sunny Greece—it is not at all easy to pick out the Acropolis, lying low in the foreground and flanked by such superior heights as Lycabettus and Pentelicus. Hence it is that the voyager, returning home from a stay in Athens, enjoys the seaward view of the receding site far more than the approaching newcomer; and it must be added that, however one may reverence the Acropolis from his reading, it can never mean so much to him as it will after a few days of personal acquaintance, when he has learned to know its every stone. What slight disappointment one may feel on first beholding the ancient rock of Athena from the ocean, is, after all, only momentary and due solely to the distance. It is certain to be removed later when closer acquaintance shows it to be the stupendous rock it really is, standing alone, and seen to better advantage than when the hills that wall the Attic plain overshadow it in the perspective.
As the steamer approaches, the loftier heights of Hymettus, Pentelicus, Parnes, Ægina, and Salamis intrude themselves and will not be denied, framing between them the valley in which Athens lies, obscured for the time being by the tall chimneys and the forest of masts that herald the presence of the Piræus in the immediate foreground. That city is as of yore the seaport of Athens, and is a thriving city in itself, although from its proximity to the famous capital it loses individual prestige, and seems rather like a dependence of the main city than a separate and important town, rivaling Athens herself in size, if not in history.
Perhaps the most trying experience to the newcomer is this landing at the Piræus and the labor involved in getting ashore and up to Athens; but, after all, it is trying only in the sense that it is a matter for much bargaining, in which the unfamiliar visitor is at an obvious disadvantage. As in all Greek ports, the landing is to be accomplished only by small boats, which are manned by watermen having no connection at all with the steamship companies. It would seem to be the reasonable duty of a steamer line to provide facilities for setting its passengers ashore, and in time this may be done; but it is an unfortunate fact that it is not done now, and the passenger is left to bargain for himself with the crowd of small craft that surrounds the vessel as she is slowly and painfully berthed. The harbor itself is seen to be a very excellent and sheltered one, protected by two long breakwaters, which admit of hardly more than a single large vessel at a time between their narrow jaws. Within, it opens out into a broad expanse of smooth water, lined throughout its periphery by a low stone quay. While the steamer is being warped to her position, always with the stern toward the shore, a fleet of small boats, most of them flying the flags of hotels in Athens or of the several tourist agencies, eagerly swarm around and await the lowering of the landing stairs, meantime gesticulating violently to attract the attention of passengers on deck. Little that is definite, however, can be done until the gangway is lowered and the boatmen’s representatives have swarmed on the deck itself. There is time and to spare, so that the voyager has no occasion to hurry, but may possess his soul in patience and seek to make the most advantageous terms possible with the lowest bidder. The boatmen, be well assured, know English enough to negotiate the bargain.
Despite the apparent competition, which ought by all the laws of economics to be the life of trade, it will doubtless be found quite impossible to make any arrangement for landing and getting up to the city for a sum much under twelve francs. That is the published tariff of the hotels which send out boats, and if one is certain of his stopping-place in Athens he will doubtless do well to close immediately with the boatman displaying the insignia of that particular hostelry. But it is entirely probable that any regular habitué would say that the hotel tariff is grossly out of proportion to the actual cost, since the boatman’s fee should be not more than a franc and the ride to Athens not more than six. As for the tourist agencies, they may be depended upon to ask more than the hotel runners do, and the only limit is the visitor’s credulity and ignorance of the place. Whatever bargain is made, the incoming passenger will, if wise, see to it that it is understood to cover everything, including the supposititious “landing tax” that is so often foisted upon the customer after landing in Athens as an “extra.” These are doubtless sordid details, but necessary ones, and matters which it may prove profitable to understand before venturing in. Having dismissed them as such, we may turn with more enjoyment to the prospect now presenting itself.
Piræus, as all the world knows, is the port of Athens now as in classic times. Topographically it has three good harbors, the Piræus proper, Zea, and Munychia—the latter name also applying to the rocky promontory which juts out and separates the harbor from the Saronic Gulf. It was on the Munychia peninsula that Themistocles in 493 B.C. erected a town, and it was Themistocles, also, who conceived and carried out the scheme for the celebrated “long walls” which ran from the port up to Athens, and made the city practically impregnable by making it quite independent of the rest of Attica, so long as the Athenian supremacy by sea remained unquestioned. Thus it came to pass that, during the Peloponnesian War, when all the rest of the Attic plain had fallen into the hands of the Lacedæmonians, Athens herself remained practically undisturbed, thanks not only to the long walls and ships, but also to the fortifications of Cimon and Pericles. The Athenian navy, however, was finally overwhelmed in the battle of Ægospotamoi in 404 B.C., and the port fell a prey to the enemy, who demolished the long walls, to the music of the flute.
Ten years later, when Athens had somewhat recovered from the first defeat, Conon rebuilt the walls, and Athens, with Piræus, for a space enjoyed a return of her ancient greatness and prosperity. The Roman under Sulla came in 86 B.C., and practically put an end to the famous capital, which became an inconsiderable village, and so remained down to the Grecian risorgimento. The present city of Piræus, and the city of Athens also, practically date from 1836, though the old names had been revived the year previous. Up to that time the spot had for years passed under the unclassic name of Porto Leone.
Inasmuch as the fame of Athens and her empire rested on the navy as its foundation, and inasmuch as the navy made its home in the waters of the Piræus and Munychia, the locality has its glorious memories to share with the still more glorious traditions of the neighboring Salamis, where the Persians of Xerxes were put to such utter rout. It was from this harbor that the splendid, but ill-fated, Sicilian expedition set out, with flags flying, pæans sounding, and libations pouring. And it was to the Piræus that a lone survivor of that sorry campaign returned to relate the incredible news to the village barber.
The harbor of the Piræus is generally full of shipping of all sorts, including steamers of every size and nationality, as well as high-sided schooners that recall the Homeric epithet of the “hollow ships.” Some are en route to or from Constantinople, Alexandria, Naples, the ports of the Adriatic, the Orient—everywhere. The Greek coastwise vessels often bear their names printed in large white letters amidships, familiar names looking decidedly odd in the Greek characters. All are busily loading or discharging, for the Piræus is, as ever, a busy port. Under the sterns of several such ships the shore boat passes, its occupants ducking repeatedly under the sagging stern cables, until in a brief time all are set ashore at the custom-house. That institution, however, need give the visitor little apprehension. The examination of reasonable luggage is seldom or never oppressive or fraught with inconvenience, doubtless because the visitor is duly recognized by the government as a being whose presence is bound to be of profit, and who should not, therefore, be wantonly discouraged at the very threshold of the kingdom. Little is insisted on save a declaration that the baggage contains no tobacco or cigarettes. The porters as a rule are more tolerant of copper tips than the present rapidly spoiling race of Italian facchini.
The sensible way to proceed to Athens is by carriage, taking the Phalerum road. The electric tram, which is a very commodious third-rail system resembling the subway trains of Boston or New York, is all very well if one is free from impedimenta. But for the ordinary voyager, with several valises or trunks, the carriage is not only best but probably the most economical in the end. The carriages are comfortable, and capable of carrying four persons with reasonable baggage.
Little of interest will be found in driving out of the Piræus, which is a frankly commercial place, devoid of architectural or enduring classical recommendations. The long walls that once connected the port with Athens have disappeared almost beyond recall, although the sites are known. Nor is the beach of New Phalerum
