Giorgi's Greek Tragedy

Giorgi’s Greek Tragedy

By Pauline Hager

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Pauline Hager

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Contents

Introduction

Part 1: Village Life (1790)

Part 2: The Kleftes Unite (1785)

Part 3: The Long Journey (1797)

Part 4: A Country in Despair (1801)

Part 5: A Greek Tragedy (1803)

Part 6: Battle of Tripoli (1821)

Part 7: Elefteria—Freedom (1829)

List of Characters

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to my daughter-in-law, Hilary Dawson Hager, for her brutal honesty; to author/artist/teacher Liana Metallinou; and author Shirley Ann Parker, for their support and constructive critique. Also to my husband, Randy, who guided me through Microsoft Word, and to editors Alexandra Laios, Leslie English, and LinDee Rochelle. Their help was invaluable.

I am indebted to Andrew Pagonis, author of Greek Heroes Before and During the War of Independence, for giving me permission to refer to his book regarding the various battles mentioned, and about Kapetan Zaharias. The names of Greek villages and cities and the cathedrals in Mystras exist. Kapetans Zaharias, Androutsos, and Kolokotronis, were real people, including the Greek families mentioned, who contributed to the war effort. The poem Zaharias the Great was written in Greek by Mr. Pagonis and translated into English.

Author’s library

Greek Heroes Before and During the War of Independence, Seaburn Books, 2001

The Greek War of Independence, The Overlook Press, 2003

Carved in Stone: The Greek Heritage, Five and Dot Corporation, 1998

Website articles visited via Google searches:

Down Lousios Gorge to Old Arcadia (The New York Times)

The Struggle for Freedom from Ottoman Oppression (click on cache: Agia Sofia.com)

Greek War of Independence – Wikipedia

The Last Word, #4 The Screaming C. Nadia Seremetakis

"Greek Boys Clothes Chronology: Ottoman Rule

Other websites visited include:

http://members.fortunecity.com/fstav1/1821/fort1821/struggle.html

http://www.gogreece.com/travel/sekect.html?CityID=192

Sketch of young Giorgi in uniform by Liana Metallinou

Author Photo: John D. Wolf

Greek Fugitives Fleeing the Turks

Introduction

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.

…

Or set upon a golden bough to sing

To lords and ladies of Byzantium

Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

The city of Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Empire in 1453, marking the end of the Byzantine Empire. The Ottoman Turks ruled over Greece, imposing crushing and arbitrary tax burdens on the population, which left the country impoverished and backward. The peasants bore the brunt of this tax burden. While survival depended on their own resourcefulness, the tax collectors were never far behind. Ottoman rule subjugated all Christians in the Balkan states for nearly four centuries.

Fiercely independent Greek peasants lived in remote areas of the Taygetos Mountains, deep in the Peloponnese region: a large peninsula in the southernmost point of mainland Greece. Scrub pines and groves of olive trees dot the dry dusty plains. Rosemary, lavender, and rockrose bushes are abundant, and wildflowers cover the valleys. Higher up, the terrain transforms into a towering forest of verdant pines. Under clear azure skies, the peasants breathed fresh mountain air and enjoyed the pleasing fragrance of the forest. Although village existence was harsh, the natural surroundings remain untouched. The Turks, however powerful, could not take away the land’s awesome beauty.

During the 1700 and 1800s along winding slopes and through mountain passes, clusters of austere villages were home to the enduring Greeks. Each village had a town center with a central well, up to one hundred and fifty houses, a kafenion (café), and a cemetery. The ubiquitous Greek Orthodox Church, with its large round dome, dominated the scene.

Dirt roads lead to one-story stone homes, with small casement windows and slate roofs. Livestock, if a family was fortunate enough to own any, lived in stables underneath the houses. Shade from sprawling plane trees surrounded the homes, protecting the inhabitants from the relentless summer sun. Peach, apricot, pear, citrus, and olive trees, flourished in the dry heat. The peasants managed to eke out a sparse diet from their small vegetable gardens. The stoic life of a villager living under the yoke of the Ottoman Empire was severe, monotonous, and cruel.

PART 1: VILLAGE LIFE (1790)

The Papakalos family lived in a wooded vale in the village of Longanikos. Panos and Demetra lived with their two surviving children, Stavros and Anastasia. Four other children never made it to their fifth birthday. Demetra was a small, energetic woman who went about her chores with quick, dainty movements. Her last child was sickly and ultimately died within the past year, which dampened Demetra’s hearty spirit. Too many pregnancies and illnesses had weakened her once robust health. Her husband, Panos, was a thickset, muscular man, short and strong, his hands gnarled from years of hard labor.

Every morning Panos rose just before sunrise. Upon finishing a breakfast of thick, white bread and black tea with a dab of honey, he kissed his wife and two young children goodbye. A short trek down the rocky path to the plains of Laconia takes him to the family’s sprawling olive grove.

Panos approached the olive grove and a warm, familiar feeling crept over him. He loved the sight of the willow-like foliage of the younger trees. As the trees matured, their smooth gray trunks and branches twisted like a Gordian knot. Panos stopped to admire the trees, laden with juicy, ripe olives.

As soon as Panos determined the small oval drupes were ready to gather and send to market, he ordered his crew to get to work, keeping a watchful eye on them. Careful, don’t pinch too hard and damage the olives. And don’t shake the branches too hard and let them fall. They quickly shrivel on the ground, he called out.

When the trees were bare of fruit, the workers lopped unnecessary branches. Panos was the first to prune, climbing up a wooden ladder, shears in hand. The work was difficult and exacting. One wrong cut prevented the tree from producing quality olives the following season. Years of experience proved Panos a master pruner. His workers followed, always under his vigilant eyes.

When finished with picking and pruning, they sifted the olives on large mats, sorting out defective ones and transferring the remainder into horsehair sacks, ready for market.

THE BIG FREEZE

Panos worked long hours, eventually saving enough money to buy a donkey to carry him to the groves each day. Often he slept under the olive trees so he would not waste time going back and forth to his home in Longanikos. Demetra complained bitterly.

The children miss you and so do I. I feel so lonely when you’re gone all the time.

Don’t you see, dear, I get more work done when I don’t have to leave? I’m only there part of the year. Soon the cold months will be here and I’ll be able to stay at home, he reasoned.

Despite of the heavy taxes he was obligated to hand over to the Turks, Panos still managed to save money. In addition to the donkey, he bought a used millstone to crush the olives into oil and sell olive oil, along with the olives, making more money than ever before. With the purchase of more chickens and goats, Panos and his family cautiously thrived. At harvest time, Demetra and the children helped with the picking. When his son, Stavros, was ten years old, he brought him to the groves to train him. Panos needed as many hands as he could gather.

Demetra was unhappy even when they had money to buy new fabric to make curtains and other items for the house. Often Panos was so tired in the evening, he did not have the energy to make love to his wife. Hard work paid off, but it took its toll on their marriage. The few months of the year when the grove was dormant, life returned to normalcy.

Normally, Panos was the first to get up and stoke the wood in the fireplace; however, one particular unusually warm February morning he was tempted to let the fire die out. Warm rain poured during the night and continued all morning and into the afternoon; unusual for this time of year. Warmer weather and more rain fell intermittently for several days.

Panos worried about the weather conditions in the lowlands. If it was this mild in the mountains, it had to be much warmer in the valley. This unusual clement weather could fool the olive trees into thinking it was spring and the trees would start blossoming. Just as suddenly, the temperature dipped to five degrees below zero for over a week. Fearful they could not sustain these weather conditions, Panos felt compelled to visit his grove. Ignoring Demetra’s pleas not to leave, he rode his donkey down the muddy mountain path to the olive grove below.

Panos took one look and saw his whole world collapsed in front of him. The entire grove was destroyed. Rainwater on the blossoms had formed into ice. He not only lost a full year’s crop, but also every tree. The twisted trunks and branches were no longer picturesque. Metamorphosed into grotesque lifeless apparitions, they hung listlessly, all the life snuffed out of them. Panos was stunned. One snap of freezing weather had obliterated his life’s’ work and that of his ancestors. The orchards were rendered worthless.

For weeks, he pondered what to do. Undaunted, Panos decided to abandon the land and find something closer to his village. He leased a plot of land from an aging widow, who had no use for it. The clay soil was dry and unyielding, but he worked the hard dirt until it yielded a small crop of potatoes and corn. Each year, he planted more crops. In the spring, the family added tomatoes, cucumbers and other vegetables, and later planted fruit trees. Once again, through Panos’s skilled farming, the family lived reasonably well off the land.

Although Demetra acknowledged that what had happened to the grove was tragic, she rejoiced at knowing her husband would be home every evening. Life went on as before, only now they had more chickens and goats, and plenty of cloth to make clothes. Soon their daughter Anastasia would be old enough for marriage. Demetra knew she must get busy embroidering linens and other items for her daughter’s dowry.

ANASTASIA

Anastasia, often affectionately shortened to Tasia, was their only surviving daughter. A loving child, she was quiet and obedient, who grew into an attractive young woman. Her chestnut-brown hair and striking green eyes set her apart from the other girls in the village, most of whom had ebony hair and brown eyes. Demetra often gazed at her daughter’s patrician features and wondered how she could have created such a lovely creature.

Her light-olive complexion radiated a healthy glow, and her small, straight nose and finely curved mouth complemented Anastasia’s delicate face. Demetra had only to look at herself to find the answer. Anastasia’s trim figure with firm round breasts and a small waist attracted the attention of the village young men. Panos kept a close eye on them. Anyone interested in his daughter had to go through him first.

Anastasia attended church every Sunday morning with her younger brother, Stavros, and their parents. The men stood on one side of the aisle and the women on the other, as there were no pews in the church. Anastasia stood next to her mother. After a time, Anastasia noticed a tall young man always stood at the same place, the row across from hers on the end aisle. She had seen him around the village, but could not remember his name.

One Sunday morning, the priest announced that the wedding of Eleni Geotis and Socrates Spanos would take place the following Sunday afternoon. Everyone was invited. All the villagers knew each other, and to invite one family without the other would be a disaster. Knowing there would be dancing, Anastasia was ecstatic. She loved to dance, one of the few enjoyable pastimes available in the village.

On their return home, Demetra noticed her daughter moping.

What is it, Tasia? This is not like you. You love to go to weddings and dance. What’s wrong? Are you worried that your friends will marry before you do? she teased.

No, mama. It’s not that. It’s … well, it’s just that I don’t have a nice dress to wear to the wedding. I guess I’ve grown so fast I don’t fit into the last one you made for me.

So that’s it. Now don’t fret, my love. I have plenty of leftover material I bought when Papa was making good money from the olive groves. I thought I might have use for it, she murmured the last sentence more to herself than to Tasia.

Demetra worked every day to finish her daughter’s outfit. The long full skirt of light-blue cotton damask flowed to a flawlessly brocaded hem. She attached it to the traditional blouse, a poukamiso, made of white cotton, and embroidered a fancy design on the long-sleeved, dark-blue jacket of homespun wool. Demetra still had a printed cotton headdress given to her by her godmother many years ago that would complement the outfit. She made Anastasia try on the clothes many times until she was satisfied everything fit perfectly.

I’m so lucky to have such an expert seamstress like you, mama, Anastasia said gratefully.

All Greek women sew well, and you will too, dear, Demetra reassured her daughter.

Demetra worked frantically to finish the dress in time for the wedding, sewing late in the night under a weak oil lamp.

Why are you straining your eyes to sew? Can’t it wait till morning, Panos asked.

No, I must get it done before the wedding. I want Tasia to look nice. She’s almost eighteen years old and hopefully, some of the young men in the village will notice her. She should be married soon.

I’m not so sure anybody here is good enough for our daughter, Panos said haughtily, raising his eyebrows.

Come now, dear. Your mother felt the same way about me. Look what a jewel you have in me, Demetra replied, remembering how her mother-in-law had looked down on her, although she grew to love her new daughter-in-law.

Panos laughed and conceded, We’ll see what happens.

THE WEDDING FEAST AND DANCE

The bride could not have ordered a better autumn day, with warm dry weather ideal for an outside celebration. Leaves and debris were diligently swept from the cobblestone square. Blue and white banners strung between the trees fluttered in the soft breeze. When the long Orthodox ceremony was over, everyone congregated outside the churchyard under the shade of the ancient plane trees. Each woman brought a dish made from her favorite recipe. Cold and hot appetizers, salads, vegetables, and bean dishes lined the tables. Kourabiedes, festive wedding cookies, adorned the dessert table, along with other mouthwatering Greek sweets. A lamb roasting on a spit was ready for carving. The bride’s Uncle Sotiros enjoyed swigs of ouzo, a colorless anise-flavored liqueur, as he performed the honors of slicing the meat.

Having begun celebrating early the uncle shouted, Yasou, may you live many years and grow old together.

The wedding party took their places at the head table. Before the food was served, the koubaros (best man) stood up and toasted the bride and groom, wishing them happiness, good health, and many babies. Each person at the head table took turns congratulating the couple. Many gave long speeches, extolling the virtues of the loving couple. Mr. Haralambros, Eleni’s godfather, announced that he wrote a poem and proceeded to recite it. More guests toasted the couple with a raised hand and a glass of wine. The wine bottles were emptying rapidly.

Are they ever going to finish, mama, asked impatient Stavros. When can we eat? I’m hungry.

And I want to dance. Anastasia sat impatiently resplendent in her new dress. My feet are getting ready to start dancing on their own, she complained.

Shh, Demetra scolded the children. They’re almost finished.

Finally, the priest stood up and gave a blessing and the humble wedding feast commenced. Everyone ate and drank with much fanfare, teasing Eleni and Socrates, causing the bride to blush.

Don’t drink too much wine, the men warned Socrates. Otherwise, you won’t be able to perform tonight. Laughter ensued.

Satiated with good food and drink, the wedding party was ready to dance. A small band comprised of a bouzouki, a mandolin, and a clarinet, took up their instruments and the dancing began.

The bride and groom rose in readiness. Tables and chairs were moved to make room for the dance. The band started with "Horos Tou Gamou" the Bride’s Dance. The first dance at a wedding, always led by the bride, is one of the few times a female leads. As the music played, the entire wedding party formed a half circle and Eleni gracefully lead the group, as guests pinned money to the hem of her gown.

When the graceful wedding dance ended, the band went into a fast-moving, springing and leaping dance. The male guests jumped up and began dancing. Since Greek dances are circle dances, the leader has a chance to show off his talent. He performs daring turns, twists, and high jumps, while the others follow in smooth rhythmic steps. Each dancer links to the next by a handkerchief, by holding hands, or by placing their hands on the shoulder of the next person.

The bridegroom was the first to lead and show off his expertise. Moving slowly and then more rapidly around in a circle, he sprang from the knees, jumped high into the air and landed smoothly on both feet, twisting and twirling. Each man in the circle took a turn showing off. Women rarely dance with men, except when chains of men and women form a double circle, with the women in the inner loop and the men in the outer ring. They continued to dance.

The women patiently waited their turn, but the men monopolized the small dance area. Anastasia complained to Eleni’s mother that it was their turn.

Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll take care of that, Mrs. Geotis assured her. A heavy-set, determined woman, she walked over to the bandleader and said a few words. He nodded, and soon the band started a simple, dignified dance and the men grudgingly gave way to the women.

All the young, unmarried women grouped together and proceeded to dance. When it was Anastasia’s turn to lead, she started with slow, graceful steps, occasionally turning and twisting, hanging on to the handkerchief held by the person next to her. As the tempo quickened, she moved faster and faster, twirling about, twisting the handkerchief into a tight ball.

Greek dancing is all about expressing one’s feelings, and Anastasia freely conveyed hers. She felt like a deer running wild in the forest, free to roam wherever she wanted, never having to answer to anyone. Perspiration poured down her back and her headpiece slipped to the ground. Ignoring it, she continued to dance, jumping higher than most women do. Her inhibitions vanished, and she sensed she was in a different world.

Much too soon, the music ended and Anastasia stopped dancing. She looked dazed and felt embarrassed, but she also felt invigorated. The guests crowded around her and applauded. A handsome man came up to Anastasia and shyly congratulated her dancing. She immediately recognized Costas Leonidis, the young man who stared at her in church.

COSTAS LEONIDIS

It was not long before Costas Leonidis began going to church regularly in order to see Anastasia. He smiled at her when they saw each other, and Anastasia could feel her hands get clammy and her heart skip a beat. A strange feeling came over her, and she admitted that she relished that warm feeling. Something was definitely happening to her.

One Sunday morning as the Papakalos family walked from the church after services, Costas mustered all his courage and approached Anastasia’s parents. He ignored Anastasia, who was standing next to her brother. He took a deep breath and faced Panos and Demetra.

With a charm he had not realized he possessed, Costas smiled and politely said, Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Papakalos. It’s nice to see you.

Demetra Papakalos smiled and returned his greeting. Panos grunted. Then Costas turned and looked lovingly at Anastasia. Softly he said, Good morning, Miss Papakalos, you look well this morning.

Anastasia lowered her head and murmured shyly, Good morning.

Costas could not keep his eyes off her. He was about to say something to Stavros when Panos abruptly said Good day, young man, and led the family away.

Later that evening when Anastasia and Stavros were asleep, Demetra said to her husband, My, what a nice boy that Costas Leonidis is. He’s so polite, not like the other young men his age.

Anastasia was still awake and heard her parents talking. Stifling a giggle, she lay there too excited to sleep, remembering Costas’s gaze. With a smile on her face, she soon drifted off to sleep.

Panos was not so sure that Costas was so nice. Did you see the way that young man was ogling our daughter? I hope his intentions are honorable. We’ll have to keep an eye on him, he said in a stern voice.

The day came when Costas made the hard decision to visit Anastasia’s home. One Sunday afternoon he was still in his best clothes when he walked to the house and knocked on the door. Demetra opened the door and waited, as he stood nervously, his eyes twitching.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Papakalos, Costas said pleasantly. Standing straight with a serious look on his face, he asked to speak to Mr. Papakalos.

Of course, come in, Demetra said, in a kind voice. She could see he was still nervous; he kept smoothing his moustache. She offered him something to eat and drink, but he politely refused.

No, no. Please, thank you. I mean, I’m fine. He looked around the room, wondering where Anastasia was.

Soon, Panos, Anastasia, and Stavros entered the room. Panos greeted Costas with a formal nod, coming right to the point.

Well, young man, to what do we owe this visit?

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all, Costas thought to himself. He swallowed hard and tried to talk. His usual deep voice sounded high-pitched. He turned to Demetra and said, On second thought, Mrs. Papakalos, maybe you could get me a glass of water.

Demetra felt sorry for the boy and quickly went into the kitchen to get him some water.

Panos stood stiffly, staring at Costas, making him feel even more uncomfortable. Anastasia kept her head down, occasionally glancing at Costas out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to run into his arms and tell him it was all right. Stavros was amused and tried to imitate his father, glaring at Costas.

Demetra came back with a tall glass of spring water. Costas gulped it down, took in several deep breaths, cleared his throat, and tried again.

I’ve come here to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage, Costas blurted out, feeling weak. He had planned to give a lofty speech, and ask if he could visit Anastasia and see if she would have him, but this was all he could manage to say.

Panos asked everyone to leave the room so he and Costas could talk. Demetra and Anastasia gave Costas a reassuring smile as they left the room. Feeling more confident, Costas turned on the charm and convinced Panos that he was the right man for his daughter.

SOULA AND NIKOS LEONIDIS

As a young girl, Costas’s mother, Soula Leonidis, was plain-looking, with round eyes too big for her small face. She was skinny and shapeless like a broom. Her chest was flat and none of the young men was interested in her. The other girls her age quickly found husbands, which made her jealous. Even with the large dowry that her parents would provide when she married, Soula was still single. When she turned twenty-four, her parents hired a matchmaker for their unpopular daughter. In spite of her homely features, shapeless figure, and continually sour expression, Soula was a hard worker, and Nikos Leonidis, the oldest son of a poor family, agreed to marry her. From this union, three daughters were born, one right after the other. A few years later, Soula and Nikos happily had two sons, Spiros and Costas.

With the generous dowry Nikos received when he married Soula, he was able to lease a small plot of land owned by a wealthy Greek family. A few Greek families in the village collaborated with the Turks. By converting to Islam, the Christian Greeks, now Muslim, were no longer required to pay taxes, and became relatively wealthy. Some families forfeited their Christian religion for the sake of a better life for their children; others did it simply for the money.

Soon, the Ottoman sultan limited the number of families who were willing to convert. He feared that if too many converted, his source of revenue would drastically erode. Paying heavy taxes to the occupying forces was like a bleeding wound draining the body. Resigned to their fate, the peasants could do nothing but pay their occupiers.

Although Nikos Leonidis disliked dealing with the Muslim Greeks, he had no choice. He needed to provide for his family. With the few acres of unfertile land he leased from the Muslim Greek family, he managed to cultivate the soil and eke out a living. When his daughters grew into young women, they soon found husbands and moved into their husbands’ family homes. On the death of Nikos’s parents, as the elder son, he inherited the house. Nikos, his wife Soula, and their two sons, Spiros and Costas, lived in the family home. With the exception of Sundays, they worked long hours on the land.

One gray morning before Nikos and the family left for the fields, two men knocked on their door. An official-looking Turk sat haughtily on a white horse, accompanied by a local Greek Muslim. They greeted Nikos.

We have come for your tax money, said Petros Papadopoulos, a heavy man with a rotund stomach and greedy eyes.

Normally a cavalry of Turkish tax collectors came to collect money for the Turkish pasha of Tripoli. Nikos sensed something was very wrong today. He instinctively cautioned his family to leave without him.

This shouldn’t take long, Soula. Take the boys and go to the fields. I’ll be along shortly, he urged her.

No, I want to stay.

Go, woman, go. Do as I say.

Soula reluctantly obeyed her husband and left with their sons.

Nikos faced Petros and asked, I don’t understand. Why are there only two of you?

It is not for you to question. We don’t need to explain anything. Show us your records and money, and we’ll be on our way. And be quick about it, he demanded pompously.

Mr. Papadopoulos looked over Nikos’s records and frowned.

Hmm, you made quite a bit more this year. Now you must pay double. There’s an additional tax on your property, he informed Nikos.

In order to show off his importance and his allegiance to the Turk, Petros attempted to collect more money from Nikos than was actually required.

I’m required to pay taxes on the land I lease and the profit I make on the sale of my products, and now you want me to pay for the living space that I and my family occupy? Are you crazy? shouted Nikos, his eyes blazing with anger. I have paid my so-called fair share of taxes, and I refuse to pay one bit more, he objected, raising his voice.

The Turkish official interceded and asked, Are you accusing Mr. Papadopoulos of cheating you? his cruel eyes flashed with anger.

You’re damn right I am, Nikos blurted without thinking. You’re nothing but a bunch of thieves and you can all go to hell. Here, take what I’m required to pay and leave. Nikos threw the money on the ground.

No Greek dog dares to talk to me like that and lives to repeat it, growled the swarthy Turk. He whipped out a pistol from his leather case and shot Nikos in the head. Without hesitation, he ordered Petros to pick up the money and hand it to him. The officer grabbed it and rode away on his horse, leaving Mr. Papadopoulos behind.

There was no investigation, and Soula could not afford to hire a lawyer. Even if she could have and they went to court, she would lose. Since there were no witnesses, it would be a Greek’s word against a Muslim. The Turk would say that Nikos refused to pay his taxes and threatened to kill the tax collector. Since all the judges were Muslim, everyone knew the final decision. The peasants were not accustomed to challenging their tyrannical Turkish masters, and Soula had no recourse. Grief-stricken, she was left to fend for her small family. Soula managed to hold on to the land and worked hard to feed her boys. But the tragic incident left her hard and bitter.

SPIROS LEONIDIS

Non-Muslins were not required to serve in the sultan’s army. However, when he had need for additional men for strenuous, physical labor, he ordered his military to round-up Christian men. Sitting arrogantly on their horses, they went door to door seeking strong, healthy bodies. Arriving