3. Modern survivals

In a country with a large rural population like Greece, where geographical conditions and backward communications have led to the growth of isolated and self-contained communities, each preserving distinct its local dialect and traditions, it is natural to find many pre-Christian survivals, especially in connection with something so fundamental as death. The mere existence of ritual beliefs and practices in Greece today does not prove continuity of development from antiquity, since similar survivals can be found in most of the Balkan countries. I shall therefore attempt in this chapter not to enumerate details of ritual for their own sake, but to point out the thread of continuity and change, and above all to define the relation between poetry and ritual in the popular lament, since this was obscured in our sources for the Byzantine period.

A modern proverb, which calls to mind Elpenor's warning to Odysseus, illustrates that lamentation and funeral rites are as inseparable today as they were in antiquity: [1] It was a misfortune for the living as well as for the dying. In the Iliad, Andromache reproaches Hector at his wake for dying before he could give her a last word of greeting. John Chrysostom, too, refers to the dying man’s last words of farewell as a kind of blessing on the company of relatives and close friends. Similarly, many modern laments open with the dying man's farewell to life and to his closest kin. [2] {36|37}

Great importance is still attached to the manner in which a man's soul leaves the body. A good man dies easily, his soul leaving the body 'like a lamb'. [3] A protracted and agonised death, on the other hand, known as ψυχομάχημα (fight of the soul) or χαροπάλεμα (struggle with Charos), is thought to spring from one of several causes. First, the dying man may have committed some wrong which is unconfessed and unforgiven. In such a case as soon as the first signs of approaching death appear, an urgent summons is sent to the priest and also to any man known to have had a quarrel or dispute with the dying man. Sometimes it is not his own fault, and he may be paying for the sins of a parent or a grandparent. [4]

Second, his family may be under a curse which has not been revoked, or he may wish to revoke a curse which he has made himself. Sometimes there may be a vow or a curse which has not been fulfilled, as with Sokrates. In the famous ballad The Song of the Dead Brother, Konstantinos persuades his mother to consent to the marriage of Arete, his only sister, in foreign parts, and he gives a solemn vow that in case of sickness or death he will bring Arete back to his mother. But Konstantinos and his eight brothers are stricken with the plague, leaving their mother to lament at their graves and to curse Konstantinos for his arrogant vow. Until he rises from the dead and fulfills his promise, his mother's soul cannot be released. [5]

Third, the absence of a loved one can cause long agony and delay in the departure of the soul. In the same ballad, as soon as Arete steps over the threshold of her home and calls out to her mother that she has returned, the mother's soul, which has been lingering on since the death of her nine sons for this moment, is released at once. Similar non-literary instances have been recorded from the Pontos, where an article of clothing or some personal possession was substituted if the presence of the desired person was impossible. [6]

In the case of a young person, a protracted death need not have any moral implications, but may simply reflect a natural reluctance to leave the pleasures and responsibilities of life. The fight with death is then understood literally: the dying man may call out that he can see Charos approach, sword in hand, often dressed in black, or winged, like ancient Hades. [7] A girl from Thrace who died at the age of twenty two in the influenza epidemic of 1917 was heard to shout out, an hour before she died, 'There he is! A young man is coming with a spear to {37|38} cut me up! Bring me the long knife. He is going to slaughter me. She then engaged in an imaginary but fierce fight. [8] In the ballads of the Underworld which describe a wrestling-match between Death and the young man, it is regarded as a mark of heroism and not as a sign of a sinful life for the young man to face Death with a challenge:

This reluctance to yield to death without a struggle expresses a feeling closer to the story of Herakles' fight with Thanatos in Euripides Alkestis than anything to have survived from Byzantine tradition, which emphasised the moral aspect. Something of the infinite variety of modern peasant beliefs, at once imaginative and concrete, is reflected in the abundance of expressions for the last struggle of the soul: ψυχομαχῶ, ψυχορραγῶ (my soul is fighting, struggling), τρεμοσβήω (1 tremble and go out), χαροπαλεύω (I wrestle with Charos), ἀγγελοσκιάζουμαι, ἀγγελομαχῶ (I tremble at, fight with, the angel). [9]

It is still important to maintain silence at this time. Weeping and wailing, above all lamentation, remind the dying of the grief he is causing, and so prevent the soul from leaving the body. [10] Before he died, my husband's maternal grandfather, from the village of Sklithron in Thessaly, instructed his relatives not to lament until he was properly dressed and laid out. Soon after, when he appeared to be dead, the women began keening, but with great effort he raised himself and told them to stop. Another danger of premature lamentation was that it scared away the angels and spirits which had come to accompany the soul, leaving it to the mercies of Charos. This is known as ἀγγελόμμα (angel-cutting), a belief not unlike those described by the Church fathers, except that it is Charos, not the Devil, who now seizes the soul. {38|39}

Except for the closest relations, all young people leave the house, and the body is tended by old women. It is preferable for the eyes and mouth to be closed by the child, or next of kin, who has been supporting the head or clasping the hand of the dying man. [11] This detail, similar to many scenes on ancient vase-paintings, was not mentioned in the Byzantine sources. The coin which is still placed on the forehead or on the mouth is believed to serve as a charm against evil spirits, although one folk song has it that it is the fee for Charos to ferry the soul across the river of death. [12]

The body is then washed, either with wine or with water brought from outside the house, another point which ancient practice insisted upon. This divergence may indicate a fusion between the originally distinct practices of washing and anointing. [13] The dressing of the corpse has undergone little change. New clothes, especially new shoes, are essential, and wedding attire is still customary for the young or newly married. [14]

The decking of the body with flowers, herbs and evergreen leaves and branches is important. Those chosen vary in different parts of Greece, but basil and celery are usually included. Their purpose is not purely perfunctory. The use of evergreens, which are neither sweet-smelling nor decorative, suggests the survival of an older, regenerative function. And the idea is frequently expressed in the laments themselves that the flowers and ornaments help the dead on his journey to Hades and facilitate contact with the world of the dead, as is admirably illustrated by the following lines from a long lament improvised by an 88-year-old peasant woman from Kalamata at the funeral of Grigoris Lambrakis, the Greek Member of Parliament who was murdered in 1963: [15]

Usually the body is placed with the head towards the east, but in the case of a violent or premature death it is laid in the porch of the house, or even outside, as in the archaic period of antiquity. [16]

The early Christian fathers had described popular lamentation at this stage of the ritual as something disorderly, only organised when the Church exercised some control. But among the people today, although the arrangement of the mourners varies in different parts, it is not random. Strange mourners must be present, and they are usually separated from the kinswomen. The procedure is strict and formal: one of the kinswomen usually leads off, helped by the rest who wail in chorus, and then, when the chief mourner from the other side wishes to ‘take up’ the dirge, she stretches her hand over the body and grasps the hand of the mourner on the left. By this silent stretching of the hand, the dirge is passed over from one group to the other all day long. [17] This scene of antiphonal lamentation forms a striking parallel to Hector’s wake and to the scene on many vase-paintings of antiquity, as well as to Buondelmonti's account of a funeral in fifteenth-century Crete.

The rules about the kind of lament suitable at this stage are no less strict. Far from being an impromptu outburst of wailing, as the Church fathers had implied, the dirges at the wake concentrate on formalised praise of the virtues of the dead, often in partly traditional and partly improvised couplets. [18] In Mani the constant passing to and fro of the dirge takes the form of a contest, and afterwards the woman generally agreed to be the best mourner is congratulated by the next of kin with the words ‘May you be rewarded with joy!’ [19]

The use of strange mourners is considered a mark of respect and affection towards the dead. They are sometimes, but not always paid, and payment is in kind, with coin or purse. A Cretan mourner expressed her dissatisfaction with the proffered payment by opening with these words: [20] And a Maniot mourner is promised by the dead man's next of kin: [21] Being less directly and personally involved, they are equipped to give a more accomplished and professional expression to their grief. This does not mean that they suffer less; on the contrary, because they are required to fulfill an obligation to the dead, their grief may be more acute. [22] Nor are they insincere, since, like the Trojan captives who mourned with Briseis for Patroklos, they may, with the permission of the kinswomen, lament their own troubles and their own dead, sending a message through the dead man to their own kinsmen in the Underworld: In 1963 Sophia Lala, aged 66, from Samarina in western Macedonia, explained to me that since the death of both her husband and her son in her youth, she had sung nothing but laments. When invite to lament at other funerals she would never refuse, because in is way she could sing for her own dead, 'I weep for my own, not for theirs.’

The result of such an antiphonal exchange between kinswomen and strangers was a gradual crescendo of emotion, of rising intensity but not without its traditional, ritual pattern. Moreover, lamentation in some areas was considered such a professional art that it was consciously cultivated among certain families, and the skill was handed down from mother to daughter. This was the case until recently in Mani and in the island of Imbros, where the fame of Samothracian mourners was such that it gave rise to a proverb, ‘You need Samothracian women to lament you' (Loukatos 64).

The ritual character of the scene at the wake is further emphasised by the rhythmical movements of the women, who beat their breasts, tear their cheeks and pull at their loosened hair or at a black scarf, in time to the singing. Until recently in Crete, women would cut their hair to cover the face of the dead. [23] This is no longer customary, but the following description I recorded in 1963 from Stavroula Sarimvei, of Larisa, is reminiscent of scenes on many fifth-century Attic vases: 'In a village called Elateia, near Larisa, a mother died. Her {41|42} two daughters let down their long hair and spread it upon their mother's face. They wept and lamented, first wetting her face with their tears, then drying it with their hair.' Women from the same part of Thessaly have described to me the equally ancient gesture of the raising of the right hand during lamentation. This formed the same combination of movement and gesture as in antiquity, and the same dance-like character. [24]

In Mani and elsewhere, dirges may continue unabated all day and all night. But in general, dirges must stop at sunset, for fear of disturbing the dead man's peace by reminding him of the life he has been robbed of. [25] Everywhere the body must be guarded during the night, usually by old women, who may comment on the futility and vanity of life, 'Mankind adds up to nothing. A life of strife, and only evil at the end!’ (Loukatos 55). In the Pontos, there survived the habit of laughing strangely and saying 'There's never a funeral without joy, nor a wedding without a tear.' Then, on the morning of the second day, when the body is to be buried, came the climax of the whole wake, the ‘great lament', sung for a particularly loved person by the whole village, and accompanied by wild displays of grief from the women. [26]

There are no longer any restrictions on the number of women permitted to lament. In Mani, the whole family of all who can trace a common ancestor several generations back must be present. [27]

On the morning of the second day the slow tolling of the church bell summons the priest and the whole village to the house of the dead to accompany him on his last journey to the tomb. As soon as the bell is sounded, all over the village any water that has been standing in vessels is thrown away, and fresh water is fetched. Sometimes, the vessel is broken. [28] This is apparently an extension of ancient custom, from the immediate family to the whole village.

The body is taken up by four men, who in Thrace must be neither close kin nor newly married, and laid in the coffin. [29] Mourning women throw on offerings of fruit and nuts—apples, quinces, walnuts and almonds—as a greeting to their own dead below. This ritual detail throws light on the opening phrase of so many dirges, giving it a meaning beyond it mere lyricism: As the priest enters with his censer, the lamentation reaches a climax, inspired less by the strange mourners than by the bereaved mother, wife or sister, who calls out a final reproach, just as they did for Hector, 'They are taking you away, my child! Who will look after your mother, my son?' 'Who are you leaving me to, husband? You are ruining your household, dear husband. Who are you leaving your children to? O, my support is gone!' (Laog (1934) 400).

In Epiros, the last greeting between dead and living before the final separation may take the form of an imaginary dialogue, in which the nearest kin is required to hold his hand over the body of the dead man, like Orestes, while the other mourners sing on his behalf:

The procession is led by non-relatives, who carry offerings. Then come the cantor and the priest, followed by the bier, again carried by non-relatives, and behind it the kinsmen, first men and last of all women. [30] Perhaps the less prominent part played by the next of kin at the procession is a relic of the primitive practice examined in chapter 1 of hiring men outside the clan to attend to this part of the ritual. Some superstitious relatives today actually refuse to follow the body to the grave, especially if it is the first death in the family, or the death of a son. In some villages of Chios, kinswomen take no part whatever in the procession. [31]

In Mani, the procession is swift, accompanied by wild cries and beating of the breast. In Epiros, there is no formal lamentation, just weeping and wailing. In the Pontos, the procession did not make {43|44} straight for the church, but was taken round the main streets and to the market-place, a practice which survived in spite of legislation and Church disapproval. [32]

In the church, the priest reads the short and formal funeral service. But in some parts of Chios and in Mani the women have never reconciled themselves to their secondary position in church, and do not enter at all, preferring to wait outside. [33] Occasionally, when the dead man is thought worthy of a more public tribute, or when there has been no formal laying-out, the women transform the character of the church service, as in the following story I recorded in 1963 from Sophia Lala of Samarina: The true purpose of ritual lamentation, a collective tribute to the dead from the whole community, is still sufficiently strong among the people, when occasion demands, not only to win over the Church, but even to withstand official opposition in a time of such bitter divisions as the late Civil War.

As in the Byzantine period, the priest presides over the actual burial, laying on the dead a piece of tile or pottery bearing the inscription ΙΣ XΣ NIKA (Jesus Christ Conquers) to ward off evil spirits, and sprinkling him three times with oil and wine taken from the central lamp of the church. [34] Then he throws on to the coffin a clod of earth, repeating the formula 'Earth thou art, and to earth thou shalt depart’. In Crete it is not the priest, but an experienced person, usually a woman, who officiates, touching the earth with her two forefingers and whispering softly to the dead, ´Τούτ ἡ γῆς ποὺ σ’ ἔθρεψε, τούτη θὰ σὲ φάη (This earth which fed you shall also eat you), a phrase which has hardly changed since antiquity. [35] Similarly, the formula of many ancient epigrams finds an echo in the line 'I owe my body to the earth, {44|45} my soul to the angel' (Theros 750). While the mourners throw into the grave their last offerings of fruit and flowers, laments are sung, either in the form of a dialogue between the dead and the living, or as a series of instructions given to 'those long dead' and to Earth to take care of the newcomer: But in this Maniot lament, unlike the ancient epigrams, the Earth has an answer, and it is not a pleasant one:

Immediately after burial, water is passed round for all to wash their hands, after which the kóllyva, wine, and bread with honey are tasted. Sometimes, the wine vessel, tray and basket are broken, or sometimes they are placed outside the inner door of the house, with a bowl of water, until evening falls. [36]

All then gather in the house of the dead man’s family to share in the funeral feast, to which each must bring a contribution as a mark of {45|46} respect, including the priest. It is now known as paregoriá or makaría, not by its ancient and medieval name of perídeipnon, although the concept of consolation implicit in the modern terms appears to go back at least to the time of Lucian. [37] Instead of laments, short wishes and prayers are called out by each in turn as the food and wine are handed round, such as ‘May God forgive him! Long life to your husband! Long life to yourself!'

After several days have passed, the house is thoroughly cleansed and purified with water and whitewash, and all clothing, including what was worn by the mourners at the funeral, must be washed in spring water, much as had been stipulated in the ancient legislation from Keos. [38]

On the third, ninth and fortieth days after death, and after one year, wine and water are placed on the tomb and in the house for the thirsty soul to return and drink. Dirges, mostly passionate invocations imploring the dead to return, are improvised by kinswomen at the tomb; sometimes they contain thinly veiled threats, arising, perhaps, out of considerations of inheritance and property. In the following Maniot lament for a girl who died childless, soon after marriage, her relations and relations-in-law take turns to improvise a couplet, ending with a threat, probably uttered by her mother-in-law, that her dowry will be returned to her mother’s house: [39] These harsh words perhaps indicate something of the violence and feeling which gave rise to the exaggerated displays of grief so hateful to Chrysostom, and to the ecstatic attitudes depicted on the fifth-century vases. The real function of invocation at the tomb has remained unaltered: the living, by their offerings and passionate invocations, can enter into communion with the dead. {46|47}

In some parts of Greece the memorial days are referred to not by their Christian and more official term, mnemósyna, but as στὶς τρεῖς, ἐννιά, σαράντα, στὸ χρόνο (on the third, ninth, fortieth day, after a year), or even as tríta, niámera, saránta, terms which are structurally very similar to the ancient tríta, énata and triakóstia. They are not only occasions for personal offerings and invocations, but often for a more general feast at the tombs. Nuts, fruit, sweets and pies are shared round among all present, and each must sing a lament in turn for the dead. This feast, pagan in origin and at one time forbidden by the Church, is now presided over by the priest, who brings it to an end by scattering incense and giving to all a lighted candle to place on the graves. [40]

Some days in the Church calendar call for an even more lavish banquet, among them the first Friday of Lent and the Friday of Pentecost (known also as στοῦ Ρουσαλιοῦ, a popularised form of the ancient Roman Rosalia). The latter is referred to by the people as ‘the day of the pies’, because it is the day of the most extensive offering of ψυχόπιττες (pies for the soul), when the whole village—strangers, clerks, shepherds and herdsmen together with their sheep, goats, cows and oxen—makes its way to the tombs. It is the last day of freedom for the souls, which have been freed since the Sunday before Lent by the blood of hens slaughtered over their graves, the ceremony may be a relic of the ritual blood sacrifice believed in antiquity to release the souls of the dead for a limited period. [41] The central part of this ritual is the gonátisma (kneeling), which takes place after the first part of the service has been sung inside the church. Everyone, young and old, walks in procession to the churchyard (perívolos), led by the women, who carry baskets of offerings covered with fine scarves, usually white. The women stay at the tombs to guard the offerings, kneeling with heads bent towards the earth, while the priest takes the men back to the church to continue the service, also kneeling. During this silent kneeling the souls are believed to rise to eat and drink. Afterwards the men come out of the church and sit round the tombs in a large circle, while the women hand round food and drink.

The separation of men and women during the vital moments of this ritual illustrates the importance of women in matters so intimately concerned with the dead. The formal service is led by the priest in the church, where men take first place; but it is the women who prepare and make the offerings, addressing not prayers to God but invocations to the dead, calling upon them by name. [42]

The custom of exhuming the dead after one, three or seven years is well known in all parts of Greece. The purpose is to examine the {47|48} remains to see that there are no inauspicious signs for the dead man's relatives. If the body has dissolved, leaving the bones clean and white, all is well, and they are washed in wine and reinterred. But if the body is black and putrid, the chances are that the dead man has become a βρυκόλακας (revenant). According to the official explanation, he is in Hell, or, more picturesquely, in popular speech καίγεται στὰ Τάρταρα (he is burning in Tartara) (Laog (1911) 476-7). In a lament from Epiros, the macabre instructions are spelt out in full, as if by the dead:

The Church has learnt to accept and supervise this pagan custom. In Mani the priest takes charge, and if he finds something amiss, as he usually does, he is paid for the special liturgy for the dead man’s soul. Sometimes more drastic measures are required, such as cremation. This is what a seer advised an anxious assembly to do in antiquity with the body of Philinnion, who had become a revenant after an untimely death. [43]

The whole village community is responsible for the care of the bones of their ancestors, on which their good fortune is thought to depend, as in antiquity. [44] In the case of sudden evacuation of a village, the bones are carefully dug up, put in special sacks, and taken with them to help found a new settlement. If there is no time for this, then the bones are burnt, to prevent the possibility of desecration by the enemy. When Parga, sold by the British to Ali Pasha in 1817, was ceded to the Turks in 1819, its inhabitants burnt the bones of their ancestors before they left, as is recorded in the historical lament: As for mourning, the duration and customs vary considerably, but everywhere the widow is required to observe the most exacting terms. [45]

This summary of ritual lamentation as it has been recorded from different parts of Greece for the past hundred years or so, while far from exhaustive, may perhaps indicate some important features in the continuity of Greek tradition. First, the general pattern of the ritual, and the distinctive types of lament characteristic of its three stages—at the wake, at the funeral procession and at the tomb—have remained fundamentally the same. Second, in spite of the changes, there are some striking similarities of detail, in the ritual practices themselves, in the explanations given for them by the people, and above all in the terminology. Further, relating the modern ritual to the ancient and Byzantine material already examined, we find that on the one hand there are some practices in modern folk tradition which can be paralleled in ancient ritual, but which are not recorded in Byzantine tradition, and on the other hand a certain discrepancy between the official attitude of the Church as expressed by the early fathers and as practised by the village priests today, who are by no means reluctant to preside over, or profit from, certain practices of demonstrably pagan origin.

This discrepancy reflects a subjective rather than an objective change. Now that paganism is no longer regarded as a powerful force among the people and the Church has no need to take a hostile attitude, the two are thoroughly integrated. There is no conflict because there is no real distinction. On the one hand the Church has learnt to tolerate what it had once discouraged or condemned; on the other hand, popular ritual has associated itself more or less directly with Christianity. The ancient figure of Hades has disappeared, but his popular successor is not God or Saint Michael but Charos, who is responsible for accompanying the dead to the Underworld, still known as Hades, and much more similar to its ancient counterpart than to the Christian concept of Hell. Along with Charos in Hades are {49|50} to be found the Virgin, the saints and apostles, while Charos occasionally finds his way to Paradise, usurping Saint Peter as keeper of the gate. He has survived because there is no doubt in the minds of those who believe in him that he is the servant of God, and so it is to him that mourners address their prayers to release the dead from their graves on the Christian festivals. The assimilation has been complete, yet unconscious, as in the following folk song recorded from the Peloponnese: [46] Perhaps on factor in this process of assimilation has been the change in the position of the Orthodox Church. During the long centuries of Turkish occupation, when it was no longer in a dominant position, through the lower village priests at least it played an important role in the struggle for national liberation and so became more closely united and identified with the people. Under these circumstances, since old divergences and disputes tended to be forgotten, some aspects of pagan ritual probably received official recognition.

Of course, ritual lamentation has not survived equally in all parts of Greece. There has been considerable attenuation in urban regions, where it is regarded as a personal matter to be decided and arranged by the family concerned. But in most of the villages, lamentation remains a social duty for the whole community, to be performed for all alike. The bereaved family is not asked if it wishes the dead to be lamented; the women simply come to the house and weep, first for whoever has just died, then for their own dead. It is an integral part of a complex ritual which by its very nature is dependent upon the collective participation of the whole community. [47]

This relation between lament and ritual affords a clue to continuity. The ancient lament, even in its most highly developed literary form, never entirely lost sight of its ritual connections. When this dynamic interplay of poetry and life was obscured in Byzantine learned tradition, the result tended towards a cold formal literary exercise, divorced from popular language and culture. What is characteristic of the modern Greek folk lament—although by no means unique to Greek tradition—is that it has retained its ritual significance without any diminution of its poetic quality. {50|51}

At present survival is threatened neither by legislation nor by the Church, but by a more insidious and gradual corrosion of the social conditions on which it depends. Will it inevitably disappear when its old functional value has gone, together with the practices and superstitions of which it is a part? It is too soon to answer such a question yet, but perhaps the vital unity of poetry and ritual, characteristic of Greek tradition and essential to the continuity of many features of the lament since antiquity in spite of the historical and religious changes, will ensure its survival in a different form in the future, perhaps in popular poetry of a new kind, which is neither exclusively folkloric, nor exclusively literary. Folk tradition, when deep-rooted in the consciousness of a people as it is in Greece, is extremely tenacious and at the same time adaptable.