Cyprus: Historical and Descriptive. Franz von Löher
it becomes filled with brackish water, which evaporates as in a vast cauldron, under the burning sun of July and August, and deposits a thick coat of fine salt at its bottom. Night soon closes in in these latitudes, and as I left the spot, the sun suddenly lit up sea, sky, and earth in one blaze of glowing colour, and then rapidly sank to rest. Darkness at once set in, and I rode home through a silence as complete, and a solitude as profound, as if I were traversing the open desert.
The cause of unhealthiness in most towns in Cyprus is quite local and easily removed. Thus round Larnaka and Famagusta are marshes which infect the air, and are apt to induce fever and ague in summer.
CHAPTER II.
ATHIENU.
At seven o’clock the following morning I started for Athienu, and as I passed through the streets of Larnaka, the town was still quiet, and almost empty.
The better class of houses stand within a court-yard and garden, and are furnished with large verandahs, supported by light pillars. Women and girls of the lowest class were to be seen lounging about the narrow, crooked streets. As I quitted the town, the day became all that a traveller could desire. The air was bright and pure, and a balmy breeze swept over the green plains. The swallows were skimming through the air, and countless larks were trilling their sweetest notes.
Cyprus, I must here observe, is very bountifully supplied with birds. I was told that many thousand larks were offered in the market-place of Larnaka. The eggs of the partridge are still more esteemed, and I have often heard the call of these birds in the grass towards evening.
As I pursued my journey, I soon found myself between ranges of chalk hills, and then passed for miles over bleached and barren highlands. These form part of a chain of hills, connected towards the south with the western range of mountains, and extending in a long line to the sea. Very rarely, we passed a little hut, standing in a blooming garden, and forming a veritable oasis in this miniature desert. As I reached the last height, I obtained a peep of the sea near Larnaka, whilst before me, towards the northern portion of the island, towered a superb range of mountains, bristling with innumerable peaks, and tinted with various shades of brown. This chain extends north of the western mountains to the coast, where passing onwards into the sea, it forms the groundwork of the Carpasian peninsula. To my left were also broad, dark, stupendous mountains, running through the whole western portion of the island. One peak, the “Troados,” formerly the Cyprian “Olympus,” reared a snow-covered crown. At my feet lay the extensive plains of Messaria, watered by mountain streamlets, and forming one huge cornfield. A group of thirteen camels, tended by two negroes, stood in a pasture ground beneath me, and imparted a still more Eastern character to the scene. These negroes were probably paid servants, but formerly black slaves were commonly employed in this island. The Government has forbidden this traffic in human flesh; but as a negro will do a better day’s work than five Cypriotes, their introduction is winked at, and many are landed in the northern havens, and are taken by night to the neighbouring mountains.
About noon I reached the town of Athienu, the inhabitants of which are considerably above the average Cypriote in manliness and intelligence. I learnt that they trace their descent from the famous defenders of the powerful fortress, Famagusta, which, in the Middle Ages, stood upon the western part of the island. Famagusta is encumbered with débris, and the covered pits from which the Turks assaulted the walls in the sixteenth century, are now stagnant marshes. After the fall of Nikosia, this fortress had resisted the Turkish arms for more than a year, under the command of the brave Venetian captain, Bragadino. In vain the Turkish General Seraskier Mustapha stormed the place. Six times his men rushed on, their swords between their teeth, fascines and ladders in their hands, and six times they were driven back with great slaughter. Mustapha was furious, his best troops were gone, and he well knew his head must pay the penalty at Constantinople should he return unsuccessful. The town was invested, and six months later, when every scrap of food and ammunition was exhausted, the starving people forced their captain to surrender. Mustapha at once proposed the most honourable terms. The garrison were to retain their arms and baggage, and be sent in Turkish ships to Crete. Whoever desired to go to another part of the island might do so with all his possessions, whilst those who preferred to remain, were to be perfectly unmolested, both as regarded their religion and property.
On the 5th August, 1571, the fortress was taken possession of by the Turkish fleet, and Bragadino at once rode down to the shore, accompanied by three generals, to deliver up the keys to his captors. Over his head was a red silk umbrella, and on his shoulders a purple mantle that swept the ground, in token of his distinguished rank. Mustapha received him, at first, with all honour; but in the course of conversation, became so insolent that Bragadino replied to him in angry terms. The four generals were at once attacked, Bragadino’s nose and ears cut off, and his companions hewn to pieces. Three hundred men of his garrison were mercilessly butchered, and a scene of carnage and pillage ensued which lasted three days. Only a small remnant of the higher classes were allowed to escape, on condition that they should separate and settle in the principal towns.
Bragadino was fastened to a rope and dropped into the sea, from which he was again fished out, laded with two baskets of earth and sent to the new Turkish entrenchments. On his arrival he was seized, thrown down, and slowly tortured to death, amidst the gibes and brutal laughter of Mustapha and his followers. He died as he had lived, like a hero, but this did not protect his body from insult. His skin was stuffed with hay, placed on a cow, and led throughout the camp and town, and was finally attached to the mast of Mustapha’s ship, and taken to Constantinople, where the pitiless conqueror was received with open arms.
I dined at the table of an Athenitan, and have seldom been better entertained; the room was small, but clean, and my hostess young and charming. Our fare, which was admirably cooked, consisted of fried eggs, roast fowl and pillau. For dessert, oranges, artichokes, and some excellent dark wine, were set before me. After dinner I enjoyed a refreshing sleep, and then bidding adieu to my good hosts, proceeded on my way.
Dali, the ancient Idalion, was my next resting-place; here was formerly the Temple of Venus, now a mere heap of ruins, but I saw little worthy of note. These plains of Cyprus are watered by two streams, one of which flows east, and the other west. Both are named after the towns towards which they flow, the larger being called the Dali and the lesser the Morfu. In ancient times these rivers were known as the Pedias and Satrachos, and both much resemble the Nile in appearance. During the rainy season these streams run rapidly, spreading their yellow waters over the surrounding country, and when they retire, leave a thick deposit of slime or mud. I am told that the Pedias was formerly called the Cyprian Nile. The table-like rocks of the plain of Messaria through which I now journeyed, form a very peculiar and interesting feature of its scenery. These rocks, called τραωεζαι, from their table-like appearance, are considered by the Cypriotes to be useless for agricultural purposes; I rode over several of them to test the truth of this assertion, and found the chalk only visible in certain parts, the rest of the surface being well fitted for the growth of vines and other plants. But of what avail is it, that a few hills might be cultivated, in a country whose fruitful plains for generations have not been touched by a plough or hoe? Not a sheep or goat was to be seen in the plains, once called by the ancients μακαρια, or the blessed. Now that Cyprus again enjoys the comforts of a judicious government, she will speedily bring forth all the fruits of the earth with profusion. This, however, will not be done without much difficulty and patient perseverance.
A Cyprian ox! βοῦς χύωριος was the ancient nickname conferred upon the Cypriotes in derision of their stolid obtuseness. Dirty, but contented, they lounge through life without making the slightest effort to improve their condition. All emulation, or pride in their professions, seems to have died out under the weight of a tyrannical and unsympathetic government.
The following short sketch of the cultivation of Cyprus, under the various dynasties, will show its extraordinary natural resources, and the field for enterprise that will be opened out under British sway: