DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4593#0340
PHOCIS 313
doing nothing. He reminded me that it was the
feast of the Trinity and immediately repeated a
passage from the creed. I am convinced that the
Greeks have too many holidays and that the church
calendar might profitably be reduced about one
half.
We rode for a long time on our way back to
Delphi in full view of Parnassus. The grandeur of
the mountain is indescribable. The sun shone on
its snow-covered peaks; soft white clouds gathered
round its breast; then, as if trying how to drape it
best, they swept up the steep and wound a fleecy tur-
ban round its brow. Only a few minutes did this co-
quetry last; soon the " eternal sunshine settled on its
head." Equally striking was the view from the high-
est point of our trail of the Corinthian Gulf with the
mountains of the Peloponnesus in the background,
while the valley as we rode towards Delphi spread
its varied charm. These were the same views that
greeted the eyes of the pilgrims to the sacred shrine
as they came so many centuries ago chanting their
hymns to Apollo. Mountain and valley, gulf and
grove, sky and atmosphere were all Greek, but not
more so than my good Panagiotes. He belonged to
the landscape; and in his stalwart frame, active
mind, and thrifty hand some of the best spirit of the
old Greek race was preserved.
doing nothing. He reminded me that it was the
feast of the Trinity and immediately repeated a
passage from the creed. I am convinced that the
Greeks have too many holidays and that the church
calendar might profitably be reduced about one
half.
We rode for a long time on our way back to
Delphi in full view of Parnassus. The grandeur of
the mountain is indescribable. The sun shone on
its snow-covered peaks; soft white clouds gathered
round its breast; then, as if trying how to drape it
best, they swept up the steep and wound a fleecy tur-
ban round its brow. Only a few minutes did this co-
quetry last; soon the " eternal sunshine settled on its
head." Equally striking was the view from the high-
est point of our trail of the Corinthian Gulf with the
mountains of the Peloponnesus in the background,
while the valley as we rode towards Delphi spread
its varied charm. These were the same views that
greeted the eyes of the pilgrims to the sacred shrine
as they came so many centuries ago chanting their
hymns to Apollo. Mountain and valley, gulf and
grove, sky and atmosphere were all Greek, but not
more so than my good Panagiotes. He belonged to
the landscape; and in his stalwart frame, active
mind, and thrifty hand some of the best spirit of the
old Greek race was preserved.