One morning, attracted by an unusual noise, I looked out and found it
proceeded from a funeral procession. First came a man carrying the lid
of the coffin; then several Greek priests; after them boys in white
robes with lighted candles, followed by choir-boys in similar dresses
who chanted as they walked along. Such sounds! Greek chanting is a
horrible nasal caterwauling. Get a dozen boys to hold their noses, and
then in a high key imitate the gamut performed by several festive cats
as they prowl over the housetops on a quiet night, and you have Greek,
Armenian or Turkish chanting and singing to perfection. There is not the
first conception of music in the souls of these barbarians. Behind this
choir came four men carrying the open coffin. The corpse was that of a
middle-aged man dressed in black clothes, with a red fez cap on the head
and yellow, red and white flowers scattered over the body. The hot sun
shone full on the pinched and shriveled features, and the sight was most
revolting. Several mourners followed the coffin, the ladies in black
clothes, with black lace veils on their heads and their hair much
dressed. The Greeks are obliged to carry their dead in this way,
uncovered, because concealed arms were at one time conveyed in coffins
to their churches, and then used in an uprising against the government.
We witnessed a still more dreadful funeral outside the walls. A party,
evidently of poor people, were approaching an unenclosed cemetery, and
we waited to see the interment.
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