The world of my childhood was steeped in what had previously been an ancient Greek colony, known as Bosporus Panticapeum, which is more than 2,600 years old. The ruins of Panticapaeum were located on top of the Mithridates Mountain situated in the centre of the modern city of Kearch. Mount Mithridates was named after Mithridates VI of Pontus (120-63 BCE) who established an empire that extended from the northern shores of the Black Sea to Syria and Armenia during the first century BCE. Claiming to descend from Alexander the Great and Darius of Persia, Mithridates challenged the authority of late Roman Republican State, thus evoking fear, courage and admiration. The rebellious military leader who had defied Roman imperialism inspired Nicolo Machiavelli (1469-1527) and Racine (1639-1699), as well as one of Mozart’s first operas “Mitridate, re di Ponto,” 1770. Many Romans sympathized with Mithridates’ ideals, for his new policies provided a sterling alternative to the oppressive Roman State. He emphasized and reinforced Humanistic ideals: liberating slaves and war prisoners, sharing his wealth with his soldiers, honouring and expanding citizen rights, and reclaiming Greek democratic principles. Above all, Mithridates was a brilliant toxicologist, taking great interest in and experimenting with plant, animal and mineral poisons and their antidotes, thus contributing to the history of medicine and toxicology.
As a little girl, I heard many Crimean legends about the mountain of Mithridates. One legend tells that Mithridates was a giant who was transformed into a rocky mountain and covered with earth. According to another tale, the treasures of the great Hellenistic ruler are buried there, hidden in a vault with four compartments: the first filled with silver coins, the second with gold bars, the third with sapphires and amethysts, and the fourth with diamonds piled around a marble coffin, in which rests the daughter of Mithridates who was accused of conspiring to give away all this treasure to evil forces.
One could reach the top of Mithridates Mountain through a grand staircase of over four hundred steps constructed in accordance with Italian architect Alexander Digby in 1833-1840. The staircase represented an elaborate design of flights, balustraded terraces and viewing platforms, which were adorned with florals and stone sculptures of gryphons. From the top of the mountain, visitors could catch cascading glimpses of the sea, the city and its environs. On many summer nights, large crowds ascended the staircase, seemingly leading to the heavens, and at the top of the mountain, waited for an opportunity to see fireworks waltzing in the skies, while enjoying a breathtaking panoramic view of the glorious city.
I was often running up the grand stairs and, as I stopped for a split second to catch my breath on one of the platforms, I inevitably encountered stone gryphons. In Scythian mythology, gryphons were depicted as guardians of treasure and believed to inhabit the extreme fringes of the world. According to various myths, these creatures would attack those who attempted to claim the gold, tearing them apart, or would drag them high into the air and then drop them to the ground. The gold-guarding gryphon personified the greed, assertiveness and self-control. Common in ancient Greek art were the scenes with vigilant gryphons attacking a stag. I was not at all afraid of these beasts, as the golden Gryphon was a symbol of Kearch, and artistic representations of gryphons were widespread throughout the city.
At the foot of the Mithridates Mountain, the Church of Prophet St. John the Baptist made the most of the beautiful site. Built in 717 CE, this magnificent monument of Byzantine architecture — a splendid mix of cross-domes and basilica— represented one of the oldest churches in Russia. In the beginning of the nineteenth century, the body of the temple was extended and so many restorations and other changes were made that there was not much left of the original outer wall. The central part of the structure was yet irrefutably authentic, with its grand windows filled with coloured glass, and with its marble columns adorned with Corinthian capitals. During the Soviet Union era, the Church was closed to the public, and served as the lapidarium, which in Latin —″lapis″— translates as “stone,” containing ancient artifacts found during the excavations of the Bosporan Kingdom. I remember walking around the Church and, through the iron-grilled windows, looking at antique Greek or Turkish sculptures and inscriptions made on gravestones, architectural details, and other treasures of ancient art. The spiritual path is often associated with the journey similar to climbing a ladder, and the higher we climb, the closer we are to our Higher Self. There are yet times when we may inadvertently lose our footing, and golden glimpses of my childhood remind me that there is also buried treasure within us.