XXX
THE GREAT FÊTE, ATHENS
ON the afternoon of St. George’s Day I wandered out of the city up to the Acropolis, and found the whole plain and the approaches crowded; while the stairs were black with people, and so were the lofty platforms. The fête that afternoon, as I saw it from Mars Hill, was more real than any restoration or imaginations.
XXXI
THE TEMPLE OF NIKE, ATHENS
ONE has but to cross to the other side of the Propylaea from the top of the steps—from the great platform and altar before the wall, to find an equally inspiring—or inspired—arrangement. For there is no accident in these compositions. The way the line of the sea cuts blue against the white temple walls and shows through the columns at either end, and the way the nearer hill of Lycabettus piles up dark against the shining base on which the temple stands and that is accented, too, by the one dark note of the theatre—though it is later that one sees these arrangements were not accidents. These things were all thought out by the builders of Temples.