The valley at our feet
nursed a rippling stream deep in the bottom of a precipitous gorge, the
rough sides clothed with myrtles, which now occupied basket-makers who
were completing their work upon the spot where they cut their wands of
this tough wood in lieu of willow. The fine old Gothic building stood
before us on the opposite height upon the extreme edge, surrounded by
trees of various kinds, including tall poplars which unfortunately were
not yet in leaf. This grand old pile was an impressive contrast to the
scene around; there were neat villages with flat-topped roofs of clay,
down in the vale far beneath, with the intense blue sea washing the
rocky shore: there was also the adjoining village at the rear, occupying
the same plateau as the monastery, with its rich gardens and groves of
orange-trees; the ruined walls and towers of Buffavento upon the highest
crags dominated our position by more than 2,500 feet, and the castle of
St. Hilarion stood upon a still higher elevation on the western sky-line
behind Kyrenia. There was nothing modern that appeared compatible with
the style and grandeur of Bellapais. When this monastery was erected,
Cyprus must have been a flourishing and populous country worthy of such
architecture, but the present surroundings, although harmonising in
colouring, and in a quiet passiveness of scene, in no way suggested a
connection with a past that gave birth either to the Gothic building or
to the important castles of Buffavento and St.
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