A RIDE ACROSS THE PELOPONNESK 177 



Arcadian scene. The path suddenly led us right 

 down into a green valley, where were sheep grazing, 

 tended by shepherds in rough woollen cloaks with 

 crooks in their hands. Through the midst ran a 

 clear stream, spanned by a beautiful old bridge, slop- 

 ing up and down like the roof of a house, and paved 

 with limestone blocks, varied here and there by a 

 slab of marble. This bridge is supposed to be of 

 classical antiquity and to have been originally built 

 of marble alone. In the long grass by the stream 

 grew a cluster of white narcissus. The whole scene 

 was in smiling contrast to the stern outlines of the 

 mountains around. 



In these cold modern days the gods and goddesses 

 of the good old tunes no longer wander even in the 

 Avilds of Arcadia. The nymphs and dryads are no 

 more. The Greek women of to-day do not fulfil that 

 ideal of beauty with which, perhaps too sweepingly, 

 their ancestors have been credited. It would be 

 worse than ingratitude, however, not to mention a 

 fair damsel who passed us on our way down to this 

 valley, bending beneath a load of fagots. Her face, 

 crowned with masses of dark hair, would not have 

 disgraced Aphrodite herself, so perfect was it in form 

 and colour, so bewitching in expression. 



Andritzena could now be seen some three or four 

 miles in front, perched up among the mountains. A 

 very stiff climb brought us to the top of the ridge 

 which leads up to the village. Looking back from 



VOL. II. 31 



