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“‘Why Old Basil Became a Monk’, by J. Theodore Bent, with illustrations drawn by E.H. Edwards, from Sketches by the Author, engraved by Del Orme and Butler” (being Bent’s fanciful story based on a picnic on Karpathos (1885), published in The Hour Glass, Vol. 1, March 1887, pp. 79-84).
The text and images here are from original 1887 material in the collection of the Bent Archive. The article has never appeared online before. You are free to reproduce the text here, which is our transcription, but are requested to acknowledge us – “Transcription: the Bent Archive, April 2025”.
(Some context: The celebrity explorers Theodore and Mabel Bent made a tour of some of what are now called the Greek Dodecanese islands in the Spring of 1885, inspired by the results of their travels in the Cyclades between 1882-1884. Their first stop was Rhodes, arriving from Alexandria, then there were short visits to Nisyros and Tilos before their extended stay on Karpathos. It will be Bent’s voice you hear next…)
HALFWAY BETWEEN CRETE AND RHODES lies a thin, attenuated island called Karpathos, unknown to travellers, unvisited; its inhabitants are semi-barbarous Greeks, rich only in their inheritance of superstitions; amongst them my wife and I spent three Spring months digging for antiquities and studying folk-lore. Nominally, Karpathos is governed by a Turkish official and a few soldiers; in reality each village governs itself, holds its own parliament in its own church, and the nominal rulers never interfere with this autonomy; for Karpathos is nigh unto Crete, and in consequence revolutionary.
It is a very lofty and lovely island, but the choicest spot of all is a gorge down by the sea called, from a church which is built therein, the gorge of Mrs. All-Holy, or of the Virgin Mary, as we call her in Western Christendom; this church is looked after by a monk called Basil, a very old tottering anchorite, whom we visited together with the Turks one day on muleback. The narrow gorge is clad with fir trees as it ascends the mountain, and with rank vegetation, myrtle, mastic, oleander, maidenhair, all closely interwoven as it approaches the sea; fantastic rocks peep out from amongst the verdure, and the rippling waves of the blue sea wash a narrow beach of silvery sand, just below the Virgin’s church. This church is Basil’s sole charge; at stated hours he rings the bell and chants the services with none to hear him; he takes care that the ever-burning lamps before the sacred pictures do not go out; three times a year he covers the edifice with whitewash; he lives on a few herbs, which he cultivates close around his cabin; he is a monk and hermit combined. Once a year the pious Karpathiotes come to this spot on a pilgrimage, and make merry on the shore; for the rest of the time old Basil lives there alone; for severe affliction has severed him for ever from the joys of this life; his only consolation now is the rigorous asceticism of solitary monastic life.
When we and our polyglot companions reached the gorge, old Basil was much bewildered; he stood at his cabin door, leaning on his staff, and silently inspected us as he crossed himself, then he stroked his long white beard and bade us welcome. His dress was that of a working monk, tattered and torn; his tall hat, which once was black, was now brown; his coat, which once was blue, had now much of the colour of earth about it; his pantaloons, which were tied round his knees, were of doubtful colour; his legs and feet were covered only by many sores. We entered his cabin, the furniture of which consisted of his bed of leaves, his basket of stale bread, his jug of water, a wooden stool, a few sacred pictures; beyond these he neither possessed nor wished for other worldly goods.
Despite the austere supervision of the monk, our al fresco meal was a great success. An Albanian soldier, whom the Turks had sent round by a mountain farm for a lamb, was our cook. We saw our victim slain and skinned; we watched it pierced with a new-cut wooden skewer, and with impatient eyes we looked on whilst it revolved before a smouldering fire of brushwood, for the process of basting with cream and salt produced such exquisite sensations on our nasal organs that our appetites became painfully keen. When ready, a table of sweet smelling herbs was spread, around which we squatted on our haunches, and no pressing was needed to induce us to take in our fingers the proferred [sic] joints; and I must candidly admit that the barbarous process of gnawing produced far more real enjoyment than the most exquisitely served repast of western civilization. We washed down our lamb with cream and generous wine “like the brigands of the mountains”, suggested our Albanian and we privately congratulated ourselves that it was unaccompanied by sensations which must spoil the repast of those who are compelled to eat thus against their will.
Old Basil, though at first affecting to despise our mundane appetites, was at length persuaded to drink from our gourd of wine; his eye grew brighter, the strings of his tongue were unloosed, and though we had heard his story from the villagers, we could not resist asking him to renew for us his tale of unutterable woe, and in acceding to our request he introduced us to many interesting glimpses into the inner life of these wild islanders.
When young, Basil, like most men on Karpathos still do, had travelled far during the summer months in search of work, he had visited many of the coastal towns of Asia Minor, he had fought in several Cretan rebellions, and each winter had returned to his home. Being thrifty, and not without personal attractions, he was recognised as a desirable husband by the parents of one Penelope; he married, and in due course became the father of two sons and one daughter – Agape by name. Every summer he was absent, and every winter he spent with Penelope and his children, until the sons were old enough to go and earn their living abroad; and on Penelope’s death old Basil determined to stop at home and till his property, which he had got as a dower with his wife, and which was to be Agape’s portion when her turn came to marry. There is a curious, and very ancient, custom existing still in the remote Greek islands; the eldest daughter inherits everything, to the exclusion of her brothers and younger sisters. Agape would not only have her mother’s house and property, but her mother’s embroidered dresses, her mother’s grave in the churchyard, nay, even her mother’s slab in the church, on which she had inherited the exclusive right to kneel. This survival of a matriarchal system is productive of two evils, an enormous proportion of old maids, and an ambition to secure for the heiress a grand match; fathers and mothers to gain their object, will often leave themselves and the rest of their family in abject poverty, for the sole gratification of being able to speak amongst men of their daughter, the school-master’s wife, or of their son-in-law, the captain.
Basil shared with the other parents of Karpathos this keen ambition; by his private earnings he had greatly increased and improved his property; he was the owner of a farm on the mountains, and many flocks; all these, in addition to her mother’s portion, he carefully advertised would belong to Agape when the right man should come. As a natural consequence of this advertisement the right man was not long in coming, and what was more, he came from a rich neighbouring island called Chalki. He was a well-to-do sponge-fisher, “a man of substance, and the owner of a caique”, said old Basil, with the fire of his former ambition still lurking in him; his face was animated, and his gesture very unlike that of a monk anchorite, as he related to us the great triumph of his life, the marriage of his daughter.
He gave us a lively account of the wedding and its old-world semi-barbarous functions; nothing he had ever seen before exceeded the lavish waste of rice and comfits which the bystanders threw at the young people when the priests chanted the “Crown them in glory and honour” and the “Esaias dances”; and the gifts brought by the relatives, “the crowning gifts” as they call them, were exceedingly numerous, and doubtless by comparison costly, consisting, as is the custom there, of sheep, goats, honey, cheese, and other edibles for the wedding feasts; and for the space of eight days the village where Basil lived was the scene of continued dissipation.
He entered very fully into the captain’s folly in not conforming to certain well-recognised superstitious customs, which brides and bridegrooms in Karpathos must attend to if they wish their married life to be a prosperous one. Before three days had elapsed, the captain actually dared to jump over a stream, and laughed at the old women who predicted that he would suffer from the baneful smile of the water nymphs, Nereids, as the Greeks still call them. Regardless of any warning, he insisted on pruning the vines and trees on his newly-acquired property before the lapse of the customary cessation from such labour for forty days after marriage, and furthermore by a promise of reward he had induced Basil’s two sons to assist him in this work.
“He was”, added Basil to extenuate his son-in-law’s folly, “a world-travelled man, and we world-travelled men are foolishly apt to scoff at ancestral traditions.”
The captain evidently cared but little for his wife’s relations; he must needs set off home with Agape to Chalki before the expiration of the mysterious forty days; the expostulations of the old women were in vain – even the wedding decorations were taken down hurriedly without a priestly blessing, and Basil told us how he parted from his daughter with a heavy heart, fearing misfortune, yet not liking to give expression to his fears.
After the lapse of a few months he visited his daughter in her new home; he told us much concerning the comparative grandeur of Agape’s house, almost anything would look grand after a Karpathiote hovel; she had glass in her windows; she had wooden floors, instead of pressed manure; she had in fact what old Basil generalised at the end of his catalogue by the one word “civilization”; and the summer passed at Chalki, whilst his sons were away, must have been to Basil the brightest speck in his long life ; and I imagine that, on his return to Karpathos, he must have been insupportably arrogant concerning his daughter’s magnificence, for even now, monk anchorite that he is, he cannot check his tongue when once loosened on this subject.
In the autumn the captain and his wife visited Karpathos, to gather in the vintage and other products of their property; and it was during this visit that the fatal compact was made between Basil’s two sons, Andrew and Paul, and their brother-in-law; they were to join him in his sponge-fishing expedition in the summer, instead of going to Smyrna in search of work; by this means both parties would be benefited, money would be kept in the family, and, as usual in Karpathos, the winter passed in revelry and idleness.
One day, early in May, news came that the captain’s caique was approaching Karpathos; so Basil and his two sons hurried down to the little harbour to greet their distinguished kinsfolk; a proud moment it was for the old man when the craft arrived, and his fellow-islanders with wondering eyes beheld the diving apparatus and improved fishing-tackle with which the captain’s caique was furnished; in poor benighted Karpathos there are no sponge-fishers, for they have no capital, hence these things were new to them; the captain was the hero of the hour, and much reflected glory fell on old Basil’s head.
After a few days of festivity and farewells, the three sponge-fishers started on their way, and Agape and her father went up to their home in the mountain village to pass the weary summer months, as best they could, and it was well on in the month of August before the blow came; old Basil was sitting basking in the sun, Agape was twirling her spindle and gossiping with her neighbours, when a messenger came to say that a Turkish steamer was in the harbour and that old Basil was wanted without delay.
“I could not imagine”, said the old monk, “what the Turks could want with an old man like me; surely they did not intend to punish me for my participation in Cretan rebellions; and with terrible suspicions of some impending evil, I was rowed to the steamer and ushered into the captain’s cabin with an interpreter, who seemed to enjoy my anxiety, and to delay as much as possible arriving at the facts. ‘Is this the old man Basil?’ asked the captain, ‘the father of the young men?’ and from this I knew that it was about my sons I had been summoned, and my heart sank within me. Then they talked low and hurriedly for some time, and all I could gather with my slight knowledge of Turkish was that something terrible was going to be revealed to me. I could only pray to the All-Holy one for support.”
At this juncture the poor old monk’s voice grew shaky, and he wept a little; we felt rather sorry for having asked him to renew his grief, but then we could give him sympathy, a soothing antidote to woe, which must be rare in his dreary solitude. “How I was told I don’t remember”, continued he; “after some time I awoke as from a painful dream; I found myself lying on deck on a mattress, and on raising my head I saw that we were steaming past the northern promontory of Karpathos. I was alone, amongst the Turks, going I knew not whither. I had no means of asking if the horrible tale which forced itself on my recollection was true, yet I gradually felt sure that it was – that my three brave sons were dead – that my daughter was a widow, and that death had come upon them in a form which makes me shudder now every time I think of it, and every night I fancy to myself some new and horrible picture of the event which, though I never saw it, is more vividly before me than anything I have ever seen.”
Upon this Basil grew very rambling and very heart-broken, poor old man – so I will relate in fewer words than he did the events as they happened. The three fishermen had been very successful; they had sold, to merchants in Kalymnos, their sponges, and were starting again in quest of further gain, when a boat overtook them, manned by eight men from the island of Amorgos, one of the last strongholds of petty piracy in these seas; these men had learnt in Kalymnos that the three men had money with them, and looked upon them as a desirable prize. Basil’s son-in-law was shot dead whilst attempting to offer resistance; the pirates boarded his caique, and after transferring everything of value to their own, they tied Basil’s two sons to the mast, scuttled the boat, and left the two young men to be swallowed by the waves. Another fishing boat, which chanced to be near, having witnessed this wholesale murder and robbery, hurried back to Kalymnos and gave notice to the authorities; divers were sent to verify the account; the dead bodies of Basil’s two sons were recovered and conveyed to Kalymnos, whilst, with a promptitude unusual in Turkey, a government steamer was summoned by telegram from Chios, and the pirates were captured. Such was the story that old Basil learnt on the steamer which conveyed him to Kalymnos to identify the bodies of his sons; as for the captain, Agape’s husband, his remains were never found – he never received consecrated burial.
Sad and sick at heart, after burying his two sons at Kalymnos, old Basil returned to Karpathos, where scenes of lamentation and death wails served doubtless to render his grief more poignant; and there is something more especially melancholy in the wails that these islanders hold in honour of the dead who have died [away?] from home; though the corpse is not in their midst, as is usually the case, the hired mourning women and the relatives think it a duty incumbent on them on such occasions to indulge in more heartrending dirges, and to tear their hair and lacerate their faces and arms with the greater vehemence. These deathwails [sic], too, last for forty days; every day the mourners meet for an hour or so to give way to their extravagant grief; again and again are the virtues of the deceased recorded; again and again is the loneliness of the survivors pitied – and I feel sure that poor old Basil had many genuine sympathisers, for his bereavement was bitter indeed. The sentiment of having the remains of the departed reposing near is not much felt in Greece, for after the lapse of a year the coffinless body is always exhumed, and the bones, tied up in an embroidered bag, are consigned to the family charnel house. When we were in Karpathos, owing to heavy rains, many of these private bone-houses were in ruins, and never shall I forget the ghastly spectacle afforded by the deceased family of the chief priest – his parents, his cousins, his sisters, and his aunts were all rolling about in grim confusion around the ruins of the bone-house; this painful sight, at least, old Basil was spared.
By degrees, from Agape’s heart the grief soon fled, a grief which, perhaps, if the truth were known, had its alleviations. In twelve months after the loss of her husband and brethren, she listened to the wooings of another lover, from another island, who carried off his bride without festivities, and without her father’s blessing, but with the same ample dower that had won for her the captain from Chalki. On her departure old Basil’s cup of bitterness was full. Alone in the world and bereft, he sought the kindly solitude of the secluded gorge, where, shut off from the world by a screen of mountains, he could devote himself to asceticism for the brief period of life that still remained to him.
As evening was coming on, we quitted old Basil; we did not insult his feelings by offering him the remnants of our feast; we simply left them to his discretion, and we hope his comfort.
………………………………………………………………………………………
The above, obscure article by Theodore Bent appeared in The Hour Glass in March 1887. It is one of his more fictitious pieces, perhaps based on some tales and customs (including funeral rites) he heard in the islands: research in the media of the time might turn up an account of the murders related. Mabel makes no mention of the monk Basil/Vasili in her charming chronicle describing the picnic – which did take place in March 1885 and tallies with Theodore’s setting (and elaboration to include ‘Vasili’) in his later, extended, account of the couple’s stay on the island (‘On a far-off island’. Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 139, Feb. 1886, pp.233-44). For Mabel’s first-hand account of Karpathos, see The Travel Chronicles of Mabel Bent, Vol. 1, 2006, Oxford, pp.85-6).
Bent was remunerated for his stories in the popular journals (e.g. Blackwood’s Magazine) for which he wrote, and this may explain why he decided to expand the ‘Old Basil’ idea. Perhaps he had had positive feedback on the episode from third parties. Perhaps over the summer of 1886 (or earlier) he was aware of the proposed new Hour Glass magazine and made his submission (including his sketches) in time to proofread it before leaving for the Eastern Mediterranean in the last week of January 1887. Given how busy he was with all his other ‘serious’ publications, lecturing, and preparing for the next expedition, he obviously took pleasure in giving his imagination free rein now and then, taking time off from his more academic pursuits. (Some of Bent’s other fanciful pieces are listed below.)
The three illustrations in the piece are based on Bent’s Karpathos sketches – he was never without his sketchbook and there is no end of references to his art in Mabel’s notebooks. In the village of ‘Mesochorio’ (Mesochori) we know that Theodore drew a likeness of Papas Manolis (or Manoulas) and, who knows, perhaps he presented this to the Hour Glass as ‘Old Basil’ and it is his likeness we see at the top of this present article? Where the originals are is unknown, but unpublished albums of Bent’s sketches are hidden away in Ireland and Zimbabwe, hopefully to appear in public one day. The person responsible for interpreting Bent’s sketches was E.H. Edwards, who does not seem to appear online; the engravers, however, are the well-known partners Del Orme and Butler. The final page (p.84) in the original has a bizarre engraving of a (Western) monk perhaps by Bent (a monogram bottom right ‘JTB’ ?) or another artist.
The Hour Glass was gone in the time it took for the sand to run through it: it lasted 12 months. The new periodical was announced in December 1886: “Ready in a few days, ‘Hour Glass’; threepence monthly. The new illustrated magazine contains short articles by the best writers on topics of the Hour…” (The Globe, Friday, 10 December 1886). Bent’s issue (March 1887) was advertised, inter alia, on 28 February (Freeman’s Journal and The Globe) and again on 4 March (The Globe).
The publishers took pride in its low price, 3d, and it seems, ultimately, that the sums just didn’t add up.
Among Bent’s other Greek ‘fictional’ articles are:
See also our article by Alan King: “The legend of Kyra Panagia and the tragic story of the hermit monk Vasilis”
Sunday, 20 March 1887: “Yesterday morning we turned over a pedestal and found this inscription: ‘Good Luck. The Elders to the most excellent Archpriestess Floueivia Savia of unblemished ancestry, their own mother, the first who ever enjoyed equal honours with the Elders’.”
Introduction
Among all their other ‘finds’, three distinctive statues stand proud in the Bents’ list of Aegean trophies – all from islands. They could not be more different. The earliest is the bizarre, ostensibly prehistoric, limestone cult figurine (?) from Karpathos in the Dodecanese, now famously known as the ‘Karpathos Lady’; the next, chronologically, is the ‘Bent Kouros’ (6th c. BCE) from Aliki, Thasos. (See below, where both are illustrated note 1 .) The third, the subject of this short article, and also from Thasos, is the 3rd-century CE local grey marble statue of Fulvia Vibia Sabina (83-136/137 CE) – inter alia, noble Roman empress, priestess, wife, and second cousin once removed of the Emperor Hadrian.
Our setting is a central area in the ancient harbour town of Limenas, on the northeast corner of Thasos, an island c. 17 nautical miles south of Kavala, modern Greece, but in Turkish hands when the British celebrity explorers Theodore and Mabel Bent visited between early March and early May 1887. The Bents have been busy ‘investigating’ (which seems to have included some blasting!) a complex of Roman remains. They discover a large statue, and it is love at first sight for Mabel, who provides some (sentimental) details in her diary:
Saturday, 19 March 1887: “… we turned over a pedestal and found this inscription: ‘Good Luck. The Elders to the most excellent Archpriestess Floueivia Savia of unblemished ancestry, their own mother, the first who ever enjoyed equal honours with the Elders’… We then became aware that the lady was lying underneath and then, of course, great and careful cleaning of the earth took place, a road cut in the great bank we had thrown up, and, finally, she was revealed; she had fallen headlong on her face, fortunately on sand and was very little broken. Her right hand and the tip of her nose were broken ‘then’, as the workmen say, and are missing. A ship’s captain was called to our aid and with great yells and screams and counter advice, she was hauled safely out. People were addressed as ‘infant’, ‘baby dear’, ‘beloved’, and ‘brother’, including Theodore and [Mustapha] Bey. Poor little man, I have talked so sensibly to him about not letting the holes be filled up and he is so well-meaning that I feel sure he would like to begin a museum with Floueivia. But we want her home…
“Today [i.e. Sunday 20 March] we found that children had scribbled crosses with sharp stones on Floueivia so that I sat by her while Theodore fetched the Bey and he desired a zaptich [officer], Vasillikos, to live and sleep by her. It being piercingly cold he was not pleased, but at last it was decided to remove her at once to the ‘konak’ – the Bey’s palace. Accordingly, no wheeled vehicle existing here, a forked tree was formed into a sledge with logs across and the lady tied on and then three yokes of oxen attached and away went Floueivia across a stream first, under the olive trees, with a gaily dressed and very picturesque crowd of various nationalities, and the chief rejoicers following behind.
“With the grey statue on the yellow and orange sledge, the whole scene was one of the prettiest triumphal processions any archaeologist ever beheld. It was so strange and mysterious to know her name and a scrap of her history and not yet to know what her face was like, and she was lying in such a helpless way with her head a little lower than her feet, one wondered why she did not help herself up and she looked so pretty and young and as I sat cross legged on her inscription imploring care for her head, I wonder why she had ever been so honoured and thought how glad she must be to come out after being trodden on and ploughed over for 2000 years – I should have liked to have a good comfortable cry.” (The Travel Chronicles of Mrs J. Theodore Bent, Vol. 1, Oxford, 2006, p. 200-202)
Site – The ‘Arch of Caracalla’, Limenas, Thasos
The find-site, the general area of Agora, on Thasos was a complex jumble of large stone blocks discovered by Theodore in a field owned by one Mr Sponti. Further discoveries, including inscriptions, revealed that Theodore had actually uncovered a monumental ceremonial arch dedicated to the Emperor Caracalla (ruled 188-217 CE) by grateful Thasians, with the statue of Fulvia Vibia Sabina forming part of it, located by one of the entrances. The local grey limestone could well have provided the figure, or she might perhaps have been commissioned from overseas, judging by the quality of the workshop. Theodore is credited with the unearthing of the remnants of this enormous site, and he later contributed several articles about his discoveries, including his ‘Arch of Caracalla’ and the statue of Fulvia. In one of these articles he gives his account of finding the statue:
“In front of the northern columns nearest to the city, and consequently in the place of honour, stood a prettily adorned pedestal 6 ft. 9 in. high [2.06m], with an inscription which tells us that the statue which surmounted it was erected by the senate ‘to their mother Phloueibia Sabina, the most worthy archpriestess of incomparable ancestors, the first and only lady who had ever received equal honours to those who were in the senate.’ The statue we found at the foot of the pedestal, luckily preserved by falling into a bed of sand, so that only the tip of the nose and the right hand were missing; the left hand, which hung by her side, is adorned with a large ring, and the whole body is covered by a gracefully hanging robe; the face is that of a young and lovely woman. Although not resembling statues to the same person, it is highly probable it was erected to the honour of the Empress Sabina, wife of Hadrian…” (J.T. Bent, ‘Discoveries in Thasos’. Athenæum, Issue 3113 (Jun), p. 839)
The Inscription
Fulvia’s inscription was found by the Bents on a limestone base, c. 2 m high, and probably 1 m + in width and depth. Investigations are being made to trace it – very likely still in situ or in the newly renovated Thasos Museum.
Theodore and Mabel provide various interpretations of the inscription on the statue’s base. The first we have is from Mabel’s notebook (see illustration above), obviously an on-the-spot translation from the Greek made by the couple: “Good Luck. The Elders to the most excellent Archpriestess Floueivia Savia of unblemished ancestry, their own mother, the first who ever enjoyed equal honours with the Elders.” (The Travel Chronicles of Mrs J. Theodore Bent, Vol. 1, Oxford, 2006, p. 200)
Bent’s account in the Athenæum (as previously mentioned) informs that the statue “was erected by the senate ‘to their mother Phloueibia Sabina, the most worthy archpriestess of incomparable ancestors, the first and only lady who had ever received equal honours to those who were in the senate.'”
A further version is provided by the eminent philologist, and friend of Bent, Edward Lee Hicks (1843-1919), later Bishop of Lincoln (UK). He published many of Bent’s inscriptions from Thasos and elsewhere over a five-year period in the late 1880s, e.g. ‘Inscriptions from Thasos’, in The Journal of Hellenic Studies (1887, Vol. 8, 409-438).
This was a joint article with Bent, in which Hicks allocates the number 31 to the inscription. Bent provides some further information on the arch and the statue:
“The Roman arch we found in the town occupied a conspicuous position on what appears to have been the central street, the site being only indicated by a stone about three feet out of the ground, the rest being buried in some twelve feet of soil. The arch was 54 feet in length, and rested on four bases—the northern and southern columns being alone perfect—4 feet 8 inches square at the base, 9 feet 5 inches high, and having a small pattern down the outer edge. The two outer entrances were 6 feet 2 inches in width, the central expanse being 20 feet, and the whole structure rested on a raised marble pavement 6 feet 11 inches in width… In front and behind the two central columns of the arch were four pedestals, three with inscriptions… That to the front and to the right was 6 feet 9 inches high [just over 2 m], and had inscription No. 31; just below it lay the statue which had surmounted it, in perfect condition save for the tip of the nose and the right hand. It represented a female figure 6 feet 3 inches high [just under 2 m], enveloped in a long cloak, the left hand by her side being adorned with a large ring; the face was that of a young and graceful lady, and the drapery hung much more gracefully than it did on fragments of the statues which we found close to the other pedestals…” (pp. 437-438)
In a summary of ongoing research in Greece in 1886/7, the eminent archaeologist E.A. Gardner refers to the Bents’ statue (p. 284):
“Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Bent are now exploring in Thasos. They seem not as yet to have come across any of the archaic sculptures or inscriptions for which the island seemed so promising a field. But the agora has been found, and a triumphal arch with an inscription in honour (apparently) of Caracalla… In front of the arch were two bases. One of them held a statue, more than life size, which has been recovered. It is a female portrait, and on the basis is the following very curious inscription, calling Flavia Vibia Sabina μητέρα γερουσίας, and stating that she was the first and only woman from all time that ever shared equally in the privileges of the senators.
᾿Αγαθῇ τύχῃ. ἡ γερουσία Φλ. Οὐειβίαν Σαβεῖ(να)ν τὴν ἀξιολογωτάτην ἀρχιερεῖαν καὶ ἀπὸ προγόνων ἀσύνκριτον, μητέρα ἑαυτὴς, μόνην καὶ πρώτην τῶν ἀπ᾽ αἰῶνος μετασχοῦσαν τῶν ἴσων τειμῶν τοῖς γερουσιάζουσιν.
“Flavia Vibia Sabina seems to have been an ancient and successful champion of the political rights of her sex: and if, as may be hoped, her statue be transported to London, it should not in these times miss its due honour…”
Happily, she is never, however, to travel to the foggy London of the late 19th century, for she is coveted by the mercurial Turkish polymath, and first director of the Istanbul Archaeological Museum.
Osman Hamdi Bey (1842-1910)
At the time the Bents were ‘active’, modern Turkey, like modern Greece, was well aware of its cultural assets and soon placed tight restrictions on amateur, independent excavators – whether the Bents saw themselves as ‘archaeologists’ or not. Rights to dig were, in a way, licensed to the newly formed archaeological institutions in Greece (e.g. The French School at Athens – 1846; German Archaeological Institute at Athens – 1874; American School of Classical Studies at Athens – 1881; British School at Athens – 1886; etc.), and Turkey was about to do the same. In Istanbul, the official overseeing Turkey’s clampdown on illegal handling of cultural assets was Osman Hamdi Bey. Previously, in 1884, this remarkable artist/intellectual oversaw the initiation of regulations prohibiting historical artifacts from being smuggled abroad (‘Asar-ı Atîka Nizamnamesi’). Naturally enough, he soon became an implacable foe of the Bents, who, at last, by 1889, were forced to ‘work’ in lands where any restrictions on their explorations were minimal if non-existent, i.e. Bahrain and other regions where the British Empire held sway.
While on Thasos, the couple undertook their investigations under the watchful and approving eye of a local ‘Bey’, who clearly kept Istanbul informed of Theodore’s major finds. Consequently, he was unable to return to London with anything more then his rolls of paper ‘squeezes’ of the inscriptions he uncovered.
To the Bents’ great regret, Fulvia Vibia Sabina was post haste crated up and despatched to the Turkish capital and its new museum (see Gustave Mendel, Catalogue des Sculptures Grecques, Romaines et Byzantines I, pp. 347-348, no. 137 (Constantinople, 1912), museum inv. no. 375).
On a later trip to Constantinople in February 1888, Mabel paid a visit to Fulvia, obviously still bitter: “We also went to the museum and saw our statues exposed to the weather, planted in mud and really we carefully looked and saw nothing so good of their kind. No wonder Hamdi won’t give them up. He would like a few things out of our own little museum [i.e. the Bents’ London home] for he has some rubbish in his. How angry he’d be if he knew of our digging at Vourgounda in Karpathos! [in 1885]. Well, we hope to be even with him yet for robbing us.” (The Travel Chronicles of Mrs J. Theodore Bent, Vol. 1, Oxford, 2006, p. 230)
For an amusing retelling of Theodore’s (almost) love-hate relationship with Osman Hamdi Bey, see the former’s article ‘Hamdi Bey’, first published in the Contemporary Review in 1888 (Vol. 54, 1888 (July/Dec), pp. 724-733).
Those scratches
Mabel was clearly mortified by the crosses she found scratched into ‘her’ statue: “Today we found that children had scribbled crosses with sharp stones on Floueivia…”
How Mabel could be certain that children were to blame she does not say – it could easily have been any Orthodox believer trying to ‘de-paganise’ the Roman archpriestess. The crosses remain just visible on ‘Floueivia’s front today – obviously intended to be seen, and thus, as it were, reclaimed by the Church.
The other notable statues in the Bents’ trio of statues are the Neolithic (?) limestone cult (?) figurine from Karpathos in the Dodecanese, the ‘Karpathos Lady‘, which the couple were able to spirit off the island in 1885 – they had purchased it from a local and resold it to the British Museum. The other was, like Fl. Vibia Sabina, from Thasos (the site of Aliki), but older, 6th century BC. It is in the form of an iconic kouros, possibly representing Apollo, and now referred to as “the Bent Kouros”. It is also in Istanbul (see Tour 5: 1887 – From Istanbul and into the northern Aegean; Thasos excavations). Further reading Bent’s articles associated with Thasos: 1877: ‘Discoveries in Thasos’. Athenæum, Issue 3113 (Jun), 839. [Reprinted in ‘Archæological News’, by A.L. Frothingham, Jr., The American Journal of Archaeology and of the History of the Fine Arts, Dec., 1887, Vol. 3, No. 3/4 (Dec., 1887), 446-455]
1877: ‘Thasiote Tombs’. Classical Review, Vol. 1(7), 210-211 1877: ‘A Thasian Decree’. The Journal of Hellenic Studies, Vol, 8, 401-8. [With E.L. Hicks]
1877: ‘Inscriptions from Thasos’. The Journal of Hellenic Studies, Vol. 8, 409-38. [With E.L. Hicks]
1888: ‘Hamdi Bey’. Contemporary Review, Vol. 54 (July/Dec), 724-33. [Reprinted in Littell’s Living Age, Vol. 179 (1888), 613ff]
Mabel Bent’s on-the-spot record of Thasos can be found in The Travel Chronicles of Mrs. J. Theodore Bent, Vol. 1, 2006, pp. 198-215. Oxford: Archaeopress. Other works of interest: 2012: Sheila Dillon, ‘Female Portraiture in the Hellenistic Period’, in S.L. James and S. Dillon (eds) A companion to Women in the Ancient World, pp. 274-275, London: Wiley-Blackwell. 2010: Sheila Dillon, The Female Portrait Statue in the Greek World, pp. 147-149, and p. 278. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 1967: George Daux, Guide De Thasos, Paris: French School at Athens.Note 1: The Bents’ two other remarkable statues
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The Hellenic Society’s holdings of the notebooks and Chronicles of celebrity explorers Theodore and Mabel Bent have now been digitised and are available here via the School of Advanced Study, University of London.
The Bents had almost twenty years of travel adventures together (1877-1897), being interested in many fields of ethnology, archaeology, and geography in the Levant, Africa, and Arabia.
What follows is a quick glance at the subfusc covers of Mabel’s diaries (or ‘Chronicles’ as she called them) 1883-1897. Not all of them, however, i.e. her (alas lost?) diary of the pair’s trip to Ethiopia in 1893, and Mabel’s solo journey to Egypt in 1898, as a widow, depressively labelled by her: ‘A lonely useless journey’. (Click for the full itineraries and details of all the couple’s travels together.)
Mabel Bent’s travel notebooks:
1) The Cyclades: beginning “Mabel Bent, her Chronicle in The Kyklades 1883-4. Dedicated to my Sisters and my Aunts”, the first of Mabel’s Chronicles (and the only one not to have a pasted front label) is written in a dark-red leather, lined and columned, accounts book (£.s.d.); it has marbled endpapers and edges and measures 175 x 110 mm. Mabel completes 94 of its 130 leaves. note 1
2) The Dodecanese: beginning “Mabel V.A. Bent her Chronicle in the Sporades, etc. 1885”, the second of Mabel’s Chronicles is written in a blue marbled, board covered notebook (185 x 120 mm) with marbled endpapers and edges. Mabel’s initials are inked on the front. There are 170 lined pages and Mabel fills 115 of them. The pasted cover label reads: ‘Egypt Greece 1885 –’.
3) The Eastern Aegean: inexplicably beginning “My Fourth Chronicle 1886”, the third of Mabel’s travel diaries is written in a dark-red leather notebook (180 x 115 mm) with marbled endpapers and edges. near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines. There are 192 lined pages and Mabel uses all but 10 of them. The pasted cover label reads: ‘Istambul [sic] Greek Islands 1886 –’. note 2
4) The Northern Aegean: beginning simply “1887”, Mabel’s fourth Chronicle is written in a dark-red leather notebook (180 x 115 mm) with marbled endpapers and edges. near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines, the corners including a stylized clover design. There are 85 lined pages and Mabel has covered 75 of them. The pasted cover label reads: ‘Greece 1887’. note 3
5) The Turkish coast: beginning “My fifth Chronicle” (the correct numbering is restored), Mabel’s 1888 diary is written in a dark-red leather book (180 x 115 mm), with gold lines on the spine and covers; the endpapers and edges are marbled. Near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines. There are 192 pages of lined paper, of which Mabel has used 182. This expedition involved a happy cruise along Turkey’s south-western shores – “…a paradise for archaeologists and tortoises…” The pasted cover label reads: ‘Turkey Russia 1888’.
6, 7, 8) Bahrain and Iran (in 3 vols): beginning “Persia 1889”, this adventure, including a marathon ride, south-north, through present-day Iran, and well deserving of a documentary on its own, necessitated three notebooks. Mabel adds in the third volume (8) that it is her 6th Chronicle. Notebook 6 is plain and bound in dark-red leather (180 x 115 mm). The endpapers and edges are marbled; near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines. There are 148 lined pages, of which Mabel has used all, including the endpapers. Notebook 7, perhaps from the same retailer, is also a plain, dark-red leather volume (180 x 115 mm); the endpapers and edges are marbled; there are 148 pages, of which Mabel has used all, including the endpapers. Notebook 8 is from a different source; it is a plain, dark-red, leathered-covered book (170 x 110 mm); there are 184 pages, plus endpapers, of which Mabel has used 50; the edges are speckled with blue wavy lines. The three pasted cover labels read: ‘1889 no 1 –’; ‘Persia 1889 (2)’; ‘1889 No. 3’. note 4
Society).
9) Turkey: beginning “My Seventh Chronicle ‘Rugged Cilicia’ 1890”, this Chronicle is written in a dark-red leather book (185 x 120 mm). The endpapers and edges are marbled. The paper is lined; there are 90 pages and Mabel has filled 89 of them. Near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines. The pasted cover label reads: ‘Cilicia 1890’. note 5
10, 11) South Africa: beginning “1891. My Eigth [sic] Chronicle To Zimbabye in Mashonaland”, Mabel uses two notebooks for the couple’s notorious 1891 travels to and from South Africa, occupying the energetic duo for most of 1891. Notebook 1 (10) is a plain, dark-red leather volume (180 x 120 mm). The endpapers and edges are marbled. The paper is lined; there are 180 pages, plus endpapers, of which Mabel has used all. The volume ends in early August 1891 as the party approaches the year-old Fort Salisbury (modern Harare, where Theodore’s watercolours of the trip are now seemingly inaccessible in the Archives). The second notebook narrates the homeward journey, via Umtali (Mutare) and the Pungwe River to Beira in Mozambique. The second volume (11) does not quite match its predecessor; it is plain and in dark-red leather (175 x 115 mm). The endpapers and edges are marbled. The paper is lined; near the edges of the covers of both books are two parallel and scored lines. There are 164 pages, of which Mabel has used all but six. The pasted cover labels read, respectively: ‘Central Africa No 1’ and ‘1891 No 2 Africa Central’. note 6
[Mabel’s notebooks, for what would have been her ‘9th Chronicle’, relating their subsequent expedition in 1893 to Ethiopia, are, alas, lost]
12) Wadi Hadramaut (Yemen): beginning, defiantly, ‘Hadramout’, with no Chronicle number (it would be No. 10), Mabel uses two notebooks to narrate their famous 1893-4 travels to the Wadi Hadramaut in Yemen, Southern Arabia (the start of a trio of ill-fated expeditions). The first volume includes the party’s preparations in Aden (December 1893). It is a plain, dark-red leather volume (180 x 115 mm); near the edges of the covers of both books are two parallel and scored lines. The endpapers and edges are marbled. The paper is lined; there are 146 pages, plus endpapers, of which Mabel has used all. The pasted cover label reads: ‘Hadramaut 1893 to 94 No 1 A’.
13) Wadi Hadramaut (Yemen): beginning “Continuation of My Chronicle in the only very moderately Blest Arabia 1894”, Mabel’s second notebook here concludes their curtailed trek into the Wadi Hadramaut, and sees the pair reach London again in April 1894. It is a plain, dark-red leather volume (180 x 115 mm). The endpapers and edges are marbled. Near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines. The paper is lined; there are 146 pages, of which Mabel has used just 34. The cover label reads: ‘Hadramaut – no 2. A 1894 -’. (It appears that the year has been altered from ‘1884’.)
14) Muscat and Dhofar: beginning just “Saturday 15th December, 1894. The Residency, Muscat”, Mabel again gives no Chronicle number (it would be No. 11) to this notebook covering the couple’s aborted and dispiriting expedition into the Wadi Hadramaut, this time from the east. It is a dark-red leather volume with gilt bordering (180 x 115 mm). The endpapers and edges are marbled. The paper is lined; there are 172 pages, plus endpapers, of which Mabel has used just 68, indicating a frustrated expedition. The pasted cover label reads (confusingly): ‘1894-5 Hadramaut’.
15) Red Sea (west coast): beginning “1895 The Chronicle of my Thirteenth Journey”, although in fact, and ominously, it should be referenced her as her twelfth, this penultimate adventure has the couple travelling from Suez, south to Massowa (Mitsiwa) and back, by dhow. On the way home, via Athens, they attend the first modern Olympic Games. Mabel keeps her diary in a lined, dark-red leather book (175 x 115 mm), near the edges of the covers there are two parallel and scored lines. The endpapers are marbled; there are 152 pages in the notebook but Mabel only completes 62. The cover label reads: ‘1895-6 Suez Kourbat Athens’. note 7
16) Sokotra, Aden: Beginning (with the ‘c’ altered to a ‘k’) “The Island of Sokotra 1896-7”, Mabel’s unnumbered diary (it is, in fact, the unlucky 13th Chronicle) details the couple’s final journey together, and is to witness them at the end both desperately ill with malaria (Theodore dies in London a few days after their return in May 1897, ending nearly twenty years of hitherto inseparable travel). The notebook is a dark-red leather volume (180 x 115 mm), with gold edging to the spine and covers. The endpapers and edges are marbled. The paper is lined; there are 178 pages, plus endpapers, of which Mabel has used 146. The pasted cover label reads: ‘Isle [of] Socotra 1896-7’. note 8
Notes
(We are delighted to post here a translation (by the author) of an article on some traditional musical instruments enjoyed so much by celebrity explorers Theodore and Mabel Bent when they visited the Cycladic island of Tinos in March 1884. Dr Chiou’s article originally appeared (March 2024) in the newsletter of the Society for Tinian Studies.)
By Dr Theodoros Chiou note 1
Theodore Bent and his wife Mabel Virginia Anna Bent were 19th-century British explorers who travelled the Cyclades. On a sunny Saturday afternoon in March 1884, they found themselves in the port of the island of Tinos (or Tenos), coming from Mykonos. It was the Saturday before Carnival Sunday. On the evening of the same day, koukouyiéroi (masqueraders) roamed around the narrow streets of Agios Nikolaos, as the present-day Chóra was called at that time. For the next three days, the Bents mounted mules and toured the Tinian hinterland. On Carnival Sunday they visited Xómbourgo and Loutrá and returned to Chóra. On ‘Kathará Deftéra’ (the first Monday in Lent, literally ‘Clean Monday’), 1884, they climbed up to Kechrovoúni, visiting the Monastery of Kechrovoúni, Arnádos village, and ending up in the village of Dío Choriá. On Tuesday they reached the village of Pýrgos, after making a stop at the villages of Kardianí and Ystérnia, in the north-western part of the island. Mabel writes in her diary that on Wednesday, 5th March, they returned to the bay of Ystérnia, where they boarded the steamer that would take them to the nearby island of Andros.
The above information comes from what Bent himself recorded in his classic travelogue The Cyclades, or Life among Insular Greeks, published in 1885, and which is still in print today, and from the account in Mabel’s ‘Chronicles’. Thanks to Bent’s observant and meticulous descriptions, we have the following account of how the inhabitants of the village of Dío Choriá spent their ‘Kathará Deftéra’ at the end of 19th century:
Close to Arnades are two villages, called δύοχωριά, or the two places, being quite close together; and here we came in for some of the gaiety incident on the first day of Lent; the sound of music and revelry filled the valley, and from afar off we descried the cause. All the villagers had turned out on the roofs, and on this flat surface were dancing away vigorously. As no other flat space occurs in or near the village they are driven to make a ballroom on their roof. […]
The dancers had put a flag up, and spread a white cloth on the roof for their repast, which consisted of olives, onions, bread, and wine in a large amphora. They were dancing to the tune of a sabouna, and what to us was a new instrument, called a monosampilos, and consisting of a small gourd fixed at one end of two reeds and a cow’s horn at the other. The music produced by this instrument was quaint and shrill, like that of a bagpipe or the sabouna, which in this case was made of the skin of a goat, with all the hair left on, so that when the musician put it down it looked quite alive, and palpitated visibly.
For a long time they continued to dance the inevitable syrtos, until they had had lusty and long pulls at their amphora of wine – and the wine of Tenos is by no means light, for here they made, and make still, the far-famed Malvasianor, or, as we know it better, Malmsey wine. […] Then they started a dance called by them ‘the carnival dance’ (ἀποκρεωτικός), which they said they were privileged to dance on the first day of Lent. It was a very amusing one: eight men took part in it with arms crossed, and moved slowly in a semicircle, with a sort of bounding step, resembling a mazurka. Occasionally the leader took a long stride, by way of adding point to the dance, but they never indulged in the acrobatic features of the syrtos, and never went so very fast; the singing as they danced was the chief feature and fascination of this carnival dance, and their voices, as they moved round and round, to the shrill accompanying music, had a remarkable effect. The words of their song, which I took down afterwards, formed a sort of rhyming alphabetical love song. It is needless to say that A stood for love (ἀγάπη). Θ spoke of the death (θάνατος) which would be courted if that M or apple (μῆλος) of Paradise was obdurate. P stood for ῥόδον, the rose, like which she smelt. Ψ was the lucky flea (ψύλλος) which could crawl over her adorable frame, and so on, till Ω closed the song and the dance with great emphasis, imploring for a favourable answer to the suit.
This vivid description is a valuable document in terms of the history of the bagpipe (tsaboúna) on Tinos. It confirms the use of the tsaboúna (pronounced there as ‘saboúna’) as an instrument played at feasts during the Carnival period, and with which they performed not only tunes to the rhythm of the syrtós, but also to the tune of the ‘ἀποκρεωτικός’ (apokreotikós) dance. The latter can be associated with the ‘apokrianós’ dance, also performed, until the middle of the 20th century, in the nearby village of Triantáros. Bent also gives us information about the morphology of the tsaboúna (a goatskin bag with the hair on the outside), and conveys an important account of a rare folk hornpipe, which the 19th-century revellers from Dío Choriá, who sold it to Bent, called ‘monotsábouno’ (while villagers from Ystérnia called it ‘kelkéza’). We are fortunate that this very same instrument survives intact to the present day in the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford.
However, if one has to choose the most important contribution of Bent’s testimony above, then it must be that it offers us the earliest starting point – a terminus ante quem – for research into the tsaboúna on Tinos. Of course, it can be reasonably assumed that the tradition of the tsaboúna on the island is much older, being a manifestation of the wider, older spread of the bagpipe (áskavlos) in the Aegean Sea area. However, thanks to Bent, the tsaboúna is now undoubtedly and tangibly recorded as part of the Tinian musical tradition.
The thread of this tradition connects the unknown tsaboúna player (tsabouniéris) of Dío Choriá of 1884 with the tsaboúna players of the 1970s, who played the ‘saboúnia persistently in Carnival season’ in the village of Arnados, and also reaches back to the last tsabouniéris of the 20th-century generation of musicians, for example Yiórgos Tzanoulínos, or ‘Krínos’, from Falatádos. The thread of this tradition goes ahead with the reappearance of the tsaboúna on Tinos in the second decade of the 21st century, in the context of, among others, events such as the Tinos World Music Festival 2021; The 18th Aegean Folk Wind Instruments Meeting (28-30 September 2022, Kea Island); and during New Year’s carols on Tinos at Chóra and Falatádos (2022 and 2023).
So, what more enjoyable occasion than to continue the revival of the Tinian tsaboúna, from the place where Bent first records for us, at a ‘Kathará Deftéra’ celebration in March 1884, with a tsaboúna party and ‘apokrianós’ dance in the square of Dío Choriá, more than a century and a half later!
Note 1: Dr Theodoros Chiou is a Copyright Lawyer, Adj. University Lecturer, and President of the Society for Tinian Studies.
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Sources
7th Tinos World Music Festival, Tinos, 2-4 July 2021, Sunday, 4 July 2021, Part B: Tsambouna – The Askavlos of the Cyclades (https://itip.gr/events/twmf2021/).
Apergis, Savas 2007. The ‘Apokrianos’ of Triantaros, newspaper ed. by the Association of Triandarites Mandata, vol. 28, Dec-Feb 2007: 6-7.
Baines, Anthony 1960. Bagpipes: 45. Pitt Rivers Museum, University of Oxford.
Bent, J. Theodore 2009 [1885]. The Cyclades, or Life Among the Insular Greeks: 123-131. Annotated revised edition, Archaeopress, Oxford.
Bent, Mabel V.A. 2006. The Travel Chronicles of Mrs. J. Theodore Bent, Volume I: Greece and the Levantine Littoral: 47. Archaeopress, Oxford.
Brisch, G.E. 2024. The Bents’ musical instruments in the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford (article dated 5 Feb. 2024).
Danousis, Konstantinos (ed.) 2005. Tradition and Memory. With the bow and the pen of Kostas Panorios, publication of the Society for Tinian Studies and the Brotherhood of Tinian Cardianiotes, The Holy Trinity: 30-31.
Moschona, Styliani 1975. Collection of folklore material from the village of Arnados, on the island of Tinos, in the prefecture of Cyclades. Archive of primary folklore material – Collection of manuscripts (NKUA), no. 2413.
Two other Bent Archive articles that might interest you:
Theodore and the Tsabouna (video)
VIDEO – Manolis Pelekis: A lament for the great tsabouna player from Anafi
With our Irish connections, we always ferret about looking for Joycean links on 16 June. There aren’t any, as far as we know, other than that Theodore and Mabel once sat to dinner with Maud Gonne (1866-1953) in Constantinople – “a tall and handsome damsel dressed in white Broussa gauze, who says she means to go on the stage” (April 1888, Vol 1, Mabel Bent’s Travel Chronicles, Oxford, 2006, p.255). Yeats provided Gonne with contact information to Joyce before he left for Paris in 1902, but they never hooked up. Of course, there is always a chance that Mabel and Joyce (or Nora Joyce) once breathe the same Dublin air. Bloomsday greetings James, from the Bents…
Maud confirms her visit to Constantinople at that date in a later autobiography, and recounts various doings there; but there is no mention of dining with the Bents in particular. Clearly they left no deep impression on the theatrical Gonne, who surely didn’t feel it was appropriate telling Mabel about her amatory incident, at pistol point, on Syra – a favourite Cycladic island for Theodore and Mabel. If she had, then Mabel would certainly have jotted it down in her diary that night. Here is Maud’s adventure ashore, worth telling in some detail. Potentially, of course, it could have been serious and dangerous, but Maud, characteristically, makes light of it (Mabel would have done the same – but chances are she would have let off a round or two for good measure.) Let’s give the stage to Maud Gonne, and remember she’s barely more than 20:
“[At] dinner I asked the Captain when we should arrive at Syra in Greece which was our first stopping place. ‘To-morrow, but the storm has made us late; we shall only stay for coaling.’ And, seeing my eagerness, he added: ‘You mustn’t go ashore. It isn’t at all safe for ladies. Some very unpleasant things have happened at Syra and I have been obliged to forbid all lady passengers going ashore there.’
“The second in command was a bearded Corsican who looked like a brigand, had fine eyes and was very attentive to me. Leaning over the rail in the darkness we discussed Napoleon, whose memory he worshipped and I ventured to ask him about landing at Syra; for the one thing I longed for was to be on land. People talk of the glorious sense of freedom on the sea. I always feel in prison on a ship, even in fine weather. He shook his head: ‘’No, no, Mademoiselle, the captain’s orders are absolute and he is right; no ladies may land, and you are too beautiful. If I could take you . . . But that is impossible; we are all too busy, no one may go ashore.’ There was no help to be got even from a bearded Corsican who looked like a brigand and was so ready to make love that I retired early to my cabin with my chaperone and the little girl who was an Armenian orphan brought up by French nuns and was going out to another convent of the Order to teach French. She had never been outside the convent before. She was not more than fifteen years of age.
“Next morning the sun was shining brightly, but no land in sight. I was longing for land, longing for it with all my might. An old Turk with a long grey beard was strolling on the deck. He was a person of consequence, and on the deck a large canvas awning had been arranged behind which the ladies of his harem were sheltered from indiscreet gaze. I didn’t think he would help me to land, but I thought it would be amusing to meet the ladies of his harem. He looked at me gravely, even kindly, as he passed and we spoke a little and I told him I was going on a visit to the daughter of the British Ambassador; but I didn’t ask him about landing at Syra or about visiting his wives; for this last enterprise I thought the stewardess would be the best approach and it seemed to me that the advance should come from the ladies themselves. That could wait; there were still four days before we were to arrive at Constantinople and we were just approaching Syra.
“It was five o’clock when the ship stopped and was at once surrounded by crowds of boats and chattering Levantines selling all sorts of things to the passengers who were all on deck. The coaling barge was busy at one end. I heard it would take about two or three hours before the ship would start again. A Greek selling various trinkets and souvenirs smiled at me ingratiatingly and offered me his wares. He spoke a little Italian, I showed him a fifty-franc note and pointed to the shore and managed to strike a bargain with him to row me there and back for it, and, in the crowd, unnoticed, I slipped down the ladder into his boat and was soon on shore. My little chaperone* was sitting on my shoulder sheltered in my veil and my revolver was in my pocket.
“It was great to be on land again. I went to the post office and sent off postcards and wandered happily among the shops in dark, narrow streets, bought Turkish delight and pots of rose-leaf jam and cigarettes and flowers, the Greek acting as cicerone; I was glad to get rid of him at last at a cafe on the harbour where I could keep an eye on our ship and on the time while I drank coffee and ate strange cakes.
“The boats were getting thin round our ship and I had been two hours on land. My Greek guide had not returned. I thought he must be drinking wine somewhere and I tried to enquire of the waiter as I paid my bill, but he spoke only Greek and was of no help; so I decided to go down to the place where I had landed and the Greek had left his boat. He was not paid; so I felt he was sure to turn up. He was there all right with two other sailor-men sitting in the boat. I got in and told him to start. He seemed in no hurry and said there was lots of time. I told him to start at once and he said something to the sailors who lazily began rowing. It was a marvellous evening. The lights on the sea were enchanting and the town looked white and fairy-like. I was very happy. Then I noticed the sailors were rowing in an opposite direction from that of the ship. My guide was not rowing this time, but sitting on the seat facing me; I pointed to the ship and told him to tell them to go there. He smiled and explained they were going to show me a beautiful point of view. I got angry and told him to turn the boat at once. He only laughed and the men rowed quicker.
“Suddenly I stood up with my revolver pointed straight at him and said: ‘Obey, or I fire.’ The men stopped rowing and there was some quick talk in Greek and the boat turned and rowed to the ship. I sat down, but I kept my revolver pointed but as much hidden as I could. I never took my eyes off my guide till we were at the ship’s side and I tossed him the fifty-franc note and scrambled up the ladder while the sailors passed up my many parcels. My Corsican friend was at the ladder. ‘Mademoiselle, you almost missed the boat. The Captain knows; he is very angry.’ I thought it wiser to say nothing about the difficulty I had had in catching it, and when, at dinner, the Captain was coldly severe about my disregard of his orders. I pleaded that I, not being a sailor like himself, had such a terrible nostalgia to be on land that I could not expect men who were used to the sea to understand; it was my first voyage, and I was all alone and he must forgive; which he did with good grace, for he could do nothing else, merely remarking I was very young and didn’t understand the danger, but he hoped I would not try it again at Smyrna which was our next place of call, or if I did land, for we would make a longer stop there as he had cargo to discharge, I would find a proper escort. ‘None of these ports are safe for young women alone.’”
* A marmoset Maud bought in Marseilles a few days before leaving for Constantinople.
The extracts are from Maud Gonne Macbride, A Servant Of The Queen: Reminiscences, 1938, London, pp. 68-71.
No list of indomitable women travellers would be complete without a reference to the incredible Ida Laura Pfeiffer, in whose footprints Mabel occasionally followed. Although the latter never refers directly to the Austrian globetrotter in her diaries, Mabel would certainly have known of her, and probably read Ida’s travel accounts, several of which were already translated into English in her time. Ida died when Mabel Hall-Dare was just a girl of ten or so in the south of Ireland.
One among many of the locations they both were to visit was the island of Rhodes (then a Turkish province for both Ida and Mabel). Here is Pfeiffer on Rhodes’ famous main harbour in late May 1842 (trans from the German by H.W. Dulcken):
“This morning, shortly after five o’clock, we ran into the superb harbour of Rhodes. Here, for the first time, I obtained a correct notion of a harbour. That of Rhodes is shut in on all sides by walls and masses of rock, leaving only a gap of a hundred and fifty to two hundred paces in width for the ships to enter. Here every vessel can lie in perfect safety, be the sea outside the bar as stormy as it may; the only drawback is, that the entering of this harbour, a task of some difficulty in calm weather, becomes totally impracticable during a storm. A round tower stands as a protection on either side of the entrance to the harbour.” (Visit to the Holy Land, Egypt, and Italy, London, 1853, p.86)
And here is Mabel Bent (she married Theodore in 1877) putting up with some tricky February weather in the same harbour region some thirty years later, in 1885, endorsing Ida’s observation about bad weather:
“The day seems quite over, it is half past six, and a most anxious day we have passed with the yellow flag waving us. We got to Rhodes about 3 but did not settle till 5 and the health officers did not come till 7. The Captain asked leave to go to a bay to shelter if storm came on, or the open sea, but they said no, if we wanted pratigue he must remain there. But the Captain told us that sooner than lose or damage the ship he would go off with us and the two guardians to Smyrna. Great therefore was our horror at 3.30 p.m. to hear all the noises of a start, after having observed that it was getting rougher, but we only went round the corner of the island to shelter on the eastern side and hope to be returned to the capital tomorrow morning. In the mean time no one has been able to communicate in any way with the shore. It has been pouring most of the day.” (The Travel Chronicles of Mrs J Theodore Bent, vol 1, Oxford, 2006, p.68)
For the Bents on Rhodes and in the Dodecanese, see The Dodecanese: Further Travels Among the Insular Greeks (Oxford, 2015).
The Bents’ first significant field of studies was the Turkish littoral and Aegean, beginning with a ‘tourist’ visit in early 1883, taking in such sites as Delphi and Mycenae. This trip inspired a decade-long passion for these celebrity explorers (with a tour more or less every year), generating an extensive corpus of popular and more ‘academic’ articles (historical, ‘archaeological’ and ‘ethnographic’ in content). Along the way they acquired artefacts, ancient and modern, that they would seek to sell or retain for their private London collection. The British Museum, for example, has a large collection of their material.
Bent’s writings on Turkey and Asia Minor (today’s boundaries) by year of publication:
1883
1885
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1896
For a consolidated Bent bibliography click here.
The Bents’ first significant field of studies was the Aegean, beginning with a ‘tourist’ visit in early 1883, taking in such sites as Delphi and Mycenae. This trip inspired a decade-long passion for these celebrity explorers (with a tour more or less every year), generating Bent’s classic guide to the Cyclades (perhaps he is partly to blame for the islands’ current over-tourism in the summer months today), and a substantial corpus of popular and more ‘academic’ articles (historical, ‘archaeological’ and ‘ethnographic’ in content). Along the way they acquired artefacts, ancient and modern, that they would seek to sell or retain for their private London collection. The British Museum, for example, has a large collection of their material.
Bent’s writings on Greece (today’s boundaries) by year of publication:
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1891
For Bent’s overall bibliography click here.
The Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford has over 50 artefacts acquired by Theodore and Mabel Bent on their 20 years of exploration, including 12 musical instruments (pipes [askomandoura] and flutes [floghera] in particular attracted them).
Some items from the Bent collection are regularly on display in the museum, including their musical instruments. In the early 1890s, the Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland (Vol. 20, 1890-1891, 153 ff) included a paper by Henry Balfour on “The Old British ‘Pibcorn’ or ‘Hornpipe’ and its affinities”, which was part inspired by two ‘Greek’ instruments acquired at different times by the Pitt Rivers from the Bents, and “which seem to throw great light upon the true origin of the pibcorn” (see also A. Baines, Bagpipes, Oxford 1979, p.45).
One instrument is a curious double-pipe (1903.130.21) from a small cluster of villages on Tinos (Tenos) in the Cyclades. Theodore Bent bought this pipe (on the couple’s second visit to the island in early March 1884), which he calls monosampilos, in the area of ‘Dio Choria’ (Δύο Χωριά), misread by Balfour or his editor as ‘Dio Maria’). The visit was a short one – just a few days (their first tour being in the spring of 1883). In her diary, Mabel recalls that the villagers “were dancing on the roofs and we went up to see them and bought a musical instrument” (The Travel Chronicles of Mabel Bent, Vol. 1, Oxford, 2006, p. 47); Theodore also describes the event – page 262 of his classic monograph on the Cyclades.
The second instrument that attracts Balfour’s interest is the famous bagpipe/sambouna (1903.130.23) that the Bents brought back from Karpathos (now in the Greek Dodecanese, then a Turkish possession) in 1885.
Both instruments appear in a rare line-drawing that accompanies Balfour’s paper.
The other instruments collected by the Bents and in the Pitt Rivers:
1903.130.7: Double flageolet, carved from single piece of wood. From Belgrade, Serbia (1887).
1891.4.1.1 and 1891.4.1 .2. End flute and case. From the Taurus Mountains (Turkey) (1890).
1888.37.5: End blown trumpet. From Karpathos, Dodecanese (1885). In his 1886 article,’ On a far-off island‘ for Blackwood’s Magazine (Vol. 139, Feb 1886, 240), Bent describes, perhaps, this very instrument, although his name for it is eccentric, perhaps dialect, a variant of the sourali (σουραύλι): “Amusements in Karpathos certainly are not numerous, and may be summed up as consisting of music and dancing in a variety of forms… sometimes… a man will come and play the lyre, — just one of those lyres which their ancestors played, a pretty little instrument about half a yard long, with silver beads which jangle attached to the bow. Besides this they have the syravlion, a sort of pan-pipe made of two reeds hollowed out, with blow-holes and straws up the middle, and placed side by side in a larger reed.”
1903.130.27: End blown trumpet of buffalo horn. From ‘Asia’ (date and findspot uncertain).
1903.130.18: End-flute made from a crane’s wing bone. The flute has been etched with various details, including the Anglicised word ‘syravlion’ (which the PR reads as ‘Syralion’, see above, perhaps dialect, a variant of the sourali (σουραύλι)). From Samos island (1886).
1903.130.16: End-flute of reed. Labelled by the PR as ‘pinavlion’ (dialect perhaps, today pinavli/πιναύλι). From Paros island, Cyclades (1883/4). Bent does not seem to have referred to this flute type in connection with Paros in his Cyclades (p. 379), but he does name again the ‘syravlion’ (see above): “Once, says a legend, a young man challenged the Lady of the Hundred Gates to a playing contest on the syravlion, and went accordingly to the church to play; but the Madonna took no notice of his challenge. Just as he was getting up to go he accidentally knocked over the candlestick, and broke his flute; in this way did the Madonna prove her superiority and humbled the man…”
1903.130.17: Flute made from eagle’s wing bone. From Samos island (1886)
1888.37.6: End flute. From Samos island (1886).
1903.131.18.2 and 1903.131.18.1: Lyra and bow. From Karpathos, Dodecanese (1885).
Bent’s classic book The Cyclades, or Life Among the Insular Greeks, has several references to the lyre and sambouna, examples of which he donated to the Pitt Rivers. Of interest too are the many mentions of the flute he calls ‘syravlion’, a word unexplained and not found elsewhere perhaps a local variant of the romantic sourali (σουραύλι) or syrinx (Σύριγξ). Bent writes from Naxos: “We came to a halt at a dirty house, where we had to sit for hours… They constantly plied us with coffee, raki, and sweets as we waited… they played persistently for our benefit on the syravlion, or panpipe, and the drum. When shepherds play the panpipe on the hillside it is romantic enough: the instrument is a simple one, just two reeds hollowed out and placed side by side…” (p. 347). There are also recollections of the instrument from the Bents’ time on the islands of Ios (p. 162) and Santorini (p. 134).
How do these instruments sound?
The Museum of Greek Folk Musical Instruments in Athens curates over 1000 items, and many of the displays feature recordings of the instruments playing.
Click for an article on the great sambouna player of Anafi.
Click for eagle bone flute (YouTube).
Click for Karpathos lyra and sambouna (YouTube). Karpathos is where Bent’s instruments in the Pitt Rivers come from (and were presumably made).
Click for the pinavli flute (YouTube).
The major repository for artefacts brought back to England by the Bents between c. 1880 and 1900 is the British Museum, London. The collection is huge, but includes only a small number of musical instruments, not often on display; we list them below for reference. Some of the artefacts entered the Museum in 1926, just a few years before Mabel Bent’s death, indicating her fondness for them; perhaps the rooms of her London home would occasionally echo with sad notes from far away…
From Ethiopia (1893) (click (YouTube) for some of these instruments playing):
(1) Two trumpets (Af1926,0410.63 & Af1893,0715.27). The inventory number for the former indicates that this object remained in Mabel Bent’s personal collection until 1926 – when she was putting her affairs in order in her final years; she died in 1929. We may assume that the object was of sentimental value, giving her happy memories of the couple’s (perilous) journey to Ethiopia in 1893. We should note however that the findspot was not mentioned by Mabel and Bent only refers to one trumpet in his monograph of this trip: “As Digsa was one of the last Abyssinian villages of importance which we should visit, we took care here to annex an Abyssinian umbrella and a malakat [elsewhere malaket] or trumpet…” (J.T. Bent, The Sacred City of the Ethiopians, London, 1893, p. 212).
(2) Lyre (Af1893,0715.25). In his Sacred City of the Ethiopians (1896 edn, p. 25), Bent writes in Asmara: “Here for the first time we saw the Abyssinian lyre or harp, a specimen of which I coveted for six long weeks afterwards, until I was able to acquire one at Aksum…”.
(3) Fiddle (Af1893,0715.24). In Bent’s Sacred City of the Ethiopians (1896 edn, p. 26), he writes “… another favourite Abyssinian instrument [is] called the chera masanko. This I also got. It is a sort of violin with a square sounding board, tightly made of skin, and played with a little bow. The asmari or wandering minstrels, also play it, and it is heard at every feast, whether religious or secular.”
4) Flute (Af1893,0715.26), made of cane and leather. In Bent’s Sacred City of the Ethiopians (1896 edn, pp. 28-9), we read: “As the trumpet has only one note, so has the Abyssinian flute, the imbilta. To make an Abyssinian band suitable to escort a great man or perform at a religious festival, you require four trumpets and three flutes, each player sounding a note in turn. The imbilta is nearly a yard long, and is as great a mark of personal distinction as the umbrella.” We may assume that Bent acquired one in Aksum, however, he says they are nearly 90 cm in length and the BM item is 58 cm.
For a contemporary angle on Ethiopian music and instruments, refer to Gabriella Ghermandi (b. 1965), Italo-Ethiopian writer and performer, focusing ‘on the intersection of African (specifically Ethiopian) and Italian identity’.
From Mashonaland (Zimbabwe) (1891):
(1) A sansa/’Makalanga piano’ (Af1892A0714/Af1979,01.4538). Described by Bent as “… very interesting specimens of primitive musical art; they have thirty or more iron keys, arranged to scale, fixed on to a piece of wood about half a foot square, which is decorated with carving behind.
This instrument they generally put into a gourd, with pieces of bone round the edge to increase the sound, which is decidedly melodious and recalls a spinet.” (J.T. Bent, The Ruined Cities of Mashonaland, London, 1892, pp. 81-82).
[Also known as the mbira or ‘thumb-piano’, click (YouTube) to hear it play](2) A rattle (Af1892,0714.24). Such a rattle may be referred to in this extract from Bent’s Ruined Cities of Mashonaland (1892, p. 330): “Evidence of festivities was also present in the shape of drums and long chains of grass cases for beads, which they hang round their calves to rattle at the dances…”
(3) Musical bow (Af1892,0714.146). On page 20 of Bent’s Ruined Cities of Mashonaland (1892), such a bow is referenced: “A man stood near, playing on an instrument like a bow with one string, with a gourd attached to bring out the sound. He played it with a bit of wood, and the strains were plaintive, if not sweet…”
From the Middle East (1889-1897):
1) and 2) Two flutes (As1926,0410.56 and As1926,0410.55) from Bahrain (1889), when the Bents spent some time excavating at the so-called ‘Mounds of Ali’.
3) Flute (As1926,0410.61). Acquired on the Bents’ remarkable journey on horseback, south-north, through Persia in 1889 on their way home from Bahrain. “We saw a wedding at Savandi… The women in red, with gold ornaments and uncovered faces, looked highly picturesque, and each carried in her hand a red handkerchief, which she flourished as she went round to the music of the flute and drum.” (From J.T. Bent, ‘In the Mountains of Medea’, Littell’s Living Age, Vol. 189 (1891), p.51).
How does it sound? Click to hear the Persian ney (YouTube).
4) Flute (As1926,0410.48) from the Wadi Hadramaut (Yemen). Collected by the Bents on one of their trips into the Yemeni interior between 1894-1897. “The Bedouin are rather clever at impromptu verses, and when we were in Wadi Ser they made night hideous by dancing in our camp… Bedouin women also take part in these dances… it was very weird by the light of the moon and the camp-fire, but wearisome when we wanted to sleep, particularly as they kept it up till after we were all astir in the morning, yelling, bawling, singing, and screeching… The ground was shaken as if horses were galloping about. A Bedou was playing a flute made of two leg-bones of a crane bound together with iron.” (Mabel and Theodore Bent, Southern Arabia (1900), p.128-9)
How does it sound? Click to hear the mizmar, or Yemeni flute (YouTube).
From London to Oxford?
It would make such sense for the Bents’ above-mentioned musical instruments, in store in the British Museum, to be loaned for display, on a long-term basis, to the Pitt Rivers in Oxford, Bent’s alma mater: after all, he read history at Wadham College (in the early 1870s), just a few hundred metres from the Pitt Rivers today, and how pleasant to think of the great traveller’s legacy freely visible to all there, a great collection from only 20 years or so of exploration, and always with his tireless wife – in the Levant, Africa, and Arabia.
[All websites accessed 02/02/2024]
Spring 2024. Here is a recent article (Καθαρά Δευτέρα του 1884 στα Δυο Χωριά με Τσαμπούνες) by Theodoros Chiou on the Bents’ visit to Cycladic Tinos in 1884, focusing on their fascination for traditional music and musical instruments. (The automatic English translation is of variable quality – αλλά δεν πειράζει !)
