Letter From Greece

MISSION TO MISSOLONGHI

Athens, April 13. Overcast, drizzling. At six in the evening we depart by auto—my guide from the press section of the government, an eminent French journalist, the chauffeur, and I. After an hour we stop for souvlaki and a sip of beer at the isthmus of Corinth. Then we press on, into the fading light, along the 200 kilometers of demented careening curves of the south shore of the Gulf of Patras. After the isthmus we are in the Peloponnesus, and our goal for the night is the city of Patras. One thing stands out. In village after village the signs at the side of the road welcome us with patriotic exhortations. Zito o stratos. Long live the army. Zito o Vasileus. Long live the King. Zito i ethniki Kivernitis. Long live the national government, Zito o ethnoso-terios stratos. Long live the nation-saving army. Monsieur has been speaking of the miracle of Greek antiquity, the unprecedented leap the ancient Greeks alone made, from evidence available to other peoples, into worlds of intellectual abstraction and conceptual formality. I have been twitting Mr. K. from the press section about his bad weather and see my chance. “Yet another Greek miracle,” I say, “is that the Greeks taught themselves astronomy although one never sees the stars in Athens.” “Voila!” cries Monsieur in triumph. “Le pouvoir de l’abstraction!”

WR

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William F. Rickenbacker

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MISSION TO MISSOLONGHI

Athens, April 13. Overcast, drizzling. At six in the evening we depart by auto—my guide from the press section of the government, an eminent French journalist, the chauffeur, and I. After an hour we stop for souvlaki and a sip of beer at the isthmus of Corinth. Then we press on, into the fading light, along the 200 kilometers of demented careening curves of the south shore of the Gulf of Patras. After the isthmus we are in the Peloponnesus, and our goal for the night is the city of Patras. One thing stands out. In village after village the signs at the side of the road welcome us with patriotic exhortations. Zito o stratos. Long live the army. Zito o Vasileus. Long live the King. Zito i ethniki Kivernitis. Long live the national government, Zito o ethnoso-terios stratos. Long live the nation-saving army. Monsieur has been speaking of the miracle of Greek antiquity, the unprecedented leap the ancient Greeks alone made, from evidence available to other peoples, into worlds of intellectual abstraction and conceptual formality. I have been twitting Mr. K. from the press section about his bad weather and see my chance. “Yet another Greek miracle,” I say, “is that the Greeks taught themselves astronomy although one never sees the stars in Athens.” “Voila!” cries Monsieur in triumph. “Le pouvoir de l’abstraction!”