Beneath Parnassian Clouds and Olympian Sunshine

Front matter

BENEATH PARNASSIAN CLOUDS AND OLYMPIAN SUNSHINE At all Libraries and Booksellers. MEMOIRS OF MISS MELLON. Afterwards Duchess of St. Albans. BY MRS. CORNWELL BARRON-WILSON. SECOND EDITION OP PRESENT ISSUE. 2 Vols., Demy Svo, 25s. " The intrinsic interest of its heroine's character and career absorbs you from the first page to the last. I can say, at least, for myself that, though pressed greatly for time, I could not lay down the biography till I had finished it." — Truth. " The life of the poor girl who sprang from the humblest ranks of the Irish peasantry, became a famous actress, married first a millionaire and then a duke, cannot fail to have attractions for the romantic reader.'7 — Daily News. " She leaped at one bound from earning a small weekly salary to the command of vast wealth, and she married first a great banker and then a duke." — St. James's Gazette.

"The two handsome volumes under notice contain all the details of stage life which will be for ever amusing reading, and, in addition, their contents point to a moral well worth considera tion. We who have favourite actresses, and buy bouquets for them, might as well employ tbe^-q.iCfcf'iy^for one night only ' in present ing them with the ' M^Spojrsof Harriot, Duchess of St. Albans.'" — The Bat. I 7 MYB"7 ; " Although it is nearly fifty. years since the first edition of this work was printed, the matter it contains will be read with avidity by the public of to-day, comprising as it does so much tbat concerns the inner life of a woman who was one of the most famous characters of her time." — Scottish News. " The book will be read, and read with interest. It is admir ably got up in large and distinct type." — Oalignani's Messenger.

" Nursed amid grinding poverty she rose to the pinnacle of affluence, yet she never forgot the friends of her youth — retaining to the last those amiable qualities which endeared her to all with whom she came in contact. The work is not only instructive, but offers the most enjoyable reading." — Public Opinion. KEMINGTON & Co., Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. BENEATH PARNASSIAN CLOUDS AND OLYMPIAN SUNSHINE BY C G S AU NDE RS-FORSTER LONDON REMINGTON & CO PUBLISHERS HENRIETTA STREET COVENT GARDEN 1887 [All Rights Reserved] CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Athens to Thebes ... ... ... 1 II. Thebes to Livadhia ... ... ... 13 III. Livadhia to Chæronia and Arachova 33 IV. Arachova to Delphi ... ... ... 49 V. From Delphi over the Western side of Parnassus to the Valley of the Upper Kephissns ... ... ... ... 63 VI.

Chapter I. Athens To Thebes

After weary days of waiting at Athens, until storms of thunder, rain, and wind have ex pended their fury, we are at length enabled to start on our journey to Thebes and Delphi this bright April morning. Comfortably ensconced in a roomy car riage, we have our bags and canteen upon the front seat. The dragoman and cook sit one on either side of the coachman. Beneath their feet are our camp bedsteads, and in a sack behind the bedding. Thus packed, we whirl off down the street of Hermes, already full of business at this early hour. B The Parthenon glows golden in the morning sunshine ; the temple of Theseus looks as if carved in amber. As we pass the street of Tombs, the great Molossian hound, the noble bull, still keeping guard above the sepulchres of their lords, stand out sharply defined against the spring verdure clothing the TTNym phæum hill.

A sharp turn down a side street, and a chorus of merry voices wish our cook " bon voyage," his home being in this quarter. Passing the botanic garden and the splendid white poplars near, we reach the noble olive groves of the Academia. The air is fresh and balmy. Scarlet poppies enliven fields of rich green barley, carpeting the ground beneath the gnarled trunks of these venerable trees, and, all too soon, we emerge upon the plain. But our active horses bring us quickly across it and up through the Daphne pass, where we halt at the Monastery, with the blue bay of Eleusis and the purple peaks of Salamis and Kerata in the distance. With an eye to busi ness, our cook jumps down to make a bargain with the shepherds standing by. Their powerful sheepdogs avail themselves of the opportunity to attack a grand old goat with patriarchal beard and towering horns.

Dog number one chases in a circle round him, but brave old Billy, watching his moment, rolls his adversary over like a ball. Dog number two rushes up to avenge his friend ; the goat advances, lowers his nose to meet that of the dog, who pauses, and then retreats at the double, his handsome curly tail slunk between his legs, while Billy tosses his victorious head to the delight of all those who have suffered from the attacks of those vicious but trusty guardians of the flock. How sad is the neglected appearance of this picturesque church and monastery ! and how different was the scene when Apollo's fair white temple stood here amid shiniug groves of bay ! Surely those white marble blocks built into the walls must have belonged to it ; and those sarcophagi inside, utilized as sepulchres by the French Dukes of Athens in mediæval times, came probably from the Sacred Way, as tombs were placed along its whole extent from Athens to Eleusis.

We continue our road down the winding pass through delicious air perfumed with the scent of Nemean pines. Bright sunshine brings into relief all that remains of the Sacred Way, now cut into the side of the precipitous rock, now running between it and our modern road, where it was supported by stone walls on either side, traces of which still remain. Soon we come in front of that artificially smoothed projecting cliff, its surface honey combed with votive niches, beneath two of which are traces of a much-worn inscription, " Phile Aphrodite," indicating that near this spot stood the sanctuary of the fair goddess, restored by King Demetrius Poliorketes, and where he instituted divine honours to his con sort Phile ; while at the foot of this smoothed rock are some scanty remains of the temple precincts.

Another moment, and we speed past the broad bay of Eleusis. Snow-crested, steel blue waves dash across our path, bringing salt breezes so exhilarating that we halt to drink them in, and to admire Salamis rearing its jagged outline against the superb mountain masses of Peloponnesus. Nestling by the sapphire sea is modern Eleusis. Above it rises the hill bearing the foundations of Demeter's temple, with its ruined stoas and propylaia; and lovely must have been the effect of these pure Doric buildings, gleaming white against the soft purple background formed by Kerata and the Megarian peaks. By the roadside fountain women clad in Albanian costume, bearing tall water jars of antique form, wish us " good journey " as we turn northwards and begin the ascent of Mount Kithæron, through the olive groves to the rich village of Mandra.

Neat houses with shining window-panes, snowy curtains, and flowers on the balconies enliven the street. Hastening onwards to the village of Kiindura, we halt at the Khan, where our three good horses refresh them selves with bundles of dry pulse and sparkling water. Seated by the Khan door is a fine old man, clad in long fur-lined cloth pelisse. He reads and explains the contents of a well-worn volume to a young man, poorly clad, who listens with deep attention. I catch words relating to the marriage of Cana in Galilee, and upon inquiry, my com panion finds that it is the Ekklesiastikon from which the old man reads. But the interesting little chat is cut short, and, wish ing him and his student adieu, we emerge from Kiindura on to the rocky slopes of Kithæron, whence burst upon us superb views of Parnes and Hymettus eastward ; of the deep blue waters between Eleusis and Egina to the south ; while westwards a rugged winding ravine leads past the village of Vylia to the Korinthian gulf below.

Still ascending, the highest points of Mount Kithæron upon our left, we pass a little ruined church, and get out at the Khan of Khasi for our mid-day meal. I am interested by a number of well-dressed peasants, who have halted to hold noon tide rest, and are busy unharnessing their sleek, stout mules from neat carts of English build. A fine-looking man and his wife, in full Albanian costume, come up to chat. He is a carrier between the mining town of Laurion, Thebes, and Livadhia. She has just finished making a batch of bread, and invites me to come and see her put it into the oven, for the use of which she pays the keeper of the Khan. While she minds her baking, I sit gazing at her statuesque form, and think what a fine model she would be for Demeter in her character of Megaloartos, the patroness of bread-baking, to whom the ancients offered the first loaves.

Her spouse shows me proudly his well-filled cart, on the top of which are some young orange trees, carefully wrapped in matting, and destined for plantation in a gentleman's garden at Thebes. Packages of candles, soap, and barrels of salted fish occupy the rest of the vehicle. Leaving Khasi, our road sweeps round a curve, and we enter the defile of Eleutheræ. Proudly does its ancient fortress* crown the summit of a lofty peak on the right. Its towers and bastions, built of pure white stone, * Elentheræ belonged in ancient times to Beotia, although it lay npon the southern side of Kithæron. But at a later period it became an independent city on the boundary of Attika. It con tended with Thebes for being the birth-place of Dionysius. gleam like a silver girdle enclosing the rugged rock; studded with pink and yellow cistus, asphodel and dwarf oak filling up its hollows.

A deep, dark glen flanks our path on the left. Sweet-scented pines clothe the mountain which shuts in the pass as we wind up, ever wondering at the good preservation of the fortress bristling above our heads. My companion has got out to walk up the hill, while the carriage halts on the summit that I may sketch the scene. We move into the side of the pass, to make room for a Turkish horse-dealer from Dal matia. Clad in gay scarlet jacket, gorgeous with gold embroidery, he sits well his pranc ing grey steed, while a troop of picturesquely garbed men lead a score of fine horses in his rear. With courteous greetings they pass on. And, whirr, comes a huge black vulture across the sky, as I look back on the gay group of horsemen now making a fine bit of colour in the foreground when they file down past the fortress, its snow-white towers, and bastions, sharply defined in light and shade by the powerful mid-day sun.

Beyond are the rugged masses of Kithæron and Daphne, shadows of deep bluish gray filling up their clefts, while Hymettus bounds the picture with its long graceful outline, pearly grey in tint, relieved against a sky of the faintest forget-me-not blue. Soon emerging from the pass, a glorious vista opens through the deep gorge leading to the Beotian plain beneath us. Wild precipices rise on either hand ; an upland plateau, green with young corn, extends to the dark ravine leading to Chalcis ; and the blue mountains of Eubea, culminating in the snowy peak of Mount "Dels,"* close the distance northward. Impatient to reach the spot from whence we can study the battle-field of Platea, we hasten downwards. The carriage stops, when a view grand in the extreme lies before us. In front is a rolling country of golden brown soil, through which peeps up the brilliant green of young wheat.

On our extreme left towers the most * In ancient Greek, Aiptpvs : in modern, rj AtXtp-q — about 5,500 feet in height. western mass of Kithæron, at its foot the terrace where stood Platea itself. Beyond rises the superb chain of Helikon, steeped in purple from the deepest to the lightest shade, its jagged spurs running down into the undulating plain, while deep violet rain clouds hide Parnassus westwards. A burst of sunlight streams across our path as we cross the Asopus near where stood Mardonius' camp ; and, turning north wards, we see the green groves and gardens surrounding Thebes. A deep ravine skirts our road eastward. On its opposite side rise terraced heights bearing corn and wine, and beneath flows the clear torrent of Ai Janni (the ancient Ismenus), turning merry little mills, its banks clothed by a rich vegetation.

Before us rises the Kadmeia. Trees all but hide its walls. Between them we catch glimpses of the picturesque aqeduct, and enter by the southern (the Eleetra) gate. A long street — Turkish in the appearance of its houses — stretches before us. With difficulty can our carriage pass through the dense crowd attracted by the coming elec tions. Bright embroidered jackets and snowy fustanellas prevail in the costume, though election agents in ordinary Frank dress bustle about. While our dragoman goes to look for rooms, a group of boys gather round us to examine the carriage, a novelty to those from the mountain villages. Up strides a policeman in all the glories of Albanian dress and bids the lads be off, and not molest the travellers. A fine-looking old man turns from his eager conversation with others to tell the policeman that he will be responsible for the boys' good behaviour, as they belong to his village, and at once they quietly leave us and take their places at his side, listening attentively to the animated discussion about the respective merits of Tricoupis and Delyjannis.

Rooms being found, we drive down a side street and halt at the little Hotel de Beotie. Our host, tall and lithe, with pleasant face, in snowy fustanella and neat blue jacket, conducts us up a sort of ladder staircase attached to the outside of the house, there being none within. From the verandah we look on the snowy peak of Mount Delph in Eubea, on the nearer heights of Ptoon and Psilirakhe ; graceful cypresses and soft green corn fields form the foreground, and a pretty little ruined mosque, with slender minaret on the left, remind me that a short time since and the Moslem ruled in the city of Edipus. The sun has set, leaving rosy tints on the Eubean peaks, and we are ready to do justice to the good dinner our cook has prepared.

Chapter II. Thebes To Livadhia

Next morning we are up betimes, and, breakfast despatched, sally forth to see what little there is. An intelligent lad, rejoicing in the name of Aristoteles, guides us by a winding path down the Kadmeian hill to the clear rushing stream of Ai Janni, the Ismenus of old days. And a picturesque sight indeed is the huge fountain of St. Theodore, its waters pouring crystal-clear over grey rocky walls, framed in by graceful acanthus leaves. Buxom women are washing clothes, while merry girls and boys fill jars of classic shape in the sparkling spring where ill-fated Edipus bathed to purify himself from blood-guilti ness. The hill above, where once stood the Temple of Apollo, is now dotted with com fortable cottages, which increase in number towards St. Theodore to the dimensions of a thriving suburb surrounded by gardens.

Its inhabitants look well-fed, all are well-clad. Going north from the fountain, where its waters turn a mill, we are on the Chalcis road, at the point where, according to Colonel Leake, stood the Prœtis Gate. A goodly train of carts pass. They are laden with iron shafts and other materials, to be used in the works for drainage of Lake Kopa'is and reopening of the Katabothra, under the direction of a French firm. A little further westwards we look on the Kadmeia at its best point, where it rises proudly above the ravine. The tall gate tower, built by the French Knight of Saint Omer in the days when Thebes acknow ledged Frank rule, rises on ancient founda tions, and seems composed of ancient materials. Tough and grim it looks, and is garrisoned by a strong detachment of infantry. Helikon rears its purple peak behind; its lower ridges, broken into fantastic forms, run down into the rolling plains, now look ing soft as velvet, with their covering of emerald-green young wheat ; while Par nassus, mantled with fresh-fallen snow, its mighty ravines filled with soft blue mist, closes the background, contrasting well with the sombre tints of Mount Sphynx on our right.

To a certain degree the beauty of the sur rounding scenery compensates for the lack of ancient remains at Thebes. The site of Apollo's temple on the hill Ismenios, now that of St. Luke, with the old church bearing that name, a few inscriptions, and a damaged bas-relief or two preserved in the little museum, with a few inscriptions built into the Frank towers, are all. But I feel at least a thorough satisfaction at having trodden the ground of Pindar's city, of Epaminondas' home, from whence marched forth that gallant band whose last restingplace I shall soon see upon their hard contested battle-field of Chæronia. As we wander along the Chalkis road we meet an Italian engineer, occupied in the works of Lake Kopais, and bis gentle, lady like wife, who has been a martyr to fever ever since she came here.

Her wan features brighten up only to fall into a mournful expression when our scant time obliges us to take leave. Winding downwards, we halt at the fountain of Dirke, and enjoy the sight, of its pellucid waters reflecting the lovely gardens, of which modern Thebes may justly be proud, producing, as they do, pome granates, apricots of the finest flavour, figs, plums, and mulberries, besides melons and all kinds of delicious vegetables. With a merry crack of his whip our coach man puts his horses at the rising ground, and, snuffing the fresh morning air, they canter gallantly up the road to the level, where we soon come abreast of the site of ancient Onchestus. The dragoman next calls our attention to some scanty remains of an Hellenic wall on our left, no doubt the same as those observed by Leake.

We are now in the pass guarded by the mountain called Sphingion, where the Sphynx used to lay in wait for travellers, and destroy those unable to interpret her riddles. From a distance the outline of the mountain does certainly resemble that of a Sphynx. It forms a noble flank to the scene that opens as we descend rapidly into the basin of the Kephissos. In the foreground rises a mediæval tower, perched upon a rugged rock, in the side of which yawns a huge black cavern ; from the depths of it emerge a flock of goats, with towering horns and long silky fleece. Close by rushes a bubbling stream. While well-dressed peasants are hoe ing-in the young corn as manure on some fields, horses in numbers are feeding upon it in others. After three weeks' enjoyment of this fresh green food, they are fed, our dragoman says, for three weeks upon dried pulse, to brace them up again, a similar treatment being pursued every spring. o Helikon towers on the left ; we see Par nassus glittering in front, and Eta shows a delicate snow-tipped ridge in the distance.

To our disgust, the late rains have so com pletely submerged the way to Haliartus that we can only stop and study the appearance of the rock upon which it stood. Rising some fifty feet above the Kopals marsh the rock is distinguishable, crowned by an ancient wall and crumbling tower ; while mounds below indicate the lower part of the city. Wild duck and other water-fowl I see fluttering about the strip of lake between the belt of reeds and tbe marsh, reminding me of Aristophanes' mention in his Acharnanians of all the game brought by his Beotian peasant to Athens. Besides the rich yield of corn, this district produces much wine ; carefully-tended vine yards I see clothing each sunny slope. The soil is extremely rich, and easily worked ; but cultivators have much to contend with in the mountain streams pouring down through the ravines of Helikon, which continually in terrupt traffic, and wash away valuable tilled fields and gardens into the ever-swelling Kopa'is marsh.

Happily for us the main road has dried, but at the distance of a yard to our right as we proceed all flat land is turned into marsh ; the green knolls, upon which horses are picketed, grazing, rise island-like above the treacherous swamp. Here comes a troop of donkeys, hidden beneath their burdens of reed mats, no doubt of the same kind as those offered by Aristo phanes' peasant. Now they are used to form the walls of the shepherds' summer huts, while the roofs are thatched with the same reed, the Characeis. The boy drivers are merrily piping on reed flutes, which they have cut in the marshes near. One of these the dragoman handles, and says it has nine holes. With heads erect the little men march on, keeping step to their tune, not unlike a Highland one. Now a splendid grey rock comes in sight, rising abruptly from the green plain.

It is the hill called Petra, and once bore upon its summit the Temple of Apollo Tilphossus. A clear stream rising at its foot, Leake says, was the ancient fountain of Tilphossa. Thanks to the purity of its water, it forms now the usual resting-place of travellers, and we alight to ramble about and enjoy the beauty of the scene. A little Khan stands sheltered by the projecting precipice. The bustling landlord, a red-checked apron carefully tied over his fresh-starched, snowy white fustanella, brings out a rickety table, and some old boxes for seats. The dragoman spreads our lunch, and we enjoy it, with Parnassus as the background of the picture, glistening snow covering his noble mass, while Mount Laphystion rises, ruddy-purple, in the middle distance. The Papa of a neighbouring village comes to inquire news about the elections.

His nice child shyly accepts an orange, and he himself directs me to a path where I can explore the hill. Between the bristling peaks of limestone one can discern a fragment of ancient wall, forming part of the scanty remains of a fortress which crowned the Petra. Very rough and slippery is the rock, but how spicy is the perfume of rosemary and other herbs ! how bright are the blossoms of rock wallflower, yellow as well as lilac, nestling in each crevice ! and what a view northwards ! — Haliartus backed by Mount Sphynx and Ptoon. Across the green marsh looms the outline of Orchomenus, almost quivering in the hot noontide haze. On such a day as this, in 1311, did tbe hosts of French and Catalonians encounter on that treacherous green in front; when, enticed onwards by the cunning retrograde movement of the Spaniards, the French knights spurred their chargers, and sank under the weight of their armour into the morass, the agile Catalonians, all infantry, surrounding and cutting down each man as he struggled towards firmer ground.

With Gautier de Brienne fell that day French supremacy in Greece proper. And yet, looking on that marsh in which were engulphed so many of the best knights of France 500 years ago, the fact presents itself that to that same French people Greece is at this moment indebted for the drainage and utili zation of that same tract of country in which perished their forerunners in Western civilization. The sound of French calls my attention from the past to the present. It is spoken by a gentleman, who, arriving by the Athens diligence, has accosted my dragoman in that language, preferring to talk of the elections in French. A little world in itself is the diligence. Partisans of Tricoupis and of Delyjannis occupy most of the seats. They are on a furious electioneering campaign, still quiet courtesy prevails between them.

An old woman in gay costume, the owner of several baskets full of lively bantams, is the object of respectful politeness on the part of her electioneering fellow-travellers of both political sides. She is the wife of an in fluential man at Livadhia, and her favour can win votes. Perched above on my eerie, I watch the fun, and note how cleverly the good lady takes refuge inside the diligence, how she gets her crowing basketsful put inside also, thus obliging her troublesome suitors to take refuge on the outside seats. While they are dawdling we drive off, and meet ponies laden with baskets carefully shaded by bundles of reeds from the scorching sun. They contain those large white eels found in Lake Kopais, and recall that comical scene in the Achar nanians, when Dikæopolis, busy cooking this delicacy with his own hand, refuses to sell it to Lamachos at an exorbitant price.

As we ascend the rising ground, a young man comes bounding towards us, and, seizing hold of the box seat, inquires eagerly of our drago man news about the elections. His forward action, his lithe, muscular form, and his small, square head, clean-cut nose with large nostril, and eager eyes, reminded me forcibly of that noble Greek statue in the Louvre, " The Warrior," sculptured by Agasias ; and his close-fitting blue vest, the fluttering snowy fustanella, and the scarlet gaiters embroidered in gold, only served to show off the noble outline of this worthy descendant of the ancient Hellenes.* * Having lately seen a photograph of this individual, I fancy that he makes money of his appearance. He is a gentleman of Livadhia, owner of the cotton plantations through which we are at this moment passing.

Telling our drago man that we must hasten on to Delphi, else the coming rain will prevent us, he wishes us good journey, while our horses canter upwards. And a splendid view it is, when, rounding the foot of steep Laphystion, the ravine to which cling the houses of Livadhia comes in sight. The road is black with boys of all ages, coming out of a fine, large school house. Rosy, handsome little men they are, and give us a real school-boys' greeting. Our carriage halts in the narrow street, and we learn that all rooms are hired by election agents. But dragoman soon returns with an invitation from Kyrios Kaliva to stay at his house. A suffocating heat prevails, showing how necessary are the wide pro jecting eaves and wooden balconies which seem almost to meet above our heads, and shelter the busy tradesmen from Sol's powerful rays.

Ascending a steep, stepped lane, the scene reminds me of Amalfi, with this difference, that the people of Livadhia possess a quiet dignity of manner very agreeable to a stranger. We are climbing the western side of the town, the most interesting portion, according to Colonel Leake, who says : " The Homeric Mideia was situated, according to Pausanias, on a height, from whence the in habitants, under the conduct of Lebadus, an Athenian, removed to lower ground, building there the town which they named Lebadeia. It would seem, therefore, that Mideia stood on the site of the castle, and of the western division of the modern town, having its eastern side defended by the river Hercyna, and that Lebadeia occupied the lower part of the present town. It is diffi cult to believe, however, that the castle rock was not at all times a part of the ancient city, being so essential to its safety.

The only re mains of antiquity are some Hellenic squared stones in the walls of the ruined castle, with a few inscriptions and architectural fragments dispersed through the town."* * See " Leake's Travels in Greece,'' Vol. ii., p. 120. With the pleasant consciousness that we are treading the most ancient quarter, we climb up the precipitous hill and finally arrive at a large, square house. Entering a paved court, we mount a broad staircase leading to a central chamber with divans round the walls. A gentleman in splendid Albanian dress comes forward, and with a bright smile and cordial grasp of the hand bids us welcome. It is our host, Mr. Kaliva. His mother, a genial old lady, now enters and leads me to a seat on the divan. Delicious coffee followed by preserved orange and cool water are served, to which we do full justice.

The kind mother then takes my hand and con ducts me to her son's own room, which he has gallantly given up to me. Large and airy, with snowy muslin curtains over win dows and bedstead, it faces east, and com mands a superb view. The old lady points out the highest point of Helikon, the gorge where lies hidden Trophonius' cave and the castle which now belongs to her son. Far away northwards are brilliant green fields, the cotton plantations owned by in habitants of Livadhia, she says. The town is extensive, many houses being surrounded with gardens. Merrily does the Hercyna rush down from its gorge. New churches, new houses stand on either side of its banks, while the long, dark street up which we drove on entering appears to be the actual business portion of Livadhia. My kind hostess wants me to lie down and rest, but I am all eagerness to see Trophonius' cave, and therefore join my companion.

Meanwhile our worthy host, Mr. Kaliva, has donned his picturesque blue cloak, and under his guidance we descend the steep, winding lane, and soon leave the town behind us. The precipitous rock on which the castle stands is on our right, with Trophonius' cave, wreathed in ivy, opening low down in its face. Very grand and gloomy is the effect of the narrow gorge beyond. The air is heavy, and one can easily imagine that people of nervous temperament saw queer visions and heard uncanny sounds on their visits to the Oracle. Most interesting are the fountains of Lethe and Mne mosyne. Almost facing the cavern is the former, bubbling up in a circular cavity, warm to the touch, bluish tinted, and un savoury smelling. While the crystal clear, cold, sparkling water rushing into a neat reservoir, we are told is the refreshing fount of Mnemosyne.