since a small portion of them wrenched themselves free from the Turkish yoke. But those who condemn them must remember that since the time of Alexander the Great, the Greeks have passed from one conqueror to another—escaping annihilation only by rendering their conquerors themselves Greeks in literature and thought. At last they fell under the yoke of a race which neither could learn their language nor cared for their civilization, and for four hundred years they dwelled under this Asiatic dominion.
On this night, in the brigands' cave, I understood the power Greece had over her sons. These men were nothing but cut-throats. They would kill or mutilate a man for money: yet as they sang the songs of those other, more glorious brigands, who had striven for years in desperate fighting against the conquerors of their race, they seemed to be touched by something ennobling. Their faces shone with that light which comes from the holiest of loves—patriotism.
They sang with fervour, and when they came to the parts relating victories over the Turks, they clapped their hands and shouted, "So! so!"
From one song they passed to another, while the lamb ever turned in time to the music, and men brought chestnuts, potatoes, and onions, and roasted them in the edge of the smaller fire—always singing.
