The younger priests were all
good-looking, active, healthy men, who thought nothing of a morning's
walk over the fatiguing rocky paths to Troodos and back (twelve miles),
to be refreshed on their return by an afternoon's work in their gardens.
The head of the Church was an especial friend of ours, and was a dear
old fellow of about seventy, with a handsome face, a pair of greasy
brass spectacles bound with some substance to retain them that was long
since past recognition, and swelled feet that prevented him from walking
beyond the precincts of the monastery, which he had never quitted for
twelve years. The feet looked uncommonly like the gout, but I can hardly
believe in the co-existence of that complaint with dry beans and
barley-bread, although the truth must be confessed, that the monks are
fond of commanderia, or any other production of the vineyard. There was
one exceedingly disagreeable monk with whom we held a most remote
acquaintance, and whose name I willingly conceal; he has been seen upon
several occasions to sit down upon an imaginary chair, the real article
of furniture being eighteen inches distant, and the stunning effect of
arriving suddenly in a sitting posture upon the hard stone of the
courtyard disabled him from rising; and even when assisted his legs were
evidently affected by the shock. His enemies declared (as they always
do) that he was the victim to an over-indulgence in the raki and wine of
Phyni.
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