην τὴν καρδίαν μου ἡ ἄκανθα τῆς πικρᾶς ἀγάπης, τοσάκις τὴν εἶχε περισφίγξει τὸ ἑρπετὸν πάθος, τὸ δολερόν… εὐλαβούμην νὰ εἴπω εἰς τὴν Ἁγίαν, ᾐσχυνόμην νὰ ὁμολογήσω πρὸς ἐμαυτόν, ὅτι ἤμην, ὀψὲ ἤδη τῆς ἡλικίας, λεία τοῦ πάθους καὶ ἕρμαιον…

Ἀλλὰ πρὸς τί νὰ προσφέρω λαμπάδας καὶ μοσχολίβανον, πρὸς τί νὰ περιζώσω μὲ κηρία τὸν ναόν; Ἡ Ἁγία ἠδύνατο ἴσως νὰ μὲ θεραπεύσῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ δὲν ἐπεθύμουν νὰ θεραπευθῶ. Θὰ ἐπροτίμων νὰ καίωμαι εἰς τὴν φλόγα τὴν βραδεῖαν… Ὑπάρχουν εἰς τὸν Παράδεισον Ἅγιοι δεχόμενοι τὰς εὐχὰς τῶν ἐρώντων;… Τάχα ἐκεῖ, δίπλα εἰς τὸ παρεκκλήσιον τῆς Φαρμακολυτρίας, εἰς τὸ παλαιὸν ἐκεῖνο μεγαλομάρμαρον κτίριον τὸ αἰνιγματῶδες, νὰ ὑπῆρχε τὸ πάλαι ἱερὸν τῆς Ἀφροδίτης, νὰ ὑπῆρχε βωμὸς τοῦ Ἔρωτος;

Ὤ! καὶ ὅμως ἐτηκόμην… ὥρας-ὥρας ἐπεθύμουν, εἰ δυνατόν, νὰ ἰατρευθῶ. Βοήθει, Ἁγία Ἀναστασία!

Καθὼς εἶχα περιεργασθῆ τὸν ναΐσκον, εἶχεν ἐξημερώσει ἤδη. Αἱ ὧραι εἶχον παρέλθει χωρὶς νὰ τὰς αἰσθανθῶ, κ᾽ ἐγὼ ἐν τῇ νάρκῃ καὶ τῇ ρέμβῃ τῆς νυκτός, χωρὶς νὰ αἰσθάνωμαι τὸ ψῦχος, εἶχον διέλθει ὅλην σχεδὸν τὴν νύκτα τοῦ Μαρτίου ἐκείνην εἰς τὸ ὕπαιθρον. Ἀπεμακρύνθην τοῦ παρεκκλησίου αἰσθανόμενος ἀκουσίαν ἀνακούφισιν ὅτι, ἔρημον καθὼς ἦτο τὸ ἱερόν της, ἡ Ἁγία δὲν θὰ ἤθελε πλέον νὰ μὲ θεραπεύσῃ.

Ἐκεῖ, παρ᾽ ἐλπίδα, συναντῶ τὴν ἐξαδέλφην μου Μαχούλαν… Ἦτο τοιαύτη ὁποία καὶ πρὸ εἴκοσι χρόνων, σχεδὸν δὲν εἶχε μεταβληθῆ τὸ πρόσωπόν της οὔτε λευκὴν τρίχα εἶχεν εἰς τὴν κόμην, οὔτε ρυτίδα εἰς τὸ μέτωπον. Ἦτον ἐκ τῶν γυναικῶν ἐκείνων τῶν ἐχουσῶν δευτέραν νεότητα, ἀνθηροτέραν τῆς πρώτης. Ὠχρὰ καὶ ἀφελὴς καὶ ἄπλαστος, ἐφαίνετο ἄσχημη ἐκ πρώτης ὄψεως, ἀλλὰ μετὰ δεύτερον βλέμμα ἀνεκάλυπτέ τις εἰς τὸ πρόσωπόν της ἄφατον γλυκύτητα. Ἦτο νύμφη καὶ ἱέρεια καὶ γυνή.

― Ποῦ σ᾽ αὐτὸν τὸν κόσμο, ἐξάδελφε; μοῦ λέγει.

Ἡ ἐξαδέλφη Μαχούλα εἶχεν ἐλαιῶνα εἰς τὰ μέρη ἐκεῖνα. Τὴν χρονιὰν ἐκείνην ἦτο πλουσιωτάτη ἐλαιοφορία, καὶ ἂν καὶ ἦτο Μάρτιος ἤδη, τὸ μικρὸν καλάθιον, τὸ ὁποῖον ἐκράτει περὶ τὸν ἀγκῶνά της τὸν ἀριστερόν, ἦτο γεμᾶτον ἀπὸ ἐλαίας χαμάδας (ἢ θροῦμπες) ὡραίας καὶ στιλβούσας· αἱ τελευταῖαι ἐλαῖαι ἔπιπτον ἀπὸ τὰ δένδρα ἀκόμη περὶ τὴν ἄνοιξιν. Ἐθεώρει τὴν ἐξοχὴν ἐκείνην ὡς γειτονίαν ἰδικήν της, καὶ δι᾽ αὐτὸ ἔλεγε: «Ποῦ σ᾽ αὐτὸν τὸν κόσμο».

Ἐγὼ τὴν ἐχαιρέτισα κ᾽ ἐκάθισα ἐπί τινος ὄχθου, ὑπὸ δένδρον ἐλαίας, εἰς τὴν ἐσχατιὰν τοῦ ἐλαιῶνος. Ἐκείνη ἐλθοῦσα ἀπέθεσε τὸ καλάθιόν της πλησίον μου, καὶ περιστείλασα ἐπιμελῶς μὲ τὰς δύο χεῖρας τὰ κράσπεδα τῆς ἐσθῆτός της, ἐκάθισεν ὀλίγον παραπέρα.

― Τρῷς χαμάδες, νὰ σὲ φιλέψω, ἐξάδελφε;

―Ἐξαδέλφη Μαχούλα, ἤρχισα ἐγώ, χωρὶς ἄλλως ν᾽ ἀπαντήσω εἰς τὴν φιλόφρονα προσφοράν της, θυμᾶσαι, τῷ καιρῷ ἐκείνῳ, ὅταν ἤμουν ἐγὼ παιδί, ποὺ ἔζωνες μὲ κηρὶ τὸ ξωκκλήσι τῆς Ἁγίας Ἀναστασίας;

― Θυμοῦμαι, ἀπήντησε.

― Πές μου, σὰν νὰ μὴ ξέρω, γιατί τὸ ἔκανες;

― Τὸ εἶχα τάξιμο, γιατὶ ὁ Μανωλάκης ἦτον ἐρωτοχτυπημένος· κ᾽ ἐπειδὴς ἡ Ἁγία Ἀναστασία εἶναι ποὺ λύνει τὰ μάγια, μεγάλ᾽ ἡ χάρη της, ἔζωσα τὸ κλησιδάκι της, καὶ τὴν ἐπερικαλοῦσα, μὴν τυχὸν ἦτο μαγεμένο τὸ παιδί μου, γιὰ νὰ χαλάσῃ τὰ μάγια.

― Κ᾽ ὕστερα, τί ἀπόγινε; Πές μου τα ὅλα, σὰν νὰ εἶμαι πνεματικός, γιατὶ ἐγώ, ξέρεις, τὸν περισσότερον καιρὸ ἔλειπα ἀπ᾽ τὴν πατρίδα, καὶ δὲν τὰ παρηκολούθησα καλά.

― Φαίνεται ὅτι δὲν τοῦ εἶχαν καμωμένα μάγια, μόνο ὁ ἴδιος εἶχε πέσει στὸν ἔρωτα, κ᾽ ἡ Ἁγία, σὰν δὲν ἦτον ἀπὸ μάγια, δὲν μποροῦσε μὲ τὸ στανιὸ νὰ τοῦ ἀλλάξῃ τὰ μυαλά, γιατὶ μοναχός του καὶ θέλοντας ἔβαλε σεβντὰ μέσα του. Τὸ λοιπὸν ἡ Ἁγία ἔδειξε τὸ θάμα της μὲ ἄλλον τρόπο· σὰν ἐτέλεψα τὸ τάξιμό μου, στὸν μῆν᾽ ἀπάνω, τὸ κορίτσι ἀρρεβωνιάστηκε μὲ ἄλλον καὶ σ᾽ ὀλίγον καιρὸ ἔγινεν ὁ γάμος. Τότε, ἐπειδὴ ἦτον φόβος νὰ τρελαθῇ ἢ νὰ χτικιάσῃ τὸ παιδί μου, ἀπ᾽ τὸ κακό του, τὸν ἔταξα στὴν Παναγιὰ τὴν Κουνίστρα, μεγάλ᾽ ἡ χάρη της, γιὰ νὰ τὸν γλυτώσῃ ἀπ᾽ τὴν τρέλα κι ἀπ᾽ τὴν ἀρρώστια… Τοῦ κόστισε πολύ, ἐπόνεσε, ἔχασε τὴν ὄρεξή του, κιτρίνισε σὰν τὸ κερί, ἔλυωσε στὸν ἀπάν᾽ κόσμο… Ὣς τόσο, ἡ Παναγία ἔδειξε τὸ θάμα της, καὶ τὸ παιδὶ δὲν ἐτρελάθη οὔτε χτίκιασε… Σ᾽ ὀλίγον καιρό, ἦρθε στὸν ἑαυτό του.

― Καὶ τώρα τί γίνεται;

― Τώρα ταξιδεύει μὲ τὴ γολέτα μας, στὰ μέρη τῆς Ἀνατολῆς… Ἐπῆρε δίπλωμα πλοιαρχίας καὶ τὴν κυβερνᾷ ὁ ἴδιος, ἐπειδὴ ὁ πατέρας του γέρασε κ᾽ ἐκάθισε ἔξω… Φαίνεται πὼς τὸ ἔρριξε λιγάκι στὸ πιόμα, ὁ Μανωλάκης, μὰ δὲν τὸ παρακάνει πιστεύω… Ἄσπρισε, καὶ δὲν θέλει νὰ παντρευτῇ… Καλύτερα γιὰ μένα νὰ σοῦ πῶ, ἐξάδελφε. Μ᾽ ἐβοήθησε κ᾽ οἰκονόμησα τὰ δυὸ κορίτσια· τώρα ἔχω ἀκόμα ἄλλα δυό. Καλύτερα ποὺ γλύτωσε ἀπὸ τὰ βάσανα… Δὲν συμφέρει νὰ παραπληθαίνῃ καὶ πολὺ ὁ κόσμος. Ὁ γείτονάς μου ὁ Κωσταντὴς ὁ Ρήγας, ἔξυπνος καὶ κοσμογυρισμένος ἄνθρωπος, ἅμα ἰδῇ νὰ γεννηθῇ κανέν᾽ ἀγόρι στὴ γειτονιά, καὶ βλέπῃ τὶς γυναῖκες κι ὅλους τοὺς συγγενεῖς νά ᾽χουνε χαρές, συνηθίζει νὰ λέῃ: «Χαρῆτε, βρὲ παιδιά· γεννήθηκε κι ἄλλος χαμάλης!»

Ἀκολούθως ἠρώτησα τὴν ἐξαδέλφην μου ἂν τυχὸν συνέβησαν καὶ ἄλλα τινὰ περίεργα ἐν σχέσει μὲ τὴν ὑπόθεσιν ταύτην. Ἡ Μαχούλα ἀπήντησεν:

― Ἕνα βράδυ, σ᾽ ἐκείνην τὴν ἐποχή, ἐνῷ ἐγύριζα ἀπὸ τὸν ἐλαιῶνα, κ᾽ ἐπέρασα ἀπ᾽ τὴν Ἁγία Ἀναστασία νὰ κάμω τὸν σταυρό μου, καὶ νὰ ἀνάψω τὰ καντήλια, καθὼς ἐνύχτωνε, ἄκουσα κάτι κρότους, μὰ κρότους παράξενους πολύ, σ᾽ ἐκεῖνο τὸ διπλανὸ τὸ χτίριο μὲ τὰ μάρμαρα, ποὺ λένε πὼς εἶναι στοιχειωμένο… Πάλι μιὰ νύχτα, ἔβλεπα στ᾽ ὄνειρό μου πὼς βρισκόμουν στὸ ξωκκλήσι τῆς Ἁγίας, κ᾽ ἐκεῖ εἶδα τάχα ἕνα πρᾶμα παράξενο πολύ, νὰ προβάλῃ καὶ νὰ βγῇ ἔξω καὶ νὰ κυλιστῇ, ἀπὸ κεῖνο τὸ στοιχειωμένο χτίριο… Καὶ μοῦ ἐφάνη τάχα, πὼς ἦρθ᾽ ἕνα κορίτσι ὄμορφο, μὰ ὄμορφο πολύ, ἔλαμπε τὸ πρόσωπό του, καὶ μοῦ ἔδωκε ἕνα λουλουδάκι λευκό, μοσχομυρωδᾶτο, καὶ μοῦ εἶπε: «Νά, δῶσ᾽ το αὐτὸ τοῦ γιοῦ σου, νὰ μυριστῇ· εἶναι ἄνθος τῆς Ἐδέμ». Ἔξαφνα, γυρίζει πίσω ἐκεῖνο τὸ πρᾶμα, τὸ παράξενο, τὸ μαῦρο καὶ κατακόκκινο, ποὺ εἶχε πηδήσει ἀπὸ τὸ χτίριο τὸ παλιό, γυρίζει πίσω θεριωμένο καὶ ρίχνετ᾽ ἐπάνω μου κ᾽ ἐζητοῦσε νὰ μοῦ ἁρπάξῃ ἀπ᾽ τὰ χέρια τὸ λουλούδι ποὺ μοῦ εἶχε δώσει ἡ ὄμορφη κοπέλα, ποὺ φαίνεται νὰ ἦτον ἡ Ἁγία Ἀναστασία… Στὴν ἴδια στιγμὴ ἡ Ἁγία φαίνεται πάλι, σὰν νά ᾽βγαινε ἀπ᾽ τὴν Ἁγία Πύλη τοῦ Ἱεροῦ, καὶ μ᾽ ἕνα κλωναράκι ἀπὸ βάια ποὺ βαστοῦσε στὰ χέρια, δίνει μιὰ καὶ τοῦ κόφτει τὸ χέρι, τοῦ τρισκατάρατου, ποὺ γύρευε νὰ μοῦ ἁρπάξῃ τὸ λουλούδι… Αὐτὰ εἶδα.

Ὅλην τὴν ἡμέραν ἐπλανώμην εἰς τὰ ρεύματα καὶ τοὺς αἰγιαλούς, ἀνὰ τὴν ἀγρίαν ἀκτήν, τὴν βορεινὴν καὶ θαλασσοπλῆγα, καὶ μόνον τὸ δειλινὸν ἐπανῆλθον εἰς τὴν ἔπαυλιν τοῦ Στόγιου διὰ νὰ κοιμηθῶ ὀλίγας ὥρας. Ὅταν ἐξύπνησα, ἡ σελήνη εἶχεν ἀνατείλει, ἀλλ᾽ εἶχα χάσει τὸν ὕπνον μου δι᾽ ὅλην τὴν νύκτα.

Τὰ βήματά μου μ᾽ ἔφεραν καὶ πάλιν πρὸς τὸν ναΐσκον τῆς Ἁγίας Ἀναστασίας. Ἤναψα τεμάχιον λαμπάδος ἐκ κηροῦ μετρίως νοθευμένου, τὴν ὁποίαν εἶχον ἀγοράσει τὴν προτεραίαν εἰς τὴν πολίχνην, τὴν εἶχα δὲ κόψει εἰς τέσσαρα τεμάχια χάριν εὐκολίας, καὶ περιτυλίξας εἰς χαρτίον, τὴν εἶχα βάλει εἰς τὸ θυλάκιόν μου. Τὴν προλαβοῦσαν νύκτα εἶχα λησμονήσει εἰς τὸ θυλάκιόν μου τὰ τεμάχια τῆς λαμπάδος.

Ἐκόλλησα τὸ κηρίον τοῦτο εἰς τὸ μανουάλιον, κ᾽ ἐκάθισα εἰς ἓν τῶν δύο ἢ τριῶν στασιδίων, ὅσα ὑπῆρχον, διὰ νὰ ξεκουρασθῶ… Εἶτα ἠθέλησα νὰ γονυπετήσω, καὶ προσεπάθησα νὰ δεηθῶ ἀλλ᾽ ἐρρέμβαζον. Ἔκλεισα τὰ ὄμματα, ἐπαιτῶν ἕνα ὕπνον, ἀλλ᾽ ὁ πόνος ἠγρύπνει ἐντός μου.

Εἰς τὰς ὥρας τῆς μοναξίας τῆς νυκτὸς ἐκείνης, τῶν ἀσυναρτήτων προσευχῶν καὶ τῶν ἀκουσίων βλασφημιῶν, ἔπλεον ὡς ἐν ὀνείρῳ εἰς ἄλλον κόσμον. Ἤκουον ἤχους, ψιθύρους καὶ φωνάς. Μοῦ ἐφαίνετο ὅτι αἱ ἀναμνήσεις καὶ αἱ εἰκόνες, αἱ πολιορκοῦσαι τὸν νοῦν μου, ἐλάμβανον μορφὴν καὶ σῶμα, ἐβόμβουν περὶ τὰ ὦτά μου ὡς σμῆνος ἀπειράριθμον πτερωτῶν ψυχῶν, προσέβλεπον τὴν εἰκόνα τῆς Ἁγίας, καὶ μοῦ ἐφαίνετο τόσον ὡραία, ὅσον ἐφάνη ἐν ὀνείρῳ εἰς τὴν ἐξαδέλφην Μαχούλαν. Εἶτα μία ἄλλη μορφὴ μοῦ ἐφάνη ὅτι ἐστάθη ἔμπροσθεν τῆς εἰκόνος, καὶ τὴν ἀπέκρυψε. Τὴν στιγμὴ ἐκείνην ἤκουσα μέγαν θόρυβον ἔξω, δεξιόθεν τοῦ ναοῦ, εἰς τὸ μέρος ὅπου ἦτο τὸ παλαιὸν κτίριον, τὸ «στοιχειωμένον». Πάραυτα ἦλθεν εἰς τὸν νοῦν μου ἡ διήγησις τῆς ἐξαδέλφης Μαχούλας. Ἔλαβον τὴν λαμπάδα, καὶ ἔτρεξα ἔξω τῆς θύρας.

Αὔρα ἔπνεε ψυχρά, καὶ ἠπείλει νὰ σβήσῃ τὴν λαμπάδα. Ἐπειδὴ ἐδέησε νὰ περιστεγάσω τὸ φῶς διὰ τῆς παλάμης, δὲν ἔβλεπον τίποτε πέραν τοῦ τοίχου τοῦ ναοῦ. Ἡ σελήνη εἶχε περικαλυφθῆ εἰς νέφη. Διέκρινον εἰς τὸ σκιόφως τὸ μαρμάρινον κτίριον, καὶ δὲν ἐνόουν τίποτε. Μοῦ ἐφάνη ὅτι πρᾶγμά τι ἐξεπήδησεν ἐκεῖθεν τοῦ τοίχου καὶ ἐτράπη εἰς φυγήν· ἴσως ἦτον ἀγριόγατος ἢ νυφίτσα θηρεύουσα εἰς τὸ σκότος.

Ἐπανῆλθον εἰς τὸν ναόν, κ᾽ ἔκαμα τὸν σταυρόν μου. Ἐκάθισα πάλιν εἰς τὸ στασίδιον. Ἡ μορφὴ ἥτις μοῦ ἐφαίνετο παρεστῶσα ἐκεῖ, ἡ φέρουσα τὴν ἁγνότητα εἰς τὰ ὄμματα τὰ κάτω νεύοντα, καὶ τὸν γλυκασμὸν περὶ τὰ χείλη τὰ ἁβρὰ καὶ μελιχρά, μοῦ ἐφάνη ὅτι ἀντήλλασσε νεύματα μὲ τὴν εἰκόνα τῆς Ἁγίας. Μοῦ ἐφάνη ὅτι τὰ χείλη της ἐψιθύριζον ἱκεσίαν, καὶ τὸ βλέμμα τῆς εἰκόνος ἔνευε συγκατάθεσιν…

Ὕπνος τότε μὲ κατέλαβεν, εἰς τὸ στασίδιον ὅπου ἐκαθήμην. Ὁ ὕπνος ἦτον ἄνευ ὀνείρων, ὅλα τὰ ὄνειρα τοῦ τὰ εἶχεν ἀφαιρέσει ἡ ἐγρήγορσις. Μόνον ἐνδομύχως εἰς τὸ βάθος τῆς συνειδήσεως μου, μία φωνή, ἥτις ὡμοίαζε μὲ χρησμόν, ἠκούσθη ἀμυδρῶς νὰ ψιθυρίζῃ: «Ὕπαγε, ἀνίατε· ὁ πόνος θὰ εἶναι ἡ ζωή σου…»

Ἐξύπνησα. Ἐσηκώθην καὶ ἔφυγα. ᾘσθανόμην ἀγρίαν χαράν, διότι ἡ Ἁγία δὲν εἶχεν εἰσακούσει τὴν δέησίν μου.

*Ἀπολυτίκιον Αγίας Αικατερίνης Ἦχος δ'
Ἡ ἀμνάς σου Ἰησοῦ, κράζει μεγάλη τῇ φωνῇ. Σὲ Νυμφίε μου ποθῶ, καὶ σὲ ζητοῦσα ἀθλῶ, καὶ συσταυροῦμαι καὶ συνθάπτομαι τῷ βαπτισμῷ σου· καὶ πάσχω διὰ σέ, ὡς
βασιλεύσω σὺν σοί, καὶ θνήσκω ὑπὲρ σοῦ, ἵνα καὶ ζήσω ἐν σοί· ἀλλ᾽ ὡς θυσίαν ἄμωμον προσδέχου τὴν μετὰ πόθου τυθεῖσάν σοι. Αὐτῆς πρεσβείαις, ὡς ἐλεήμων,
σῶσον τὰς ψυχὰς ἡμῶν.

(Διὰ τὴν ἀντιγραφήν)

(1900)

 

SAINT ANASTASIΑ, THE SPELL LIFTER

 

Alexandros Papadiamantis

Rendered by Vassilis C. Militsis

On that day at night I ascended to the mountain again in order to meet my cousin Mahoula. To be candid, I was uncertain that I was going to meet her, but I was goaded by passion; my feet led me to worship the Saint, and I felt the desire to revive ancient reminiscences.

It was the last time I was going to see my cousin Mahoula in those distant and unfrequented places. The last time, twenty years before, I had met her in the heart of the forest near an ancient, enormous nave or temple, which had been built with gigantic slabs of marble and may have been dedicated to the gods before the era of Prometheus. Closely to that queer structure, which protruded like the inscrutable face of a Sphinx, there was a humble chapel, built in subsequent times and dedicated to the St. Anastasia, the Martyress. That was the place I had met my cousin Mahoula a score of years before.

In late autumn Mahoula went to the chapel with a priest so that the latter could conduct a divine liturgy. Having finished the mass and drank his coffee and raki, right outside the chapel in the open, near the fire that had been built for the coals of the censer and the boiling of the communion water, the priest took his leave of the woman and left.

My cousin Mahoula, with her seven-year-old daughter and with some of her female neighbors, who had accompanied her on the outing, stayed behind. Those women roamed the hillocks and the streams around the chapel to collect wild herbs and mushrooms. My cousin Mahoula was engaged otherwise.

She lit seven candles on the two candle stands of the chapel placed in front of the icons of Jesus, the Holy Mary, St. John, the Baptist and St. Anastasia. It seemed that she wanted to perform a new and more mystic ritual after the priest’s departure. Having lit the seven candles, she produced from an immense basket a very long rope, thin, all-yellow and fragrant, measuring more than a hundred fathoms. It was a gigantic, cotton wick, which she had spun it all with her hands and recently saturated it in beeswax.

She made fast this huge ‘candle’ on the ring of the old, worm eaten door of the chapel; then she commenced to unreel the string gradually and easily from the basket, where she had coiled it artfully in a neat skein. Walking around the outer wall of the chapel she was adjusting it closely to the wall; firstly she deployed it on the half width of the western wall as far as the south-western corner, then along the entire length of the southern wall, and after the turn of the corner on the breadth of the eastern wall, including the curve formed by inner niche of the sanctuary; afterwards she went around the left corner, proceeded along the northern wall and by the northwestern corner she returned to the entrance of the chapel. Then again she made another round, adjusting more waxed string parallel to the first but very close to it. In this way she made seven identical rounds.

My cousin Mahoula encircled the entire chapel sevenfold with the waxed rope. The women, who had recently returned, their hampers full of herbs and mushrooms, crossed themselves and said:

“May the Spell Lifter work her miracle! May she help and protect her.

St. Anastasia is the one who breaks and staves off spells and banes; she lifts every sorcery and evil machination perpetrated by one’s enemy. The whole issue seemed bizarre to me, who happened to be there, as it would seem to a provincial secondary school student, who at the beginning of the lessons had skipped in the middle of the term. But my cousin knew what she was doing.

She had a dear, only son, and four young daughters, the older of whom was already sixteen years old. Her son was the firstborn, already approaching his twentieth year of age. He had lost his head and wished to get married.

Women of the opposite quarter of the village had cast a spell on him driving him mad. Nobody knew what devilish schemes had done to him or what potion they had given him to drink. They were well versed in witchcraft…

And he fell in love with a woman, who was much older than he and wanted to marry her.

“Mother, either I’ll take her to be my wife or I’ll kill myself.” He had taken it too hard. He had become lovesick. Now, what was my cousin Mahoula to do? Could she let her son get into the hardships of life so young, while she had four unmarried daughters? Could she merely flaunt them? What kind of parent could accept it?

Therefore, she took it to religious things.

She used to have many services made as well as sanctification rites and entreaties to God. She had her son’s clothes placed on the altar to be blessed. She tortured herself with a lot of fasting, vigils and genuflections.

And lastly she resorted to the grace of St. Anastasia, the Spell Lifter. She had received from God the gift to stave off all kinds of spells and sorceries. My cousin had services performed in Her chapel, begirded it seven times with a hundred fathom candle (she did it out of passionate motherly affection) which she had turned out with her own hands, and entreated the Saint to take away the spell so that her lovesick son, swayed by the evil sorceries, could no longer lose his head in vain…

I was brooding on all these and pictured in my mind, as if they happened yesterday, though more than a score of years had gone by since then. I had walked out of the little town after sundown and by twilight had reached the Stream of the Dragon, where the high, almost vertical ascent of Varantas starts. The moon had not yet risen, as it was a couple of days after the full moon. Down deep, in the stream you could hear the roar of its watercourse formed by melted snow. And a black cliff, mysterious in the darkness, loomed on the other side.

It was in the month of March. The stream, dominating in the silence of the night, roared, raged and rolled in a great din forming two waterfalls. That cacophony instilled fear in my soul, which was also in turmoil like that stream. My soul was affected by an insidious passion, as the deep torrent and the stillness of the night were dominated by a hollow rumble.

I could hardly make out the path beaten through dense moss and bushes. Then, across the steep bluff, I began to discern a faint luster; they were the first moon rays that silvered the tree tops. I reached the foot of the mountain and took to ascending the uphill path. After climbing more than two thousand feet, in a hurry and gasping, I saw the moon had cleared the horizon on the other side, beyond the forested hill behind me, where it appeared to have put fire, for some minutes, to an isolated tree, erect upon the high hill that obstructed the harbor. The tree appeared to be burning; but shortly Hecate leaving the tree, like a black, charred log, plodded up slowly on the firmament, above the mountain, in a glorious and dazzling apotheosis.

After an hour I reached the mountain top and went on to the plateau under a brilliant moon. Then I reached the opposite slope, where I met with shadows and tree copses like specters before me. A bit lower than the mountain top there was the farm house of my guileless friend, Yannis Stoyos. I skipped over the low fence, walked on the courtyard and knocked on the front door.

Stoyos had not gone to bed yet, as a light shone through the dormer window. I called out his name. He acknowledged my voice and answered the door. He was happy to extend his hospitality in his house.

And yet I wondered why I knocked on his door, as I was not sleepy; not even a hint of drowsiness. As soon as he had fallen asleep, I took my staff and hat and exited calling out to him that he could close the door; he was dozing off very lightly, and he answered me with a calm grumble in his slumber.

I walked still a little lower in the mountain. The moon had reached the zenith and shone all over the slope. The cockerels had crowed in the farm houses. I walked down the copse, turned left and reached the chapel of St. Anastasia.

… and now, after twenty years, when I already began to decline, as I had tasted all the harvest and the bitterness of life, if I was to gird the Saint’s chapel with a waxed rope, I could never find pure beeswax, because all chandlers had since long sold adulterated wax, and even the beekeepers had learned to adulterate the wax before selling it for candles. And the Saint’s chapel had fallen in decay and deplorable neglect, as religious devotion had greatly waned in the meantime. There were only two grimy and worn out icons on the decayed iconostasis: the one on the right depicted Christ, the Savior, and the other on the left showed His Most Holy Mother, turning her face to Him and seemed to cry in a loud voice; “I crave for you, my Son!” the other icons of the Holy Virgin and John, the Baptist, had disappeared. Perhaps they had been removed by the hands of antiquities smugglers or by lovers of Byzantine art...

There were only two oil lamps, half broken or cracked; the northern entrance of the iconostasis gaped open as it had no door, the only southern window of the chapel had no shutter; the altar and the offertory, bare and clothless, were covered with thick dust… The sanctified and seven-times girded chapel was no longer officiated.

There is no burn offering, no holocaust and no place to harvest. And the arcane liturgy which my cousin, Mahoula, had perfomed around the chapel’s walls long years before was probably no more carried out years back.

Alas! Not only seven, but seventy times did I have now the need to begird St. Anastasia’s chapel! So many times had the thorn of bitter love encircled my heart; so many times had the insidious serpent of passion constricted it – I was ashamed to confess to the Saint and to myself that at my advanced age I had fallen prey to my passion.

Suppose I offered candles and frankincense; but to what avail? What was the use for me to encircle the chapel with candles? The Saint could have healed me, but I did not wish to be healed. I would rather burn slowly in the fire… Are there in Heaven saints that receive the wishes of lovers? Could it be possible by the side of that mysterious bulky marble building, the temple of Venus, that a shrine of Eros existed?

Alas! And as I was pining, I occasionally wished I would be cured. Help me, Saint Anastasia!

As I was examining the chapel, dawn had already broken. The hours had sped away without my realizing it. In the torpor and the reverie of the darkness, not feeling the cold, I had spent nearly all that March night out in the open. I drew away from the chapel feeling relieved against my will, for deserted as her shrine was, the Saint would no longer be disposed to cure me.

And all of a sudden I stumbled upon my cousin Mahoula. She looked the same as she had been twenty years before. Her face had not changed; she had not even a white hair on her head or a line on her brow. She belonged to those women who pass a second youth, more blooming than the first. She was pale, unaffected and guileless; at first glance she seemed homely, but at second sight one discovered that her countenance was pervaded by an indescribable sweetness. She was a bride, a priestess and a woman.

 “Fancy meeting you here of all places, cousin,” she said.

My cousin Mahoula owned an olive grove in those parts. That year yielded a most plentiful crop, and though it was already March, she held around her forearm a hamper full of refined, shiny olives, gathered from the ground. They had fallen from the trees and continued to fall even in spring. She considered that countryside her own. Therefore she said: “Of all places.”

I hailed her and sat on an embankment under an olive tree at the extremity of the grove. She drew near and placed the hamper beside me; and duly arranging with both hands the fringes of her dress she sat at some distance from me.

“I suppose you like olives, cousin; let me treat you to some.” She offered.

“Cousin Mahoula,” I began speaking, ignoring her kind offer, “do you remember those times when I was a child and you surrounded the chapel of St. Anastasia with a wax string?”

“I do,” she replied.

“Then tell me; why did you do that” I asked as if I didn’t know.

“I had made a vow because Manolakis, my son, was lovesick; and since Saint Anastasia, great be her grace, lifts sorceries, I encircled the chapel and beseeched the Saint to break the spell in case my child had been bewitched.”

“And then what happened? Tell me everything as if I was your confessor; as you know, I was away from home most of the time, and so I couldn’t precisely know what had gone on.”

“It seemed he hadn’t been bewitched, only he had fallen in love; and so the Saint could not force him to change his mind as he let himself, on his free will, be overpowered by passion. However, the Saint worked her miracle in another way. After I had been through with my vow, within a month the girl got engaged to another man and soon they were married. Then as I was afraid of my son going mad or consumptive, out of despair, I dedicated him to the Virgin Mary, the Pine Moving, great be her grace, so that she could deliver him from his madness and illness. It cost him a great deal: he suffered, lost all appetite for food, and went as pale as wax; he was like dead in this world. However, the Most Holy Mother of God performed her miracle. My child did not go mad or fell consumptive. He soon found himself again.”

“And now what’s he doing?”

“He’s sailing at sea in our schooner around the parts of the East. He got his sailing license and he’s become the captain of the ship himself, as his father is too old to travel. Manolakis seems to have taken to drinking somehow, but he isn’t overdoing it. He went grey but he doesn’t wish to marry. To tell the truth, cousin, that has turned better for me. He has helped me to provide for my two daughters; now I’ve still got two more. It’s better that way; he’s free from all kinds of worries. The world must not be overpopulated. When my neighbor, Konstantis Rigas, clever and world traveled sees a boy born in the neighborhood and all kith and kin rejoice at the event, he’s in the habit of sneering at them: ‘Well, guys, rejoice at the fact that another slave has been born!’”

Then I asked my cousin whether some curious things have occurred concerning the issue of the chapel.

“One evening at that time as I was coming back from the olive grove, I passed by St. Anastasia’s chapel to pray and light the lamps. It was gradually getting dark and I heard some odd sounds coming out of the adjacent marble building, which is said to be haunted…Again one night I dreamed I was outside the chapel where I saw a very weird creature coming out from that haunted building and rolling on…It seemed to me that a very beautiful girl – her face shone – had given me a white, fragrant flower and told me: ‘here, give it to your son to smell it; it’s the flower of Eden.’ Suddenly, that uncanny creature – dark and blood red – that had sprung from that old building, falls upon me in rage seeking to snatch from my hands the flower given to me by that beautiful girl, who seems to me she was St. Anastasia… at the same moment the saint appeared to be coming out from the Holy Gate of the chapel’s sanctuary holding a sprig of bay leaf, and with a swift motion she cut off the hand of that accursed creature that sought to grab away my flower…That’s what I saw.”

 All day I was roaming the streams and the beaches along the wild and sea beaten shore and only in the late afternoon did I return to Stoyos’ farmhouse to take a nap for a few hours. When I woke up the moon had already risen, but I had lost a night’s long, healthy slumber.

My steps lead me again to St. Anastasia’s chapel. I lit a piece of candle from modestly adulterated wax, which I had bought at the village the day before. I had cut it into four pieces for my convenience, wrapped it in paper and put it in my pocket. In the previous evening I had forgotten having the pieces in my pocket.

I stuck the candle in that stand and sat in one of the two or three pews to take a rest. Afterwards I felt like falling on my knees and tried to pray; instead I fell to daydreaming. I closed my eyes and strove to sleep, but the torment within me was vigilant.

During those nocturnal hours of solitude, of incoherent prayers and unwitting blasphemies, I was adrift in a different world as in a dream. I heard sounds, whispers and voices. It seemed to me that the memories and pictures that besieged my mind assumed a corporeal form. They buzzed in my ears like an innumerable swarm of hovering souls. I stared at the icon of the Saint, who appeared as beautiful as she appeared in my cousin Mahoula’s dream. Then another figure came and stood in front of the icon obstructing it from me. At that moment I heard a loud noise from outside, on the left of the chapel, where the ‘haunted’ old structure stood. I immediately recalled my cousin Mahoula’s story. I took the lit candle and hurried out of the door.

A chilly breeze was blowing threatening to blow out the candle. As I had to protect the flame by cupping my palms around it, I could see nothing beyond the chapel wall. The moon had hidden behind the clouds. In the dim light I looked at the marble building but I could discern nothing. It seemed to me that something had leaped over that wall and scurried off; it might have been a wild cat or weasel hunting in the night.

I returned to the chapel and crossed myself. I sat in the same pew again. The female figure that was supposedly present there, the one that bore purity in her eyes and sweetness on her gentle, honey-colored lips, seemed to me that she was nodding with the Saint’s icon. She appeared to be whispering some supplication or other and the regard of the icon was nodding back her ascent…

I was then overpowered by sleep in the pew I was sitting in. it was a dreamless slumber – all dreams had been deleted by my previous sleeplessness. Only deep down in my conscience I could hear a faint whisper sounding like a prophecy: “Go thy way. There is no remedy for you; pain will govern your life…”

I woke up. I stood up and left. I felt a wild joy, for the Saint had not accepted my entreaty.

(1900)

See also: 

ΔΑΣΚΑΛΟΣ ΣΤΑ ΠΑΛΙΑ ΧΡΟΝΙΑ - A TEACHER OF YORE