Kostes Palamas was born in Patras sixty years ago. Patras is one of the
most ancient towns in Greece, known even in mythical times as Aroe, the
seat of King Eumelus, "rich in flocks." It became especially prominent
after the reign of Augustus as a centre of commerce and industry. Its
factories of silk were renowned in Byzantine times, and its commanding
position attracted the Crusaders and the Venetians as a military base
for the conquest of the Peloponnesus. The citadel walls that crown the
hill, on the slopes of which the modern city descends amphitheatrically
into the sea, are remnants of Venetian fortifications. In the history of
Modern Greece, it is a hallowed spot; for it was here that on April 4,
1821, the standard of the War of Liberation was first raised before a
band of warriors kneeling before the altar of Hagia Laura, while
Germanos, the archbishop of the city, prayed for the success of their
arms. The view which the city commands over the sapphire spaces of the
Corinthian Gulf and the purple shadows of the mountains rising from its
waters in all directions are superb, and the sunsets, that evening after
evening revel in colors there, are among the most magnificent in Greece.
A beauty worthy of life dwells over the vine-clad hills, while the
mountain kings that rise about are hoary with age and fame. The eye
wanders from the purple-laden cliffs of Kylene to the opal mantles of
the sea and from the peaks of Parnassus to the lofty range of Kiona.
This is the background of one of Palamas' "Hundred Voices," a collection
of short lyrics in the volume entitled _Life Immovable_:
Far glimmered the sea, and the harvest darkened the threshing
floors;
I cared not for the harvest and looked not on the threshing floors;
For I stood on the end of the sea, and thee I beheld from afar,
O white, ethereal Liakoura, waiting that from thy midst
Parnassus, the ancient, shine forth and the Nine Fair Sisters of
Song.
Yet, what if the fate of Parnassus is changed? What if the Nine Fair
Sisters are gone?
Thou standest still, O Liakoura, young and for ever one,
O thou Muse of a future Rhythm and a Beauty still to be born.
To his birth place, the poet dedicates one of his collection of sonnets
entitled "Fatherlands" and contained in the same volume. It is the first
of the series:
Where with its many ships the harbor moans,
The land spreads beaten by the billows wild,
Remembering not even as a dream
Her ancient silkworks, carriers of wealth.
The vineyards, filled with fruit, now make her rich;
And on her brow, an aged crown she wears,
A castle that the strangers, Franks or Turks,
Thirst for, since Venice founded it with might.
O'er her a mountain stands, a sleepless watch;
And white like dawn, Parnassus shimmers far
Aloft with midland Zygos at his side.
Here I first opened to the day mine eyes;
And here my memory weaves a dream dream-born,
An image faint, half-vanished, fair--a mother.