“A man of letters,” writes Francois Mauriac, “is like a piece of earth where excavations are taking place; he is always literally stirred, exposed to the sky.”2
We should not be surprised, therefore, if in the pages we shall be reading in the Commemorative Issue on Kazantzakis of Nea Estia (literary journal Νέα Εστία) we encounter so many opinions and interpretations, at least as many as the compact layers which reveal the gaping chasm of an excavation site – and as many ‘hermeneuts’. Let us afford one of them the entitlement to consider that he has, for the time being, executed his investigative and interpretative duties with the book that was published last year [1959]: Nikos Kazantzakis and His Odyssey. A Study of the Poet and the Poem3 which covers the life of Kazantzakis up until 1938, and, this time, to dedicate to his memory the complete biographical timeline of his life. This will allow him to hope that he may contribute to the formation of the historical and literary research much more than if he were to add one more interpretation.4
Unfortunately, most of the publications which concern Kazantzakis suffer from grave chronological inaccuracies. The publication of Report to Greco, which is a dramatized autobiography, cannot set things in order; facts are not presented linearly, neither do they progress further than the year that Kazantzakis devoted himself to the writing of the Odyssey.5
Many errors may also stem from the testimony of Kazantzakis himself. He did not retain dates; he even misplaced his own year of birth. Once, when I presented him with a questionnaire which he would answer in writing so that I may verify certain facts, most of the dates he submitted to me were wrong. In an autographed note of his with the inscription “Joyful Travels” which I discovered in his belongings, only one of the six dates he mentions – and which were truly memorable – was correct.
Let no one consider that I would have loved and honored more my Sage had he been good with dates! He was aware of this himself; his graces laid elsewhere. In his unpublished novel The Rock Garden6 the narrator (who is Kazantzakis himself) hears someone say to him: “If they were to cut open your head, they would not be able to find inside one single number!” Numbers were enveloped in mystery for his spirit, and were as mystifying to him as all things.
I have not recorded here, of course, all the events of his life. I limited myself to the ones I could verify after persistent investigation. And still, there might be some error, like in all human affairs. I collected the information of this biographical timeline from unpublished sources, and from scarce published articles. I avoided oral testimonies and memories; they might have jeopardized the accuracy of my information and compromised my objective. I am well aware that the passages of unpublished texts by Kazantzakis which I scattered here and there may not belong in a biographical timeline. But I will be excused, I hope, for wishing to equip the researcher with valuable evidence from sources which may remain inaccessible for a long time still. Besides, I do not conceal the fact, that these passages validate the notion about the life and work of Kazantzakis which I tried to promote with my book of last year7.
Pandelis Prevelakis
What happiness it is to be well, to have a calm and virtuous soul, and a purpose whose realization hangs solely on you, and every day to accomplish one step forward and to ascend! For 65 years now, I have been coming and going and strolling in this dark dungeon with the two tiny windows, called a "human", and I peer at the world through these windows and cannot get enough of it. I do not know how long this happiness and strength and power and fertility shall last, but I pretend it shall last an eternity; for I know what eternity means. It is quality, not quantity – this is the grand, very simple secret.
Letter of Kazantzakis to Prevelakis
The world is an arena where we have come to wrestle in order to turn our flesh into spirit. Only after all the flesh has become spirit is the world no longer necessary for us. Let Death come then, not before. We must entreat God to give us time to obliterate the flesh.
N. Kazantzakis, Saint Francis, transl. P. A. Bien, 1975, p. 255