Παρασκευή, Οκτωβρίου 28, 2022

ΤΟ ΚΑΨΩΝΙ ΤΟΥ ΝΕΟΣΥΛΛΕΚΤΟΥ - A RECRUIT'S HAZING: Η ΠΡΩΤΗ ΤΟΥ ΜΟΝΟΜΑΧΙΑ- Μια ευτράπελη ιστορία του Εμμανουήλ Ροΐδη

 Ένα διήγημα του Εμμανουήλ Ροΐδη σε μετάφραση στα αγγλικά από τον Βασίλη K. Μηλίτση

gerontakos: Λογοτεχνία κάτω από τη μαντίλα



 

Εμμανουήλ Ροΐδης

 Η ΠΡΩΤΗ ΤΟΥ ΜΟΝΟΜΑΧΙΑ

Ἀθηναϊκὴ ἀνάμνησις

 

 ΠΗΓΉ: el.wikisource.org

 18-23 λεπτά


 



Σύγχρονος τοῦ Πιλάτου καὶ τῆς βραχνῆς κιθάρας του καὶ προκάτοχος τοῦ κ. Πύργου διδάσκαλος τῆς ξιφασκίας ἦτο, πρὸ ἑνὸς τετάρτου αἰῶνος, ἀρχαῖος τις λοχίας τῶν Ζουάβων τῆς Ἀφρικῆς, φέρων τὸ ὄνομα Μαυρίκιος Ζακοῦ καὶ ἄνω τῶν ἑξήκοντα εἰς τὴν ῥάχιν του χρόνους. Τοῦτον ἐπροτίμων οἱ τότε φίλοπλοι διὰ πολλοὺς λόγους, ἐκ τῶν ὁποίων ὁ κυριώτατος ἦτο, ὅτι πλὴν αὐτοῦ δὲν ὑπῆρχε τότε εἰς Ἀθήνας κανεὶς ἄλλος. Καὶ οὕτω ὅμως οἱ μαθηταί του δὲν ἦσαν πολλοί. Τὸ ξίφος τῶ ὄντι καὶ τὸ πιστόλιον ἦσαν ἀκόμη κατὰ τὴν ἐποχὴν ἐκείνην ὅπλα πολυτελείας, δυνάμενα νὰ ὀνομασθῶσιν ἀκαδημαϊκά, τὰ δὲ μόνα χρήσιμα εἰς λύσιν τῶν ζητημάτων τῆς τιμῆς ἦσαν ἡ ἀτρόχιστος σπάθη τοῦ ἱππικού καὶ ἡ δημοσιογραφία. Τοῦτο ἐξηγεῖ πῶς, ἂν καὶ ἦτο μονάκριβος ὁ κ. Ζακοῦ, δὲν ἦσαν ἐν τούτοις τὰ μαθήματά του ἀκριβά. Ἀντὶ εἴκοσι κατὰ μῆνα παλαιῶν δραχμῶν δι’ ἕνα μαθητὴν καὶ πέντε περιπλέον δι’ ἕκαστον σύντροφόν του, ἠδύνατό τις νὰ ἔχῃ τὴν εὐχαρίστησιν νὰ τὸν βλέπῃ προσερχόμενον εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν του τετράκις τῆς ἐβδομάδος μετ’ ἀκριβείας στρατιωτικῆς. Οὐδ' ἦτο ἡ ἀκρίβεια τὸ μόνον του καλοῦ ἀπομάχου προσόν. Οὐδένα τῷ ὄντι ἠξιώθην νὰ γνωρίσω ἄνθρωπον οὔτε ἐγκυκλοπαιδικώτερον αὐτοῦ οὔτε προθυμότερον νὰ καθιστᾷ τὰς γνώσεις του χρησίμους εἰς πάντας. Τῶν μαθητῶν του διώρθωνε τὰς παρεκτροπάς, ὄχι μόνον τῶν ποδῶν καὶ τῶν βραχιόνων, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰς πολὺ βαρυτέρας τῆς γλώσσης, ὅταν ὡμίλουν γαλλικά. Πλὴν δὲ τοῦ γλωσσικοῦ μαθήματος παρεῖχεν εἰς αὐτοὺς καὶ διδάγματα στωικῆς φιλοσοφίας, διηγούμενος εἰς τοὺς παραπονουμένους διὰ τὸν καύσωνα ἢ τὸν βαρὺν χειμῶνα τῶν 'Αθηνῶν πῶς εἰς τὰς ἀραβικὰς πεδιάδας ἐμοιράζετο εἰς τοὺς στρατιώτας τὸ βούτυρον καὶ τὸ λαρδὶ μὲ τὴν κουτάλαν, ἢ πῶς εἰς τὰ κλεισωρείας τοῦ Ἄτλαντος συνεπύκνωνεν ὁ βορρᾶς τὴν πνοὴν τῶν Ζουάβων ἐπὶ τῆς γενειάδος των εἰς στιλπνοὺς σταλακτίτας. Ἀλλὰ καὶ οὐδεὶς ἐγνώριζε κάλλιον αὐτοῦ νὰ διδάσκῃ τὰς στρατιωτικὰς ἀσκήσεις εἰς τοὺς σκύλους, τὴν ῥητορικὴν εἰς τοὺς ψιττακούς, τὴν μουσικὴν εἰς τὰ κανάρια ἢ νὰ μεταβάλλῃ εἰς κάπωνας τοὺς πετεινούς. Πλὴν τούτων κατώρθωνε νὰ μεταδίδῃ εἰς πᾶν ἀποθνῆσκον κυνάριον, γάτον, πίθηκον ἢ ἄλλο εὐνοούμενον οἰκιακὸν ζῷον, ἂν οὐχὶ ψυχικήν, σωματικὴν τοὐλάχιστον ἀθανασίαν, ταριχεύων αὐτὸ δι’ αὐτῶν ἐκείνων τῶν χόρτων καὶ βαλσάμων, διὰ τῶν ὁποίων ἐγεμίζετο κοιλία τῶν Φαραώ, κατὰ συνταγὴν μεταδοθεῖσαν αὐτῶ ὑπὸ Κόπτου ἀσκητοῦ. Ἀλλὰ τὸ μάλλον διακρῖνον τὸν πρώην ἦρωα τῆς Ἀφρικῆς ἦτο ἡ κατοχὴ ἄλλης τινὸς ἀσυγκρίτως πολυτιμοτέρας συνταγής, ἢ τῆς προβιγκιανῆς ψαρόσουπας, τῆς περιβοήτου bouillabaisse. Τὸ ἄγνωστον τοῦτο εἰς ἡμᾶς τοὺς ἀναξίους διαδόχους μεγάλων προγόνων ἀγλάϊσμα τῆς τραπέζης εἶνε προϊὸν τῆς ἀρχαίας Ἑλληνικῆς τέχνης, εἰσαχθὲν πρὸ εἰκοσιπέντε αἰώνων ὑπὸ Φωκαέων ἀποίκων εἰς τὴν Μασσαλίαν. Ὅπως πάντα τὰ λοιπὰ καλλιτεχνήματα τῆς ἐποχῆς τοῦ Περικλέους, διακρίνει καὶ τοῦτο ἡ ἁπλότης τῶν μέσων, διὰ τῶν ὁποίων ἐπιτυγχάνεται τὸ καλόν. Πρὸς κατασκευὴν τῷ ὄντι τῆς κλεινῆς bouillabaisse οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἀπαιτεῖται παρὰ μόνον ὀλίγον ψάρι, ὀλίγα κρεμμύδια, ὀλίγον πιπέρι καὶ τέχνη πολλή• ὁ δὲ Ζακοῦ ἦτο ἀληθὴς τεχνίτης, διατηρῶν ἴσως εἰς τὰς φλέβας του, ὅπως καὶ ὸ Βοναπάρτης, σταγόνα τινὰ αἵματος Ἑλληνικοῦ. Τὸ κατόρθωμα τοῦτο τῆς τέχνης του μᾶς παρέθεσεν εἰς πρόγευμα, χλιαράν τινα, ἀνέφελον καὶ μόνον κατὰ τὸν Καζαμίαν χειμερινὴν ἡμέραν εἰς τὸ Δαφνίον, ὑπὸ οὐρανὸν σαπφείρινον, παρὰ τὴν ὄχθην θαλάσσης χρυσῆς. Οὐδ’ ἦτο τὸ συμπόσιον μονοπίνακον, ἀλλὰ τὴν ψαρόσουπαν διεδέχθη ἄλλο τι ἄγνωστον εἰς τοὺς κατοίκους τῆς Ἀττικῆς τοῦ ἀττικοῦ χρώματος προϊόν, ἀμανῖται τοῦ Δαφνίου, ἐφάμιλλοι τῶν φυομένων ὐπὸ τὰς καστανέας τῆς Λιγουρίας. Ἀλλ’ ἐνῶ ἐτρὐφα εἰς τοὺς παρατεθέντες ἡ ὄσφρησις καὶ ἡ γεῦσις, κατείχετο τὸ πνεῦμά μου ὐπὸ εὐλόγου δυσφορίας, ματαίως ἀγωνιζόμενον ν’ ἀνεύρῃ πῶς τὸ ἔδαφος τοῦτο τῆς Ἀττικῆς, τὸ ἐξακολουθοῦν νὰ γεννᾷ βολβοὺς κατ’ οὐδὲν κατωτέρους τῶν ὑμνηθέντων πρὸ εἴκοσιν αἰώνων ὑπὸ τῶν Δειπνοσοφιστῶν, γεννᾷ συγχρόνως ἀνθρώπους εἰς τοιοῦτον βαθμὸν ἀναισθήτους, ὥστε νὰ προτιμῶσι τούτων τὰ καλλιεργούμενα ἢ μάλλον κατασκευαζόμενα εἰς τοὺς ὑπογείους κοπρῶνας τῶν Παρισίων ἄχυμα καὶ ἀνούσια δῆθεν μανιτάρια. Πῶς ταῦτα μὲν νὰ πληρώνωνται πέντε φράγκα τὸ κουτίον, οἱ δὲ ἐγκλείοντες τὸ ἄρωμα καὶ τὸν χυμὸν τοῦ βουνοῦ βολβοί, νὰ ῥίπτωνται εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν ἢ τοὺς χοίρους, διὰ τὸν λόγον ὅτι δὲν τοὺς τρώγουν «οὔτε τὰ πρόβατα, οὔτε τὰ γίδια, οὔτε τὰ γαϊδούρια, οὔτε οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι», ὡς μᾶς ἔλεγαν οἱ χωρικοί.

Τὴν ἀδημονίαν μου ταύτην ηὔξανεν ἄλλο ἀντικρύ μου μαρτύριον τῆς ἐκλείψεως παντὸς ἴχνους τῆς προγονικῆς καλαισθησίας. Εἰς ἀπόστασιν τῷ ὄντι ὀλίγων βημάτων ἦτο ἐστρωμένη ἄλλη τις τράπεζα, καὶ περὶ αὐτὴν ἐκάθηντο τρεῖς κομψοὶ νεανίσκοι, καὶ εἰς πρῴην τοιοῦτος μετὰ δύο κυριῶν, αἵτινες ἦσαν αὐτὴ ἡ κυρία Ἄρτεμις καὶ ἡ κυρία Ἥβη, αἱ ὑποκρινόμεναι δηλ. εἰς τὴν χθεσινὴν παράστασιν του Ὀρφέως τοῦ Ὀφεμπὰχ τὰς ὀλυμπίους θεὰς θνηταὶ γαλλίδες. Οὐδεμίαν ὅμως ἠσθάνετο ὁ θεωρῶν αὐτὰς ὄρεξιν νὰ θρηνήσῃ, ὅτι δὲν ἦτο ἀθάνατος ἡ κίτρινη κόμη των, ἡ ἀλευρωμένη ὄψις των, οἱ ὕποπτοι ὀδόντες καὶ τῶν χειλέων των ἡ ψευδοπορφύρα. Τὸ δὲ μόνον ἀληθῶς ἀξιοθρήνητον ἦτο νὰ βλέπῃ τις ἀπογόνους τοῦ Ἀλκιβιάδου καὶ τοῦ Ἀριστίππου νὰ ποτίζωσι καμπανίτην καὶ νὰ κατατρώγωσι διὰ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν τοιούτου εἴδους Φρύνας καὶ Λαΐδας, τῶν ὁποίων τὸ μόνον προσόν, ὅπως καὶ τῶν ψευδομανιτῶν, ἦτο ἡ προέλευσις ἐξ Εὐρώπης.

Τὴν σειρὰν τῶν ὀχληρῶν τούτων σκέψεων διέκοψαν αἴφνης οἱ βαρεῖς φθόγγοι τοῦ ὁπλοδιδασκάλου μας βροντοφωνοῦντος•

 48 Hour Short: The Deserters (Sword Fight- Rapier & Dagger Duel) animated  gif

«Μετὰ τὴν ψαρόσουπαν καὶ τοὺς ἀμανίτας μου πρέπει νὰ κατα πίετε καὶ τὴν ἱστορίαν μου τῆς πρώτης μου μονομαχίας. Καθώς ὅλοι γνωρίζετε, δὲν εὑρίσκεται ὑπὸ τὸν ἥλιον ἄλλος ἄνθρωπος ὅσον ἐγὼ εὐπροσήγορος, φιλήσυχος καὶ εἰρηνικός. Τοιοῦτος ἤμην πάντοτε. Ὅταν κατετάχθην εἰς τοὺς Ζουάβους, ἐπροσπάθησα νὰ φέρωμαι πρὸς ὅλους εὐγενῶς καὶ περιποιητικῶς, περιμένων περίστασιν νὰ δείξω καὶ τὴν ἀφοβίαν μου εἰς τοὺς Βεδουΐνους. Ἡ εὐκαιρία ὅμως αὕτη ἐβράδυνε νὰ παρουσιασθῇ, ἡ δὲ ὑπερβολικὴ τῶν τρόπων μοι εὐγένεια παρεξηγήθη ἀπὸ μερικοὺς συντρόφους μου, ὑποπτεύσαντας ὅτι εἶχε κάποιαν συγγένειαν μὲ τὴν δειλίαν. Τοῦτο ἀνέλαβε νὰ ξεκαθαρίσῃ ἀρχαῖός τις Ζουάβος, ὁ πρῶτος τοῦ τάγματος ξιφοπαίκτης καὶ μονομάχος ὀνομαστός. Ἕνα πρωί, ἐνῷ ἐπρογευμάτιζα ἦσυχα καὶ φρόνιμα, ἦλθε καὶ ἔπτυσε μέσα εἰς τὸ φαγητόν μου καὶ ἔπειτα ἐπαρεπονέθη ὅτι τὸν ἐπρόσβαλα, διότι ἔπαυσα νὰ τὸ τρώγω, καὶ διὰ τὴν προσβολὴν ταύτην ἐζήτει ἱκανοποίησιν διὰ μονομαχίας μέχρι θανάτου. Τὸ πρᾶγμα μοῦ ἐφαίνετο ἀπίστευτον καὶ ἡ ἀπαίτησις τερατώδης. Τοιαύτη ὅμως δὲν ἦτο καὶ τῶν συντρόφων μου ἡ γνώμη, οἱ ὁποῖοι συγκροτήσαντες συμβούλιον τιμῆς ἀπεφάσισαν παμψηφεὶ ὅτι, ἀφοῦ ἐπρόσβαλα τὸν ἄνθρωπον, ἔπρεπε καὶ νὰ τὸν ἱκανοποιήσω τὴν ἐπομένην ἡμέραν τὸ πρωΐ, εἰς τὸ ὄπισθεν τοῦ στρατῶνος ξηροχώραφον. Ἂν σᾶς ἔλεγα ὅτι ἐκαλοκοιμήθην τὴν νύκτα ἐκείνην δὲν θὰ μ’ ἐπιστεύετε, καὶ θὰ εἴχετε δίκαιον. Ὅταν μὲ παρέταξαν τὴν ἐπιοῦσαν ξιφήρη ἀντικρὺ τοῦ ἀντιπάλου μου, παρετήρησα εἰς τριῶν βημάτων ἀπόστασιν νεόσκαπτον λάκκον καὶ εἰς τὸ χεῖλος του λίσγον καὶ πτυάριον. Τὸ θέαμα δὲν μὲ ἤρεσε διόλου.

- Τί εἶνε τοῦτο; ἠρώτησα• ἂς ὑπάγωμεν ὀλίγον μακρύτερα.

- Τοῦτο, ἀπεκρίθη μὲ φοβερὰν φωνὴν ὁ ἀντίπαλός μου, εἶνε ὁ λάκκος ὅπου θὰ σὲ ρίψουν μετὰ δύο λεπτά! Κάθε ἄνθρωπος τὸν ὁποῖον ἐγγίζει τὸ σπαθί μου εἶνε καλὸς διὰ θάψιμον. Κάμε γλήγορα τὴν τελευταίαν σου προσευχήν.

»Ταῦτα ἀκούων καὶ θεωρῶν τὸν λάκκον, τὸν ἕτοιμον νὰ μὲ καταπίῃ, ᾐσθάνθην τὴν καρδίαν μου νὰ γεμίζῃ ὄχι ἀπὸ φόβον, ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ φοβερὰν ὀργήν, πρὸ πάντων κατὰ τῆς ἀδικίας. Ἐσυλλογιζόμην ὅτι τὸν ἄνθρωπον ἐκεῖνον οὔτε ἄλλον κανένα ποτέ μου δὲν ἐπείραξα• ὅτι πρώτην φορὰν ἔπιανα ἐγῶ ξίφος, ἐνῷ ἐκεῖνος ἦτο ἐξ ἐπαγγέλματος ξιφομάχος καὶ θὰ μ’ ἐσούβλιζεν ὡς ὀρνίθιον, χωρὶς νὰ διατρέξῃ ὁ ἴδιος κίνδυνον κανένα. Ἐσυλλογίσθην καὶ τὴν γραῖαν μητέρα μου καὶ τὴν ἀπελπισίαν της. Ἐκύτταξα ἔπειτα τοὺς τέσσαρας μάρτυρας, οἱ ὁποῖοι μ’ ἔκαμαν τὴν ἐντύπωσιν βοηθῶν τοῦ δημίου. Αὐτοὶ μ’ εἶχαν φέρῃ ἐκεῖ καὶ ἡτοιμάζοντο νὰ παρασταθοῦν ἀνάλγητοι εἰς τὴν σφαγήν μου. Ὁ ἕνας μάλιστα μ’ ἐφάνη ὅτι ἐδάγκανε τὰ χείλη του διὰ νὰ μὴ γελάσῃ. Ὅλα αὐτὰ τὰ εὕρισκα ἀπάνθρωπα, θηριώδη καὶ πρὸ πάντων ἄδικα. Ὁ φόβος μου ἔπαυσεν ὁλότελα καὶ ὸ θυμός μου ἐκορυφώθη. Ἔρριψα τὸ ἄχρηστον σπαθί μου καὶ ἐχύθην κατὰ τοῦ ἀντιπάλου μου ὡς ταῦρος μὲ τὸ κεφάλι κάτω. Ἐπέσαμεν καὶ οἱ δύω κατὰ γῆς καὶ ἤρχισα νὰ γρονθοκοπῶ, νὰ λακτίζω καὶ νὰ δαγκάνω. Ὁ ἀντίπαλός μου ἐξαφνισθείς, ἀντὶ νὰ μ’' ἀποδώσῃ τὰ ἴσα, ἐπροσπάθει πολὺ μάλλον νὰ σωθῇ ἀπὸ τὰς χεῖράς μου. Οὐδὲ τοῦτο ὅμως θὰ τὸ κατώρθωνεν, ἂν δὲν ἔτρεχαν οἱ μάρτυρες μὲ πολὺν κόπον νὰ μᾶς χωρίσουν».

Ταῦτα εἰπὼν ἐφάνη ὁ Ζακοῦ καταληφθεὶς ὑπό τινος δισταγμοῦ καὶ ἀδιαθεσίας νὰ τελείωσῃ τὴν διήγησιν, τὴν ὁποίαν αὐθορμήτως εἶχεν ἀρχίσῃ, καἰ ἱκαναὶ παρῆλθον στιγμαί, μέχρις οὐ ἀποφασίσῃ νὰ προσθέσῃ ἐν βία καὶ μὲ φωνὴν πολὺ ταπεινοτέραν•

«Ἐντρέπομαι, κύριοι, νὰ σᾶς ὁμολογήσω ὅτι ἦμην βλὰξ καὶ εἶχα ὅλα τὰ ἄδικα. Ἄδικον εἶχον νὰ ὑποθέσω γάλλους στρατιώτας καὶ μάλιστα Ζουάβους ἱκανοὺς νὰ ἐκθέσουν χωρὶς λόγον τὸν συστρατιώτην των εἰς τόσον ἄνισον ἀγῶνα, καὶ ἄδικον νὰ πιστεύσω ὅτι ὁ ἀντίπαλός μου εἶχε τῷ ὄντι σκοπὸν νὰ μὲ σκοτώσῃ καὶ νὰ μὲ θάψῃ εἰς τὸν λάκκον ἐκεῖνον. Ὅλα αὐτὰ ἦσαν μασονικὴ δοκιμασία, εἰς τὴν ὁποίαν ὑποβάλλεται πᾶς νεοσύλλεκτος διὰ νὰ γνωσθῇ ἂν εἶνε γενναῖος• ὁ δὲ τρόπος μὲ τὸν ὁποίον ἀντέταξα τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ τοὺς γρόνθους μου εἰς τὸ ξίφος τοῦ ἀνταγωνιστοῦ μου δὲν ἐθεωρήθη ὡς ἴδιος δειλοῦ. Τίποτε λοιπὸν δὲν μᾶς ἐμπόδιζε νὰ φιληθούμε καὶ νὰ ὑπάγωμεν ἔπειτα νὰ τιμήσωμεν τὸ πρόγευμα, τὸ ὁποῖον εἶχε παραγγελθῇ πρὸς τιμήν μου, ἂν ἐπετύγχανα, ὡς ἔλεγαν, εἰς τὰς ἐξετάσεις μου. Εἰς τὸ πρόγευμα ἐκεῖνο ἔφαγα πρώτην φορὰν ψαρόσουπαν, καθὼς ἐκείνην ὅπου σᾶς ἐμαγείρευσα, καὶ ἐμέθυσα μὲ κρασὶ κάπως καλλίτερον ἀπὸ αὐτὸ τὸ ποτῆρι πικρορετσινάδο, τὸ ὁποῖον πίνω εἰς τὴν ὑγείαν σας».

EM. ROIDIS - EXPLANATIONS OF EASTER EGGS

ΜΑΚΑΡΙΟΤΗΤΑ - BLISS

HIS FIRST DUEL

Emmanuel Rhoides

An Athenian Reminiscence

Rendered by Vassilis C. Militsis

Pilate’s contemporary and his raucous guitar, also Mr. Pyrgos’ predecessor, he was a fencing coach and an ancient African Zouave sergeant a quarter of a century ago, by the name of Maurice Jacqou and burdened with sixty years on his back. The then lovers of arms preferred him for many reasons, the foremost of which was that there was none other his peer in Athens. And yet his trainees were not many. It is true that in those times rapiers and pistols were a luxury – nay academic, and the only useful weapons for settling honor issues were the blunt cavalry sword or the journalist’s pen. This is the reason why, though Mr. Jacqou was unparalleled, his lessons were not dear. For twenty old drachmas per month for each trainee and his companion, he was content to receive his pupils at his residence four times a week with military precision. And the precision was not the only asset of the good veteran; for, indeed, I had the honor to know none other endowed with more universal knowledge and being keener than this good fellow to impart his useful knowledge to all. He used to correct not only the erroneous movements of his pupils legs and arms but their more serious lingual mistakes when they spoke in French. Apart from the French lessons, he also taught them the precepts of the stoic philosophy; he recounted to them, when they were complaining about the Athens scorchers or the harsh winters, that in the Arabian plains the butter or the lard was being rationed with a ladle or how in the Atlas passes the northerly wind condensed the Zouaves’ breath on their beards and turned it into shiny stalactites.

But none knew better than he how to teach war games to dogs, rhetoric to parrots and music to canaries or transform roosters into capons. Furthermore, he was able to impart to every dying canine, feline, simian or any other pet, if not spiritual, at least corporal immortality, mummifying them with those herbs and balms with which the Pharaoh’s bellies were filled, following the formula handed to him by a Copt monk. However, what best distinguished the ex hero of Africa was the possession of another far more valuable recipe, i.e. the provençal fish soup, the so-called bouillabaisse. This unknown delectable dish to us, the unworthy successors of our great forefathers, has been a product of the ancient Greek culinary art imported to Marseilles by the Phocaean settlers twenty-five centuries ago. Like the rest of the works of art of Pericles Golden Age, this dainty soup is always marked by the simplicity of its ingredients, whereby the desirable goal is reached. Indeed, to prepare the glorious bouillabaisse none other is required from some fish, a few onions, a pinch of pepper and a great deal of know-how; Jacqou was a real artist, harboring perhaps, like Bonaparte, some drops of Greek blood in his veins. We were presented with his artistic feat for breakfast at Dafni one mild winter day, according to Almanac forecast, by the shore of a golden sea under a sapphire sky.

 And the breakfast was not a one-course meal, but the fish soup was succeeded by a product, unknown theretofore to the dwellers of Attica and to the Attican color – namely mushrooms of Dafni, equal to those that thrive among the chestnut trees of Liguria. While the guests were relishing the scent and the taste of the feast, my spirit was possessed by a reasonable discomfort, vainly struggling to find out how come the Attica soil, which has gone on germinating tubers, not inferior to those that were praised by the Deipnosophistae twenty centuries ago, germinates at the same time people insensible to such an extent that they prefer, instead of the domestic mushrooms, those juiceless and tasteless ones, tilled or rather produced, in the underground manure accumulations of Paris. How come these are bought at five francs per box, and those giving off the juice and the fragrance of the hills are thrown into the sea or given as fodder to the swine – for the reason that they are eaten “neither by sheep, nor by goats, nor by asses, nor even by the Athenians”, as the peasants used to tell us.

My distress was progressively growing by the tormenting lack of every trace of ancestral good taste: indeed, at a distance of a few steps from me there was laid another table, at which three dapper young gentlemen were sitting, one of them having recently befriended two ladies, Madam Artemis and Madam Hebe, two mortal French women, playing at the previous day’s performance of Offenbach’s Orphee aux enfers, the Olympian goddesses. But I was in no mood to deplore the fact that their yellow hair, their made up faces, their suspect teeth and the fake rouge of their lips were not immortal. The real lamentable thing was to see Alcibiades’ and Aristippus’ descendents inebriated with champagne and  goggling at this sort of Phrynes and Laises, whose only qualification was their European origin as was that of the pseudo-mushrooms.

My irksome train of thoughts was suddenly interrupted by the thundering voice of our coach, announcing:

“After savoring my soup and the mushrooms, you have to listen up to the story of my first duel. You full well know that there is no other man under the sun to be as sweet spoken and peaceful person as I am. I have always been so. When I joined the Zouaves, I tried to be polite and attentive to all, biding my turn to display my bravery to the Bedouins. My chance, however, was late to come and my excessive civility had been misconstrued as cowardliness by some of my comrades. An ancient Zouave, the first sword of the battalion and a famous duelist, took up the task to clear the issue. One morning, as I was quietly having breakfast, he came and spat into my food and then he accused me of insulting him, because I discontinued eating; he threw down the gauntlet to me demanding satisfaction by dueling to death. The whole affair appeared to me unbelievable and his demand monstrous. However the rest of my comrades did not share my opinion. They set up an honor council and unanimously ruled that, since I had insulted the man, I ought to give him satisfaction by combating with him behind the barracks, in a fallow field, the following morning. Should I tell you now that I had a good sleep that night, you would be right not to believe me.

”When I was arrayed, sword in hand, opposite my adversary on the next day, I observed at a distance of three feet a newly opened pit on the rim of which I could see a spade and a shovel. I didn’t like the sight at all.

 

” ‘What is this,’ I asked; ‘let’s walk a little further.’

” ‘This,’ thundered my rival ‘is the pit you’ll be thrown into in two minutes! Whoever is met with my sword is only as good as a dead man. So say your last prayer.’

”Upon hearing this and seeing the pit, ready to swallow me, I felt my heart filled not with fear but with awful wrath against this injustice, above all. I was thinking that I had never bothered anyone, let alone that man; that it was my first time to grip a sword, whereas he was a professional duelist, who would skewer me like a fowl without jeopardizing himself at all. And then I pictured my aged mother and her despair at my death. Then I looked at the four witnesses, who made me think of them as the executioner’s assistants. They had brought me there and were about to witness without pity my slaughter. Indeed, one of them seemed to be biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing. I found that entire scene inhuman, beastly and, above all, unfair. Any traces of fear left me completely while my fury soared. I cast my useless sword into the pit and I stormed against my foe like a bull with a bowed head. We both rolled on the ground and I at once began clouting, kicking and biting him. My rival was taken by surprise, and, instead of retaliating, he was rather struggling to get away from my grip. He would not have managed even this, had not the witnesses hurried to separate us with great effort.”

 

Having said this Jacqou appeared to be hesitant and reluctant to finish his story, which he had unsolicited began telling; several moments passed before he took heart and decided to add in a very humble voice;

“Gentlemen, I am ashamed to confess that I was a fool and thoroughly wrong. I was wrong to believe that French soldiers, Zouaves in particular, were capable of unduly exposing their comrade to such an unequal match; I was wrong to believe that my opponent did intend to kill and bury me into that pit. All this was a Masonic test a recruit has to undergo in order to show if he is really brave; and the manner I pitted myself, with head and fists, against my challenger, in no way was I considered a coward. Therefore, nothing prevented us from making peace by kissing each other and then enjoying the breakfast ordered in my honor in case I succeeded, as they claimed, in passing my test. At that breakfast, it was my first time to relish a soup as the one I have prepared for you today and to imbibe wine somewhat better than this glass of resinated bitter wine, which I raise to your health.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the same:

Η ΕΟΡΤΗ ΤΟΥ ΠΑΤΡΟΣ ΜΟΥ - MY FATHER'S NAME DAY

ΜΕΣΑ ΣΤΟΝ ΜΑΥΡΟ ΜΕΣΑΙΩΝΑ - A GLIMPSE IN THE DARK AGES

ΤΟ ΞΕΣΤΟΥΠΩΜΑ

ΣΥΡΙΑΝΑ ΔΙΗΓΗΜΑΤΑ

 

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