Funerals in Greece, 1911
All who have lived in Greek lands, in or out of Greece, know the peculiar wailing chant which heralds the approach of a funeral.
From: 1911 C.E. To: 1911 C.E.
Location: Greece
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Greece and the Greeks by Z. Duckett Ferriman, 1911.
All who have lived in Greek lands, in or out of Greece, know the peculiar wailing chant which heralds the approach of a funeral.
First comes the bearer of the coffin-lid, held upright, swathed in purple gauze and decked with flowers and tinsel. A boy can carry it with ease, for it is made of the lightest substance, purposely destructible. It is followed by acolytes with cross and banners, and the priest in coloured vestments, though of late in Athens the white surplice has come into fashion for funerals.
After the clergy comes the coffin, carried low on staves. It is open, and the body, dressed as for a festival, is exposed to the gaze of all the world. Black clothes and white gloves is the usual garb of the civilian. Officers of the army or navy are dressed in full uniform. Ladies are clad in silken robes, white, and gay with flowers.
It is rather startling to the stranger, and even after one is used to it, there is always something ghastly in this decking of the dead with the frippery of the living. The Greeks say that it took its rise under the Turkish domination, the Turks requiring the coffin to be opened in order to prevent the smuggling of arms into the country in the guise of a funeral. But the Turks are gone and the custom still obtains. Its origin dates probably from a period ere the Turks were a nation.
In ancient times the dead were clad in their finest apparel and crowned with a garland. The relatives do not accompany the body to the shallow grave, but take leave of it at the cemetery chapel. The clothes are removed before burial, and in the case of the rich, are usually cut up. Church dignitaries were carried to the tomb, not many years ago, seated in a chair, dressed in full canonicals. A candle is usually left burning by the grave in an earthen-ware vessel, and the staves upon which the bier was borne are left stuck upright in the ground.
After three years have elapsed, the bones are dug up, washed in wine, and preserved in the ossuary. Those who pay for it have the bones of their relatives collected and hung up in sacks. Rows of them may be seen in the pavilion in the cemetery at Athens. They are numbered and registered, so that they may be identified. The bones of the poor are exhumed also, but they are thrown pell-mell into the common charnel-house, the hair in many cases still adhering to the skulls.
The dead monks in their habits in the Capuccini at Palermo, and also at Malta, make rather a ghastly spectacle, but one in which there is order and purpose. But there is no redeeming feature in the gruesome pit at Athens. This treatment of the debris of humanity is cynical. Not only does it lack reverence, but common decency. There is no memory of the past, no dream of the future. The sight is painful, and brings with it a sense, not of humiliation, but rather of degradation. It is to the credit of the Athenian press that it has more than once called attention to it as a public scandal.
There are many local funeral customs, but one is almost universal, that of breaking a pitcher on the threshold when a funeral leaves the house. In Corfu the house is left unswept for three days and then the broom is burnt. Professional mourners still flourish in some of the provinces and islands, but their services are not in general request as formerly. The myrology or dirge sung in the house of mourning and over the grave on anniversaries still survives, and in Thessaly there are women famous for these improvised laments.
There no other songs are sung for a year by those who have lost a relative, and the survivors sing over their grave for a few moments when they pass the cemetery. But myrology as a profession is on the decline. It has always been the exclusive appanage of women, and its increasing desuetude means a loss of revenue for the female portion of the population. The earnings of a myrologist of repute are considerable. Some of them display real dramatic talent in their simulated grief, and these do not sing the cut-and-dried myrologies, but improvise for the occasion, and sedulously practise their art. What consolation the bereaved could ever have derived from these histrionic lamentations is a question that may be left to psychologists.
They are, like much else in Greece, a heritage of the distant past, lingering chiefly in communities that have come least in contact with outside influences. The Suliote women gathering round the bier, and rehearsing by turns the principal actions in the life of the deceased, as described by Millingen and other travellers, during the War of Independence, is reminiscent of the Homeric age.
The funeral cakes—kolliva—baked on the third, ninth, twentieth, and fortieth days after burial, are a survival of paganism. They are partly broken up over the grave, partly eaten, and partly given away. Among other ingredients they contain parsley—the symbol of death. In ancient times a person in extremis was said to want parsley, and down to the early nineteenth century at least, a sprig of parsley was a malign gift, signifying a wish for the recipient's death.
White garments are worn as mourning in Thessaly, and the women go about with uncovered head and loosened hair. In conservative Maina the myrology still flourishes. All fires and lights are extinguished at death and are not relit for a week. Consequently there is no cooking, and at the funeral feast the guests bring prepared food. Bread and wine are placed near the dead, and if a man, his arms are laid by his side, together with an amulet to ward off evil spirits. Last of all, the priest blesses a nail, which is driven into the door. This is done in order that the deceased may rest quietly. The women cut off a lock of their hair and throw it into the grave, and I am told, but I have not witnessed it, that sometimes the men scratch their faces. Both actions are relics of self-mutilation as an expression of grief.
There is a touching dignity in the last farewell of the Mainote men. They gather round the bier and cry plaintively, Adelphè, Adelphè, Adelphè—O brother! O brother! O brother! Then for a few moments they stand motionless with bowed heads, after which they utter the same words, softly this time, almost in a whisper—Adelphè, Adelphè, Adelphè—then they kiss the brow of the dead and depart in silence.
Ferriman, Z. Duckett. Greece and the Greeks. James Pott & Co., 1911.
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