Ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια
Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης (1851–1911), 1903
A night walker seeks a saint who breaks spells, and finds he doesn't want to be cured. Papadiamantis at his most uncanny and personal. A slow, lyrical night walk through folk faith and longing, with an undercurrent of unease and a narrator who keeps resisting the cure he seeks.
Feels like longing, unease and awe. About faith, love and nature.
Who it’s for
You may like it if you enjoy lyrical, unhurried stories steeped in Greek folk religion and the psychology of desire. The Greek on the page is polytonic and churchly, so it asks for patience with older diction.
Why read it
It offers a compact, haunting look at how faith and desire get tangled, from a writer who knew the poor parishes he describes.
Pages from the book
A man lights candles to a saint for an illness he doesn't want cured.
Ἀλλὰ πρὸς τί νὰ προσφέρω λαμπάδας καὶ μοσχολίβανον, πρὸς τί νὰ περιζώσω μὲ κηρία τὸν ναόν; Ἡ Ἁγία ἠδύνατο ἴσως νὰ μὲ θεραπεύσῃ, ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ δὲν ἐπεθύμουν νὰ θεραπευθῶ. Θὰ ἐπροτίμων νὰ καίωμαι εἰς τὴν φλόγα τὴν βραδεῖαν… Ὑπάρχουν εἰς τὸν Παράδεισον Ἅγιοι δεχόμενοι τὰς εὐχὰς τῶν ἐρώντων;… Τάχα ἐκεῖ, δίπλα εἰς τὸ παρεκκλήσιον τῆς Φαρμακολυτρίας, εἰς τὸ παλαιὸν ἐκεῖνο μεγαλομάρμαρον κτίριον τὸ αἰνιγματῶδες, νὰ ὑπῆρχε τὸ πάλαι ἱερὸν τῆς Ἀφροδίτης, νὰ ὑπῆρχε βωμὸς τοῦ Ἔρωτος; A dreamless sleep, and from the bottom of it a voice like an oracle.
Ὕπνος τότε μὲ κατέλαβεν, εἰς τὸ στασίδιον ὅπου ἐκαθήμην. Ὁ ὕπνος ἦτον ἄνευ ὀνείρων, ὅλα τὰ ὄνειρα τοῦ τὰ εἶχεν ἀφαιρέσει ἡ ἐγρήγορσις. Μόνον ἐνδομύχως εἰς τὸ βάθος τῆς συνειδήσεως μου, μία φωνή, ἥτις ὡμοίαζε μὲ χρησμόν, ἠκούσθη ἀμυδρῶς νὰ ψιθυρίζῃ: «Ὕπαγε, ἀνίατε· ὁ πόνος θὰ εἶναι ἡ ζωή σου…» A mother wrapping a hundred yards of candle-wax around a chapel, seven times.
Τοῦτο λοιπὸν τὸ τεράστιον κηρίον τὸ ἔδεσεν ἀπὸ τὴν κρικέλλαν τῆς παλαιᾶς σαρακωμένης θύρας τοῦ ναοῦ, εἶτα ἤρχισε νὰ τὸ ἑλκύῃ, καὶ νὰ τὸ ἐκτυλίσσῃ κατ᾽ ὀλίγον ἀπὸ τὸ καλάθιον, ὅπου τὸ εἶχε τυλιγμένον εἰς ἔντεχνον καὶ εὐδιάλυτον κουβάριον, καὶ παραπορευομένη ἐξωτερικῶς τὸν τοῖχον τοῦ ναΐσκου, νὰ τὸ προσαρμόζῃ σύρριζα εἰς τὸν τοῖχον, πρῶτον εἰς τὸ ἥμισυ πλάτος τοῦ δυτικοῦ τοίχου, μέχρι τῆς γωνίας τῆς μεσημβρινοδυτικῆς, εἶτα καθ᾽ ὅλον τὸ μῆκος τοῦ μεσημβρινοῦ τοίχου, εἶτα μετὰ τὴν καμπὴν τῆς γωνίας τῆς νοτιανατολικῆς, ἀνὰ τὸν τοῖχον τοῦ πλάτους τὸν ἀνατολικόν, μεθ᾽ ὅλης τῆς καμπύλης τὴν ὁποίαν ἐσχημάτιζεν ἡ χηβάδα τοῦ θυσιαστηρίου, εἶτα ἔκαμψε τὴν ἀριστερὰν γωνίαν, παρεπορεύθη τὸν βορεινὸν τοῖχον, καὶ διὰ τῆς γωνίας τῆς βορειοδυτικῆς ἐπέστρεψε πάλιν εἰς τὴν θύραν τοῦ ναΐσκου. Κατόπιν πάλιν ἔφερε νέαν γύραν, ἀπαράλλακτα ὅπως τὴν πρώτην, καὶ προσήρμοσε τὸ νέον ἔμβολον τοῦ κηρωμένου νήματος, παραλλήλως καὶ ἐγγύτατα ὑπὸ τὸ πρῶτον. Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης.Papadiamantis, a priest's son from Skiathos, spent his adult life in Athens in near-poverty, writing hymns and stories for a pittance and recording, with strange tenderness, the folk religion of poor parish priests.
Books that feel like this
Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems
Christina Rossetti, 1862
Also longing and love.
More by Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης
Λαμπριάτικος Ψάλτης
Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης, 1912
A priest waits for a helper on Easter night in a crumbling chapel above the sea, while a stranded elder takes the wrong path in the moonlight.
Θέρος-Ἔρος
Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης, 1911
Spring and hunger, maidens and wolves, on a Greek island where the fields blaze with poppies and a gypsy girl reads a letter three times.
Στο Χριστό στο Κάστρο
Αλέξανδρος Παπαδιαμάντης, 1892
A priest vows to hold Christmas liturgy in a ruined cliff-top church. To keep it, he must cross a winter sea with his parish.
Where to get it
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Questions readers ask
- Is Ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια for me?
- You may like it if you enjoy lyrical, unhurried stories steeped in Greek folk religion and the psychology of desire. The Greek on the page is polytonic and churchly, so it asks for patience with older diction.
- What is Ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια like?
- A slow, lyrical night walk through folk faith and longing, with an undercurrent of unease and a narrator who keeps resisting the cure he seeks. Feels like longing, unease and awe. About faith, love and nature.
- What should I read after Ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια?
- If you liked Ἡ Φαρμακολύτρια, try Gitanjali (Rabindranath Tagore), The Portent (George MacDonald) and Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems (Christina Rossetti).
A taste of the feed
A wish for a last song that holds every kind of joy.
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song—the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
Gitanjali · Rabindranath Tagore
The heaviest thing you will ever have to carry is yourself.
God strengthen me to bear myself; That heaviest weight of all to bear, Inalienable weight of care. All others are outside myself, I lock my door and bar them out The turmoil, tedium, gad-about. I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all? If I could once lay down myself, And start self-purged upon the race That all must run! Death runs apace.
Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems · Christina Rossetti
A wind that carries every love story ever told.
Always it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of far-off things. It blew from a place that was old and whispered of youth. It blew down the grooves of time. It brought a story of the passing hours. It breathed low of fighting men and praying women. It sang clearly the song of love. That ever was the burden of its tidings—youth in the shady woods, waders through the wet meadows, boy and girl at the hedgerow stile, bathers in the booming surf, sweet, idle hours on grassy, windy hills, long strolls down moonlit lanes—everywhere in far-off lands, fingers locked and bursting hearts and longing lips—from all the world tidings of unquenchable love.
Riders of the Purple Sage · Zane Grey
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