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Athos, or The Mountain of The Monks
Athos, or The Mountain of The Monks
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Athos, or The Mountain of The Monks written by Athelstan Riley (M.A., F.R.G S.) was published in London in 1887. John Athelstan Laurie Riley (10 August 1858 — 17 Nov 1945) was an English hymn writer and hymn translator. He was born in Paddington, London, and attended Pembroke College, Oxford where obtained his BA 1881 and MA 1883. Active in the Anglo-Catholic wing of the Church of England, he energised the development of the English Hymnal and was chairman of its editorial board. His best known hymn is Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones. After visiting Athos, he wrote this book of their journey and published it in 1887. (500 pages)
This book includes numerous illustrations which are included.
The Publisher has copy-edited this book to improve the formatting, style and accuracy of the text to make it readable. This did not involve changing the substance of the text. Some books, due to age and other factors may contain imperfections. Since there are many books such as this one that are important and beneficial to literary interests, we have made it digitally available.
Excerpts:
.....When Murad II. was overrunning the Empire of the East and, though repulsed from before the walls of Constantinople in 1422, had taken Thessalonica in 1430, the monks of Mount Athos, deprived of the imperial support and determined to accept the inevitable, submitted to the Turkish Sultan whilst they could make terms; thus they put themselves under his rule on the condition that their ancient privileges should be respected and that they should be allowed to govern themselves. To these terms the conqueror acceded, and the Holy Mountain became incorporated into the Ottoman Empire about the year 1448, five years before the fall of Constantinople. Since then the monks have enjoyed the practical independence which still belongs to them.
.....But I must return to our chamber at Vatopedi. Our first peep gave us a slight foretaste of the glorious scenery that was in store for us during our six weeks' sojourn on the Holy Mountain. Immediately beneath us was a sort of moat supplied with water from one of the numerous rills which flow down from the hills; beyond the moat an open space of ground led up to the gate of the monastery, before which was a domed porch supported on four marble pillars. Close to the gate there is a little kiosk, or summer house, where the monks sit in the cool of the evening and enjoy the balmy breezes from the sea, which is only a few hundred yards distant arid here takes the form of a beautiful bay. Then comes the cemetery, a marvellously small piece of ground for the number of inhabitants that live and die in and around Vatopedi, if it were not for the invariable custom which prevails here, and generally amongst the Greeks, of digging up the bodies three years after burial; the skulls are then neatly labelled with the names of the owners and the dates of their deaths, and placed in the crypt of the cemetery church, whilst the other bones are thrown confusedly into a large chest. The crypt at Vatopedi contains 3,000 skulls. In the hole out of which the skeleton has been dug (corpses are buried without coffins) another body is buried, and so on ad infinitum. How the soil manages to absorb so much animal matter I cannot tell, but it is a very rare occurrence for a body to be found entire at the end of the three years, and a popular superstition hands over the owner of the said body to the Fiend in the case of non-decomposition. Passing the cemetery and the various little cottages all covered with vines and creepers which lie between the convent and the sea, where dwell the muleteers, artisans, and labourers belonging to the monastery, you arrive at the garden in which the good monks grow their herbs and vegetables. It stretches for some distance along the seashore, from which it is separated by a stone wall. Every evening this garden is carefully irrigated from a large reservoir, and in consequence is very productive. After we had gazed for some time at the scene I have just described we called for Angelos, who was sitting talking with the Archbishop in the next room, and made him fetch water for our bath. And here let me recommend to all travellers that great luxury, a portable india-rubber bath. Mine goes into the compass of a large sponge bag, and does not take up more room in the portmanteau than an ordinary night shirt. It has been many thousand miles with me, and is in as good condition as when I first bought it at the cost of seventeen shillings and sixpence.
This book includes numerous illustrations which are included.
The Publisher has copy-edited this book to improve the formatting, style and accuracy of the text to make it readable. This did not involve changing the substance of the text. Some books, due to age and other factors may contain imperfections. Since there are many books such as this one that are important and beneficial to literary interests, we have made it digitally available.
Excerpts:
.....When Murad II. was overrunning the Empire of the East and, though repulsed from before the walls of Constantinople in 1422, had taken Thessalonica in 1430, the monks of Mount Athos, deprived of the imperial support and determined to accept the inevitable, submitted to the Turkish Sultan whilst they could make terms; thus they put themselves under his rule on the condition that their ancient privileges should be respected and that they should be allowed to govern themselves. To these terms the conqueror acceded, and the Holy Mountain became incorporated into the Ottoman Empire about the year 1448, five years before the fall of Constantinople. Since then the monks have enjoyed the practical independence which still belongs to them.
.....But I must return to our chamber at Vatopedi. Our first peep gave us a slight foretaste of the glorious scenery that was in store for us during our six weeks' sojourn on the Holy Mountain. Immediately beneath us was a sort of moat supplied with water from one of the numerous rills which flow down from the hills; beyond the moat an open space of ground led up to the gate of the monastery, before which was a domed porch supported on four marble pillars. Close to the gate there is a little kiosk, or summer house, where the monks sit in the cool of the evening and enjoy the balmy breezes from the sea, which is only a few hundred yards distant arid here takes the form of a beautiful bay. Then comes the cemetery, a marvellously small piece of ground for the number of inhabitants that live and die in and around Vatopedi, if it were not for the invariable custom which prevails here, and generally amongst the Greeks, of digging up the bodies three years after burial; the skulls are then neatly labelled with the names of the owners and the dates of their deaths, and placed in the crypt of the cemetery church, whilst the other bones are thrown confusedly into a large chest. The crypt at Vatopedi contains 3,000 skulls. In the hole out of which the skeleton has been dug (corpses are buried without coffins) another body is buried, and so on ad infinitum. How the soil manages to absorb so much animal matter I cannot tell, but it is a very rare occurrence for a body to be found entire at the end of the three years, and a popular superstition hands over the owner of the said body to the Fiend in the case of non-decomposition. Passing the cemetery and the various little cottages all covered with vines and creepers which lie between the convent and the sea, where dwell the muleteers, artisans, and labourers belonging to the monastery, you arrive at the garden in which the good monks grow their herbs and vegetables. It stretches for some distance along the seashore, from which it is separated by a stone wall. Every evening this garden is carefully irrigated from a large reservoir, and in consequence is very productive. After we had gazed for some time at the scene I have just described we called for Angelos, who was sitting talking with the Archbishop in the next room, and made him fetch water for our bath. And here let me recommend to all travellers that great luxury, a portable india-rubber bath. Mine goes into the compass of a large sponge bag, and does not take up more room in the portmanteau than an ordinary night shirt. It has been many thousand miles with me, and is in as good condition as when I first bought it at the cost of seventeen shillings and sixpence.
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