DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4593#0070
THE IONIAN ISLES 53
" Kyrie cleison, Kyrie eleison — What part? "
" From Boston."
" Ah ! Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison ■— I was there
once. It was many years ago." Then another vol-
ley of Greek addressed to Heaven, and suspended at
the proper pause to make sure that his communica-
tions with earth were not cut off. The expression
" Lord have mercy " {Kyrie eleisoti) when he learned
that we were from Boston seemed to us strangely
inappropriate. He was greatly pleased to estab-
lish this relationship, and more than the ordinary
amount of melted candle dripped upon the sacred
page. The service was thoroughly mechanical, and
I did not see why a phonograph run by water power
would not have been as devotional. But it was a free
and novel lesson in the modern Greek pronunciation.
" I moved away," says Mavilla, " and let the priest
talk with my father. The stone floor was cold, and I
was sleepy. Two or three nuns were nodding in their
stalls; another, crouched on the floor, was rocking
back and forth, throwing up her hands and moaning.
The little choir boys yawned, and pulled each other
by the sleeves when it was time for their responses.
The splash of the rain mingled with the monotonous
drone of the priest; the incense made me dull, and
the candles nickered weirdly before my sleepy eyes."
"When will the service be over?" I whispered to
Mr. Woodley.
" In three hours," he replied cheerfully. " It lasts
every morning from two to seven."
Mavilla gave one look at the picturesque two by
the reading-desk — " the dark, gray-bearded priest
and the pale clergyman, paler than ever in the dim
" Kyrie cleison, Kyrie eleison — What part? "
" From Boston."
" Ah ! Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison ■— I was there
once. It was many years ago." Then another vol-
ley of Greek addressed to Heaven, and suspended at
the proper pause to make sure that his communica-
tions with earth were not cut off. The expression
" Lord have mercy " {Kyrie eleisoti) when he learned
that we were from Boston seemed to us strangely
inappropriate. He was greatly pleased to estab-
lish this relationship, and more than the ordinary
amount of melted candle dripped upon the sacred
page. The service was thoroughly mechanical, and
I did not see why a phonograph run by water power
would not have been as devotional. But it was a free
and novel lesson in the modern Greek pronunciation.
" I moved away," says Mavilla, " and let the priest
talk with my father. The stone floor was cold, and I
was sleepy. Two or three nuns were nodding in their
stalls; another, crouched on the floor, was rocking
back and forth, throwing up her hands and moaning.
The little choir boys yawned, and pulled each other
by the sleeves when it was time for their responses.
The splash of the rain mingled with the monotonous
drone of the priest; the incense made me dull, and
the candles nickered weirdly before my sleepy eyes."
"When will the service be over?" I whispered to
Mr. Woodley.
" In three hours," he replied cheerfully. " It lasts
every morning from two to seven."
Mavilla gave one look at the picturesque two by
the reading-desk — " the dark, gray-bearded priest
and the pale clergyman, paler than ever in the dim