Mystras: The last breath of Byzantium

"I've been here for 57 years, and it feels like I arrived yesterday. The days pass peacefully; the Virgin Mary always provides," says one of the five nuns at the Pantanassa Monastery in Mystras. I asked her what it's like to live in a medieval castle-town, away from the rest of the world. With a small donkey, they carry up the few things they need. They offer us some of what they have—a loukoumi, a sweet smile. After our conversation, we continue our tour of the site, keeping in mind that Mystras is still inhabited; it is alive.

​It becomes easier now to imagine shadows wandering among the ruins of the mansions. Look! A beautiful girl on her way to fetch water from the fountain. An elderly priest petting a cat, murmuring a prayer. There, a princess is praying too: "O Holy Virgin, please grant me the blessing of motherhood."
Her heart aches, she looks at the icon of Saint Anne, the mother of the Virgin Mary, and finds courage again.
​There is noise—feasts and festivals, but also the clash of metal swords, sometimes swords forged from the same forge, the same metal, wounding each other. The longing for a son to return from battle. A long procession, it's raining, the roads are slippery, and laments are heard. Laments. Thessaloniki has fallen. Constantinople has fallen. But what will become of us without the City? The City of all cities?

​Small candles in the homes slowly burn out, but the light is eternal; it always finds a way. The spirit of Byzantium lives on in the last breath of Mystras and, through the magical words of Plethon, ignites the spark of the Western Renaissance.