ΚΡΥΠΤΟΧΡΙΣΤΙΑΝΟΙ ΣΤΗΝ ΚΡΗΤΗ - HIDDEN CHRISTIANS IN OTTOMAN CRETE

 

TO ΠΑΣΧΑ ΤΟΥ ΜΕΧΜΕΤ ΜΠΕΗ   Ἀπὸ τὸ Ἀναγνωστικό τῆς Στ’ Δημοτικοῦ τοῦ 1947   Εἶναι τρεῖς ἡ ὥρα μετὰ τὰ μεσάνυχτα καὶ σπάνιοι οἱ διαβάτες στὸ δρόμο. Εἶναι οἱ τελευταῖοι ποὺ γυρίζουν ἀπὸ τὴν πρώτη Ἀνάσταση καὶ πηγαίνουν βιαστικοὶ στὰ σπίτια τους. Σὲ λίγο τίποτε πιὰ δὲν ἀκούεται καὶ νεκρικὴ σιγὴ βασιλεύει σ’ ὅλη τὴν τουρκική συνοικία τοῦ Ἡρακλείου. Ξαφνικά, ἀνοίγει ἀθόρυβα ἡ αὐλόπορτα ἑνὸς μεγάλου σπιτιοῦ καὶ προβάλλει ἀνθρώπινο… κεφάλι. Γυρίζει δεξιὰ καὶ ἀριστερὰ καὶ παρατηρεῖ μὲ προσοχὴ μέσα στὰ σκοτάδι. Τραβιέται μέσα καὶ πάλι ξαναφαίνεται καὶ κοιτάζει μὲ προσοχή. -Ἐλᾶτε, δὲν εἶναι κανένας, ἀκούεται χαμηλὴ φωνή. Τρεῖς σκιές, ἡ μιὰ μεγάλη καὶ οἱ δύο μικρότερες, βγήκανε στὸ δρόμο. -Πᾶμε γρήγορα, ψιθύρισε ὁ ψηλὸς ἄντρας πᾶμε γρήγορα, γιατί ἀργήσαμε καὶ θὰ μᾶς περιμένει. Σκέπασε τὸ πρόσωπο μὲ τὸ μαντήλι σου, Ἑσμέ! Ρεσίτ, δός μου τὸ χέρι σου! Περπατούσανε κι οἱ τρεῖς σιωπηλοὶ στὸ σκοτάδι. Μόλις ὅμως ἔστριψαν τὸ στενὸ σοκάκι, βρήκανε μιὰ γριά, ποὺ κρατοῦσε στὸ χέρι της ἀναμμένη λαμπάδα. Περπατοῦσε μὲ κόπο, γιατί ἦταν πολὺ γριά. Καὶ φρόντιζε μὲ τὸ ἀδειανὸ χέρι νὰ προφυλάξει τὴ λαμπάδα της ἀπὸ τὸν ἀέρα, γιὰ νὰ φέρει στὸ σπίτι τὸ φῶς τῆς Ἀναστάσεως, ποὺ πῆρε ἀπὸ τὴν ἐκκλησιά. Ὅταν εἶδαν τὸ φῶς τῆς λαμπάδας οἱ τρεῖς νυχτερινοὶ διαβάτες, γύρισαν ἀλλοῦ το κεφάλι τους, γιὰ νὰ μὴν γνωριστοῦν. Τοῦ κάκου ὅμως. Ἡ γριὰ σήκωσε τὴ λαμπάδα της καὶ τοὺς φώτισε. -Πολλά τά ἔτη σας, Μεχμὲτ Μπέη! εἶπε ἡ γριά. -Καλημέρα, κυρά, ἀποκρίθηκε ἐκεῖνος, καὶ τοῦ χρόνου! Καὶ τράβηξε τὸ δρόμο του. Ἡ γριὰ τοὺς κοίταξε ἀπὸ κοντά, ὥσπου τοὺς ἔχασε ἀπὸ τὰ μάτια της. «Περίεργο πράγμα!» εἶπε μὲ τὸ νοῦ της. «Ποῦ νὰ πᾶνε τέτοια ὥρα ὁ Μεχμὲτ μπέης μὲ τὴ χανούμισσα καὶ τὸ γιό του; Χριστέ μου, δὲν κάνεις τὸ θάμα σου νὰ γλιτώσουν οἱ Χριστιανοὶ ἀπὸ ἕναν Τοῦρκο;» Βυθισμένη στὸ σκοτάδι ἦταν καὶ ἡ ἐκκλησία τοῦ Ἁγίου Μηνᾶ. Ἐδῶ καὶ λίγη ὥρα, χιλιάδες κεριῶν τὴ φώτιζαν χιλιάδες Χριστιανῶν στὴν αὐλὴ της ἔψαλλαν χαρμόσυνα τό «Χριστὸς Ἀνέστη». Τώρα ἔμεινε μόνο τό ἄρωμα τοῦ λιβανιοῦ καὶ τῶν κεριῶν. Καὶ μόνο τό καντήλι, ποὺ ἔκαιε μπροστὰ στὴν ἀσημένια εἰκόνα τῆς Παναγίας, θαμπόφεγγε. Παντοῦ βασίλευε ἀπόλυτη σιγή. Δύο χτύποι ἀκούστηκαν στὴν ἐξώθυρα. Ἀπὸ ἕνα στασίδι σηκώνεται κάποιος καὶ τρέχει ν’ ἀνοίξει ἦταν ὁ παπὰς τοῦ Ἁγίου Μηνᾶ. Οἱ τρεῖς νυχτερινοὶ διαβάτες μπαίνουν ἀθόρυβα στὴν ἐκκλησία καὶ φιλοῦν τὸ χέρι τοῦ παπᾶ. Σφαλίζουν καλὰ τὴν πόρτα, προχωροῦν εὐλαβικὰ στὸ εἰκονοστάσι, γονατίζουν καὶ κάνουν τὸ σταυρό τους. Ὁ παπα-Γρηγόρης μπαίνει ἀπὸ τὴ δεξιὰ πόρτα στὸ ἱερό, ἀνοίγει τὴν Ὡραία Πύλη καὶ λέει στὸ μικρότερο ἀπὸ τοὺς τρεῖς: -Ἔλα, παιδί μου, νὰ μὲ βοηθήσεις! Καὶ τοῦ δίνει μιὰ μικρὴ λαμπάδα, ποὺ τὴν ἄναψε ἀπὸ τὸ ἀκοίμητο φῶς, ποὺ εἶναι πάνω στὴν Ἅγια Τράπεζα. Ὁ παπα-Γρηγόρης φόρεσε τὸ χρυσοκέντητο πετραχήλι του, πῆρε μὲ βαθὺ σεβασμὸ τὸ Δισκοπότηρο καὶ πλησίασε στὴν Ὡραία Πύλη. Μπροστά του στέκεται τὸ συμπαθητικὸ τουρκόπαιδο, ὠχρό, συγκινημένο, μὲ τὴ λαμπάδα στὸ χέρι. -Πλησιάστε, εἶπε ὁ παπὰς στοὺς ἄλλους δύο. Πρῶτα πλησίασε ἡ γυναίκα, τριάντα ἕως τριανταπέντε χρονῶν. Ἦταν ὠχρὴ καὶ βαθιὰ συγκινημένη. Τὴ στιγμὴ ποὺ ἀνέβαινε τὰ σκαλοπάτια τοῦ ἱεροῦ, χρειάστηκε νὰ τὴν ὑποστηρίξει ὁ Μεχμὲτ μπέης, γιὰ νὰ μὴν πέσει. Τὰ μεγάλα μαῦρα μάτια της ἦταν δακρυσμένα. – «Μεταλαμβάνει ἡ δούλη τοῦ Θεοῦ Μαρία, εἰς τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ Πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ Υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ Ἁγίου Πνεύματος», εἶπε ὁ παπὰς μ’ ἐπισημότητα καὶ τῆς ἔδωσε τὴν Ἅγια Μετάληψη. Δύο μεγάλα δάκρυα κύλησαν στὸ πρόσωπο τῆς σεμνῆς ἐκείνης γυναίκας κι ἀκούστηκε νὰ ψιθυρίζει: «Μνήσθητί μου, Κύριε, ὅταν ἔλθης ἐν τῇ Βασιλεία σου». Πῆρε ἔπειτα ἡ γυναίκα τὴ λαμπάδα στὸ χέρι της καί πλησίασε τὸ παιδί. – «Μεταλαμβάνει ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ Θεοῦ Νικόλαος»· ἐπανάλαβε ὁ παπάς, κοιτάζοντας στοργικά το συμπαθητικὸ παιδί. Τώρα ἦρθε ἡ σειρὰ τοῦ Μεχμέτ. Ἀνεβαίνει μὲ θάρρος καὶ πλησιάζει τὸν παπά. Τὸ φῶς τῆς λαμπάδας τρέμει, γιατί τρέμουνε καὶ τὰ χέρια τῆς Μαρίας. – «Μεταλαμβάνει ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ Θεοῦ Ἐμμανουήλ, εἰς τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ Πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ Υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ Ἁγίου Πνεύματος», λέει γιὰ τρίτη φορὰ ὁ παπάς, δακρύζοντας τώρα κι αὐτός. – Ἀμήν. Εἶπε μὲ βαθιὰ φωνὴ ὁ μυστικὸς Χριστιανός. Σὲ λίγα λεπτὰ οἱ τρεῖς σκιὲς χάνονται καὶ πάλι στοὺς σκοτεινοὺς δρόμους τοῦ Ἡρακλείου καὶ βιαστικὰ γυρίζουν στὸ σπίτι τους. Αὐτὴ τὴ φορὰ δὲ βρέθηκε καμιὰ γριὰ στὸ δρόμο νὰ τοὺς γνωρίσει μὲ τὸ φῶς τῆς λαμπάδας καὶ νὰ ξαναπεῖ: – Θεέ μου, δὲν κάνεις τὸ θάμα σου, γιὰ νὰ σωθοῦν ἀπὸ ἕναν κακὸ Τοῦρκο οἱ Χριστιανοί; Μόνο ὁ παπα-Γρηγόρης ἤξερε, ὅτι ὁ Μεχμὲτ μπέης ἤτανε Χριστιανός, πιὸ πολὺ πιστὸς ἀπὸ πολλούς, ποὺ λέγονται μονάχα Χριστιανοί. See also: LIFE UNDER OTTOMAN TYRANNY IN CRETE - Ι. ΚΟΝΔΥΛΑΚΗΣ

MEHMET BEY’S EASTER   (From a 1947 Grammar School textbook)  Rendered by Vassilis C. Militsis It is three in the morning. Passers-by in the street are rare. They are the last to return home hurriedly after the Resurrection Mass. Nothing is heard; Deathly silence reigns supreme in the entire Turkish neighborhood at the town of Herakleion, Crete. Suddenly, the yard gate of a large house is noiselessly opening and a man’s head sticks out. The man looks to the right and left watches intently into the darkness. He draws back and reemerges and probes again. “Come on out; there is no one,” a low voice is heard. Three shadows, one taller and two shorter, go out into the street. “Let’s hurry,” whispers the tall man. “We’d better be quick. We’re late and he’s expecting us. Cover your face, Esma! Reşit, hold my hand!” The threesome was walking speechlessly in the darkness. As soon as they turned into the alley, they met an old woman holding a burning candle. She was plodding on as she was a very old lady. She strove to protect the flame against the breeze cupping it with her free hand and bring the Resurrection light of the candle, which had lit in the church, intact back home. On seeing the candle light, the three night walkers turned their head away in order not to make their presence known. In vain, however; the old woman lifted her candle and shone on them. “Long life to you, Mehmet bey!” said the old woman. “Good day to you, lady; may you be healthy and well on this day next year!” he replied and the three walked on. The old woman watched them until she lost sight of them. “Strange!” thought the old woman. “Where are Mehmet bey, his hanım and their son off to at such an hour? Sweet Jesus, protect the Christians against a Turk!” St. Menas Church was engulfed in darkness. A while before thousands of candles had dazzled on it while hosts of Christians had been chanting the canticle ‘Christ is risen.’ What was left now was the fragrance of incense and spent candles. Only the glimmer of the lamp, burning in front of the silver icon of Holy Mary, could be dimly seen. Complete stillness prevailed all over the place. There are two knocks on the church gate. Someone stands up from a pew and hurries to answer it: it is the church vicar. The three night visitors enter the church quietly and kiss the priest’s hand. They make the gate fast, proceed to the iconostasis,1 heads bowed devoutly, and kneel down crossing themselves. Father Gregory enters the sanctum through the right door, opens the Royal Gate2 and addresses the youngest member of the three: “Come, child, to help me!” and hands him a small candle, which he has lit from the Eternal Light burning upon the altar candle. Father Gregory dons his gold-embroidered stole, takes the Chalice in utter reverence and approaches the Royal Gate. The likeable Turkish boy, pale and deeply affected, stands still, candle in hand. “Come closer,” the priest turns to the other two. The woman, in her early thirties, also pale and stirred, approaches first. At the moment she was climbing the few steps to the sanctum she needed to be supported by Mehmet bey because she was nearly going to fall. “The servant of God, Maria, partakes of the Holy Communion in the name of Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” said the priest solemnly giving her the communion. Large tears rolled down the face of that unpretending woman while she whispered: “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Then the woman took the candle in her hand and the boy approached. “The servant of God, Nicholas, partakes of the Holy Communion,” the priest repeats looking at the demure child with affection. Then it is Mehmet’s turn. He walks up the stairs firmly and approaches the priest. The candle light is quivering as Maria’s hands tremble. “The servant of God, Emmanuel, partakes of the Holy Communion in the name of Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” recites the priest for the third time, with tearful eyes, too. “Amen,” the secret Christian reciprocates in a bass voice. In a few moments the three shadows meld again in the dark alleys of Herakleion and hurriedly return home. This time they did not meet in the street an old woman who would recognize them in her candle light and pray Christ to protect Christians from an infidel Turk. It was only Father Gregory who knew that Mehmet bey was a Christian, more faithful than many who pretend to be Christians. 1Iconostasis 2Royal doors