II
The sea, autumn mildness, islands bathed in light, fine rain spreading a diaphanous
veil over the immortal nakedness of Greece. Happy is the man, I thought, who, before
dying, has the good fortune to sail the Aegean Sea.
Many are the joys of this world – women, fruit, ideas. But to cleave that sea in the
gentle autumnal season, murmuring the name of each islet, is to my mind the joy most
apt to transport t he heart of man into paradise. Nowhere else can one pass so easily
and serenely from reality to dream. The frontiers dwindle, and from the masts of the
most ancient ships spring branches and fruits. It is as if here in Greece necessity is
the mother of miracles.
