...And Dreams Are Dreams

“He came back to Greece, where a few years later he gave a reception at his home, ‘ the most beautiful in Athens,’ at the foot of the Acropolis, ‘ to honor the departure of Commander Maison.’ In fact, he had invitations printed (the first to be printed in Greece, according to historians): ‘ Mr. and Mrs. Kontostavlos request… to attend a soiree at their home on the evening of April 27th, which the illustrious Marshall Maison will honor with his presence.’ Everybody came, from Capodistrias to the lowliest secretary. All the foreign powers. The only ones absent were the leaders of the rebel troops. They didn’t show up because they were tired of having to dance syrtaki for the foreigners. Given the way the revolution had developed, that’s all anyone wanted them for. They were tired of being objects of folklore. The foreigners had burst upon the scene; as early on as that, they would go to Kesariani every Sunday to watch the locals dance. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But what did these soldiers have to do with dancing?

“Said Grivas to Chief Hatzipetros: ‘ If Maison wants to see Greek dancing, we’ll prepare him a military dinner out in the countryside, and we’ll invite him to go there. The governor can go too. If you want to attend this reception, you are free to do so. I refuse to go and be laughed at.’ The man felt he was an evzone, a tourist attraction. But wasn’t Capodistrias also a foreigner? ‘ If the governor wishes to entertain the French commander by presenting us, that is to say by inviting us and our wives, he may do so, but we, the men, will not dance on one side, while the others are threatening our honor and laughing at us dancing bears. N’est-ce pas can take a walk.’ They called Capodistrias N’est-ce pas because up until the Fourth National Assembly he spoke in French. Even translated into official Greek, he was still incomprehensible to the soldiers. N’est-ce pas was buying the drinks and N’est-ce pas was drinking them.

Of course, Grivas was married to a young and attractive woman, and to see her surrounded by those foreign dandies while he was dancing zeibekiko made him furious. Vayas, Hatzipetros, and the other agreed with him. Nobody was going to go to Kontostavlos’s reception. N’est-ce pas wanted to show them off to his foreign friends like cattle at a county fair. The chiefs would dance to entertain the foreign guests. But who was this Capodistrias, after all? He would call the leaders of the revolution ‘chief brigands,’ the erudite Phanariots like Korais ‘sons of Satan,’ and the notables

‘Christian Turks.’ So who else lived in this country?”

“It’s the same nowadays,” thought the captain.

“When ship owners bring Greek dancing trios to London, to add an element of folklore to their dinner parties, nobody bothers to find out what’s behind these people. What broken dreams, what betrayed longings, what defeats — their own or their fathers’—led them to do this kind of work, to become syrtaki professionals, out of a deep-seated sorrow, in order to survive without being anybody’s employees, without slavishly bowing their heads to anyone. And they do not sell their manliness, because it is their very essence. It was the same with those brave men in the past….”

“And so, Grandfather?”

“And so, Kontostavlos was happy that so many people came to his party. But he was concerned when he saw that the chiefs weren’t coming. In his opinion, everyone who had shown up had taken advantage of the courage and the bravery of these fighters, had built on their blood. And now the blood was absent.