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diff --git a/76058-0.txt b/76058-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb00051 --- /dev/null +++ b/76058-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21949 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76058 *** + + + + + + ASPASIA + A ROMANCE + OF ART AND LOVE IN ANCIENT HELLAS + + + BY + ROBERT HAMERLING + From the German by MARY J. SAFFORD + + + IN TWO VOLUMES—VOL. I. + + NEW YORK + WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER + 11 MURRAY STREET + 1882 + + + + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +If this romance, according to a much quoted saying of our time, “seeks +out as its work,” a nation—the old Hellenic race—will not a shade of +thought and pedantry seem to cling to the description of this kind of +toil, since the universal labor of the Greek people was that of the +artist, poet, and thinker? Will it not be inferior in freshness of +sensation, to scenes drawn from the spring of simple, vigorous life, +whose poetry is not yet exhausted? And, on the other hand, must not +such an attempt also lack the charm of the cleverness—in the modern +sense of the word—piquant realism, and bright, vivid coloring of the +literary productions of the present day? Ought Hellenic life to be +represented otherwise than with Hellenic simplicity, and should its +chronicler strive for any thing except to gain a breath of the Hellenic +spirit, the Hellenic grace? Is it not especially difficult to describe +a vanished life? Minute painting of modern existence is praised as +charmingly realistic; that of ancient times will produce on many the +chilling impression of erudition. Indeed, whoever merely turns over the +leaves of this book, noticing that the different portions disclose +views of the various sides of Hellenic life, will promptly form the +opinion that he has a mere sketch-book of loose sheets, or at most a +historical romance, which according to the idea of most persons, is +about the same thing as no romance at all. + +And yet—if the romance, as an artistic work, is distinguished by its +internal and external form from biography, history and mere narrative, +if it is not only the expression of a life and destiny contained within +itself, but also of a conflict which has a logical development and +solution, what I relate here is a romance. It not merely contains, in a +positive form, beautiful sensuality glorified by intellect, in its +development, prime and decay; but the conflict between the æsthetic and +moral ideal of existence arises and is decided in the life of an +individual, and the destiny of a nation. This parallelism between the +fate of individuals and nations, individual and universal life, has +always hovered before me as the art-secret of epic poetry, its supreme +principle, its peculiar model. Not, however, that the particulars +related of individual life and those of national existence run side by +side, one as it were an episode of the other, but both as far as +possible, relate to one and the same detail, and resemble an organic +structure, closely interwoven and blended together. + +The conflict could be only slightly indicated, in order not to destroy +the pure, pleasing impression of the picture—it was only permitted to +advance by easy stages, and thus the action will perhaps appear to move +on a very slender thread. But whatever may seem like a digression in +conversations or descriptions, will without exception, at last appear +in its proper light, show its necessity in relation to the whole, the +idea. + +Yet not to an idea in the abstract meaning of the word. Let not the +reader be misled by the thought, that the course of this story turns, +or is modelled, upon any “tendency” to love. What I shall relate is the +unfalsified, impartial truth. I shall describe human nature and the +course of the world, I shall relate the acts and conduct, the struggles +and aspirations of men, and the words with which they defend them. I +have no tendency in view save that of life, no moral save that of +necessity, no logic save that of facts, which consist of thrust and +counter-thrust, as constant and regular as the swaying to and fro of a +pine-tree in the wind. Philosophers are right in asserting that the +idea never merges wholly into reality. The poet of tendency pursues it +to a high point of its development, holds it forcibly at a spot which +it really only touches in passing, makes it shimmer and sparkle for the +pleasure of mortals, and converts the soap-bubble into the fixed star. +Pure, unpremeditated poetry, on the contrary, accompanies the idea on +its way to realization to the spot, where to restore itself to its +former purity, phœnix-like it delivers itself to a fiery death. + + + R. H. + + Graz, November 1st, 1875. + + + + + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. + + + CHAP. PAGE. + + I.—The Treasure of Delos, 1 + II.—Telesippe, 38 + III.—The Ribbon-Dealer From Halimus, 62 + IV.—The Grotto of Pan, 87 + V.—Pyrilampes’ Peacocks, 116 + VI.—On the Banks of the Cephissus, 142 + VII.—The Cast of the Discus, 172 + VIII.—The Sacrifice to the Graces, 195 + IX.—Antigone, 217 + X.—The Queen of the Symposium, 245 + XI.—Samos, 272 + XII.—In Ionian Honeymoon, 301 + XIII.—Diopeithes and Hipparete, 323 + + + + + + + + + + +ASPASIA. + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE TREASURE OF DELOS. + + +One day, during the sultry season, in the city of the Athenians, a +slender, girlish figure, accompanied by a female slave, hastily crossed +the Agora. A singular result of this woman’s appearance was, that every +man she met on her way paused after a glance at her face, and stood as +if spellbound, following her with his eyes. The cause of this was not +so much the circumstance, that it was a rare event to see a free-born +Athenian woman of the aristocratic classes walking in the streets, but +rather because this girlish figure possessed remarkable, nay +bewildering beauty. + +The faces of those who stared at her in passing, or stood rooted to the +ground gazing after her, wore every possible expression of +astonishment. + +Some smiled, the eyes of grey-beards sparkled, others cast a sneering +glance at the beautiful woman, and others still wore on their faces a +shade of reverence, as if they beheld a goddess. Some displayed the +grave, well-satisfied demeanor of connoisseurs, others looked +semi-idiotic, standing with mouths half-open in amazement. There were +even a few, who made a scornful grimace and cast an angry, piercing +glance at the fair one, as if beauty were a crime. Men walking in pairs +or standing in groups, interrupted their conversation. Faces that bore +the stamp of weariness suddenly brightened, frowning brows smoothed. +Every soul was stirred. + +The appearance of this beautiful woman was like a sunbeam shining into +an arbor of roses, where the midges instantly begin a bacchanalian +dance. + +Among those whose attention was attracted, were two men, walking +silently side by side. Both were of grave, calm, dignified and noble +aspect; the younger, dark-haired and stately, was not without a touch +of effeminacy in the contour of his features; his taller companion’s +bearing inspired a feeling akin to reverence; the crown of his head, +above the thoughtful brow, was perfectly bald. The pair recalled the +fiery Achilles walking beside Agamemnon, the ruler of the people. + +The younger man cast a glance of surprise at the beautiful woman; his +friend was perfectly unmoved—it seemed as if he had seen the fair face +before, nay he appeared so unsympathizing, so completely absorbed in +other thoughts, that the former repressed the question already hovering +on his lips. + +A slave followed the two men, who were walking over the long, dusty +road to the Piræeus. + +The younger sometimes gazed watchfully at the glittering waves of the +Saronic Gulf. His eye was keen as an eagle’s, and he caught sight of a +ship as yet invisible to any other vision. He saw it appear on the +verge of the horizon, but at this distance its progress was +imperceptible. This man looked like a person who could control his +emotions, but while gazing at the far off vessel, it sometimes seemed +for a moment as if he would fain wing the lingering sails with his own +breath. + +If the eye wandered towards the right from the road along which they +were walking, it rested upon a wall glittering in the sun, which +extended from the city to the rocky strand. Turning to the left, +another wall of the same kind appeared, which fairly seemed to grow +under the spectator’s gaze. Workmen were piling blocks of hewn stone +one above another, and where the mass was finished, the noise of +hammers beating the metal clamps into the stones, echoed for a long +distance. + +This wall also extended to the sea, swept off in a wide curve, and +joining the other, seemed to enclose the port and its buildings, above +and below the city, in a protecting embrace. + +The eyes of the younger man rested searchingly, but with a satisfied +expression, on this wall, whenever they turned a moment from the +distant sail. At last, while gazing at the endless line of firmly +united blocks, he turned to his companion, and said smiling: + +“If every persuasive word I have spoken to the Athenians in behalf of +this work, could have become a stone, the completed structure would +have stood before us long ago. But even as it is, we at last see the +end approaching.” + +“And was this middle wall really indispensable?” asked the other, with +a careless glance at the work. + +“It was. The old left wall turned much too far towards Phalerum. A +large portion of the shore of the harbor was unprotected. The problem +is now wholly solved. The city of Pallas Athena, brilliant and +beautiful, sustained by the tributes of the Hellenic coasts and +islands, has risen rejuvenated from the ashes of the Persian war, flung +this girdle of stone about her limbs, and will soon be strong enough to +defy the envious whose tongues utter the Greek language, no less than +the assaults of all the barbarians of the East.” + +The man who thus addressed his companion was the son of Xanthippus, +Pericles, the Alcmæonid, surnamed the Olympian. + +His friend was a famous sculptor in bronze and marble, named Phidias. +The famous statue of Pallas Athena was the work of his hands. From the +height of the Acropolis, it was visible throughout the Attic country, +and even on the horizon, where approaching sailors joyously hailed the +golden spear-head of the goddess, as the first token of the spell of +“violet-wreathed Athens.” + +The long lines of stone blocks looked almost monotonous, but steeped in +the light of the Greek sky, presented no aspect of gloom. An animated +throng surged to and fro between them. The shouts of the mule-drivers +echoed loudly on the air, and the richly-laden beasts moved in long +trains along the road from city to harbor, and harbor to city. + +Here and there, close beside the way, grew a grove of olive-trees, +whose green branches ever and anon swayed gently beneath the refreshing +breeze blowing from the gulf. + +Whenever this occurred, the sculptor raised his broad-brimmed petasus, +to let the air fan his high, bald forehead, but the “Olympian” only +strode onward more sturdily, and fixed his eyes still more intently on +the trireme, which was gradually approaching the harbor. + +The two men were now only a short distance from the sea. The harbor was +gained. Here too Pericles’ glance wandered over the scene with an air +of satisfaction. The greater portion of the objects visible to the eye, +broad, straight, stately streets—a new thing to the Greeks of those +days—was his work. Here was the magnificent market-place, surrounded by +porticos, which had received the name of its builder, Hippodamus the +Milesian. On the left, above the theatre’s forest of pillars, stood the +rows of houses built on the slopes of the fortified hill of Munychia, +and on the summit of this hill gleamed the marble temple of Artemis. In +the plain below, lines of storehouses stretched in endless succession +to the sea—the magnificent stoa of Pericles, the vast warehouses, where +discharged cargoes could remain until sold or reshipped, the huge +market-place of the port, the merchandise exchange, the “Deigma,” where +mariners and traders displayed their goods and made their bargains. + +In these shops, on these stone terraces, the clever Greek stood on the +firm foundation of his own powers, rejoicing that with the prosperity +of the whole community his own wealth increased. Here he took from the +hands of the friendly sea-god the horn of plenty, overflowing with all +the gifts of foreign lands, and saw the last rippling waves of the +Pontus, the Nile, and the Indian Ocean vanish in foam upon his native +strand. + +Here thronged the Greeks of the time of Pericles; beautiful brown +figures, standing forth in picturesque relief against the background of +white marble buildings. Most heads were bare, the scanty light garment, +similar in shape to a shawl or cloak, was thrown carelessly over one +shoulder—but they stood between the marble columns like bronze statues, +in their plastic beauty. Only they gesticulated eagerly, the sound of +the musical Hellenic idiom was audible in the confusion of voices; full +of energy in speech and motion, they were yet dignified as actors. + +Since, after successful wars, the Athenian gained the empire of the +sea, he learned to go to the port of the Piræeus and gather riches. He +sought ship owners for distant voyages and speculations, visited +brokers and exchangers, advanced or collected money, or if he had none +to deposit or receive, borrowed some; for commerce was flourishing, and +the Athenian understood how to take advantage of his opportunities. He +knew when it was time to import grain from Pontus, wood from Thrace, +papyrus from Egypt, carpets from Miletus, dainty shoes from Sicyon, or +grapes from Rhodes. He knew too where his olive-oil, honey, figs, +articles of wrought metal, and vessels of clay were needed, and would +bring the highest prices. And the brokers and exchangers gave the money +without much hesitation. The rate of interest was high, and a man can +afford to risk something for a large percentage. So many a freedman, +many a Pasio, many a Simo, many a Phormio sat contentedly behind his +table in the Piræeus, and behaved like a person in authority, for +contracts were made before him. He paid out two talents without a +change of countenance, received them when deposited with equal +indifference, wrote the amounts and the names of the depositors in his +book, and thus settled the matter. People trusted Pasio’s honesty, and +Pasio was honest, at least so long as the profit of fraud did not +outweigh the disadvantage of a tarnished character. + +The two companions now beheld the sea, whose emerald green waves +rippled gently against the stone terraces. The deeply embayed harbor of +the Piræeus lay before the gaze. Two huge towers, on the right and left +of the entrance, guarded the haven like warders of the sea-gate. In +times of peril a gigantic iron chain could be swung from one to the +other. Innumerable round-bellied merchant vessels lay at anchor in the +port; but the shore on the left was completely covered by the +high-decked triremes of the Athenian navy, drawn up on land according +to Greek custom, each in its special enclosure, like monsters resting +in their dens, mighty sea-dragons with fantastic beaks and tails +saucily curled; while beyond, on the other side of the peninsula of the +Piræeus, in the military havens of Zea and Munychia, were more of these +superb sea monsters. Behind them extended the naval arsenals, where the +sails of the dismantled ships were kept, and still farther beyond, the +wharves, where fresh timber for vessels was constantly unloaded, new +keels were continually laid. + +The sail Pericles had seen on its way to the Piræeus, was now just +entering the harbor. It was the Athenian ship “Amphitrite.” + +The crowds of people surged towards the landing-place; a roar of voices +echoed from every shop, every terrace: + +“The Amphitrite has arrived”—“the Amphitrite with the treasure of +Delos”—“the Amphitrite with the money of the league.” “So that cunning +fellow, Pericles, has succeeded?” “What will the allies say to it?” +“Whatever they choose, we are at their head, we protect them, we send +our triremes to their coasts, we wage their wars, in return they pay +the money—what we save is our property.” + +The sound of flutes echoed from the vessel, as it approached nearer. + +On the Amphitrite, like all the government ships of the Athenians, the +stroke of the oars was directed by the music of flutes. Songs also +resounded from the rowers’ benches, and amid the melody was heard the +plash of the waves beaten by countless oars. The image of the goddess +of the sea, whose name the ship bore, glittered on the prow, and the +edge of the lofty deck, beautifully painted, gleamed in the sunshine. +Song, music of the flutes, and plash of waves were all drowned by the +jubilant shouts of the populace, loudly returned by the weather-beaten +sailors on the ship. + +The notes of the flutes died away, the oars no longer moved, the ship +lay motionless, ropes creaked, cables rattled, the crew rushed to and +fro on deck, the anchor was lowered, the sails taken in, and a ladder +stretched from the ship to the shore. Several Athenian dignitaries were +standing close by the edge of the wharf. Pericles approached them and +said a few words. There was something peculiar, something marvellous in +the tone of his voice. Those who had not yet recognized him knew him +now; for while all the Athenians could not see his face in the popular +assemblies on the Pnyx, every one heard, every one knew his voice. Some +of the magistrates crossed the ladder to the ship’s deck. + +After some time a couple of iron-bound, well-secured casks were raised +from the ship’s hold and conveyed to the land, where a train of mules +waited for the heavy load. The trierarch came on shore and talked with +Pericles. + +The Amphitrite had borne a golden treasure over the blue waves, under +the eager eyes of the sympathizing Athenian populace. It was the +treasure of the allied Greeks and at Pericles’ instigation, came from +Delos, the “star of the sea,” to mighty Athens, no longer to be used as +the property of the confederate states, but received as the tribute of +the cities and isles. + +There is a touch of mystery, a twilight atmosphere, a breath of the +unknown about golden treasure, which kindles conscious hopes, inspires +vague anxiety. The ingot of gold is coined, but the coin becomes again +unstamped in the owner’s hand. It is transformed under every finger +that touches it. To one it brings a blessing, to another a curse. And +thus this treasure of Delos, on which the Athenians’ eyes rested so +expectantly—who knows whether it will bring curse or blessing, purchase +pleasure or remorse, create lasting or perishable monuments? Who knows +the winds that will blow from this pipe of Æolus? + +“With this gold Athens might be made the invincible citadel of Hellas,” +thought some of the official personages who surrounded Pericles. + +“With this gold the naval power of Athens might be strengthened, Sicily +and Egypt conquered, the Persians attacked and Sparta crushed,” thought +the trierarch. + +“With this gold they might give us festivals and plays,” thought the +throngs that filled the stone terraces of the harbor. + +“With this gold the most superb temples might be built, the most +magnificent statues erected!” thought the grave sculptor, who stood +beside Pericles. + +And Pericles himself? In his brain, and his alone, all these thoughts +were united. + +The train of mules, intended to convey the golden burden from the +harbor to the city, began to move. The throng of Athenians dispersed, +and Pericles set out with Phidias on their homeward way. As the greater +portion of the crowd flocked after the treasure, the road to the +Piræeus was nearly empty, and individuals could be distinctly +recognized. + +On the marble slab of one of the tombs that stood by the roadside, sat +two men engaged in eager conversation. The face of one expressed the +cheerful dignity of the sage, but his companion’s features were gloomy, +and his glowing eyes revealed fanatical obstinacy. The former greeted +Pericles with a pleasant smile, while the latter cast a hostile glance +at him. + +The two men had walked on for some distance, when they saw a youth +standing in the middle of the road, absorbed in thought. He seemed to +have forgotten the world or lost his footing on it, and to be now +reflecting where he could find a new one. His features were peculiar, +but by no means attractive, and he gazed steadily at the ground. + +“One of my stone-cutters,” said Phidias to his companion, patting the +young man on his shoulder as if to rouse him, “a worthy fellow, but +very odd. He toils steadily in my workshop one day, and the next +disappears. It is his habit to stand lost in meditation.” + +Not far away a lame, crippled man crouched by the way-side, a beggar +with a queer, simpering face. Pericles threw him a piece of money, but +the cripple only distorted his features still more, and seemed to +mutter some abusive epithet. + +When the two men had traversed about half the distance to the city, and +emerged from an olive-grove that bordered both sides of the way, the +Acropolis rose before them, and the gigantic bronze statue of “Athena +Promachus,” glittered in the light of the setting sun. They saw her +helmeted head, uplifted spear, and the huge shield on which her left +hand rested. A golden Gorgon’s head, bestowed by some wealthy Athenian +as an offering, also flashed with dazzling radiance from the mountain. + +From this moment a singular change occurred in the sculptor’s manner. +He seemed to have entirely changed places with his companion. While the +latter, on their way to the harbor, had gazed with excited mind and +kindling eyes towards a distant goal, Phidias walked beside him grave, +silent, almost unsympathizing—on the return home, the sculptor hastened +towards the Acropolis with quickened step and sparkling eyes, while +Pericles moved quietly, with an almost weary air. It seemed as if the +sight of his goddess awakened some peculiar emotion in the sculptor, +after what he had recently beheld at the Piræeus. There the pomp of the +useful had appeared before him—the tumult at the port, the angry cries +of the exchangers, the huge shops, monotonous in their size, which +resembled gigantic temples, and finally the golden treasure, surrounded +by the twilight atmosphere of the unknown: these things had clouded his +artist soul. He could not dispute it, but it disturbed the constant +succession of unreal, ideal visions of loveliness that filled his mind. +Now, when the Acropolis appeared before him, he seemed transformed; his +steadfast gaze wandered so thoughtfully and reflectively over the +gleaming height, that Pericles was about to ask the cause of this +intent earnestness. + +At this moment a little boy, whose dark eyes rested constantly on the +Acropolis, as he walked with an elderly man directly in front of +Pericles and Phidias, asked: + +“Father, do the Athenians alone have the protecting goddess Pallas on +their citadel, or does she dwell with other men too?” + +“The Rhodians also desired to have her on their citadel,” replied the +man, “but could not succeed.” + +“Was Pallas Athena angry with them?” said the boy. + +“The Athenians sought the goddess’ favor on the land, and the Rhodians +on the sea,” answered the man. “Both held a festival at their citadels +to win the approval of Pallas. But the Rhodians were forgetful; they +went up to their citadel and when they wished to offer sacrifices, had +no fire. So they made no fitting one, but offered the victims cold, +while flames and the smoke of burning fat rose cheerfully from the +rocks of the Acropolis among the wise Athenians. For this reason Pallas +Athena gave the preference to the Athenians. But Zeus pitied the +Rhodians, and to compensate them, sent down from heaven a golden rain +that filled their streets and houses. The Rhodians rejoiced over the +treasure, consoled themselves with it, and placed on their citadel a +statue of the god of wealth, Plutus.” + +The story the father told the little boy reached the ears of the two +men, who walked behind them. Phidias smiled faintly, and after a few +minutes silence turned towards his companion, saying: + +“Pericles, it seems to me that times have changed, and we shall soon be +like the Rhodians. Don’t you also intend to place Plutus on the +citadel.” + +“Have no fear,” replied Pericles smiling. “So long as the sea washes +the Attic coast, the bronze statue of your goddess will tower above the +city of the Athenians.” + +“But beneath the ruins of the temple,” returned Phidias, “the stones of +the stronghold still lie half-scattered, as the fire of the Persians +left them. Let the columns and ruins be carried down and build your +piers and long walls with them; for what the Persians destroyed above, +you restore only at the Piræeus.” + +At this moment the man who was leading the little boy, hearing +footsteps behind him, turned and recognized Pericles. The latter +answered his greeting cordially, he had known him a long time, and been +his guest when the other lived in Syracuse. + +“The conversation between you and your little son Lysias, has just +given Phidias occasion to press me warmly, my dear Cephalus,” said +Pericles. + +“How so?” asked Cephalus. + +“We have come from the Piræeus,” continued Pericles, “and there our +friend, the favorite of Pallas Athena, was very much out of humor. He +would like to be always among the images of the gods. He hates the long +walls, vast shops, bales of goods, sacks, casks, and leather +wine-skins; the shouts of the exchangers have deafened him. When he +passes through the gate into the crooked, insignificant streets of the +old city, he will shake the dust of the road to the harbor from his +feet, with a relieved heart.” + +“But tell me,” he continued, turning to the sculptor, “why do you gaze +so steadily and thoughtfully at the summit of the Acropolis? Is it the +sight of your goddess—your helmeted Athena with the upraised spear, +that excites you?” + +“Know,” replied Phidias, “that the helmeted, armed Pallas has long +since been thrust out of my mind by a Pallas Athena of peace; a Pallas +who no longer fights with clanking metal, but calmly, yet victoriously, +turns the offspring of darkness to stone by the sight of her glittering +Gorgon shield. When I now fix my eyes on the height of the Acropolis, +know that I place there the image conjured up in my mind, and shelter +it beneath a superb temple, that I adorn the pediment and frieze of +this temple with hundreds of carvings, and even build magnificent +porticos on the side which the Panathenaic procession approaches. But +fear not, Pericles, that I shall beseech you for gold and ivory for +this Pallas Athena of peace, marble for this temple; no, I only build +and carve in my imagination—fear nothing.” + +“That’s the way with all these sculptors and poets,” said Pericles, +almost offended by his friend’s sarcastic words, “they do not know that +the beautiful is merely the flower of the useful. They forget that the +safety of the community must first be secured, the prosperity of the +people established on firm foundations, and that the perfect flower of +art can only unfold in a wealthy, powerful state. Phidias bears me +ill-will because, for several years, I have built storehouses for grain +at the Piræeus, and the long central wall, instead of repairing the +temple of the Acropolis, and because I don’t trust entirely to the +upraised spear of his bronze goddess on the citadel, to protect us +against every foe that may threaten by land or sea.” + +Phidias raised his head as if angered, and cast a sombre glance at +Pericles; but the latter met the look with a winning smile, and +extending his hand to his friend, continued: + +“Do you know me so little, that you could seriously reproach me for +being an enemy and derider of the divine art of sculpture? Am I not the +enthusiastic friend and fosterer of everything beautiful?” + +“I know,” said Phidias, now smiling sarcastically in his turn, “I know +you are the friend of the beautiful. One look into the eyes of fair +Chrysilla—” + +“Not that alone!” replied Pericles hastily, and continued earnestly: + +“Believe me, my friends, when public cares and private anxieties burden +me, when many an anxiety oppresses me, many an act of opposition +embitters me, when I return in ill-humor from a meeting of the +Athenians, and wander thoughtfully, with troubled spirit, through the +streets, often some little colonnade, whose beautiful proportions meet +my eye, or some piece of sculpture by the way-side, designed with +delicate genius, attracts my attention and changes my mood, and I +cannot remember ever having a sorrow, which would not at least be +lightened by reading some of Homer’s verses.” + +The friends had now passed through the gate into the city. The streets +here seemed narrower, the houses less stately than those at the port; +but it was the real Athens, it was sacred soil. + +As Phidias had already reached the vicinity of his house, he said to +Pericles and Cephalus: + +“If you had the leisure and inclination to enter my workshop, you might +aid in deciding by your opinion a by no means trivial contest.” + +“You rouse our curiosity!” replied Pericles. + +“You remember,” continued Phidias, “the block of marble the Persian +army brought here by sea, to erect a monument of victory from Persian +stone after our subjection, and which, when the barbarians fled +defeated, remained in our hands on the battle-field of Marathon. After +many wanderings the magnificent block was placed in my workshop, and as +you know, Pericles, the Athenians desired a statue of the Cyprian +goddess to be carved from it to adorn the gardens. I thought none of my +pupils more capable of winning renown by the execution of such a work, +than Agoracritus of Paros, and therefore, at his desire, gave him the +block of marble, from which he has now finished an admirable statue. +But another of my best pupils, the ambitious Alcamenes, envied +Agoracritus the block and the fame of the work, and presumed to carve a +marble statue of the same goddess in emulation of the Parian, my +favorite, as he calls him. Both youths have now completed their work, +and a large number of lovers of art will assemble to-day in my house. +If you would join them, what a spur it would be to both rivals. Come +and see how differently the fairest of the goddesses is mirrored in the +souls of the two young men.” + +Pericles and Cephalus did not hesitate long, but nodded assent, and +full of eager anticipation, entered Phidias’ dwelling. + +They found many of the best connoisseurs in art already assembled—among +others Hippodamus the Milesian, Antiphon, Ephialtes the orator, the +partisan of Pericles, Callicrates, the builder of the long central +wall, and Ictinus, an architect of much learning and great knowledge of +art, a particular friend of Phidias. + +When these men had exchanged greetings with the new arrivals, the +master led them into one of the spacious court-yards of his house. + +There on a pedestal, side by side, were two closely-covered masses of +marble. A linen cloth thrown over them to protect the pure white stone +from dust and soil, was now withdrawn by a slave at a sign from +Phidias, disclosing the magnificent works in their vast, noble +outlines, to the eyes of the spectators assembled before them. + +The men, with a strange expression of perplexity on their faces, gazed +long and silently at the statues. The remarkable difference in the +design evidently caused their embarrassment. + +One represented a female figure of august beauty and superhuman +nobleness. She was robed, and her garment fell in ample, exquisite +curves to her ankles. Only one breast was bare. The statue seemed +thoroughly strong and steadfast; there was nothing effeminate in the +features, nothing voluptuous in the limbs, nothing amorous in the +attitude. And yet it was beautiful, beautiful with an austere, ripe, +but virginal loveliness. It was Aphrodite without the perfume of the +crocus and hyacinth blossoms, with which the Graces and wood-nymphs of +Ida crowned the goddess. She was not yet redolent of perfumes, did not +yet smile. + +So long as the spectators gazed only at this statue, they missed +nothing. A Cypris with all the Graces and Loves hovering around her, +had not yet matured in the Hellenic mind. + +The ideal of the foam-born goddess chiselled by Agoracritus had been +inherited from their ancestors. + +But, as soon as the beholder’s eye wandered from this statue and rested +for a time on Alcamenes’ work, he was seized with a sort of anxiety; +and if he tried to return to the first statue, it appeared less +intelligible than before, as if he had lost the standard for its +correct appreciation. + +The spectacle presented to the eyes of these men was a novel one, and +they could not yet decide whether the novelty pleased them. The only +thing certain was, that they now liked the statue by its side far less. + +The more frequently the gaze wandered from Alcamenes’ statue to that of +Agoracritus and back to the former, the longer it lingered on +Alcamenes’ work. The mysterious spell exerted by the latter was the +consciousness of a charm, an animation, a freshness and close +resemblance to the living human form, which the chisel of the Greeks +had hitherto neither attained, nor striven to reach. + +No one gazed so long or so ardently, at the form displayed by +Alcamenes, as Pericles. + +“This work,” he said at last, “almost reminds me of Pygmalion’s statue; +it seems to be animated with a soul, and just in the transition from +the rigidity of marble to warm, pulsating life.” + +“Indeed,” exclaimed Cephalus, “Agoracritus’ work is full of the spirit +of his master, Phidias, only surpassing it in austerity; but it seems +to me that a spark from a foreign forge has fallen into Alcamenes’ +statue, where it glows with a strange, peculiar life.” + +“Why, my good Alcamenes,” cried Pericles, “what new spirit has entered +into you? Hitherto your work could scarcely be distinguished from that +of Agoracritus. Have you seen the goddess in a dream? Do you know that +you have put me into an ecstasy of delight, such as no marble ever +aroused before.” + +Alcamenes smiled, but Phidias, as if a new thought had flashed into his +mind, now gazed intently at his pupil’s work, and seemed to be scanning +the outlines and forms of the limbs under the influence of this idea. + +“It appears to me,” he said at last, “that no vision is embodied here, +but many charms have been borrowed from reality to adorn the goddess. +The longer I examine the slenderness of the whole statue, the delicate +yet voluptuous lines of the bust and hips, the peculiar daintiness of +these tapering fingers, and the graceful contour of the wrist, the more +strongly I am reminded of a woman, whom we have recently seen several +times in this house—” + +“If not the face, it has the very figure of the Milesian!” exclaimed a +pupil of Phidias, approaching nearer; and all his companions, advancing +and gazing first at the statue, then at each other, cried: + +“There is no doubt—it is the Milesian.” + +“Who is this Milesian?” asked Pericles in a hasty, eager tone. + +“Who is she?” said Phidias smiling. “You have already seen her once—the +radiance of her beauty flashed upon you for a moment. For the rest, ask +Alcamenes—” + +“Who is she?” repeated the fiery Alcamenes. “She is a sunbeam, a +dew-drop, a beautiful woman, a rose, a refreshing zephyr. Who will ask +the name and origin of a sunbeam? Perhaps Hipponicus, in whose house +she is a guest, can tell you more.” + +“She once came to this place with Hipponicus,” said Phidias. + +“For what purpose?” asked Pericles. + +“To talk of various matters, as I have never yet heard them discussed +by a woman’s lips,” replied Phidias. + +“So she is a guest of Hipponicus?” asked Pericles. + +“She lives in a small house that belongs to him, situated between his +own home and this dwelling,” replied Phidias. “But since the Milesian +has occupied the house, a strange spirit has entered into all this +throng of youths.” + +“How so?” enquired Pericles. + +“Since that time,” replied Phidias, “the young fellow whom you saw +standing alone on the road leading to the harbor, gazing into vacancy, +has grown still more thoughtful, while Alcamenes belongs to the number +of those whom I most frequently surprised on the flat roof of the +house, that overlooks the peristyle of the adjoining one, and to which +they slip away from their work, sometimes under the pretext of catching +an escaped bird or monkey, sometimes to sit in the cool of the evening +to rest, because as they said, their blood rushed so violently to their +heads—but really to listen to the Milesian’s music.” + +“So Alcamenes caught the charms that delight us in the marble, from +this enchantress?” said Pericles. + +“I can’t say how it happened,” replied Phidias. “Perhaps the fellow who +stood lost in thought yonder acted as go-between, for he seems to be on +intimate terms with her. The queer genius lately undertook to carve a +statue of Eros, and for this purpose considered it necessary to first +study the character of the god and his idea. That’s the way with him; +he never strives for the things themselves, but for their idea, for +truth and wisdom, as he says; so we never call him anything but the +friend of wisdom, the seeker after truth. Just now he is pursuing the +pure idea of love, and wants to be instructed concerning it by the +beautiful Milesian. The latter apparently wishes to indulge him, and I +once saw her sit an hour on a block of stone in this courtyard, talking +with him. If it is not only this young man, but Alcamenes also who has +enjoyed the secret instruction of the Milesian, he too may try his +fortune in this direction, may continue to learn more from beautiful +women than from the masters of his art.” + +“The statue before you,” cried Alcamenes, enraged by these sarcastic +words, “is the work of my hands; the censure it receives I will take +upon myself, and the praise bestowed I need share with no one.” + +“Oh! yes,” exclaimed Agoracritus gloomily; “you must share it with the +Milesian. She stole secretly to you—” + +A scarlet flush suffused Alcamenes’ cheeks. + +“And you?” he cried, “who stole to you? Do you suppose we did not +notice it? Phidias, the master, slipped into your workshop at night to +put the last finishing touches to his favorite’s statue—” + +It was now Phidias, whose face flushed darkly. He cast an angry look at +his insolent pupil, and was about to reply, but Pericles stepped +between them, saying soothingly: + +“No quarrelling! It is as you say, the Milesian glided to Alcamenes, +Phidias to Agoracritus. Let each learn where and as he can, and neither +envy the other the beauty that falls to his lot through the favor of +the Muses, the Graces, or any other goddess.” + +“I have not disdained to learn from Phidias,” said Alcamenes, who was +the first of the three to recover his good-humor; “but it is the wise +artist’s part to catch the beautiful from the living reality, and I +frankly confess that a Milesian, or daughter of the joyous Ionic coast, +seems to me far better suited to reveal the secrets of beautiful nature +to the sculptor’s searching gaze, than the women and matrons of our +native Attica. It is no unimportant matter how the sculptor sees a +woman; whether in foolish embarrassment she resembles the worm that +seems to wish to creep into itself, or whether she displays the bloom +of her personal charms with graceful freedom. Our Athenian women spend +their lives under rigid guardianship, in the seclusion of the women’s +apartments. If we wish to enjoy the sight of one who, without +embarrassment or boldness, knows how to delight us with her charms, we +must seek these Ionian and Libyan women, who coming from the opposite +coasts and bringing with them, as it were, a breath of the beautiful +license of their merry native festivals, announce the cheerful rule of +beauty and sensual pleasure.” + +Many of those present agreed with Alcamenes, and considered him +fortunate to have found a woman like this Milesian so yielding. + +“Yielding?” said Alcamenes. “I don’t know what you mean; this woman’s +compliance has its limits—ask her friend yonder, the truth-seeker.” + +Alcamenes pointed to the young stone-cutter, who had just been standing +lost in thought on the road leading to the Piræeus, and now entered the +courtyard on his way home. All the bystanders looked at him and smiled, +for they saw nothing in his appearance which would have made him seem +worthy the friendship of a beautiful woman. He was snub-nosed, and his +whole exterior bore no resemblance to that of a well-educated Greek. +True, spite of his thick lips, his mouth wore a by no means unpleasant +smile, and when his eyes were not fixed too intently upon vacancy, +their glance was clear and inspired confidence. + +“We are departing from our subject,” remarked Phidias. “Alcamenes and +Agoracritus are still standing awaiting our verdict. At present we only +seem to agree that Agoracritus has carved a goddess, Alcamenes a +beautiful woman.” + +“Why,” said Pericles, “I think that not only Alcamenes, but +Agoracritus, though he may consider himself so much more devout, will +incur the anger of the Immortals, because they have both learned from +their master Phidias, when they wish to represent a god, to imitate the +human form to its smallest vein. You sculptors are all alike in this, +that you pretend to carve gods, in whom we really believe we see +something divine; but when we look more closely, we perceive that this +divine element is only the purest flower and development of human +nature, and even the etherial body of the divinity is merely a +combination of human pulses, sinews, muscles, joints and nerves. Let us +hear the second pupil of the beautiful Milesian, your thinker yonder. +He too is called upon to give his opinion.” + +“What do you think,” cried Alcamenes to the youth, “is the nature of +man worthy to represent a divine being?” + +“As for Homer, Hesiod, and the other poets,” replied his companion, “I +remember that they call the sea, the earth, and all possible things +divine; so I should be surprised if the human form with its muscles, +sinews and veins, were not divine too. Pindar even seems to me to go +still farther, when he sings: ‘The race of gods and of mortals is one +from the beginning.’ And I remember having heard the wise Anaxagoras +say that all that is is alive, and every living thing is divine. If you +will not listen to these old men, ask the beautiful Milesian—” + +“I think we should all be by no means disinclined to follow this +counsel,” replied Pericles, “if we only knew how to call the Milesian +to decide the affair. Can Phidias do us the service, will Alcamenes +betray the secret of obtaining the beauty’s advice, or shall we trust +the truth-seeker.” + +“The truth-seeker!” cried Alcamenes eagerly. “Be sure that the latter, +if he chooses, can lure the Milesian from Hipponicus’ house this very +day, as a serpent is wiled from its hole by magic songs and charms.” + +“If Alcamenes himself directs us to this youth, he and no other is +probably the right man for us in this matter,” said Pericles. “But what +can we promise, to induce him to have pity and lure the Milesian +hither?” + +“It ought not to be difficult,” replied the other, “to induce a person +to enter who already, as it were, stands waiting at the door.” + +“So the Milesian is close at hand?” asked Pericles. + +“As I returned just now, from my walk along the road to the Piræeus, +and entered the house from the back, I passed close by the hedge of +Hipponicus’ garden, and saw the Milesian standing among flower-beds and +blossoming bushes, gathering a branch of laurel. I asked what hero, +sage, or artist she intended to adorn, and she replied that it was +destined for either of Phidias’ pupils, who according to the verdict of +the judges, should emerge as victor from the contest. ‘So you desire to +infinitely heighten the conqueror’s joy?’ I replied. ‘Try also to +console the vanquished one.’ ‘Very well,’ she answered, ‘we must have +pity on the defeated. I’ll gather a rose for him.’ ‘A rose?’ I +rejoined, ‘isn’t that rather too much? Are you sure the victor will not +envy the vanquished?’ ‘Then let the victor choose,’ she cried, ‘here, +take the laurel and the rose.’ ‘Ought not you to bestow them yourself?’ +I enquired. ‘Do you think so?’ ‘Certainly,’ I replied. ‘Very well, send +the victor and vanquished to the garden-gate, as soon as the judges +have pronounced their verdict and retired’—‘So you now know,’ said the +youth in conclusion, ‘that the Milesian is standing with the rose and +laurel, behind the hedge of Hipponicus’ garden.’” + +“Very well,” said Phidias, “go and bring her here.” + +“How can I? How shall I induce her to enter the presence of so many +men?” + +“No matter how you arrange it,” said Phidias, “that’s part of your +secret arts, which you need not betray. Only go and bring her, since +Pericles so earnestly desires it.” + +The youth obeyed, left the house, and in a few moments returned with a +woman, whose figure combined the most perfect delicacy with the most +voluptuous charms. Pericles instantly recognized the beauty, of whom he +had caught a hasty glimpse on his way to the harbor with Phidias. She +was slender, yet her limbs possessed the most charming roundness. Her +step was at once firm and graceful, her soft waving hair was +reddish-brown in color, her face peerlessly beautiful. Still, the most +bewitching thing about her was the dewy lustre, the soft, +Aphrodite-like light of her marvellous eyes. Her robe of soft yellow +byssus fell in clinging folds from the slender, rounded hips to the +ankles—the upper portion of the garment being fastened at the shoulders +with delicately wrought clasps, its superfluous length hanging like a +sort of upper robe in graceful drapery below her waist. The sleeveless +costume left the beautifully formed arms uncovered, and did not wholly +conceal the outlines of the delicate, yet perfectly developed bust. It +was the chiton usually worn by Greek women, but ample and richly +ornamented, like those seen among the Ionians and Lydians of the Attic +coast. The color of the garment was bright-yellow, the border adorned +with beautiful embroidery. + +The reddish-brown hair floated in waving curls over her shoulders, its +luxuriant mass confined by a purple fillet, ornamented, at the point +where it rested on the brow, with a metal disk. + +This charming woman hesitated a little, as she entered the circle of +distinguished men and saw among them the great Pericles himself. But +Alcamenes came forward, took her hand, and said: + +“Pericles, the Olympian, wishes to see the wise and beautiful +Milesian.” + +“However great and natural may have been our desire to see a woman so +highly praised,” replied Pericles, “you are wrong, Alcamenes, in +concealing the fact that it was the difficulty we experienced in +deciding the result of the contest between you and Agoracritus, which +led us, by the truth-seeker’s counsel, to seek the aid of the beautiful +Milesian’s wisdom. The question has been started among us, whether it +is allowable to represent a goddess under the form of a beautiful +Hellenic woman. The Athenians, who are so devout and reverent to the +gods, begin to doubt whether it may not make mortals arrogant, and the +gods envious, if they represent divine beings with too close a +resemblance to the human form, and whether their art of sculpture is +pleasing or odious to the Immortals.” + +“The mildness and clearness of the Greek sky is everywhere praised, and +the Greek form is recognized, even by barbarians, as most nearly akin +to that of the gods,” replied the Milesian, in a voice whose silvery +tone was no less bewitching, than the radiance of her eyes. “The gods +of Hellas will not be angry with the Athenian, if he builds them +temples as bright and sublime as the blue vault that arches over them, +and erects in their honor statues whose symmetry of form is not +inferior to that of the men, who offer sacrifices before them. The +temples are like the land, the gods like the inhabitants! Do not the +Olympians show, that it is their will and pleasure to see their own +images reflected in the souls of the Athenians? Have they not bestowed +on them, above all others, a genius for carving, and given to the land +of Attica the best clay, the most perfect stone for buildings and +statues?” + +“Indeed!” cried the impetuous Alcamenes, “we possess everything, except +the proper, boundless field of labor. Ay,” he continued, turning to his +companions, “our fingers have long been twitching, and the chisels in +our hands grow hot with impatience—” + +A murmur of assent ran through the group of Phidias’ pupils, at this +sudden turn in the conversation. + +“Take comfort, Alcamenes,” said the Milesian, placing a strong emphasis +upon the words, “Athens has grown rich, abundantly rich, and the golden +treasure of Delos has doubtless not come across the sea to you in +vain—” + +The beautiful woman, while uttering these words, glanced at Pericles +with her bewitching eyes. The latter had been gazing at the waves of +her soft, fine hair, and now secretly said to himself: “By the gods, +this woman’s fair locks are a shining golden treasure of Delos, and the +uncoined wealth would not be too dearly purchased by the expenditure of +the coined metal.” + +Then he bent his head in thought for some time, while the eyes of all +the company were turned towards him. At last he began: + +“You have a right to expect, friends and patrons of the beautiful art +of sculpture, that the treasure of Delos shall not float to the Attic +coast in vain. And if I had only to question the wish of the heart, not +the demands of the community, I should have ordered the gold to be +conveyed directly from the Piræeus to Phidias’ workshop. But hear how +matters present themselves to those on whom rests the care of the +public welfare. When the hordes of the Persian army overran the +country, the common peril united all the Greeks, but when the conquered +foe retired, the great lesson taught by the war was again forgotten, +the spirit of dissension once more awoke; yet I hoped it might be +possible to continue in peace what we had begun, forced by the +necessity of war. Obeying my counsel, the Athenians invited all the +Hellenes to send representatives to Athens, to discuss the common +business of Greece. I wished to have all the temples and sanctuaries, +burned by the Persians, restored by mutual aid. Moreover the Hellenes +were thenceforward to be permitted free passage over all the Hellenic +seas, to all Hellenic coasts; security was to be given that the +prosperity of all Greeks should flourish under the protection of +unclouded peace. We chose twenty men from the people; men, who had +fought together in the great Persian battles. And what answer did these +envoys bring home? Evasive ones from some quarters, positive refusals +from others. Above all, Sparta endeavored to sow the seeds of distrust +of Athens lavishly among the kindred nations. Thus the attempt was +frustrated, and Athens obtained the experience that she could not rely +upon the concord of the Hellenes, that her rivals’ envy did not sleep. +Had my well-meant plan succeeded, Athens and all Hellas might have +devoted themselves entirely to the arts of peace, developed its fairest +and noblest blossoms. Now it is our first duty to strive for greater +power, greater influence in Hellas, and stand ever prepared for war. +This first of necessities compels us to husband our resources, immense +as they may appear at the moment. Now judge, my friends, whether we can +lose sight of the precautions required by the assertion of our +supremacy in Hellas, and spend the golden gift of fortune upon what is +beautiful and pleasant.” + +Such were Pericles’ words, and as his hearers listened silently, but as +he thought he noticed, not without secret hesitation, he continued: + +“Consider the matter, or recommend it to the attention of this +thoughtful youth, the truth-seeker, or if women may be heard in +political matters, this fair one from Miletus.” + +“If I have rightly understood the words of Pericles,” replied the youth +in his somewhat unintelligible speech, as all the others remained +silent, “the great statesman has represented it as a fixed fact, that +Athens must strive to assert her preëminence among the Greek states. +But the manner in which this supremacy is to be obtained he has left it +to us to consider. True, he has said that he too held the opinion, +hitherto universal, that the preëminence of one community over another +must rest solely on strong military power. But, wise as he is, he +distinguishes himself from all former statesmen by seeming to consider +other means possible; for if he did not, why should he request us to +reflect upon them?” + +“If you can suggest such other means for the same purpose,” said +Pericles, “speak.” + +“To learn these means,” replied the other, “we should question those +persons who understand well-tested methods of obtaining supremacy over +others, and without the use of force, can subjugate and rule men in the +best and most beautiful way. We must question the fair Milesian.” + +The stranger cast a smiling glance at him, and the truth-seeker, +turning towards her, continued: + +“You have heard that we are considering whether one community can +secure preëminence over another solely by military power and wealth, or +if there are any other means; for instance the fostering of goodness, +beauty, and every excellent quality of the soul. You are one of those +who understand how to take precedence of others, and without violence +govern men in the best and most beautiful way. Will you not tell us how +you manage?” + +“So far as we women are concerned,” replied the Milesian smiling, “I +can only say that it depends upon a certain beauty of form, on the +style of dress, the art of dancing gracefully, playing the cithara +bewitchingly, and other things distinguished among the arts of +pleasing.” + +“Then, so far as women are concerned, the enigma would be solved,” said +Pericles. “But shall we Athenians seek to subjugate and rule the +Spartans, Asiatics, and all the dwellers on the isles, by festal +garments, beautiful figures, graceful dances, and playing on the +cithara?” + +“Why not?” replied the Milesian. These boldly uttered words bewildered +all present, but the charming woman continued: + +“The highest degree of power and splendor will be reached by that +community, where people dance most gracefully, play the cithara most +skilfully, erect the finest buildings, carve and paint most +exquisitely, and where the best poets thrive.” + +“You are jesting!” said some of the group. + +“Not at all,” replied the beauty, smiling. + +“When we examine the subject more closely,” said Hippodamus, “the +Milesian doesn’t seem so far wrong in her bold assertion, which at +first made us smile. Indeed, if beauty is now the victorious power in +the world, why should not a nation take precedence of others by the +charms of the beautiful, win fame, admiration, love, incalculable +influence, like a lovely woman?” + +“If the constant cherishing of the beautiful would not render men’s +minds weak and effeminate,” replied Pericles. + +“Weak and effeminate!” exclaimed the Milesian. “You Athenians possess +too little of these qualities. Are there not many among you, who would +fain shape your commonwealth according to the gloomy, austere model of +the Spartans? It is wrong to say that the beautiful corrupts mankind. +An appreciation of it renders the citizen cheerful, content, yielding, +self-sacrificing, capable of enthusiasm. What could be more enviable +than a happy nation, to whose festivals people flock from far and near? +Let the rude, gloomy Spartans make themselves hated. Athens, perfumed +and garlanded with flowers like a bride, will win all hearts.” + +“So you think,” said Pericles, “that the time has already come, when we +may be permitted to lay the sword aside and devote ourselves to the +culture of the beautiful, and all the arts of peace?” + +“Will you allow me,” asked the stranger, “to say when, in my opinion, +it is time to create the beautiful?” + +“Speak!” replied Pericles. + +“The time to create grand and beautiful things,” said the Milesian, +“has come, I think, when the men appointed for the purpose are here. +You now have Phidias and other masters; will you delay the execution of +their ideas till they grow old in inaction? You can easily find money +to pay for the beautiful, but not always men to produce it.” + +Loud and universal applause rang forth at these words. + +There are looks, words, which fall like the kindling lightning into a +human soul. Pericles had been touched by such a word, such a glance. + +The kindling look had come from the most bewitching eyes, the kindling +word from the most bewitching lips. Pericles was conscious of the power +of the word, but the might of the glance darted through him with a +sweet fire, from whose glow he emerged more transformed than he was +aware. + +His eye began to sparkle more brightly, and he repeated: + +“The time to create beautiful things has come, when the men capable of +doing so are here! I must confess,” he continued, “these words are most +instructive and convincing. No better advocate of what lies near the +hearts of all could be found. I believe you have convinced me and all +present. Yet it would not have been so easy, fair stranger, if what you +said had not already slumbered in the depths of our souls. But will you +pardon me for not acknowledging myself wholly vanquished? Will you +enter into a friendly compact with me? I think we will strive to keep +our Athens prepared for war and powerful as she now is; but you are +right, we ought not, from motives of timidity, to hesitate longer in +doing that for which the time has now come, since as you have made us +remember, men are here, who when they pass away, can never return. +Thank this beautiful woman, Phidias, if my scruples have vanished, and +I now promise you and those, who as Alcamenes exclaimed, have felt +their chisels burning with impatience in their hands, to open the +barriers, that you may go forth like an enthusiastic army to battle, to +rebuild ruins and create more magnificent and beautiful structures. + +“No little has been done to fortify Athens. The port is altered, the +middle wall nearly completed. I intended long since to build a spacious +wrestling school for the Athenian youth, and will erect worthy edifices +for the arts of music and poetry. We will crown with magnificent +temples of the gods and beautiful statues, the work of renovation +commenced below in the Piræeus.” + +At these words joyous applause burst from the ranks of the sculptors +and other spectators. + +“The gigantic columns of the temple Pisistratus began to build for the +Olympic Zeus, and which since his fall no one has touched, rise +warningly before us,” continued Pericles. “Would it not be well to +complete this first?” + +“No,” cried Ephialtes eagerly. “That is perpetuating the fame of the +enemy of popular freedom. Let a tyrant finish what a tyrant began. The +free Athenian nation will leave Pisistratus’ monument lying amid its +ruins, in token that no divine blessing rests on the work of despots.” + +“You have heard Ephialtes,” said Pericles, “and in his words have +listened to the whole Athenian people. On the Acropolis stands the +ancient sanctuary of Erechtheus and the goddess of the city, Athena, +half destroyed and only repaired so far as was necessary for the +service of the gods since the Persian war.” + +“Owls live there!” cried the freethinker Callicrates. “The rooms in the +temple are old and gloomy, so too are the priests, and even the gods +themselves are defaced by slow decay.” + +“Then let us rebuild the temple and make it light and cheerful,” said +Pericles. + +“In that case Phidias will be condemned to idleness,” replied +Callicrates. “You know the ancient wooden statue of Athena Polias, +which fell from Heaven, can never be replaced by any other in the +temple of Erechtheus—its shapelessness can never be altered, but merely +hung with fresh tinsel.” + +“Then, we will leave the old priests to live in their ancient temple +with their old gods,” replied Pericles, “and talk with Phidias, that he +may tell us what he dreams with open eyes, when he fixes his gaze upon +the Acropolis.” + +Phidias was standing lost in thought. + +Pericles approached, and touching his shoulder, said: + +“Reflect—rouse the mighty thoughts in your brain, however numerous they +may be, for their time has come.” + +Phidias smiled, then answered with sparkling eyes: + +“Ictinus here can tell you how often I have paced with him the hill-top +where stands the citadel and its rocky terraces—how we measured, +calculated and formed secret plans, not knowing when the hour would +come to realize them.” + +“And what were these plans?” asked the others. + +Phidias explained what had long been secretly maturing in his mind, and +they listened enthusiastically. + +“But,” asked one of the party, “will not such a work be thwarted by the +envy of the priests of Erechtheus, as has already happened once?” + +“We will triumph over this envy!” cried Ephialtes. + +“The treasure of Delos,” said Pericles, “shall be laid at the feet of +the goddess—it shall be secured in the rear building of the temple, and +thus on the shining heights of the Acropolis, the same space shall +contain the pledges of the power and greatness of Athens.” + +All greeted Pericles’ last words with enthusiastic shouts. But the +latter, as if suddenly recollecting himself, glanced at the rose and +laurel in the beautiful Milesian’s hands, and continued: + +“Many things have been decided, but the contest between Alcamenes and +Agoracritus is not yet settled. To which of these two Aphrodites does +the wise and lovely stranger give the preference?” + +“Is this an Aphrodite?” asked the Milesian, gazing at the work of +Agoracritus; “I thought it a sterner goddess, a Nemesis.” + +Agoracritus, who during this time had sat apart on a block of stone +with a gloomy, sullen face, smiled bitterly and scornfully. + +“A Nemesis?” repeated Pericles; “the name is certainly apt. Is not +Nemesis the stern goddess of moderation, any violation of which is +always avenged? Well, in this work of Agoracritus, the grave, stern law +and measure of existence seems embodied. The beauty of this goddess is +almost threatening, almost alarming. For the rest—are not Cypris, the +goddess of pleasant moderation, and Nemesis, the judge of its +violation, somewhat akin? Yet, if the fact is that the Athenians wish +to place a statue of Aphrodite in the gardens, and Alcamenes alone has +carved one, this is the only one we can erect within their bounds. But +the work of Agoracritus, which represents a superb Nemesis, we will, +with his permission, place in the temple of this goddess at Rhamnus. It +will be an easy matter for the sculptor to add a few external symbols.” + +“That I will!” cried the gloomy Agoracritus, with flashing eyes. “My +Cyprian goddess shall become a Nemesis.” + +“And now, fair stranger,” said Pericles, “to whom will you give the +laurel and to whom the rose?” + +“Both to you,” replied the Milesian. “Neither of these two youths is +victor, neither is vanquished, and at this moment it seems fitting to +lay all wreaths in the hands of the man, to whom they are indebted for +the opening of a career in which to strive for the noblest garlands.” + +With these words she gave laurel and rose to Pericles. + +Their sparkling eyes met and gazed significantly a moment into each +other. + +“I will divide the laurel between the two youths,” replied Pericles, +“but keep the fragrant, beautiful rose for my own.” + +He broke the laurel and gave it to the rivals, then glancing around the +circle, said: + +“I believe I shall now leave no dissatisfied heart here. Only the +friend of wisdom yonder seems to be still gazing into vacancy with +troubled brow and somewhat anxious aspect. Have you any farther +doubts?” + +“I asked the beautiful Milesian in your name just now,” replied the +youth, “whether one community could gain preëminence over another +solely by gold and military power, or if this purpose could be +accomplished by fostering the beautiful, the good, and all admirable +mental qualities? The Milesian has shown us that the beautiful is +specially adapted for this purpose, but I should now like to know +whether it is the same with the other things I have named, the good and +all noble traits of character.” + +“I think,” said the Milesian, “that goodness is one with beauty; but if +this were not so and it was opposed to it, I believe it could be +spared, when in pursuit of this object.” + +“Can you give us proofs of this also?” asked the youth. + +“Proofs?” replied the Milesian smiling, “I don’t know whether there are +any. If they occur to me, I will tell you.” + +“Quite right,” observed Pericles; “we will defer the discussion for +another occasion.” + +The youth shrugged his shoulders and left the courtyard. + +“He doesn’t seem entirely satisfied,” said Pericles. + +“No,” replied Alcamenes, “I know him; he assumes an air of great +modesty, but it vexes him extremely, if the reins of conversation are +wrested from him, and the discussion does not go exactly to the point +he has secretly marked out for it. But his anger will soon pass away; +he has a good-natured, placable disposition.” + +“What is the name of this singular fellow?” asked Pericles. + +“Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus!” replied Alcamenes. + +“And the beautiful stranger, from whom we learned so much to-day?” +continued Pericles. + +“Aspasia!” said Alcamenes. + +“Aspasia?” cried Pericles. “The name is soft and sweet; it melts on the +lips like a kiss.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +TELESIPPE. + + +Pericles had spent many a wakeful night, since the meeting of the +critics in Phidias’ house. His mind was occupied with the treasure of +Delos, with which a new era of power and splendor had come to the +Athenians; the echo of the conversation held in the sculptor’s studio +constantly resounded in his brain, and if to escape this whirl of +thought he closed his eyes, a half-waking, fleeting dream recalled the +charming image of the Milesian, and the dewy, Aphrodite-like lustre of +her bewitching eyes illumined the depths of his soul. + +Various plans, which he had long been considering, were seething in his +mind. Vacillating thoughts gradually strengthened, and resolutions +sprang up in a night, as buds develop into roses. + +One morning, while seated in his room, absorbed in thought, his friend +Anaxagoras came to visit him. Intimate with the wise Clazomenian from +early youth, Pericles had spent many a morning hour in receiving, with +the open, ardent nature of the Greeks, the new revelations, which bold +thinkers, especially Anaxagoras himself, rising above the childish +opinions of their forefathers, were beginning to draw from the depths +of their own minds. + +But to-day the philosopher instantly perceived that his friend was +engrossed by totally different thoughts. He found Pericles, usually so +calm and dignified, much excited, his eyes glowing with the dull fire +that betrays a night spent in meditation. + +“Is the populace summoned to-day to an important meeting on the Pnyx?” +asked the old man, gazing at the Olympian. “I never remember to have +found you so thoughtful, save on such an occasion.” + +“The people will assemble to-day,” said Pericles, “and I have intended +to urge important matters there. I am anxious as to whether I shall +prevail—.” + +“You are a strategus,” [1] replied Anaxagoras, “you are the +administrator of the public revenues, the superintendent of the public +buildings, the director of the public festivals—the gods alone know the +names of the offices and dignities, conferring ordinary and +extraordinary powers, with which the Athenians are constantly loading +you. No matter, you are—what is the important, and in a free state the +principal thing—you are the great orator, whom they call the +‘Olympian,’ because a sort of sovereignty is allied with the thunder of +your words, as with the thunder of Zeus. And you are anxious?” + +“Ay,” replied Pericles, “and I assure you that I never ascend the +platform of the Pnyx, without secretly imploring the gods to suffer my +lips to utter no heedless words, and never allow me to forget that I am +speaking to Athenians. You know how impatient the people grew at last, +when I constantly called upon them for more money to build the long +central wall and repair the Piræeus. And now Phidias has overpersuaded +me, infected me with his grand new plans. The eager longing felt by him +and his associates must no longer be restrained, our Athens must be +adorned and glorified before all the rest of Hellas by the +long-considered works of these men. You know I am one of those, who +adopt new ideas only after due reflection, but hold firmly to what I +have once grasped and urge it with ardent zeal. So I at first gave this +matter long deliberation; but now am perhaps secretly more eager in its +behalf than even Phidias and his followers.” + +“Is not the Athenian nation enthusiastic and fond of art?” said +Anaxagoras. “And has not the rich treasure of Delos arrived?” + +“I fear the distrust sown by open and secret enemies,” replied +Pericles. “The party of the oligarchs is not wholly subdued. You know, +too, that there are friends of the Laconians and others, who are averse +to light and everything that is bright and beautiful. You have learned +this yourself, since you first stood forth between the columns of the +Agora, to announce to us Athenians the message of the pure, free, +soul-born truth. However, I shall to-day play a trump, which will make +the multitude thoroughly indebted to me. There are poor citizens, who +live from hand to mouth, and must starve to-morrow, if they stop work +to-day and go to the assembly, in order not to neglect their duty as +citizens. Why shouldn’t they be paid with a few obols out of the public +treasury? I pity, too, the poor fellows, who would be glad to witness +the public plays, but can’t procure the money for admittance. They +should be permitted to go at the public expense, to be unconsciously +cultivated and ennobled by the works of the poets, while supposing they +are merely pursuing their own pleasure. And the worthy old fellows, +chosen by thousands out of the people and allotted to the numerous +courts of justice, ought not in future to lose the whole day without +compensation, while settling the quarrels of their fellow-citizens in +the sweat of their brows. Athens is rich, fresh fountains of wealth are +springing up around us and pouring into our public treasury from the +countries of our allies. There is a large surplus now remaining. I have +asked myself: should it be kept as a treasure for the future, or used +for the benefit of the present time. I believe the present has a better +right to it. The people must enjoy the fruit of their victories and +aspirations, they must be free and happy; a beautiful, enviable, +dignified existence must be established in our Athens, so favored by +the gods.” + +“I have often seen the grave Pericles give utterance to his noble +ardor,” observed Anaxagoras, “but to-day’s emotion seems to be stronger +than all former ebullitions of feeling.” + +“I thank the gods,” replied Pericles, “for having given me, in addition +to calmness in reflection, the hasty fire of resolve and tenacious +courage in execution. Are you dissatisfied with me in any way? Do I +seem to go too far in my plans, or my regard for the always uncertain +and sometimes ungrateful people?” + +“Let me frankly confess that I do not meddle with politics,” answered +the old man. “I am no Athenian, perhaps not even a Hellene, but a +cosmopolitan, a philosopher. My native land is the infinite realm of +the world.” + +“But you are wise,” said Pericles, “and can judge the acts of +statesmen, whether they will result in good or evil.” + +“I shall beware of that!” cried Anaxagoras. “Not only poets, but +statesmen ignorantly follow a sign from the gods, are possessed by a +demon, that animates them and almost unconsciously urges them to what +for the moment is really necessary and useful. Ordinary human +understanding often judges prematurely and errs, when the point in +question relates to the deeds of divinely inspired statesmen. I have +gone far into the depths of nature, and everywhere found a mind +pervading her. But the mind is more infallible, more mighty in creating +and toiling than in judging—.” + +The two men were thus conversing familiarly in Pericles’ room; but at +this moment a slave entered, sent by Telesippe, the wife of Pericles. + +The message brought from the mistress of the house was a singular one. +The steward of Pericles’ country estate had come in that morning and +brought a young ram, born on the said estate, which instead of two +horns, had only one, and that grew in the middle of its forehead. This +animal, the steward, not without many anxious doubts, had just shown +his mistress. Telesippe, a woman of pious mind, hastily sent for the +prophet Lampon, that he might instantly interpret the miracle, and now +summoned her husband to see the strange creature and listen with her to +the opinion of the seer. + +Pericles heard the slave’s story and then said good-humoredly, turning +to his friend: + +“Let us obey Telesippe’s wish and go to look at the one-horned ram.” + +Anaxagoras rose and willingly followed Pericles. + +They went out into the peristyle of the house. + +Pericles’ residence was a very plain dwelling, neither larger nor more +richly ornamented than that of any other Athenian citizen of moderate +means. It was as simple as its owner’s mode of life. In a republic the +most influential man must live simply, if he wishes to protect himself +from the distrust of his fellow-citizens. But even without calculation +and design, a man who constantly devotes himself to the public, will +always neglect his own household a little. The peristyle of Pericles’ +house was also simple and unadorned, yet it did not lack the familiar +charm everywhere associated with this singular, but most pleasant part +of the house, this tiny, hall-like courtyard surrounded by pillars. +Here people were in the house and under the open sky at the same time, +secluded from all the bustle of the outside world, and yet in communion +with the fresh breezes of heaven that blew in from above, with the sun, +moon and stars that cast their beams unimpeded into the marble hall. +The swallows flew twittering in and out, and built their nests on the +capitals of the pillars and the cornices. The dwelling-house offered no +inviting exterior, like the temples, but as if repelling the public, +turned its decoration of pillars within, to create the open, yet cosy +and pleasant family room. Here the inmates sat, walked, and received +their visitors. Here too sometimes the meals were served. Here also +sacrifices to the household gods were offered, here was the real +fireside of the house, the altar of the hearth-protecting Zeus. + +Behind the colonnade that enclosed all four sides of the peristyle, +were the various rooms in Pericles’ house. The doors all opened upon +it. Tasteful ornaments adorned the door-posts; the openings were +artistically draped with colored hangings. The women’s apartment was at +the back of the peristyle, and behind it the small, carefully-kept +garden. + +On entering the house from the street, a passage which ran through the +front room, led directly to the peristyle. The porticos extended on the +side of the entrance itself, as well as on the right and left of the +apartments opening on the square; but opposite to the entrance a pair +of columns marked a central space, which deepening within, formed a +sort of anteroom, open towards the peristyle, but enclosed by walls on +the three remaining sides. + +In this anteroom stood Telesippe, the wife of Pericles, surrounded by +several male and female slaves. Beside her was the steward, who had +come in from the country, holding the one-horned ram in his arms. + +Telesippe was a tall woman, with stern, not unlovely, but somewhat +coarse features. Her figure was stately and corpulent, but her flesh no +longer possessed the bloom of youth. Her cheeks and bosom were flabby, +and her garments hung about her limbs in a negligent, ungraceful +fashion. Her hair, still disordered, was twisted in a large roll +behind. Her face was pale, for she had not yet rouged that morning. +This woman, the wife of the great Pericles, had formerly been wedded to +the wealthy Hipponicus. The latter was divorced from her, and she +obtained Pericles for a husband. At that time, she was still youthful +in appearance, and her blooming cheeks made amends for her cold, stern +eyes. + +When Telesippe, standing in the anteroom opening upon the peristyle, +saw her husband approaching accompanied by Anaxagoras, she made a +movement, as custom required, to withdraw from the stranger’s presence +into the women’s apartment. Pericles signed to her to stay, and she +remained, but without vouchsafing the old man another glance. Telesippe +thought she had reason to dislike her husband’s grey-haired friend and +counsellor. + +“I have sent for the prophet Lampon,” she said, gazing at the ram with +a timid look, “I am afraid this is an evil omen.” + +At this moment the porter opened the outer door and admitted the +prophet, who instantly approached through the long passage from the +entrance. The prophet Lampon was the priest of a small temple of +Dionysus, which did not yield much revenue. He therefore devoted +himself to the art of divination, and with excellent success, enjoying +much reputation among the devout. By way of external announcement of +his calling, he wore the priestly fillet on his brow, surmounted by the +laurel of Apollo. For the rest, after the custom of men of his stamp, +he endeavored by negligent dress, tangled beard, dishevelled hair, and +a wandering, abstracted glance, to indicate the rapt transports of the +prophet-soul. + +“This wonderful animal,” said Telesippe, “was born on our estate in the +country and brought to Athens this morning. You are one of the most +skilful interpreters of omens; tell us whether we are to regard this +miracle as favorable or dangerous.” + +Lampon ordered the ram to be laid on the altar of Zeus. + +A coal chanced to be still glimmering on the altar. Lampon pulled a +hair from the ram’s forehead, and threw it on the ember. + +“The omen is favorable,” said he, “for the hair burned without loud +crackling.” + +Then he looked at Pericles and noticed the position he occupied towards +the ram. He chanced to be standing on the right of the animal. “The +omen is favorable to Pericles,” said the prophet with an important +look, then following the customs of diviners, put a laurel leaf in his +mouth and chewed it, in order, by eating the plant consecrated to the +god of seers, to enter the state of divine rapture, in which, with +clear, divinely inspired gaze he might find the true words of prophecy. + +Lampon’s eyes began to twitch convulsively. Suddenly the ram turned its +head aside, the horn on its forehead pointed directly at Pericles and +it uttered a peculiar sound. + +“Hail to thee, Alcmæonid,” he cried; “hail, son of Xanthippus, +conqueror of the Persians at Mycale, noble scion of the race of +Buzygen, the sacred guardian of Pallas. Hail, victor of Thracia, Phocis +and Eubœa! The ram of Athens formerly possessed two horns: Thucidydes, +leader of the Oligarchs, and Pericles, head of the popular party. But +henceforward the ram will bear but one horn on its forehead: the +Oligarchist party will be wholly conquered, and Pericles alone guide, +with wisdom and magnanimity, the destiny of the Athenians.” + +Anaxagoras smiled. Pericles drew his friend aside and whispered: + +“The man is cunning; he expects to be included among the interpreters +of omens, who will accompany me at the public expense in the next +campaign.” + +“But what shall be done with the ram?” asked Telesippe. + +“He must be fed until he is as fat as possible, and then offered to +Dionysus,” replied Lampon. “Bucks are specially suited for offerings to +this god, on account of the injury they do the vines; especially +he-goats—but a buck is a buck, and for lack of a he-goat, a ram like +this is not displeasing to the god.” + +Such was the prophet’s information. He received three obols in payment +for his divination, bent his head, from which hung a mass of tangled +locks and left the house. + +“Mistress Telesippe,” said Anaxagoras, “how dearly wisdom is paid for +now-a-days! Three obols given for the oracle of a buck, that appears +with a single horn to tell us, what all the owls in Athens are hooting +in their holes without compensation.” + +Telesippe cast an angry glance at the speaker, who received it with the +philosopher’s calm repose. + +She was preparing to follow the wrathful glance with a sharp remark, +when some one knocked at the outer door. The porter opened it and a +lady glided in, accompanied by a female slave, who remained at the +entrance. This lady’s countenance had the ruddiness, but also the +wrinkles of an old apple, shrivelled by lying away. A slight down of +short dark hair shaded her upper lip. + +“Elpinice, Cimon’s sister!” whispered Pericles to Anaxagoras. “Let us +go to the Agora; for we can’t hold our ground in the house against +these two women.” + +So saying, Pericles drew his friend aside into the colonnade, and after +passing Elpinice, hastily went out with him into the street. + +Elpinice, Cimon’s sister, was a very singular woman. She was the +daughter of the famous hero Miltiades, the sister of the no less famous +general, Cimon, and the friend of the most admirable Greek painter of +those days, Polygnotus. She had once been rosy and beautiful, beautiful +enough to captivate a sculptor, but must have irritated Aphrodite, for +through some malicious whim of the goddess, no tender feeling save love +for her brother, was implanted in her soul. No longing for conjugal +happiness existed in her half masculine breast; she only desired to be +permitted to remain near her brother all her life. But it happened that +Cimon, through the death of his father Miltiades, was placed in a +position of sore distress. Miltiades had been arraigned by the +thankless Athenians and sentenced to pay a fine of fifty talents, and +as he died soon after, without having paid the sum, the debt, by the +hard provisions of the law, passed to his son Cimon. So long as Cimon +did not pay the fifty talents, he was held a dishonorable citizen. Out +of love for her brother, Elpinice had remained unwedded; out of love +for her brother she now married. For the prize of her hand, a certain +Callias defrayed Cimon’s debt. After some time this Callias died, and +Elpinice immediately returned to her brother’s house. + +From the siege and conquest of Thasos, Cimon brought to Athens the +artist Polygnotus, a native of the island. He had perceived the youth’s +talent, become attached to him, and wished to open a wider and more +worthy field for his art. Through Cimon’s mediation, Polygnotus +received from the Athenians the commission to adorn the temple of +Theseus with pictures; he also painted in the great hall of the Agora, +which from this very decoration was called the “gay-colored” or the +“painted,” scenes from the conquest of Troy. Constantly passing in and +out of the house of his friend and patron Cimon, the youth fell in love +with Elpinice, and when the picture of the Greek heroes judging Ajax’s +deed of violence was completed, the fairest of the captive Trojan +women, Laodice, Priam’s daughter, bore the features of Cimon’s sister. +Elpinice was not ungrateful for this homage. True, she refused the +artist her heart and hand, but gave him her friendship. Many, many +years had passed since then, but the bond between these two still +endured, after Cimon died and Elpinice, like Polygnotus, had grown old. + +Yes, Elpinice had grown old, and without being aware of it. + +Wedded only for a short portion of her life, and against her will, and +engrossed during the remainder of her days by the fruitless enthusiasm +of a sisterly love, she had, although a widow, developed the singular +trait which distinguishes old maids. It is a peculiar characteristic of +spinsters, that growing children do not serve them as landmarks of +advancing time, mile-stones of their life pilgrimage, so that old age +approaches them unobserved. They always feel young. This blending of +inward youth and external age impresses upon them, in the eyes of the +world, at first lightly, but gradually more and more strongly, the +stamp of absurdity. + +Thus Elpinice too had grown old without perceiving it. The high price +Callias had paid for her hand, the homage the artist offered, and other +things of this kind, had made her vain of her beauty. She still +remained so, long after the charms that aroused the feeling had +vanished. She thought herself the same as when Polygnotus painted her +as the fairest of Priam’s daughters; for she was unmarried, she had no +husband, to say: “you are old!” Gentle, quiet, reverential Polygnotus +neither could nor would tell her so. He had remained a bachelor, and +offered a bachelor’s somewhat stiff, but well-meant homage, to the +former beloved of his heart. + +Her brother Cimon had been exiled by the Athenians some time before his +death. His adherents strove to obtain permission for him to return, but +feared the influence of the youthful Pericles, whose star was rising, +and who could derive nothing but advantage from the absence of his +older rival. + +Elpinice, adventurous as she had always been, resolved upon a bold plan +to again secure her brother’s deliverance. She rouged and perfumed +herself, donned a magnificent robe, and went to Pericles. She knew that +the great statesman was not indifferent to feminine beauty. She would +appear before him with all the charms of a figure that had enraptured +Callias, entranced Polygnotus, heightened by art. She went to Pericles, +to induce him to withhold the Olympic thunder of his words in the +popular assembly, when the proposal to recall Cimon was made. + +When Pericles saw the fantastic, gaudily-decked, perfumed woman +standing before him, with a look of conscious victory on her face, he +perceived that this was a design upon the susceptibility of his heart. +He knew that he had the reputation of such susceptibility, and the idea +annoyed him. He was vexed that such a character should be ascribed to +him, in spite of his grave, dignified demeanor, and now came this +elderly Elpinice, presuming to seek to ensnare him with the scanty +remnants of her beauty. + +Pericles was gentle by nature, but the idea that this bedizened woman, +with down on her lip, should think it so easy a matter to captivate the +friend of beauty, made the kindly man for the moment a tyrant. He gazed +at the intercessor for a time in silence, scanned her dress, then her +face, and at last said very quietly: + +“You have grown old, Elpinice.” + +He uttered these words in the gentlest tone,—yet they were malicious. +They are the sole instance of ill-nature, that tradition reports of +Pericles, the Olympian. + +A secret shiver ran through his own frame, as he spoke the fatal word. +He suspected it was one of those, whose consequences Clio has a stylus +to record. + +The sentence: “you have grown old, Elpinice,” might cause a change in +the fate of Pericles, Athens, nay all Hellas—civil war, a Persian +invasion, blood, sorrow, tears, woe of every kind, the ruin of the +Hellenic nation might spring from these words. What may not a woman do, +who has been told: you are old? + +And the most kindly of all the Greeks had uttered this harshest of all +words. + +Elpinice started, cast an angry glance at Pericles, and left him. + +But what did it avail Pericles’ good repute, that he had treated the +coquettish Elpinice with so little courtesy? Did not the kind-hearted +Olympian spoil all, by shuddering at the harsh words which had escaped +his lips, regretting them, and trying to make amends on the Pnyx? When +the people had assembled and the motion for the recall of Cimon was +made, all looked at Pericles, expecting that he would vehemently oppose +it; but he sat silent, gazing into vacancy as if the matter was no +concern of his, so that Cimon’s adherents won their cause, the +Athenians laughed, and one whispered to another with a significant +wink: “There is the elderly Elpinice’s work again! She went to Pericles +in her finery, and the lover of the fair sex bit eagerly—bit at the +rancid bait.” + +Poor Pericles! + +After Cimon’s death Elpinice was angry with the world, because she was +obliged to live on without him. Now she hated Pericles and the new +times still more. + +Her conversation was always spiced with such sayings as: “My brother +Cimon used to say,” or, “my brother Cimon used to do this or that,” or, +“my brother Cimon would have done so or so in this case.” + +Cimon had been a friend of Laconia, a man who concealed his sympathy +for Sparta so little, that he gave one of his sons the name of +Lacedæmonius, and whose whole character bore far more resemblance to a +Spartan soldier, than a cultured, refined and volatile Athenian, so no +one could wonder that his masculine sister carried this friendship for +the Laconians to the verge of caricature. She served the party that was +opposed to every free and joyous aspiration of the Attic nature, by the +zeal with which she watched the family life of its foes. She was on the +most intimate terms with the very women, whose husbands she hated. This +was the case with Telesippe, the wife of Pericles. + +Yet this walking memento of the good old days, this spinster friend of +the secretly dissatisfied bachelor Polygnotus, did not possess a +thoroughly ungracious and repulsive nature. She was at once malicious +and well-meaning, spiteful and faithful, grave and variable, ridiculous +and worthy of reverence. + +Such was the woman, before whom Pericles and his friend, the wise +Anaxagoras, fled so hastily, when she came to visit Telesippe. + +Telesippe helped Cimon’s sister to release her thin body from the folds +of the cloak-like himation, in which Elpinice, as beseemed a chaste +Athenian woman, always wrapped not merely the upper portion of her +body, but even her head—with the exception of her mouth and +eyes—whenever she went into the street. Then Telesippe drew out a +chair, laid a cushion on it, and invited her friend to sit down. +Elpinice was dressed very neatly, with a sort of old-fashioned care, +and her hair was no less daintily arranged. Her head-dress corresponded +admirably with its wearer’s character. The locks at the back of the +head were covered by a handkerchief, twisted below and knotted +coquettishly above the so-called “saccus,” while the front was adorned +with the metal plate already mentioned, which, somewhat resembling a +diadem, rose to a point above the brow. Large round ear-rings of +antique pattern dangled on both sides of the venerable Elpinice’s face. + +“Telesippe,” cried the visitor, “you look paler than usual to-day. What +does this mean?” + +“It may be the result of anxiety,” replied Telesippe. “We had a miracle +in the house.” + +“What do you say?” cried Elpinice. “Has oil or wine been spilled while +pouring it out? Or have the beams creaked without cause? Or did a +strange black dog run into the house?” + +“The steward brought to the city this morning a ram born on our country +estate, which had only one horn, that grew directly in the middle of +its forehead.” + +“A ram with a single horn?” cried Elpinice. “By Artemis! I’m not +surprised that signs and marvels happen. A huge meteoric stone is said +to have fallen from the sky at Brilessus the night before last. Some +say that they saw a comet in the shape of a burning beam. Some of the +statues of the gods are reported to have begun to perspire or bleed. A +short time ago a raven perched on the gilded statue of Pallas at +Delphi, and pecked with its beak the fruits of the brazen palm on which +it stands. But best of all—just imagine. The priestess of the Eumenides +at Orchomenus is said to have grown a long thick beard! Have you sent +for an interpreter of omens?” + +“Lampon,” replied Telesippe. + +“Lampon is excellent,” said Elpinice, nodding approvingly. “He is the +best of them all. Anybody can slaughter an animal and make predictions +from its entrails. But one should see and hear Lampon, when he holds an +egg over the fire and draws his omens from its sweating or bursting, or +when he forms whole letters and words from grains of corn he lays on +the ground, then lets in the hens and notices which they pick up, and +which not. He knows, too, how to prophecy from the hand, and even from +clear water, or anything one wishes, as nobody else can do. Lampon is +clever and reliable; you can believe what he says, as if the priestess +had uttered it on the tripod at Delphi. But you don’t tell me how he +interpreted the marvel.” + +“He interpreted the single horn to mean Pericles’ dominion over +Athens,” replied Telesippe. + +Elpinice turned up her nose, and said no more in praise of Lampon. “My +brother Cimon,” said she, “revered the omens of the gods as much as any +one, and once ordered a ram to be slaughtered for twelve days in +succession, until the entrails were favorable. Then he attacked the +enemy. But whenever he went into the field, he always said to the +interpreters, who accompanied him at the public expense. ‘Soothsayers, +do the duties of your office, but don’t flatter me! Don’t falsify the +signs of the gods to please me.’ Modern statesmen, on the contrary, +have quite different wishes. The seers know very well, who desires to +hear the truth and who does not. People who allow themselves to be +flattered, may enjoy a fleeting success; but the real blessing of the +gods never attends those who do not revere the Olympians.” + +“Do you suppose that Pericles showed himself particularly grateful to +Lampon for his prediction,” replied Telesippe. “No, he merely smiled, +and his friend, that old, half-starved Anaxagoras, even ventured to +make sneering remarks.” + +“Since my brother Cimon’s death,” cried Elpinice, “we have received +into the country those despisers of the gods, the Sophists.” + +“And these people,” said Telesippe, “undermine not only reverence for +the gods and good morals in the state, but destroy the happiness and +prosperity of the family. I was the wife of the wealthy Hipponicus, and +might have married the Archon Basileus, whose wife really occupies the +highest position in the nation, because, according to ancient custom, +she shares her husband’s most sacred priestly functions. But I allowed +myself to be won first by the wealthy Hipponicus, then by Pericles’ +dignified, yet gentle, flattering manner. Now, what am I, a woman +accustomed to so much better things, compelled to undergo! To what a +household have I descended from that of Hipponicus! And things have +gone constantly from bad to worse. Pericles neglects his home. If I go +to consult him about the most important domestic affairs, he has no +time for them. I scarcely venture to enter his room in the morning. He +fairly shows me to the door. ‘My dear Telesippe,’ he says, ‘don’t +trouble me in the morning with such matters, or at least don’t come +unwashed and uncombed, so that you offend my ears and eyes at the same +time.’ I have been the wife of the wealthy Hipponicus, and he permitted +me to live in splendor; yet never did he address such words to me. +Here, on the contrary, in Pericles’ house, where instead of luxury and +magnificence sordidness and poverty surround me, here I must only +appear before the stern master, bathed and perfumed and crowned with +garlands. How I resisted, when he took it into his head to lease his +estates, and trust all his money to his slave Euangelos. He is now +purse-bearer and steward in the house, and I, its mistress, am +condemned to take money from the hand of a slave. Do you know from whom +Pericles learned this fine way of housekeeping, who leads him to it by +his example? No other than his beloved Anaxagoras. Before this +malicious idler left his house in Clazomenæ, to wander here to Athens, +his relatives reproached him, asking why he did not manage the estates +inherited from his father. He answered: ‘Do it yourselves, if you +choose!’ At last he went away, leaving everything he possessed just as +it stood, and told the Clazomenians they might turn the goats of the +community into his fields and meadows. Such men are the friends and +advisers of Pericles!” + +Telesippe’s complaint was interrupted by a slave, who approached to ask +her orders about some domestic matter. Other male and female slaves +returned from the market, bringing the provisions they had purchased. +Telesippe tried the odor or taste of the various articles, but allowed +Elpinice to give her opinion about the freshness of a pike, and issued +certain orders to the cook. She also distributed to the slave-women +flax, linen, and other woven materials for the daily task of spinning, +weaving, and sewing in the house. + +Then she turned back to her friend, to continue the interrupted +conversation. + +“I haven’t yet told you the worst!” she said. “Formerly this was a +poor, yet a peaceful household. But everything has changed since the +time Pericles, in his thoughtless good-nature, brought home his ward, +the boy Alcibiades, the orphaned son of Cleinias, to be educated with +his own children. I say out of good-nature; but in doing so he only +showed himself kind to his relative, while utterly regardless of me and +his own flesh and blood. You know how well-behaved my two boys, +Xanthippus and Paralus, have always been, and under what control I have +kept them. They sat quietly in a corner all day long, and the pedagogue +actually fell asleep, they gave him so little to do. Pericles never +called them anything but ‘humbugs,’ and scolded them for their want of +activity. But they were really well-behaved children, such as all +fathers would desire. They had learned to obey at a sign, and did +nothing except what they were told to do. They sat or walked, eat and +slept, whenever people desired. If one said: ‘Paralus, don’t put your +hand in your mouth!’ or ‘Xanthippus, don’t touch your nose!’ Paralus +took his fist out of his mouth, and Xanthippus his finger out of his +nose. If either of them ever made a wry face, we need only say: ‘Mormo +is coming,’ or ‘Empusa,’ or ‘Acco,’ or ‘the wolf is there,’ or ‘the +horse will bite,’ and they turned pale and became as gentle as lambs. +And now? You wouldn’t know the boys, since that good-for-nothing +Alcibiades came into the house. With him, noise and shouting and +misbehavior of every kind has been brought into the nursery. The first +thing he did was to throw into one corner the rattles and tops, which +have always afforded Xanthippus and Paralus the utmost pleasure, and +call for wooden horses and carts. Pericles gave him what he wanted, and +then he banged noisily around the peristyle as if he were in the +race-course at Olympia. Soon the wooden horses no longer satisfied him, +and he harnessed Paralus and Xanthippus, and at last, even the +pedagogue, before his ‘Olympic chariot of victory,’ as he called it. By +way of a change, he caught swallows in the peristyle and either clipped +their wings or let them fly as far as long strings would allow them. + +“At first the two boys watched their new companion’s conduct with a +sort of timid amazement. Gradually they became accustomed to it, +approached when he was playing some mischievous prank, and watched him +gravely and eagerly. Afterwards they helped, and at last began to +imitate like monkeys everything the fellow did. But the better nature, +innate in them, showed itself in the fact that they never originated +any naughty idea. They only faithfully did whatever Alcibiades ordered. +If I began to say anything about Mormo, Empusa, Acco, the wolf or the +biting horse, Alcibiades laughed. When Xanthippus and Paralus saw him, +and perceived that Mormo, Empusa, the wolf and the horse allowed it, +they laughed too. So I lost all power over the boys. They no longer +obey me. The pedagogue is an old man, a slave grown grey in the service +of the family, who fell from an olive-tree and broke his leg, and whom +Pericles therefore, again out of good-nature, that he might have no +more hard work to do, has made the boys’ overseer. Now the very fire on +the hearth isn’t safe from the rascals; they destroy and break +everything that can be destroyed and broken, climb wherever they can, +and fall down wherever it is possible to fail. The slave-women in the +house are teased and pinched, the men scoffed at and beaten. If I +attempt to interfere, and chase the boys angrily with my sandal in my +hand, Xanthippus and Paralus creep like a flash of lightning under +tables and couches, Alcibiades swings himself like a squirrel up the +pillars of the peristyle to the cornice. And Pericles? If I complain to +him, he smiles and takes the ringleader Alcibiades under his protection +against the humbugs—” + +At this moment Telesippe was interrupted by little Paralus, who came +running in, crying bitterly. + +The other lads followed close at his heels. + +“We were playing the furious Ajax,” said Alcibiades, “the furious Ajax, +who killed so many cattle when he was mad, because he thought them +Achæans, and who is the ancestor of our family, my father Cleinias told +me. I was Ajax, Paralus and Xanthippus were the cattle. But I didn’t +strike them hard.” + +“Inhuman boy!” cried Telesippe, in an outburst of anger, and beckoning +to Paralus and Xanthippus, caressed them to soothe their grief. + +Meantime Elpinice was gazing intently at little Alcibiades. + +“Yet he is a charming lad!” she said. “These sparkling black eyes—this +dazzlingly white forehead—these magnificent floating curls.” + +“He’s a good-for-nothing scamp!” cried Telesippe, irritated by the +words of admiration her friend seemed to be lavishing on the boy. Then +she called the pedagogue. The old man came limping up. “Why did you +allow Alcibiades to abuse the two lads?” she exclaimed. + +“He was in the game himself,” said Alcibiades; “he stood ready to be +the Trojan horse, with which I intended to enter Ilium.” + +Telesippe looked at the pedagogue in astonishment. + +“Mistress Telesippe,” replied the latter, “this isn’t the first time I +have been obliged to aid this wild fellow’s pranks. Yesterday he bit my +hand like a young dog—” + +“Fie! Say like a young lion!” exclaimed little Alcibiades indignantly. + +“O, Zeus and Apollo!” cried Elpinice, with a merry gesture. Then +drawing the boy towards her, she continued coaxingly: “You are +certainly a brave lad, and if you had lived under my brother, the great +Cimon, would have helped him fight the Persians. But in those times, my +child, boys behaved differently from the lads of the present day. They +were not nimble-tongued, saucy and forward, and they despised perfumes +and warm baths. At table they sat properly, without crossing their legs +or taking even a tiny stalk of a vegetable in their own hands. In the +morning they were seen in thin garments, even when it stormed and blew, +on their way to the music teacher, where they learned substantial old +songs like, ‘Pallas, ruler of the city,’ or ‘Shorn, good ram,’ by +Simonides, not the effeminate love ditties that are now the fashion, +with turns and flourishes, which anybody ought to be well beaten for +applauding. Remember, son of Cleinias, you, too, will soon be sent with +your playmates to the teacher’s house, you will study grammar and +gymnastics, playing the lute and blowing the flute—” + +“No,” interrupted little Alcibiades; “I don’t want to play the flute—it +makes one look ugly—puffs out the cheeks—so.” He puffed out his cheeks +as far as he could. + +“Oh, how vain!” cried Elpinice, trying to kiss him. + +But old maids have little luck with children. To escape the kiss +Cimon’s sister offered, Alcibiades, with boyish impudence, blew full +into her face the breath he had been holding in his cheeks, and then +ran away laughing saucily. + +Elpinice was furious, and started from her seat to leave the house at +once. Taking her himation, she threw one end of the broad side of the +long piece of cloth over her left shoulder, holding it firmly with her +left arm, than drew the material across her back to the right side, in +such a way that it not only covered this part of her body, but also her +head with the exception of her face. Finally she passed it under her +chin, and again threw it over her left shoulder, so that the point hung +on her back. + +“You see what a fate I endure,” said Telesippe, holding her friend’s +hand to detain her. “This is the way I live here, tormented by +troublesome children, by the side of a careless husband, joyless, +vexed, slighted, I who might have been the wife of the Archon +Basileus—the sharer of the most sacred offices of the service of the +Athenian gods.” + +“My brother Cimon used to say,” replied Elpinice: “New times are evil +times. The world goes on its course, and ambitious men urge it forward. +But we women are here too. Give heed, Telesippe, and let what I say to +you be enough for to-day! if we women hold together and cling to the +wheels, they won’t succeed speedily in turning this earth completely +out of the old grooves.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE RIBBON-DEALER FROM HALIMUS. + + +When Pericles and Anaxagoras left the house, they went down the street +leading from the great theatre of Dionysus to the foot of the southern +declivity of the Acropolis, and then turned northward to enter the one +which ran between the western slope of the Acropolis and the hill of +the Areopagus to the Agora. + +They had now reached their goal, and were standing on the Agora. + +This central point of Athenian life and intercourse covered a wide +space in the district of the Cerameicus. It lay as if sheltered under +the protection of the hills of Athens; on the southern side it had the +rugged rocks of the Areopagus and Acropolis, on the western the Hill of +the Nymphs, joined in a southerly direction by the more famous summit +of the Pnyx, to the north was the moderately high hill that bore the +temple of Theseus, and on the northwest appeared the slopes of the +famous Colonus. + +Thus all the famed and hallowed hills of Athens looked down upon the +Agora. + +In its midst rose the altar of the twelve great Olympian gods. Here, +too, stood the bronze statues of the ten legendary ancestral heroes of +the Attic nation and country. Opposite to these statues was allotted to +each of the nine Archons, the chief magistrates of Athens, the place of +his public activity within the limits of the Agora. Here, too, were +most of the courts of justice; the spot where the Council of the Five +Hundred assembled, the Bouleuterion and the domed rotunda of the +Tholus. + +The throng of people surged more densely than usual around these +meeting-places to-day. In the Tholus, many were hastening to the +prytanes, the men who belonged to the division of magistrates then +officiating. Many other members of the magistracy were seen on the +square, but attracted little notice. Then Pericles arrived, and all +eyes instantly turned towards him. He took leave of his companion +Anaxagoras, entered the Tholus and went to the prytanes. He had several +matters to discuss with these men, who consulted together about the +subjects to be brought before the popular assembly, and presided over +it. + +Stately temples towered around the magnificent Agora of the Athenians, +and its long porticos were adorned with all the noblest beauty of art. + +Most refreshing to the eye, amid this vast number of pinnacles and +colonnades, glittering in the sunlight, was the green foliage of the +plane-trees, which, a grateful heritage from Cimon, subdued the sultry +heat of the Agora and afforded a pleasant shade to its fierce tumult. + +Under woven branches, that afforded protection from sun and rain, was +displayed in countless booths the bright, fragrant, manifold wealth of +the Athenian market. + +Leeks and lettuce, caraway seeds and cresses, thyme and honey, bullocks +and fish, poultry and game—do they deserve a glance because found in +the market-place of ancient Athens? Why not? All that ripened under the +sky of Attica was of noble species, and the Greek sun spiced it with +more delicate juices. + +Besides, neighboring countries sent their best products to Athens. +These dainty succulent vegetables came from Megara; this goose, these +choice coots and sand-snipes from the rich land of Bœotia. + +But the greatest throng in the market-place gathered around the scaly +tribe. Everything eatable and delicious that swarmed in the hundred +bays of the deeply-indented Grecian coast was offered here, from the +cheap salt-fish, the cheapest of these commodities, yet which, when +covered with oil, wrapped in aromatic leaves, and roasted in the hot +ashes, tasted admirably, to the most praised and costliest dainty of +its kind, the Bœotian eel. The anchovies from the neighboring harbor of +Phalerum were so delicate, that they only, so to speak, required to see +the fire, to be thoroughly fried. + +Whoever did not feel disposed to carry home the raw material for a +meal, could satisfy his hunger on the spot. Judging from the odor, even +the juicy roast donkey was not to be despised, at least the seller +praised the belly-portion as a dainty morsel. True, his neighbor in a +clear, loud voice expended all the eloquence of the Greeks to prove +that his goat-meat deserved the preference, that it was the most +nourishing of any kind of flesh, and real “athlete’s food.” + +If one desired to escape the smell of flesh and blood—which, however, +the Olympians enjoyed—and sought more delicate and subtle perfumes, he +betook himself to the spot where the merry glances of some young girl +or rosy boy, weaving garlands, invited customers. The Athenian was +extravagantly fond of garlands. They accompanied him from his mother’s +lap to the tomb. In Athens not only fame, love, death, joy, and every +kind of festal gayety adorned itself with flowers; not only did the +reveller twine his brow, nay his whole body with garlands at the +symposium, but even the dignitary wore a wreath while performing his +official duties, and the orator did the same when preparing to speak to +the assembled populace on the Pnyx. Athens wound her garlands of roses +and ivy, and did not even disdain the foliage of the silver-poplar; +hyacinths too blended with the green of the myrtle; but she seems to +have best loved the modest violet, for her poets called her the +“violet-wreathed.” + +There was also the pottery market, the pride of Athenian +art-manufactures. From ancient times this whole portion of the city +took its name from the potters, and the productions of the Attic clay, +so blessed by the gods, went from here on ships to all parts of the +world. The Athenian shaped this beautiful clay of his native soil, like +his Attic marble, with that delicate sense of the plastic art the gods +considerately bestowed on him with his admirable clay and marble. + +From the small, flat, handless, and footless phial, to the gigantic +pithos, that contained a hundred amphoræ of wine, yet was made of clay, +everything was perfectly proportioned. The round, double-handled +amphoræ, the hydria, the perfume-bottles with narrow necks, from which +the liquid could only flow drop by drop with a gurgling sound, the huge +mixing vessels, jars for water, and goblets of a hundred different +shapes—all were beautiful. + +Not a single article was shapeless, or made solely for use. Even the +vessels for daily service, even the jar in which the Greek kept his +wine, his honey, his oil or his perfume, was beautiful. It never lacked +the charm of graceful proportions, harmonious outlines. + +While walking here, one would not have supposed himself in a market and +among merchandise, for beauty does not belong solely to him who pays +for it, but delights every passer-by, and where the things with which +men are surrounded bear the elevating impress of loveliness, all have a +share in everything, and the ideal of community in property is realized +in its loftiest sense. + +One might also walk through the perfume-market, and the clothes-mart, +where with the native costume, foreign garments, mantles from Megara, +Thessalian hats, Amyclæan and Sicyonian shoes, found admirers and +purchasers. But moderns would doubtless have most enjoyed the books +offered in holders of cylindrical shape, and gladly unrolled the broad +sheets of papyrus, wrapped about round sticks, ornamented at both ends +with ivory or metal knobs, and fastened by red or yellow bands of +parchment. + +Yet the noise of the hawkers, the bustle of the market-place, was too +great to allow one to become absorbed in the literary wisdom of the +Athenians. + +A charcoal-burner from Acharnæ, and a ribbon-dealer from Halimus, were +vying with each other in praising their wares. A third person joined +them, calling upon the Athenians to buy his excellent lamp-wicks, made +from the pith of rushes. Soon shouts rose on all sides: “Buy my oil!” +“buy my vinegar!” “buy my wood!” while public criers announced that +such and such a ship had arrived in the harbor, that such and such +merchandise had been discharged, or proclaimed the reward offered for +the discovery of a thief or the restoration of a runaway slave. + +The only thing missed in the market-place was the presence of women. No +Athenian sent his wife or daughters there. He sent slaves or—went +himself and made the purchases for the family meal. + +Yet were there not numbers of oddly-dressed women moving about near the +temple of Aphrodite Pandemos? They did not belong to the ranks of the +buyers, but the sellers, and were at once venders and merchandise. +Among them were flute-players and dancing-girls, waiting to be hired to +amuse the merry revellers at the symposia of the wealthy. Exchangers’ +tables also stood in the Agora, as well as at the Piræeus, and the +Athenian gave these bankers his ready money, to be received again in +small sums as he required. + +The Athenian had numberless reasons for visiting the Agora at least +once a day, and if by accident he lacked a cause, went there without +one. His temperament was extremely social. Constant intercourse with +his equals was a necessity. This loquacity and sociability found vent +everywhere: in the porticos, the baths, the barber’s shops, the booths, +even in the workshops of the artisan, everywhere except in taverns; of +these the Athenians had little knowledge, or left them to the lowest +dregs of the people. + +What was the purpose of the large, well-armed throng encamped just in +the centre of the almost boundless Agora? They were the Scythian +bowmen, mercenaries who, according to ancient custom, guarded the +market-place, a sort of city and police guard, ready to execute the +orders of the Council of Five Hundred. These sons of distant Scythia +delighted the Athenian by the barbarous jargon into which they mangled +the Greek language and—by their unquenchable thirst. + +They were snub-nosed, and had expressionless faces, which contrasted +disadvantageously with the elegantly-formed heads and expressive +features of the native Greeks. The foreigners were coarse and clumsy in +their appearance, the Greeks, on the contrary, were delicately-formed +and full of spirit and energy. The movements of the former were +sometimes sluggish and heavy, sometimes awkwardly hurried, while those +of the latter were imbued with noble grace. Even the coal-burner from +Acharnæ held himself erect, and the ribbon-dealer from Halimus, who +had, with difficulty, given a little new lustre to his shabby linen +garment, by the aid of chalk, in honor of the popular assembly, glanced +proudly around him, while selling his wares. He swayed to and fro from +his hips in crossing the market-place, but the upper portion of his +body maintained a dignified repose. The proverbial “Attic glance,” +dwelt in the eyes of all the men assembled. What was the meaning of +this glance? It is hard to say. The “Attic glance,” like the whole +nature of the Athenians, was a mirror of very different qualities, both +amiable and unamiable. The Attic glance was ready at any moment to +transform itself into a sharp Attic jest. The Athenian seemed grave, +but a sarcastic idea sprung and sparkled suddenly from his seriousness, +as fire flashes from a stone. He had mother-wit and knew how to use it. + +A man, whose dress and stately bearing betokened comfortable +circumstances, but who evidently looked about him with a stranger’s +eyes, had been wandering for some time through the crowded Agora. He +entered the booths of the dealers, inquired the price of this and of +that article of merchandise, but always seemed to make objections. + +The ribbon-dealer from Halimus was slowly passing him. + +“I don’t understand,” said the stranger, perhaps encouraged by the look +of curiosity or interest the latter cast at him. “I don’t understand +the prices of these dealers. I believe they are trying to cheat me.” + +“Are you a stranger?” asked the ribbon-dealer. + +“Of course,” replied the other. “I came here with my family from Sicyon +and only arrived a few days ago. I intend to settle here. I would +rather be a foreign resident in Athens than a citizen of Sicyon, where +my enemies abused me.” + +When the other heard that the man who accosted him was no citizen of +Athens, but merely a foreign resident—he had supposed him to be a +magistrate—he drew himself up somewhat more stiffly and answered with a +sort of condescension: + +“Friend, if you are ignorant of the value of our coins and the prices +of our wares, you must try to learn them, and, if possible, from an +honest man. Look,” he continued, drawing out a very small, thin piece +of silver, and laying it on the palm of his hand, “look, this is Attic +silver, which we dig yonder in Laurium. You’ll find no such fine, pure +metal in the whole world. This is our smallest silver coin, a half +obolus; with it you can buy a common cheese, or a small sausage with +some liver, or even a tolerably large piece of meat, as much as you +alone can eat. If you pay a whole obolus, you will get a dish of meat +admirably dressed. For four such obols you can carry home a dainty sea +fish. If you have six obols, they make a drachm and you can change them +for a larger silver coin, with the head of Athena on one side and the +laurel-wreathed Athenian owl on the other. For a drachm you can get a +dish of echinüs; for two drachmæ a whole bushel of barley, for three a +bushel of wheat, and for ten a chiton, provided it is not of specially +fine quality. When you have a hundred drachmæ, it is equal to a mina, +and for one-and-a-half such minæ you can buy a slave; three minæ will +purchase a horse, or a very small house; if you want a larger and finer +one you must give sixty, or one talent. You see in this way you can buy +many dainties, many fine things in Athens for little money. But if you +lack this little, you must do like the rest of us poor people—support +yourself modestly on our native barley cakes, and chew the spicy native +garlic.” + +At this moment, the speaker was interrupted by the sound of a powerful +voice, that echoed through the market-place. It was the herald, who now +verbally repeated the invitation addressed in writing before the +Bouleuterion to the Athenians, to assemble on the Pnyx, adding that the +meeting would be opened in an hour. At the same time a large banner was +raised on the summit of the Pnyx, which fluttered in the air over the +city in token of the approaching council. + +The throng pressed around the herald, and a sort of ferment spread +through the dense crowd. The men of Athens had been on foot since early +morning, and wherever people gathered together, eager, and not +unfrequently quarrelsome, conversation was heard. The herald’s +proclamation fanned the warmth of political discussion to new and +brighter flames. + +“The treasure brought from Delos by the government ship is said to +amount to eighteen hundred talents!” exclaimed some one in the midst of +a group of citizens. + +“Three thousand talents!” cried a second. + +“Six thousand!” eagerly chimed in a third. “Six thousand, I tell you, +have come from Delos—six thousand talents in ready money.” + +“Hurrah!” shouted a fourth, fairly jumping for joy. “Where there is +money, says the proverb, the oars move and the wind blows.” + +“As for the new buildings,” thoughtfully remarked a fifth in the group, +“especially the new temple of Pallas, I’ll consent; but the judges’ pay +and the money for plays—” + +“What? Won’t you grant the people that?” cried one of the poorer +citizens standing near. + +“Why, yes,” replied the other, “but I don’t think the proposal will go +through. The oligarchs won’t allow it to pass. Money to pay for plays +for the people? The numerous friends of Laconia will never allow it. +No, indeed.” + +“On the contrary,” replied another, “I think the motion for the plays +will be easily carried, for the masses of the people on the Pnyx have a +majority against the oligarchs. But with regard to the buildings, and +especially the new temple of Pallas Athena—” + +“What?” several persons eagerly interrupted; “do you think we ought not +to build?” + +“No,” replied the other. “I only mean—” + +“Wait!” some one interrupted, “let us first hear Pericles!” + +“Yes, let us first hear Pericles!” echoed around the circle. But +Pamphilus, the sausage-maker, turned up his nose, saying: + +“Pericles, always Pericles! Must we always listen to him?” + +“Why not?” was the reply; “Pericles is wise—Pericles is +well-meaning—Pericles is the man to whom we Athenians owe the fat on +the broth—Pericles is the only person here in Athens, of whom his +fellow-citizens can say no evil—” + +“What?” cried his opponent; “no evil? Don’t all the older people say +that his features bear a certain resemblance to those of Pisistratus, +the tyrant?” + +“That’s true,” observed Pamphilus. “Besides he has—what every-body +doesn’t know—a so-called onion-head.” + +“What? an onion-head?” cried the listeners. + +“An onion-head!” replied the other. “Know,” he continued mysteriously, +“know that the handsome, stately Pericles has a lump on the top of his +head, so that it runs up to a point, not unlike an onion—” + +“Nonsense!” cried the rest of the party. “Did anybody ever see this +onion-head of Pericles?” + +“No one,” replied Pamphilus, “no one. That’s certain. But how could any +person see it? In the field Pericles wears his helmet, and even in +peace wherever it is suitable, you will see his head covered with this +same helmet. Where it won’t do, he tries other ways. For instance, on +the Bema he wears the usual myrtle wreath of the orator; and in the +street he is generally seen in the broad brimmed Thessalian hat, so no +one has ever beheld Pericles’ head distinctly; but for that very +reason, the supposition that he has an onion-head is probable; if it +were not so, why should he so anxiously conceal it?” + +“Of course, of course,” said many of his hearers, nodding assent; +“there’s no doubt that Pericles’ head is an onion-head—” + +“If that is so,” remarked one of the oligarchist party, who was in the +group, casting a sarcastic glance at some poorly-dressed men, who were +listening to the conversation; “if Pericles, the friend of the people, +has an onion-head, he ought to guard himself from the love of his best +friends and adherents, the onion and garlic eaters—” + +Some laughed at the oligarch’s jest, but among the men, on whom the +scornful side-glance had rested, was the ribbon-dealer from Halimus. He +answered it with a flash of his dark eyes, clenched his fist and was on +the point of sending back a sharp reply. + +But at this moment a man approached, carrying his purchases in the +folds draped over his breast. + +“Ah, Pheidippides!” cried one; “you’ve been bargaining for half an +hour, you niggard, haven’t you?” + +“To be sure!” replied Pheidippides, “the quean asked two obols for +these two little fish.” + +“And at last you bought them?” + +“For one,” replied Pheidippides smiling, but instantly added. “They’re +probably good for nothing, or the old woman wouldn’t have let me have +them so cheap. One is always getting cheated.” + +His hearers laughed. “Pheidippides, you are a man who understands +economy. What do you say to the extravagance of Pericles, who now wants +us to spend the allies’ treasure in all kinds of salaries and plays, +and for a magnificent temple of Pallas on the Acropolis. Have you no +objections, Pheidippides?” + +“Pallas Athena forbid!” cried Pheidippides. “May the blessing of all +the gods rest on the head of our great and wise Pericles. I have no +objections to make; on the contrary, I say: ‘we must build, we must +have the magnificent temple of Athena on the Acropolis, though it +should swallow all the treasure of the allies—’” + +“What? are you, who are so miserly in your own house, that you split +the caraway seed for daily use, thus generous with the public money,” +asked several. + +“Why,” replied Pheidippides, “at home it isn’t worth while to be +generous and manage lavishly. When are we in the house? When does an +Athenian citizen’s business allow him to be at home? He must go to the +market, to the assembly of the people, the assembly of the members of +his family, the assembly of the members of his district, to this or +that court of justice, to this or that club, now to the Piræeus, now +into the country to look after his fields and sheep—when, I ask, is the +Athenian citizen at home? He belongs to the public, and the public to +him; so my motto is always: ‘saving at home, but generous and lavish +for the community.’ Why should I adorn my own house, it would please me +only a short time, and then perhaps be squandered by my son and heir. +But what I help build on the Acropolis will last, and that I can +bequeath to my remotest descendant.” + +“Pheidippides is right!” said the men, looking at each other and +nodding. + +But the member of the oligarchist party, who had formerly ventured the +offensive jest, now raised his voice again. “Moderation in everything,” +said he. “We must sow with the hand and not the bag. If we don’t +preserve moderation, the community will decline, and the proud +structure of Athenian power and grandeur fall into shameful ruin.” + +“May it strike you on the nose!” cried the angry ribbon-dealer from +Halimus, shaking his fist at the oligarch. + +The bystanders laughed, but Pheidippides continued: “Look at the +richest men in Athens. You doubtless know how they obtained most of +their renown—not by erecting magnificent dwellings for themselves, but +by equipping ships for the commonwealth, training choruses for the +public plays at their own expense, and doing other things of this kind +which the law compelled, but in which they showed praiseworthy zeal in +giving more than was required. Is there anything for which they would +rather spend their wealth than these objects, although they thereby +merely enhance the splendor of the nation, while almost plunging +themselves into poverty?” + +“Ah,” replied the oligarch, “such is the conduct of the rich. But, +unfortunately, people are now paying more regard to splendor and +display, than to what is really substantial and useful. The trierarchs +often go on board their ships without providing the crews with anything +except meal, onions, and cheese, while those who endow and train a +tragic chorus at their own expense, feed these singers with all sorts +of sweets and dainties for the development and preservation of their +voices, and if their chorus is outdone by another must submit to be +jeered at and insulted. These customs are making us effeminate. If we +would only pay a little more heed to the example of the manly +Lacedemonians—” + +“A friend of Laconia!” cried several derisively. + +“Yes, a friend of Laconia!” said the oligarch. “I repeat, we must +follow the example of the Spartans, or our splendor won’t last long, +especially if we continue to let the guidance of the commonwealth fall +more and more into the hands of the poor, hungry, corruptible class—” + +The ribbon-dealer from Halimus, hearing these words, again clenched his +fist at the oligarch. One of his companions, with much difficulty, +soothed him. + +“I had a strange dream last night,” one of the men in the group now +began, “and should like to know what it means. I first saw great +darkness spread around; then a man came—he wore the features of +Pericles—and set up a torch, which grew larger and larger till at last +it shone like a scorching sun in the sky, and everything glittered in +the broad light of day. But the gigantic sun-torch, by the very +intensity of its heat, began to again draw vapors from the earth, which +grew denser and gathered into clouds, until at last the torch vanished +behind them, and it was as dark as before. It was a strange circle of +light and gloom. Does not this dream portend some misfortune?” + +“All dreams are not sent by the gods!” replied one of his listeners. + +“You are mistaken!” said the oligarch. “Dreams are always significant. +I myself was once saved by a warning dream, when I intended to embark +on a ship, which was afterwards lost with all on board. The gods did +not will that I should perish in such a way—” + +“Perhaps it is their will that you should be hanged,” cried the +ribbon-dealer, no longer repressing his indignation. + +The oligarch looked sullenly at the man, as if he meant to call the +insolent jester to account. + +But, glancing around the circle, he saw only faces smiling approval, +and as the pedler approached belligerently, as if longing to attack +him, preferred to vanish in the throng, which was beginning to move +towards the Pnyx, for the hour of the assembly had arrived. + +The pedler from Halimus, still enraged with the oligarch, joined the +crowd. The Sicyonian was near him. “Did you hear,” asked the former, +joining him, “what that rascal of an oligarch still ventures to do in +Athens? Despise the common people! Despise one of us because he is +poor—as if that made a man any less an Athenian citizen. True, I’m a +ribbon-dealer, and my wife, under pressure of necessity, has been +obliged to go out several times as a wet-nurse. But the law expressly +forbids, that an Athenian citizen should be reproached for pursuing a +trade to which he is compelled by poverty. And, by Pallas, I’m as much +an Athenian citizen as anybody else, though I don’t live in the street +of Tripods, but in a little suburb down by the harbor of Phalerum. Nay, +I believe it is better to seek a living with a bundle on one’s back, +than be like those who would rather starve than work, but don’t +consider it beneath their dignity to lick other people’s plates clean +as parasites, or lurk about watching for some man, who intentionally or +ignorantly breaks one of the numberless laws of Athens, in order to +accuse him and pocket his appointed portion of the fine he is condemned +to pay. If they consider it an honor to live as parasites or +sycophants, much good may it do them! I think myself their superior, +and if anybody wants to jeer at me, let him—I fear nobody. I perform my +duties as a citizen as well as anyone, put some bread and onions in my +knapsack, and then stand good-naturedly all day on the Pnyx in the +service of my native land. I thank the gods for having allowed me to be +born a citizen of Athens; and when I walk from Halimus to the city +early in the morning, and see the Acropolis glittering before me in the +sunlight, while the mighty Athena seems to beckon to me, saying: You +too are one of my sons! my heart swells, and I secretly thank the old +hero Theseus, for having united all us children of Attica into one +commonwealth, whether we live in the city or the country districts. You +other Hellenes must admit, that our Athens differs from all the rest of +the Greek cities, as widely as they differ from villages. We Athenians +are aborigines, and recognized as the purest, most unmixed Hellenic +blood. But you can understand that it is no trifling matter to help +rule and govern a community like this. I’ve been fairly racking my +brain, during the last few days, to decide how far the proposals made +by Pericles are justified. Pericles is wise, very wise, and I entirely +agree with him concerning the removal of the treasure from Delos to +Athens, applying the money to national uses, and building the new +temple of Pallas Athena. But, on the other hand, we citizens can’t +consent to everything at once, as if it were obligatory—we must let it +be seen that we are the masters, that we have the deciding voice, we, +the people, and that we have a democracy in Athens.” + +The pedler from Halimus, as an Athenian citizen, uttered these words +very impressively to the new-comer from Sicyon. Then he entered the +shop of his friend Sporgilos, the barber, to have his cheeks and chin +shaved, in order to appear with becoming dignity among the other +citizens in the popular assembly, leaving his pack with Sporgilos until +his return. Meantime a number of the Scythian archers, under the +command of a lexiarch, had stretched a rope around the Agora in such a +manner, that only the street leading to the hill of Pnyx was left +free—an old custom, whose sole object was to remind the Athenians, who +liked to linger gossipping in the market-place, what way they were to +take. As the rope was smeared with vermillion, to make a red mark on +those who attempted to jump over it, a deserter would fear to expose +himself to the laughter of the quizzing throng. + +The pedler took his way towards the Pnyx with the rest of the citizens. +The Sicyonian remained by his side, curious to learn more from him, for +he could accompany him as far as the place of assembly. The hill of the +Pnyx was the central one of the three peaks on the western side of the +city. A ravine on the northwest divided it from the so-called Hill of +the Nymphs, and on the south a deeper gully, through which ran a +carriage road, separated it from the Museium. Towards the north and in +the opposite direction, the hill sloped in a tolerably gentle declivity +towards the plain; but on the eastern slope, towards the Acropolis, a +rugged terrace of masonry supported the earth, widened the upper part +of the hill, and smoothed its inequalities. Steps cut in the rock, and +paths made by art, led to this lofty plateau, formed partly by human +hands, and which in more ancient times bore the rock-altar of the +supreme God. + +The pedler from Halimus and his companion had reached the height. The +barriers were open, but at the entrance stood the lexiarchs, six in +number, official personages, in whose hands were placed the lists of +Athenian citizens, and who saw that no unauthorized person stole into +the assembly. Thirty assistants were with them. + +The crowd flocked into the wide enclosed space, whose sole covering was +the blue sky, but the pedler remained a short time with the Sicyonian, +who was obliged to stay outside of the barriers. The latter gazed with +curious eyes at the space beyond, now filled with dense masses of the +Athenian populace. He saw the rear of the plateau bounded by a cliff, +from which projected a high, dice-shaped stone. This was the stage, +from which the orator addressed the people. A narrow flight of steps +led up to it on both sides. In ancient times this place had been a +sanctuary, this stone the altar of the supreme Zeus. Opposite the +orator’s platform were ranged a number of stone benches, on which part +of the assembly could sit down. + +After the stranger had noticed these things he turned back, letting his +glance wander from the hill-top towards the city. He saw before him the +whole of Athens, sweeping in a circle around the hallowed rock of the +Acropolis, which towered a short distance off, directly opposite to the +Pnyx. The mica in its strata of stone, piled one above another, +glittered in the sunlight. At the left of the Acropolis, but much +lower, rose the Hill of Ares, the sacred abode of the Areopagus, a +single gigantic, riven block of stone, around which still hovered the +shades of the Eumenides. + +The throng around the point where the lexiarchs were stationed +constantly grew denser. Here, as in the Agora, the vivacity of the +Athenian temperament showed itself. Every moment the lexiarchs were +heard shouting: “Forward, Eubulides! Don’t stand gossipping here so +long before the barriers.—Be quiet, Charondos! don’t loiter so in the +crowd! Make way for those behind.” + +The pedler from Halimus moved aside that, unobserved by the strict +officials, he might point out to his companion some persons in the +throng, on whom he made various comments. + +“You see,” said he, “the two men yonder with the long rough beards, +pale, gloomy faces, short coarse woollen cloaks and thick staffs? They +want to look like athletes, who have conquered at least once in the +Olympia. Those are the people we call friends of Laconia, who +enthusiastically praise Sparta and would like to have everything here +just as it is there—” + +Again the pedler nudged his companion. “That man yonder is +Phidias—Phidias the sculptor, who made the great statue of Athena on +the Acropolis—those who surround him are his followers, his pupils and +assistants—they will all vote with Pericles.” + +The prytanes now came up, and the pedler pointed them out to his +companion. But he soon nudged the latter still more vehemently: +“Look—there’s Pericles; the strategus Pericles!” + +“And his companions?” asked the Sicyonian. + +“Strategi also!” replied the pedler. + +“What are their names?” asked the other. + +“The gods know,” answered the pedler. “There are ten strategi in +Athens, I believe, but we know only Pericles.” + +“And the venerable men approaching with such dignified bearing?” +continued the Sicyonian. + +“Those are the nine archons!” + +“Are not they the persons, who enjoy the most honor among you of all +the magistrates?” + +“Honor perhaps,” replied the ribbon-dealer, “but we really value the +strategi higher—” + +“How so?” + +“Because we choose them from our best brains,” replied the pedler with +a crafty look. “In the archons we want age, stainless character, and +venerable appearance. An archon enjoys great honor, very great honor, +that isn’t to be denied; his person is almost held sacred. Yet he fares +badly, when his term of office has expired, if we are not perfectly +satisfied with him. We condemn him—guess to what? To give to Delphi a +statue the size of life, of pure gold—” + +“A statue of pure gold the size of life?” cried the Sicyonian in +amazement; “surely no one can pay that—” + +“That’s the very reason,” replied the pedler. “A debtor to the +community, who cannot pay, is by our law deprived of his rights as a +citizen. So such an archon is deprived of his rights all his life. And +with good reason. If he formerly enjoyed great honor, he must now +endure the more disgrace.” + +“Who is that lame, crippled, ragged man, with the beggar’s pouch on his +shoulders, pressing yonder with frantic gestures towards the entrance?” + +“Do you mean the beggar grinning so maliciously?” replied the pedler. +“He is known to all the city as a slave, who, in a law-suit concerning +his master, was tortured until he became crippled, and half lost his +wits, and now wandering about as a beggar, he is seized with a desire +to force his way in wherever Athenian citizens gather, in the +market-place, or on the Pnyx. He is always thrust back by the +lexiarchs, and then answers with abuse, reviling the whole Athenian +nation, for which he is often beaten or even stoned, unless the young +stone-cutter Socrates draws him away. He pities Mad Menon—as he is +called—you can see him now near him.” + +The flag, which from the summit of the Pnyx had announced the +approaching assembly to the Athenians, was now lowered. This was the +sign for the opening of the council. The pedler from Halimus hastened +to enter the enclosure, taking leave with mingled pride and compassion +of the Sicyonian, who was obliged to remain outside of the barrier. The +voices of the Athenians, who thronged the vast space, seemed like the +twittering of a nest full of birds. + +A herald now ordered silence. His clear shout rang far over the hill. +Stillness ensued. The Sicyonian remained standing where he had been +conversing with the pedler, watching as well as was possible, at this +distance, the course of events within the densely crowded assembly. His +position was a little elevated, so that he could look over the heads of +the multitude. + +He saw, after perfect quiet was established, a sucking pig, slaughtered +as a sacrifice, borne through the throng under the direction of a +priest, the space and benches being sprinkled with its blood. Then he +beheld a bright fire kindled, and the real burnt sacrifice offered. He +saw some one rise from the group of prytanes, and the Athenians listen +to the reading of a paper, which doubtless contained the propositions +made to the people by Pericles and the preliminary resolutions of the +magistrates. Then the herald again rose to ask who desired to speak on +the subject, the orators ascended the stage, and, according to old +custom, put on myrtle-wreaths and addressed the people. He saw the +populace express their approval or disapproval, listen breathlessly, or +more uneasily, at first sway gently, like a field of corn stirred by a +light breeze, then impetuously, like a storm-shaken mountain forest, +till the herald, at a sign from the chief prytane, was forced to +command silence. He saw how the strife of opinions amid the throng +sometimes threatened to degenerate into a hand to hand fight, how here +a man of the people shook his fist at an oligarch, yonder a friend of +Laconia, with loud imprecations, raised his gnarled staff against the +common people; he saw the great mass of the people break into exultant +applause, while the oligarchs were sullenly silent, then beheld the +latter express their satisfaction by looks, gestures and shouts, while +the former noisily gave vent to their indignation. + +Thus several hours elapsed in an excited whirl of opinions and votes. + +The Sicyonian now saw Pericles, who had already addressed the people, +but only in a few words, ascend the orator’s stage. Again perfect +stillness pervaded the throng of Athenians. With quiet dignity the +figure of the man, surnamed the Olympian, towered above the crowd. He +made no animated gestures. His hand was concealed in his upper garment, +but his voice echoed with impressive, marvellous melody over the heads +of the listeners. The Sicyonian heard the tone, and even without +understanding the words, seemed spellbound by the sounds, which were as +caressing as the murmuring west wind, and yet as strong as the distant +rolling of thunder in the air. + +Suddenly the Sicyonian saw Pericles withdraw his right hand from the +upper garment, in which he hitherto had kept it concealed, and extend +it straight before him, pointing to the neighboring height of the +Acropolis towering directly opposite. + +At this gesture all the thousands of Athenians turned their heads, and +following the direction of the orator’s outstretched hand, gazed at the +sacred height, glowing in the bright light of day. The Sicyonian did +the same. It seemed as if the consecrated hill glittered more brightly, +shimmered with a new, prophetic lustre. It was as if, at the sound of +Pericles’ words, they saw something, not yet visible to their bodily +eyes, rise before those of their minds, as if the mountain wished to +adorn itself with a magic crown, that would outlast many imperial ones, +see many generations of men pass away, and shine calmly on in its pure +splendor to the end of time— + +The listening Sicyonian heard the thunder of Pericles’ words die away, +saw the orator take the wreath from his head, as he descended from the +stage amid the shouts of the Athenian populace, saw the presiding +prytane call upon the people to vote, saw them do so, by raising their +hands, beheld the decision announced and lastly, at a sign from the +prytane, the herald proclaim the close of the council. + +The crowd streamed back through the open barriers, and flowed in an +impetuous torrent down the declivity of the Pnyx. The Sicyonian, +meeting his friend from Halimus, asked: + +“How did it result?” + +“We have granted everything!” cried the pedler with sparkling eyes. “We +voted down the oligarchs and friends of Laconia,” he continued, “and +granted the soldiers’ pay, the judges’ pay, and the money for the +plays. Just imagine the joy of the poor people, when, in spite of the +oligarchs, we granted ourselves all these fine things. As for the +magnificent new temple of Pallas on the Acropolis, with the building in +the rear for the public treasure, the great statue of Pallas, and the +triple portico, through which the Panathenaic procession will +henceforth march around the Acropolis, and whose plan has been sketched +by Phidias, there was not one Athenian citizen, of all the crowd +gathered within the barriers, who would not give everything he calls +his, if the superb edifice could already stand there completed, as +Pericles described and fairly showed it with his finger. Only some of +those fellows with long beards and thick Laconian canes—you know—made +objections:—there had already been a great deal of building; the new +wrestling school and the Odeium were already commenced; we might wait a +little for the great marble temple on the Acropolis; the structure +would devour immense sums. Then came Pericles:—‘if you Athenians,’ he +said, ‘do not wish to erect this superb work according to the plans of +Phidias and Ictinus at the public expense, Hippias, Hipponicus, +Dionysidorus, Pyrilampes, and many other of the richest men in Athens +have vowed to carry on the building with their own means, and these +men, not the Athenian nation, will then have the glory of it forever.’ +That was enough. You can imagine how we hastened, with loud shouts, to +hold up our hands and grant what Pericles and Phidias desired. Then, +just as we were in the greatest eagerness to grant consent, Phidias, +summoned by Pericles, came forward to explain the cost of the building +and statue, and said: ‘made of ivory and gold, my Pallas Athena will +cost so much; of marble or bronze only so much.’ Shouts resounded on +all sides: ‘ivory and gold! Only don’t be niggardly, Phidias, and go to +work at once.’” + +Such was the story the Athenian, with eager gestures, told the +Sicyonian. All Athens was in a sort of excitement, spread in every +direction by those who came down from the Pnyx. + +Proud as a king, dreaming of plays, public games, magnificent temples, +treasure-houses, ivory and gold statues, rejoicing over all these +things as if they were already completed, and the ornaments of his own +house, the ribbon-dealer from Halimus walked through the southern gate +towards his home. He told every one he met of the transactions on the +Pnyx, and on reaching his house, greeted even his brown-skinned wife, +who holding a child in her arms, met him on the threshold, with the +words: ‘We have granted everything!’ + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE GROTTO OF PAN. + + +Far and wide in cloudless blue, the horizon of peace extended over +Athens. Her fame was constantly increasing, and no rival seemed to +desire to assail her power. Urged by a mighty impulse, the Athenians +set to work to execute the plans of Pericles and Phidias, as hurriedly +as if they were afraid of losing the right moment. Skilful and +ambitious art-workers flocked from all parts of Greece. Many sculptors +were needed to carve the decorative portions of the buildings on the +Acropolis. No small number of colossal gods were to be executed for the +pediment of the temple of Pallas, and a long succession of emblematic +groups for the metopes and frieze. Besides, the wealthy Athenians vied +with each other in ordering from the sculptors statues for offerings, +to be erected at the time of the opening of the grand new temple on the +Acropolis, and the artists themselves strove to produce their best and +most beautiful work for the same time and purpose. Countless laborers +and carpenters were occupied in building the great wrestling school and +Odeium, others toiled at the structures on the Acropolis. There was +redoubled activity in the quarries of Pentelicus. Carts, drawn by mules +and oxen, constantly moved from thence to the city. The declivity of +the Acropolis continually resounded with the shouts of the drivers of +the beasts of burden, for it cost a great deal of trouble to get the +huge blocks of marble up the mountain. The Athenians showed the same +activity in mining their noble metals in Laurium, and obtaining the +excellent potter’s earth in their native soil, as was apparent in +quarrying the marble at Pentelicus. What they did not possess, the +merchantmen brought across the sea—cypress wood and ebony, and many an +ore, dyeing materials and ivory from the distant East. The stone and +wood required hewing, the ores melting, the ivory needed to go through +the hands of persons, who prepared it for the purposes of art, and even +understood how to make it flexible. The embroiderers in gold and silver +were fully occupied in making all sorts of gifts and decorations for +the temple, the rope-makers were obliged to furnish the builders, +carpenters, and teamsters with ropes of unusual strength, the +road-makers had to smooth roads for the transportation of these goods; +thus there was work everywhere and all were drawn into the seething +whirlpool of business. Foreigners were also hired for the hardest +manual labor on the buildings, and for this purpose the grave, silent, +persevering, patient Egyptian surpassed all others. As in erecting his +native pyramids, so he toiled unweariedly as a hireling in a foreign +land, steadily piling block on block, with the endurance of a beast of +burden. At this period, all Athens was one vast workshop. + +But the airy summit of the Acropolis was the real hearth-stone, where +the sacrificial flame of the new effort to please the gods blazed most +brightly—at once an ancient sanctuary and a strong citadel of the +Athenians, around whose foot houses had gradually been built, uniting +the settlement with the city. The height was made a stronghold only by +its natural cliffs, and the thick walls which protected its northern +and southern sides. + +The scene presented at this time on the height was no attractive one. +The spacious plateau seemed desolate and dreary. Old rubbish was lying +about, with remains of destroyed works, selected for fresh use. Towards +the southern declivity the earth was partly excavated, and at the +bottom appeared a massive foundation of masonry, principally erected on +the remains of an ancient building. Nearly all the rest of the summit +was strewn with blocks of marble, which were being hewn into shape. +Heaps of earth, stones and sand were piled up, workshops of various +kinds adjoined each other in the rear of the building-ground. +Everywhere resounded the thud of hammers, the creaking of ropes, the +dull thundering noise of moving stones and beams, and the shouts of the +overseers directing and urging the army of laborers. + +But on the Acropolis, amid this confused and restless haste of creating +stood a venerable monument of ancient times, like a grey half-ruined +tower on the sea-shore, around which dash the stormy waves, eager to +undermine and wash it away with their surges. This monument was the +temple of the oldest religious worship of the Athenians; the mysterious +gloomy sanctuary of the serpent-footed Erechtheus, the Attic ancestral +hero, and that of the sea-god Poseidon, Pandrosos, the daughter of +Cecrops, and Athena Polias. It had been half destroyed in the Persian +war and only partially restored. + +Strange were the legends of Erechtheus, which had descended from the +earliest days of the Attic country and people. Pallas Athena had +confided the new-born serpent-footed child of doubtful origin, to the +daughters of King Cecrops, then reigning on the Acropolis, strictly +forbidding them to open the chest. These daughters—their names were +Pandrosos, Agraulos and Herse—urged by curiosity, did open it, found +the little boy, completely enwrapped by the folds of a horrible +serpent, and driven mad with horror at the terrible sight, flung +themselves over the cliffs of the Acropolis. But the serpent child, +Erechtheus, grew up under King Cecrops’ guardianship, and became the +mighty shield of the Athenians. The temple contained his grave, and the +demigod’s tomb was still regarded as a secure protection and shield to +the land. The old hero’s soul, according to the belief of the Athenian +populace, lived on in the form of a serpent, which was always kept in +the sanctuary. The creature was considered the mysterious guardian of +the temple, and every month honey-cakes were offered to it as a +sacrifice. + +A sacred spring gushed up within the precincts of the sanctuary; its +water was salt, as if it had some subterranean connection with the sea, +and the Athenians said that when the south wind blew, the low roar of +the waves could be heard in its depths. It was no wonder, for this +spring, according to the Athenians, sprang forth at a blow dealt by +Poseidon’s mighty trident on the rock of the Acropolis, when he was +battling with Pallas Athena for the possession of the Attic country. +The marks of the god’s trident still remain on the rock and any one can +see them. But Pallas Athena caused an olive-tree to shoot up opposite +to the spring, from which have descended all the other olive-trees, the +pride and boast of the Attic country. Through this tree, the wise +goddess Pallas Athena gained the victory over the mighty wielder of the +trident, in their rivalry concerning the bestowal of blessings. This +ancient olive-tree was also contained within the precincts of the +temple. The Persians burned it down, but the next morning, by the power +of the gods, it had again shot up yards high. But the most sacred relic +in the Erechtheum was the ancient statue of Athena Polias, made of the +wood of an olive-tree, carved by no human hands, but fallen from +Heaven. Erechtheus himself set it up, and it was to remain unchanged—so +taught the priests who ruled in the temple—in that spot forever. A lamp +burned perpetually before it in the gloomy hall of the sanctuary, and +strange gifts were also treasured there—a statue of Hermes carved from +wood, entwined with myrtle boughs that were always green, though the +plant was rootless, dating from the time of Cecrops; a chain of +singular form, made in ancient times by Dædalus; and trophies from the +Persian war, coats of mail and swords of conquered Persian leaders. + +In the open air, before the temple, stood an altar consecrated to Zeus. +No living creature could be sacrificed there, no libation of wine +poured out; nothing but cakes were offered on it to the ruler of the +gods. Such was the “House of Erechtheus,” mentioned in Homer’s song. +Irregularly built, on uneven ground, it stood near the northern +declivity of the mountain, just opposite to the site where the +magnificent new temple of Pallas Athena was being erected, and +contained several different rooms devoted to the worship of the +divinities previously mentioned. + +A sacred rite was just being performed before the entrance of the +temple. + +The ancient wooden statue of Athena, the guardian of the city, was +cleaned and newly dressed from time to time, and this act was performed +in the most solemn manner. A religious festival is like any other, and +this festival was now taking place. The garments and ornaments had been +removed from the statue and a veil spread over it, while the robes were +entrusted to persons specially appointed to wash them. During this time +a rope was stretched around the temple, that no one might enter +uninvited. + +The purification finished, the goddess was clothed again, her hair—for +the statue had long hair—carefully combed and arranged, and the body +once more adorned with wreaths, diadems, necklaces, and ear-rings. + +The persons, who had taken part in the sacred ceremony withdrew, and +only two men remained standing on the steps before the entrance of the +temple, engaged in conversation. One of them was the priest of the +Erechtheum, Diopeithes. His expression was gloomy, and he cast sullen +glances at the throng of workmen, whose noise and bustle seemed to him +a blasphemous disturbance of the sacred ceremony. + +The race of Eteobutadæ, from which, from the remotest times, the priest +of Erechtheum and the priestess of Athena Polias had descended, was the +oldest and for a long period the most distinguished priestly family in +all Attica. But more recently, the Eumolpidæ, the priests of Demeter at +Eleusis, with whose service the great mysteries were connected, had +risen, as chief priests of the mysterious rites of Eleusis, to a still +higher rank in the Attic hierarchy, and it was not without much secret +indignation, that the Eteobutadæ endured the slight. But it was not +only wrath that darkened the mind of Diopeithes, the priest then +presiding over the sanctuary of the Erechtheum. + +Casting an indignant glance at the works of the Parthenon, he turned to +the man, who stood beside him with the submissive mien of a confidant +and assistant, and who was none other than Lampon, the prophet, who had +been summoned to the house of Pericles to interpret the miracle of the +one-horned ram. + +“Peace,” he began, “has departed from this sacred height since yonder +noisy throng employed by Phidias and Callicrates, pursue their work +here. It would not surprise me if the gods themselves shrunk ere long +from the tumult of this foolish and impious performance, for the work +those people are commencing is foolish and unholy and can never please +the Olympians. Instead of first restoring the ancient and sacred House +of Erechtheus, which has only received the repairs absolutely necessary +since the crime committed by the Persians, this Pericles and Phidias +begin to rear a magnificent and useless temple, directly opposite the +old sanctuary. My glance, which hitherto wandered unimpeded from this +spot over the wide landscape, now meets this structure set like a wall +before my eyes. Oh! I know these despisers of the gods! They seek to +force this venerable temple and its gods into the background, they wish +to root out the old stern worship, and with it all true piety; they +desire to put in the place of the old temple and ancient gods only +those which will allure the eye by empty pomp and idle splendor, but +awake no feeling of real devotion in the heart. What is this Parthenon +to be? A temple without priests, without service, a showy piece of +display, merely a goal for the Panathenaic procession, and beside +it—yet no, not beside it, but within its enclosure—oh! shame! a +treasury, a place for the preservation of the gold the Athenians gather +by fair or foul means. Only as guardian of this gold do they place the +goddess in the temple. And what a goddess! What is the purpose of this +superb statue of gold and ivory? It will be a masterpiece of human +hands. The ancient wooden statue, contained by this insignificant +temple, was made from no mortal’s thirst for fame—its origin was +divine, and through the favor of the gods it became the property of the +Athenians.” + +“These are presumptuous times,” assented Lampon. “Many no longer revere +what is simple, ancient and sacred, and soon the human race will dimly +aspire to rise above the gods.” + +“But Pericles and Phidias, who have persuaded the Athenians into the +new course, do not know one thing, of which we priests of Erechtheus +are aware, and dwelling on this height are in a position to know before +other mortals,” replied Diopeithes in a low, mysterious tone. “That +very spot yonder, where they mean to erect the carved pediment, and +main entrance of their new temple, is one of the places that people +say, ‘belong to the nether world,’ the places where no bird ever +alights, or if it does, falls dying, as if struck by a poisonous +breath. Let the upstarts build on that unhallowed spot; they will +receive no blessing, only a curse. It is the heritage of the men of +Athens, to act imprudently. Few know why, but we Eteobutadæ +do—Poseidon, conquered in the conflict with Pallas Athena, and furious +at his repulse, decreed unwise counsel to the Athenians forever.” + +“They are unwise,” replied Lampon, “and so are their leaders, because +they listen to the teachings of those, who call themselves philosophers +and friends of truth. The Athenian nation follows Pericles, but +Pericles himself obeys Anaxagoras, the Clazomenian, who investigates +nature, and because he thinks he can ascribe everything to natural +causes, considers the gods unnecessary. A short time ago I was summoned +to the house of Pericles to interpret a miracle that had occurred +there. A ram with only one horn, which grew in the middle of its +forehead, had been born on the statesman’s country estate. I did what I +was asked to do, according to the rules of my art, and Pericles might +well have been satisfied with my prediction. But I received little +thanks, for Pericles remained perfectly silent, and Anaxagoras, who +chanced to be with him, smiled as if my conduct was absurd and my words +were foolish.” + +“I know him,” replied Diopeithes, a gloomy fire flashing in his eyes. +“I know the Clazomenian well; some time ago, on the road to the +Piræeus, I entered into a conversation with him about the gods and +divine things, and soon perceived that his wisdom was of the pernicious +sort. Such men ought not to be tolerated in our community. Or have +matters gone so far, that the laws of Athens are powerless against +those who deny the gods. No, most of the Athenians still shudder at +that name.” + +Such were Diopeithes’ words, then glancing towards the right with his +keen eyes, he pointed to some men, who engaged in eager conversation, +were coming up the only path leading over the western side of the +mountain to the summit of the Acropolis. “It seems to me,” said the +priest, “that I see yonder the unwise counsellor of the Athenians, the +friend and patron of Anaxagoras. By his side, if my eyes do not deceive +me, is one of the new-fashioned play-writers, who fancy they have +vanquished the venerable Æschylus. But who is the third person, the +delicate supple youth, walking on the other side of Pericles?” + +“Probably the young cithara-player from Miletus, to whom Pericles, I +hear, has taken a great fancy, and who is now seen with him +everywhere.” + +“A young cithara-player from Miletus?” said Diopeithes, scanning the +graceful figure of the Milesian youth, “hitherto I have only known that +Pericles was an admirer and lover of the other sex; I now see that he +understands how to appreciate beauty everywhere. This youth, by the +gods, is worthy to serve as cup-bearer not only to the so-called +Olympian, Pericles, but the supreme Ruler of Olympus, Zeus himself. I +only marvel that the dignified Pericles has no scruple about showing +himself with his chosen favorites, before the eyes of the Athenians.” + +While the priest of Erechtheus was scanning the youth walking beside +Pericles, with looks of mingled disapproval and longing, the trio came +nearer, and the youthful figure Lampon had pointed out to Diopeithes as +a cithara-player from Miletus, appeared still more charming. The tragic +poet, who also accompanied Pericles, often cast a beaming glance at the +lovely vision, and addressed himself by preference to the Milesian. +This poet himself was a handsome stately man, whose pure brow seemed +steeped in a bright, etherial light. + +Callicrates, the admirable master entrusted with the actual execution +of what Phidias and Ictinus had designed in seclusion, now stepped out +of the throng of laborers to greet the new-comers. This man plainly +showed that his business was to walk constantly to and fro in the +scorching sun, amid the blocks of stone and the crowds of perspiring +workmen on the summit of the Acropolis. His face was sunburnt, its hue +scarcely distinguishable from the dark beard that framed it. The +piercing, sparkling eyes, no less dark in hue, seemed as it were to +have fairly absorbed the sunlight. His garments differed very slightly +from the dress of those who surrounded him. The piece of cloth he +called his chiton, which had become very doubtful in color, hung +negligently about his bronzed limbs. Even as he now passed to and fro +amid the throng of workmen on the Acropolis, he had previously walked +for many a year about the long central wall, which he had recently +finished, to the delight of Pericles. + +The latter asked Callicrates several questions in reference to the +progress of the work, and Callicrates pointed with satisfaction to the +now completed foundation, made of huge blocks of stone. “You see,” said +he, “the bottom is finished, with the three huge marble steps that +surround it. Look how it extends along nearly the whole southern side +of the mountain. The spaces between the pillars are already marked out, +as well as the outlines of the inner walls, the room for the statue of +the goddess, the rear building for the treasure. Everything will of +course first be hewn in the rough; for the more delicate work will not +be added till the whole building is fitted together, and you can form +no idea of it from its present appearance. You must have patience, for +Ictinus is a loiterer and Phidias too—” + +“I can easily imagine,” said Pericles, “that Ictinus would never do +enough himself—” + +“And Phidias too,” replied Callicrates almost angrily. “They sit +whispering together for days with their written pages and tablets +before them, calculating and measuring, discussing the proper +intervals, curves, and inclinations of the pillars, and the proportions +of the cornice and capitals. Then they go down to the temple of Theseus +and measure the columns and entablature, and even then are not +satisfied, because they find the entablature too heavy, the spaces +between the pillars a little too wide, and say we must do better here. +Then they calculate again, and perhaps quarrel a little, and make +sketches to try how much larger the pillars at the corner should be +made than the others, and how much less the distance must be between +the corner pillars and those adjoining, than the space that divides the +rest, and how much must be borrowed here from the Doric and yonder the +Ionic order, and how many lines smaller and larger this entablature or +that cornice or capital or frieze must be made, that the whole may +harmonize most beautifully and gracefully, in a manner never seen +before.” + +“Who would not envy an Ictinus his trained artist-eye!” cried Pericles. + +“It’s a falcon’s eye!” said Callicrates. “You can’t imagine how +wonderfully increased and developed is this man’s perception. He always +carries a rule in his hand, but has little need of it, for he can +measure and calculate at sight. The innate surveying power of his eye +is so amazing, that he accurately distinguishes effects, of which +unskilled persons have scarcely an idea, scarcely a vague impression. +He sees, so to speak, with feeling eyes, and feels with seeing fingers. +And it’s just the same with Phidias. He is in the habit of saying, and +you have doubtless heard the words from his lips: ‘Give me a lion’s +claw, and I’ll restore the whole animal.’ Thus keen and well-trained is +Phidias’ observation of things and appreciation of everything we call +form, shape, and harmony.” + +“Why should not the Hellene’s eye become as sensitive as his ear?” said +the poet. “We poets and musicians”—he glanced at the young +cithara-player as he spoke—“feel the most trifling subtleties and +differences of rhyme, and hear half tones lost on the ears of laymen.” + +“It is very praiseworthy of Ictinus and Phidias,” continued Callicrates +smiling, “to plan everything so thoroughly and then put it into lines +and figures on the papyrus. But just consider that all this +delicately-devised work, which these men invent and sketch on the +papyrus, must be executed—executed in massive, refractory material. +There is the tablet on which Ictinus has marked for me the measures and +calculations, as he desires to have them—and these I must now realize +in stone, on a colossal scale, and yet exactly retaining all the +elegancies of the design, as if I had carved them with a delicate knife +out of ebony.” + +“It is easy to understand the labor it must require, to fix all the +delicate proportions and straight lines of this sketch in the gigantic +characters of masonry,” said the poet. + +“Straight lines, do you call them?” cried Callicrates, with an almost +scornful laugh. “Straight lines! Would to the gods they were! Any +bungler could accomplish straight lines. But there are no such things +in the proportions of Phidias and Ictinus. Do you know what Ictinus +says? To appear straight, the lines in large proportions must never +really be so. Look at the foundations yonder, and the steps leading to +its upper surface. You probably suppose, that this surface really runs +as straight as it appears to your eye? You are mistaken. The line rises +towards the centre, in a slight curve, imperceptible to the eye, yet +intended to produce a certain effect upon it. Later you will find this +same slight, imperceptible curve in the entablature, though in a +smaller degree, nay Ictinus desires to have it carried out everywhere, +in the whole external architecture of the temple, and as from pediment +to foundation there must be nothing really horizontal, so too he will +tolerate nothing absolutely perpendicular, and the lines slightly +curved outward are equally inclined within. Without this play of slight +curves, calculated upon the laws of vision and the refractions of +light, Ictinus says that the whole building would appear destitute of +aspiration, and instead of seeming to soar upward freely and easily, +would look as if it were sinking into the ground. Value as you choose +these and similar art-secrets of the two masters, but consider—to +mention only one thing—how I am to contrive that, in spite of these +slight curves outward, and imperceptible inclinations inward, the +various blocks of stone and capitals of the columns, each differently +calculated and carved according to these delicate proportions, are yet +to be joined exactly, neatly, and firmly?” + +“You will accomplish it, worthy Callicrates,” said Pericles eagerly; “I +know you! Let us leave Phidias and Ictinus to measure and calculate +with their keen eyes; there is really a secret, divinely-inspired +vision, which these men follow in their proportions and calculations. +The gods have placed it in their minds, to perceive by what ways and +means they can enable us to enjoy the spectacle, of which they have had +as it were a mental foretaste.” + +“So long as one stone here remains upon another,” said the poet, “the +sight that divinely-inspired men, like these two, have first beheld +with the eyes of their souls, and then grasped and fixed in numbers and +proportions, will master the heart and senses of the observer.” + +“But not the heart and senses of yonder watcher,” rejoined Callicrates +smiling, after gazing keenly at the priest of Erechtheus and his +companion, who still stood, looking and listening, at the entrance of +the Erechtheum. + +“He constantly watches our work with furious eyes,” continued +Callicrates, “but I have no scruple about returning the glance. We +irritate each other, and there is an open feud between my laborers and +his temple-servants.” + +“We ought not to wonder if the priest of Erechtheus is angry,” said +Pericles. “Instead of restoring his ancient sanctuary, we are building +a new one before his eyes. But who would venture to alter the venerable +mystery of that gloomy temple?” + +“Yes,” said Callicrates, “better let the owls continue to build their +nests there. They perch under the old roof day and night. The men +yonder wish to know nothing about Phidias’ new statues of the gods. +They want no new divinities, but wash and comb the old ones, put on +fresh finery, and think they might go on so forever. These people would +rather see Pallas Athena still represented with the owl’s face.” + +“There come Phidias and Ictinus,” said the poet, looking the other way. +“We will now hear what they themselves—” + +“You won’t hear much,” replied Callicrates. “Phidias is taciturn, as +you know, and Ictinus grows angry with anyone who tries to make him +talk about his artistic endeavors. Both men are loquacious only to each +other, but to no one else in the world.” + +Meantime Phidias and Ictinus approached. The latter was an +insignificant little man, with a somewhat bowed figure. His features +were flabby, his face yellow, and his eyes dull, as if from much +watching and thought. Yet in his gait there was a restless haste, which +betokened excitability and a mobile soul. + +Phidias shook hands with Pericles and the poet, and cast a somewhat +peculiar glance at the handsome cithara-player with the youthful, +rounded limbs. He seemed to recognize him, and yet not to desire to do +so. Ictinus wore the appearance of a man who rarely desires to meet +others, and seemed disposed to continue his walk with Phidias. + +But the poet wished to test the truth of what Callicrates had said, and +therefore turned to the busy, hurrying man with the question: “Master +Ictinus, will not you as an expert, decide a question which occupied +Pericles, myself, and this young cithara-player a short time ago. We +were talking of the motives which may probably induce you architects +not to let the architrave rest directly upon the shafts of the columns, +but interpose a somewhat broader piece, either in the form of the Doric +capital or Ionic spiral? Some maintained it was done to give the +appearance of having the weight of the entablature press the bulk of +the pillars asunder—crush them out broader on the top as it were—” + +Ictinus laughed. “So the columns are made of clay, dough or butter?” he +cried sarcastically. “Fine columns those—columns of clay, that allow +themselves to be crushed broader, ha—ha, ha—fine columns!” + +“Do you jeer at the interpreter?” cried the poet. “Then tell us +yourself why you do so?” + +“Because the contrary would be ugly, hideous, insufferable.” + +Ictinus uttered these words curtly, cast a hasty glance from his grey +eyes at the questioner, and slipped away. + +The men laughed. + +“I see,” said Pericles, turning to Phidias, “that the work goes on +bravely. That is delightful. We must toil quickly and with zeal, avail +ourselves of the favorable times, which may perhaps never return. The +outbreak of a great war would stop everything, and we might soon lack +means to complete what we had begun.” + +“Already the huge groups for the pediment, as well as the carvings for +the frieze and metopes, are being eagerly executed in the workshops +from sketches and clay models,” answered Phidias. + +“Don’t you intend to engage the assistance of Polygnotus,” asked +Pericles, “that here as well as in the Theseum, brush and chisel may +both take part in the execution of the designs on the metopes? I +remember you do not think most favorably of the sister art of the +brush, which certainly limps a little clumsily behind the giant strides +of the chisel.” + +“When a youth, I myself tried the brush,” replied Phidias, “but it did +not satisfy me. I wanted to produce what I secretly beheld, in full, +round, pure outlines, and that I could do only with the chisel.” + +“Very well,” said Pericles; “then let only the purest art have a place +in the new temple of Pallas, that it may be a monument of the best we +can do. We will seek to make Polygnotus amends on some other occasion. +Afterwards we will try what can be done for the ancient sanctuary of +yon angry priest, and also for the half-completed temple of Wingless +Victory, planted so boldly on the highest ledge of rock! I would fain, +when I quit this world, leave nothing for any Athenian to desire. To +know that so many are still dissatisfied with me is a painful thought. +Do you smile? True, the grave, stern Phidias desires only to satisfy +himself—” + +“That is just the hardest thing!” interrupted Phidias. + +“Do you fear no enemies?” continued Pericles. “Beware, we have no lack +of them. You too are envied, and what you create does not please all.” + +“Pallas Athena never suffers me to tremble,” replied Phidias in the +words of Homer, pointing to the huge bronze statue of the goddess, +towering sublimely into the pure, clear air amid the confusion of old +and new rubbish on the Acropolis, and then turned away to seek Ictinus. + +Pericles, the tragic poet, and the youth from Miletus continued their +walk across the summit of the hill. + +The poet, himself a master in the use of stringed instruments, was +engaged in pleasant conversation with the young musician. The youth +expressed himself with so much subtlety and penetration, that the other +at last said in astonishment: + +“I knew the Milesians were considered very agreeable, but did not know +they were so wise.” + +“And I,” replied the youth, “always supposed the tragic poets of Athens +to be wise, but did not imagine they could also be so agreeable. I drew +my inference of the poets prematurely from their works. How happens it +that your tragic poetry has hitherto taken so little account of the +gentler emotions of the human heart? Everything is magnificent, +sublime, frequently awe-inspiring, but you do not give the tenderest, +yet mightiest passion love, the place it deserves. Anacreon and Sappho, +the former gay, and the latter melancholy, both say this of you; why +have the tragic poets alone hitherto disdained, while aspiring to the +grand and superhuman, to touch the notes of this tender, human +emotion.” + +“My young friend,” said the poet smiling, “the winged god could have +found no one more worthy to espouse his cause than you. A few days ago +the idea passed through my mind of a tragedy, in which room might be +given to the divinity, whose advocate you have made yourself. I don’t +know whether the fleeting thought would have returned; but it is +fortunate that I am reminded of it in this way. I now really intend to +write that tragedy, so greatly have your words, and still more your +sparkling eyes, kindled my enthusiasm in behalf of the cause you +represent.” + +“Admirable!” replied the youth; “I would have the most fragrant +garlands ready to crown you on the day your tragedy won the victory.” + +“A wreath of red roses!” exclaimed the poet, “because I intend to +praise all-conquering Eros.” + +“Certainly. Look, the grateful winged god seems to wish me to gather +the roses for the garland at once.” So saying, the supple, active youth +swung himself up on a projecting rock, in whose cleft grew a huge bush, +perhaps a century old, covered with blossoming roses. + +“Take care, my young friend,” said the poet, “you know not on what an +unlucky spot you stand! From the top of that rock the Athenian king +threw himself into the sea, because his noble son, returning from his +conflict with the monster, neglected on sighting Athens, to have white +sails hoisted as a sign of life and victory. The foot can touch no spot +on this hallowed height, where sparks from the past do not flash from +the earth beneath the tread, and ancient legends whisper to the +pilgrim.” + +“Yet while the foot is trampling on the dust of the past,” said +Pericles, “the glance can wander freely from this height, and revel in +all the beauty and freshness of the present. You, my Milesian friend, +who are so bold and active, follow us across the rock to the broad +stone platform, into which the mighty wall of the Acropolis here +expands.” + +The youth laughed, hurried on in advance, and the three were soon +standing upon the lofty outlook. + +“Listen,” said Pericles, “to what the beautiful curve of this Attic +coast, the radiant gulf, the islands, lifting their mountain peaks from +the blue sea into the air, may have to tell you. Yonder, from the waves +of the Saronic Gulf rises Ægina, whose riven cliffs concealed the wild +‘ant-men’ of ancient times; but to-day the temple of the Panhellenic +Zeus, assembling our people to one of their most beautiful festivals, +towers on the loftiest mountain of the island in woodland solitude. +Nearer, on the right, Salamis, the cradle of heroes, blooms amid the +same waves. But need their latest descendants blush before the shades +of those immortal warriors, who sailed thence for Ilium? Did we not +fight the most famous of all naval battles in yonder glittering strait, +which now looks so peaceful? Northward, where Cithæron, Pentelicus, and +Parnes lie like ramparts before Attica, stretching from the east to +where Hymettus extends a hand on the south, the legends of our +ancestors relate tales of lions, that lurked in the wooded ravines. But +our fathers strangled the lions and ate their hearts roasted in the +fire, that they might bequeath leonine strength and courage to their +descendants. Perhaps it was through the lion’s courage thus inherited, +that directly behind those heights, on the plains of Marathon, the most +brilliant of all victories on land was added to the grandest victory on +the sea. The lions and wolves of those ravines are slaughtered, the +barbarians driven away forever from that wall of Attica, we peacefully +quarry the magnificent Pentelican marble on the scene of the ancient +lion hunts, and gather the honey of the famous bees of Hymettus. +Yonder, behind Acrocorinthus, the vast mountain chain of Cyllene stands +steeped in silvery mist, and if the veil of haze could be torn from the +western horizon, the battlements of Corinth and the gleaming blue +waters of the straits would doubtless be visible. But let us not forget +the dignified greeting the Peloponnesus sends across Ægina and Salamis. +Do you see that deeply-indented coast, with the rugged heights of +Argolis, and behind them the mountains of Arcadia? Whenever I gaze +across the monuments and scenes of Athenian renown, towards those +mountains of the Peloponnesus, a strange impulse always seizes upon me +and I feel as if I ought to grasp the hilt of a sword—it seems as if +gloomy Lacedæmon stretched himself over the heights and glanced +menacingly hither—” + +“The eyes of statesmen and generals always wander thus into the +distance,” interrupted the poet. “Should we not, instead of gazing at +the far-off peaks of the Peloponnesus, first enjoy what is lying close +before our eyes? Youth, don’t suffer yourself to be allured towards the +Peloponnesus and its threatening mountains. Behold the bright picture +of the undulating, sun-illumined interior, where countless boundary +stones of the Attic districts stand in the fields, and everywhere +glimmer the white villas of the Athenian, who, never weary of +journeying, goes daily, if possible, from the city to inspect his +fruit-trees and grain fields, and see how the slaves tend his cattle, +lambs, and goats. How gracefully the roads wind in all directions +through the villas, fields, olive-groves, public altars of the gods and +stone monuments. Here they run to the Piræeus, yonder to Rhamnus and +Marathon. But the finest of all is the road, bordered by silver +poplars, olive and fig-trees, leading westward between countless +gleaming white sanctuaries, to Eleusis, the holy city of mysteries. How +radiant the city itself looks below us, stretching from the Ilissus to +the Cephissus, crystal clear, but certainly short-lived little streams; +they rise in the neighboring mountains and don’t even reach the sea, +but content themselves with sprinkling the flower-gardens of the +Athenians in rippling waves or spray, or squandering their young lives +by dancing in a thousand fountains. Gardens planted by human hands +flourish on the shores of the Ilissus; but a garden of nature, a lovely +oasis of shade in the sunny land of Attica, are the valleys where the +bright waves of the Cephissus glitter from amid the green foliage of +the olive-trees. I proudly praise this region, for it is my native +district, the province of Colonus. Your warlike friend Pericles would +tell you, that in this district the finest steeds are raised, and it +was for the magnificent wild foals of Colonus that the sea-god, in +ancient times, invented reins; I say that in the valley of Cephissus no +rude winds ever blow, the fig and grape flourish, fed by the purest +dew, the narcissus, violet and yellow crocus bloom, and the twining +ivy—” + +The poet’s features glowed with animation, as gazing into the youth’s +sparkling eyes, he praised the charms of his birthplace. At last he +seized his hand, exclaiming: “Come yourself once into our beautiful +province, or, still better, accompany me there, and spend the day at my +country-house on the bank of the Cephissus; I’ll show you my citharas +and lyres, and, if agreeable to you, we will make trial of each other’s +skill in the use of stringed instruments and song, after the manner of +the Arcadian shepherds.” + +The young musician smiled, and Pericles, after a short pause, answered: +“Some day I will myself act as a guide, and conduct Aspasios to your +country house. You will need some one to act as umpire during your +contest in music and singing.” + +“Is the youth called Aspasios?” cried the poet; “the name reminds me of +a beautiful Milesian, of whom I have heard lately.” + +The cithara-player blushed. + +This flush perplexed the poet, who was still holding the hand he had +clasped to bid the youth farewell, and at the same time he became aware +of a feeling, which he had doubtless had before, though unconsciously. + +He suddenly felt distinctly that the young Milesian’s hand was very +delicate, warm, and soft. A moment after, he was even positive that it +was too dainty, warm, and soft to belong to a man’s arm, were he ever +so youthful. + +One half of the beautiful secret he read in crimson characters on the +musician’s cheeks, the other half he held, so to speak, in his hand— + +He was not mistaken. The hand he clasped was the fair Aspasia’s. + +Pericles and the Milesian had met again during the month which had +elapsed since their interview in Phidias’ house; first at the dwelling +of the good-natured reveller, Hipponicus, who was a friend of Pericles, +and afterwards very frequently, until at last they would gladly have +been inseparable. Aspasia sometimes put on masculine attire, and +accompanied her friend under the mask of “the cithara-player from +Miletus.” She had gone with him in this manner to the Acropolis, and +the tragic poet joined them on the way. A strange emotion had seized +upon this most open and susceptible of all Greek souls. The poet had +found himself ensnared by some charm, that was a mystery even to his +own mind. The enigma was now solved. In his confusion he let the +delicate hand fall, but quickly grasped it again, and turning with a +significant smile to his friend Pericles, said: + +“I see Apollo, the god of prophets and poets, still favors me. He has +spared me the long journey to Delphi, and not even waited for my +nightly slumber to appear before me in a dream with revelations, but +suddenly bestowed upon me the gift of unerringly reading the hand, and +especially determining from it sex, no matter how anxious the person +may be to conceal it—” + +“You were always a favorite of the gods,” said Pericles, “the Olympians +have no secrets from you—” + +“And they do well,” replied the poet. “I reckon among them the Olympian +Pericles—” + +“Whatever your chiromantic art may have betrayed to you concerning the +sex of the cithara-player,” said Pericles, “it is certain that the +Milesian has a right to wear masculine garb and assume a masculine +name. It is woman’s nature to be always passive and receptive. This +musician, on the contrary, has a thoroughly active and fruitful one, +and you cannot approach without having it influence you and leave a +germ in your soul.” + +“I can attest that,” said the poet, “for with a few chance words +uttered carelessly, as if in sport, he has just fanned a poetic spark +into bright flames. Marvellous is the power of wise thoughts spoken by +beautiful lips! How tempting it would be to expose oneself longer to +such desirable influences! But the sun is sinking behind the heights of +Acrocorinthus, and a nightingale, which I verily believe flew from +Colonus to remind me to return home, is singing in yonder bush. It is a +tolerably long distance, from the highest outlook of the Acropolis to +yonder villa I see gleaming amid the olive-trees, on the slope of the +little hill girded by the waves of the Cephissus. So I will take leave +of you, and spite of the transformations that have occurred, which are +more charming than all those our myths relate, I repeat my words: ‘Come +to the province of Colonus!’ Flee thither, when the companionship of +men grows wearisome, and spend a day in that beautiful solitude.” + +“We will remember your words!” replied Pericles. “Meantime, let the +Muse follow you to your solitude. In this rivalry of all the arts, +tragic poetry must also aspire to the highest goal. You have conducted +it from the harsh severity of your predecessors, to gentleness and pure +humanity. Let your new work be worthy of the author of ‘Electra,’ that +we may soon enjoy praising it as the mildest and ripest fruit of the +genius of Sophocles.” + +“Only let the spirit of this cithara-player hover over me,” replied the +poet; “though I have never heard a note from his instrument, he has +already bewitched me. It seems he has chosen the hearts of statesmen +and poets, for the strings on which to play his melodies—” + +So saying, the man with the clear brow and bright, sparkling, kindly +eyes, pressed his friend’s hand, bowed to the disguised Milesian, +turned and walked slowly down the Acropolis, but not without +occasionally casting a glance behind. + +“Fear nothing from this sharer of our secret!” said Pericles to +Aspasia. + +“I was just about to say the same thing to you,” replied Aspasia +smiling. + +“Did you see through this noble poet-soul so quickly?” asked Pericles. + +“It is as bright and clear to the inmost depths, as the waves of the +Cephissus,” replied Aspasia. + +“But let us go down now,” she continued, “I feel as if I had absorbed +all the heat of the summer afternoon, and my lips thirst for some +refreshing drink.” + +“Come!” said Pericles; “we need only turn a few paces to the right, +outside the wall, and we shall have before us the Grotto of Pan, with +its much-praised spring, which will afford your lips the desired +refreshment.” + +They descended a number of steps hewn in the rock, and reached the +grotto with its spring, that bubbled from the earth before it. + +It was the fountain of Clepsydra, whose waters sometimes entirely +vanished, then suddenly appeared again. + +Aspasia dipped some water in the hollow of her hand and drank, then +filled her palm again and with sportive grace offered the clear, +refreshing fluid to Pericles. + +The statesman smiled and quaffed it. + +“No Persian king,” said he, “ever drank from so precious a cup. Only it +is so small, I was almost afraid of swallowing it with the draught.” + +Aspasia laughed, and was about to answer the jest, but started in +terror, for at that very moment she suddenly perceived a face peering +out upon her with a sort of good-natured, boorish grin, from the back +of the dusky grotto. Approaching nearer, she found a somewhat rudely +carved statue of the god Pan, to whom it was sacred. + +“Fear nothing!” said Pericles; “the shepherd god has a kindly nature.” + +“But sometimes a touch of malice,” she replied; “the shepherds’ stories +about him are very different.” + +“At least he treated our courier, Pheidippides, very kindly in the +mountain region of Argolis and Arcadia, where he dwells. The youth was +running to Sparta, to summon the Lacedemonians to join the war against +the Persians. Pan was pleased because, out of love for his native land, +he rushed so breathlessly across the Argolian mountains, and obtained a +good opinion of the Athenians, about whom he had not formerly troubled +himself much. He came himself to aid us at Marathon.” + +“Pan may be as good-natured as he chooses,” said Aspasia, “but this +grotto is too pleasant for the peasant and shepherd god.” + +“You are right,” replied Pericles, “even more so than you imagine, if +the old legend is true that this very grotto was the scene of the most +important bridal ever solemnized in the Hellenic world. Here, in the +pleasant dusk of the grotto, Apollo, the God of Light, is said to have +wooed Creusa, the rosy daughter of Erechtheus, and the token of their +love was Ion, the ancestor of our Ionic race.” + +“What?” cried Aspasia, in a half jesting, half earnest tone, “is this +the cradle of the noblest Greek race, that which dwells in the +provinces of Attica and on the strand of my home? And the virgins of +Athens do not hang the walls of this grotto, day after day, with +garlands of roses and lilies? Instead of the radiant god Apollo the +rude Arcadian, a stranger from the gloomy, hostile mountains of the +Peloponnesus, stands here with his broad, grinning face?” + +“Why do you inveigh so warmly against the god of the forest and +mountain solitudes?” replied Pericles smiling. “I know of none under +whose protection a loving pair could meet more familiarly, than that of +the giver of idyllic peace and joy—” + +“Well,” interrupted Aspasia, “I am grateful to him for one thing at +least, the cool shade he bestows upon me in his grotto.” + +So saying, she removed the Thessalian hat from her head, and placed it +on the brow of the shepherd god. Her beautiful, golden-brown locks fell +over her shoulders. + +“Oh, if I could only offer the cithara-player’s whole costume, like +this head-covering, to honest Pan!” she continued. “It really burdens +me. How long must I submit to this constraint? Oh, you men of Athens, +when will you permit women to be women? Admit, Pericles, that you +Athenians are not the most estimable of the sons of Ion, who owed his +existence to this grotto. You have absorbed too much of the Doric +character. You ought to bow before the descendants of the emigrants of +your own race, who have developed on the coasts of Asia a purer, freer, +more fiery—” + +“Do we not do so?” said Pericles, with a significant smile, placing +himself beside Aspasia, who had sat down to rest on a moss-covered +stone in the grotto. “Do we not?” he repeated, drawing her head, +crowned with perfumed waving locks, down on his breast. + +“Pan is malicious!” replied Aspasia, “he promised refreshment in his +grotto, but seems to be secretly increasing the sultriness of the +evening with his breath—” + +“Yes,” said Pericles, “the breezes laden with the perfume of thyme and +wild roses waft an almost intoxicating fragrance.” + +While the two companions were conversing, the blue sky had changed to +glowing crimson, and Hymettus was completely steeped in rosy light. The +sun had slowly sunk behind the mountains of Arcadia, and a faint flash +of lightning quivered from time to time through the sultry air, out of +the vaporous clouds floating above the slopes of Brilessus. + +“Aspasia!” cried Pericles, “the message you, as a Greek woman, bring to +the Greeks from bright Ionia, is flashing, like that summer lightning, +full of blessings, into my soul, and through every mind in Attica! It +must be realized; in the narrowest circles by you and myself, in the +widest by the whole Athenian nation. We all feel a new strength, a new +fire, and shall see Hellenic life soar upward to its highest goal.” + +With these words Pericles imprinted a burning kiss on Aspasia’s lips. +It was the same ardor, the same mighty impulse, the same bloom and +beauty of life, which animated the hands of the warriors of Marathon, +the chisel of Phidias, the stylus of Sophocles, the thunder of +Pericles’ oratory on the Pnyx, and the impassioned kiss upon the lips +of the fairest of Hellenic women. + +When a pair like this, in whom is developed the purest, most luxuriant, +and noblest flower of human existence, kiss each other, it is the +festival and completion of the highest life, and a thrill of joy +secretly quivers through the heart of the world from pole to pole—as +the lightning flashed from the thunder-clouds above the slopes of +Brilessus. + +Souls meet like clouds charged with electricity. + +But the clouds discharge their contents—souls cherish their ardor. + +Pericles’ heart was full as he walked down from the Acropolis with +Aspasia, by the glittering light of the stars. He drew the beautiful +woman gently to his side, and glancing back at the gigantic statue of +Phidias’ goddess, illumined by the moonbeams, said: + +“Oh, Pallas Athena, lay aside your brazen helmet and let the +nightingales from the valleys of the Cephissus build their nests in +it.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +PYRILAMPES’ PEACOCKS. + + +Among the wealthy and prominent citizens of Athens, at the time the +events narrated here occurred, were two men, who strove to vie with +each other not only in magnificent gifts to the nation, as was the +custom, but also in lavish household display, hitherto unknown. + +One was Hipponicus, a man of noble birth, in whose hospitable house +Aspasia lived. + +The other was Pyrilampes, an upstart, a money-changer from the Piræeus, +who had grown rich. + +Hipponicus traced his lineage back to no less a personage than +Triptolemus, the favorite of Demeter, the founder of the Eleusinian +Mysteries, the teacher of agriculture and all kinds of civilization. +Doubtless the family owed to their descent from the Eleusinian hero, +the possession of the hereditary office of Daduchus, one of the +priestly dignitaries in the Mysteries of Eleusis. + +Hipponicus was also invested with this honor, but it troubled the gay +man of the world very little. He was only obliged to go to Eleusis once +a year for a short time, at the celebration of the great Mysteries. + +It was a remarkable peculiarity in the family of this man, that its +heads always bore by turns the names of Callias and Hipponicus. Each +Callias called his first born son Hipponicus, and each Hipponicus named +his Callias. The histories of all these various Calliases and +Hipponicuses were memorable, but the manner in which they obtained +their wealth was especially singular. The Hipponicus, who lived in the +time of Lycurgus and was a personal friend of that law-giver, was +accused of having laid the foundation of the prosperity of his family +by the misuse of a confidential communication from this famous man. In +the days of Pisistratus, a Hipponicus alone had the courage to purchase +the estates of the exiled tyrant. During the Persian wars many were +impoverished, but the families of the Calliases and Hipponicuses grew +richer. It was to a Hipponicus, that a certain Eretrian, named +Diomnestus, entrusted the treasure wrested from a hostile general at +the first attack of the Asiatics. At the second, as is well known, the +Persians carried off all the Eretrians as prisoners, among them +Diomnestus, whose treasure remained in Hipponicus’ hands. It was again +a Callias, whom a Persian, to buy his life at Marathon, secretly led to +a place where his countrymen had buried a great deal of money. Callias +took the precaution to kill the Persian, after he had shown him the +hole, that he might not betray the secret to any one else before +Callias found time to remove the treasure. + +Such were the traditions of the hereditary talent for acquiring wealth +possessed by this family. Of course its scions also obtained +considerable distinction in the community. + +Many a Callias and Hipponicus served his fellow-citizens as an +ambassador to the Persian kings, or in missions to negotiate a peace; +several of them also had statues erected in their honor at the public +expense. + +Our Hipponicus, Aspasia’s host, was a worthy representative of his +ancestors. He had a kindly nature, and was very popular with the +people, sometimes sacrificed a whole hecatomb to the goddess Pallas +Athena, entertained at public festivals by whole districts, and at the +great feast of Dionysus arranged in the Cerameicus a drinking-bout for +all who might choose to come, and provided cushions stuffed with ivy, +on which the revellers could recline. Once, when he went to Corinth to +visit a friend, but heard on the way that the man was on the point of +having his property seized by his creditors, he sent a messenger +forward with the money needed to satisfy them, because it would have +been unpleasant to him to find his friend in a melancholy mood on his +arrival. His house in Athens, as has been already mentioned, was very +unlike the dwellings of other Athenians. + +Only the rich exchanger, Pyrilampes, attempted to equal him. The latter +owned a house in the Piræeus, which he had had furnished precisely like +Hipponicus’ residence, and tried to emulate Hipponicus in everything. +If Hipponicus obtained a little dog of the Melitan breed, famed for its +delicate proportions, Pyrilampes procured a still smaller one. If +Hipponicus added to the number of his dogs a new Laconian, Molossian, +or Cretan hound, whose size all admired, Pyrilampes did not rest until +he possessed a still larger one. Hipponicus had a giant for his porter; +as Pyrilampes could not get a larger man, he adorned the entrance of +his house with a droll little dwarf, who attracted attention. +Hipponicus’ oldest son, who of course bore the name of Callias, found +it difficult to remember the names of the twenty-four letters of the +alphabet, so Hipponicus had the boy’s playmates, his household slaves, +and other persons whom the child often met, called by the names of +these letters. Pyrilampes also had a son, whose cognomen was Demos, and +as the little fellow was particularly fond of playing with puppies, he +kept twenty-four in the house, each of which bore the name of a letter +of the alphabet on a tiny label round its neck. Hipponicus was famous +for his breed of magnificent horses; as Pyrilampes could not surpass +him in this direction, he tried to throw Hipponicus’ horses into the +shade by a number of rare and curious apes. Hipponicus always raised +numerous cocks and quails to have them fight with each other, a +spectacle in which the Athenians took great delight. Recently, however, +he had devoted himself especially to the rearing of Sicilian doves, +which were very popular in Athens, and soon no such beautiful and +admirable specimens as those owned by Hipponicus could be found +anywhere. This triumph robbed Pyrilampes of sleep. He pondered a long +time to devise some means of surpassing Hipponicus’ doves, and at last +received from Samos a pair of the magnificent birds of Hera, with a +hundred eyes in their tails, which at that time were scarcely known in +Athens by name. Pyrilampes had the feathered strangers carefully +tended, and soon a number of the beautiful creatures were strutting +proudly in his spacious poultry-yard, nay even on the flat roof of his +house, to the great delight of the passers-by. + +By the aid of these Samian birds, Pyrilampes drove Hipponicus and his +doves from the field. The curious Athenians flocked in throngs to gaze +at the peacocks, and for a long time talked of nothing else. + +Hipponicus’ lucky rival did not rest until he had obtained Pericles’ +promise to come and look at his peacocks. The latter went to his house +accompanied by Aspasia, who again concealed herself under the disguise +of the Milesian cithara-player. + +Any Athenian, who desired at that time to make his fair friend a +particularly beautiful present, bought and sent her one of Pyrilampes’ +peacocks. Aspasia expressed so much admiration of the magnificent +birds, and Pericles fancied he read so distinctly in her eyes the +desire to have such a beautiful creature for an ornament to the +peristyle of her dwelling, that he could not help drawing Pyrilampes +aside and secretly commissioning him to send one of the young peacocks +to Aspasia, who lived next door to Hipponicus. He said nothing to +Aspasia herself, wishing to surprise her with the gift. + +The morning after this visit of Pericles and the disguised Milesian, +Hipponicus unexpectedly entered the apartment of the fair woman who was +enjoying his hospitality. He was a somewhat corpulent man, with a red, +bloated face. His eyes sparkled good-naturedly, and a smile was always +hovering around his somewhat thick lips. With this same smile, though +it now had a slight touch of sarcasm, so far as such a feeling was +possible to Hipponicus, he said to Aspasia: + +“My fair guest, I hear you are very well pleased in the city of the +Athenians—” + +“The merit is yours,” replied Aspasia. + +“Not entirely!” returned Hipponicus, “you have from the beginning +enjoyed most delightful intercourse with Phidias’ fellow-artists, and +more recently with my friend, the great Pericles. I hear that for +convenience you sometimes accompany him in the disguise of a +cithara-player, and if I am rightly informed, Hipponicus’ doves no +longer please you, but you prefer to go to the Piræeus with Pericles, +and admire Pyrilampes’ peacocks.” + +“The peacocks are very beautiful,” said Aspasia unconcernedly, “and you +ought to go and see them yourself.” + +“I passed Pyrilampes’ house a short time ago,” answered Hipponicus, +“and heard the birds scream. That was enough for me. Well, it’s every +one’s own affair to seek his pleasure where he finds it. A pleasure +enjoyed at home grows wearisome. I see it pays better to amuse, than to +entertain a person—” + +While uttering these words, Hipponicus looked keenly at Aspasia, hoping +she would reply. + +As she was silent, he continued: + +“You know that I released you from unpleasant complications at Megara; +I brought you here to Athens; I have hospitably entertained you. I have +done a great deal for you. And now tell me what thanks I have received +for it? Do you hear, Aspasia? What thanks have I received?” + +“Whoever asks for thanks in such a way,” replied Aspasia, “desires +payment, not gratitude. You, too, wish to be paid, I see, for what you +have done for me. Your benefits seem to have a fixed price, but you +neglected to stipulate for this price in advance and now are angry, +like any huckster woman in the market, because it is too high for the +customer.” + +“Don’t distort the matter, Aspasia,” said Hipponicus smiling; “you know +I was the customer, ready to buy your favor with everything that +pleased you.” + +“So I am the wares!” exclaimed Aspasia. “Be it so. I am wares, if you +please, and have a price—” + +“And that price?” asked Hipponicus. + +“You will never pay, with all your wealth,” she answered quickly. + +Hipponicus started. + +“No fine phrases!” said he, his features regaining their good-natured +expression. “You are no longer to be had. That is all. Some one else +has bought you. At what price—is his affair. Since it is the great +Pericles, I shall bear neither him nor you ill-will. I grudge him no +possession; he once did me a great favor, which I shall never forget, +won from me a wearisome wife, the beautiful, but quarrelsome Telesippe. +May the gods reward him.” + +With this remark, which he always made whenever the conversation turned +upon Pericles, Hipponicus rose and departed. + +Aspasia’s first thought, after he had gone, was that it no longer +became her to claim his hospitality. + +She called her slave, and gave orders to have her effects put on a +couple of mules and conveyed to a Milesian friend, a matron, who had +lived some years in Athens. She had been an intimate friend of +Aspasia’s mother, and loved her blooming young countrywoman with almost +maternal tenderness. + +After Aspasia had sent a message to Hipponicus, expressing her thanks +for the hospitality he had shown and her determination to leave his +house, she put on the cithara-player’s disguise, and accompanied by a +slave, set out to seek Pericles in his own dwelling. + +She had never ventured on such a step until to-day, even in disguise, +but was now urged on by her impatience to have an interview with her +friend without delay, to consider what she should do after her +departure from Hipponicus’ house. + +A short time after Aspasia had gone, Hipponicus was told by his +servants that a slave had come from Pyrilampes, bringing a young +peacock, intended for the Milesian who lived in the adjoining house. + +Hipponicus hated nothing in the world so much as Pyrilampes’ peacocks, +and if he had yielded to the first fleeting impulse of his heart, would +have instantly ordered the bird’s neck to be twisted. + +But he contented himself with saying: + +“The Milesian has gone, and I don’t know where she moved. Carry the +peacock to Pericles’ house. No doubt it was he who bought it.” + +Meantime Aspasia had reached the Agora on her way to Pericles. + +While hastily gliding through the crowd of strangers, Alcamenes +suddenly met her. + +The sculptor stopped, looked into her face with his bright eyes, and +said smiling: + +“Whither away, fair cithara-player? Doubtless to Pericles? May the new +friends, with their claims on you and your favor, be more fortunate +than the old ones.” + +“To whom did I ever grant any claim upon me?” asked Aspasia. + +“Among others, to me!” replied Alcamenes. + +“To you?” said Aspasia. “I gave you what you wanted, what was necessary +to the sculptor. Neither more nor less!” + +“A woman must give all or nothing!” answered Alcamenes. + +“Then forget that I have given anything!” cried Aspasia, and vanished +in the throng. + +The few words had been quickly exchanged. Alcamenes laughed bitterly. +Aspasia hastily continued her walk— + +Telesippe was occupied that morning in a pious duty. + +She hoped to obtain compensation for what, in her opinion, Pericles +neglected in the management of the household, from the favor of the god +Zeus Ctesius, the guardian and increaser of property, who was honored +with domestic worship by all devout Athenians. No one understood holy +ancestral customs so well as Telesippe. She wound woollen threads +around her brow and right shoulder, took a new earthen vessel with a +lid, wrapped white wool about its handles, filled it with a mixture of +all kinds of fruits, pure water, and oil, and set the gift in the +store-room in honor of the aforesaid god. + +She had just completed her pious task, when she saw the porter admit a +slave, who brought in his arms a huge foreign bird, with long +tail-feathers. + +The man said the bird belonged to Pericles, put it down, and went away. + +Telesippe was astonished, not knowing exactly what to think of the +matter. + +Had Pericles purchased the bird in the market, and was it to be plucked +and roasted? + +Yet Pericles usually troubled himself very little about domestic +affairs. + +She determined to await the return of her absent husband, and ordered +the bird to be placed for the present in the little poultry-yard of the +house. + +A woman, attended by a slave, now glided in at the outer door, and as +Telesippe went forward, her friend Elpinice’s well-known face emerged +from the folds of the thick himation. + +Elpinice’s features wore an unusually grave expression. Her manner was +agitated, her movements were hasty, her eyes wandered restlessly, and +her lips trembled as if with impatience to say something, unburden her +mind of some important secret. + +“Telesippe,” she said, “send away all witnesses, or retire with me into +your most private room.” + +Pericles’ wife was not entirely unaccustomed to see her friend enter in +an excited mood. The latter still had many acquaintances, and formed as +it were the centre, from which the feminine gossip of Athens spread in +all directions. She knew a great deal, and threw the tinder of exciting +news into the stillness of many a woman’s apartment. When the two were +alone and undisturbed in the most secluded room in the house, Cimon’s +sister began with a shade of solemnity: + +“Telesippe, what do you think of your husband’s faith?” + +Telesippe did not instantly know what to answer. + +“What do you think of your husband’s regard for our sex in general?” +continued Elpinice. + +“Oh,” replied Telesippe, “the man’s head is so full of public affairs—” + +“That you imagine he no longer thinks of women?” interrupted Cimon’s +sister, her lips curling in a smile of mingled compassion and mockery. +“Of course!” she continued watchfully, “you as his wedded wife, his +lawful companion, must know better than any one else.” + +“Of course,” answered Telesippe unsuspiciously. + +Elpinice took her hand, again smiled compassionately, and said: + +“Telesippe, is your husband’s nature unknown to you? Think a little. +Remember the beautiful Chrysilla—the object of the poet Ion’s love, to +whom your husband, as all the world knows, paid court a long time—” + +“But that is long since over!” replied Telesippe. + +“Possibly!” said Cimon’s sister. “But has no suspicion ever dawned upon +you recently? Has nothing in your husband’s conduct perplexed you more +than usual? Has no presentiment of evil filled your soul?” + +Telesippe shook her head. + +“My poor friend!” cried Elpinice. “Then it will come upon you without +preparation, and you must hear everything at once.” + +“Speak!” said the wife. + +“Has the name of Aspasia not yet reached your ears?” asked Elpinice. + +“It is wholly unknown to me.” + +“Then listen,” said Cimon’s sister. “Aspasia is the name of a young +Milesian, who, the gods only know through what wanderings and +adventures, drifted to Megara, and was brought from thence to Athens by +your former husband, Hipponicus. I think you are not ignorant of the +character and worth of these Milesians, especially the Ionians, the +women of the coasts on the other side of the sea? They are Bacchantes, +who spread over Greece, and with burning torches kindle the hearts of +men. Aspasia is the most dangerous, the most crafty, the slyest, the +boldest of all! Into this woman’s snares your husband has fallen!” + +“What are you saying!” cried the startled wife. “Where does he meet +this woman?” + +“In Hipponicus’ house!” replied Elpinice. “There she lives, and there +these hetæræ have their meetings. Orgies are held there, orgies, +Telesippe! Horrible things are whispered about the orgies in +Hipponicus’ house! And your husband is in the midst of them! But that +isn’t the worst. He is wasting his property on the Milesian courtesan! +He gives her slaves, household furniture, carpets, doves, talking +starlings, all kinds of presents. Everything has been known all over +the city since yesterday. Hitherto they have kept it as quiet as +possible. It spread like wild-fire, for yesterday Pericles capped the +climax of his shameless conduct. Yesterday he bought from Pyrilampes a +foreign bird, a peacock, bought it for the Milesian, Aspasia! Everybody +is talking about this peacock. The bird was taken to Hipponicus’ house +this morning, by one of Pyrilampes’ slaves. I, myself, on my way here, +talked with people who saw the slave carrying the peacock in his arms. +But just think! These same people told me that the peacock was not +received at Hipponicus’ house; the Milesian no longer lives there. Do +you see the connection? She has moved to some other house. And who has +bought or hired this dwelling? Your husband, Pericles! Why do you stare +so thoughtfully into my face?” + +“I am thinking about the foreign bird of which you told me,” said +Telesippe. “A few minutes before you came, a strange bird was brought +here by a slave, with the message that Pericles had bought it.” + +“Where is the bird?” cried Elpinice. Telesippe led her friend to the +poultry-yard, where the young peacock lay struggling piteously on the +ground, for the thong had not been removed from its feet. + +“It is the peacock!” said Elpinice; “it corresponds exactly with the +description I have heard. The whole affair is perfectly clear. The bird +wasn’t received at Hipponicus’ house; the slave would not or could not +search further for the Milesian, and brought it directly here to the +purchaser. This is a dispensation of the gods, Telesippe. Offer a +sacrifice to Hera, the guardian and avenger of holy ties.” + +“Miserable bird!” cried Telesippe, casting an angry glance at the +peacock. “You shall not have fallen into my hands in vain.” + +“Kill it!” cried Cimon’s sister; “kill, roast it and prepare a Thyestes +banquet for your faithless husband.” + +“That I will!” replied Telesippe, “and Pericles cannot even reproach me +for it. Our poultry-yard is too small for such a bird, so if he bought +it I could only suppose it was intended to be plucked, roasted and +eaten. Pericles must keep silence, for he can find no objection to such +an apology. He must keep silence, though secretly bursting with anger, +when I place the roasted bird before him. Then, after he has angrily +swallowed the accursed food, I’ll open my lips and hold the picture of +his public disgrace before his eyes.” + +“You will be acting wisely!” said Elpinice, smiling and rubbing her +hands. “Now,” she continued, “you see the nature of the public business +that detains your husband from his lawful, wedded wife.” + +“His friends have corrupted him,” said Telesippe. “His heart is easily +inflamed, always open to every impression. Association with those, who +deny the gods, has made him impious. His interest in the household +service of the gods is very lukewarm, and he does and tolerates many +things of this sort solely for my sake. You remember that he recently +lay ill with fever for several days. You advised me to hang an amulet +around his neck, a ring with various magical signs, or a bit of +parchment with efficacious proverbs sewed into leather. I obtained one, +and hung it round the patient’s neck. He was half asleep and did not +notice it. Soon after one of his friends came in, who perceived the +amulet on Pericles’ breast, removed it and threw it away. Pericles +awoke, and his friend—a slave who was in the room told me—said to him: +‘The women hung an amulet around your neck; I am an enlightened man, +and have taken the thing off.’ ‘That is all very well,’ replied +Pericles, ‘but I should have considered you still more enlightened if +you had left it.’” + +“That was surely one of the new-fashioned sculptors,” said Elpinice. “I +never liked Pericles—how could I like the rival of my noble, peerless +brother—but he has become actually hateful to me, since he has allowed +himself to be a mere tool and plaything in the hands of Phidias, +Ictinus, Callicrates, and the rest of those, who now make such a tumult +with their ambitious labors, and crowd all genuine merit into the +background. Do you know, that while these men are busying themselves +with chisel and trowel on the Acropolis, the noble Polygnotus, the +admirable master my brother Cimon prized so highly, is forced to remain +idle.” + +Elpinice poured forth similar complaints for some time, but at last +rose to go. Telesippe accompanied her into the peristyle, and there the +two friends, according to the practice of women, who in parting find it +difficult to say the last word, lingered, eagerly talking about the +great affair of the day. + +Suddenly the outer door was opened, and a remarkably handsome youth +entered. The two ladies, in accordance with the rigid etiquette of +Attica, should have retired at the sight of a stranger, but they seemed +spellbound. Besides, was not the new-comer merely a beardless youth? + +Ere Telesippe could recover her presence of mind, the latter, turning +to her with mingled modesty and grace, asked if Pericles was at home +and willing to receive the visit of a friend. + +“My husband has gone out,” replied Telesippe. + +“I am glad to be permitted to greet his wife, the mistress of the +house!” said the youth. “I am Pasikompsos, the son of Erekestides,” he +continued, intentionally emphasizing the harsh names, “from”—here he +paused, not daring to say Miletus, for one glance at the two women into +whose hands he had fallen, had taught him that he should make no +favorable impression here by mentioning that gay city. He would at any +rate excite least suspicion, if he came from austere Sparta. + +“I am the son of Erekestides of Sparta,” he continued. “My grandfather, +Astrampsychus, was united by ties of hospitality, with the grandfather +of Pericles.” + +Elpinice was overjoyed to hear, that the youth came from Sparta. + +“Welcome, stranger!” she cried, “if you are from the land of good old +customs! But who was your mother, that you, a scion of unpolished +Sparta, possess such a wealth of curling locks, such slender, pliant +limbs?” + +“I am a degenerate descendant!” replied the youth. “At home in Sparta, +people always took me for a woman; yet I have never trembled before any +one, who wished to try his strength with me. Many a man have I +overthrown. But it was all useless, people still mistook me for a +woman. At last I grew weary of it, and, to escape jeering tongues, +determined to go to a foreign country and not return till my beard had +grown. Meantime, I intend to devote myself to the fine arts that +flourish in Athens.” + +“I will recommend you to the noble master Polygnotus,” said Elpinice; +“I hope you are a painter, not one of the stone-cutters already so +numerous and saucy in this country.” + +“I have not learned to carve stone, but I believe I understand +something about colors, perhaps as much as any of my nation, though I +need not practise the art at present, since, thanks to the gods, I have +property enough for my support.” + +“How do you like Athens and its inhabitants?” continued Elpinice. + +“The inhabitants would undoubtedly charm me, if they should all prove +as worthy of reverence and love, as those the gods have permitted me to +meet in this house so soon after my arrival.” + +“Youth!” cried Elpinice rapturously, “you do honor to your native +country! Would that the young men of Athens were equally modest and +courteous. Happy Sparta! Happy mothers, wives, and maidens of +Lacedæmon!” + +“Is it true,” asked Telesippe, “that the Spartan women are the fairest +in all Hellas? I have often heard so.” + +The question did not seem to impress the youth favorably. His nostrils +quivered and his lips curled, as he said contemptuously. + +“If a robust figure is synonymous with feminine beauty, the Spartan +women are the fairest. But if delicacy and nobleness of form decide the +matter,”—here he paused, let his eyes wander over Elpinice’s face and +figure, then, with a winning smile, added: “the prize of beauty may be +justly given to the Athenians.” + +“Spartan,” said Elpinice, “you speak like the great master Polygnotus, +when he came from Thasos to Athens with my brother Cimon, and begged +permission to borrow my features for the face of Priam’s fairest +daughter, in the picture with which he adorned the hall. I sat to him +for a fortnight, and he painted every feature.” + +“You are Elpinice, Cimon’s sister?” cried the youth with an eager +gesture of surprise. “Let me greet you! My grandfather, Astrampsychus, +talked of you and your brother Cimon, the friend of Laconia, when he +dandled me as a child on his knees! You stand before me exactly as he +described you. Now, too, I remember the fairest of Priam’s daughters in +Polygnotus’ picture. I saw it yesterday, and know not whether to +congratulate the picture because it so closely resembles you, or you +because you are so like the picture.” + +Cimon’s sister stood in a very dignified attitude, but was obliged to +wipe away the tears that sprang to her eyes. Her heart was ensnared. +For thirty years no Athenian youth had addressed her in the language +used by this Spartan. She could have embraced all Laconia, and did not +even venture to clasp this one youth, in obedience to the impulse of +her heart. But she rewarded him with a tender glance. + +“Amycle,” said Telesippe, turning to a woman who appeared in the +peristyle on some household errand, “you can greet one of your +countrymen—this youth comes from Sparta.” Then addressing the stranger, +she added: + +“This woman was the nurse of little Alcibiades, Cleinias’ orphan son, +whom my husband adopted. The strong, healthy Laconian women are +everywhere sought as nurses. We have become attached to Amycle, and she +is now acting as our housekeeper.” + +The youth answered the laconic greeting, addressed to him by the stout, +ruddy Spartan in her broad native dialect, with a scornful smile, and +the nurse scanned with somewhat suspicious glances the delicate, yet +well-rounded limbs of her pretended countryman. + +“These Laconian women grow into stout heavy figures,” said Telesippe, +glancing after the retiring housekeeper. + +“If it were not for their bosoms,” replied the youth, “they would be +mistaken for porters. Now, so far as they can be judged from the +appearance of this wet-nurse, you can imagine the Spartan maidens, who +run, wrestle, leap, throw the spear and discus, and vie with the youths +in pugilistic combats. They are sturdy and bold, wear short petticoats, +reaching barely to the knee and slit up on the side—” + +Meantime Alcibiades, unnoticed by the women, had slipped into the +peristyle, watched the handsome foreign youth, and listened to the last +words. + +“But how are the Spartan boys reared?” he asked, suddenly emerging from +behind a column, and fixing his magnificent dark eyes upon the +stranger. + +The latter was startled by the unexpected appearance of the graceful +lad. + +“That is little Alcibiades, Cleinias’ son!” said Telesippe. + +“Alcibiades,” she continued, turning to the boy, “don’t disgrace your +tutors by your rudeness. This is a Spartan youth.” + +The stranger bent over the boy to kiss him on the forehead. + +“The Spartan boys go barefooted,” he replied, “sleep on straw, reeds, +or rushes, are never allowed to eat till they are perfectly satisfied, +are flogged once a year at the altar of Artemis until the blood flows, +to harden them against pain, receive instruction in all kinds of +gymnastic exercises, the use of arms, and the art of stealing without +being detected; but, on the other hand, need not learn the alphabet, +and are expressly forbidden to bathe and anoint themselves oftener than +once or twice a year—” + +“Fie!” cried Alcibiades. + +“Besides,” continued the stranger, “they are always arranged in +companies, and the younger ones have older lads for friends, from whom +they try to learn everything useful, whose approval they seek to gain, +and to whom they are devoted body and soul.” + +“If I were a Spartan boy and obliged to choose such a friend, I’d take +you,” said the little fellow, with sparkling eyes. + +The youth laughed and again stooped to kiss the child. + +At this moment, Elpinice, who had been standing quietly, close by his +side, suddenly betrayed strange emotion. + +A shiver seem to run through her limbs, she hastily drew Telesippe +aside, and whispered: + +“Telesippe, this youth—” + +“Well?” asked the latter in the same tone. + +“Oh, Zeus and Apollo!” sighed Cimon’s sister under her breath. + +“What is it?” asked Telesippe eagerly. + +Elpinice put her lips to her friend’s ear, and whispered: + +“Telesippe, I saw just now—” + +“Well, what did you see?” asked the wife anxiously. + +“When the stranger bent over the boy, the edge of his chiton blew up a +little, and I saw—” Again excitement stifled her words. + +“What did you see?” repeated Telesippe. + +“A woman!” gasped Elpinice. + +“A woman?” + +“A woman! It’s the Milesian. Send the boy away and leave the rest to +me.” + +Telesippe ordered Alcibiades to go back to his playfellows. The lad +refused; he wanted to stay with his “friend.” Telesippe was obliged to +call Amycle, to take the refractory child away. + +After this was done, Elpinice cast a significant glance at her friend, +then drew herself up proudly, approached the stranger and looked keenly +into his face. + +Pasikompsos at first tried to return the gaze, but Elpinice’s eyes +seemed to seize and hold his, as a bailiff grasps a captured criminal. +Involuntarily the culprit endeavored to evade the spell, and now, +having emerged from the duel of the eyes as a conqueror, Elpinice broke +the oppressive silence, and in a cutting tone began: + +“Are you fond of roast peacock, Spartan? Pericles will have one on his +table to-day. Would you not like to be his guest?” + +“Yes,” Telesippe chimed in, the expression of her face almost +surpassing the crushing contempt of Elpinice’s. “It is one of +Pyrilampes’ peacocks. He sold it yesterday to Pericles, who intended to +give it to an Ionian coquette, but now prefers to have it roasted.” + +“Is it true,” cried Elpinice on the other side, “that your companions +by the Eurotas declared you were a woman? Indeed! Even here in Athens +there are also people who maintain you are no man, but—a hetæra from +Miletus.” + +“Miserable wretch!” cried Telesippe with uncontrollable fury; “are you +not content to delude men outside of the house? Must you even steal +into the sanctuary of the home? Have you no fear of the household gods +of this dwelling, who look with angry eyes upon the disturber and +profaner of sacred family ties? Stand perfumed and bedecked before the +door of your own house, and drag in the passer-by. What! Do you still +dare to look me in the face? Are you not going yet?” + +“Call Amycle here,” said Elpinice to her furious friend, “that her +genuine Laconian fists may thrust this false ‘countryman,’ this dainty +doll out of doors.” + +“But first,” cried Telesippe, who after her sluggish nature was once +roused, always grew more and more excited, “first I’ll scratch her eyes +out with these fingers—tear her borrowed garments from her limbs!” + +So the two women vied with each other in raving at the disguised and +unmasked Milesian. + +The latter patiently endured the first and most violent flood of abuse, +until both, apparently bewildered by her quiet composure, paused for a +moment. + +Then she began: + +“Have you now discharged your sharpest, most poisoned arrows? I have +suffered the hail-stones of your wrath to pass quietly over my head, +for I exposed myself to this peril, ventured into the domain of these +angry household gods, and though you revile me for the deception of my +dress, I have enough of the masculine nature to reconcile myself to +what is natural and inevitable. But you too, Telesippe, mistress of the +house, and you, venerable Elpinice, will understand and endure it, if I +make some reply to so much talking, though in a tone which will have +nothing in common with yours. Why then, Mistress Telesippe, wedded wife +of the great Pericles, do you so harshly insult and accuse me? Tell me, +of what have I robbed you? Your household gods? Your children? Your +fair fame? Your pride of virtue? Your property? Your trinkets? Your +pots of rouge and ointment? I have taken none of these. There is but +one trifle, which I may seem to have wrested from you, that which to +you was least of all these things, which you yourself neglected, never +really possessed, never strove to gain or keep—your husband’s love! If +it were really true that he loved me, not you, would it be my fault? +No. It would be yours. Did I come here to teach the Athenians to love +their wives? It would beseem me much better and be far easier, to teach +Athenian women what they must do to be beloved by their husbands. You +Athenian housekeepers, withering in the seclusion of the women’s +apartment, do not understand the art of subjugating the hearts of men, +and are angry with us Ionians, because we do comprehend it. Is it a +crime? No! It is a crime not to understand it. What is the meaning of +being loved? It signifies pleasing! If you wish to be loved, charm. No +tie, no vow, no appeal to divine or human law will aid you to do this; +only the motto: know how to please. And when does woman please? First +of all, when she wishes to do so. How must she seek to please? With +every charm that lures. She will not long enchant, if she merely +pleases the senses, bewitches the imagination, interests the mind, or +touches the heart—she must understand how to unite all these things in +her own person, in one word to be lovable. But to complete her victory +and awaken the love of another, she must be more careful to conceal +than to betray her own. A premature display of affection from a woman +chills an awakening love, repels a declining one. She begins by making +the man proud, ends by wearying him, and the husband’s weariness is the +certain grave of matrimonial happiness, feminine sway. He may caress or +blame, coo or swear, but never, never be allowed to yawn. You, +Telesippe, did too little and too much: too little, for you gave your +husband only your faithfulness; too much, because you offered what you +gave like liquor in a goblet! The wife must neither be like the liquor +in a goblet, nor the furniture in the house; nor a slave, nor even +merely a wife, for Hymen is the mortal foe of Eros. She must make her +husband woo her every day, and understand the wondrous art of always +preserving her girlish charm. If you can practise this art, do so. If +not, renounce what is won through its power, and without envy, permit +others to reap its fruits.” + +Pericles’ wife looked haughtily at Aspasia, her lips curling in a +contemptuous smile. + +“Keep the lore of your coquettish arts for yourself,” she answered, +“you may need them, and forbear to try to teach me how a husband’s +admiration and esteem are won, me whom the archon Basileus sought to +make his wife! What do you, the strange adventuress, expect to gain by +your arts? You can lure my husband from me to a secret love intrigue, +but you will remain an alien to his house, his hearth; even if he casts +me off, you cannot become his lawful wife, bear him legitimate heirs, +for you are a foreigner, you are no Athenian! Whether my husband woos +me with love-sighs or not does not matter, I rule here beside his +hearth-stone; I am the mistress of the house, while you are an +intruder. I bid you ‘go’ and you must obey.” + +“I will obey and go,” replied Aspasia. “We have divided fairly!” she +added with marked emphasis. “His house and hearth are yours, his heart +is mine! Let each maintain her rights. Farewell, Telesippe.” + +With these words Aspasia departed. + +Telesippe was once more alone with Elpinice, who applauded her friend’s +pride, praised the answer she had given the stranger. + +After another long conversation, they separated, and Pericles’ wife +went to attend to her domestic affairs. + +Little Alcibiades talked all day long about his “Spartan friend,” to +the great vexation of honest Amycle, who shook her head, saying: + +“That young fellow never swam through the Eurotas.” + +Telesippe forbade both to mention the stranger in Pericles’ presence. + +The day passed, and the hour for the evening meal approached. + +Pericles returned home and went to the table with his family. + +He ate the offered viands, answered the questions of little Alcibiades +and the other two boys, and sometimes addressed a word to Telesippe, +who, however, remained absorbed in a half-gloomy, half-scornful +silence. + +Pericles liked to see cheerful people around him. His wife’s morose, +silent manner made him uncomfortable. + +Another dish was now offered. It was the roast peacock. + +Pericles cast a strange glance at the bird. + +“What is this?” he asked. + +“The peacock brought to the house this morning by your orders,” replied +Telesippe. + +Pericles made no reply. After a pause, during which he was trying to +understand the connection of the matter, he said in a somewhat +constrained tone: + +“Who told you I wanted to have the peacock roasted?” + +“What else could be done?” asked Telesippe. “Our poultry-yard isn’t +large enough for such an immense bird, so I could only suppose you had +bought it at the market, to be prepared for to-day’s meal. Why not? It +is nice, and admirably roasted. Just try a bit.” + +So saying, she placed a well-browned piece on her husband’s plate. + +Pericles, whom people called the Olympian; Pericles, the victorious +general, the mighty orator, the guider of the destiny of Athens, the +man who was accustomed to gaze with dignified composure at the +turbulent crowds of Athenians, as well as at the advancing hosts of the +enemy on the battle-field—lowered his eyes before the piece of peacock +his wedded wife, Telesippe, laid on his plate. + +But he soon controlled himself, rose from the table, saying that his +appetite was satisfied, and was about to retire to his own room. + +Just at this moment, little Alcibiades asked: + +“Have the swans in the Eurotas as handsome plumage as this peacock?” + +Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued: + +“Amycle is an old fool, when she declares that my Spartan friend never +swam through the Eurotas.” + +At this mention of a Spartan friend, Pericles glanced inquiringly, +first at the boy and then at Telesippe. + +“Of what Spartan friend are you speaking?” he asked at last. + +Neither the boy nor Telesippe answered. + +Pericles left the apartment, followed by his wife. At the threshold of +the inner room, she said sharply, though in a low tone. + +“Forbid Milesian adventuresses to seek you here in your home, that they +may not delude the boys also. Give them your heart, Pericles, if you +choose, but they shall not profane your house and hearth. Follow them +wherever you please, but here in this house, beside this hearth, I +shall assert my rights. Here I am mistress, I alone.” + +Pericles was strangely moved by the tone of these words. It was not the +cry of a wife’s wounded heart, but the frigid, offended pride of the +mistress of the house. + +He coldly returned the speaker’s icy glance and answered quietly: + +“Be it as you say, Telesippe.” + +The same day a slave brought a written message to Pericles. + +The latter read the following lines in Aspasia’s hand. + +“I have left Hipponicus’ house. There is much to tell you. Visit me if +you can, in the home of the Milesian, Agariste.” + +Pericles answered as follows: + +“Come to-morrow to the country-house of the poet Sophocles on the banks +of the Cephissus. You will find me there. Come in disguise, or be +carried in a litter without a mask.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +ON THE BANK OF THE CEPHISSUS. + + +The pleasant, shaded valley of the Cephissus was speedily reached by +leaving the ancient city of Athens in a northerly direction, turning +slightly to the left of the Cerameicus, crossing the gardens and +plane-tree avenues of the “Academy,” and continuing the walk northward, +along a sunny highway in the open country. + +A luxuriant, whispering olive-grove grew at the left of the entrance, +stretching like a green wall along the side of the road, intermingled +with bushes, whose blue flowers were relieved by the tender green of +the narrow leaves. Garlands of ivy drooped from the trees, and yews +grew up the slope of the hill, concealing it until nothing but green +was visible. + +On the other side of the road, the clear murmuring waves of the +Cephissus came rippling out of the valley over sparkling white pebbles, +here and there vanishing in pink laurel and agnus cæstus bushes. + +A short distance beyond the Cephissus, appeared the lovely hill of +Colonus, rich in numerous legends. + +After entering the valley and walking a short distance between the +olive-grove and the stream, a charming villa appeared on the opposite +bank of the Cephissus, glittering in the sunshine, surrounded by +ancient cypress, plane and pine-trees, and a garden that extended +almost to the edge of the stream. But it was not only on this side, +that the grounds stretched to the bank of the little stream, for the +latter in continuing its course towards the entrance of the valley, +made a wide curve to the right, and in so doing washed the fruit and +flower-gardens that surrounded the house in that direction, only here +the waves flowed between taller bushes, gleaming in the sunbeams and +echoing with the songs of nightingales. + +In the centre of the wide space, between the sloping bank of the +Cephissus and the dwelling, stood a little summer-house overgrown with +roses. In the corners of the garden, laurel, myrtle and rose-bushes +mingled, forming secluded arbors. Even the scarlet blossoms of the +pomegranate were not lacking. Double rows of olive, fig, and other +fruit-trees, leading from arbor to arbor, encircled the garden. + +Grapes were ripening on the rising ground towards the hill of Colonus. +The house itself was covered with climbing vines, which also twined +luxuriantly around the trees, while the ivy vied with them in growth, +its large black umbels, somewhat resembling grapes, hung from the walls +and trees, and its dense foliage bordered the dewy meadow. + +Small beds of flowers were placed between the blossoming hedges and +open spaces of turf. Owing to the lateness of the season and the +Athenians’ love for garlands, there were but few blossoms of the +narcissus, the yellow crocus, the iris or violet, but roses glowed +everywhere in countless numbers, never tossed by rude winds, and +refreshed every morning by the purest dew from heaven. + +It seems an easy matter to give the names of the objects to be seen +here; but it is utterly impossible to describe the bright and joyous +atmosphere of peace diffused over the green, tree-bordered valley, +bedewed by the waters of the Cephissus and echoing with the songs of +the nightingales. It was so near the busy city, yet appeared to be +miles away. It seemed as if the rustic god Pan must emerge from the +shady woodland solitude, or a naiad rise from her bath in the +Cephissus. Surely satyrs must be revelling further in the leafy depths +of the grove, and hamadryads could be heard laughing merrily as they +mingled in the dance, or reclined on green leaves to rest. Sometimes a +shiver ran through the tree-tops, which trembled against the pure blue +of the Greek sky, like a thrill of bliss emanating from the footsteps +of Dionysus, the god of joy. + +Here dwelt Sophocles, the favorite of the Muses. This was the house he +had pointed out to Pericles and Aspasia from the top of the Acropolis. +This spot was his birthplace, and here he now lived. Under the white +monuments, overgrown with ivy and flowers, which peered forth here and +there from the foliage of the garden and thickets, his ancestors slept. + +He was seated in an arbor of roses, fanned by the morning breezes, +holding on his knee a small wax tablet, on which he sometimes traced +some verses with a sharp stylus, frequently smoothing the surface again +with its handle to efface what he had written, if the first inspiration +of the Muse did not fully satisfy him. + +Glancing towards the road, he saw a stately man walking through the +valley with a light, rapid step. + +“Who is the early riser,” he thought, “advancing almost as rapidly as +Hermes, the messenger of the gods?” + +The new-comer approached, the poet recognized his dearest friend, and +full of joyous excitement went to the entrance of the garden to meet +him. Pericles clasped his hand. “I will accept your invitation,” said +he, “and have escaped from the noise and bustle of the city, and all +public business, to be your guest to-day. The cithara-player from +Miletus—you doubtless remember him—will come and spend the day with us, +if you permit. I have much to say to him, and know of no place where I +could do so undisturbed.” + +“So the handsome cithara-player from Miletus will come?” cried +Sophocles, joyously. “I thought some very inspiring cause must bring +you here, when I saw you walking so swiftly and eagerly along the road. +There was not much left of the quiet dignity of the orator on the Pnyx. +I scarcely recognized you, as you tossed your head and swung to and fro +from your hips, almost reminding me of Homer’s noble steed, that broke +the halter in its stall, and with uplifted head and flying mane rushed +to the pasture of—” + +“Hush!” interrupted Pericles, closing his friend’s mouth with his hand. +“It was the spicy breezes of the valley of Cephissus, that produced +such an exhilarating effect upon me in the freshness of morning.” + +“Why not also—the desire to see the beautiful Milesian?” said +Sophocles; “is she not the most charming of women?” + +“She is delicate as a Lydian, dignified as an Athenian, strong as a +Laconian!” said Pericles. + +“You no longer need envy Ion the fair, lily-cheeked Chrysilla,” +observed Sophocles, with a mischievous smile. + +“Never mind Chrysilla!” cried Pericles. “Aspasia is peerless. One does +not know whether she most resembles a Muse or a Grace.” + +“Perhaps she will prove a Fate to you,” said Sophocles, “she can weave +both good and evil into the thread of your life.” + +“Why not a Lamia and Empusa too?” cried Pericles. “And if she were—I +have plenty of blood in my veins, and a sword by my side, which, like +the hero Ulysses’, can be torn from its sheath at the right moment +against any— + +“I come to you like a weary, hunted animal,” he continued, wiping the +perspiration from his brow. “I have torn myself from the countless +toils and anxieties of my innumerable offices and dignities, to live +one day in the companionship of beautiful leisure and her dearest +child, love.” + +“You do wisely in seeking leisure to love,” replied Sophocles. “In the +heat of summer people should either not love at all, or do nothing +else.” + +“I believe you are yourself sinning against that saying,” observed +Pericles; “the wax tablets in your hand show that you are industriously +adding verse to verse. But it is said that doesn’t prevent you from +sheltering the beautiful Ephesian, Philainion, in yonder secluded +building, hidden by myrtles and roses.” + +“Is poetry labor?” asked Sophocles; “I did not know it. If the burning +brow makes the poet, poetry is probably a musical exhalation of all the +beautiful light, all the divine fire, we drink in with our mortal +senses from the heavenly ether. Light transforms itself into sound. So +I would fain not miss love during the summer days, for it is then most +fiery, most sweet, and most full of the God. Least of all would I miss +it while I compose, for then one passion blends so beautifully with the +other: glowing with Apollo’s flames, you seek refreshment in the +blissful atmosphere of love, returning to the Muse with a soul attuned +to harmony. Eros and the Muse at last change parts—the Muse fans the +ardent glow of love, and the loved one’s eyes or bosom endows you with +the most beautiful poetic thoughts.” + +“I believe we can never be so weary; that love does not afford +refreshment; all who glow with the longing for action know that.” + +Such was the conversation between these two enthusiastic men, now in +the very prime of life. + +A litter stopped before the house, and Aspasia descended from it, clad +in women’s garments. Sophocles received her, and led her to meet +Pericles in the densely-shaded enclosure of the fragrant garden. + +Concealed from watchful eyes, she threw back her veil, let the himation +fall from her head and shoulders, and stood before them clad in the +bright-hued, richly-bordered chiton worn by women, her rippling +golden-brown hair arranged in waving lines upon the temples. Her sole +ornament was a broad purple fillet, passing from the upper part of the +head around the wealth of curling locks to the back. In her hand she +carried a small, daintily-formed parasol, and in the belt that confined +her robe around her waist, was thrust a no less graceful, leaf-shaped +fan. + +Sophocles now saw Aspasia in woman’s attire for the first time, and an +exclamation of admiration escaped his lips. The Milesian seemed like an +almost too dazzling marvel in the idyl of the valley of Cephissus. She +appeared alien to this rural solitude, and brought with her an +intoxicating aroma of youth and beauty, which seemed to press into the +background all the spicy odors of the groves, the breath of all the +blossoms in the garden. + +“Content yourself, Aspasia, with what nature has done for this spot,” +said Sophocles, as he conducted her through a walk overarched with +vines. “You will have no occasion to admire Athenian horticulture. I +well know that you Asiatic Hellenes understand far better how to lay +out pleasure-gardens with labyrinths, hidden nooks and grottos, than we +on this side of the sea. You have the Persians’ extensive, +magnificently laid out paradises for a model. We Athenians believe that +beautiful nature, like a beautiful woman, is lovely even unadorned.” + +“Let Aspasia walk in this enclosure a short time,” said Pericles, “and +you’ll soon be no longer satisfied with nature unadorned. She will +speedily enchant and transform you and your spouse. That is her nature. +Wherever she steps, something springs up under her feet. She knows how +to plant a thorn in the hearts of human beings, and if she lets fall a +few words about your garden, you will not rest until you create +something that can vie with the fruit-orchards of the Hesperides, the +garden of Phœbus on the farthest confines of the sea, the Cyrenian one +of Zeus and Aphrodite, that of Midas with its hundred-leaved roses, or +which can at least compare with the horticultural skill of the Homeric +Phæacian prince Alcinous at Scheria.” + +“I am well aware, that her nature conjures up unrest in the minds of +men,” replied Sophocles. “Have pity, fair enchantress, and leave me and +my garden here unchanged. I have been so contented and happy. If Phœbus +shone in the vault of heaven, I rejoiced that my olives, figs, and +pomegranates were ripening; if Zeus sent rain, I thanked him for making +my meadows green. I satisfied myself with what was to be found here: +flowers in Spring, shade in Summer, abundance of fruit in Autumn, +refreshing breezes and silence blessed by the Muse in Winter. But above +all, mighty Aspasia, do not, by some magic formula, transform what by +habit has become dearest to me and what is always most desired by +lovers and poets: the pleasant seclusion of these laurel bushes, these +myrtle and rose-arbors.” + +“Ought laurel-shaded solitude to be most advantageous to the poet?” +replied Aspasia. “Ought he not rather, in order to fully ripen his +powers, to emerge from the quiet shade into the full light of the world +and life?” + +“We suppose,” replied Sophocles, “that it is the sun and only the sun, +which ripens the grapes, until we discover that the largest, most +luxuriant, and deepest-hued clusters hang concealed under the shade of +the thickest leaves. If you doubt that this solitude is useful to the +poet, you will at least confess it is welcome to lovers. Here you can +enjoy each other’s society all day, if you choose, disturbed only by +twittering birds or rippling waves. No slave ever enters this garden +unbidden. But if you desire to make acquaintance with the loveliest +nook, most blessed by the Muses and Graces, come!” + +Pericles and Aspasia followed the poet, who led them to the spot, +where, as has already been mentioned, the Cephissus, making a curve, +bordered the grounds on the other side. Here the ground sloped towards +the stream, which flowed in a somewhat deeper channel. Yet the land did +not fall steeply down to the water, but left between the river and the +rising ground a charming level space, just wide enough to permit two +persons, pressing closely side by side, to walk along the bank beneath +a leafy roof, through which danced flickering sunbeams. + +The poet led his guests to this charming path, where the plash and +ripple of the waves sounded most musical, the birds trilled and warbled +most sweetly, and the lights and shadows played like sportive sprites +on the waves and between the boughs. Here and there was a turfy bank, +where one might recline, rest, and dreamily enjoy the refreshing +coolness of the shade. There was also a grotto, half concealed without +by flowering vines, and invitingly supplied inside with seats and +cushions for a resort during the warmest hours of the day. + +Aspasia was delighted with this lovely resting-place, and willingly +accepted her friend’s invitation to sit down. Pericles and the poet +followed her example. They gazed into the clear waves of the stream, +which here fell into a natural rocky basin. Bright-hued dragon-flies +hovered and danced over the blossoms on the shore, as if intoxicated by +the sunshine, and a beautiful pair of harmless water-snakes, believing +themselves unseen, noiselessly made their graceful, rapid convolutions +in the crystal flood. But when their observers betrayed themselves by +some slight noise, they swiftly glided under the dense growth of plants +that drooped from the banks over the stream. + +“A wedded pair,” said Sophocles—“I often watch them here. They are +inseparable.” + +“It is difficult,” Pericles began after a short pause, during which all +had unconsciously given themselves up to the spell of nature—“it is +difficult to transport ourselves in imagination from this peaceful +world, to the persons and things we have escaped, left far behind us. +And yet, Aspasia, the object of our excursion to-day would be only half +attained, if we did not remember the persons and things we fled from. +On the contrary, we must occupy ourselves with them first of all and +before everything else, for you have not only much to tell me +concerning the events of the last few days, but I myself have many +things to explain, which have doubtless been mysterious to you. The +dragon-flies are hovering gracefully over the waves, and the nimble +serpents are describing their circles in the current; yet we must not +heed them, for I must speak of very different creatures, miserable +birds that yesterday became important to you and me, those accursed +peacocks of Pyrilampes. Through Hipponicus’ treachery, one of them, +intended for a gift to you, was brought to my house and fell into the +hands of its mistress, Telesippe.” + +“And what was the stranger’s fate?” asked Aspasia. + +“Oh, don’t question me about its destiny or mine on that day,” cried +Pericles smiling. “Imagine the man before whom, tradition relates, his +own children were placed, daintily served for a meal! I can now for the +first time realize his horror and surprise, since I have myself +experienced the less shocking, but scarcely less bewildering incident +of seeing the magnificent bird, which I supposed to be just spreading +his feathers before the delighted Aspasia, who beheld in it an Argus, +sent by her lover to watch her in his stead with the hundred eyes of +love—seeing this bird dead, plucked, and transformed to a shapeless +brown mass, on my plate.” + +Sophocles laughed merrily at the tale. “You sinned yourself,” he +replied, “by employing the bird consecrated to Hera, goddess of +marriage, in the service of her rival, the golden Aphrodite—” + +“The anger of the gods descended on my head far more heavily than on +you and your peacock,” replied Aspasia. “Know, that disguised, I sought +you that very morning in your house, that I too, like the peacock, fell +into Telesippe’s hands, and if not slaughtered like the bird, found a +scarcely less cruel reception. By the gods, Telesippe only wished I had +a hundred eyes like the peacock, that she might scratch them all out. +Your furious wife was accompanied by an elderly, ridiculous woman, +named Elpinice. Both these matrons felt an ardent emotion of love for +the young cithara-player, and flew into a furious passion when they +discovered he was a woman. I was assailed by these two harpies, loaded +with insults, driven from the house. ‘I stand as mistress by this +hearth,’ said Telesippe, ‘but you are a vagabond, an adventuress. I bid +you begone!’ She added that she would give up your heart, but was not +disposed to lose your hearth. I willingly grant her that, oh! Pericles, +but do you intend to acknowledge the right of the woman, who rules your +hearth, to assail with savage threats and insults her who possesses +your heart?” + +“What can I do?” replied Pericles. “The Athenian women have few rights, +but we must respect those they do possess. They extend only to the +threshold of the house—” + +“So it seems,” Aspasia interrupted, “that you men of Athens are not +masters in the house, but only outside of it. How strange! You make the +wife a slave, and then declare yourselves servants of these slaves.” + +“That is marriage!” said Pericles, shrugging his shoulders. + +“If this is marriage,” retorted Aspasia, “it might be better if there +were no such thing in the world.” + +“Love binds the happy tie that unites hearts,” said Pericles; “but a +woman becomes a wife and mistress of the house, through the law.” + +“Through the law?” answered Aspasia. “I always thought it was maternity +alone which made a beloved woman a wife, and that marriage began, so to +speak, with the birth of a child.” + +“Not according to our Athenian civil law.” + +“Then change your civil law, for it is worthless,” cried Aspasia. + +“Sophocles, favorite of the gods,” exclaimed Pericles, turning to his +friend, “help me recall this angry beauty to calm discretion, that her +little white hand may not tear down the whole fabric of the Athenian +government.” + +“How could I suppose our high-minded Aspasia would ever lose the +noblest possession of human beings, discretion? She knows well enough +to teach us the lesson, should we forget it, that life without pleasure +is no life, but to enjoy existence to the utmost, we must beware of +rousing the anger of gloomy Ate, goddess of delusion and blind, +passionate impulse; that we must never fight against anything without +first wisely testing our strength; that happy ease is impossible +without self-control; that we ought to love our fellow-creatures, for +they are the companions of our pleasures, and honor the gods, for they +are not mere empty names, but mark the limits of our power, and stand, +ruling with potent sway, on the border line between our wilfulness and +fate, between freedom and eternal necessity; that we—” + +“Enough!” Aspasia interrupted laughing, “or I fear we shall not find +our way back from the clear atmosphere of lofty thought, into which +your wise and beautiful words have borne us, to the petty, but tangible +matters with which our conversation commenced. But if it is allowable +to apply general remarks to special cases, it seems to me, Sophocles, +you intended to say that foreign birds and foreign women must submit to +be plucked and torn in Athens, and timidly yielding, ought not to +struggle against the laws of the country, which deprives them of all +rights.” + +“It is easy for our friend here,” added Pericles, “to make wise rules +for human conduct, especially that of married men, and equally easy to +follow them. His life flows on without contest; for he is unwedded, and +no Telesippe threateningly confronts his Aspasia with a firebrand +snatched from the hearth.” + +“That’s the way intercessors and all who meddle in lovers’ affairs, +even if invited to do so, invariably fare,” replied Sophocles smiling. +“I am now derided and almost reproached, because while counselling +discretion, I was myself so imprudent as to try to advise lovers. By +way of amends, I will now punish myself by instantly leaving you to +your own wisdom, and bid you farewell for a short time, that you may +settle your affairs. I am going to take care that you don’t spend the +whole day here without the refreshment of food and drink; and if, while +you are discussing the subject of your interview, I linger for a time +in yonder laurel grove, know that no Aspasia awaits me there, but, with +tablets on my knee and stylus in my hand, I am listening to the +lamentations of the noble daughter of Œdipus.” + +“So you have remembered the poetic idea mentioned on the Acropolis?” +asked Aspasia. + +“Half the work is already finished,” replied Sophocles, “and a slave +sits day after day with a reed pen in his hand, transcribing the +completed lines from the waxen tablets to the papyrus.” + +“Won’t you afford us the pleasure of hearing them in advance of +others?” said Pericles. + +“Your time is too precious!” replied the poet, and withdrew. + +After Pericles and Aspasia were left alone, they returned to the +subject of conversation, which had arisen in their friend’s presence. + +But, as usual in lovers’ talks, they frequently wandered from the main +topic, and did not strive for rigid logical sequence, because too much +feeling mingled with their speculations, and they permitted themselves +to make numerous digressions. Meantime they listened to the songs of +the birds, inhaled the spicy odors from the meadows, and now and then +plucked a tempting grape from a drooping cluster, or a red-cheeked +juicy fruit. Aspasia bit an apple and handed it to Pericles, who +received it with a radiant smile, for he was not ignorant of the +meaning a bitten apple bore in the sign language of love. Nor were +opportunities for questioning love oracles neglected. Aspasia twined a +garland, gave it to Pericles, and laughed when some leaves fell from +it, for this omen signified ardent love in the heart of the wearer. +Pericles gathered flowers, whose calixes possessed the property of +bursting with a sharp snap, when pressed between the fingers, and did +not disdain to draw from the loudness of the report an oracle in regard +to the depth of love in Aspasia’s heart. + +But however rapidly Pericles’ love made the blossoms in the garland +wither, and its leaves fall, and Aspasia’s did honor to the oracles of +the bursting flowers, both tried to return to sensible conversation. +Many questions were asked, but few decided. They discussed how Aspasia, +with Pericles’ help, could best arrange her new household to enable +them to continue their intercourse with as little interruption as +possible, and, since lovers like nothing better than to talk of the +history of their first meeting, this pair reverted to their interview +in Phidias’ house. Pericles mentioned what had since occurred in +consequence of it, spoke of the great works that had been commenced, +and how he was at that time compelled to defend himself from the +reproaches of his friends, but at last all departed satisfied except +Sophroniscus’ son, the truth-seeker, who desired a thorough discussion +of the question whether the fostering of the beautiful rendered the +fostering of morality unnecessary. + +This question had been allowed to drop, and was afterwards entirely +forgotten. But since Aspasia, on being reminded of it, instantly +expressed with great decision her favorite assertion, that the +cultivation of the beautiful was as justifiable, or even more so, than +the advancement of morality, and a peacock was as valuable as a duck, +though the latter might be more easily fattened—and Pericles did not +know whether he could admit so much, the lovers were interrupted by +Sophocles just at the right time. + +The latter came to invite them to lunch, and led the way to a little +summer-house in the middle of the garden. The interior was charmingly +decorated, almost luxuriously arranged for a comfortable resting-place, +and at this moment was transformed into a cosy dining-room. Cushions +were arranged so that the company could recline in pairs, supporting +the upper portion of the body on the left arm, and before these +cushions stood small tables, bearing various dishes. + +Pericles and Aspasia, obeying their host’s invitation, reclined on the +pillows and prepared to eat the refreshments, which consisted of +poultry, cakes, cheese, figs, almonds, nuts, grapes, and delicious wine +from the islands. + +“I hope, Sophocles,” said Aspasia jestingly, “that you are not setting +nightingales before us; though in a city where they don’t hesitate to +cook peacocks, nightingales might also chance to fall into the +frying-pan.” + +“Don’t abuse the whole Athenian nation on account of one culprit,” +pleaded Sophocles. + +“A woman capable of killing a peacock, plucking off its magnificent +plumage and throwing it into a pan, deserves to be scourged out of +Hellas,” cried Aspasia with a fresh outburst of indignation. “If the +wrath of the Greek gods falls on any one, it must surely overwhelm her; +for she has sinned against the most sacred thing on earth, the +beautiful.” + +“If we must believe our wise and beautiful Aspasia,” observed Pericles, +turning to his host, “beauty is the supreme law of life and, +penetrating the soul as well as the body, the sum and substance of all +the virtues.” + +“The idea seems to me very charming,” replied the poet, “though I don’t +quite know what Anaxagoras, Phidias’ well-known stone-cutter, and the +other philosophers would think of it. But even among these men, there +is not one who will dispute the mighty power of beauty and the emotion, +love, it awakens in the hearts of men. This very morning, agreeably to +your wish, Aspasia, I introduced into my work, to show the +unconquerable power of love, a scene in which I make Hæmon, King +Creon’s son, voluntarily descend into Hades to follow his beloved +Antigone—” + +“That is too much, Sophocles,” replied Aspasia, to the great perplexity +of her host, who had expected to win her thanks. “The poet’s stylus +must not show so gloomy a side of love. Love is cheerful, and ought to +renounce itself sooner than its gaiety. It should not lead a human soul +to Hades. It should ally men with life, not death. Gloomy, fanatical +passion ought not to be designated by the name of love among the +Hellenes. It is disease, it is slavery.” + +“You are right,” replied Sophocles. “The rule you express is obvious; +you, Pericles, and I myself will always pay homage only to beautiful, +gay, untrammelled love. If you wish, we will offer a sacrifice to the +gods this very day, imploring them never to fan this pure flame in our +bosoms into a raging, devastating glow. But in poetry and sculpture, +the mind urges the writer and sculptor to put a sharp, penetrating edge +on what he desires to express. I wished to show that Eros was a mighty +god; but I earnestly desire that he may never again turn the whole of +his power in such a manner against a Hellene. Above all, may he make +the hearts of the beautiful, gentle and yielding; for what, except +beauty, is to blame for all the evil and trouble love endures in the +world? In truth, beauty is a fatal, decisive, momentous power in the +lives of mortals. She sits, if I may so express it, in the council of +the highest powers.” + +“Beauty sits in the council of the highest powers!” repeated Aspasia. +“That remark, in my opinion, deserves to be ranked among the sayings of +the philosophers of Hellas.” + +“If it affords you pleasure,” replied the poet, “I will repeat it aloud +throughout all Hellas, and interweave it as a chorus into my tragedy. +When could I finish this choral song to Eros under a better omen, than +while your foot still presses the soil of this garden? You must not +leave here until I have written the hymn and heard your opinion.” + +“You could not offer us a more gracious gift,” replied Pericles. + +“Pardon me, if I now present nothing with which a collation is usually +spiced,” Sophocles began. “I don’t even introduce a dancer or +flute-player, for to-day, it seems to me, my guests are enough in +themselves; and besides, who would venture to play the cithara before +the beautiful ‘cithara-player from Miletus,’ and thus vie with such an +artist?” + +“You yourself!” cried Pericles, “you owe us the contest, for you +promised something of the kind on the Acropolis. Bring your stringed +instrument, and another one for Aspasia; then begin to vie with each +other in singing and playing, like the Sicilian shepherds, in the +presence of my impartial umpireship—for that you will permit me to be +umpire is a matter of course, since you will have no other listener.” + +“The pleasure of hearing Aspasia sing and play will not be too dearly +purchased at the cost of a defeat,” replied Sophocles. + +He left them, soon returned with two beautifully-ornamented +instruments, and asked Aspasia to choose one. + +The fair woman drew her fingers over the strings, and a lovely rippling +sound instantly rose from the instrument, like sparks from a forge. + +The poet and the Milesian beauty, warmed by the fire of the island +wine, began to sing, to the accompaniment of their instruments, +love-songs by Anacreon and Sappho, winged distiches, and new verses of +their own, rapidly composed. + + + “What are life and pleasure without Cypria’s smiles? + Gladly would I die, when mirth and joy have gone, + When my heart no more rejoices in love’s winsome wiles. + Flowers of youth, how swiftly time’s scythe mows ye down!” + + +Aspasia eagerly responded: + + + “Ay, full short is the time that’s allotted a mortal; + But Bacchus, the dance, love, wreathed garlands invite! + These, these only are life—’t is a joyous high festival! + We know not to-morrow, seize to-day in its flight!” + + +The poet, fixing his sparkling eyes on Aspasia, sang: + + + “Sweet, by Pan, the Arcadian, the song that thou singest! + Sweet the notes of the lute that blend with thy lay! + Could I flee? No, Aspasia, for hidden in thy breast, + Eros’ self is the siren who charms me to-day!” + + +With a bewitching smile on her rosy lips, Aspasia replied: + + + “Gaily Neæra sported with her friend. About + Her waist, fair Cypris flung a flowered zone + Enwrought with golden letters: ‘Love me, but grieve not.’ + So ran the words, ‘if other rule I own!’” + + +“How long will you still delay, oh! Pericles,” said the poet, “to award +Aspasia the wreath of victory?” + +“Give it to the poet, Pericles,” said Aspasia, “but first impose one +condition: he must sing us some lines addressed to the fair +Philainion.” + +“Do you hear what Aspasia desires?” said Pericles to the poet, “you +must celebrate the charms of the beautiful Ephesian, Philainion, who is +now, it is rumored, the companion of your happiest hours, and whom we +strangers, to your secret torment, have perhaps driven from this +charming spot.” + +“The condition is not without secret malice and cruelty,” replied +Sophocles, smiling: “but I will not leave it unfulfilled.” + +And he sang: + + + “Philainion’s dark-skinned, Philainion’s small, + But the poppy’s bloom is not more dainty, + Philainion’s prattle hath stronger thrall, + Than Cypris’ girdle. I’ll love but thee, + Philainion, fair one, until as a rival, + Aphrodite doth give fairer beauty to me!” + + +“Are you satisfied, Aspasia?” asked Pericles, and when the latter +smilingly nodded assent, he turned to his host and offered him the +prize of victory, saying: + +“Receive the wreath, hospitable singer.” + +“I should not be that,” replied Sophocles, “if I did not conclude by +praising the charms of the fairest of women: + + + “Cypria’s beauty hast thou, and the lips of Peitho, + The Hours vernal bloom, Calliope’s sweet tone, + The balancing of Themis, the Pallas’ wisdom, + The Graces’ charm with earnest Muses blended.” + + +“That is shaming us,” said Aspasia, “and imposing a greater debt of +gratitude than we can ever discharge.” + +So ended the contest. Sophocles and his Milesian guest then discussed +many things concerning music, and Aspasia talked so learnedly about the +Doric, Phrygian, Lydian, and other styles, the delicate distinctions +between them, and the advantages one possessed over another, that +Pericles was amazed and at last exclaimed: + +“Tell me, Aspasia, what is the name of the man who can boast of having +first trained you in these difficult arts?” + +“You will learn,” replied Aspasia, “when I tell you the story of my +early youth.” + +“Why did you never do so?” replied Pericles. “How long will you defer +it? Tell me to-day. The opportunity is favorable, and Sophocles is so +intimate a friend, and so discreet, that you need not fear to make him +a hearer of your story.” + +“No,” said Sophocles, “charming as I imagine the story of Aspasia’s +childhood to be, I cannot help fearing, that if you are compelled to +share the pleasure of hearing it with another, the tale will not last +half so long as if you listen to it alone. Besides, I remember that I +have vowed not to let you go, until I have entirely conciliated +Aspasia, by writing a chorus in honor of Eros, so I must speedily seek +my solitude and leave you to one not less desirable to you. By +sheltering a pair of lovers, like yourselves, in my asylum, on the +self-same day that I compose a song in praise of Eros for my tragedy, I +expect to obtain so much favor from the god of Love, that it wouldn’t +surprise me if I succeeded in writing my best song as a proof of the +divinity’s gratitude.” + +With these words the poet took his leave, Aspasia calling jestingly +after him, to say he must not return without bringing the charming +Philainion. + +The lovers were again left to themselves in the pleasant, secluded, +fragrant garden. + +Still excited by the animated conversation, music, and singing, yet +overcome by a sort of gentle weariness, they spent the time in walking +and resting, lulled into the sweet dreamy state which takes possession +of the mind, especially in the forest, fields, or shady garden, during +the noontide hours, when Pan is sleeping, and his sprites pursue their +mischievous pranks uncontrolled in the lonely valleys. + +The oily fruit of the olive glittered in the mid-day sun. No lark +hovered about, the tiny lizards lay sleeping in the hedges. Only the +crickets began to chirp softly and musically here and there. + +The wanderer’s nature at such moments is so thrilled, excited, steeped +in sunshine and perfume, that when he lies down to rest on the shady +turf, under rustling trees, he scarcely knows whether he is trembling +with a sense of delicious fatigue, or the still unexhausted abundance +of animal spirits. + +The two lovers at last paused again in the ivy-covered nook, where the +waves of the Cephissus plashed under sun-flecked branches, and in the +sultry noontide stillness the unsuspicious pair of water-snakes +described their circles through the crystal flood. + +Rousing himself from the half slumber of a dreamy, blissful siesta, +Pericles repeated his entreaty that Aspasia would crown the +confidential intercourse of the day, by relating the long promised tale +of the incidents of her early youth. + +But there is one peculiarity about a narrator, whose lips are delicate, +pouting, and sweet as Attic virgin honey. Pericles confessed that he +knew not whether he was most eager for his friend’s kisses, or her +story. At last she began: + +“You know I am not old enough to delight you with a long, adventurous, +and varied tale. But you have a right to inquire about my origin, and +ask what my fate was ere it became connected with yours. + +“Philammon was the name of the man to whom I owed my knowledge of music +and other arts, indeed everything for which one human being can be +indebted to another, though that, as I believe, is not much, for the +character of human beings, especially women, is principally determined +by the soil on which we grow up, the native air we breathe, the things +around us, and above all, fate and the star under which we are born. + +“Good Philammon! I don’t think I shall ever again live with any man so +peacefully; for he made no claims on me, nor I on him. He was eighty +years old, and I ten. To be sure, he seemed twenty years younger than +his age, and I one-fourth older than mine. + +“After the death of my father, Axiochus, and my mother, he, as a +paternal friend and guardian, received me into his house. He was the +most learned, wise, eloquent, and at the same time gayest old man in +gay Miletus; perhaps the most amiable, since Anacreon lived on this +earth. I know not whether there is any friendship more beautiful, than +that between a youthful old man and a precocious little girl. The +fairest contrasts of life meet each other. I was passionately in love +with Philammon’s long white beard, his clear eyes, from which all the +knowledge of the world seemed to shine upon me, his lyres and citharas, +his books, the bronze and marble statues in his house, the beautiful +flowers in his garden. He, too, seemed to take no little delight in me; +from the hour I was brought into his house, he always wore on his lips +a smile, whose beauty I have never seen equalled, and which not even +death could entirely efface. For five years I lived amid the perfume of +the roses, with which the godlike old man entwined his goblets, drank +in the wisdom that shone in his eyes and flowed from his eloquent lips, +played on his lyres and citharas, unfolded with glowing cheeks his +rolls of MSS., gazed at his bronze and marble statues, and tended the +flowers in his garden. The world of poetry, music and spring again +became fresh to him, because he enjoyed it with a child. He said that +he was eighty years old, but understood many of his books for the first +time, now that a child read them aloud to him. + +“When he died, the Milesians called me the most beautiful maiden on the +Ionic coast, and I saw myself for the first time in a mirror. The life +of the wealthy city, where the Hellenic mind is early ripened by the +sun of Asia, began to press upon me with its surging waves. + +“But I was discontented. + +“I had been gay among Philammon’s books and statues; in the rushing +whirlpool of pleasure, surrounded by homage, I became grave, +thoughtful, obstinate, capricious. I missed something. + +“The men of Miletus seemed foppish. They sought my favor, but I +despised them. + +“After Philammon’s death I stood alone in the world, a young, poor, +inexperienced, orphaned girl. + +“Then a Persian satrap saw me, and instantly formed the plan of taking +the much-praised Ionic maiden to Persepolis, to introduce her to the +great king. My foolish, girlish heart kindled. I thought of Rhodopis, +who wedded the Egyptian king; of my countrywoman, Thargelia, who won +the sovereign of Thessaly for a husband. The Persian king himself, the +most powerful monarch on earth, hovered before my mind as the +incarnation of everything lofty, noble, amiable and beautiful in man. +As a child in Philammon’s house I had been precocious, now, as a young +maiden, I became foolish. On reaching Persepolis, I was magnificently +attired and then conducted to the superb palace. Amid this splendor sat +the Persian king, no less gorgeously adorned, but with the face of an +ordinary man. He stared at me with the dull eyes of a despot, and at +last sleepily stretched out his hand as if to examine a piece of +merchandise. This enraged me; indignant tears filled my eyes. It +pleased the Persian, who smiled faintly. He even spared me from that +moment, saying that the pride of the Greeks pleased him better than the +slavish submission of other women. After a few weeks, the despot’s +heart kindled with love, but I was seized with dread and sank into a +state of melancholy. The life around me seemed strange, monotonous, +dull. These people did not allow themselves to be influenced, but lived +inertly in their magnificent rooms, filled with enervating perfumes. +The gorgeous splendor of the East was alien and alarming to me, the +spell with which it at first enthralled my imagination quickly +vanished. I shivered at the sight of the foreign temples and idols, and +longed to return to the Gods of Hellas. + +“After a short time I fled, and uttered a sigh of relief when I again +trod Ionic soil and saw the Greek sea, promising a new and fairer +happiness, dash upon the shore. Accompanied by one female slave, I +sought in the harbor of Miletus a ship that would convey me to Hellas, +and found a merchant who was willing to take me to Megara. Thence I +could quickly reach proud Athens, for which my soul had long yearned. +On arriving at Megara with my slave, I stood alone and helpless. The +elderly ship-owner, who had brought me from Miletus in his vessel, +invited me to his house and promised to send me in a few days to +Athens. I accepted, but he delayed the arrangements for my departure, +and I at last perceived it was his intention to detain me. But I soon +saw that the son’s heart glowed with love as well as the father’s, and +kept prisoner in the house, was tormented by a double wooing. The fools +thought it was for them I had escaped unharmed from the Persian king. +As my reserve still continued, and I did everything in my power to +break the chains woven around me, the anger of both burst into a blaze. +The ship-owner’s wife had always looked with suspicious eyes on the +young stranger, and now while the two men raged at me and quarrelled +fiercely with each other on my account, she was seized with savage +jealousy, so that I saw myself surrounded by furies and threatened by +all these people. The idea of rousing the Megarians against me as a +foreign deluder, a disturber of the peace, occurred to the woman, while +the two men, enraged to the utmost by my reserve, and the impossibility +of keeping me a prisoner longer, upheld her, from a thirst for +vengeance. Their efforts were not unavailing. I was in Megara, among +people of Doric race, people who, surrounded by Ionians, separated from +their own kindred in the Peloponnesus, so near threatening Athens, only +showed their Doric nature the more plainly, thought themselves +compelled to follow Spartan customs more slavishly. They wish to appear +stern and manly, but are doubly uncontrollable when passion seizes +them, for their minds are rude, their natures base. Their violent +emotions are impervious to the soothing influence diffused over others +by the atmosphere of grace. + +“At my earnest entreaty, my hosts at last pretended to let me go +quietly. A mule stood ready to carry my baggage, a litter waited for me +and my slave. But when I went out of the house, I found an infuriated +crowd assembled in the street, and was received with words of scorn and +abuse. The news that I was a Milesian had been enough to make the +Megarians hate me and pursue me with savage fury. I know not what +animated me with such pride, such courage, when I beheld this Doric mob +grimacing, shrieking, uttering threats around me. With head erect I +walked through the throng, the trembling slave following. The foremost, +who had shrunk back a little, pressed by those behind, again crowded +upon me; I was entangled, pushed, and when I indignantly uttered an +angry protest, some insolently seized me by the arms and garments. + +“At this moment, a travelling-carriage, drawn by horses, came along the +road. In it sat a man, apparently wealthy and distinguished, for he was +surrounded by slaves. + +“When he perceived me amid the menacing crowd, some of whom were +already seizing me, he stopped, ordered his slaves to lift me and my +slave into the spacious equipage, and in a few moments I saw myself +borne away by the stranger’s horses from the never to be forgotten +ignominy that threatened me, and from accursed Megara.” + +“Now I understand, Aspasia,” observed Pericles, “why, contrary to your +usual moderation, you always show so much hostility whenever the +Dorians and Doric nature are mentioned.” + +“I don’t deny it,” she replied, “since that day, I have vowed eternal +hostility and vengeance against all Dorians.” + +“The man who rescued you was doubtless Hipponicus?” asked Pericles. + +“Yes, it was he.” + +“You have learned to know the Ionic nature in its most luxurious +development at Miletus, and the rude excesses of the Dorian temperament +at Megara. On the soil of Athens, I hope you find yourself in that +beautiful and happy medium, which contains the reconciliation and +harmony of the most opposite traits.” + +“It was a good omen to me,” replied Aspasia, “that after treading the +soil of Athens, chance brought me in contact with the place whence come +the brightest sparks of the new Athenian spirit—Phidias’ studio!” + +“And there,” cried Pericles, “there you found the men you missed at the +Persian court, active, susceptible minds that you could influence—there +you found the fiery Alcamenes—” + +“And the thoughtful, unimpassioned, yet promising son of Sophroniscus,” +replied Aspasia. “To both I strove to offer what their natures seemed +to need. I showed the sculptor that he need not learn solely from his +master Phidias, and partially succeeded in changing to genuine humility +the false modesty of the truth-seeker, who torments everybody with his +searching questions. But the man whom I did not shrink from offering +merely this or that, but everything, my entire self, was still absent. +At last I found him. Since then I have come still nearer the forge from +which rise the most original sparks of the new Hellenic intellect and +life.” + +“And where was this?” asked Pericles. + +“In the heart of the husband of the peacock-killer, Telesippe!” replied +Aspasia, smiling and resting her sunny head on her companion’s breast. + +The latter bent to kiss her and replied: + +“Many of those life-sparks of the Hellenic mind would perhaps have +slept unawakened in this breast, Aspasia, if you had never leaned your +fair head on it.” + +Thus passed the day spent by the happy pair in Sophocles’ garden. + +Evening began to approach, the shrubs exhaled a stronger fragrance, the +nightingales began to sing amid the branches, and the cicadas, as if +seeking to rival them, raised their clear voices in the grass; +glow-worms glittered amid the dusk of the thickets, and Hesperus +sparkled in the sky. + +The poet now appeared to invite his guests to the evening meal, and +again led them to the pretty, cheerful summer-house. + +“You gave me a command as I was leaving you,” said Sophocles, turning +to Aspasia, “and who would neglect to obey your every wish?” + +He pointed towards the back of the summer-house, from which Philainion +came forward, smiling. + +Pericles and Aspasia were pleasantly surprised. Philainion was small, +but possessed a figure enchanting in its symmetry; every movement was +full of grace. She had the blackest of eyes, and the blackest hair +curled over a somewhat low forehead. + +Aspasia gracefully thanked her host for his obedience, and kissed +Philainion. All merrily reclined on couches, ready for the meal. +Numerous sweetmeats were offered, and again the fiery Chian wine flowed +freely amid gay, witty words and laughter. + +Sophocles then read to his guests his promised song in honor of Eros, +the immortal chorus of: + + + “Mighty power, all powers above!” + + +Intoxicated with enthusiasm, Aspasia and the poet began to sing the +song at the same moment, to the music of stringed-instruments. The +melody seemed to flow from their lips of its own volition—they invented +it together. + +Philainion, seized by the same rapture, joined her voice to theirs, and +inspired by the music as well as the fiery Chian, soon began to +accompany the melody with the movements of a most charming and +expressive dance. + +Who could describe the happiness of these gifted mortals? + +They were as gay as the Olympic Gods. + +As Pericles and Aspasia walked through the garden at a late hour on +their way home, the roses exhaled an intoxicating perfume, and the +flaming scarlet blossoms of the carnation glittered mysteriously in the +gloom. + +Never did the nightingales on the bank of the Cephissus sing louder +than that night. + +“Do you know what they are singing?” said Pericles to Aspasia, who +walked smiling by his side. “Sophocles’ chorus in honor of Eros; they +are all chanting: + + + “Mighty power, all powers above! + Great, unconquerable love. + Thou, who liest in dimple sleek, + On the tender virgin’s cheek— + + +And + + + “Thus Venus wills it from above, + And great, unconquerable Love. + + +And + + + “All thy maddening influence know, + Gods above and men below. + All thy powers resistless prove + Great, unconquerable Love!” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE CAST OF THE DISCUS. + + +Since the magnificent building, devoted by Pericles to musical +performances, had been dedicated and opened with a contest between +musicians, the Athenians flocked to the southern foot of the Acropolis, +to admire the peculiar edifice and its wedge-shaped roof, built of the +masts of captured Persian ships. + +But the completion of the Lyceum soon followed that of the Odeum, and +the crowd now flocked out of the eastern gate towards the Ilissus to +see the handsome new gymnasium, which had no equal. + +Although still new, the walls and pillars were already scrawled here +and there with flattering inscriptions praising some handsome boy. Not +only the sculptors, to whom the graceful figures of the youths, +displayed naked here in numerous bodily exercises, afforded a welcome +school of symmetry and beauty, but idle admirers of the beautiful came +hither to enjoy the sight of the perfect development of youthful grace. +The enthusiastic gaze of these connoisseurs was rivalled by the eyes of +affectionate, ambitious fathers, who watched with proud satisfaction +the feats and contests of their offspring, encouraging them by many an +eager gesture, many a loud shout. There were also lovers of gymnastics, +to whom the sight of them was a pleasure in and of itself, and whose +aged limbs seemed rejuvenated by the zeal, motions, and exercises of +the youths. Nay, the delight of many enthusiastic lovers of this sport +rose to such a height, that they were not content to spend whole days +in the Lyceum and Palæstra, as idle spectators; but when the longing +seized upon them, threw themselves among the youths and shared their +exercises, or challenged one of their contemporaries to a friendly +wrestling on the sand of the gymnasium. “Holloa, Charisios,” some one +would cry, “shan’t we try another little match, as we have so often +done in our happy days? What young Hercules we were—how different from +the boys now!” Then the two men, remembering the bright days of their +youth, would clench and wrestle with each other, according to the +unforgotten rules of the art, amid a group of encouraging spectators. + +But the place was not used solely for gymnastic exercises, it was also +a vast assembly-room. Nay, so largely was it devoted to this purpose, +that the real apartments for gymnastic exercises all opened from the +southern side of the peristyle, behind the double portico, while the +other three halls, as well as the tree-shaded grounds adjoining the +wrestling-school, were intended exclusively for the social intercourse +of the Athenians. Here came the most famous men with their admirers, +friends, and pupils. Here people could talk with less interruption, +than in the noisy Agora. The words posterity eagerly reads in dusty +tomes, here fell in living streams from the lips of the sages. Any one +in the crowd, who desired to do so, could join the master and the few +pupils who at first walked beside him, listening to his discourse. It +was only a few days since the halls of the Lyceum had opened their +portals, and already the rustle of the bold pinions of Hellenic thought +could be heard. + +In the old man with the clear eyes might be recognized Anaxagoras, the +friend of Pericles. Many an Athenian had already learned from him to +inquire the causes of the course of nature, and place the eternal laws +of natural events above the caprices of the Olympic Gods. But there +were also many, who still inclined to see in him an uncanny sort of +magician. + +“Isn’t that the philosopher from Clazomenæ?” asked an Athenian, +addressing one of the pupils and listeners, in the group which +surrounded the sage. “Isn’t he the man, who is said to have sat at the +Olympic games with a sheepskin cloak fastened around his body, while +the sun was shining in the clear sky, and told those who laughed at +him, that a storm would burst in less than an hour, which to the +astonishment of everybody, actually did occur. Whence did the man get +such a supposition, if he is not more learned in supernatural things +and the art of divining, than other people?” + +“Ask him,” replied the pupil. + +The Athenian followed his advice, and addressing himself directly to +Anaxagoras, repeated the question. “Are you the man, who went to +Olympia in a sheepskin cloak, and predicted a thunder-storm when the +sky was clear and the sun shining?” + +“Certainly,” answered Anaxagoras smiling. “And you might have done the +same, without the use of any magic arts, if like me you had been taught +by an Arcadian shepherd about the cap of Erymanthus.” + +“What do you mean by that?” asked the Athenian. + +“Erymanthus,” replied Anaxagoras, “is a lofty mountain, which stands at +the point where the borders of Arcadia, Achaia and Elis meet, and if, +during a time of great heat, while the wind blows from the north-east, +the summit of this peak is seen from Olympia to be covered with the +thinnest cap of clouds, in less than an hour a storm will rise, +bringing cool air and floods of rain over the Pisatian meadows.” + +When the bystanders’ conversation afterwards turned upon the origin and +causes of thunder-storms, Anaxagoras declared that the lightning +proceeded from a certain kind of friction among the clouds. He then +passed to other natural phenomena, making new and unusual assertions; +for instance, he declared that the sun consisted of a glowing mass of +metal, and was larger than the Peloponnesus. The moon, he maintained, +was inhabited and had hills and valleys. + +While the philosopher thus walked with his hearers, and excited groups +gathered elsewhere around the politicians or news-mongers, two persons +sat on the smoothly-polished marble bench in an empty corner of the +most northern hall of the Lyceum, apparently eagerly discussing some +important affair. + +One was a remarkably handsome youth, the other a young man whose type +of countenance was singularly unlike his companion’s. + +There was scarcely a person among those who passed, who did not pause +or at least look back, to glance a second time at the youth’s +remarkable beauty. Some even returned, or lingered near, watching the +youth and waiting for the moment when he would bare his whole form to +take part in the gymnastic exercises, for which purpose he had probably +come. + +But those who cherished this expectation were disappointed, for the +bewitching youth was Pericles’ lovely friend, who had to-day resolved +to again avail herself of a masculine disguise, to inspect one of +Pericles’ favorite creations, the now completed Lyceum. This time she +had chosen her old friend Socrates for a companion; for she scarcely +dared show herself publicly with Pericles in this costume—too many +persons had already penetrated the cithara-player’s secret. Socrates +gladly undertook the charge Pericles was forced to deny himself. + +He had gone to the Lyceum with her early in the morning, to show her +the interior of the wrestling-ring before the youths and boys began +their gymnastic exercises. He eagerly did his part by accompanying +Aspasia into the central room of the gymnasium, the vast court-yard +surrounded by porticos, behind which extended spacious halls, and did +not even forget the baths nor the groves of young trees, which +stretched along the meadow lands of the Ilissus, an addition to the +gymnasium welcome to those who were fond of walking. + +To choose for a companion the “truth-seeker,” the “friend of wisdom,” +the meditative pupil of Phidias, without falling a victim to the +loquacious man’s secret designs, was impossible. Thus, speaking in his +thoughtful manner, he had remarked how ingeniously Pericles had +completed the Odeum by the Lyceum, and in so doing perhaps intended to +say that music and gymnastics must always be connected, and united +produced the harmonious activity of body and soul, and that the Greek +not only desired to foster and enjoy the beautiful in bronze and +marble, but to realize it in his own mental and physical nature. + +After satisfactorily performing the office of guide, he understood how +to detain Aspasia, and involve her still longer in conversation. +Seating himself with her on the marble bench, in one of the most +secluded and least crowded halls, he again reverted to the favorite +topic, never neglected when he could secure the beautiful Milesian’s +society. Unluckily, while striving to obtain the long-desired +explanation of the idea and nature of love, Aspasia’s answers resulted +in making Socrates believe himself compelled to reply: + +“What you describe, Aspasia, is not love for others—all that is merely +love of self.” + +He wished to know the real meaning of the words, when, for instance, +people said: “Pericles loves Aspasia,” or “Aspasia loves Pericles.” But +no matter what fine turns his companion might give the subject, +Socrates turned and twisted still more skilfully, and continually drew +from her words, no matter what she might say, the interpretation that +whoever seemed to love another person, in reality loved only self and +personal enjoyment. The thought of an emotion which should be really +love for another, not solely of oneself, constantly hovered before his +mind, and with his usual whimsicality he pretended that he could not +even find the slightest trace of such a feeling in Aspasia’s +statements. He discovered nothing but egotism—a dual egotism. + +The truth-seeker and the beautiful woman had already discussed this +subject some time, when they saw Anaxagoras and several companions come +slowly up the hall. + +“The gods doubtless send this man to relieve us from our perplexity,” +said Socrates. + +“Don’t you think youth ought to be ashamed to question age about love?” +replied Aspasia smiling. + +Anaxagoras, advancing slowly up the hall and sometimes pausing a +moment, was just explaining to his followers that the beginning of all +things consisted of tiny particles exactly resembling each other; for +as gold is composed of gold-dust, the entire universe was made of the +smallest atoms, which received the first impulse towards harmony and +form, through the reason that ruled everything. This reason, which he +called the nus, or spirit, existed not only in conscious human beings, +but pervaded even the apparently darkest depths of the life of nature, +and everything was full of souls. + +As the philosopher and his companions approached the spot where +Socrates sat conversing with Aspasia, the former, without waiting for a +greeting from the younger man, with whom he stood on very friendly +terms, turned towards him with a pleasant smile. + +Socrates rose from his seat, saying: + +“How I envy the friends who can accompany you all day long, Anaxagoras, +and quench their thirst for knowledge at any moment. We, who rarely +meet you, must bear our unsolved doubts for many days, tormenting +ourselves and the friends no less eager for information, with endeavors +that lead to no result. I have been vexing Axiochus’ son for an hour, +in the attempt to learn from him the meaning of love, for he +understands such matters. But he apparently intentionally withholds his +knowledge, and with mischievous malice only tells me things which make +me even less wise than before. Have pity, Anaxagoras, and tell me: what +is love?” + +“In the beginning,” replied the philosopher, misunderstanding the +question, and taking the subject on its speculative side, “the original +elements and germs of things were mingled in blind confusion. All was +chaos, darkness, Erebus. There was neither sky, nor earth, nor air, +till black winged night, wedded by the wind, produced the primeval egg, +from which yearning love, or winged Eros, as the poets say, came into +the world, through whose power the strife and dissension of matter +ceased, and everything mingled lovingly together, until water, earth, +sky, human beings and gods, emerged in separate forms from the womb of +fruitful nature, as the children of love.” + +“Then Eros was the first principle,” said Socrates, following the +philosopher for a moment into the realms of speculation; “but I have +also heard you call the nus the first and highest element. Are nus and +Eros, all-ruling reason and all-producing love, the same?” + +“It is possible that they are,” replied Anaxagoras, “and both strive to +reach the same goal—the former consciously, the latter blindly.” + +“Then,” cried Socrates, “that would at once explain what is meant when +people speak of the blindness of love, the bandaged eyes of Eros. If I +understood you correctly, Anaxagoras, Eros is nothing but the nus with +bandaged eyes.” + +“Understand it so, if you choose,” said Anaxagoras smiling. + +“But,” continued Socrates, “how you have diverted me and my young +companion from our original subject, by leading us to the upper heights +of wisdom. We had in mind a very different kind of love, from that to +which you have just alluded in your remarks about the strife of matter, +Erebus, and the primeval egg. We were inquiring—and perhaps this +question too may not seem valueless—what was the real nature and +purpose of that feeling, by whose might one human being professes to +love another, especially a man a woman, or a woman a man.” + +“A yearning of this kind,” replied Anaxagoras, “which attracts a man +not towards the sex in general, but one woman in particular, or a woman +towards one particular man, is a sort of disease of the soul, and as +such pitiable. For not only does such a love plunge him who is +disappointed in obtaining the object on which his heart is set, into +the most terrible despair and grief; but even if he has a hope that it +will be returned, brings him into a state of dependence on the woman he +loves, which he cannot help recognizing as unworthy and disgraceful, +and should be especially avoided by the wise man, who, if he desires to +maintain calmness and contentment of mind, must never suffer himself to +cling to anything with ardent devotion, because every object to which +we allow ourselves to be bound in this manner by habit, may be snatched +away, and its loss cause unendurable torment. Such a sickly love +confuses the mind, fills it with continual anxiety and jealousy, makes +the boldest timid, the strongest feeble, the best indifferent alike to +honor and disgrace, and the most economical lavish. Moreover, it +kindles the fiercest discord among men, and brings misfortune on whole +nations, as for a woman’s sake Ilium was destroyed, and Greece for a +decennium suffered every conceivable misfortune, and the loss of her +best sons.” + +Anaxagoras had scarcely finished, when Pericles came up the hall, +engaged in conversation with a companion. He saw Anaxagoras talking +with Socrates, recognized Aspasia, and cast a surprised, inquiring +glance at her, which she answered by an unembarrassed smile. + +Pericles paused, and as he had heard the last words, asked those who +greeted him, on what subject they had been listening with such profound +attention to the philosopher’s instructions. + +“Let this youth explain it to you,” replied Socrates, with a sly smile; +“for it is his fault, that Anaxagoras was compelled to stop here and +express his views of what, in my opinion, is one of the most difficult +points of human knowledge.” + +“The wise Clazomenian’s address was caused by Socrates’ question—what +is the nature of love,” said Aspasia. + +“And what did the wise Clazomenian answer?” asked Pericles. + +“If I have followed his thought and not merely his words,” replied +Aspasia, “love, however ardent it may be, must always remain associated +with the gay and cheerful pleasures of life, and never degenerate into +sickly, mournful fanaticism, tyranny, nor jealousy.” + +“He said,” interrupted Socrates with a significant smile, “that if a +man should see the youth who was dear to him, or the fair woman he +loved, by the side of another man, whether handsome or ugly, he must +not therefore consider it necessary to contract his Olympic brows, or +collect a Greek fleet at Aulis to blot out nations and efface cities, +in his wild thirst for revenge.” + +Pericles smiled. The Silenus figure of the truth-seeker seemed to him +almost ridiculous, beside the radiant beauty of the disguised Aspasia. +True, he had at first been surprised to meet her here, and his Olympic +brows had really contracted a little at the sight; but he now felt +almost ashamed of this emotion. He did not doubt his fair friend’s +intention of retiring from the wrestling-school, as became her sex, +before the gymnastic exercises began, yet thought it advisable to +remind her, by a secret hint, that this time was drawing near and she +must not linger. He therefore remarked that the exercises would soon +begin, adding that it was an affair of honor for him to be here, as his +two little sons, Xanthippus and Paralus, and his ward, Alcibiades, +after passing through a small preparatory school in the Palæstra, were +to take part for the first time in the public gymnastic exercises of +the boys in the wrestling-school. Little Alcibiades could be kept away +no longer, he scoffed at the Palæstra and longed to cope with the lads +of his own age in the public field of honor, the Lyceum. + +Anaxagoras and his companions heard this news with eager interest and +joined Pericles, to witness the contests of little Alcibiades, of whom, +young as he was, the Athenians already began to talk. + +Aspasia also rose with Socrates, as if to follow, but privately +requested the truth-seeker to guide her out of the building. + +But Phidias’ thoughtful young pupil, after escaping from the throng +with the disguised beauty, walked by her side as if in a dream, and +without knowing or intending it, instead of leading her out of the +Lyceum, conducted her to one of the most secluded halls, far from the +spot where the boys and youths were practising their gymnastic +exercises. + +His mind was entirely absorbed in reflecting upon what Anaxagoras had +said about the passion of love. The sage’s words had penetrated deep +into his soul. + +Aspasia at last asked the cause of his thoughtful silence. + +It was long ere he replied; then, as if waking from a dream, he asked +his companion to sit down with him on a marble bench in the empty hall, +and began: + +“Do you know, Aspasia, when my demon first made itself known to me?” + +“What do you call your demon?” + +“A creature midway between divine and human nature. He is no phantom, +no delusion of the brain; for I sometimes hear his voice within me as +distinctly as anything can be heard. But unfortunately he disdains to +secretly reveal the depths of wisdom; so far as knowledge is concerned, +he seems no stronger and wiser than myself. He contents himself with +briefly telling me in certain cases, without giving any reasons, what I +must and must not do. I heard his voice for the first time in my life, +Aspasia, when I first saw you.” + +Aspasia felt strangely moved at hearing the young sculptor talk so +gravely of his demon, as if speaking of a real person and the most +natural thing in the world. + +“And what did he command at that moment?” she asked smiling. + +“When I saw you and instantly thought of questioning you about the +nature of love, I heard him say in a low, distinct tone: ‘Do not.’ But +I thought: what does this stranger mean? Why should he trouble himself +about my affairs? I did not obey, but questioned you, questioned you +often, and always about the nature of love. Now I have resolved to +follow him in everything he may forbid or command; for I have convinced +myself that he has excellent judgment, is my friend, and worthy of all +confidence.” + +“You are a dreamer,” said Aspasia, “though you intend to search for the +clear ideas of things. You are too much devoted to studying your own +nature, son of Sophroniscus. Look around and see the pure, quiet, +healthful life, full of cheerful beauty, that surrounds you. Sacrifice +to the Graces, oh! Socrates, sacrifice to the Graces! And don’t forget +that you are a Greek.” + +“A Greek?” replied Socrates, smiling. “Am I not too ugly to be a Greek? +My snub-nose does not belong to the pure lineaments of my race. I shall +make a virtue of necessity, and seek an ideal of life compatible with +unloveliness.” + +Aspasia looked at Socrates with an expression of mingled perplexity and +compassion. + +Unfortunate son of Sophroniscus! He moved amid the happy, cheerful +throng, the only discontented person in the crowd. People were +beginning to number him among the philosophers, but no one had ever +heard him assert anything. He only questioned. He walked among his +fellow-men as a huge, living, almost uncanny interrogation point. Was +he the embodied necessity of a new revelation, a new thought, a new +time? + +As reality, even in its richest development, did not wholly answer his +questions, he took refuge in the domain of pure thought. He pursued +“clear ideas.” But nothing is more closely allied to meditation than +its apparent opposite, enthusiasm. So he spoke of his demon. + +He was perfectly serious in doing so. The Greek’s eye was accustomed to +gaze clearly and frankly at outward objects. Socrates turned his +within. He heard himself think, discovered his inward life, and was so +much startled that it seemed to him some diabolical power, which he +called his demon. + +Much was said of his “irony.” Ah, the sarcasm with which he revealed +the ignorance of others, was but a faint reflection of that whose sting +he turned against himself, the vain struggle for knowledge going on in +his own breast. It was sorrowful earnest, when he declared of himself +that he was aware he knew nothing. + +Yet the thought-germs of the future were fermenting in his mind. + +He sought, as Aspasia had just heard him say, an ideal of life that +should be compatible with unloveliness. + +He sought, divined, a graver ideal than that of omnipotent beauty, +which cast a halo of glory over his age. + +Such was the character of the youthful thinker. And yet—he was a Greek. +Unlovely of aspect and meditative by nature, he was nevertheless +inspired by the grace of the Hellenic intellect. He was no gloomy +fanatic, and could never become one. Aspasia’s spirit had also +influenced him; he could never wholly fall a prey to the gloomy powers. +His nature must become gradually more and more attuned to gentle +cheerfulness, though only the cheerfulness of the philosopher, who +calmly drank the goblet of poison, when his hour had come. + +But now youth and a secret youthful love, of which he was himself +scarcely conscious, were seething in his veins. He was not yet the man, +the old philosopher, of which the ancient books tell us—he was still +the young stone-cutter in Phidias’ studio. + +He secretly loved the beautiful Aspasia, loved her, yet knew that he +had the snub-nose of a barbarian, the face of a Silenus, and she could +never love him in return. + +He knew this, but he was still young and only half realized the force +of the fire that secretly blazed in his veins. + +“I know,” he continued, “I seem to you to creep like a worm on the +flowers of Hellenic life, secretly gnawing and sullying them with the +spleen of sceptical thoughts, and you would like to snap me off with +the tips of your rosy fingers. But, Aspasia, I would far rather be +handsome than wise. Only tell me what I am to do, to become so.” + +“Always be gentle and bright,” replied Aspasia, “and strive to +sacrifice to the Graces.” + +“Shine upon me with the radiance of your eyes!” cried the usually quiet +truth-seeker, overpowered by the emotion of his heart. “Then,” he +continued, “I shall always be gentle and bright.” + +He uttered these words with passionate feeling, bending nearer to +Aspasia, as if he wished to absorb the cheering light of her gaze, and +putting his Silenus countenance so near her lovely face, that his +pouting lips almost touched the beauty’s. + +“Sacrifice to the Graces!” cried Aspasia, starting up and walking +rapidly away. + +At the same moment a naked boy came running breathlessly up the hall, +and perceiving Socrates, rushed to him and wrapped his mantle around +his bare limbs. + +The truth-seeker knew not whether to fix his eyes on Aspasia’s +retreating figure, or the boy who had fled to him for protection. He +looked like a man from whose hand a dove had escaped, while a swallow +flies into his breast. + +The boy, wrapped in the cloak, nestled closely to him, and still +gasping for breath, besought him to conceal and protect him. + +“Whose son are you, and what is the cause of your flight?” asked +Socrates. + +“I am Cleinias’ son, Alcibiades, the ward of Pericles,” answered the +boy. + +The incidents that caused the little fellow to fly to Socrates, naked +and trembling, occurred in the following manner. + +While the latter was absorbed in his conversation with Aspasia, the +gymnastic exercises of the youths and boys had commenced in the halls +of the Lyceum devoted to this purpose. + +Pericles and his companions, with many other persons stood in the room +set apart for the lads. + +It was a most charming spectacle to see these bright, beautiful, +slender boys, strengthened by their preliminary training in the +Palæstra, divested of the purple chlamis, wrestling on the sand. + +Alcibiades was conspicuous among them all. Though one of the youngest +lads, his footing was firm, and there was a touch of boldness and +defiance in his bearing, softened, however, by the charm of his beauty. +The sculptors pressed forward to admire the play of the still +undeveloped muscles, the budding symmetry, the masculine harmony of +form reduced to a juvenile scale. + +Besides Alcibiades, his two playmates Xanthippus and Paralus, the sons +of Pericles, and little Callias, son of the wealthy Hipponicus, with +whom Alcibiades had already formed a friendship, were among the boys. +Pyrilampes’ little son, named Demos, was also present. + +The ardent, vivacious lads could scarcely wait for the commencement of +the exercises, which began with races, under the direction of +pædotribæ. + +These men instructed their pupils how to economize their breath and +strength in running, how to move their limbs equally, how to stride as +far as possible with uplifted feet, in order to pass over the greatest +amount of space with the smallest number of steps. They also taught the +boys certain regular movements of the arms, which, corresponding with +the motion of the feet, were calculated, in their opinion, to increase +the speed. + +But little Alcibiades would not heed this instruction—he declared the +motions of the arms he was taught to make, awkward, and disputed about +the matter with the pædotribæ. One of the inspectors and directors of +the exercises soothingly interposed, patted the boy’s cheeks, and +praised his eagerness to preserve the beauty of gesture and attitude so +pleasing to the eye, but pointed out to him in justification of these +movements, the example of the Mauritanian ostrich, which assisted its +running by the motion of the little wings it used like sails. + +The naked boys rushed towards the goal with a joyous shout, that grew +louder the nearer they approached it. The race was repeated several +times—Alcibiades was always first. + +The exercises in running, were followed by those of leaping. + +The pædotribæ put weights in the boys’ hands and taught them to use +them in such a way, that far from checking the lightness of the spring, +they helped the movement of the body forward. These weights also +displeased refractory little Alcibiades, and he was on the point of +throwing one at the head of one of the persons who had charge of +maintaining good-behavior among the lads, and somewhat sharply reproved +him for his unruly conduct. Anger and shame seized upon Pericles, as +standing with his friends among the spectators, he became an +eye-witness of the boy’s rebelliousness. But he soon smiled again, as, +amid the plaudits of the crowd, Cleinias’ son took precedence of all +his companions in leaping as well as running. + +The boys were now anointed with oil by the aliptæ appointed for this +purpose, to prepare them for wrestling. Alcibiades was pleased; yet +when sand was strewn over the oil to render the limbs less slippery, he +eagerly resisted. But here people did not submit to the lad’s caprices, +as they had done in the Palæstra; the stricter rules of the gymnasium +were at stake and the child was forced to yield. + +The boys advanced to wrestle in pairs. + +The pædotribæ instructed them how to advance the right foot a little by +a slight bend of the knee, how to manage their arms in attack and +defence, how to hold the neck and head erect, draw in the lower portion +of the body, but round and arch the breast. The mode of throwing the +opponent by skill rather than by strength, twining the hands and feet +around the fallen foe, so that he was forced to lie motionless and +renounce all hope of rising, together with various other artifices, was +also impressed upon the minds of the youthful wrestlers. But both +teachers and inspectors of the exercises directed their attention +principally to grace and dignity of movement. The rules they gave were +not intended solely for the development of strength and skill, but also +for the display of every grace of form, and the free, beautiful, easy +bearing by which the Athenian was distinguished from the Barbarian, and +even from many Greeks. + +Alcibiades wrestled with the oldest of the boys, and threw him on the +sand by a trick for which he was not indebted to the pædotribæ, but had +invented himself on the spur of the moment’s need. + +Scrapers were now given to the lads that they might rub the oily sand +from their limbs, and when this was done, each received a disk and a +small pole instead of a spear, both intended for use in the exercise of +casting. The boys’ disk was not made of bronze, as usual, but carved +from hard wood. Throwing the disk was by no means an easy matter, when +correctly done. Alcibiades, like the other boys, was told how to adopt +the right poise of the body, seize the discobolus in the best position, +after rubbing it with earth to obtain a better grasp, correctly adapt +the degree of strength to be expended to the weight, make the muscles +of the arms elastic, swing the disk in a semicircle and then hurl it +straight into the distance—but he despised these rules, and when one +after another stepped forward to make his cast, and the distance each +reached was distinctly marked on the ground, Cleinias’ son, when his +turn came, threw his disk as he chose. Nevertheless, it flew far beyond +the others. + +A strong lad, who possessed special dexterity in hurling the disk, then +stepped forward to try his fortune. Cautiously, duly observing all the +rules of the pædotribæ, he threw his disk, and though he did not +surpass Alcibiades, did not fall behind him. The two disks lay at an +equal distance from the others. + +Alcibiades turned pale. For the first time he was compelled to share +the honors of victory with another. He stood silent, trembling with +excitement, casting furious glances at his rival. But the latter +ventured to assert that his disk, if the distance was exactly measured, +lay a little beyond that thrown by Alcibiades! + +At this remark the latter, seized with indescribable fury, raised his +right hand, and with all his strength hurled the disk he held at his +opponent’s head. It reached its goal only too well; the boy fell, +bleeding and senseless. + +A great tumult ensued. The almost fatally injured lad was borne away. +Alcibiades turned pale and trembled a moment at the sight; but when the +relatives and friends of his wounded rival pressed upon him with +threats and reproaches, instantly regained his composure and defiance. + +Then he saw the angry Pericles advancing, accompanied by the dignified +gymnasiarch, and perceiving that he was to be seized, led away, perhaps +punished in some disgraceful manner, suddenly turned, burst through the +circle of spectators where it was thinnest, and fled with the agility +that had helped him to victory in the races. + +He was followed, but soon vanished from the eyes of his pursuers. + +In the most secluded portion of the Lyceum he met Socrates, rushed to +him, as has been already mentioned, and beseeching his protection, hid +himself in the folds of his mantle. + +“So you are Cleinias’ son?” said Socrates in a gentle, quiet tone, +after the boy, in reply to his questions, had related the story of his +escape. “Do you pay no heed to praise or blame, have you no regard for +the opinions and wishes of the admirable and distinguished men from +whom you descend, or who are allied by ties of blood?” + +“I don’t want to be always doing what other people wish,” said the boy +defiantly. “I want to do what I like and desire myself, and what I +intend—” + +“You are perfectly right,” replied Socrates, still calmly; “a man ought +to be permitted to do what he himself wishes and has intended. But what +did you really desire and propose, when you came with the other boys to +the Lyceum?” + +“To be first in everything!” cried little Alcibiades eagerly. “To be +first, to distinguish myself, and bear off the greatest honors. That is +what I intended.” + +“Then you have not done what you really desired and proposed,” observed +Socrates, with the same calmness. “You wished to distinguish yourself, +to leave the Lyceum covered with glory; but you have actually been +driven away in disgrace and shame, and perhaps will receive a +punishment when you are restored to your friends. Why did you not go +straight to the goal you wished to attain, instead of losing your time +in minor matters, which diverted you from your object? You did not come +here to cut a hole in your companion’s head with a disk, but as you +say, to gain praise and honor. Your error was, that you forgot for a +moment what you really intended, and devoted yourself to secondary +things, which resulted in your being obliged to fly from the gymnasium +in disgrace and shame, instead of leaving it covered with honor.” + +This was the first time that the law of proper conduct had been set +before the eyes of Alcibiades, not as something arbitrary and +threatening, but as a power living in himself and connected with his +own will. + +Besides, the words of Socrates and the tone in which they were uttered, +inspired the boy with confidence. He looked gravely and silently into +his companion’s face, gazed into his pleasant brown eyes, and his trust +was unconsciously transformed into a sympathy he had never felt for any +man. + +Those who had been searching for Alcibiades, among them Pericles and +the gymnasiarch, now approached. + +The boy again began to tremble. + +“Fear nothing,” said Socrates; “with the aid of the gods I will try to +appease all these fierce foes and pursuers.” + +The advancing group recognized Socrates, and nestling to his side, +wrapped in the folds of his himation, the boy they sought. It seemed as +if they beheld the young Achilles in the company of his tutor, the +clumsy, good-natured centaur. + +When Pericles and the gymnasiarch, with the others, came directly +towards Socrates, the latter said: + +“I know whom you seek; but he is under my protection, as you see, and I +will not give him up, but defend him, as is my duty, to the best of my +ability. He came to the Lyceum, he tells me, to distinguish himself, +but did not fully succeed, only because from forgetfulness he meddled +with matters which did not belong to his object, that is threw a disk +at a playfellow’s head, which brought him disgrace instead of the honor +he sought. Concerning my intercession for the lad, consider that a +similar misfortune or crime, as you choose to call it, has happened by +the hands of gods and heroes; for, as you know, Apollo killed his +favorite Hyacinthus, and the hero Perseus his grandfather Acrisius, by +the cast of a disk. It is probable that this dark-haired, fiery-eyed +lad might resemble the gods and heroes in other respects, if he would.” + +Pericles’ wrath subsided at the sight of the boy, from whose face every +shade of defiance had vanished. He addressed a few friendly words to +the intercessor, which at the same time served to relieve the culprit, +who still expected punishment, and ordered the pedagogue to dress the +child and take him home. + +Socrates joined Pericles and the gymnasiarch, and the men conversed for +some time about the singular blending of noble and unworthy qualities, +united in the character of Cleinias’ son. + +The latter himself did not leave the hall with the pedagogue, until he +had cast a loving glance from his dark, sparkling eyes at his protector +and intercessor. + +Thus was formed the strong bond of affection existing between Socrates, +called the ugly, and the handsomest of all the sons of Greece, the +youthful Alcibiades, on the day that a dove flew out of the +truth-seeker’s hand, and at the same moment a swallow found refuge in +his bosom. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE SACRIFICE TO THE GRACES. + + +No one enters so thoroughly into his work as the sculptor. Phidias’ +only walk was between the Acropolis and his studio. Even in his dreams +he saw nothing but his statues of the gods, his groups, his frieze; and +as his restless mind was active in his sleeping as well as his waking +hours, he often, to his great surprise, found his plans matured and +developed when he awoke. Many of his designs had originally suggested +themselves in a dream, and he could say that the gods appeared to him +in slumber, as they did to Homer’s heroes. The whole world was valuable +to him, only so far as it was connected with his art-aspirations. He +renounced the pleasures of life, and remained alone and unwedded. + +His soul was filled with the archetypes of all things, and his clear +eye mirrored in pure outline every created object. + +There was a motley confusion of persons and things in Phidias’ studio. +Designs were constantly being invented, tested, rejected, modelled +afresh in clay; measures and proportions were considered. Besides the +preparatory work in clay, many a piece of sculpture was being hewn from +the block by the stone-cutters, to be afterwards entrusted to better +skilled hands for its perfect development. The workshop might be called +a heap of rubbish, but it was rubbish of origin, not destruction. It +was chaos, yet not the chaos of ruin, but that from which proceeds +creation. Fragments lay scattered everywhere, not as parts of what had +once been a whole, but as portions on the way to form one. Over this +chaos hovered the spirit of Phidias. His mind directed everything, and +kept the fiery Alcamenes and stern Agoracritus united in a common +labor. + +This pair were his two powerful arms. Nay, the former was an eloquent +tongue. What Phidias suggested in monosyllabic, perhaps mysterious +words, Alcamenes interpreted, repeated, inculcated. + +He also kept watch over the young pupils and assistants, whose work was +entrusted to his care, reproving, admonishing, encouraging, with the +impetuosity natural to him, while examining the various portions of the +pediment, frieze and metopes. + +“What are you doing, Dracyllus? The curve of the breast is too flat to +produce the right effect at a distance, the abdomen too little marked, +not sufficiently distinguished from the groin. The principal muscles +are too little raised, the lesser ones too much! + +“Charicles, you make the skin here too tight, and here too loose over +the muscles. It’s not sufficiently visible here. Even in the rigid +bronze or marble, the skin ought always to look as if it could be +grasped and lifted a little between the fingers. + +“Lycius, your god can scarcely be distinguished from the folds of his +garments. Are you one of the sculptors, whose Heracles can only be +recognized by his club? + +“Your nymph of the spring, Crinagoras, seems to intend to rely upon her +urn to mark her character, instead of having it appear from the soft, +almost liquid outlines of her limbs.” + +He now came to one of the groups on the frieze of the Parthenon—youths +curbing rearing steeds. “On what animal, Lycius, did you see that broad +head, these blunt ears? The whole is too stiff, not sufficiently free, +too old-fashioned. Did you go to school with the Æginetans? Argeladas +would no longer have approved such bungling work!” Such were Alcamenes’ +exclamations, particularly condemning this or that point, and as he +grew angry seeming by no means disinclined to shatter the pupil’s +carvings, a thing he was quite capable of doing, when passion +overpowered him. + +Agoracritus stepped forward and, as often happened, defended the +fiercely reviled work against the impetuous Alcamenes. The hot blood +crimsoned the latter’s face, and he made a hasty reply. + +Just at that moment, Phidias approached with two companions, who were +by no means strangers in his house. + +How could Pericles and Aspasia have denied themselves the pleasure of +sometimes casting a glance at the quiet creation and progress of these +vast designs? + +They found the master in the midst of throngs of pupils and assistants, +among clay models, half-hewn statues and blocks of marble; found him +more silent, stern, thoughtful and reserved than ever before. + +When Alcamenes saw Aspasia, he strove to appear gay and careless, to +conceal the indignation he could not yet wholly stifle, and to which he +had allowed himself to give expression during the hasty meeting in the +Agora. The sullen Agoracritus made no effort to hide the secret rage he +still cherished in his heart against Aspasia. He turned away and wasted +no words on the distinguished visitors. + +As the latter had overheard some portion of the dispute, the +conversation soon reverted to the same subject, and Aspasia did not +hide the fact, that she entirely agreed with Alcamenes in his desire to +see every trace of old-fashioned tradition effaced from art. While +looking at the sketches and clay models for the colossal groups on the +pediment, the frieze, and the metopes, she found many of the most +beautiful a little hard and rigid, and even the richest development of +the art seemed to her to advance too slowly. These opinions she +expressed without reserve. + +“The beautiful Aspasia,” said Phidias with a grave smile, “would like +to have everything we carve as delicate, luxurious, and charming as +herself. But do not forget, that in these tasks we sculptors have to +represent no mere human, commonplace prettiness, but almost +supernatural beauty.” + +“Perhaps Phidias is right in not allowing himself to be entirely +deprived of what Aspasia calls the harsh, stiff, old-fashioned style,” +said Pericles. “Who knows whether the highest ideal of beauty may not +dwell on the narrow line, that separates chaste, virginal loveliness +from luxurious, fully developed charms? The highest and last stage of +development is often the first of decline; so the point which delights +and refreshes the mind with the purest, loftiest magic, should lie a +little on the side of the summit and not directly upon it.” + +“If I urged you ever so strongly towards the charming, delicate, and +luxurious,” replied Aspasia, “and you encouraged your pupils to strive +towards the same goal, I think even then it would be long ere the +correct limit was passed. Your assistants seem to me so far from making +their work too delicate and graceful, that even if they exerted all +their powers, they would scarcely attain the goal. I do not say you are +slow, but the road is long.” + +“When I look at Phidias’ statues,” said Pericles evasively, as if he +feared the sculptor might be wounded—“or hear the songs of Homer, I +think them sublime in their charm, and charming in their sublimity. +They are sublime, as every one knows, they are charming, as no one can +deny, and we may call them beautiful, because they are both at the same +time.” + +“I agree to that,” said Socrates, looking up from his work of hewing +the rough outlines of a statue in a marble block. “I have been +reflecting a long time upon the real nature of beauty; Pericles’ words +have shone like a ray of light into my soul. So the beautiful is +graceful sublimity and sublime grace. When Pericles and Aspasia again +discuss together the right limits of the progress of development in the +arts, they will find it easy to say that the beautiful, to remain the +beautiful, must never be merely charming and never merely sublime, but +both united. The gods grant that I may remember this lesson at every +stroke of the chisel, especially while I am executing the gift I intend +to make Phidias’ goddess, on the day of the opening of her magnificent +temple on the Acropolis.” + +“What?” cried Aspasia, “does the thoughtful stone-cutter intend to try +his skill as the creative sculptor?” + +“Of course!” replied Socrates. “True, Phidias and Alcamenes have +assigned none of the carved work on the new Parthenon to my independent +execution, and when I begged permission to try this greater task, was +sharply refused by Alcamenes, with the smiling contempt of which he is +master. By Zeus! I have learned from Phidias how to carve the perfect +egg form of the face, to make the head small but delicately shaped, the +line of the brow and nose almost straight, curve the eyebrows in a +delicate arch, chisel the eyes large, round, and deep, and the sides of +the nostrils in a gradual slope, round the chin, and arrange the hair +and beard in graceful masses. I will not forever hew blocks of marble +into mere rough outlines, and as an obedient workman, help embody the +thoughts of others. I will prepare a gift modelled after my own design, +and try with practised hands to represent in stone, a clear, pure idea +of my own.” + +“But what is the clear idea, which as you say, you wish to embody in +stone?” asked Aspasia. + +“You shall hear,” replied Socrates; “but it is not seemly to talk of a +pupil’s efforts, before you have seen as much of the master’s work, the +divine Pallas Athena, as can be viewed at present.” + +Pericles and Aspasia earnestly entreated Phidias to let them see what +he had already created, but the sculptor replied: + +“You can see nothing at this moment but fragments, for the clay model +has been broken in pieces, as the necessities of the work in gold and +ivory required.” + +But, as Pericles and Aspasia protested that they would be satisfied +with even a sight of the fragments, Phidias, accompanied by Socrates +and Alcamenes, led them into one of the spacious court-yards, and there +pointed out a wooden framework, over which the figure was to be shaped +of gold and ivory, as flesh and skin rests on the skeleton of bones. +Besides the workmen engaged in separating the clay model of the +magnificent work into fragments, were others employed in sawing +elephants’ tusks—of great size and beauty which the Greeks imported +from India—into thin plates, each one of which was to be exactly fitted +in its place over the wooden skeleton, according to the design of the +clay model. + +The visitors scanned the huge, separate portions of the colossal +statue. Even these fragments afforded food for thought, and fortunately +the head of the goddess was still uninjured. This they could examine to +their heart’s content, and give themselves up to the spell of the +master’s lofty thought, revealed in the sublime, pensive features of +this new Pallas Athena of peace. + +They mirrored intellectual power, the light of pure intelligence rising +from the depths. + +“The beautiful, pensive face of this goddess makes her appear indeed +the divinity, who sprung from the head of her father, Zeus,” said +Pericles. + +“But,” interposed Socrates, ever in search of ideas, eagerly seizing +upon the remark, “in the head, as all well know, dwells thought. So +what is Pallas, springing from her father’s brain, save the living, +embodied thought of Zeus? Oh, happy Phidias, blessed by the gods, to be +thus called to represent what is highest—thought! I, poor bungler, +strove all my life to attain the realm of pure thought, and would fain +have guided it from Zeus’ brain to mine, like a leaping spark, yet +could never grasp it. This Phidias here takes a bit of clay, a lump of +earth, kneads it, and beneath his hands grows a statue that dazzles my +eyes when I behold it, forces me to exclaim: ‘This is thought!—the +thought of Zeus!’ Yet Phidias is right, when he names the thought +placed before us, Pallas Athena, the glorious guardian divinity of +Greece. We have proof of that, when we compare what philosophers say of +thought, and poets of Pallas. Apart from her oft mentioned origin in +the brain of Zeus, the poets declare that Pallas Athena is a virgin, +also that she partakes of both masculine and feminine nature, quite +unlike the goddess of Love, who has nothing to do with thought, but +devotes herself exclusively to delightful emotions and the unconscious +creative works of love. Who will deny that thought is virginal, and at +once masculine and feminine? Thought is calm, like starlight, and +remains sufficient for itself on its pure, clear height; only its +counterpart, feeling, is full of ardor and enters into all the deeds of +love. What is the horrible Gorgon head, which poets and sculptors place +on the shield of the goddess Pallas Athena, save the terrors of +conquered darkness, which victorious thought bears as a trophy? So +there is no doubt that Phidias intended to represent thought, though we +may still be permitted, if we choose, to call the head before us that +of the goddess Pallas Athena.” + +Grave Phidias smiled faintly, and Alcamenes, also smiling, interrupted +Socrates by patting him on the shoulder, but praised his words. + +Aspasia said: + +“If Phidias, as you assert, Socrates, wished to embody in this statue +the might of lucid thought, he scarcely ventured, while creating it, to +ponder over this idea.” + +“The same thing doubtless happens to other fathers,” replied Socrates. + +“It certainly doesn’t happen so with you,” cried Alcamenes with a +mischievous smile. + +“No,” replied Socrates, “but why should you jeer at me for it? It is +certainly better to think than not to think. The gods may bestow their +best gifts on their favorites in dreams. We other mortals must try to +help ourselves with our waking senses. No doubt, Aspasia, you have +wondered why I so often questioned you about the idea and nature of +love. Yet I could not help it. As Phidias has embodied the victorious +light of thought in the statue of Pallas Athena, I would fain embody +love in a statue of Eros. You surely will not assert that Eros is a +contemptible deity; nay, some call him the first and oldest of all, and +if love, as it appears, is, above all things, an aspiration, a strife, +an endeavor, I can say that this god is really mine. To learn still +more exact particulars about him, I have, as you know, moved much among +men, inquiring—” + +“That’s true,” interrupted Alcamenes smiling, “you have been seen far +more frequently at the Agora and other public places, than in Phidias’ +workrooms. This fellow really seems to be driven about by some special +anxiety. First he chops at his marble blocks for half a day like a +madman, then drops his tools and stares thoughtfully for an hour into +vacancy. Then he starts up, dashes off, and doesn’t come back for half +a day. You mean to carve an Eros? Tell us when? Do you know, my dear +fellow, that Phidias calls you his most negligent pupil?” + +“I know it,” replied Socrates; “but remember that you too often throw +down the chisel and rush off, with or without a pretext, and like me, +it is said, follow love, though certainly without inquiring much about +its idea and nature.” + +“You are right,” cried Alcamenes laughing, “I don’t inquire about its +idea. But who tells you I follow love, when I leave here?” + +“You don’t always go away yourself,” replied Socrates, “sometimes you +merely send one of the men who carry mortar, or even mad Menon, if he +happens to be lounging about here, with a little note to the beautiful +Corinthian, Theodota.” + +Again Alcamenes smiled, and Socrates continued: + +“My friend Anaxagoras has called the passion of love a disease—I only +want to know whether it is an ordinary sickness, to be treated with +medicine, or a divine one, like the poet’s rapture or the ravings of +the Delphic priestess. I know the god of Love must have wings and a +boy’s figure; but how I am to represent him in other respects, grave or +gay, looking upward or downward—I should really like to know, Aspasia, +how you would undertake to represent him, if you were one of us pupils, +here in Phidias’ studio?” + +“I should not attempt to represent it,” replied Aspasia. “Love is an +emotion, and a feeling is formless. Why seek to represent what has no +form? Instead of love, present what awakens love, the charming, the +beautiful. That has a shape, is tangible, visible, perceptible by all +the senses. Nor need you ponder over it and question other people, but +simply copy the most beautiful and graceful object you behold.” + +Socrates spent several minutes in silent thought, and then replied: + +“Nothing can be truer than what you have just said, Aspasia. I will let +Eros go, and try to carve the Graces; for you probably intend to point +them out to me again, as you have often done, as the real goddesses of +loveliness and beauty. Aphrodite is beautiful, but she is not only the +goddess of beauty, but of love—in her nature beauty is already mingled +with love, while in the Graces, it is still apart, and so to speak, +sufficient unto itself. So I will carve the Graces, and offer them as a +gift to Phidias’ goddess on the Acropolis. But as I formerly pursued +love, I must now follow beauty. Where shall I find the most beautiful +and graceful person, to ‘simply copy,’ as Aspasia just said.” + +“If you want to see the most graceful creature ever beheld, my dear +Socrates,” said Alcamenes smiling, “I can give you a piece of advice. +Try to see the beautiful Corinthian, whom you just mentioned, dance.” + +“The Corinthian Theodota?” asked Socrates; “I have often heard the +charm of her dancing praised. But who is to procure us the pleasure of +seeing and admiring the Corinthian, except yourself, Alcamenes, her +best panegyrist, friend, and companion?” + +“Why not?” replied Alcamenes, with, merry arrogance. “Whoever desires +to enjoy the sight of the most perfect grace a woman’s form is capable +of displaying in the dance, should see Theodota, and I will +ungrudgingly serve as guide to any one who wishes to have this +pleasure.” + +These words were not devoid of secret malice towards Aspasia. He +intentionally praised the grace and charm of another woman, in the +presence of Pericles’ friend and Pericles himself. + +The beautiful dancer Theodota had been induced to come from Corinth to +Athens by Alcamenes. The cause of this action was a singular one. + +On perceiving that he must give up Aspasia, of whom he had thought +himself secure, the young sculptor was seized with secret indignation +against the Milesian. Yet his temperament was too light, gay, and +careless to allow grief to gnaw at his heart on account of this loss; +his sole endeavor was to seize some real happiness, some genuine love +in place of that of which he had been robbed. + +A very wealthy Corinthian had given him an order for a small marble +statue. Alcamenes finished the work and sent it to Corinth. The owner +was delighted with its rare perfection and grace, and wrote to +Alcamenes that he might ask any payment he desired for the little +masterpiece; whatever his request, it should be fulfilled. + +Upon this the young sculptor, with his usual arrogance, wrote the +Corinthian the following reply: + +“It is well known that your wealthy and luxurious Corinth has long +possessed the fairest ‘friends,’ to be found in Hellas. As you offer me +any reward for my little statue, I beg you to send the most famous +beauty in Corinth to remain a month in Athens at your expense, +informing her that during this month she is to serve me exclusively as +a model.” + +The rich Corinthian laughed when he read these lines, and a few days +after, the beautiful hetæra, the dancer Theodota, arrived in Athens. + +Alcamenes was satisfied, and for a month enjoyed the society of the +far-famed beauty at his wealthy patron’s expense. + +When the month had passed and the fair Theodota’s engagement was +fulfilled, she felt little inclination to return to Corinth: she had +become fond of Athens and determined to stay there. + +Alcamenes remained her constant friend, and praised her to all who +would listen to him as the fairest woman in Hellas, never neglecting to +add she was more charming than the famous Milesian, Aspasia, who had +ensnared Pericles more by craft than beauty. + +As Alcamenes thus praised Theodota to Socrates in Aspasia’s presence, +the latter instantly perceived the intention of the offended youth, and +knew he wished to annoy her by bestowing admiring words upon the beauty +of another woman. With feminine quickness she instantly arranged her +thoughts and formed her resolution. + +Amid the lightning-like reflections that darted through her mind, was +the wonder what impression Alcamenes’ words might have made on +Pericles’ susceptible fancy. She considered that he might wish to see +the fair Corinthian, and gratify this desire on some other occasion +than when accompanied by his friend. She did not care to have Pericles +meet Theodota unless she was present, but had little fear of such an +interview in her company. She well knew what she could throw into the +scales against all other women, and as for Alcamenes, decided that she +could not punish his secret malice better, than by showing him how +little she cared for this kind of annoyance. + +To these motives for her resolution was added another—she herself was +not without some curiosity to see the much-praised Corinthian beauty. + +So, to the no small perplexity of the young sculptor, she eagerly +accepted his offer to take any one to Theodota, who might desire to go, +saying with careless gayety: + +“If you are able to show us the way to the most beautiful and graceful +person you know and let us see Theodota dance, it would be folly for +Pericles, Socrates, I myself, or any one who hears you, not to +instantly take you at your word and compel you to fulfil so tempting a +promise without delay.” + +“I suppose,” replied Alcamenes, quickly recovering his self-control, +“that you have spoken in your own name, as well as for Pericles and +Socrates.” + +Pericles hesitated a moment, then said he would not oppose Aspasia’s +wish. “We are going,” he added, “only in Socrates’ train and for his +sake: but it can never reflect disgrace upon a man to follow a +philosopher.” + +“Our fiery Alcamenes,” said Socrates; “is a friend to all hasty and +bold ideas. See how joyously he rubs his hands and seizes his +Thessalian hat. I’ll wager that he’ll give us no farther peace, but is +fully determined to conduct us immediately, just as we are, from +Phidias’ house to the fair Theodota’s dwelling.” + +“Even so,” cried Alcamenes. “Our master Phidias has slipped quietly +away while we were talking. I advise you not to disturb him by +leave-taking. Here is a passage close at hand, the door is open, the +street empty, Theodota’s house not far away—let us go.” + +They soon reached Theodota’s residence. + +There was no occasion to fear annoying the beauty. Alcamenes went first +to tell her his companions were coming, but returned almost immediately +and invited them to follow him. + +He conducted them to Theodota’s most private apartments, which were +furnished with the most luxurious splendor. Soft pillows and purple +cushions lay scattered everywhere, the floor was covered with thick +carpets, delicious perfumes rose from delicately-wrought vases. A +couch, with purple coverings, was supported by graceful cupids; jewels +and garments were strewn around in picturesque confusion. Soft sandals, +fillets, costly girdles, pots of rouge, boxes of ointment, circular +mirrors of polished metal with richly-carved handles, +exquisitely-shaped sunshades, and gaily-painted fans in the form of +leaves, were intermingled with small works of art in bronze and +marble—some gifts from Alcamenes—musical instruments inlaid with gold +and ivory, fresh and withered garlands of every kind. At the first +glance, all these things in their motley confusion made a bewildering +impression on the senses, an impression strengthened by the perfumed +air of the room, while the beautiful, richly-dressed hetæra rose from +one of the soft cushions to greet her guests. + +Theodota was beautiful. Her hair was black as a raven’s wing, her eyes +were dark and fiery, and her features delicate. She was very much +rouged, her eyebrows were artificially curved, and her lips much redder +than the coloring of nature. She wore a robe embroidered with flowers, +and was adorned with magnificent jewelry. This robe was fastened around +her waist by a girdle of gold plates, whose clasp was richly +ornamented, and from which hung no less tasteful and daintily-formed +amulets of various kinds. Her neck, bosom, arms, and even her ankles +were encircled with ornaments of serpent-shape, set with garnets or +amber. Even her small, delicately-formed ears were adorned with +dangling rings of exquisite workmanship. On her head she wore a metal +coronet, set with pearls. + +“I have already informed Theodota why you came,” said Alcamenes, +turning to his companions. + +“Alcamenes is rash to suddenly bring me such distinguished guests, +without permitting me to make the slightest preparation to receive them +worthily,” replied Theodota smiling. + +“No preparation is necessary,” answered Alcamenes, “for you are always +yourself, and our visit is not paid to your house, but to yourself, +your charms, and your art. You see before you a wise, earnest man,” he +continued, pointing to Socrates, “who is longing to see you and admire +your dancing. You owe it even more to him than to my enthusiastic +words, Theodota, that to-day the great Pericles and the far-famed +Aspasia from Miletus cross your threshold, to convince themselves, by +the evidence of their own eyes, of your much-praised skill.” + +“What,” cried Theodota, “must I venture to display myself and the +little I can do to the criticism of such judges?—a philosopher, a +dignified statesman, and one of my own sex, who it seems, surpasses in +brilliant accomplishments all other women?” + +“Fear nothing, Theodota,” said Pericles, “Alcamenes has praised you to +us, and Alcamenes knows how to discover what is most beautiful in +everything.” + +“Indeed,” added Socrates, with a subtle smile, glancing at Aspasia, “he +always meets the most beautiful first.” + +“Then he can take the responsibility!” said Theodota. “To act the prude +before any one, or refuse to display my art, ought not to enter my +mind. You wish to see me dance, like hundreds before you, and I obey. +Consider yourselves my masters. What do you desire me to dance and +represent? What goddess? What heroine? What myth or history?” + +She addressed these questions principally to Pericles, but he replied: + +“Ask the philosopher, for he came here with intentions, that certainly +make it desirable for him to be permitted to fix the subject of your +dance. Speak without hesitation, Socrates. What do you wish to have +Theodota dance?” + +“If you and Theodota are willing to leave the decision to me,” replied +Socrates, after a short pause, “I know of nothing I should like better, +than to request her to dance the three goddesses seeking to win the +prize of beauty from Paris on Mt. Ida. What a task, to appear before us +first as Aphrodite, then as Hera, and then as Pallas, and show how each +with the same means, though subtly varied according to her character, +strove to bewitch the shepherd and snatch the prize from his hand. +Alcamenes has promised to let me learn here what grace is, so we will +compel Theodota to be as charming and graceful as possible, yet in the +most different ways imaginable.” + +When Theodota had left the room to make certain changes in her dress +and appearance, required by the task imposed upon her, Socrates said: + +“We shall gain our object, for Theodota is not like other beauties, who +only deal out what they mean to give by drops, but will honestly offer +us what she has to proffer and pour out everything at once, as if from +Amaltheia’s horn of plenty. The whole affair will be settled, and we +can go home. Theodota, I can see, is yielding and gentle, but not +intelligent. How Aspasia would dance if she chose! But which of us, +except perhaps the Olympian Pericles, has ever seen her!” + +Theodota now returned, clad in a robe that did not check the freest +motions. With her came a boy bringing a lute, and a flute-player. The +latter began to play, and the boy chimed in with a few chords. +Theodota’s movements commenced, as it were, to blend with the sounds, +and it was impossible to say at what precise moment she had begun to +dance. + +First, as she had been requested, she danced Aphrodite’s wooing for the +apple, the prize of victory in the hands of Paris; then Hera’s, then +that of Pallas. It was the same dance, thrice repeated, yet each time +with totally different expression, in accordance with the characters of +the goddesses. Theodota seemed thrice transformed. It was marvellous to +see what changes she succeeded in bringing into the mimicry of the suit +by speaking glances, buoyant gestures, significant movements. By turns +the wooing appeared like graceful pleadings, sweet flattery, charming +coquetry, bewildering fascination, promise of the fairest reward; then +proud command, an imperious order rather than bold or sportive +entreaty, then as a swift surprise, an attempt to wrest the prize of +victory from the judge’s hand by gentle violence. Meantime, she +succeeded in displaying every physical charm of attitude, movement, +gesture. As each cleverly-devised expressive feature, exactly adapted +to the character of the goddess, appeared in the triple performance, +the spectators knew not whether to most admire the wealth of invention +and variety of the whole, or the charm and perfection of the execution +of each individual trait. + +The fact should be mentioned that Theodota, during the whole dance, +kept her eyes, glowing with a varying but always beseeching expression, +almost constantly fixed upon Pericles. She made him the involuntary +companion of her mimic suit, seemed to see in him Paris, and seek to +win from his hands the prize of victory. + +When the fair Corinthian had finished her dance, Pericles praised the +grace and expression with which she had performed her task. + +“The commission you gave the beautiful Theodota was by no means too +difficult,” said Alcamenes, “she would have performed harder tasks in a +way to rouse still greater astonishment. She can not only imitate the +tenderness of the dove and the fierceness of the lion, but if necessary +the undulation of water, the blaze of fire, and the light rustling of +the trees.” + +“I don’t doubt,” replied Pericles, “that she even understands, like the +dancer I saw a short time ago, how to represent the letters of the +alphabet by the motions of her wonderfully lithe and pliant body.” + +“And now what have you to say about Theodota?” cried Alcamenes, +touching Socrates on the shoulder. The latter had not once averted his +eyes from the dancer during the entire performance, and now stood +apparently absorbed in thought. + +“I will learn to dance!” he answered gravely. “Hitherto I only knew of +wisdom of the head; I now perceive that there is also a certain wisdom +of the hands and feet.” + +The listeners smiled, supposing he was speaking with his usual irony. +But Socrates continued: + +“Rhythm is proportion, and proportion is morality. A rhythm of the body +so beautiful as that Theodota has shown us, must necessarily fill the +whole nature of men with appreciation and love for beauty of +proportion. When this has once been seen, everything rude, coarse, +unpolished and base must be despised. I envy you your beautiful rhythm +of body and soul, Theodota.” + +“I enjoy this beautiful rhythm myself,” replied Theodota, smiling, “if +I possess and others take delight in it, for it is my profession to +amuse and please. But this art of pleasing and amusing seems to grow +daily more difficult in Hellas. To the eyes of you art-pampered men, +beautiful nature in woman is not enough. You require us to adorn +ourselves with every charm of art, if we desire to attract or captivate +you. Yet,” she added with a bewitching smile, “difficult as you make +the profession of pleasing, I shall not cease to consider this calling +the most delightful, and, if you allow it, mine.” + +“You evidently don’t belong to that class of women, who seek to please +only one man,” said Socrates. + +“No, by the gods!” exclaimed Alcamenes. “She doesn’t belong to their +ranks. She is the terror of all enthusiastic youths, who babble of +love. Young Damotas complained yesterday, Theodota, that you drove him +out of the house, because he became too melancholy.” + +“Yes,” said Theodota, “I not only deride Hymen’s chains, but those of +Eros also. I am no priestess of love, but a daughter of pleasure.” + +“I admire you, Theodota!” said Socrates. “You seem to me to have chosen +not only the fairest, but the most philanthropic of all professions. +What self-sacrifice you must practise! You disdain to be the refreshing +draught in one man’s pitcher, honorably placed in the shade of the +domestic hearth, you prefer to mount into the air like a light cloud, +float over many lands, and melt away in a rain of pleasure on the heads +of men. You renounce household peace, the honor of wifehood, maternal +happiness, the consolations of age, merely to gratify the strengthened +desire for beauty and pleasure in the bosoms of the men of Hellas. And +it is not only Hymen’s fetters you disdain—but with insolent courage, +and so to speak Promethean defiance, dare the wrath of Eros, the most +revengeful of all the gods. Yet you are not ignorant how short a time +beauty and youth last. You stand there full of self-renunciation and +self-sacrifice, like a blossoming tree in the month of March, and say: +‘Gather and shake off all the flowers of my fleeting Spring, and let +any one bind a bouquet to last a few days. I have no wish to be a +fruit-tree, I am a flowering-tree!’ What self-sacrifice, Theodota, what +self-denial! May gods and men bless you for it, and the Graces bury +your body under roses.” + +Theodota thanked him with a smile. She had become too familiar with the +eccentricities of different men, to be surprised by this strange +mortal’s words. + +“You exaggerate my merits.” + +“I have not yet told all,” replied Socrates. + +“That will be a reason for coming again,” answered Theodota. + +The conversation between the two continued for some time, but soon grew +more animated as the others took part in it, and Theodota found +opportunities to direct many an eager glance, many a significant word +to Pericles. + +Pericles responded in the gentle, friendly manner peculiar to him, when +addressing women. + +Aspasia noticed the advances made, but without the passionate blindness +of other women. She herself announced the message of free, joyous love, +and publicly declared her hostility to slavery not only in marriage, +but in love. Besides, she knew that a woman who betrays jealousy is +lost, and was aware of the distance that separated her from Theodota. +The latter carelessly spent her life in fulfilling her calling of +nymph. Aspasia could never have entered upon such a career. She was far +removed from the self-sacrifice Socrates had praised in Theodota. She +did not renounce the blossoms of her Spring to gratify the love of +pleasure of the common crowd; she had sought and found a more brilliant +goal. She was beloved and loved—though only with the gay, bright love +she preached. As for the means of bewitching and captivating—Theodota +gave what she had recklessly, and soon had nothing more to bestow. +Aspasia’s rich, deep nature was inexhaustible. + +Yet the latter did not disdain to note the best way to wrest from her +rival even a fleeting victory. A little plan quickly matured in her +mind, and the visit to the Corinthian beauty was not without its +consequences. + +When the four companions left Theodota’s house, the sculptor asked: + +“Well, friend Socrates, what have you learned for your group of Graces +from the charming Theodota’s triple dance?” + +“Many and marvellous things!” replied the latter. “I now know what the +trio of Graces is intended to mean, each in herself and all three +united. But this shall remain my secret for the present, for it is time +to take the chisel in my hand and let the marble speak. You will see +what I have learned from Theodota to-day, when my group of the Graces +stands completed on the Acropolis. To-day accept my thanks for having +given me your company on the way I took for the sake of the wise and +beautiful woman, who commanded me to sacrifice to the Graces.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +ANTIGONE. + + +Those who passed the house of the wealthy Hipponicus in Athens, during +the spring month Elaphebolion of the fourth year of the eighty-fourth +Olympiad, heard the sound of flutes and the notes of men’s voices, +practising in chorus, which echoed from within into the street. + +Similar sounds were also heard from the mansions of Pyrilampes, Midias, +Aristocles, and other rich Athenians. It almost seemed as if the blows +of the chisel were drowned by the music of flutes, +stringed-instruments, and voices. The festival of Dionysus had +returned, and with it the season when public interest in Athens +centered upon the dramatic performances, which took place in the +theatre of Dionysus. + +The plays, according to custom, were submitted by the authors to the +second archon. The latter, aided by the judgment of experts, selected +those to be performed; the actors who were to appear in them were +engaged at the public expense, and the wealthy Athenian citizens, whose +turn it was to defray the cost of the choruses, that is, to hire the +men, clothe, feed, and have their voices trained, had been appointed to +discharge their offices. Hipponicus had to procure a chorus for +Sophocles’ Antigone, Pyrilampes for a tragedy by Euripides, Midias for +one by Ion, Aristocles for a comedy by Cratinus, and others for other +plays. An almost passionate rivalry had sprung up between these men, +each of whom strove, with the ambition peculiar to the Athenian, to +surpass the others in the careful, artistic, and magnificent outfit and +training given to the chorus of which he had charge. A wreath, scarcely +less desired than the garlands of Olympia and Pytho, allured the +victor. + +The melody of voices and the music of flutes rang loudly from +Hipponicus’ mansion, as a man of very pliant figure and lithe, agile +tread, came down the street. He seemed to be a stranger, for he had a +mule-driver behind him, whose beast was laden with luggage. His eyes +roved about as if in search of some particular house. + +Suddenly the voices and music from Hipponicus’ dwelling echoed in his +ear. He listened an instant, then smiled as if well satisfied, and said +to the slave: + +“We need not ask any one. This, and no other, is Hipponicus’ house.” + +He hastily approached and was about to knock at the door, when a man +coming up the street from the opposite direction, met the stranger. + +The latter seemed very pleasantly surprised at the sight of the +new-comer, and as he smilingly approached, threw his head a little +back, laid his left hand on his breast, raised his right, and in slow, +sustained tone, as if his feet were in the cothurni, uttered the +following words: + + + “If my mid wanders not + In dark forebodings, and the light + Of reason doth not fail me—” + + +“It is a favorable omen from the gods, to meet on Hipponicus’ threshold +my old friend, the tragic poet Sophocles.” + +So saying, he held out his hand to the poet, who cordially grasped it. + +“Welcome, admirable Polus!” he cried. “Welcome to Athens! Have you been +bewitching men in all the cities of Hellas with the music of your +voice, as you strode in the high-heeled cothurnus, reaped fresh renown, +and ringing reward?” + +“Even so!” replied Polus. “I have been honored here and there, wherever +I was needed at the festivals in the cities of Hellas. But there was +ever an echo in my soul: + + + “‘O! could I climb the woody steep + That hangs incumbent o’er the deep, + From Sunium’s cliff by waves forever beat! + Thence should my eye the lovely prospect greet, + And smile on sacred Athens rising at my feet.’ [2] + + +“And when the message from your archon reached me at Halicarnassus, +summoning me back to Athens and promising any payment I might ask, and +I heard that at your request the principal part in your new tragedy had +been assigned to me, I flew across the Archipelago as if on wings, for +nowhere do I more gladly buckle on the cothurnus than at Athens, and +there is no poet I would rather serve with my art than my glorious +friend Sophocles.” + +Again the poet cordially pressed the actor’s hand. + +“And you are always the most wished for by me!” he answered. + +“In Hipponicus’ house,” continued Sophocles, “you will meet the members +of the chorus, their leader, and perhaps also your two fellow-actors, +Demetrius and Callippides. Hipponicus invited you to come here at this +hour, that we may all assemble to distribute the parts and make every +preparation necessary to secure our tragedy the victory. Let us go in; +Hipponicus is expecting you impatiently.” + +The two men knocked at the door and were admitted. Hipponicus received +Polus with great delight, and instantly invited him to be his guest +during the time he might remain in Athens. + +“Do you wish to burden yourself with this trouble, in addition to all +your other cares?” replied Polus. + +“I should not consider the new burden, even if it were one, worth +mentioning,” replied Hipponicus. “But you were not wrong in saying that +I have had no little care and trouble, since the duty of procuring the +chorus of Antigone was assigned to me by the archon. The necessary +singers and musicians were to be obtained, and I now have them all in +the house. These people must be lodged and boarded at my expense, and +what boarding! Fed with milk, virgin honey, and all kinds of sweets, +that their throats may not get rough. Caged nightingales couldn’t be +more carefully cherished, than I feed and care for these fellows. Then +there are costly garments and jewels to be ordered for each member of +the chorus, and you know what Athenians require. If they don’t see +gilded garlands and every kind of Dionysian splendor, victory is not to +be expected. I don’t know whether I can get off this time at a cost of +less than five thousand drachmæ. But I would spend twice the amount, if +necessary, to surpass that peacock-raiser, Pyrilampes, who is trying to +win the prize with a tragedy of the woman-hater, Euripides. Sophocles +already knows, but you do not, my friend, what this man has done to +wrest the victory from my hands. First he tried to bribe the archon, +then endeavored to alienate the best members of my chorus, and at last +even secretly offered the leader money to conduct the practising +carelessly. All this did not suffice. When my ornaments and costumes +for the chorus, whose magnificence cannot be exceeded, were finished +and lying in the maker’s shop, Pyrilampes passed by and wanted to force +the man to sell them to him. When refused, he ordered his slaves to +beat him, and threatened to burn down his house at night with all it +contained. That’s the way this scoundrel, Pyrilampes, behaves.” + + + “Be comforted, be comforted, thou dear one!” + + +Polus began with deep pathos: + + + “Zeus is still in Heaven, + Leave with him thy bitter grudge, + Hate not too much, neither forget + The objects of thy wrath.” + + +“For the rest,” he continued in a less lofty tone, “I know this man and +his wiles myself, Hipponicus. You think you can teach me something +about him, but I can tell you what you don’t know, the means he +employed to prevent me from taking part in Sophocles’ tragedy. He +promised to add to the payment of the government a large sum from his +own purse, if I would appear in the tragedy of Euripides. But I—I stood +like Philoctetes, when the cunning Ulysses sought to convey him and his +victorious bow away to Ilium. + + + “Never, never, + (Be sure of that) though thunder-bearing Jove + Should with his lightnings blast me, would I go.” + + +“I thank the gods, Polus,” said Hipponicus, “that a man like you stands +by us faithfully; for no matter how admirable a chorus may be, if the +actors appointed by the government are good for nothing, the Athenians +hiss and whistle.” + +“And I thank the gods,” said Polus, “that it is you who fit out +Sophocles’ chorus, for no matter how admirable the actors may be, if +the chorus is not magnificent, the Athenians pound with both hands and +feet.” + +Two new-comers, the actors Demetrius and Callippides, now entered. They +were kindly received by Hipponicus and exchanged greetings with Polus, +with whom they had often been on the stage, especially in the tragedies +of Sophocles. + +“I now see all who are to work together, to win the victory for +‘Antigone,’ assembled in my house,” observed Hipponicus. + +“The practising of the chorus,” said Sophocles, turning to the actors, +“commenced long ago; we have been waiting for you impatiently. Now you +are here, we will not delay in making the distribution of the parts. +First of all, there is Antigone herself: she falls to the player of the +leading character.” So saying he addressed Polus, the “protagonist.” +The latter, like his companions, silently assented as if this +arrangement was a matter of course. + +But Sophocles interrupted himself, by asking Polus: + +“Have you ever heard of the beautiful Milesian, Aspasia?” + +The latter answered in the affirmative, and he continued: + +“If we obeyed her wishes, my dear Polus, I should be obliged to request +the archon to assign a woman for the character of Antigone. I had an +excited argument with her, in which she condemned the custom of having +women’s characters assumed by men, and said that women should be +allowed to go on the stage. I vainly spoke of the masks which cover the +face, and the enormous size of the theatre.” + +Polus laughed scornfully. “What,” he cried indignantly, “when I entered +as Electra and began: + + + ‘O sacred light! and O, thou ambient air!’ + + +did any one ever miss the woman in me, my bearing, or the voice that +issued from the mournful mask?” + +“No one! No one!” all exclaimed. + +“And when I sorrowfully embraced the urn containing the supposed ashes +of my brother,” continued the excited Polus. + + + “O, ye dear remains + Of my Orestes, the most loved of men—” + + +“The whole audience was moved, stirred, melted with sorrow!” cried +Sophocles, and the others assented. + +“Never was any voice heard on the stage,” continued Sophocles, “that +sounded more touching, more womanly than yours.” + +“I hope you don’t mean to say, that my voice has a feminine character,” +replied Polus? “I think you must still remember my Ajax.” + + + “Wretch that I was, to let + The cursed Atridæ ’scape and shed the blood + Of harmless cattle!” + + +Polus’ voice seemed utterly changed in the delivery of these words. +“That is the deepest, most powerful of all heroes’ voices!” cried the +listeners enthusiastically. + +“Well? And my Philoctetes?” continued Polus, “my cry of anguish, when +the old serpent venom glowed within me—my oh! oh! oh! oh! it comes—it +comes—” + +Again exclamations arose: “What a voice of sorrow! What a natural +expression of grief, feebleness, faintness!” + +“Well!” cried Polus; “but when at the end of the tragedy I began: + + + “I will but pay my salutation here, + And instantly depart, + Now ye fresh fountains! each Lycœan spring + I leave you now.” + + +“It was a glorious moment,” assented Hipponicus; “but the finest thing +I have ever seen or heard you do, was when, as Ajax, you stood on the +stage repeating that wonderful soliloquy—” + +“You mean,” said Polus, “when in the lonely ravine, just before the +suicide, I thrust the sword point uppermost into the earth— + + + “There stands my sword, and fixed as it may best + Perform its office—” + + +“That is it!” cried Hipponicus, “and when you called Zeus, and then the +Furies, and then Helios—” + +“Oh, Helios,” interrupted Polus. + + + “And then, O Sun! who drivest the flaming car + Along the vaulted sky; when thou shalt see + My native soil, O! stop thy golden reins. + Tell the sad story to my hapless sire—” + + +“And when last of all,” continued Hipponicus, enthusiastically, “you +remember your native soil, the paternal hearth, Salamis, the famous +city of Athens, and your kindred, the Athenian nation—the hearts of +twenty thousand Athenians quivered with a fiery glow! Each breast +thrilled with patriotic emotion, and each individual felt that he +shared the dying hero’s farewell. Hitherto they had been secretly +touched and moved—now they burst into a storm of applause, bestowed on +you, Sophocles, and the heroes of Salamis.” + +“You are right, Hipponicus, in praising Polus,” said Sophocles, “but do +not forget to recognize the merits of Demetrius and Callippides. They +too are sought and honored in the Hellenic cities; they too have helped +many of my tragedies to victory. To you, Demetrius,” he continued, “I +will confide the part of King Creon, to Callippides, Ismene. There are +a few minor personages, who, it is true, only appear on the stage a few +minutes, yet I should not like to entrust them to the care of the first +bungler procured.” + +“Give them to us!” cried the actors, “we are ready to undertake as many +characters as may be wanted, if they don’t appear on the stage at the +same time. Anything can be played under the masks.” + +“Then there is the lover Hæmon,” said Sophocles; “he does not appear +until after Antigone has been led to death.” + +“Then give me Hæmon!” cried Polus. + +“Callippides must undertake the blind prophet Teresias,” continued +Sophocles. “Then there is a guard and a messenger. These two have long +tales to relate, and stories must always be delivered as well as +possible on the stage. Nothing is more disagreeable than to have them +stammered out by a person, who scarcely understands how to speak. I +have determined to play these two minor characters myself. I often took +part in my former pieces in this way.” + +The actors applauded the poet, as if honored by his companionship. +Hipponicus joined them. + +“Finally there is Eurydice, Creon’s wife,” said Sophocles; “she appears +and utters a few words at the end of the tragedy.” + +“I’ll take Eurydice!” cried Polus. + +“She is already assigned,” answered Sophocles. “A person who has never +appeared on the stage and desires to remain unknown, wishes to play +Eurydice.” + +The poet’s mysterious manner aroused no small degree of curiosity in +the minds of Hipponicus and the actors, but he refused to give any +further information. + +Sophocles then handed to the actors copies of the tragedy, made +suggestions concerning the conception and representation of their +parts, and arranged the costumes in which they were to appear. + +Hipponicus introduced the fifteen members of the chorus, with their +leader, to the new-comers, and invited them to attend the rehearsal +which was to take place that day. + +Accompanied by the music of the flutes, the chorus, with solemn +melodies and the measured dancing-step specially associated with the +god—because the first commencement of dramatic plays originated with +the expressive dance around his altar—began to repeat the numerous and +beautiful hymns of “Antigone.” While so doing they moved now to the +right, now to the left, stood still, separated, then mingled again. The +didascale, or leader and teacher of the chorus, enthusiastically marked +time with hands and feet, and often when zeal overpowered him, with his +whole body. Sophocles himself often assisted. It had been his task to +compose the melodies for the choral songs, the dance-like motions of +the chorus. Sometimes he pushed the flute-player aside, seized a +stringed-instrument, and accompanied the chorus, to be better able to +guide the singing as well as the majestic movements. + +Euripides was in Pyrilampes’ house, Ion in Midias’ and other authors in +other dwellings, all eager to win the Dionysian prize of victory, and +directing, urging, commanding as Sophocles did at Hipponicus’ home. + +These dwellings were so many hearth-stones, from which a tumult of +anticipation and eager partisanship spread over the whole city. The +usual interest felt by the Athenian populace on such occasions had been +increased this time to a still higher degree, since the unprecedented +exertions made by Hipponicus and Pyrilampes to secure the triumph, and +the hostilities practised by the two rivals towards each other, which +daily threatened to break out in deeds of violence, constantly occupied +the nimble Athenian tongues. Public affairs, the news from the +colonies, business at the Piræeus, all were set aside, and if an +Athenian fleet had put out to sea against an enemy, it would have been +less discussed than the contest between Hipponicus and Pyrilampes. + +Two men, however, met on the Agora, who talked confidentially of very +different matters. These were Pericles and Anaxagoras. + +“You are thoughtful,” said the philosopher; “have you a new idea in +your mind, or does some beautiful woman occupy your fancy?” + +“Perhaps both,” replied Pericles; “how delightful it would be if we +could dispense with one, namely woman, and devote ourselves wholly to +public affairs, or knowledge, or some great, serious cause.” + +“We can dispense with women—we can dispense with everything!” said +Anaxagoras impressively, plunging into a dissertation on the question +of how much better it would be to renounce everything beforehand, since +there is nothing we can certainly and inalienably possess. + +Pericles listened quietly, but not with the expression of a man +convinced. + +“And if,” said Anaxagoras in conclusion, “you cannot do without a +woman, your wife, Telesippe, sensibly considered, is as good as any +other. She gives you children. What more do you want?” + +“You know her,” replied Pericles. “You know she is superstitious, +narrow-minded, and no friend to the Muses. Perhaps this might be +endured, if she only possessed as much consideration as is shown her. +But she is always full of contradiction and prejudice, ever ready to +misconstrue my most well-meant intentions. When, in former days, I +often gave her some dainty undergarment or pretty trifle for her +adornment to please my eye in the house, she took offence and asked: +‘Am I no longer beautiful enough for you, that you consider such things +necessary? If I don’t please you as I am, I don’t wish to please you +adorned!’ Can any one talk more absurdly? Does not even the youngest, +fairest woman gladly adorn herself for the man she loves, and is it not +the natural impulse for lover or husband, to adorn the woman of his +choice? You know too, that it is one of my peculiarities, to carry the +love of cleanliness to a passion. How many bitter words have been +exchanged between Telesippe and myself on account of the pen for +sucking-pigs and poultry, which according to ancient custom, is close +beside the hearth, and is a horror to me, but greatly endeared to her. +She does not understand the feeling of loathing. Doesn’t she offer me +her lips, sullied with the smut or saliva she has just kissed from her +children’s faces? To dabble and soil her fingers and lips +unnecessarily, if the children are ill, seems to her a natural proof of +maternal love. But ought not the mother to be also a wife? Should not a +woman of proper feeling understand how to unite and equalize both +duties? What avails maternal tenderness, the instinct she shares with +every maternal ape, if it remains shut up in the dark depths of nature, +and is not coupled with a correct judgment of what is really +advantageous to the offspring? Have you not often asked: ‘What is the +use of instinct without judgment, without the moral consecration that +raises it from animal to human life?’” + +“What you say on this last head is both true and beautiful,” replied +Anaxagoras. “But the ornamented saffron robe and such things, which +Telesippe will or will not wear, are, considered in the light of +reason, folly and wantonness. Such delight in beauty is harmful. A +woman is a woman, I tell you. In the name of wisdom, cease this +extravagant admiration of the beautiful Milesian, Aspasia.” + +“Is it my fault,” asked Pericles smiling, “if the gods have endowed +beauty with greater power on earth than wisdom?” + +On the day of this conversation something occurred, which, had Pericles +chanced to see it, would have made him perplexed and thoughtful, +perhaps shaken his faith in Aspasia, dimmed the bright glow of his +enthusiasm for her, as a brand on the hearth is extinguished, with +sudden smoke and odor, by pouring water upon it. + +Messengers had secretly gone to and fro repeatedly between Sophocles +and Aspasia. Nay, once the poet himself had been seen to glide +stealthily at dusk into the house of Pericles’ fair friend. + +But this time it chanced that Aspasia, on returning home, was +accompanied by a man, whom the watchful neighbors, in the gloom, +mistook for Pericles. + +But it was Sophocles. On reaching the door, both stood still a moment. +Perhaps they were considering whether the poet might cross the +threshold, or must turn back? At last the latter, in his gentle manner, +asked the beauty: + +“Which is most sacred: friendship or love?” + +“Probably, in each individual case, whichever is the older”—said +Aspasia, smiling and giving the mysterious question an equally +mysterious answer. + +Sophocles then took his leave, and Aspasia entered the house. + +The morning after this little incident, Lampon came down from the +Acropolis, where he had been holding a long, whispered conversation +with Diopeithes, and went to see Elpinice. + +Scarcely was the priestly office, for which she had summoned the +prophet, completed, when with a mysterious face she turned the +conversation upon Pericles and Aspasia. + +These two often exchanged the news gleaned in extensive circles. + +“The gods seem to wish to punish the haughty Pericles,” began Lampon. + +“What has happened?” asked Elpinice eagerly. + +“It is said, that another steals in the dusk of evening to the +Olympian’s fair friend, Aspasia,” replied the other. + +“Why not?” cried Elpinice. “She is a hetæra. But who is this other?” + +“Pericles’ best friend, the ‘beloved of the gods,’ as he likes to be +called, the smiling tragic poet from the province of Colonus.” + +“A woman-hunter,” cried Elpinice, “a woman-hunter and love-maker like +Pericles himself. But the news you bring, friend Lampon, is almost old. +It’s a long time since the poet was first seen with Pericles and +Aspasia. It is well-known, that he is no less in love with the +adventuress than his friend. It was to be expected that he would go to +her. But who has seen him? Who can positively prove it?” + +“I saw him myself,” replied Lampon, “and even heard a snatch of the +conversation between the two at the door of the house. If a second +witness is necessary, summon Diopeithes.” + +“That is well!” cried Elpinice with heart-felt delight. “This news, +conveyed to Pericles, will give the death-blow to his bond with the +Milesian, which is the centre and shield of all the impiety of Athens, +as this Ionian woman is the great corrupter. She must be supplanted, +expelled, ruined. But who will undertake the office of messenger to +Pericles?” + +“Diopeithes thought Theodota would be the best person. For some time +this woman, apparently not wholly without success, has cast her nets +around Aspasia’s lover. If it is she, who gives him proof of the +Milesian’s faithlessness, she can most surely supplant her, by taking +her place.” + +“Poor Telesippe!” cried Elpinice. “It would be best that you should +have no rival; but for the present it is gaining much, nay everything, +to get rid of the Milesian.” + +“Indeed it is!” replied Lampon. “A beautiful, crafty woman can only be +torn from the heart of a man like Pericles, by a beautiful, crafty +woman. Theodota is far less dangerous than Aspasia. On the contrary, +this venal Corinthian will be wax in our hands. She must lure Pericles +to her house on the pretext of having something important to tell him +about the faithless Aspasia. Then the affair will take care of itself.” + +“Success is certain!” cried Elpinice. “Pericles has already cast his +eye upon her. I know it. He has already been to her house once, though +in the company of the Milesian, who was bold enough to take him there.” + +“At Alcamenes’ instigation!” said Lampon. “He has been preparing the +way for us. He is one of those, who hate the Milesian, and would reap +advantage from seeing her rejected, humiliated, cast off by Pericles. +He seeks to revenge himself upon the woman who betrayed him. He formed +the plan of supplanting the Milesian in the statesman’s favor through +Theodota’s influence, long before us, but lacked the right weapons to +use against Aspasia. We will supply him with them. But who shall tell +Alcamenes, that he may arrange matters with the Corinthian?” + +Elpinice reflected a moment, then replied: “Leave that to me. I know +what way the message must take, to reach the Corinthian’s ears in the +shape we desire.” + +From this hour Aspasia had to prepare for serious warfare, not only +against Telesippe, but Theodota. + +Elpinice applied to her friend Polygnotus; the latter was on intimate +terms with Agoracritus, Aspasia’s bitter enemy, who delivered the +message from Lampon and Cimon’s sister, to his companions in Phidias’ +workshop. These hot-blooded youths found the opportunity for vengeance +on the proud beauty quite too tempting, and he quickly came to an +understanding with his impetuous friends. + +In this zig-zag line moved the thunder-bolt hurled against the bond +uniting the best man and the fairest woman in Hellas, a thunder-bolt +first fabricated in the forge of the angry old god Erechtheus on the +Acropolis. + +The festival of Dionysus was celebrated in a joyous, noisy fashion. The +last days were dedicated to the contests of the tragic muse. + +While the gay comedy of Cratinus was being performed on the stage, amid +the frantic mirth of the spectators, a cloud bringing a light shower of +rain floated from Hymettus over the theatre of Dionysus, and the +high-priest, who sat in his magnificently-carved marble arm-chair in +full view of the audience, was wet on the nose by a falling drop, just +as the saucy Cratinus, amid the laughter of the Athenians, discharged a +feathered shaft of his Attic wit at this very high-priest, Agasthenes. + +“It is beginning to rain,” said the high-priest to his neighbor +Pericles, “I think we will stop the play.” + +“The shower is passing,” replied his companion smiling. + +But another arrow whirred, striking the speaker himself. All the +Athenians laughed and looked at Pericles, who smiled with them. + +A third arrow came—an allusion to the new Hera and the new Zeus, +Omphale and Heracles. + +Again all the Athenians looked at Pericles. But the latter no longer +smiled, a cloud flitted over the Olympian’s brow. The shaft had struck +Aspasia. + +Other plays followed, and thus the greater part of the first day was +spent by the Athenians. Many went away and returned again, others +remained till the end of the performances. The rich had wine, fruit and +cake brought to them by their slaves. + +The next day everything began afresh. Again thirty thousand Athenians +sat on the stone benches of the theatre of Dionysus, garlanded +dignitaries on beautifully-adorned marble chairs in the first rows, the +rich men on purple cushions brought with them, attended by their +slaves, the poor with figs and onions in a knapsack to last all day. +Yet the latter felt themselves as truly citizens of Athens, summoned to +behold the most beautiful things, as the others, and talked of +Sophocles, Ion, and Euripides, or cast a searching glance at the tiny +clouds in the sky, to see if any of them threatened to dim or interrupt +the festivities of the day. + +Again the first thousands of the thronging crowd were lost like pygmies +in the vast amphitheatre. But at last the whole theatre was packed from +the topmost to the lowest seats, a huge, seething, roaring human +crater. It was almost horrible, enough to make the head swim, to look +down from the upper row on this surging sea of human beings. + +Amid the confused roar that arose, a threatening tumult became more and +more audible. The fiery strife between Hipponicus and Pyrilampes was to +be decided that day. The partisans of the two men seemed ready to rush +at each other. If either appeared amid the spectators, a loud outcry +burst from friends and foes, shouts of applause and jeering hisses. + +The agonothetæ and mastigophori were constantly compelled, in the +discharge of their duty, to rush from their stations in the orchestra +up the flights of steps that obliquely intersected the rows of seats, +to settle some quarrel, or silence some unruly spectator. + +The calmest of the excited throng was Socrates, who had come less to +see the plays than the spectators, and pursue his thoughts about their +conduct. + +“There sit thirty thousand Athenians with eager faces,” he said to +himself, “all intent upon listening to a fictitious tale, to amuse +themselves with false tears and feigned sorrow. They are like children, +who listen open-mouthed to idle stories, only the latter do not know +they are pure inventions, while the former do. Whence comes this +strange love of mankind for mimicked, invented things?” + +The beautiful Theodota, most charmingly attired, was among the +spectators. Her gaze was constantly fixed on the chair occupied by +Pericles, who did not refuse to sometimes return the ardent gaze of her +dark eyes. + +At last the herald’s clear voice, commanding silence, rose above the +roar of the multitude. A libation was poured on Dionysus’ altar. Then +the herald’s voice was again heard: + +“Let the chorus of Ion come forward!” + +Ion’s tragedy was heard, applauded, and criticised with innate delicacy +of perception by the Athenian populace. A tragedy by Philocles +followed. The pronunciation of the protagonist of the piece did not +perfectly satisfy the sensitive Attic ear. A storm of wrath fell upon +him in the shape of laughter, groans, shrill whistles and stamping +feet. A comedy came next. The scoffer was now master of the world, +elevated even over Zeus and all the Olympic gods. The most unbridled +wit found vent in the most perfect rhymes. + +Then the chorus of Euripides came forward. + +This author’s work stirred all hearts. The women were touched by what +appealed to the soul, the men by the brilliant thoughts with which the +whole poetic drama was interwoven, as a purple fabric is wrought with +golden threads. The splendid appearance of the chorus was greeted with +exclamations of astonishment and admiration. Rarely had anything of the +sort been seen. Loud applause burst forth at the close of the piece. +Pyrilampes, with his friends and followers, revelled in the +anticipation of certain triumph. + +In the short time which elapsed between the representation of this +tragedy and the beginning of the next, a slave suddenly approached +Pericles’ chair and handed him a folded sheet of papyrus. Pericles +unfolded it and read the words: + +“Sophocles glides in the dusk of evening to Aspasia’s house.” + +Pericles was perplexed. Who had written these lines? They came from +Theodota. + +When he looked for the bearer of the curt, strange tidings, the +messenger had vanished. + +The clear voice of the herald roused the statesman from earnest +thought. + +“Let the chorus of Sophocles come forward.” + +And now a tragedy of love was performed before Hellenic eyes and ears, +a tragedy of love in the three forms in which it successively visits +the human heart, fraternal, conjugal, parental. Antigone dies for the +sake of her beloved brother, Hæmon for his bride, Eurydice for her son. + +Long, dark mourning robes floated around the tall figures of the +daughters of Œdipus. The masks showed noble, earnest, girlish faces, +the voices sounded soft and touching. Antigone swears to bury her +beloved brother, whom King Creon has cast forth to be the prey of dogs +and birds; she will perform this sacred duty in defiance of human law. +The chorus of aged Thebans robed in purple garments, whose splendor +suited the festival of Dionysus, and with golden circlets on their +brows, performed their majestic evolutions. + +The passionate, stormy rhythm. + + + “By Dirce’s sweetly flowing stream + Ne’er did the golden eye of day—” + + +burst forth. King Creon, clad in a gold-broidered purple robe, his brow +adorned with a diadem, appeared on the stage, leaning on a sceptre, +surmounted by an eagle. His form, elevated by the cothurnus, towered +far above the ordinary stature of mankind, the mask lent him royal +dignity; he stood there a mighty prince, distinctly visible to the most +distant spectator in the vast building. He asserted the ruler’s power +against the noble girlish figure—but she recognized only the one +supreme duty written in her heart: love—and made the king, who based +his cruelty to her brother on the righteous hatred felt by the citizens +of Thebes towards the dead man, the immortal answer: + + + “My love shall go with thine, but not my hate!” + + +Then she went forth to do what she had vowed, and sacrifice the right +of the living to the right of the dead. In a solemn majestic chant, the +chorus reflected upon the presumptuous minds and audacious resolves of +men, and mourned the sorrows of the Labdacidæ. Hæmon, Creon’s only son, +came and pleaded for the life of Antigone, his bride—but the king held +to his decree, there were brides enough, “other soil might be tilled;” +the despairing lover departed, uttering words of dark significance—then +the chorus began the strophe composed on the glowing day, when Pericles +and Aspasia lingered in the poet’s rose-arbors on the banks of the +Cephissus. + + + “Mighty power, all powers above! + Great, unconquerable love!” + + +Then, alternating with the chorus, began the touching death-lament of +the daughter of Œdipus, condemned to descend alive into the rocky +tomb—the long threnody was deeply pathetic, and every eye in the wide +circle of listening Athenians grew dim with lofty emotion at this +climax of sorrowful fate—reminded, by the character, of Danæ, who like +Antigone was + + + “Condemned to change heaven’s cheerful light, + For scenes of horror and of night. + Within a brazen tower long time immured.” + + +Teresias, the infallible prophet, entered and with solemn warning +addressed himself to the implacable king; at last the Olympians changed +his obstinate temper,—suddenly overwhelmed by a horrible foreboding he +yielded—the chorus were already exulting, in a joyful strophe addressed +to Dionysus, the god of joy—the exultant strains sounded strangely +after the mournful death-chant—but it died away and again gave place to +the dirge, for Antigone had killed herself in the tomb and Hæmon, slain +by his own hand, had gone down with her, embracing her dead body, to +the dark realms of Hades. + +Eurydice, the wife of the sorrowing Creon, now appeared, heard from the +lips of the messenger tidings of the united deaths in the rock-tomb of +Œdipus’ daughter, learned that her son was dead. The news broke the +mother’s heart. + +The announcement of death from the messenger’s mouth produced a strange +effect on the minds of all, but still more marvellous was the +impression made by the few words the queen uttered. + +The multitude listened breathlessly to the close of the sublime +tragedy, which ended, as if with a magnificent final accord, in a +strophe praising moderation. + +Great and deep was the impression produced on the minds of the +listening Hellenes by this tragedy of Sophocles, which intertwined +three bonds of love and three deaths. The grave, sombre sternness of +tragic art had never before been so beautifully mitigated—never had the +sublime been so human, the human so sublime. + +Never in any tragic work had such a wealth of magnificent melodies been +poured forth upon the listeners; never had the Attic stage witnessed a +representation so harmoniously finished down to the minutest detail, +and never had so well-trained and splendid a chorus appeared before the +assembled Athenians. + +When Hipponicus’ chorus had disappeared, and the dramatic contest of +the year was ended, the whole audience with loud shouts declared so +impetuously in his favor, that the umpires, without consultation, at +once announced to the Athenians, who were eagerly awaiting the verdict, +that the author of Antigone, and Hipponicus, were victors in the +department of tragedy. Sophocles and Hipponicus, according to custom, +appeared on the stage to receive a crown of victory from the hands of +the umpires before the eyes of the spectators. + +It is impossible to describe the joy and pride of Hipponicus, equally +impossible to picture the fierce wrath of Pyrilampes and his adherents. + +As Pericles left the theatre amid the throng, he suddenly saw Theodota +beside him. Her beautiful face was turned towards him a moment with a +most expressive glance, a most significant movement of the lips. +Unseen, she herself slipped a note into his hand. + +Pericles read this also. Its contents ran as follows: + +“If you desire news of Sophocles and Aspasia, come to Theodota. A slave +will await you under the columns of the Tholus and guide you by a +private way through a back door into my house.” + +Before Pericles could consider whether to accept this invitation, he +found himself in the midst of a group of Sophocles’ friends, who were +thronging around the poet to congratulate him. + +When the latter perceived Pericles, he released himself and hurried +towards him. + +The Olympian, though thoughtful and out of humor, also congratulated +the victor. + +“I thank you,” said Sophocles, “but do not speak to me as a friend, but +as a critic.” + +With difficulty repressing the subject uppermost in his thoughts, +Pericles replied: + +“Do you know what part of your tragedy has given me cause for +reflection? Like many others, I was almost surprised to see the tie of +plighted love accorded the same power, the same rights, the same mortal +earnestness in the tragedy as the bonds of blood, ever held sacred by +the Hellenes from the earliest times. This innovation completely +occupied my mind, and I cannot yet determine whether you have done +right.” + +Digressing from the subject, Pericles continued: + +“Was it not you, who, under the mask of the messenger, so solemnly +related the touching story of Hæmon’s death? I thought I recognized +your voice? But who spoke Eurydice’s words? What actor was concealed +under the mask of the queen? I know not what mysterious, secret charm +hovered around the scene in which you, as messenger, and that queen, +confronted each other. I have never heard any words uttered on the +stage as the queen spoke them. What man, save Polus, could feign the +wondrous magic of that voice?” + +“Not even Polus!” replied Sophocles smiling. “You have spoken of +innovations in my tragedy; know that in the representation to-day an +innovation took place, of which until now no human being was aware +except myself and Hipponicus. For the first time since Thespis put her +car in motion, a real woman appeared to-day upon our stage under the +mask. You shall be the third sharer of this secret, and let it remain +buried among us three for all eternity.” + +“And who was the woman, who dared, though unknown, to tread the stage +and defy ancient usage and the good old customs?” + +“You shall see her,” replied Sophocles, who disappeared and returned +with a female figure, wrapped and disguised beyond recognition. + +When Sophocles, accompanied by this figure, had led Pericles a short +distance aside till they were perfectly safe from the curious gaze of +the crowd, he said: + +“Is unveiling necessary for you to recognize the woman, who is not only +the most beautiful, but the most daring of her sex?” + +Pericles was perplexed: “It is necessary,” he replied in a cold, grave +tone. With a resolute movement of her hand the female figure drew the +veil aside, and Pericles stood face to face with Aspasia. + +He remained silent. The contents of Theodota’s lines now seemed +confirmed. Aspasia, as was evident, had secretly conspired with the +poet, carried out the bold plan in connection with him. To be sure, he +knew the loyal friendship of the noble Sophocles; but Aspasia had given +a fresh proof that her mind, in gay freedom, mocked at all fetters. + +All that Pericles was thinking, Aspasia read clearly written on his +brow, in his eyes, as he stood gazing mutely at her. + +Answering the eloquent silence with eloquent words, she began: + +“Frown not, Pericles, and above all do not be angry with your friend +Sophocles. I compelled him to do what he did—” + +“But don’t be angry with Aspasia either,” interrupted the poet, turning +to Pericles, “and above all, know that it was she who made me remember +that friendship is more sacred than love, when it is older.” + +“It is my mission to battle against custom!” continued Aspasia, “and +why should you be angry with me because I take no less interest in the +poet’s images, than in the marble statues in Phidias’ work-rooms? I +came to Hellas to find beauty and freedom. Had I sought slavery, I +should have remained at the Persian court and spent my life under the +sleepy eyes of the great king. What governs you at this moment, my +friend, is a delusion, a prejudice, a horrible feeling, unworthy of a +Hellene. Away with it, Pericles!” + +At this moment, Hipponicus approached and invited Pericles and Aspasia +to the banquet, with which he intended on the following day to +celebrate the victory of himself and Sophocles. + +Twilight was already approaching, when the statesman parted from +Hipponicus, Sophocles, and Aspasia, and walked thoughtfully homeward. + +He was thinking of Aspasia, reflecting upon what she had just said to +him. He admitted that she was perfectly right. Love should be no chain, +no slave’s yoke to Aspasia. + +But neither should it fetter him. “You can go to see Theodota!” he said +to himself; “perhaps it is not well to be the slave of one woman too +long.” The demands of the free, proud Aspasia, now blended harmoniously +in his mind with the warning words of Anaxagoras. He remembered the +Corinthian’s note, and the slave who was awaiting him under the columns +of the Tholus. True, the tidings Theodota had given him, had meantime +been better explained by Sophocles. But might she not have something to +say? + +He came to the columns of the Tholus. The slave approached and led him +through a deserted lane to the enclosure of a garden, where he prepared +to open a little gate. Pericles was standing on Theodota’s threshold. +He could enter, no one saw him. The nightingales were singing in the +bushes. + +Suddenly he paused, reflected, and found that he utterly lacked +inclination for a conversation with Theodota. He was surprised at +himself, but told the slave he must defer entering the little gate +until another opportunity. The messenger gazed at him in bewilderment, +as he slowly withdrew. + +The moon had risen. The sea glittered in her light, and the peaks of +the mountains of Attica shimmered with a silvery lustre. The air was +soft and refreshing. Suddenly, borne on the evening breeze, fragments +of the choral song: + + + “Mighty power, all powers above! + Great unconquerable Love!” + + +fell on the ear of Pericles. Youths, returning from the theatre in the +soft spring night, were joyously singing portions of the song which had +aroused their enthusiasm. + +Anxiety of a different kind blended with Pericles’ mental excitement +and thoughts of Aspasia. He almost envied Hipponicus and Sophocles the +laurels of the day. It seemed as if he ought to gird on a sword, +collect a fleet or army, and rush to brilliant victories. The long +peace began to appear destitute of lustre. A sense of oppression stole +over him, from which he only succeeded in escaping by the sight of the +Acropolis glittering before him, and the echoes of the Antigone in his +soul. He had reached that point in the ascending path, where on one +side the huge granite and marble mass of the theatre of Dionysus yawned +in the darkness, while on the other towered the rocks of the Acropolis, +gleaming in the moon-beams. A death-like stillness pervaded the vast +theatre, which during the day had been stirring with active life, +resounding with the highest creations of Hellenic poetry. Pericles +gazed down into the marble abyss, then upward to the height of the +Acropolis, shining in the moon-beams, where the stones of the rising +temple were gleaming. His own person and his own fate almost vanished +from his mind, the slight cloud on his brow passed away, his breast +heaved, and from the depth as well as from the height he felt himself +fanned by a breath of immortal life. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE QUEEN OF THE SYMPOSIUM. + + +For several days after Hipponicus’ victory and the ensuing conversation +with Aspasia, Pericles was the prey of various emotions, aroused by the +Milesian’s love of freedom, and during this time the thought frequently +arose: “I will accept the charming Theodota’s invitation. Why should +this woman bind me in chains she does not recognize?” + +But this idea speedily became merged in the stronger one of Aspasia +herself, her free, proud nature, and the possibility of losing the sole +empire over her heart. The new emotion could not easily assert itself, +in the presence of the ardor to which this thought gradually fanned +Pericles’ love. This effect had been foreseen, nay calculated upon by +Aspasia. But Pericles continued to struggle with himself, and the +conflict did not lack fresh excitement. + +Hipponicus, who was doing everything in his power to make the +magnificence of his wealth and the splendor of his entertainment, the +theme of conversation, did not rest until Pericles and Aspasia had +consented to attend the banquet in honor of his victory. + +When the appointed day arrived, the most distinguished and famous men +in Athens assembled at his house. + +Scarcely had the guests appeared, when Hipponicus began to display the +magnificence of his dwelling. He led them through the various +apartments, showed them his gardens, his baths, his wrestling-ring—a +gymnasium in miniature—his fish-ponds, his noble steeds, his dogs, his +rare birds, the cocks and quails kept for the pleasure of seeing them +fight with each other. He pointed out the monument he had erected over +a favorite dog of the Melitan breed. + +He said his house was like a tavern, always full of guests; he fed a +dozen parasites daily at his table. “The fellows have grown so fat,” he +added, “that I’m sorry you can’t see them to-day, but I took it into my +head to have only the most distinguished men in Athens at my board.” + +One of the guests, with a slight touch of malice, asked for his wife. +Hipponicus replied that she was well, but he did not wish to disturb +her in the woman’s apartment. Everybody knew that his only care for +this lady was to adorn her with jewels and pearls, and sometimes have +her drive through the streets, according to the new fashion, in a +carriage drawn by Sicyonian steeds. For the rest—also according to the +new fashion—he devoted himself to a foreign friend, and it was said +that at present the far-famed Theodota enjoyed his homage. + +He also mentioned to the guests his children, his son Callias, whom he +said he had just sent to Delphi to have his hair cut, and, according to +ancient custom, consecrated to Apollo; and his little daughter +Hipparete, whose beauty and goodness he could not sufficiently praise, +and whom he seemed to love warmly. “This child,” said he, “will grow up +to be the fairest and noblest of all Athenian maidens, it will be hard +to find a bridegroom worthy of her. As for beauty, I know of no boy in +Athens, who promises as a youth to compare with this maiden, except +your ward, little Alcibiades, Pericles. I have seen him several times +in the wrestling-ring, and he can boast of holding almost the same rank +among the lads, that Hipparete does among the little girls. They seem +very suitable in age too. Well, who knows what the gods may decree, +when these two buds have opened? What do you think, Pericles? However, +there is plenty of time to talk about it.” + +Amid similar conversation, Hipponicus ushered his guests into the +spacious, beautifully-decorated dining-hall. The cushions, on which the +Greeks reclined at table, were arranged in a large circle. It is +scarcely necessary to mention that the carpets spread over them were +rich and gaily embroidered, the round pillows that supported the arm, +magnificently wrought in colors, the silver, gold, and even jewelled +vessels on the side-boards attracted the eye even more by their beauty +of form than by their costliness, that perfumes rose from equally +beautiful vases filling the whole apartment with odors which delighted +the senses; and that the walls were painted with pictures representing +scenes of pleasure. There were groups and scenes, amid which were +delineated countless Loves gracefully riding doves and sparrows. The +floor was still more worthy of notice. At first it seemed entirely +covered with the fragments of an elegant banquet—fruit-rinds of the +most various hues, bones, bread-crumbs, the combs of cocks, brilliant +feathers plucked from birds, remnants of every description. But on +looking more closely, it was discovered that all these things were +skilfully represented by colored stones, inlaid in fine mosaic. Large, +magnificently-painted jars were placed in suitable positions for the +further decoration of the hall, and opposite to the entrance stood a +flower-wreathed altar, on which burned a flame diffusing perfume. + +Hipponicus invited his guests to take whichever cushions they pleased. +At first they sat erect; slaves approached with silver basins and +ewers, unfastened their shoes or sandals, and holding the basins under +their bare feet, poured over them the contents of the silver ewers, +which instead of water contained fragrant wine, made still more spicy +by the mixture of odorous oils and essences. Their hands were also +sprinkled and wiped with fine napkins. + +Hipponicus’ guests, accepting their host’s invitation, had taken their +places on the cushions in pairs, as accident or friendship dictated. +The truth-seeker Socrates sat beside the philosopher Anaxagoras, the +sculptor Phidias beside Ictinus the architect, the poet Sophocles +beside the actor Polus, the sophist Protagoras beside the physician +Hippocrates. + +Protagoras had just arrived in Athens, and was visiting Hipponicus. His +coming had attracted much attention, for his renown in Hellas was daily +increasing. He was a native of Abdera and therefore a Thracian, yet +also an Ionian, for Abdera was settled by Ionians. He was said to have +been a porter in early youth, until a philosopher discovered and +developed his talents. Since then he had travelled extensively, had +even drawn from the fount of Oriental wisdom, and now crossed the sky +of Hellas like a dazzling meteor. He understood everything; the science +of gymnastics, music, oratory, poesy, geography, astronomy, +mathematics, ethics, politics; and wherever he went, had an immense +concourse of curious inquirers. Wealthy youths paid enormous sums to +enjoy his instruction. His appearance was well calculated to charm the +eye, for he had the dignity of a king, wore magnificent garments, and +had a bewitching gift of eloquence. + +This Protagoras joined the young, but very skilful and sagacious +Hippocrates, a nephew of Pericles. + +By a somewhat singular accident, the reserved Polygnotus, who did not +feel wholly at ease in this circle, had for a neighbor the saucy +Cratinus, famed as a boon-companion as well as a comic poet. Yet, +unlike in temperament as the two men might appear, there was one point +of contact and fellowship. They were the only persons not united to the +assembled company by ties of friendship, and owed their invitation +solely to Hipponicus’ desire to see around him the men most +distinguished in every profession. Polygnotus, Elpinice’s friend, +cherished a secret grudge against Phidias. So these two, Cratinus and +Polygnotus, looked doubtfully at each other and whispered together, as +they saw Aspasia, at Hipponicus’ invitation, take her seat between the +host and Pericles on a special cushion, where, after the fashion of +women, she sat erect, while the male guests, resting the left arm on a +pillow, reclined on the left side. Cratinus and Polygnotus secretly +asked each other why such honor was shown to a foreigner, a hetæra? The +other guests thought differently. They were friends of Pericles, formed +the brilliant throng of his followers, knew Aspasia’s worth and power, +and had ceased to wonder at anything. Protagoras, though he saw Aspasia +for the first time, had been so completely enthralled from the first +glance, that anything would have entered his mind sooner than the idea +of taking offence at her presence. + +At a sign from Hipponicus, a small table was moved before each pile of +cushions, some dishes were placed upon them, others passed around, and +the meal began. + +As these distinguished guests had all assembled for the first time in +Hipponicus’ house, the latter had resolved that nothing which could do +honor to the Athenian market should be absent from the banquet. + +“If I have made it my duty to receive so many distinguished men at my +table,” said Hipponicus, as his guests prepared to take the dainty +viands, “I certainly ought to entertain them as well as possible. But +you know, though we Athenians have made so much progress in other arts, +we are still somewhat backward in that of dining well, although it +seems to me by no means one to be neglected. For my own part, I have +always prided myself on being a gourmand and should consider myself +fortunate, if I could do something towards raising Attic cookery to a +higher degree of perfection. I see some of you smile somewhat +scornfully, as if you wished to say that our Athens needs nothing of +the sort, and may be called upon to lead the nations in other arts, but +not this. Allow me to tell you that this is an error. For if you appeal +to our beautiful marble, excellent clay, and similar things, I can +easily prove that you will nowhere find better salt, oil, vinegar and +aromatic herbs, which are always the most important ingredients in the +hands of skilful cooks. To say nothing of Attic salt, which is famous +in a two-fold sense, everybody knows that nothing can be compared with +the fruit of the Attic olive, that the herbs of Hymettus are the most +aromatic, the honey of the Hymettus is the most delicious in the world. + +“I regret that, in order to obtain a really excellent cook, I was +obliged to get one from Sicily. This man, named Anacharsis, is really a +master of the rare art, and I might call him a Sophocles or Phidias in +the culinary department. Nobody so well understands how to spice the +first dishes to excite the appetite. The sauces in which he has set +before us sausages, giblets, boars’ liver and little birds, will +satisfy the most critical. You will also be able to judge of his skill +in disembowelling tunny-fish, eels, murænas and sucking-pigs and then +stuffing them again, to the delight of the palate, with field-fares, +eggs and oysters. His hares and deer, partridges, snipe and pheasants +you will find as admirable, as his cakes prepared with milk and honey +and filled with fruits of various kinds. + +“You might have, I repeat, an opportunity to judge the work of this +skilful man; but you all—especially you Athenians—constantly have your +minds too much occupied with other things, to test such a matter with +genuine appreciation, and acknowledge the value of this art. The +parasites are really the only gourmands and appreciative +table-companions. Luckily, the number of these experts in the art of +dining well at other people’s expense, is daily increasing in Athens. +As I said before, I have a dozen such critics daily at my table and +can’t do without them, for it is tiresome to enjoy even the best things +alone. You should see with what earnestness these people attend to +their duties, how they smack their tongues and lift their eyebrows when +my cook surprises them with a new invention, or a delicate variation of +some old dish, perceptible only to the connoisseur. You are certainly +not of this sort, but while letting the best productions of my +admirable Anacharsis slip over the bridge of your palates, one is +thinking of this, another of that subject; Pericles of his public +business and a new colony he desires to send forth, Sophocles of a new +tragedy, Phidias of the frieze of the Parthenon, Polygnotus considers +how the walls of this dining-room might have been better painted, and +Socrates secretly dismembers an idea, instead of the partridge he has +on his plate.” + +Thus Hipponicus gave vent to his feelings, and the guests smiled gaily +at the good-humored reproof. + +The host then rose, and with dignity scarcely less solemn than when +performing the office of Daduchus at Eleusis, offered the usual +libation. “To the good spirit!” he cried, poured a few drops of wine on +the floor, drank some himself, ordered the goblet to be refilled and +passed around the circle of guests, commencing at his right hand. A +solemn silence prevailed during this libation, which was accompanied by +the low, subdued music of the flutes. + +Then the little tables were removed and the floor cleaned. + +Dessert was served, and with it all kinds of confectionery intended to +awaken a desire for drinking, and at the same time goblets and the +large vessel for mixing wine and water were brought in. Chaplets and +fragrant garlands of roses, violets and myrtle, were passed around the +circle, the guests twined them about their heads, the pæan in honor of +Dionysus was sung, and a libation of mixed wine, in honor of all the +Olympic gods, poured into the flames on the flower-wreathed altar. + +“You know, valued guests and friends,” Hipponicus began, “what the +beautiful old custom requires of us. Will it be agreeable to you to +choose the symposiarch, or do you prefer to let him be appointed by +drawing lots?” + +Phidias, Ictinus, Anaxagoras and several others instantly protested +against drawing lots, fearing, they said, that the choice might fall on +them, and feeling little vocation for the office of a symposiarch, a +leader and arranger of social pleasures. + +“If it is necessary to choose a symposiarch,” said Protagoras, “I know +not to whom we should first offer this honorable office, save to the +most distinguished of so many distinguished men, the great Pericles.” + +The latter smilingly declined, saying: + +“Choose Socrates! He knows how to direct clever conversation, why +shouldn’t he also understand how to manage a symposium?” + +“I don’t know whether I understand how to direct clever conversations,” +replied Socrates; “but this I do know, that even if it were so, it +would be presumption in me, either in a conversation or a symposium, to +assume the part of director in the presence of my teacher and mistress, +Aspasia, whose victorious wisdom is sufficiently well known to all +present here. I admit custom requires us to choose a king of the +banquet, and that Aspasia is a woman; but I don’t know why sex should +have aught to do with the character of a symposiarch? Hipponicus +desires this symposium to be unique in its way—very well, let us +support him in his design, and choose a queen, instead of a king.” + +The revellers at first seemed bewildered, but soon eager assent greeted +Socrates’ proposal on all sides. + +“It will be strange, though perhaps wise,” said Aspasia, “to choose for +monarch of the symposium, one who does not drink. What is the wine that +now fills our goblets?” she continued. + +“Thasian wine of the best kind,” replied Hipponicus, “such as is poured +out in the Prytaneium of Thasos. The wine has the most delightful odor, +but its sweetness proceeds from the wheaten flour, mixed with honey, +thrown into the casks according to certain rules.” + +“Honey-sweet, perfumed wine of Thasos!” cried Aspasia, “thou art worthy +of being drunk to the health of the two men whose victory this banquet +celebrates! Fellow-revellers! Drain your beakers to the health of +Hipponicus and the author of Antigone, whose brows are wreathed with +the garlands of victory.” + +All the company gaily drank the toast, and the goblets were refilled at +the command of the queen of the feast. + +“Thrax!” cried Hipponicus to one of the attendant slaves, “bring the +list of wines prepared for this symposium and give it to the queen of +the banquet. You will find on the same tablet, Aspasia, the games and +amusements at our disposal in this house to-day. May it please our +sovereign to choose what seems to her the most beautiful and fitting, +and conjure it up by a word or look, as if by some magic wand.” + +“Will you have a cithara brought to me?” asked Aspasia. “As queen of +the revel, I will presume no farther than to give the key-note for the +mood and harmony of this symposium.” + +Hipponicus instantly ordered a slave to fetch a cithara ornamented with +gems and ivory. + +The fair Milesian took it, and began to sing to its accompaniment, the +following lines: + + + “With violet garlands crowned, with Syrian spikenard scented, + Sprinkled with gold and roseate drops of Dionysian dew, + With melody of lute and voice through all the world extended, + Hail, beauteous pleasure, loftiest gift this wide earth ever knew!” + + +Then she ordered the lute to be passed to Socrates, but the latter +said: + +“Since the office of symposiarch includes the duty of giving out +riddles for the amusement of the company, I expected that Aspasia would +test our penetration in such matters. What, viewed closely, is this +praise of the enjoyment of life, which she has sung to the +accompaniment of the cithara, in order as she says, to give the +key-note of our symposium, save a tempting enigma? This fair Milesian +really seems to me like a sphinx with an abyss beside her, into which +she will plunge us all, if we do not solve her riddles. How I envy the +excellent Hipponicus! He seems to understand pleasure and the enjoyment +of life better than any of us, and so perhaps is the only one capable +of correctly interpreting the riddle Aspasia has sung. Surely one can +best give instruction in the art he most skilfully practises.” + +All eagerly shouted in assent. + +“That is true! Hipponicus is the man to teach us about pleasure and the +enjoyment of life.” + +“If troublesome philosophy cannot be wholly avoided in this symposium,” +began Hipponicus with a mischievous smile, “I thank the gods that the +conversation turns upon this subject instead of any other; for this is +really the one upon which, as Aspasia observed, I may presume to say a +few words. You doubtless remember how I strove to show you, that +scarcely anywhere in the world can the art of eating and drinking be +carried to greater perfection than here in Athens, if we only desire. +The proposition may also be made, that on this soil, under this +Hellenic sky, people are born to be happy. But I wish to show you, that +here in Greece it is easy to unite the pleasantest life with wisdom, +virtue, piety, reverence for the gods, or whatever else you may please +to call it. The Hellenic gods require everything except renunciation or +sacrifice of the joys of life. They don’t even ask it of me, though I +am of priestly race, and once a year have to exercise the office of +Daduchus at the festival of the mysteries of Eleusis. The rest of the +time I spend in Athens to my own satisfaction and that of my native +land, without having it occur to the gods or anybody in the world to +reproach me for it. If poor Diopeithes upon the Acropolis is my enemy, +and says evil things about it, it isn’t because I like a good table, am +fond of fair women and making myself comfortable, for he would gladly +do the same, if he did not lack means; but merely because the +Eleusinian priestly race has outstripped his in power and splendor, the +Eumolpidæ have surpassed the Eteobutadæ. If Diopeithes lives a +dissembler, he does so on his own account; the Hellenic gods do not +trouble themselves about it, and though I keep a better table than he, +I can boast of being equally devout and pleasing to the gods. Is there +any one who will assert, that I am not pious and do not revere the gods +as much as any man in Athens? Zeus Herkeios has his altar beside my +domestic hearth; in the niche behind the door stands Hermes Strophaios, +the divine guardian of the door-hinges; before it is the usual shrine +of Hecate, and the cone-shaped column of Apollo Agyieus, the guardian +of streets, and beside it the laurel sacred to the god, as a protection +against witchcraft and epilepsy. On the door itself, from one +Pyanepsian festival to another, hangs the blessed olive-branch, which +wound with white wool, is consecrated in the temple of Apollo at every +festival; nor does it lack the inscription placing the house under the +protection of the gods, and surmounted by the usual Medusa head to +guard the entrance from all evil. I neglect neither suitable gifts to +the gods, purifications, propitiations, prayers, sacrifices, nor large +contributions to increase the splendor of the festivals, and have just +spent five thousand drachmæ to fit out as magnificently as possible the +chorus our Sophocles needed for his ‘Antigone.’ So who can come forward +and say I am no pious man, and do not honor the gods according to the +customs of our forefathers? We Greeks are a devout nation, and I am a +Greek. That is why, as is right, I stand in awe of the gods, but do not +fear them. There are many in Tartarus who suffer the worst punishments +on account of various crimes, but I do not remember one among them who +suffers because he was a high-liver or man of the world. Is there one? +No! So once more: I am a devout man and need not fear the gods. I fear +nothing in the world except thieves and house-breakers, who might run +away with my treasures, my pearls and precious stones.” + +All the company began to laugh and applaud these last words of +Hipponicus; but he continued: + +“They are wisely building a treasure-house for the government money on +the Acropolis, under the protection of the guardian goddess of the +city. But how is a patriotic man, like one of us, to secure his +property? I don’t deny that, since I’ve employed six thousand slaves in +my silver mines, and my riches are daily increasing, I am somewhat +anxious.” + +“Be comforted, Hipponicus,” cried Pericles. “I’ll intercede with the +people to allow you to build a treasure-house for yourself in the +Acropolis. You have deserved it, by the excellent speech you’ve just +made, if not on any other account.” + +Again all the company applauded and praised Hipponicus and his speech. + +But the mocking wit and unwearied reveller Cratinus asked: + +“If, noble Hipponicus, you really don’t fear the gods, only thieves and +nothing else in the world, what do you think of dropsy and other +consequences of a devout and at the same time pleasant life? Also the +gout, which, as I unfortunately know by experience, is connected with +too liberal a besprinkling with Dionysian dew? Have you no dread of +these? Or do you rely wholly on your friend Hippocrates, the excellent +physician, whom you wisely invite to your table?” + +“You have guessed it,” replied Hipponicus; “in these matters I depend +entirely on Hippocrates, with whom, as with the gods, I like to stand +on a good footing. I also leave it to him to determine whether dropsy, +vertigo, and similar things really proceed from what is termed the +enjoyment of life.” + +“Not exactly,” said Hippocrates smiling. “True, it is not to be denied +that the fatigue connected with the enjoyment of life may cause dropsy, +vertigo and similar diseases. As for pleasure in and of itself—and this +alone is probably what is being discussed in the present +conversation—it must be considered conducive to health. Pleasure is a +peculiar condition of mind and body, that flushes the cheeks, brightens +the eyes, quickens the breath, makes the blood course easily through +the veins, stirs what is stagnant, rouses the animal spirits, increases +all the powers, and puts the whole constitution in a state of +beautiful, active harmony. Pleasure is so healing a medicine, even to +the sick, that I don’t know whether a more effectual remedy can be +found among all the herbs, plasters and potions we physicians employ.” + +Laughing and applauding, the revellers swore never to trust themselves +to any other physician than Hippocrates. + +“Wise master of the art of healing,” cried Cratinus, “you have entirely +soothed me. Now I understand it; how could I, whom people call the +friend of the bottle, ever since I wrote a comedy in which full bottles +form the chorus, how could I have defied the attacks connected with the +pleasure of drinking, if the remedial power of that pleasure had not +sustained me? Were I symposiarch, instead of yonder lovely foreigner, +who probably understands the works of golden Aphrodite better than +those of Bacchus, I would instantly order a double drink in honor of +the wisest of all physicians, Hippocrates!” + +“Thrax!” said Aspasia to the slave standing beside her, “give Cratinus +a goblet twice the size of ours. And now let us drink the toast in +honor of Hippocrates.” + +When all had pledged Hippocrates, and Cratinus had drained his goblet, +Polus began: + +“I don’t know how pleasure could be discussed among us, without +recalling the words you heard from the mouth of the messenger in the +tragedy we are celebrating: + + + “When pleasure is no more, + Man then is but an animated corpse, + Nor can be said to live: he may be rich, + Or decked with regal honors; but if joy + Be absent from him, if he tastes them not, + ’Tis useless grandeur all, and empty shade.” + + +“I praise mirth,” said Sophocles, “not merely because it makes life +pleasant, but because it renders it beautiful. Many terrors dwell in +the depths of existence, and the question has often been asked whether +it was not better, not to live. But since we do live, we must seek to +cover the gulf of life and its terrors, as far as possible, with the +flowers of beauty and her twin brother joy. The boundary of man’s +existence is a narrow one, but within these bounds we are permitted to +be men, and develop pure humanity nobly in a little circle. To be a +true man is to be generous and gentle, and this bright gentleness +becomes the limit, within which he divinely feels his existence. To be +called generous and gentle, as well as beautiful and gay, is the pride +of the Hellenes.” + +“I thank you for this remark!” said Pericles. “I have sometimes been +reproached for being too mild and forbearing in war, but I thought I +was merely acting as a Hellene. If there are battles again, either on +sea or land, I shall ask the Athenian nation to give me the author of +‘Antigone’ for a fellow-strategus.” + +“Sophocles a strategus?” cried several of the company. + +“Why not?” said Sophocles smiling, “my father was an armorer. That +indicates I was born for a strategus.” + +“Do you expect the troops to embark and stand out to sea soon, +Pericles?” cried Hipponicus. + +“It is very possible!” replied Pericles. + +“I’m content, but I hope you’ll take no other admiral-galley, on which +to win new laurels, than the one I shall equip as trierarch.” + +“I will choose no other,” replied Pericles. “But let us not suffer +martial enthusiasm to gain the upper hand at so peaceful a banquet. It +would be discourteous, if before passing to other matters, we did not +ask Anaxagoras whether he approves or rejects what has been said here +concerning pleasure.” + +“If you want my opinion,” said Anaxagoras, “I will not withhold it. +What you have stated shows your desire to secure as many beautiful, +good, and pleasant things as possible. But I maintain that true, +genuine happiness does not come from without, but is found in the +depths of the inner life. Happiness is not synonymous with pleasure; +and is so far from being dependent upon outside things, that it exists +in the greatest perfection without them. Voluntarily submitting to +universal reason, destroying self-will, is the shield of wisdom, +virtue, and all true happiness, the firm citadel of apathy, where +enthroned without desires of any kind, the passionless man, who is +sufficient for himself, proves unconquerable even by the powers of +fate.” + +Anaxagoras’ words made a singular impression. Pericles listened with +the thoughtful attention he always bestowed upon the outpourings of his +old friend’s heart. A slight shadow flitted over Aspasia’s brow. Her +eyes encountered the glance of Protagoras. As if by some secret +understanding, the gaze of the fair woman and the sophist met, and when +the brilliant rhetorician looked around the circle, ready to answer the +philosopher, the light sparkling in Aspasia’s eyes, seemed striving to +kindle his thoughts, wing his words. + +“Stern and harsh,” he began, “ring the words of the sage of Clazomenæ +in this spot, where but now, amid the sound of joyous songs, the mirth +of the festival surged around the flower-wreathed altar of Dionysus! +But even he—mark it well—even he, the stern, harsh philosopher, has +spoken of happiness as man’s highest goal. Only he thinks differently +of the means that lead to it. And indeed happiness has many names and +forms, and numerous are the paths leading to its sunny heights. Many +find their pleasure in the intoxication of the senses; others, urged by +a loftier nobility of the soul towards the beautiful, rise to purer +spheres of enjoyment, and a third class is that of the godlike men, who +dwell above clouds and winds in eternal serenity. Do you know to which +of these three methods of procuring happiness I give the preference? To +none, but to him who understands how to follow each of these various +ways according to place and time! When goblets beckon and bright eyes +sparkle, let us follow the merry wisdom of Hipponicus; when marvels of +beauty gleam before our eyes, and humanity displays its noblest +development, we will share the glorified joy of Sophocles; when the sky +darkens, when unavoidable sorrow and disaster throng upon us, it will +be time to say to garlanded pleasure: ‘Farewell,’ and gird ourselves +with the divine equanimity and beautiful repose of the wise Anaxagoras! +To be capable of sacrifice is praiseworthy—but we will only practise +this art, when we require it. When it is time to rejoice, we will +rejoice. Whoever understands how to enjoy wisely, will not lack the +wisdom of renunciation. He will make pleasure his slave, not be the +slave of pleasure. He will make things yield to him, not succumb to +them. And if that which is set by wisdom as the limit of our pleasures, +is nothing more than the natural, legitimate standard of pleasure, and +joy, stifling in its own excess, is no longer joy, but its opposite, so +that its limits are not external, but internal; why talk of virtue and +temperance as things alien, even hostile to pleasure? Renunciation, +sacrifice, virtue without joy may become familiar to the thoughts of +the Hellene, but never to his soul. Even ordinary toil, working at +trades, and labor to supply common needs, he considers unworthy of him. +That is why the slave, the barbarian works for the Hellenes. The more +ignoble portion of humanity must sacrifice itself for the nobler, that +the ideal of an existence really worthy of the dignity of mankind may +be realized. Were I a law-giver, a second Lycurgus or Solon, and the +tablets of the law were put unwritten in my hands, I would seize them +and with a golden stylus place at the top the words: Mortals, be +beautiful—be free—be happy.” + +Protagoras gazed steadily at Aspasia while speaking, rejoicing in the +encouragement that beamed upon him from her face. Assent was almost +universal throughout the circle, and Pericles said he would place the +next colony that left Athens under Protagoras’ command; for he seemed +well suited to regulate a community according to the Greek spirit. + +“Happy Protagoras,” Socrates began, “happy Protagoras, who is permitted +to transmute the gold of Aspasia’s silence into the ringing coin of +alluring words. If I have understood your speech, as well as you read +the language of Aspasia’s eyes, you seem to regard wisdom as one of the +means for the promotion of pleasure, which so to speak, can be kept +ready and drawn out of the pocket when there is nothing better at +hand—” + +“What is wisdom?” interrupted Protagoras. “Question a thousand men, and +what one calls wisdom, others will term folly. But ask them what causes +pleasure and what disgust, and all will be of the same opinion.” + +“Do you really think so?” replied Socrates. “If it should be put to the +test—” + +“Allow me to take it upon myself to answer Socrates,” interrupted +Aspasia—“though not with words, for how could I presume to take my +place by Protagoras’ side, when wisdom was under discussion? I will +meet the perpetual doubter and questioner with the means which, as +queen of the symposium, are at my disposal to test the objections he +has last uttered.” + +“But first,” she continued, “let the lips, which have perhaps grown dry +in the heat of conversation, be moistened with fresh dew.” + +At her command, fresh wine was mixed and the guests drank still larger +potations. + +“This wine is from Lesbos!” said Hipponicus, “the flower of the vine! +It is less fragrant than the Thasian, but its flavor is still better.” + +“It is both mild and fiery, like the soul of its countrywoman, Sappho!” +cried Protagoras, tasting the contents of his goblet with the tips of +his lips. + +The beakers, by Aspasia’s command, were drained in honor of the Lesbian +poetess and refilled, while the eyes of the revellers began to sparkle +still more brightly. + +“Now let those enter,” said Aspasia, “who are ready to make us feel the +emotion, concerning which, according to Protagoras, all men are united, +but in Socrates’ opinion not.” + +Female flute-players, dancers, and jugglers entered the hall, all young +and charming, all wreathed, perfumed, jewelled and exquisitely dressed. + +The flute-playing began in soft, sweet notes, and to its accompaniment +first commenced the pantomimic dances. Theodota’s performance, so +greatly admired by Socrates, he now saw multiplied by a group of lovely +figures. After these dancers had charmed all eyes by their art, the +feats executed by the jugglers exerted a bewildering, fascinating +influence. When the latter, dancing in time to the music, skilfully +tossed and caught a number of hoops or balls, or were whirled around on +the potter’s wheel, the swift movements of the slender, girlish figures +possessed an enchanting grace. But when they commenced the sword-dance, +performing their feats of jugglery while dancing between the blades, +fastened point uppermost in the ground, and turning somersaults forward +and backward over the glittering steel, a sense of pleasure mingled +with fear thrilled the spectator. When one of these slender, charming +maidens, clad in a short, closely-fitting dress, which clearly revealed +her beautiful proportions, supported herself by resting her hands on +the floor, and with a graceful curve of the body threw her feet over +her back and head to fill a goblet from the vessel standing before her, +grasping it with the toes of the left foot, while she seized the handle +of the jar with the toes of the other; or in the same position +discharged an arrow from a bow—it was not merely astonishment at the +skill displayed, but admiration of the marvellous freedom and almost +superhuman flexibility developed in the limbs, which put Hipponicus’ +guests in ecstasies of delight. + +When the dances and games were over, and the jugglers, musicians and +dancers had retired amid the enthusiastic applause of the guests, +Aspasia said: + +“What we have seen appears to have given pleasure to all, and we are +unanimous in this emotion, while formerly, when discussing a dogma of +wisdom, we could not agree. The test on which it depended, as you said, +Socrates, is therefore settled—” + +“You well know, Aspasia,” replied Socrates, “that no one in the world +is more willing to be taught than I. Allow me, however, to ask +Protagoras one more question. If, as he instructed us, there are +various kinds of pleasure, and we call whatever procures it a blessing, +there are doubtless various kinds of blessings, among which one is +supreme. But to discover this supreme good among other good things, and +thereby secure the highest pleasure amid other pleasures—for pleasure, +as we have said, is not the blessing itself, but produced by the +possession of the blessing—doesn’t it require a little discernment, or +penetration, or wisdom, or whatever the faculty may be called?” + +“You see this man is driving you into a corner, Protagoras,” replied +Aspasia smiling, “but it is my duty to see that the strife does not +grow too violent. I have been forming a little plan against this +belligerent Socrates for the last half hour. I don’t think it +advisable, that he should occupy the same pile of cushions with +Anaxagoras, and thus constantly draw fresh vigor and pugnacity from his +master’s presence. Nay, it seems to me, in general, that Hipponicus’ +guests have paired off in a manner dangerous to the general welfare, +and favorable to secret conspiracies. I have repeatedly noticed Phidias +and Ictinus whispering together, and see Cratinus put his lips to the +ear of his neighbor, Polygnotus, far more often than is necessary. By +virtue of my authority as queen of the revel, I shall order a universal +change of seats and companions.” + +“So be it!” cried the joyous revellers; “we will gladly obey you. Let +us hear how you intend to pair us.” + +“Very well,” said Aspasia; “Hipponicus must bid Socrates rise, and +himself recline beside Anaxagoras; loquacious Polus can take his place +by silent Ictinus; saucy Cratinus shall have for a neighbor gentle +Sophocles. Phidias must join Polygnotus. But whom shall I place with +Socrates? I can’t possibly let him recline by Protagoras’ side, on the +contrary, I must remove these two opponents as far from each other as +possible. So what can be done, except to ask you, Protagoras, to take +my place here, while I sit beside Socrates?” + +Aspasia rose and seated herself on the lower edge of the pile of +cushions where Socrates lay. + +The guests had cheerfully obeyed the directions of the queen of the +banquet, only they now secretly and loudly envied Socrates his +companion. + +The close vicinity of the beauty exerted a singular influence upon the +young man himself. If Anaxagoras’ presence, as Aspasia expressed it, +had aroused belligerent emotion, this charming woman awakened a desire +for peace and harmony. + +“What does this mean?” cried Aspasia, bending towards Socrates and +looking at his wreath, “many leaves have already fallen from your +garland. That is a sign the wearer has some secret love-trouble. Is it +your latest friend, the saucy boy Alcibiades, who vexed you? Well, I +have come to answer you. What were the doubts you wished to have +solved?” + +Socrates, basking in the light of Aspasia’s eyes, fanned by her breath, +intoxicated by the rustle of her garments, answered: + +“Aspasia! I had doubts—and they were beautifully arranged in my head in +battle array. But just as I was about to send them forth in the best +order, a flower-wreathed barrier was pushed forward, so that it seems +as if they must fall over it and break their legs. Shall I say what +appears doubtful to me, Aspasia? There is at this moment only one +thing, and that is that you are sitting beside me.” + +Old Anaxagoras, who meantime had silently addressed himself to the +beaker, glanced with a somewhat scornful smile at the friend, who thus +shamefully laid down his arms. + +“You see, Anaxagoras,” said Socrates, “I have fallen in battle for a +good cause, and you, the old man for whom I really drew the sword, must +now bear me out of the conflict. Avenge me, if you can.” + +“Why not?” replied Anaxagoras, after another draught from his goblet; +“I feel by no means like an aged Priam, to maintain a timid silence in +the presence of this young Achilles. I would fain say a few words to +you, Protagoras.” + +“Stay!” cried Aspasia, “if you intend to utter words of import, permit +me to do my duty and wing your tongue with the most fiery and delicious +of all wines, the blissful fluid pressed from the grapes of Chios, +which has been reserved till now.” + +So saying, Aspasia ordered the most famous of all the Greek wines to be +offered. + +The goblets were emptied, and from this moment there was no one in the +circle who, elevated far above the sphere of sober reason, had not +fallen a victim to the inspiring power of Dionysus. + +Anaxagoras began to talk somewhat confusedly about pleasure, virtue, +knowledge, and universal reason. + +As if to incite him to collect his thoughts, Aspasia herself offered +him a beaker of the Chian. + +The philosopher drank, and his speech grew still more confused; he +began to stammer and nod. At last his head sank on his breast. A few +moments more, and the old man was quietly asleep. + +A merry laugh rang through the ranks of the revellers. + +“What have you done, Aspasia?” they cried. “You have disarmed and +lulled to slumber the last champion of stern wisdom.” + +“At a joyous banquet,” replied Aspasia, “it beseems stern wisdom to +nod. But this noble old man has not fallen asleep unwatched by the +Graces. See what a beautiful sight is presented by the spectacle of the +grey-haired sage breathing in quiet slumber. I propose that we all take +off our garlands to put them on the head and shoulders of the sleeper, +and thus bury this peaceful sleeping wisdom.” + +All obeyed Aspasia’s command, and in a few minutes the philosopher’s +head was buried under flowers. + +Socrates continued to drink without becoming intoxicated, but feigned +to be so in order to whisper the strangest things into Aspasia’s ear, +unrebuked. + +Grave Phidias told the boy who filled his goblet, that he wanted to use +him as a model for one of his figures on the inner frieze of the +Parthenon. Cratinus uttered secret imprecations, and said to his +neighbor Sophocles: + +“This sorceress, this Circe, this Omphale shall remember me! She makes +me drink even Chian from the large goblet. So long as I was sober, I +didn’t notice anything, but now I see her design.” Polygnotus assured +his neighbor, that with the exception of Elpinice, he had never seen a +woman so well formed as Aspasia. + +“Pericles,” said Hipponicus pathetically, “Pericles, you know how I +have always honored you, how much gratitude I owe you for releasing me +years ago from the bonds of beautiful, but quarrelsome Telesippe. Do me +that favor about the treasure-house on the Acropolis—for I employ six +thousand slaves in the silver-mines, my wealth is daily increasing, and +people are not safe from thieves. And when your ward Alcibiades grows +up—my little daughter Hipparete—the fairest of all virgins—” + +“Never mind!” said Pericles with a good-natured smile. He was the only +one in the whole company entirely untouched by the power of Bacchus—not +because he had drunk less, but because his constitution was as strong +as his nature was gentle. He conversed with Protagoras about politics, +the changes of popular government in Athens, the colonies to be sent +out, the possibility of a speedy war. But Protagoras gazed frequently +at the beautiful Milesian. Finally the silent Ictinus, inspired by the +Chian, surprised the revellers by commencing a pæan to Dionysus, which +was sung in chorus by all the others. + +Thus the waves of social pleasure, winged by the gifts of Bacchus, the +charms of the senses, the spell of the Milesian’s mirth, and spiced +with the flower of Hellenic intellect, rolled on at the symposium until +the dawn of morning. + +Then the brilliant Protagoras rose, saying: + +“Aspasia, as you know, has yielded her place to me. I will take +advantage of it to assume the dignity of symposiarch, and invite you to +drain this last beaker in her honor. She has held high aloft the banner +of beautiful pleasure, victoriously defended the kingdom of innocent +mirth against the assaults of sternness and the harshness of wisdom—has +ever, just at the right moment, battled against foes, now with the +gifts of the goblet, now with the aid of Eros and the Graces, has +lulled the truth-seeker’s questions to rest, and buried the +philosopher’s grey head under flowers—has guided us all pleasantly over +the flood-tide of the Dionysian waves of joy. Innocent intoxication has +no peril to noble Greek brows, and does not injuriously penetrate the +brain, but casts its silvery mist like dew upon the leaves of the +garlands, with which we shade our heads. So let us drain the last +beaker to the honor of the fair and wise Aspasia.” + +Protagoras ceased speaking, and was joined in the pledge by the +distinguished men who, though assembled at the banquet as garlanded +revellers, were grouped around Pericles and Aspasia in the field of +fame, as the shining stars of ancient Hellas. + +When the last goblets had been emptied, the men, after clasping each +other’s hands, left the house in the grey dawn. + +“Are you, too, satisfied with the symposiarch Protagoras praised?” +Aspasia asked Pericles, when she found herself alone with him. + +“From this day I shall admire you more than ever,” replied Pericles, +“but do not you fear I may love you less?” + +“Why?” asked Aspasia. + +“You have something for every one—what is left for Pericles?” + +“Myself!” answered Aspasia. + +He kissed her forehead, and she clasped him in a joyous embrace. + +“I know not” said Pericles as he left her, “whether I should rather +rush into the field of action far away, or spend a honey-moon of love +alone with you in idyllic repose.” + +“Perhaps the gods may grant one or the other, or even both, at some +fitting time.” + +The Milesian closed her beautiful, weary eyes that morning with the +consciousness that she had approached nearer to her goal. She +remembered the hour when she had been obliged to leave Pericles’ house +in humiliation, thought of the proud Telesippe, who supposed herself so +unassailable, so immovable in her sovereignty over the domestic +hearth—and said to herself that her secret and open plans were maturing +to fulfilment, and she should yet triumph in her mission of planting +forever on the ruins of custom and prejudice the banner of freedom +beauty and joy. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +SAMOS. + + +“I shouldn’t have thought it,” cried old Callippides, standing in the +midst of one of the numerous groups of Athenians, who assembled in the +great market-place of the Piræeus, were eagerly conversing together—“I +wouldn’t have believed it, for when I passed the statue of Athena on +the Acropolis a short time ago, I saw the goddess’ spear covered with +chirping crickets. That means peace, I said to myself. To be sure, the +next day a weasel ran across the Pnyx, just before the popular +assembly—” + +“Do you mean to croak misfortune, old man?” cried the others. + +“Samos may lead other allies to revolt,” replied the old man, +“rebellion may be stirred up against us, Sparta may interfere, a +general Hellenic war may arise. A great deal of tinder is stored up, as +people say. After all, what is it to us whether the Samians or the +Milesians possess Priene?” + +“The dignity of Athens must be maintained!” cried a youth impetuously, +extending his hand and raising his head proudly. “Samos and Miletus, as +members of the league, must lay their disputes before Athens, the head +of the alliance. Samos refuses to do this, and therefore Pericles is +enraged against the Samians—” + +“And in his wrath has requested the popular assembly to give him the +gentle Sophocles for a fellow-general!” said one of the men smiling. + +“On account of Antigone!” cried others. “He has done right. Long live +Sophocles.” + +“You know nothing about it!” said Sporgilus, the barber, whom curiosity +and the excitement of the times had urged to the harbor. “You know +nothing about the matter, you don’t even know how this Samian affair +originated, and who really contrived it.” + +“Long live Sporgilus!” shouted several. “Hear Sporgilus. He’s one of +the people, who always know in the morning just what Zeus has said to +Hera during the night.” + +“May a boil as big as my fist come out on my nose,” cried Sporgilus, +“if what I am telling you isn’t the exact truth. Aspasia has persuaded +Pericles. I am sure of it—just listen to me. The day after the Milesian +embassy arrived here, I was standing in the market-place, when the +ambassadors passed, looking about them as if they wanted to ask +something. At last one came up to me, and said: ‘Here, my Athenian +friend, can’t you show us where the young Milesian, Aspasia, lives.’ +The men evidently supposed I didn’t know them—but I did. I should have +recognized them by their smooth manners and costly dress, if I hadn’t +seen them elsewhere. I directed them as courteously as I could, +described the Milesian’s house and the way to it, for which they +thanked me most cordially and walked straight towards it. It was +already dark. They slipped into the Milesian’s house. Do you mark it? +The ambassadors, I tell you, have secretly bargained with the Milesian; +then she coaxed Pericles and inspired him with great indignation +against the Samians—” + +“There it is!” cried one of the listeners. “Sporgilus really does know +what Hera has said to Zeus. But—there is Pericles with his companion +Sophocles—no doubt he is training him for his new office.” + +In fact the two men were now walking in a somewhat deserted spot, +absorbed in confidential conversation. + +“You will astonish the Athenians,” said Sophocles; “they would have +expected Pericles to be inclined to anything at this moment, rather +than that. He seemed completely absorbed, in the works of peace, the +promotion of internal prosperity, and—love for the beautiful Aspasia.” + +“My friend!” replied Pericles smiling, “is it any marvel, that the +strategus is unwilling to leave all the laurels to those who are +working with trowel, chisel and stylus? I confess I have long felt +secretly troubled and restless. I seemed idle amid all this activity, +and the soft fetters of roses which bound me, sometimes appeared almost +humiliating.” + +“What?” replied Sophocles, “do you count it nothing, that you are +always the busiest of the busy, that everything which has been done and +created, has only been rendered possible, promoted, and helped forward +to a prosperous end, by your exertions?” + +“It does not satisfy the expectations which may be formed of us!” +replied Pericles. “I don’t wish to be merely a helper, I want to +accomplish something myself, and therefore, as a strategus, can only +seize the sword again. Why should I alone remain untouched by the +beautiful fire of ambition burning all around me?” + +“And yet you desire to share your martial renown with me?” asked the +poet after a short pause. + +“Rather than—the favor of a charming woman!” replied Pericles, looking +his friend sharply in the eye. + +The latter started. “An idea suddenly begins to dawn upon me, a strange +light is thrown upon the real cause of my election as strategus.” + +“Everything that happens in the world, dearest friend,” replied +Pericles smiling, “has a hundred causes, not one. Who can say which is +the most important.” + +“Wouldn’t you prefer to leave me behind and take Aspasia with you to +Samos?” asked the poet. + +Pericles smiled again. “Be comforted,” he said at last, “we shall +merely take a little pleasure-trip, a sea-voyage of a few weeks; for +any serious resistance by the Samians to the might of Athens is not to +be thought of. Samos is a beautiful city, you will be charmed with it; +Melissus, the commander of the Samian squadron is, as you know, a +philosopher of the Eleatian school, whose acquaintance you will perhaps +have the pleasure of making; and if we sail past Chios, we will visit +your fellow-poet, Ion, the tragedian, who dwells there in delightful +leisure.” + +“You intend to visit Ion?” cried Sophocles; “remember he bears you no +good-will, since you were his rival with the fair Chrysilla.” + +“My treatment of a person,” replied Pericles, “will never be influenced +by his regard for me, but by mine for him. Ion is a worthy man. He will +entertain us with the best of his native Chian, though you have been +his rival in tragedy—” + +“And you, I repeat,” interrupted Sophocles, “his rival with the +beautiful Chrysilla, who now, to the best of my knowledge, lives with +him in Chios.” + +“Never mind Chrysilla!” said Pericles. + +The poet gaily submitted to his fate, and Pericles began to instruct +him in the duties of his new profession. + +If at that time a sheet covered with writing was seen in Sophocles’ +hand, it was no sketch of a tragedy, choral song, or hymn to Eros or +Dionysus, but lists of the seaworthy crews he had collected, or the +rich citizens he must invite to command certain ships as trierarchs and +defray part of the cost of their equipment. He now found himself +dragged by Pericles away from the charming solitude of the green valley +of Cephissus, to the armories and military havens of Zea and Munychia, +to the tumult of the Piræeus, where the dreaded sea-dragons of the +Athenian navy were drawn into the sea, the bustle of the arsenals, +where there was a perpetual scraping, planing, hammering, nailing and +creaking. At first it was almost horrible to the beauty-loving poet to +hear the outcries of the oarsmen and sailors, among whom, being still +idle, there were constant quarrels about the flute-players, sometimes +ending in broken heads. His ears rang with the shrill whistle of the +boatswains, the shouts of the oarsmen; for the trierarchs daily raced +in the Gulf with the triremes already equipped, to try which vessel was +the best and sailed fastest. + +When the day of departure arrived, the high-decked ships with +sharply-pointed keels, triple banks of oars rising one above another, +towering prow, and stern shaped like a swan’s neck, gaily painted and +ornamented with statues of Pallas and other emblems, floated boldly in +well-ordered ranks on the blue waves. At the blast of a trumpet a +solemn silence ensued, during which the herald, standing on the deck of +the admiral’s galley, uttered a prayer, repeated by all on board the +different ships, and in which the people on shore joined; the smoke of +sacrifice rose into the blue morning air, the whole army poured +libations from gold and silver goblets, and began to sing a pæan, the +sails were unfurled to the wind, the fleet moved, the sea foamed under +the strokes of countless oars, and accompanied by the blessings of the +spectators, the long train of vessels passed out of the harbor in to +the open sea. Now the poet Sophocles became a strategus heart and soul, +and his own hero Ajax could not have set forth from Salamis for Troy +more proudly, than he himself now left Colonus for Samos. + +At the end of a few weeks, a swift vessel arrived at the Piræeus, +bringing reports from Pericles to the council and popular assembly. The +commander of the ship that conveyed this news, secretly delivered, not +as trierarch, but as a personal friend of Pericles, a letter not +intended for the public. It was written by the latter to Aspasia. + +The lines ran as follows: + +“I know not how it happened, that my breast scarcely ever heaved more +proudly than at the moment I left the harbor of Athens with the fleet, +and again felt the open sea beneath me. As I stood on the ship’s deck, +and the winds of the Ægean fanned my brow, it seemed as if a breath of +freedom touched me and I had regained myself. Regained? A foolish word! +Had I lost myself? I don’t know—unless it were to you, Aspasia. For a +moment it really seemed as if, during the last few weeks, I had +stretched myself a little too luxuriously on the rose-couch of love. I +was almost angry with you about it. But when I recollected myself, I +was forced to acknowledge that I was doing you the greatest injustice, +and that, on the contrary, it was precisely the influence emanating +from you, never enervating, but always inspiring, that had sent me +forth from quiet Athens to the field of action. + +“So I no longer feel ashamed of my love for you, nor the ardent +yearning I have to see you again, though it almost wrought me evil. + +“I found the Samians ill prepared for battle, and surprised them when +only half ready. I was almost ashamed of so easy a conquest. There +seemed to be nothing more to do, so I was making arrangements to return +to Athens, hoping that the rapidity of the victory would secure me some +renown. Did the wish to regain what I had left at home have some share +in this speedy return? I am not aware of it, but shall not venture to +deny the possibility. At any rate, the haste with which I wished to +return did not prove so profitable, as that I had shown in setting out. +I learned that we advance rapidly to the field of battle, but must be +cautious in retiring. + +“But why should I tell you of things, which are probably already in the +mouths of the whole populace of Athens? Our fleet is burning with the +longing to retrieve the lost naval battle; even the gentle Sophocles is +glowing at this moment with the fire of Ares. I have sent him to Chios +and Lesbos to bring the ships of the allies; other reënforcements are +on the way. + +“Send me news of yourself and my friends in Athens, by the same +trierarch who delivered this letter, and be assured I am no less +anxious to hear from you than you are to have tidings from me. Tell +Phidias he must not allow himself to be disturbed in his creations by +the noise of war. It will be the greatest joy of our return, if the +lofty columns of the temple on the Acropolis, far advanced towards +completion, gleam before us.” + +Such were the contents of the letter Pericles sent Aspasia. The +Milesian answered as follows: + +“I am glad you so quickly resigned the thought, that the bold Pericles’ +nature had of late been made effeminate by Aspasia. On the contrary, +must I not reproach myself for having, by my intercession for my +countrymen, helped urge you to the field of action, as you call it? + +“A short separation did not seem to me wholly unprofitable; for you +appeared to be growing a little weary of peace, pleasure, and love for +Aspasia. Now you no longer feel ashamed of the desire to see me and +your friends once more. The longing to behold a dear one is always +strongest, directly after the person has been left or lost. I fear you +will be able to endure the separation more and more easily the longer +it lasts, until finally, like Agamemnon before Troy, you will be +content to lie off Samos ten years, if necessary. + +“My longing to see you, on the contrary, cannot be weakened by time, +for it is nourished by inactivity and solitude. You have left me almost +as lonely as if I were your wife; you have taken cheerful Sophocles +with you, and sent brilliant Protagoras, in charge of a colony, to a +distant land. Only Socrates remains, and he sometimes seeks my society; +but whether from distrust of me, himself, or you, never except +accompanied by some other person, and always appears with a man almost +as eccentric as himself. This man is the tragic poet Euripides, a +younger rival of our Sophocles. He and Socrates are inseparable, and it +is even rumored that the latter helps him with his tragedies, because +they are so rich in thoughtful sayings. But this is foolish. They are +so much alike, that I don’t know what one need borrow from the other. +Both are dripping with wisdom. What Socrates is among thinkers, +Euripides is among poets: hypercritical and eccentric. A book-worm too: +he has collected a vast number of volumes, and is completely devoted to +the Muses. For the rest, he looks like all poets—a prematurely-old face +on an ever-youthful, active body. He is reserved, sullen, and rude in +character, and associates only with Socrates and the Sophists. +Socrates, however, influenced him so far, that he became curious to see +me. + +“‘This man,’ said Socrates, when he introduced him, ‘is the admirable +tragic poet, Euripides, whom I hope you will doubly admire, when you +hear that his father, Mnesarchus, was a tavern-keeper, and his mother, +Cleito, a huckster of vegetables. You must know too, that he was born +on the island of Salamis, on the very day of the great Persian battle.’ + +“‘A great omen!’ said I. + +“‘That is possible,’ replied Euripides, ‘but what the gods originally +intended I should be is not yet perfectly clear.’ + +“Then he told me in detail—for after he once began to talk, he became +tolerably loquacious—how his father, in a dream, received a promise +that his new-born son would emerge victorious from famous contests. His +father, like a true Hellene, interpreted this to mean victories at +Olympia or Nemea, and had him carefully instructed in gymnastic arts; +indeed, when a boy, he really won a prize at the Panathenaic festival; +but he gradually developed more taste for books than for wrestling or +throwing the discus, and finally, instead of a garlanded Olympian +athlete, became a candidate for the prize of tragic poetry. + +“‘How does it happen,’ I asked, ‘that in all your tragedies you +interweave remarks against women, and are universally called a +misogynist?’ + +“‘I am married!’ he replied. + +“‘Is that a reason for hating all women, even those to whom you are not +bound by ties of this nature?’ + +“‘Socrates brought me to you,’ he answered, ‘to cure me of my misogyny. +I now esteem but one woman on earth; my mother, Cleito, the former +vegetable-huckster—I say former, for I have now prevailed upon her to +give up the business and manage a little country-estate I own.’ + +“I expressed a wish to make this woman’s acquaintance. + +“‘If it will not bore you to hear the story of my birth in a grotto on +the shore of Salamis, during the great battle—for she spares no one who +approaches her—it will be an easy matter to gratify you,’ he said. + +“A few days after, accompanied by a female slave, I visited the +secluded, modest country-house where mother Cleito reigns—its stillness +is only interrupted by the resounding lines of her poetic son, when he +retires to this rural solitude to be entirely undisturbed—found the +worthy woman among her hens, ducks, and sucking-pigs, and told her I +wished to hear the story of her son’s birth at Salamis during the great +naval battle. + +“Sincerely delighted, the little mother said with evident pride: + +“‘That is a tale, lady, I have told even the great Themistocles.’ + +“Then, after driving away the hens and doves, she invited me to sit +down on a grassy bank in the garden. + +“‘Oh, child,’ she said, ‘it was a day of horror, when the Persian +troops burst into our sacred Athens, burned everything, slew the people +at the altars, and shot lighted arrows, dipped in pitch, from the Hill +of Ares to the Acropolis, until all the temples were in flames, and the +immense volume of smoke floated in black clouds over the sea. But while +the city was burning, the men vowed that they would die with arms in +their hands under the smoking ruins, the women wailed, and measureless +lamentations arose because Athens, sacred Athens, would be burned, +effaced from the earth, Themistocles, the naval hero, came forward and +extending his hand towards the sea and fleet, shouted: ‘There is +Athens!’ and urged all the men to go on board the ships. Beside him +stood the long-bearded priest from the temple of Erechtheus, who +announced that a highly-significant miracle had happened—the sacred +serpent had disappeared of his own accord from the burning temple, a +sign that the protecting divinity of the city, Pallas Athena, and all +the gods had left it, and the Athenians’ native land at this moment was +on the sea, on the ships of Themistocles’ navy. + +“‘While the men all went on board the ships, it was pitiful to see the +women, children, and old men rush into the boats, which were ready on +the coast and by the ford of Salamis,—many upset, because they were +unable to hold the crowd of fugitives. + +“‘Not even the dogs would stay in the deserted city; they plunged into +the sea and swam beside their masters’ ships as long as they could. You +must know, child, that this was just before the birth of my son; but I +succeeded with a throng of others, in safely reaching the shore of +Salamis, where several women and children, among them I myself, sought +shelter for the night in a cave in the rocks. It was a very unquiet +night, for all the Greek ships had gathered around Salamis, and shouts +rang from galley to galley all night long, so that it would have been +impossible for even those free from care to close an eye. Besides, it +also chanced to be the time of the festival of Iacchus, when, as night +is waning, the statue of the god is borne by torch-light across the sea +in a great festal procession, from Ægina to Eleusis. Themistocles did +not wish this celebration to be omitted from fear of the Persians, so +just as the Greeks were arranging their ships in battle array, the +beautifully-decorated vessel bearing the sacred statues of the Æacides +came across from Ægina, and the whole bay glowed in the light shed by +the torches, so that all the Greeks on the galleys were animated with +still greater courage, because they saw that the native gods still +ruled. When morning came and I dragged myself to the shore with other +women, the ships of the Hellenes were already drawn up for battle, the +whole Euripus was swarming, and the great Persian fleet, stretching +farther than the eye could reach, was sailing slowly from Phalerum. + +“‘My strength failed and I was obliged to return to the grotto, where I +lay deserted on my bed of sea-weed, for the women, who had shared the +shelter with me during the night, ran away. All the women and children +at Salamis had husbands and fathers on the ships, and were standing +crowded together on the cliffs, gazing at the galleys, wringing their +hands and praying to the gods. I now heard a shrill flourish of +trumpets, then a pæan sung by thousands of voices—though the sounds +were subdued by the distance ere they reached my ears. Then it seemed +like a terrible hurricane rushing through a dense olive wood, with +thousands of tree-tops crashing—but it was the crash of the ships +striking against each other, intermingled with the war-cries of our own +troops and the Barbarians, echoing faintly from the distance. How long +this lasted I know not, and I can tell you nothing about the battle, +daughter, for I didn’t see it; I was tossing helplessly all day on my +couch, longing for some refreshment, and at last fell fainting into a +slumber which might well have been my last. Suddenly, amid my +death-like sleep, I heard loud shouts of joy from the women, recovered +my consciousness and remembered that I was in Salamis. Many a sudden +outburst of lamentation mingled with the exulting shouts, for not only +were countless fragments of galleys washed up on the strand, but dead +bodies, among which many of the women recognized a son or husband. Many +of those wounded in the battle, and many of the crews of the shattered +ships, who were nearer the shore of Salamis than the Athenian coast on +the opposite side, escaped to the island, bringing the message that the +Persians had been defeated and were flying across the sea, leaving the +smoking ruins of Athens, and we might return to our rescued city that +very day. Just think, child, how I felt, when my husband, Mnesarchus, +who was among those that had landed, came rushing into the grotto as +unexpectedly as if the gods themselves had guided him, shouting: +‘Athens is free again, Athens is ours again!’ He was about to rush on +with the joyful tidings, when he suddenly caught sight of me and the +new-born babe. Imagine the scene! He could not speak, only seized the +little fellow, lifted him in his arms and fairly danced about with him, +in his twofold joy as conqueror and father. Then he dashed away to +bring me water and other refreshments, until at last, though slowly, I +recovered from the death-like exhaustion into which I had sunk. + +“‘The next day a great festival was celebrated on the island in honor +of the victory. Youths, crowned with garlands, danced around the +trophies, while the Persian was flying with the remnant of his hordes +to the distant East. Mnesarchus, with his new-born son in his arms, +went through the crowd, showing the child to all the Greeks and telling +them it was born on the day of the battle. When Themistocles himself +came up and heard the tale, he said: ‘Praised be the Athenian mothers, +who give us new citizens during the battle, to make amends for those +who have fallen in defence of their native land,’ and gave orders that +a hundred drachmæ should be paid to Mnesarchus. So everything passed +off happily, and Mnesarchus called the boy Euripides, in memory of the +fact that he was born on the day of victory in the Euripus, the +sea-ford of Salamis.’ + +“This was the story worthy mother Cleito told me, precisely as I have +written it for you.” + +A few days after Aspasia’s letter had been sent to Pericles, news of +victory came from Samos, and with it another missive for Aspasia. + +“You are matchless, Aspasia, and always wholly yourself. Was it +accident, or by some secret design, that you told me in your letter +about that mother at Salamis. When your lines arrived with the +reënforcements from Athens, my fleet was already drawn up in line of +battle before the Samian ships. I read the story of Cleito and, full of +enthusiasm, gave the signal of attack. + +“We conquered. But I shall avoid giving you a description of the +battle. How could I, in presence of the memory you have so vividly +conjured up of the heroic deeds of Salamis, boast of my petty Samian +success, by which their fleet has been rendered harmless, though the +resistance of the city itself is not yet broken. We are besieging it by +land and water. This Samos is a powerful city, and very magnificent in +its appearance; but her greatest and most famous temple, as you know, +is dedicated to Hera, goddess of marriage, and in this temple are +reared whole flocks of the bird sacred to this divinity, but hateful to +us both. + +“Sophocles too, has read your letter, with great delight in the story +of Cleito. As he was among the youths and boys, who danced around the +trophies at the festival in honor of the victory, of which Cleito +speaks, while Æschylus was among the warriors, these tragic poets all +have their share in the honors of Salamis—though Euripides’ is surely +the least, since he merely chanced to be born. + +“I have questioned Sophocles about Euripides, and asked him what he +thought of the latter’s hatred of women. Sophocles replied that +Euripides only hated women, because he loved them. If he didn’t care +for them and could do without them, he wouldn’t trouble himself about +them, would not speak of them, it would be a matter of indifference to +him whether they were good or bad. So says Sophocles, therefore I think +the renown of curing Euripides of his misogyny will be a very trifling +victory for you.” + +Aspasia answered this letter in the following manner: + +“Your victory before Samos has given the Athenians great cause for +rejoicing, in which I secretly joined with all my heart; only you have +clouded my share of the common joy by the modesty with which, in your +letter, you withheld the description of your naval battle. I am +generally content if you do not fill your pages with public or military +affairs, but confine yourself to what concerns your own person; yet it +is said that this very battle shows you in the full splendor of your +rule and influence, that you personally destroyed the hostile +commander’s ship. It is not these things that are important to me, but +you yourself, the clear idea of your nature, which reveals itself to me +in them, so that I seem to behold you with my bodily eyes. + +“The building of the Parthenon is progressing with almost incredible +rapidity. It is certainly desirable to build with full coffers, as +Callicrates used to say. + +“A few days ago an accident happened on the Acropolis, which created a +great deal of excitement. A workman fell from the scaffolding and was +mortally wounded; and as this occurred in the very spot to which +Diopeithes had given an ill name, as ‘belonging to the nether world,’ +the minds and tongues of the Athenians were powerfully stirred. The +implacable priest of Erechtheus points proudly to the fulfilment of his +prophecy, and predicts further misfortune. May the gods avert it! + +“He still looks gloomily from the threshold of his ancient temple at +the cheerful Callicrates, and wishes him a sun-stroke. But Apollo’s +warmest shafts recoil from the brow of this indefatigable man. Pallas +Athena holds her shield over him. He banters his foe whenever he can, +and if the hostile looks grow too disagreeable, manages to have his +workmen raise a cloud of dust near the Erechtheum, which compels the +priest, rubbing his eyes, to retire within the sanctuary. + +“A mule has now become involved in the quarrel between the two men. +Among the animals, which have been occupied for several years in daily +trotting up and down the Acropolis, bearing stone and other burdens to +the summit, was one, that partly from age, partly from an injury +received, became unfit for work. Its driver wanted to spare it and +leave it behind in the stable. But the good beast wasn’t content with +that, and even blows could not prevent it from doing the labor to which +it had been so long accustomed, and trotting up and down with its +companions, though it carried no load. This it now does faithfully +every day, and everybody knows ‘Callicrates’ mule,’ as it is called, +because the latter has taken the useless but willing animal under his +special protection. The creature moves idly about on the Acropolis, and +in its strolls sometimes comes too near the Erechtheum, nay, has even +ventured to snuff with its unhallowed muzzle the sacred herbs planted +near the walls, so Diopeithes hates this most trusty of all the +laborers on the Acropolis, even more than he does Callicrates, and it +is impossible to foresee what complications may yet arise out of the +matter. + +“Farewell, my hero, and don’t think always of Cleito’s tale, Salamis, +and Themistocles, but sometimes of your Aspasia. Neither Hera, nor all +the peacocks of Salamis, should keep me from hastening to you, if you +desired it.” + +Not long after, Aspasia received the following lines: + +“Are you angry with me for withholding the description of my naval +battle? You don’t wish to wholly give up seeing me command before +Samos. In and of itself a naval battle is better worth beholding than +any other spectacle, and I confess, that whenever I have been obliged +to cope with an enemy at sea, much as my duties claimed my attention, I +always found time to gaze admiringly at the beauty and grandeur of the +scene afforded by a conflict between the winged colossi on the open +sea. Fortunately mother Cleito only gave you the minor details of the +battle of Salamis, but could not describe the contest itself, so I will +venture to briefly relate the history of the fight before Samos; but on +condition that this story of military affairs shall be the only one you +will lure from me during the campaign. + +“I met the Samian fleet coming from Miletus at the island of Tragia. +[3] Expecting my attack, they occupied a circular position to prevent +my doing what I always attempt in a naval engagement—assaulting the +enemy’s ships unexpectedly from one side. I sent out several bold +sailers to circle around the enemy, and by means of pretended attacks +and feigned flight here and there lure a vessel from its place in the +hostile ranks. A tolerably strong wind also sprang up, which by raising +a heavy sea, contributed to break the close circle of the Samian fleet. + +“Our ships were drawn up with wings curving towards the enemy’s flank, +ready to attack any ship that might venture out of the hostile line. + +“Meantime the Samian commander, while his vanguard was engaged in +battle, succeeded in forming the rear of the shaken and half-destroyed +circle into a straight line, with which, while at his command the +vanguard retired, he dashed forward in close order. + +“For a moment the shock of this phalanx threw our front rank into +confusion. The broad Samian vessels, with their beak-shaped prows and +countless oars, looked like monsters creeping towards us on a thousand +feet—only this creeping was swift as the wind. After a few minutes, +during which I too hastily brought up my scattered galleys in order, +our phalanx confronted the Samian one in an equally close, firm line. + +“The real battle now raged fiercely. Rushing forward with loud shouts, +the Samian galleys and our own dashed impetuously into each others +ranks, so that every Attic ship attacked, every Samian one defended +itself, on both sides. If the Samian vessels resembled menacing swine’s +snouts, ours looked like sea-serpents, nimbly winding between these +snouts and dealing fatal bites on the right and left. In the closer +order, the terrible engines of war began to play from ship to ship, +catapults and scorpions [4] hurling missiles, and the horrible +dolphins, long beams tipped with blocks of metal, which raised above +the hostile vessel, by a well-calculated fall shattered the mast or +crushed the deck, and holding the ship like an iron grapple, made it +the prey of the assailant. While the attention of the crew of a hostile +galley was occupied by a shower of arrows that covered its deck, light +boats swarmed around it below, whose crews shattered its oars with +axes. + +“When, at last, keel pressed still nearer to keel, and the lofty decks +of our own galleys and those of the foe touched, their united surfaces +soon formed a battle-field, where the heavily-armed troops fought with +sword and lance, hand to hand. The boldest could not be restrained from +leaping from their own ship into the nearest hostile galley. Some of +our men succeeded here and there in cutting down the crew, taking the +trierarch prisoner, getting possession of the helm, and forcing the +defenceless oarsmen to row the captured vessel out of the Samian line +into the Athenian ranks. + +“However praiseworthy heroic courage may be in such hazards, I +disapproved of too impetuous an exercise of personal bravery, always +endeavoring in a naval battle to spare the blood of the combatants as +far as possible and let the ships fight, rather than the men. Why +should the latter destroy each other, when the former, with bold, +swift, skilful manœuvres, can decide the conflict? I passed between the +ships of the fleet, shouting to the trierarchs to fight more with the +beaks of their vessels and iron-tipped beams than with swords and +lances, and to consider their ships a weapon rather than a citadel. +They understood me, and as the Samians had withdrawn numerous disabled +ships from the ranks, while the others pressed closer together, it +became easier for the galleys of our out-stretched wings to dash +against their flanks. + +“The universal aim was now to sink the enemy’s ships. It had really +become a battle of the ships themselves. Besides the weight of their +beaks, and the strength of the iron-tipped beams on their keels, we +used in this battle a contrivance invented by myself, the ‘iron hands,’ +which seized and held many a Samian vessel in an indissoluble embrace. +The dull roar of the ships’ beams crashing against each other mingled +with the light crackle of snapping oars, when, with swift, +well-calculated course, a ship, grazing close by a hostile galley, +crushed its projecting oars like dry branches. + +“The Samians wavered and were thrown into disorder, but did not fly. +Enraged by this obstinacy, weary of the long conflict, I was on the +point of giving orders to have some transport ships, loaded with tow +and brushwood, lighted and sent into the hostile ranks to burn the rest +of the refractory fleet, when suddenly a huge block of stone whirled +towards the mast of my own vessel, but missing it struck the steersman, +who fell from his seat with his head crushed. In rolling down, the +block also shattered the helm and everything near it. The stone had +been hurled from the galley of the Samian admiral, by which I perceived +that the latter wished to have a personal battle with me. But in the +state of my rudderless ship resistance was impossible. Unnoticed by the +enemy, I hastily descended a ladder from the stern of the ship to a +boat, and quickly stood on the deck of another galley, the ‘Parthenos.’ +While the admiral was attacking the rudderless prey to capture me, +supposing me to be still on board, I dashed on the Parthenos with the +speed of an arrow, against the side of the Samian galley, which pierced +with a large hole, began to take in water, lurched sideways and sank. +The admiral himself was one of the few, that amid a rain of arrows from +our men, who raised a loud shout of victory, escaped with great +difficulty by swimming. The Samians now yielded, and the victory was +ours. + +“On the evening of that very day, the Samian commander, Melissus, came +on board my vessel under a safe-conduct, to arrange terms of peace, but +offered such conditions that people would have supposed I was the +conquered party, had I accepted them. He said that the Samian fleet was +vanquished, but the city was ready to stand a long siege. Besides, +Phœnician reënforcements were on their way, and moneyed assistance had +been offered by the Persian satrap at Sardis. During the whole +conversation, Melissus showed tenacity and obstinacy, such as only a +philosopher can develop. He is a tall man, somewhat advanced in years, +and the stamp of a profound thinker is so plainly impressed upon his +brow, that it seemed almost incredible that I saw in him the man who +had just commanded a fleet, and whom I had beheld swimming with the +agility of a youth, through waves filled with the fragments of vessels. +I soon perceived in him only the philosopher of the school of +Parmenides, so renowned throughout all Hellas. I can’t exactly say how +it happened, but our conversation gradually became a philosophical one. +The fact is, that he was at last eagerly explaining to me that if +anything was, it was eternal, but the eternal was unlimited in extent, +that real existence was one and infinite, comprising everything in +itself, for if there were two or several infinites, they must limit +each other and therefore were no longer infinite, and the universe must +be homogeneous, for if there were dissimilar qualities, it would no +longer be one, but many things, and that could not be, for diversity +existed only in appearance, related only to the perception of the +senses, not the thoughtful contemplation of the mind— + +“As if by accident several other strategi and trierarchs, who had been +anticipating with great curiosity the result of our discussion of terms +of peace, now came forward; but when they heard that the Samian +commander and I had been talking about the boundlessness of the +universe and the infinitude of existence, they were utterly bewildered, +and we ourselves could not help laughing on perceiving that we, who a +short time before had been fighting furiously with ships’ beaks and +deadly missiles, were now engaged in an argument of such a nature. +Having frequently heard the propositions uttered by Melissus from the +lips of Zeno in Athens, and being much interested in these Eleatic +controversies, I was at no loss to find answers to Melissus, and our +conversation had really almost assumed the shape of a philosophical +argument. + +“‘How much better it would be,’ I said to Melissus, as we shook hands +with each other in parting, ‘if we Hellenes, as far as our language +extends through the coasts and isles, could be united by one mental +aspiration, nay, even into one political community.’ + +“The gloomy Samian’s grey eyes flashed with anger. + +“‘You doubtless hope Athens will lure all the Hellenes into her +precincts, and willing or not, unite them in one community,’ he said +with a bitter, scornful smile. + +“I understood and honored the feelings of the man, who was fighting for +the independence of his island. + +“It is the fate of all well-meant thoughts and intentions to be +thwarted by the opposition of petty interests, really intended to be +merged in greater ones. We are poorly rewarded for forming the idea of +one grand whole, and striving to realize it. If I exhort the Hellenes +to unity, they perceive in my words only the Athenian love of conquest, +or even designs of personal ambition. So in the best wishes and labors, +one feels driven back and limited to the customary, narrow domain. Thus +at times all external acts and efforts seem worthless, and I then take +refuge in the pure sphere of thought, where the mind may indulge in a +boundless flight. When in the quiet night I stand on the deck of the +motionless vessel with the star-sown sky above—the masts towering into +the vast infinitude of the ether—nothing audible save the low, dreamy +plashing of the waves against the vessel’s keel, amid the breath of the +night-wind, I remember Melissus and no longer merely think, but feel +the infinite, original unity of all existence. + +“More frequently than you may believe, I think of you, of my friends at +Athens, and the work which under their hands is approaching completion. +Now that the hardest labor here has apparently been performed, and a +possibly long and wearisome siege condemns me to a quietude that almost +resembles inaction, I may perhaps venture to confess my longing for +Athens, without being ashamed of it. + +“The mishap that befell the workman on the Parthenon, by which +Diopeithes profits in so malicious a fashion, has greatly troubled me. +I have sent to request Hippocrates to take charge of the unfortunate +man, if he is still alive, and if we succeed in saving him and +confounding Diopeithes, I vow to have an altar erected on the Acropolis +to Pallas Hygieia, in token of my gratitude. + +“As for Callicrates’ worthy mule, I am of the opinion that it should be +considered a creature whose assiduity has rendered it worthy of +belonging to the Athenian community, and to guard against the peril of +Diopeithes’ enmity, I have obtained for it the privilege of being +permitted to graze wherever it chooses, and all property it +appropriates or injures will be made good to the owners at the public +expense.” + +Before Aspasia had found an opportunity to answer this letter, she +received a few more lines confirming the tidings of the misfortune +which had befallen the Athenian camp before Samos, while Pericles went +to meet the Phœnician fleet. + +Pericles merely alluded to these things in a few words. Then he +continued: + +“Will you believe it possible, that an event could happen among +Hellenes such as befell me, when I went among the soldiers besieging +Samos from the land side, who had also suffered not a little from the +attacks of the Samians. Loud lamentations greeted me, as I entered the +camp. The priests were engaged in offering a sacrifice to Zeus, the +deliverer. In the circle formed around the altar and the priests, I saw +fifty Samian prisoners standing with fettered hands. I asked what these +people were doing, and learned that the prophet who was assigned to the +army by the government, had announced that it was the will of Zeus that +the fifty Samian prisoners should be solemnly offered up to him as +victims. They were just ready to execute the sentence of the seer. I +approached the priest and prophet, declared in the presence of the +whole army it was a lie that the Hellenic gods desired a human +sacrifice, and contented myself with stamping the foreheads of the +fifty Samians with the mark of a hog’s snout like the prows of the +Samian vessels, in revenge for the insult they had shortly before +offered our prisoners, by branding them with the owl. + +“We shall now besiege the city again and attack it from the land side +with battering rams and catapults. + +“The letters I receive from Telesippe, are full of complaints of +Alcibiades.” + +Aspasia answered Pericles as follows: + +“Your two last letters, my dear Pericles, have brought me a great deal +of important news—over much of which I could joyfully exult, and other +things that could not fail to inspire anxiety, though but a passing +fear. But why should I too deeply lament the change of external events, +when this mutation only makes the changelessness of your beloved self +the more clearly apparent? You have done what I desired, +unintentionally described yourself. How poor are words, how much more +warmly a kiss imprinted on your brow would tell you what I feel! The +day swiftly passes in thinking of you, and singing Sappho’s songs to +the accompaniment of my lute. + +“Phidias and his assistants are unwearied. Absorbed in their task, as +if inspired by some demoniac power, they only half listen to what is +happening in the world outside of their work. Forgive them, for they +are toiling also for you and the renown of your name throughout all +futurity. + +“I too hear a great deal about the boy Alcibiades; for he is beginning +to attract the attention of the Athenians. Many throng around him in +the wrestling-ring, or wherever he appears. But he cares for no one +except Socrates, possibly because the latter does not flatter him. A +short time ago, while he was crossing the street with his pedagogue, +carrying in his breast a quail, his favorite pet, a large crowd again +pressed upon him. While compelled to notice these people the quail +escaped, and as the lad became greatly excited, half Athens started in +pursuit of the bird. That’s the way with the Athenians. Yet if they +caress Alcibiades, it is partly because he is the ward of Pericles, the +great Pericles, who after the victory of Tragia is more than ever the +hero of the day. + +“Diopeithes is secretly hostile to you, so too is Elpinice, and your +wife, Telesippe. With them are the old-fashioned fellows, with fringed +woollen robes and hair tied up over their heads, the vain old +conquerors of Marathon, grumbling, peevish men, and the Spartan +fops—who wear long hair, practise gymnastics, starve, never wash, and +rattle their gnarled staves on the stones in the street—together with +many of the wiseacres who go about barefooted in ragged cloaks, but +raise their eyebrows, bury their noses in their uncombed moustaches, +and carry their chins in the roll of skin puffed out beneath them as if +it were a bag. All these people, in your absence, mean, according to +the old proverb, ‘to gather unwatched wine.’ + +“Theodota, I hear, continues to swear that the sword-fish, Pericles, +will yet struggle in her net. Secret threads appear to be constantly +woven between this woman and our enemies. Elpinice runs her feet sore +to stir up all her friends against me. I am openly persecuted by her +and your wife; they see I am helpless and defenceless, and think me a +certain and easy prey. + +“Euripides seems to wish to belie what your companion Sophocles said of +him. He is always grave, gloomy, and sullen. Yet, in Socrates’ +presence, he made me the confidante of his conjugal destiny, and gave +me a description of his wife, which I need not repeat, for the poet’s +spouse is the faithful counterpart of Telesippe. But now hear what +resolution Euripides has formed, to release himself from this +insufferable companion. He intends to send the woman away and form a +better tie, in accordance with the dictates of his heart. Pericles, my +beloved hero, what say you to this manly determination?” + +After some delay, Pericles wrote: + +“I know not whether I deserve the praise for generosity you lavish upon +me. I am full of bitter indignation against these stubborn Samians, and +when the time comes shall make them atone for their obstinacy. + +“During these days of inaction and impatience, noble, cheerful +Sophocles, who also proves an admirable fellow-strategus, is a doubly +desirable companion. He is always employed with the best success, +especially on peaceful embassies. As mediator, he works as if he were +in possession of some magic spell, which does not surprise me, for his +nature is so winning that he is universally beloved. He stands loyally +by my side, to work against the rebellious spirit, which in a long +campaign so easily steals into the minds of soldiers. Sometimes the +laws of humanity are to be supported, sometimes a vexatious prejudice +must be dispelled. You know how much yet remains to be done in this +respect, even among our Athenian populace. + +“If a thunder-storm comes up and a flash of lightning strikes our camp, +or the steersman of my ship loses his head during a solar eclipse, I am +obliged to recall all I have learned from Anaxagoras concerning the +natural origin of such phenomena, to soothe the terrified fellow. + +“But I am telling you about my industry in uprooting the prejudices of +others, forgetful that you sometimes blame me for being addicted to +similar ones. You ask Telesippe’s husband what he thinks of Euripides’ +bold resolve? I will tell you verbally, when I return to Athens.” + +For nine months the stubborn island city resisted, and many a letter +passed between Samos and Athens, bringing fresh tidings to Pericles and +Aspasia. + +At last the Athenian commander wrote to his Milesian friend. + +“Samos has been taken by storm, the obstinacy of Melissus is broken, +peace concluded. The Samians will deliver up their ships, and pull down +their walls. + +“Yet it is impossible for me to return immediately to Athens. I must +proceed under sail to Miletus, where many things are to be settled. + +“The delay, however, will be brief, and we shall meet again in a few +weeks. + +“Joy reigns throughout the fleet, and some of the trierarchs are +celebrating the victory in the company of their friends, several of +whom came from Athens to Samos during the tiresome siege. These fair +ones have vowed, after the conquest of Samos, to build at their own +expense, in the city of the famous temple of Hera, a temple to the god +of love. They seem determined to fulfil this vow. Theodota arrived here +a few days ago, at the request of Hipponicus, who is a patriot as well +as a man of the world, and would not allow himself to be represented by +another on the ship, whose command fell to him, but joined the naval +expedition in person. + +“Farewell! In Miletus, your native city, I shall always think of you.” + +When Aspasia had read Pericles’ letter she grew thoughtful, then formed +a hasty resolution. + +One day later she went to the Piræeus with a female slave, and entered +a vessel which was just ready to sail from the harbor of Athens to the +Ionian coast. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +IN IONIAN HONEYMOON. + + +Pericles had made the short passage from Samos to Miletus with two of +his triremes. + +Hipponicus, who was trierarch of the second ship, had requested +permission to accompany his commander. With him was the beautiful +Theodota. + +Thus the charming dancer again threateningly approached Pericles’ +horizon. + +The Milesians received the Athenian commander with delight, celebrated +his arrival with magnificent entertainments, and honored the victor of +Samos with a gold laurel wreath. + +Pericles felt as if he had breathed a sultry atmosphere ever since he +stepped upon the coast of Asia Minor. He had entered the land of the +statue of Diana with the thousand breasts, of gigantic temples, whose +Hellenic forms blended with the colossal, monstrous architecture of the +East, the land of the priestesses of Aphrodite, of luxurious, +effeminate music, the land of the mother of the gods, whose festal +dances on the Tmolus partook of the mysterious madness of the Orient, +the land too of her foster-son Dionysus, the god of joy, who by his +nature and appearance, delicate and effeminate in form, yet full of +courage and ardor, with his luxuriant wealth of curls crowned by a +Lydian mitra, and clad in ample bright-hued garments, proved himself a +true son of Asia Minor. + +If the sultry atmosphere the Athenian felt was anywhere on the Ionian +coasts of Asia, it pervaded the streets of wealthy, superb Miletus, +famed for its roses. Here one heard the Persians and the satrap of +Sardis mentioned, as the Athenians spoke of the Megarians or +Corinthians; Persians and other Orientals were seen in the streets. The +costume of the men of Miletus and their charming wives was rich and gay +as the plumage of Eastern birds, yet exquisitely tasteful. Pericles saw +garments borrowed from the Persians, others from the Egyptians. They +were of every color—purple, crocus yellow, sea-blue, the hue of the +violet and hyacinth, even the vivid tint of flames. He saw the +Milesians wrapped in the texture of Persia, decked with the jewels of +India, dripping with the perfumes of Syria. + +During their stay in Miletus, Pericles and Hipponicus enjoyed the +hospitality of her richest and most distinguished citizen, Artemidorus. +The latter took them to his magnificent country-estate, near the city. +Not far from this rural seat was a myrtle grove, amid whose dusky +recesses, musical with the notes of birds, legend related that the +goddess Aphrodite sometimes appeared in bodily form. + +Oriental magnificence reigned in Artemidorus’ apartments. The walls and +furniture were decked with gay Persian stuffs. Gold glittered, ivory +gleamed, the air was full of the perfume of sandal-wood. Throngs of +beautiful female slaves moved about the house. Some, from the shores of +the Caspian sea, were dazzlingly fair like marble statues, others brown +as the bronze figures in Artemidorus’ house, and others still, a +shining black, like the ebony tables inlaid with gold in his rooms. +Nothing was lacking that could satisfy the mind of an Asiatic Greek in +Aspasia’s native city. + +“You other Greeks call Ionia a hot-bed of luxury,” said Artemidorus to +his guests, while doing the honors of his table, “and I understand our +beautiful Milesian women are even more dangerous to Athenians, than the +gallant Milesians are to the Athenian women——” + +Pericles smiled. + +“Don’t forget,” continued Artemidorus, “that Ionia is not merely the +hot-bed of luxury, but also of poesy, nay even of wisdom; for we have +given you other Hellenes—in addition to our beautiful women—Thales, +Herodotus, and, if we do not arrogate too much, Homer.” + +“Who believes,” replied Pericles, “that the vigorous development of the +Hellenic intellect can ever flag, even amid the oppressive atmosphere +of the rose-couch of pleasure?” + +“Say rather, that nowhere else does it develop more luxuriously!” cried +Artemidorus. “There is no progress of men and nations without what +zealots call luxury.” + +On the evening of the second day Artemidorus conducted his guests to +the myrtle grove near his magnificent villa, which he had himself +beautified till it resembled a sort of pleasure-garden. The lovely +Theodota, who had been invited as the friend and companion of +Hipponicus, was striving with all the power of her dark eyes to bewitch +Aspasia’s lover. + +Accompanied by their host, Pericles, Hipponicus, and Theodota wandered +through the charming wilderness of blooming myrtles. As the grove +extended over a gentle slope, many places, where the ground had been +stripped of trees, afforded a beautiful view of the city, the blue sea +and the islands, which lay as if for a defence before the four harbors +of Miletus. At such spots Artemidorus ordered Oriental carpets to be +spread or a purple tent to be erected by the slaves who accompanied +them, that they might rest, take refreshments, or listen to the soft +music of Lydian flutes, which at Artemidorus’ bidding, vied with the +nightingales in delighting the ear. + +Male and female slaves, in the garb of Silenus, peopled the forest, +here and there pouring brimming goblets for the party out of +wine-skins; as Hebes, who did the same thing, or as nymphs, who +proffered flowers and fruit in horns of plenty. Three of the fairest of +the latter performed, on an open spot of turf, a charming dance in +which the Asiatic tympans used in the festivals of Cybele were noisily +beaten, causing a sort of bewilderment and rapture to take possession +of the senses. + +A tiny lake in the midst of the grove was peopled by all the forms of +Hellenic fable associated with the sea. Fish-tailed mermaids were seen +crowned with rushes, sirens reclined on rocks, singing soft, alluring +harmonies in rivalry with the Tritons, who were blowing their shells. +Even the prophetic old man of the sea, Proteus, was not wanting, and +gave predictions to all who asked. Pericles approached and desired to +hear some oracle from his lips. + +“If necessary, I won’t neglect to hold you fast,” he said jestingly, +“as is customary with those who question you—that you may not slip away +under the disguise of fresh transformations.” + +The old man willingly answered Pericles and delivered the following +oracle: + + + Seek ’mid the nests of nightingales, where blooms the fragrant rose, + The favoring gods thy happiness have bound a captive there, + Seize it as thou didst seize on me, hold it both firm and close, + So only ’twill be thine for aye—for fleeting ’tis as fair. + + +Pericles did not understand the meaning of these words. When, after the +conversation he looked around for his companions, they had disappeared; +so he walked on a short distance alone. The birds, that flew from twig +to twig, from tree to tree, singing their sweetest songs, lured him +farther into the forest. But here magpies, starlings and parrots, +perched among the boughs, accosted Pericles with “Accept our +compliments! Rejoice! Come, pray come,” and other strange sayings. +Chattering thus, they flew on beside him. Soon Pericles fancied that +instead of single birds, he heard a whole choir of nightingales singing +at some distance. At the same time the perfume of roses, which must +have proceeded from a large enclosure of blossoming flowers, reached +him apparently borne on the breeze from some distant spot. Strangely +enough, the odor of Indian perfumes seemed to blend with the scent of +the roses. + +Half involuntarily, Pericles continued his walk in the direction from +which came the fragrance of the roses and the warbling song of the +nightingales. He did so unintentionally, for he no longer thought of +Proteus’ prediction. Here and there he saw something light gleaming +through the branches in the dusk of the grove. The birds, which flying +from bough to bough and singing, had hitherto seemed to bear him +company, were now silent and appeared to be looking down at him with +mischievous eyes. In place of their song, there was a louder rustle of +wings in the tree-tops and sounds like subdued tittering, as if +fluttering Loves were laughing at the pedestrian. + +Pericles now saw the luxuriant enclosure of roses, whose perfume had +reached him at a distance. Between the branches he distinctly beheld +the glimmer of that mysterious something, which seemed made up of +purple, gold and a dazzlingly-white robe. Approaching, he succeeded in +obtaining a better view of the arbor. + +Amid this luxurious display of roses a most charming scene appeared +before his eyes. + +Surrounded by a throng of lovely boys, clad in purple garments, with +gold wings fastened on their shoulders, and silver quivers containing +golden arrows hanging by their side, stood a woman’s figure robed in +dazzling white, with a gold girdle around her waist, twined with +garlands of roses. Pericles could not see the fair face distinctly; for +just as he approached the little gods of love were vying with each +other in weaving rose-wreaths around the woman’s head, breast, nay her +whole figure, till she almost disappeared beneath them. Pericles +thought of the legend his Milesian host had related, that in this grove +the goddess Aphrodite sometimes appeared in bodily form, and was not +disinclined to take this beauty, half buried under roses, for a +divinity. + +After the golden-winged boys had completely entwined her slender figure +with roses, they drew her gently by them to a couch of flowers, firmly +fastened the ends of the garlands to the stems and branches of the +bushes, and then dancing in sportive mirth around the captive, pelted +her with blossoms gathered from the drooping boughs of the thick hedge. + +At sight of the stranger, the little Loves ran laughing away, leaving +the prisoner alone. Pericles entered the arbor, and the captive begged +the new-comer to release her. + +Pericles broke one of the chains, pushed aside the roses which covered +the fair one’s head and face, and his eyes met the radiant glance of +Aspasia. + +His first feeling was that of unutterable joy. But the next instant +amazement that such a surprise should be prepared for him asserted +itself. Already a question concerning the circumstances, which had +rendered so unexpected a meeting possible hovered on his lips. + +But Aspasia, shaking off the rose-chains, now rose, saying in the +bewitching accents of her silvery voice: + +“Know, my dear Pericles, that I too, like Socrates, have my demon, +which in decisive moments, whispers to me not only what I am to leave +undone, but what I must do. When your last letter from Samos reached +me, containing the news that peace had been concluded, of Theodota’s +arrival, and your intended journey to Miletus, this demon instantly +commanded me to go on board a ship without delay and seek you in Samos, +or if you were not there, at Miletus. Perhaps the demon wished to +bestow on me the double happiness of not seeing Miletus without you, +and meeting you in my native city. I came here, applied to your host +Artemidorus, heard of the surprises the beautiful Theodota wished to +prepare for you in this grove of Aphrodite, and the arrangements +already made with the assistance of the generous Artemidorus; but +thought it advisable, after a secret agreement with the latter, to +undertake the part Theodota intended to play. So you must attribute it +to Artemidorus, that the gods of love delivered me, instead of +Theodota, fettered into your hands.” + +“You have made the legend of Aphrodite’s appearance in this grove +true,” replied Pericles; “to me you are the goddess of love, the +goddess of happiness, and above all, permit me to add, the goddess of +surprises.” + +“Can there be happiness without surprises?” cried Aspasia. + +Confidential conversation detained the pair some time in this beautiful +spot. Like all lovers, after a long separation, they had a thousand +things to say. + +But when kisses threatened to supplant words, and twilight began to +close in, the Loves again sprang out of the bushes and made a feint of +binding Pericles also with the fresh garlands they had woven. + +“Beware of these little fellows!” said Aspasia. “It is time to go and +bid each other farewell for to-day. Your way is longer than mine; for +Artemidorus has given me for a residence that charming little +summer-house. It is only a few paces from here, but the thick myrtles +half conceal it. I shall go there. But you, my dear Pericles, can +return to Artemidorus, your friend Hipponicus, and the beautiful +Theodota, the bright-eyed Corinthian.” + +At these words the little cupids burst into a merry laugh, weaving +their chains still closer around Pericles. The latter joined them, and +at last even Aspasia herself shared their mirth, while the Loves wound +themselves, Aspasia and Pericles into a laughing group, which fettered +by roses and drawn gently onward by the tiny sprites, vanished amid the +rose and myrtle bushes, while the stillness of night spread over the +deserted grove, and only the nightingales sang and the flowers exhaled +their perfume. + +Pericles found a sweeter happiness with Aspasia, than he would have +enjoyed with the bright-eyed Corinthian. + +The most blissful hour of love is not the one when an impassioned pair +first pour forth their feelings, but the time of meeting after a long +separation. The first embrace is like the flame of green wood—not +without thick smoke and violent crackling; but when lovers meet again +the fire of joy blazes high, clear and undimmed. + +When Pericles and Aspasia walked hand in hand next morning through the +dewy garden, they looked like two beautiful human flowers, freshly +sprinkled with glittering dew. The love in their hearts could no more +be exhausted, than the sweet melodies in the throats of the song-birds, +or the perfume so lavishly exhaled from the opening roses. + +They ascended one of the little heights, which afforded a wide view of +city, sea, and shore, the meadows of the Mæander, with the palms, pink, +laurel, and agnus castus on its winding banks, blue Latmus in the +distance, and the lake of Biblis, with bright-hued water-birds +fluttering above its rushes. But Pericles let his gaze wander over the +battlements of the city, rest a moment on the proud Athenian triremes +lying in the harbor, and then rove farther away to the spot where, +veiled in mist, lay Samos, the place where he had spent a year of his +life in manly toil for his native land. Then his eyes returned to the +beautiful city, and he praised the bright, luxurious splendor of its +appearance, the gay, vivacious temperament of its inhabitants. + +“Yes, Miletus is beautiful and her inhabitants are joyous,” replied +Aspasia. “But patriots remember the time when she was not only wealthy +and luxurious, but proud and independent, when she sent out her +colonies to the distant coasts of Pontus. That time has fled. Miletus +is no longer independent and bows before mighty Athens.” + +“You utter these words almost bitterly,” replied Pericles smiling, “but +consider, that if Miletus were not Athenian, she would be Persian. It +was not your kindred Hellenes who destroyed her power, but the Persian, +when he overran these coasts. Nay, if the Athenians had not fought at +Salamis and Marathon, a Persian satrap would now be ruling here in +Miletus as well as in Sardis. Don’t be angry with the Athenian fleet, +which extends its arm protectingly over this coast.” + +“Then instead of bearing the Athenian ill-will, I must gratefully kiss +his forehead?” said Aspasia. + +She pressed a kiss on Pericles’ forehead as she spoke, and the latter +answered: + +“Your golden-winged Cupids avenged Miletus yesterday on the commander +of the powerful Athenian fleet.” + +“Don’t repent devoting a week of your active life to the Milesian +strand,” said Aspasia. “Honor the place, which is not only the home of +the most luxuriant roses and softest wool, but also famed for +possessing the most beautiful tales. Could there be anything dearer to +loving hearts than our Milesian fable of Cupid and Psyche?” + +“You are right,” replied Pericles; “but,” he continued with a +mischievous smile, “to the best of my knowledge, it was also in this +zone that the story of the ‘widow of Ephesus’ was—” + +“Whose meaning,” interrupted Aspasia, “according to the usual +understanding of it, is that women are faithless, wavering, disloyal? +But it is a poor story, which permits only one interpretation, contains +only one truth. Let me take the Ephesian widow under my protection. She +was faithless only to the dead husband. Love is so associated with +life, that love and faith extending beyond the grave, existence bound +up with a corpse, is a chimera. The bloodless shades of Hades ought not +to be permitted to feed on the blood of the living.” + +Such was the conversation between the pair. Then Artemidorus came, +addressing jesting reproaches to Aspasia for detaining his guest, and +after inviting them to a collation, conveyed them in a dainty chariot +drawn by white horses to the far-famed temple of Apollo, which stood at +some distance from the city, and the precincts of the temple of Cypris +on the flat land near the sea-shore, surrounded by reeds, over which +yellow halcyon birds hovered. They drove along the beautiful coast, and +on the way back entered a boat to be rowed over the deep blue waves to +a richly-wooded island, which Artemidorus’ slaves instantly transformed +into a little paradise, spreading soft, gay carpets and offering every +kind of delicious refreshment. + +Artemidorus now resigned the care of his guest entirely to Aspasia, and +his reverence for Pericles, as well as the lavish generosity natural to +him, induced him to give his fair countrywoman all the external +assistance she could need, to spice the idyllic solitude of the myrtle +grove with the ever-varying charms devised by a love exhaustless in its +inventive power. + +Aspasia used this assistance as freely as the power with which nature +herself, even more lavish than the wealthy Artemidorus, had endowed her +in her charming character, skilled in the exercise of every spell. + +The loftiest and most ennobling pleasures of both mind and senses were +enjoyed by these two souls, so favored by the gods. Pericles had +created and executed much that was great, Aspasia had inspired many +beautiful and imperishable things, by casting the kindling sparks of +her intellect and beauty in every direction. But the most beautiful and +lofty deed performed by both, was in loving and being happy—happy as no +dull-minded clods, but only those natures akin to immortals, can be. +The things they inspired, created, performed, might please mortals; but +the Olympians themselves looked down upon their love-life with +satisfaction. To realize the idea of human happiness in the joy of life +and love, seemed even to themselves, during these halcyon days at +Miletus, the best part of their destiny. + +Indeed, Pericles and Aspasia were enjoying for the first time the +happiness of their love. The latter’s magic hand had created the most +beautiful asylum of undisturbed solitude, a refuge even fairer and more +secluded than the grove and summer-house. The flat, open roof of the +house, above which rustled the tops of lofty pines and cypresses, had +been transformed into a pleasure-garden. Blossoming bushes, and flowers +swaying on lofty stems, surrounded the edge of this asylum, secluding +it from the gaze of the outside world, and purple linen curtains could +be drawn at will in the shape of a tent over the whole terrace. Thus +shut out from the world, the lovers spent blissful hours in this +blossoming asylum, accessible to themselves alone. Here they enjoyed +the retirement of a secluded room, without its oppressive heat; they +had the free air above and were fanned by the sweet, fragrant, +refreshing breezes of the grove. The loneliness of the myrtles, the +solitude of the house did not suffice; like tender doves they fluttered +to the roof, a retired spot amid the blue air, where only winged +creatures could follow—doves, peacocks, twittering and singing-birds. +Here they rested amid the flowers, here Aspasia sang the songs of the +poets, which gained a wondrous charm from her lips, here, singing to +the accompaniment of her lute, she ensnared Pericles in the silvery net +of her tones, the magic of her caressing voice, here she related +charming Milesian tales, here they chatted together, sometimes as +foolishly as children, sometimes as wisely as grey-bearded +philosophers. Here they could draw the purple curtains around them and, +steeped like gods in rosy Olympian light, breathe, transfigured in the +purple dusk. Or they could allow the bright sunlight to pour in from +above, and Pericles beholding Aspasia’s face and limbs steeped in a +white radiance, over which the reflections of the green bushes +flickered with magical effect, gazed at her in amazement, as if he saw +some ethereal vision. + +Aspasia, according to the Milesian custom, sometimes wore purple, +sometimes sea-blue, flame-color, or crocus-yellow. She liked to appear +before her friend in different costumes, borrowed garb, bearing, +expression, character, now from one, and now from another goddess or +heroine, and at Pericles’ request executed dances, corresponding with +these varying forms, whose artistic charm far surpassed what he had +admired in the beautiful Theodota. + +During these transformations, Pericles could not help thinking of the +oracle uttered by Proteus, when he was on his way, though without +knowing it, to find Aspasia. The verse had summoned and invited him to +the fairest happiness: + + + “Seize it as thou didst seize on me, hold it both firm and close, + So only ’twill be thine for aye—for fleeting ’tis as fair.” + + +“I shall have to hold you fast, like the prophetic changing Proteus, +that you too may not escape from me in some one of your +transformations!” said Pericles, jestingly. + +“How will you manage to hold me?” asked the Milesian. + +“That I hope to hear from yourself!” replied Pericles. + +“Perhaps, according to Athenian custom, in a strongly-barred cage?” + +“What cage do you mean?” asked Pericles. + +“The cage you men call the women’s apartment in your houses,” replied +Aspasia. + +“Telesippes may perhaps be secured in these cages, but not Aspasias,” +answered Pericles, after a short pause. + +The Milesian’s sole reply was a smile. + +She was satisfied with having uttered a word, which might be left to +produce its effect in Pericles’ mind. + +One day Artemidorus and Pericles chanced to discuss Aspasia in the +latter’s absence. + +“Legends and histories of all ages,” said Artemidorus, “mention plenty +of heroes, who for a longer or shorter period have fallen into the +power of beautiful women. The fair nymph Calypso detained Ulysses years +in her grotto. Dido understood how to win the pious Æneas, and spiteful +Omphale even bound the strongest of the strong for a time to her +distaff. None of these women, however, knew how to fetter forever the +men they had won; their charm grew weak, the chains broke, the wearied +hero took his rusty sword or forgotten club out of the corner, repaired +his half-decayed vessel, and with a hasty farewell left the beauty for +new adventures. So Aspasia’s charm would doubtless also fade, if you +were obliged to remain always with her in this peaceful asylum.” + +“Certainly,” said Pericles, “if Aspasia were Theodota, if she possessed +nothing save her exquisite physical charms. But there is something +else, which might well bind a lover forever. I am not speaking of the +means employed by ordinary women, who think they attain this object by +prudish reserve, or the anxiety, doubts and difficulties they cause +their lovers, ere yielding them possession of their hearts. There are, +however, certain favored women, who bind their lovers still more firmly +in spite of the boundless devotion which wrecks the happiness of +ordinary fair ones, nay even by this devotion. If I were to name the +unspeakable charm by which they succeed in accomplishing such a thing, +I could call it nothing but the Charis: [5] the wonderful blending of +grace and kindness, insinuating without being intrusive, sunning the +soul like the smile of a god. This, I believe, is the charm Aphrodite +keeps in her golden girdle. A thousand little clouds rise in the sky of +all lovers, this alone can banish them—all shadows disappear in the +radiance of this sparkling, smiling charm. Its breath softens all +harshness and asperity. Everything will be permitted, everything will +be pardoned, because it inflicts no wounds without instantly healing +them. Aspasia possesses this grace of soul, this girdle of Aphrodite, +and by its power alone sportively baffles all Theodota’s efforts; for I +know women, and am aware how rare, how unique a thing is the skill +Aspasia possesses.” + +“I understand you perfectly,” replied Artemidorus, “I have often felt +what you express. The test of a woman and her power is not the pleasure +she bestows, but the way in which she knows how to fill the pauses in a +honeymoon.” + +“Aspasia understands how to make some glittering spark of her intellect +flash every moment, like a rocket or a shining soap-bubble, something +that must be caught, and thus wings the dragging hours. She does all +this without effort, constraint, or artificiality, does it because it +is natural to her, and for this reason its effect is irresistible. The +honeymoon of a woman, whose intellect is dull, is filled with sensual +pleasure blended with mortal weariness; that which affords the sweetest +and most lasting enjoyment proceeds only from the soul.” + +The day that Pericles was to return with his two vessels to Samos, +whence he intended to pay a short visit to Chios, approached. The +reception given him by the Milesians had made it easy for him to +execute the plans which had brought him to Miletus, so he had devoted +only the smallest portion of his leisure to political transactions, and +spent the remainder in the enjoyment of his secret happiness. + +Hospitable Artemidorus gave the departing Athenian commander a banquet, +at which Aspasia was also present. + +At this entertainment Pericles said to his host: + +“It is no marvel, that the secret charm of this region has seized upon +me also, and I have yielded almost unconsciously for nearly a week to +happy idleness. It is evident, that the Greeks of this coast dwell near +the warm-blooded Phœnicians, who first worshipped the goddess of love, +and the Cyprian isle that afforded this voluptuous goddess the first +resting-place on her victorious progress from the Sidonian bay to +Hellas. While from the south the festal enthusiasm of the Cyprian gods +reaches you, from the north, on the heights of Tmolus, the bacchanalian +revelry of Dionysus and his divine nurse Rhea forces itself upon you. +Thus you are encircled and washed by the surges of the festal mirth of +these gods of joy; like milk from distended udders, the dew of luxury +falls upon you from the cornucopia of these gods and the thousand +breasts of Artemis. The horrible fanatical orgies of the Tmolus are +probably not known to you Milesians merely by hearsay. I should be +surprised, if curiosity had not urged one or another of you to venture +near that mysterious spot in neighboring Lydia, and though perhaps at a +timid distance, watch the fury of the Corybantes.” + +Artemidorus’ face darkened and a faint sigh escaped his lips, which +made Pericles glance at him in surprise and almost perplexity. + +“Fate once led me there,” replied his host, “and I would willingly tell +you what I saw and experienced, if there were not so many sorrowful +associations connected with these memories.” + +His words increased Pericles’ interest and Artemidorus, noticing it, +continued: + +“I see I must speak, even against my will, and give my embarrassment +the vindication your features seem to demand, so listen: + +“Only a few years ago I called the most charming youth in Miletus my +son. He was endowed with every gift of mind and body, but also +possessed a soaring imagination that knew no curb, and a soul easily +kindled to enthusiasm. There has never been any lack of youths in this +city, who have had their curiosity excited by tales of the frantic +orgies on the Tmolus, and many a lad has escaped from his watchful +parents to join the mad ranks; nay there were times when this impulse +seemed to spread like a sort of contagion. I considered how I could +best avert a similar delusion from my susceptible Chrysanthes. As I had +feared, he too soon showed symptoms of being attacked by this disease. +The time of the Lydian festival was approaching. Chrysanthes became +silent and thoughtful, his cheeks paled, and he looked as if he were +consumed by some secret, feverish impatience. I had determined to treat +him like a prisoner, appoint guards who should watch his every step. +But his condition made me fear his escape, and I soon doubted whether +this unsatisfied longing might not cause him to fall into dangerous +melancholy or mortal sickness, and thought it would be more healthful +if I partially gratified his apparently increasing curiosity, but in a +manner destitute of personal danger to him. I told him I would go with +him to the Tmolus myself, and watch the mystic customs of the +Corybantes. In my company, under my immediate care, the youth would be +safe from every danger. + +“A journey of several days brought us to our destination. Accompanied +by a slave, who carried provisions for one day, we entered the wooded, +as yet deserted Tmolus, and waited for the moment when the wild horde +of Corybantes from Sardis should ascend the mountain. + +“The riotous spring festival had begun several days before by the +felling of the largest pine on the Tmolus, twining it with wreaths +woven from countless violets which grew in the valleys, and then +dragging the garlanded trunk, amid wild revelry, down to the temple of +Cybele, to offer it as a spring sacrifice to the all-producing mother +of the gods. + +“The greatest and noisiest part of the festival was yet to come. A dull +roar fell upon our ears, even before we could distinguish the +approaching throng of Corybantes beneath the shade of the woods. At +their approach, we concealed ourselves in the dense bushes to witness +their proceedings. + +“The crowd drew nearer, the noise became deafening. Every one of these +Corybantes, many of whom were nude, others only clad in the shaggy skin +of a wild beast fastened around their loins, carried a tympan, which he +beat with all his might, or a noisy cymbal, or blew on a horn; others +had swords and shields in their hands, which they clashed heavily +together. Above all this din of metal and musical instruments, rose the +shrieks or rather roars, that only permitted us to hear fragments of +the jubilant song in honor of the lost youth Attis, the favorite and +messenger of Rhea, who had now been found again. They sang of the lost +and found Attis, but it was really the germinating power of nature, +which had awaked from her long death-sleep, that these men not merely +celebrated, but allowed to seethe within themselves till it rose to a +perfect frenzy. The procession of fanatics was led by priests of +Cybele, who carried in one hand flaming pine-torches, and in the other +sharp, curved knives, which they swung with frenzied glances. A large +phallus [6] was borne in advance. The pace of these men could not be +called a walk, but consisted of wild leaps and bounds, to the +accompaniment of the noisy instruments. The faces of all were flushed, +many swollen and purple, their eyes seemed fairly starting from their +sockets, and not a few were foaming at the mouth. Meantime they +fiercely shook the long locks, principally woven of false hair, which +hung over their temples and gave them a virago-like aspect. Whatever +wild or tame animals had fallen into their hands on the way, were +dragged along with them. A panther was led at the head of the +procession. Some had serpents they had seized, and now handled as +carelessly as if playing with garlands or ribbons. + +“While the frantic train was passing, I saw that Chrysanthes’ +excitement was constantly increasing. He did not speak, but his face +glowed, his eyes stared fixedly at the mad throng, and he unconsciously +began to imitate some of the gestures the wild revellers were making. + +“Not far from the spot, where we were concealed among the bushes, was a +wide level space, overgrown with herbs and surrounded by enormous +pine-trees. Here the procession stopped, not to rest, but to riot still +more furiously. The phallus and the animals dragged along with the +revellers were placed in the midst, and the Corybantes gathered around +them. + +“Obeying an encouraging word from the priests, they rushed upon the +panther and the rest of the animals, tore them first with the hands, +then with the teeth, lapped their warm blood, and put the rest of the +bloody flesh on their thyrsus staves as if on spits. Then, amid a +louder roar of drums, cymbals and crashing metals they began to dance +around the phallus, praising the mighty, all-productive mother of the +gods, the ever-living vigor of growth, the inexhaustible power of love +and pleasure, whose statue appeared before the eyes of all. + +“The wild beasts fled from the tumult to the most distant valleys; a +frightened lion, running at full speed, burst through the bush close by +us. Indeed the frantic outcries, the smoking blood of the victims, the +blazing torches, and especially the roar of the drums, could not fail +to awaken either fear or the wildest excitement in the breast of every +animal and human being. I almost lost my senses myself. Suddenly +Chrysanthes made an effort to escape. I gazed at him in terror, +perceiving that in his whole appearance he closely resembled these +fanatics. I held him firmly, but developing a giant’s strength in his +youthful limbs, he released himself, and rushing away, sprang over a +cliff so high and steep, that it is a miracle his bones were not +broken—down, down amid those maniacs he leaped, and was swallowed up in +their whirling ranks; as a drop is absorbed in the flood. + +“I stood rigid with horror, motionless, almost senseless. + +“The frantic dance went on before my giddy eyes. Some fell as if dead, +rose again, and began once more. + +“Again the shouts of the most frenzied revellers, accompanied by +strange signs and gestures, rose above the din. When the tumult had +reached its height, several came forward and obtained a hearing for +words, only a few of which reached my ears. They pointed to the +phallus, shouted with excited gestures that the lifeless image on that +pole, according to the sacred ancient custom, must be supplied with the +warm blood of reality, and it well beseemed the most enthusiastic in +the ranks to present their own as a joyful thank-offering to the +all-producing goddess. + +“The sharp, crooked knives glittered ominously in the hands of the +priests of Cybele. + +“My senses failed, I saw only a confused throng, the most frantic of +whom were wounding, mutilating themselves with the flashing +blades—thought of my Chrysanthes—and fell fainting on the ground. + +“When I recovered my senses, the moon had risen and was shining +brightly, the throng of Corybantes had moved on, the roar of the drums +sounded like distant thunder from the depths of the forest. + +“I went to Sardis, the residence of the priests of Cybele, because +there I could first hope to learn something of my Chrysanthes’ fate, +receive my lost son. + +“And I did receive him: he was brought back to me on a litter made of +pine branches woven together on the Tmolus—wounded, mangled, bleeding. + +“The youth, so full of blooming health and beauty lay before my eyes +like the violet-wreathed pine, felled on the Tmolus by the knives of +the Corybantes as a thank-offering to the all-producing goddess.” + +Such was Artemidorus’ tale, which greatly shadowed the gayety of the +banquet. + +When it was over, Pericles on finding himself alone with Aspasia, said: + +“Miletus is beautiful, and Artemidorus’ story will not wholly cloud the +memory of the blissful days the gods have permitted me to spend here. +But I feel it is time to leave this burning strand for the tossing +ship, I shall not breathe freely again till I inhale my native, +invigorating Attic breezes.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +DIOPEITHES AND HIPPARETE. + + +Aspasia went in disguise on board the ship, which conveyed the Athenian +commander from Miletus to his fleet off Samos. As the trireme passed +out of the harbor into the glittering open sea, the Milesian gazed back +at the blooming Ionian coast. Flocks of cranes and long-necked swans +were flying over the meadows, and flapping their rustling wings, +alighted on the shore. But Aspasia’s glance rested on the vanishing +battlements of her native city. Her soul was full of the proud +consciousness that here, where her eyes first saw the light, she had +sealed the fairest triumph of her life and drawn the magic bond of love +more firmly than ever, nay indissolubly, around the most famous Hellene +of her time. Pericles too looked back at the vanishing strand of Ionia +with sparkling eyes: he was recalling the happy days spent there, +during which his peerless friend, like a feminine Antæus, seemed to +have absorbed a twofold power of charming from contact with her native +soil. + +“I could almost lament the departed Milesian honeymoon,” he said; “if I +were not soothed by the thought that I am bearing you away with me as +its fairest spoil.” + +“Happiness and love will follow us everywhere,” replied Aspasia; “there +is only one thing we shall leave behind, never perhaps to be +regained—the blissful retirement we enjoyed here, and our beautiful +freedom from all narrowing bonds.” + +Pericles bent his head and gazed thoughtfully into vacancy. + +“After returning to Athens,” continued Aspasia, “you will again be the +statesman on whose acts all eyes are fixed, an Athenian citizen bound +by the rigid rules of custom, and Telesippe’s husband—while I—I shall +once more be the stranger, the homeless woman protected by no law, I +shall be, as your wife and her friend express it, the hetæra from +Miletus.” + +Pericles slowly raised his head and looked her sharply in the face. + +“Have you ever desired anything else, Aspasia?” he asked, “have you not +constantly derided marriage as slavery, and mocked at the women’s +apartment as a prison?” + +“I don’t remember, Pericles, that you ever gave me the opportunity to +decide whether I preferred the position of the hetæra, or that of the +Athenian wife.” + +“And if I should,” replied Pericles, “if I offered you the choice, what +would be your answer?” + +“I should tell you, that I would choose neither, that I will +voluntarily be neither a hetæra, nor an Athenian’s wife.” + +Pericles was perplexed. + +“An Athenian’s wife?” he repeated; “so you do not disdain every +matrimonial tie, but merely the Athenian one; tell me, where is the +ideal of the marriage-bond you approve to be found in the world?” + +“I don’t know,” replied Aspasia; “I believe it has no existence, but I +cherish it in my heart.” + +“And what would be necessary to realize your ideal?” + +“If there is to be marriage,” replied Aspasia, “it must be founded on +the law of freedom and the law of love.” + +“And what can I do to realize this ideal with you?” replied Pericles. + +“You must grant me all the rights of a wife, without depriving me of +any of those you have hitherto bestowed upon the object of your love.” + +“You wish me to repudiate Telesippe and install you in her place as +mistress of my house? I understand that, but the remainder of your +demand is vague. What do you mean by the rights, of which I must not +deprive you?” + +“Above all, that of acknowledging no law between ourselves save that of +love,” replied Aspasia. “Then I shall be your equal, as the woman you +love, not a slave, like the wife. You are the master of the house, but +not mine; you must be content with the sacrifice of my heart, without +fettering my mind and condemning me to dull inactivity in the solitude +of the women’s apartment.” + +“So you will offer me your heart,” said Pericles, “but the charm and +influence of your mind must be common property as before? You will not +give up the pleasure of remaining in contact with everything, that can +excite your imagination and occupy your intellect.” + +“Even so!” cried Aspasia. + +“If we wished to attempt such a bond, do you know whether the essay +would be possible, viewed not merely from the stand-point of custom, +but also from that of love.” + +“If it seems to you impossible, who compels us to form it?” replied +Aspasia smiling, as she bestowed a tender kiss on her friend and began +to speak of other things. The trip to Samos was quickly made. After +Pericles had given certain orders for the guidance of the fleet, he +again went on board a trireme to set sail for Chios. + +“What,” cried Aspasia jestingly, “have you so great a desire to see the +fair one, who was once the object of your love and now, so far as I am +aware, lives with the poet Ion at Chios?” + +Pericles smiled as if at a jest. + +This time Sophocles accompanied Pericles, and was no little surprised +to meet the Milesian in her old disguise on the ship. + +She was once more the charming youth, whose secret was disclosed only +to a few. At Chios, the land of the finest grapes that ripened under +the Greek sky, and whose inhabitants were called the richest people in +all Hellas, lived Ion, a native of Chios, who had won many a laurel at +Athens with his tragedies. True, he was said to have gained the favor +of the citizens by means of several casks of Chian wine, which he +distributed among the people at the performance of his first tragedy. +He was one of the wealthiest men in Chios, as this generosity proves, +and as such possessed considerable political influence in his native +island. + +Ion had not been on good terms with Pericles, since the two men were +rivals for the charming Chrysilla’s favor, and the poet still remained +unfriendly, though the fair one had at last become his and followed the +rich man to his own country. Pericles regretted this lingering enmity +in the mind of his former rival; for it was his mission to obtain from +the Chians some by no means unimportant concessions to Athens, and now +could not help fearing that the influential Ion might oppose him out of +personal dislike. + +Sophocles undertook to effect a reconciliation between Ion and +Pericles, and no one was so well suited by nature to act as mediator as +the amiable, universally-popular author of “Antigone.” His appeal to +his fellow-artist succeeded so admirably, that the latter instantly +invited Pericles to come to his house with Sophocles, and considered it +an honor to entertain the two Athenian commanders. + +Pericles could only remain in Chios from one morning till the next, and +after having devoted the greater part of the day to political business, +prepared, accompanied by Sophocles, to accept Ion’s invitation. + +But the pair did not go to Ion’s house alone. + +Aspasia had insisted upon following her friend, in the disguise of a +slave, and thus remaining near him ready to render any service, after +the custom of the slaves who attended their masters. + +The Milesian’s secret design was to make the meeting between Pericles +and the beautiful Chrysilla harmless, by diverting their attention from +each other. Pericles consented to the disguise, attributing its motive +to a pardonable curiosity to see Chrysilla. + +Ion occupied a country estate in the most charming location of the +sea-shore, where the land rose first abruptly, then in a gentle ascent, +surrounded by sunny vineyards, full of the ripening gift of Bacchus. + +He led his guests out upon a terrace, situated on a rocky promontory +washed by the waves, and roofed with interlacing vines, from which hung +tempting clusters of Chian grapes, between which the eye was afforded a +charming view of the glittering sea and blooming neighboring islands. + +Conducting his guests to this lovely spot, after their eyes were +satisfied with gazing at the beautiful prospect, he invited them to +recline on soft cushions and entertained them with delicious viands. +The finest wine was poured into silver drinking-cups. + +Chrysilla was present, still as blooming as a rose, though the +roundness of her limbs had developed, during her stay in Chios, into +such plumpness that the Athenians’ delicate taste missed perfect +symmetry. She resembled a proud, full-blown rose; but the rose is only +the most voluptuous and fragrant, not the fairest of flowers. + +Ion, who was really a man of pleasant temper, gay and fond of +amusement, received Pericles in a friendly manner and with unfeigned +cordiality. He drained the beaker, in which foamed the most fiery +liquor of his casks, to the health of Pericles and his famous +companion, Sophocles. But when Ion was about to bestow enthusiastic +praise on the two men and the success obtained before Samos, Sophocles +declined to accept any share of the eulogy, saying that all the credit +belonged to his friend Pericles. + +“Yet,” he continued, turning to Ion and some of the aristocratic +citizens of Chios, whom the latter had invited to the banquet, “you +would be wrong, if in Pericles you principally admired the statesman +and soldier. News of the fame of his enterprises and creations goes +through all Hellas, but rumor speaks only of those qualities, which +attract attention and make a noise in the world. I, on the contrary, +since our companionship in the battles before Samos, can say more of +his nobler, less conspicuous virtues. You know of the victories he +gained there, but you do not know that when each of the fifty Samians, +whom he sent as hostages to Lemnos, secretly offered him a talent for +his release, he rejected these proposals, as well as the sums with +which the Persian satrap sought to bribe him. Others will tell you how +many hostile ships he sunk, how many enemies he has slain—but I will +speak of the lives he spared from compassion, his efforts to save the +blood of his own troops. I have often heard him say jestingly to the +soldiers, that if it depended upon him they should live forever. He +invented ‘iron hands’ for his ships, that those of flesh and bone might +be spared. You know he is a hero in the hours of strife; but I tell you +that in the hours of repose he is a philosopher, and whenever there was +leisure in the camp explained to his warriors the various phenomena of +wind, weather, and eclipses of the sun and moon, till many thought him +a sorcerer. Of his learning and vigor in philosophy they have so high +an opinion, that many now assert he defeated the Samian commander +Melissus, a well-known philosopher, less by his skilful strategy than +by murderous syllogisms. There was no man more gentle, no man more +severe, no one more feared, no one more beloved in the camp than he, no +one more silent when speech was superfluous, and no one more eloquent +when it was necessary. I wanted to tell you this about Pericles, that +you may praise the noble, excellent man, not always the soldier and +naval hero. Though he deserves commendation in the latter characters, +it should not be unconditional, since, as I hear, after doing well +before Samos, he behaved far less bravely at Miletus, nay almost forgot +his fleet and duties as commanding-general, and lay at anchor in that +bay several days longer than was necessary, which I consider an error +in strategy.” + +Ion and the other listeners smiled at the conclusion of Sophocles’ +speech, but Pericles instantly replied: + +“My fellow-commander and friend wishes to persuade you to number me +among the philosophers, rather than the great commanders. Gladly would +I, in order not to return like with like, assert on the contrary, that +he should be included among the great commanders rather than the +philosophers; but the fact is too apparent for concealment, that he is +in the same situation as myself: namely, he doesn’t understand too much +about generalship and matters pertaining to naval life. He will find it +easier all his life, to impress upon his mind the names of all the +nereids of the sea, than those of the various parts of a well-built +Athenian trireme. But during this expedition he composed a magnificent +pæan to Asclepius, which is sung on the whole fleet and, as all the +steersmen and rowers declare, rendered us most excellent service during +storms at sea. Even as his pæan soothed the waves and made the gods +favorably disposed towards the sea-voyage, his whole nature is like +oil, that soothes all harshness, smooths all excitement. The men on his +ship do what is right, even if he gives a wrong order, and think him a +man beloved by the gods, though inexperienced in naval affairs. If +anything escapes my lips which people consider wise, they believe I +obtained it from the philosopher Anaxagoras; but when Sophocles opens +his mouth, all are convinced that the gods themselves suggested in a +dream what he says. Such, men of Chios, is the nature of my +fellow-commander Sophocles. I meant to have praised him and should +thank the gods, if the eulogy he poured forth on me were as well +deserved, as that I bestow on him in these words.” + +Thus, excited by the fiery spirit of Bacchus and concealing cordial +feeling under the mask of graceful jest, the two Athenian commanders +praised each other before the gay company, beneath the clusters of +grapes on Ion’s beautiful sea-terrace. + +“It is enough to make me blush,” said Ion, “to see men like Pericles +and Sophocles, who are occupied in great things and toiling incessantly +for the public welfare, while I myself live in seclusion, devoted +wholly to the pleasures of existence and the Muses. Yet I think, in +addition to praiseworthy and beautiful action, there is also a +praiseworthy and beautiful leisure. I have chosen the latter.” + +“Surely a leisure, which produces beautiful fruit, must be called +beautiful,” said Sophocles. “The Athenians have not forgotten your +tragedies—” + +“Nor your Chian wine!” added Pericles. + +“I know,” replied Ion, with a good-humored smile, “you Athenians say I +tried to purchase your applause in the theatre with my wine, but say +whatever you choose, except that the liquor was bad. If you don’t +praise my Chian, you will wound me far more than if you censure my +tragedies.” + +“We see these tragic poets possess the gayest temperaments,” said +Pericles, “while in their tragedies they are fond of dealing with the +most sombre and gloomy subjects, being constantly occupied with the +wrath of the gods, ancient curses, hereditary guilt, horrible +dispensations of fate, and similar things.” + +“It is precisely because we are gay,” replied Sophocles, “that we +boldly enter upon gloomy themes; we struggle with and would fain +conquer them. We fight bravely with the old blind powers of nature and +destiny, in order to release human affairs, as well as we can, from the +spell of a sinister necessity. In the clear, starry nights I spent on +board of my trireme before Samos, my mind was much occupied with that +suffering old Theban. I followed his course as, urged by despairing +remorse for involuntary guilt, he deprived himself of sight and +wandered forth in exile, but gradually attaining clearness and freedom +of mind, finally shook off guilt and remorse, raised his grey head with +the pride of an innocent man, and from a criminal became the judge of +those who committed crime, not involuntarily and ignorantly like him, +but knowingly; not by the external curse of fate, but by the secret +denial of noble human emotions.” + +“What you say, my friend,” replied Ion, “contains your well-known +enthusiasm for your native province, for it was there that your +grey-haired sufferer went to rest.” + +“I willingly confess it, and consider it a favorable omen of my duty as +a tragic poet, that these ancient tragic complications should meet +their solution in the province where I was born.” + +“Honor your native province,” said Pericles; “but permit me to remind +you that not merely your birthplace, but all Athens is the soil where +old complications are unravelled, old guilt expiated, and ancient +darkness melts away in the presence of the goddess Pallas Athena! On +the gracious soil of Athens, not only the grey-haired sufferer, but the +youth Orestes, lashed by the furies, found deliverance from his curse; +nay you all know the gulf near the unfinished temple of the Olympic +Zeus, and we willingly believe the legend, that the waters of the +Deucalion flood flowed into this abyss.” + +During this conversation the sun had set—the wide sea glowed with +crimson light, and the last golden rays illumined the interior of the +vine-wreathed terrace. Ion’s guests eagerly breathed the mild, +refreshing evening breeze blowing over the waves. The host ordered the +beakers to be filled again, and the wine in the silver goblets +sparkled, as if it also mirrored the crimson radiance of the setting +sun. + +Pericles would allow his beaker to be filled by no other hand, than +that of the slave he had brought with him. The youth performed his +office of cup-bearer with a grace that did not escape the eyes of Ion, +the fair Chrysilla, and the other guests, whose attention had already +been attracted by the beauty of his features. The slave seemed to also +consider it his duty to pour wine for Sophocles, a service the latter +smilingly accepted with evident satisfaction. + +“The cup-bearer you have brought has but one fault, Pericles,” said he. + +“What is that?” asked Pericles. + +“He is in such a hurry to offer the goblet,” replied the poet, “I would +prefer he should linger a little, to allow us to look into his eyes, +which seem to me well worthy of notice.” + +The youth blushed, as he saw the gaze of the whole company directed +upon him by this speech. Sophocles smiled at his embarrassment, and +cried in the words of an old poet: + +“How beautiful, on purple cheeks, the light of Eros shines!” + +“What do you say to those lines by Phrynicus? How do you like the +purple cheeks?” + +“Not at all,” replied the youth, who had quickly regained his +composure. “It seems to me poets praise things in their verses, which +they wouldn’t consider by any means beautiful in reality. I think a +cheek painted with actual purple, would be hideous—” + +“What?” cried Sophocles, “then you probably would not admire the rosy +fingers of Eos in Homer?” + +“Certainly not!” replied the young slave. “If my fingers were as red as +roses, my master Pericles would think I had soiled them, and command me +to wash my hands.” + +“Would that all critics were slaves like you!” cried Sophocles. +Pericles laughingly rallied him with having at last found his judge. + +Many jests were thus bandied to and fro, while glances animated with +the fire of Dionysus flitted hither and thither, and meantime invisible +Cupids kindled a harmless little interchange of jealousy. Pericles +thought his friend Sophocles guarded the fair slave’s secret too +little, while the latter seemed to perform the office of cup-bearer to +the poet with greater zeal than was necessary. Aspasia, on the other +hand, fancied she had noticed that Chrysilla’s eyes met Pericles’ gaze +very frequently, and the latter sometimes allowed his glance to linger +on the well-rounded limbs of Ion’s friend. But this state of affairs +soon changed. Chrysilla had really sought Pericles’ eyes, from pure +feminine desire to learn whether she had wholly lost her power over the +man, who once paid homage to her charms. But the handsome slave, who +attracted all eyes, could not long fail to gain her notice, especially +as he seemed resolved to lavish his most ardent glances on Chrysilla. +Thus he at last succeeded in fixing her eyes almost exclusively upon +himself. In this endeavor he was assisted by Sophocles. + +Ion had at first watched the interchange of words and looks between +Pericles and Chrysilla with a slight feeling of discomfort, and was no +better satisfied when his friend’s attention was diverted to the +stranger; but gave her also some occasion for anxiety, by showing the +almost mysterious influence exerted upon him by the vivacious intellect +and beauty of this very youth. + +Fresh goblets were brought. As Sophocles received his from the handsome +cup-bearer, he looked sharply at the edge, then turning to the slave, +said: + +“I must complain, for the first time, that you do not perform the +duties of your office with sufficient care. I see a little speck on the +brim of this glass, which you have neglected to wipe away.” + +The youth was about to pass his finger lightly over the spot where the +little speck rested, to brush it off. + +“Such things ought not to be touched with the finger, but must be +lightly blown away with the breath.” He held the goblet towards the +youth, who smilingly stooped to blow off the speck as the poet desired. +But the latter held it in such a way, that the slave was obliged to +bend his head as near his as possible, so that the golden-brown hair +almost glittered on his breast. He breathed the intoxicating perfume +rising from it, felt a light touch on his cheek, as the head was bent +and raised again, and touched his lips to the very spot on the brim of +the goblet, that the rosy mouth had brushed. + +Pericles had noticed this incident with a watchful eye. “Friend +Sophocles,” said he, “I didn’t know you were so excessively particular, +as to make such an ado over a tiny speck.” + +“Rather confess,” replied Sophocles, with a smile of satisfaction, +“that you now see you were mistaken in pointing me out before all this +company, as a very poor strategist and tactician. But calm yourself, I +have obtained the satisfaction I desired, and promise to rest content +with this little proof of my capabilities.” + +He held out his hand to Pericles, who warmly pressed it. + +The shadows fell, but the clinking of the drinking-cups and the sounds +of animated conversation echoed from Ion’s sea-washed terrace until far +into the night. The crimson glow had gradually faded from the waves, +but still sparkled in the refilled, foaming beakers of Chian wine. + +Strangely enough, Pericles’ handsome, vivacious, ready-witted +cup-bearer had at last become the centre of the whole circle. Every one +wanted his goblet filled only by his hand, every one sought to catch a +glance from his sparkling eye, a sportive word from his lips. When +Chrysilla expressed a wish for a particularly beautiful bunch of +grapes, that hung from the espalier, the ever-agile and willing +cup-bearer hastened to pluck and offer it to the lady. Chrysilla +blushed, blushed in the presence of the slave—and no one marvelled. Ion +did not approve, but thought it perfectly intelligible. Thus at last +everything revolved around the disguised Milesian. Though she made a +jesting pretense of serving, she ruled. + +Finally Ion, who had used his delicious wine no more sparingly than had +his guests, asked Pericles if he would not sell this slave? + +“No,” replied Pericles, “I intend to give him his freedom, and will do +so now—this very hour. He shall have worn these clothes for the last +time. Here, before your eyes, I grant him his liberty.” + +All present enthusiastically praised this resolution. Beakers were +drained to the cup-bearer’s health, and his liberation was sealed with +the juice of the finest grapes. + +But one in Ion’s gay company, Pericles himself, had at last become +grave and thoughtful. + +“You pronounced my release with a solemnity, that was noticed even by +those who knew it to be a jest,” said Aspasia smiling, as they were on +their way home from Ion’s. + +“It was no jest,” replied Pericles; “it is my wish that you never again +use a masculine disguise, never again humiliate yourself.” + +“I am curious to learn how you will spare the stranger, the so-called +hetæra from Miletus, from humiliating herself.” + +“You will learn,” said Pericles. + +The next morning the Athenian commander returned to Samos, and without +delay ordered the fleet to prepare to set sail the following day for +the homeward voyage to Athens. + +This command was hailed with joy, and next morning at daybreak the +victorious Athenian squadron, proudly decked with pennons, sailed out +of the Samian harbor, to the accompaniment of rejoicing songs, into the +open sea, steering westward to return home after an absence of eleven +months. + +“I think you conquered at Chios the horror which seized upon you after +Artemidorus’ tale the last evening in Miletus, and did not need, as you +supposed, Attic breezes for the purpose,” said Aspasia to Pericles at +the hour of departure. + +“Yet,” replied Pericles in joyous excitement, “my soul is full of +longing for my native shore, and some lines I heard from Sophocles’ +lips are continually ringing in my ears: + + + “Melicertes, son of Ino, and thou, Leucothea, fair + Mistress of the emerald flood, ever swift thine aid to lend, + Daughters of Nereus, Poseidon, and ye, rushing surges, bear + Me on. West wind of Thrace, mildest sea-sovereign, send + Thy messenger to waft me o’er the wide salt waters. There + Is my loved Athens. Gods of the sea, from every peril me defend.” + + +Favorable winds aided the first day’s voyage, and the islands of the +blue Archipelago were passed under a cloudless sky. This sail through +the Archipelago was full of delight to the lovers. How they enjoyed +gazing over the ship’s side as she cleft the waves, which close at hand +looked meadow-green, but farther out merged into a dazzling blue, +glittering with countless silver sparks under the sunbeams. Sea-gulls +hovered around the mast on their long, white-bordered pinions, and +schools of dolphins followed the shining track of foam left by the keel +in its passage through the water. Gambolling saucily, they beat their +bifurcated tails, rolled in the eddies of the waves, leaped above the +surface and then buried their shining black bodies under the surges. + +At nightfall Pericles ordered the fleet to anchor before Tenos. The +monotonous song of the oarsmen died away, and with it the plashing of +the sea furrowed by the keels; stars sparkled in the clear, shining +ether, and in the east the moonlight cast its silver bridge across the +waves. + +Pericles stood musing on the vessel’s deck, while all around him sank +into slumber. + +A soft, warm hand stole into his. + +“Why do you gaze so thoughtfully into the waves?” asked Aspasia. “Are +you longing to see the ambrosial daughters of Nereus, who wander with +rosy feet through the crystal flood?” + +The silvery tones of her voice roused the dreamer. + +He answered with a kiss, and both began a tender conversation, amid +which, as if lulled into a dream, they gradually beheld in the clear +moonlight, the wide sea peopled with living forms. The daughters of +Nereus rose from the depths, riding on sea-animals, the Tritons pressed +after, sea-trumpeters, blowing hymeneal songs on shells; amidst them +came the sea-nymph Galatea. She raised the purple train of her robe +from the flood, and allowed it, swelled by gentle breezes, to flutter +like a sail. + +In the first grey dawn of morning, Pericles and Aspasia suddenly heard +the music of stringed instruments from the distance. It sounded like +the lyre of Orpheus, which, according to ancient legend, when the +singer died, was flung into the sea by the Mænads and borne onward +through the waves of the Ægean, where its notes are sometimes heard by +mariners during a calm, echoing over the tide. The sounds that reached +the lovers’ ears seemed to proceed from the lyre of Orpheus drifting +masterless on the sea, until they noticed that the music came from +Sophocles’ trireme, which passed them as the fleet again began to move +in the first dusk of morning. The friends greeted each other, and +Sophocles accepted Pericles’ invitation to pay him a visit on his ship. +There they talked of Athens, of meeting their friends again, and of the +great Panathenaic festival, which would take place directly after their +return. Aspasia heightened the eagerness with which Pericles and +Sophocles anticipated the surprises Phidias and his assistants, after +working constantly during this long time, would prepare for the +returning soldiers. + +When day had fully dawned and the first sunbeams sparkled on the waves, +sacred Delos, the “star of the sea,” the island of Apollo, rose on +their left, shining in the crimson dawn, and kissed by the first rays +of the god to whom it was sacred. Not without secret emotion did +Pericles gaze at the ancient, revered island pearl of the Archipelago. +He thought of the day when, like a gift of the god, the rich golden +treasure floated from this isle to Athens. Nor would the sailors allow +the island beloved by the god to be passed unhonored. From the lofty +decks of the whole Athenian fleet a loud pæan to Apollo, the patron +divinity of the Ionian race, echoed loudly over the wide sea, sparkling +in the light of morning. + +But from this time the songs and shouts on the ships never died away, +joyous excitement everywhere prevailed, for to-day the crews were to +reach their native strand, and the nearer they approached the desired +shore, the more swiftly the triremes, urged by swelling sails and +doubly vigorous oar-strokes, seemed to rush through their liquid road. + +Hours elapsed, Tenos and Andros were already far behind. Veiled in +light, silvery mists, the heights of Eubœa appeared northward above +Ceos. At the left, in large, bold, rugged outlines, surrounded by the +same silvery vapor, rose the pine-covered mountains of Ægina. A +delicate rime seemed to cover everything. + +Between the two islands, jutting far outward and girdled in the +background by a range of noble heights, the coast of Attica rose from +the waves. + +Countless eyes sought it—it was hailed with joyful emotion. But +distance at sea is deceptive. The sun was low in the west before the +fleet gained the wave-washed promontory of Sunium, towering steeply +upward, with the marble temple of Pallas, supported by columns, +gleaming on its lovely shining height. + +The Athenian fleet swept in a wide curve around this southern cape of +Attica, entering the magnificent Saronic Gulf, on whose right was their +native strand and the beckoning battlements of Athens, on the left the +mountains of the Peloponnesus, behind which the sun was setting. Both +near and distant objects glittered through a golden, rosy mist. The +mountain heights and the air above them, the sea and the ships, were +all suffused in the magical light of the last hour of day. Everything +was gleaming in purple and gold except at the southwest, where a black +cloud had gathered. Suddenly it burst like a sheaf of fire, and the +mountains of Argos stood wrapped in crimson flames. Calm and grand, the +heights that crowned Athens rose opposite to them on the right—the long +ridge of Hymettus, the pyramidal summit of Pentelicus, the bold rocky +dome of Lycabettus. + +Now, surrounded by the city, appeared the sacred height of the +Acropolis, so dear to every Athenian. All eyes turned towards it. But +the holy summit was changed. White marble pinnacles, strange to the +long-absent soldiers, gleamed through the light veil of mist in the +last rays of the setting sun. + +This time the Athenian sailor did not gaze from his vessel’s deck +towards the glittering head and shining spear of the colossal statue of +Athena, all eyes on the returning fleet were fixed on the new, +glittering white pinnacles, which flashed through the dusk on the +summit of the Acropolis. + +A loud shout rang from ship to ship. + +“The Parthenon! The Parthenon!” + +At the very hour, that the eyes of the returning victors were fixed +upon the height of the Acropolis, a secret and almost miraculous event +was transpiring in the venerable Erechtheum, opposite to the proud +pinnacles of the new Parthenon. + +The greatest and most magnificent festival of the Athenians, the +Panathenaic, celebrated once in every three years, was approaching. At +this festival, according to ancient custom, a beautifully-woven carpet, +the so-called peplos, was offered to the revered Athena Polias, the +protecting goddess of Athens. This peplos was woven on the Acropolis +itself, in the sanctuary of Athena Polias, which was connected with the +Erechtheum. Four young girls, scarcely beyond childhood, chosen from +the most aristocratic families, made this sacred peplos, living within +the precincts of the temple on the Acropolis, and following many +another sacred custom connected with the ancient and somewhat +mysterious worship in the Erechtheum. On a certain night, not long +before the Panathenaic festival, two of these young girls were selected +to carry into a rock grotto, near the Ilissus, through a secret +subterranean passage, something no one was permitted to see, and which +it was said not even the priests knew, bringing back to the sanctuary +of Athena Polias something equally unknown and mysterious. + +Among the young girls selected this year for the office of +arrephori—the name given to the chosen virgins—was Hipponicus’ little +daughter Hipparete, whose budding charms and modest manners her father +had praised when, at the banquet given in honor of the victory, he +suggested to Pericles the idea of forming a marriage-tie between this +lovely child and the charming boy Alcibiades. In fact Hipparete was the +very ideal of a real Athenian maiden, a rose-bud not yet opened, who +with all her childishness, showed traces of a thoughtful, dignified +character. + +Hipparete now lived on the Acropolis, with the playmates who had also +been summoned to render the same service to the goddess. The young +girls were treated as if they belonged to the temple. There was even a +special place, where they were allowed to amuse themselves in playing +ball. The priestess of Athena Polias exercised a certain supervision +over them, but as the sanctuary of this goddess was connected with the +Erechtheum, the young girls also lived under the eye of Diopeithes, +beside whom the priestess of Athena Polias was a mere insignificant +shadow. + +He gave all the maidens frequent directions and exhortations; but +talked most frequently to Hipponicus’ little daughter, seemed to bestow +special favor upon her, and always praised her more than any of the +others. He often engaged her in long conversations concerning her +father, his domestic affairs, and the guests who came to his house. +Hipparete answered with the frankness of a child, and when he once +jestingly asked if her father had chosen her future husband, gravely +replied that he wished to betroth her to Pericles’ young ward, +Alcibiades. + +“Pericles’ ward?” cried Diopeithes, the pleasant expression his +features wore suddenly changing to a sullen, sneering one. + +The priest’s hostility towards Pericles, and all whom he regarded as +companions, advisers, and followers of this man, had been constantly +fostered since his conversation with the seer Lampon. Through the +priestess of Athena Polias, a mere tool in his hands, he maintained a +connection with Elpinice and Telesippe, and by them learned whatever +happened in the circle of his enemies. + +The evening, on which this mysterious rite was performed, had arrived. +The two young girls chosen, Hipparete and Lysiske, were clad in costly +white robes embroidered with gold, which it was their fathers’ duty to +bestow for this festival, and which, after having been used, remained +the property of the temple. + +Thus adorned, the two maidens were conducted to the innermost sanctuary +of Athena Polias, and here, amid various ceremonies, received from the +priestess, in the presence of the priest of Erechtheus, and others who +had come as spectators of the holy rite, the two covered vessels they +were to bear through the secret passage into the rock sanctuary. With +the left hand they held the vessels to their breasts, and in the right +carried a lighted torch. Before they set out, the priest of Erechtheus +gave them exact directions concerning what they had to do, exhorted +them to banish from their minds any frivolous curiosity concerning what +was concealed in the vessels, to feel no fear of anything that might +meet them on the way or in the grotto, or allow themselves to be +interrupted in the performance of the sacred ceremonies. He told them +they were under the protection of the god Erechtheus, the wards of the +goddess Herse, into whose sanctuary they were descending, and charged +them to have no fear if the god himself should appear to them on the +way in his serpent form, as he had once done in ancient times to the +arrephori. Unless they violated the sacred mystery, or did not perform +the sacred rites faultlessly, they would have no cause to fear the +anger of the god. Under any other circumstances, they might expect +favor and salvation. + +The two girls set forth on their way. Hipparete had listened to the +priest’s words with eager, childish faith, and was full of joyous +courage. Lysiske, who was still younger, walked beside her more +timidly. They descended together into the subterranean passage, in +which many steps were hewn. Lysiske glanced timidly around, Hipparete +encouraged her. + +At last Lysiske began to wonder what was in the two sacred vessels. + +“I can imagine what we shall bring back,” said Hipparete. “What can +Herse, goddess of the dew, give us except dew? Or perhaps dew-sprinkled +branches or flowers?” + +“But what are we carrying down?” asked Lysiske again. + +“I don’t know,” replied Hipparete. “If we are to bring up something +wet, we shall probably carry down something dry or fiery, for if it is +damp in the lowlands, everything on the mountain heights is withered +and dry.” + +“No!” said little Lysiske thoughtfully, “we are certainly carrying down +a big owl, like those that build their nests in the walls of the +Erechtheum, and shall bring back a hideous serpent, for snakes live in +the lowlands.” + +“Have no fear of serpents,” replied Hipparete; “you know the god +Erechtheus appears under that form, and will protect and bless us on +our way.” + +The numerous steps were at last descended, the goal of the walk gained, +and the two young girls passed through a rock gate-way into the +sanctuary. The grotto was lighted by a lamp, whose red flame flickered +before a stone statue of the goddess. + +Performing the ceremonies they had been taught, the young girls placed +their vessels before the goddess, and prepared to lift and bear away +the closely-covered ones that stood ready for them. + +While doing so, their eyes wandered to the back of the grotto, where in +the dusk a huge serpent with upturned head lay coiled. + +Lysiske started, turned pale, trembled and sought to fly. Hipparete +detained her, and gave her the vessel, with which, without looking +back, she hastened away. Hipparete raised the other vessel and prepared +to leave the grotto. Just at that moment a strong breeze blew from the +end of the cave, extinguishing Hipparete’s torch and the red flame of +the lamp, so that the young girl stood in total darkness. Her heart +would also have been filled with dread, had not a friendly voice +reached her, bidding her remain as fearless as before. + +“For thy noble courage and pious faith,” continued the voice, “the god +will bestow on thee, oh! child, a gift which will secure thee the +blessing of the gods and the highest happiness throughout thy life.” + +The flame of the lamp now rekindled of itself, and in the spot where +the serpent had raised its head appeared the god, no longer under a +terrible aspect, but in the form of a stately hero. He invited the +young girl to approach. Hipparete fearlessly obeyed. Drawing her +towards him, he pressed a kiss upon her brow, which beamed with the +radiant purity seen in the half-unfolded leaves of the tree, when they +have just burst from their brown buds after a warm spring rain. + +“Have you never heard,” he asked, “of the homage gods have paid to the +daughters of earth? Have you never heard of Alcmene, Semele, Danæ?” + +The speaker’s lips quivered as he uttered the words, and the hand that +stroked the young girl’s waving hair also trembled. + +“Have you never heard,” he continued, “of the maiden to whom Zeus +descended, and who did not fear the god?” + +He put his arm around the young girl, who listened devoutly, her clear +eyes mirroring only the eager expectation of a childish heart, +anticipating the wondrous gifts the god had promised to bestow. + +Suddenly, glancing towards the back of the grotto, she said: + +“The serpent form is still there—only it is smaller now, much smaller.” + +Hipparete uttered the words very quietly, without the slightest emotion +of fear. She had been exhorted not to fear the serpents on her way, and +she did not fear them. She knew they were merely the mask beneath which +the god Erechtheus concealed himself. She had not dreaded the larger +serpent, why should she shrink from this small one? + +But the god by her side was startled. The false Erechtheus began to +tremble before the wrath of the real one. He gazed fixedly into the +corner, and saw a serpent writhing there. The child felt sure no harm +could befall her, that she was under the protection of Erechtheus; but +the god himself trembled under his divine mask, trembled before the +venomous reptile. + +At this moment the noise of a throng of people echoed from without, as +they hurried past the grotto on their way from the Ilissus to the +Piræeus, shouting exultantly: + +“The fleet from Samos is entering the harbor. Pericles is here! Long +live Pericles, the Olympian!” + +With a gloomy flash of the eyes, a wrathful quiver of the lips, the +priest of Erechtheus rose, unmasked first by his fear and then by his +rage, and hurriedly prepared to lead the child out of the grotto. + +Hipparete, mindful of her duty, lifted the sacred vessel from the +ground. The priest grasped her hand and conducted her up the dark +passage, to the place where a secret corridor wound through the +interior of the Erechtheum. There he left her, bidding her keep silent +about all she had seen in the grotto; then the blessing of the god +would not fail her. + +Hipparete entered the lighted hall of the temple, and placed her sacred +vessel at the goddess’ feet, then silently meditated upon the god’s +appearance. + +And Diopeithes? + +He went forth to strive to conciliate Erechtheus, by preaching +reverence for the ancient gods still more ardently than before. + +While these events were occurring on the silent height of the +Acropolis, the returning fleet had entered the Piræeus. The Athenians +had rushed in crowds to see and greet the new arrivals. Evening had +closed in, but the shore of the harbor glittered with torches, and the +spectacle became all the more magnificent, as by the glow of these +lights the hundred proud triremes of the victorious navy came sweeping +over the dark waves. + +The glare of light gave a strange aspect to the lofty masts, the white +sails, the golden statues of Pallas, and the fantastic forms of the +ship’s prows, adorned with shields wrested from the foe, the ornaments +of the hostile ships destroyed, and other trophies. + +Shouts of joy hailed the triremes from crowded stone dykes. + +The disembarkation followed. When the strategi landed, all pressed +around Pericles. The loudest shouts greeted him, some persons scattered +flowers in his way, and even loaded him with garlands. + +To escape these greetings, Pericles accepted Hipponicus’ invitation to +take a seat in the carriage drawn by noble Thessalian steeds, which had +been sent to meet the rich man at the Piræeus. + +Aspasia had been compelled to part from Pericles. A litter awaited her. +She entered it, closely veiled, and was borne to the city. + +Meantime the moon had risen and poured her light upon the sea, the +coasts, and the city. + +Pericles, silent and absorbed in thought, reached the city in +Hipponicus’ equipage. There, at a sudden turn in the road, glancing +upward, he saw close before him the summit of the Acropolis. + +He started. A slight tremor ran through his frame. Directly before his +eyes appeared the vision he had seen glimmering at a distance. Gleaming +white in the moonlight, strongly relieved against the night heavens, +full of sublimity in the marble majesty of pediment and columns, the +newly-completed work of Ictinus and Phidias stood on its airy height. + +The spell, which even at the present day seizes upon the souls of those +who gaze upward for the first time at the ruins of the Parthenon at +Athens, thrilled the soul of Pericles at that moment. + + + END OF VOL. I. + + + + + + + + + + + ASPASIA + A ROMANCE + OF ART AND LOVE IN ANCIENT HELLAS + + + BY + ROBERT HAMERLING + From the German by MARY J. SAFFORD + + + IN TWO VOLUMES—VOL. II. + + NEW YORK + WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER + 11 MURRAY STREET + 1882 + + + + + + + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. II. + + + CHAP. PAGE. + + I.—The Panathenaic, 1 + II.—Owls on the Acropolis, 28 + III.—The Thesmophorian Festival, 52 + IV.—The Arcadian Girl, 78 + V.—The New God and his Lightning, 117 + VI.—The Child of Light and the Priest of Darkness, 145 + VII.—Aspasia’s School, 171 + VIII.—Callicrates’ Mule, 202 + IX.—Conflicts and Victories, 237 + X.—Festival of Dionysus, 266 + XI.—The Satyr and the Bacchante, 303 + + + + + + + + + + +ASPASIA. + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE PANATHENAIC. + + +When a great man is honored by his native land, praised by the world, +and all offer him reverence, love, and homage, there is often one spot +where his greatness shrivels, where he feels small, where cold or even +disapproving eyes meet him. + +This spot is his own hearth-stone, his house, the bosom of his family. +Pericles too felt a strange, chilling atmosphere when, his ears still +ringing with the joyful greetings of the Athenian populace, he again +crossed the threshold of his home after a year’s absence. He too, like +the victorious Agamemnon, was received on the threshold by an angry +wife. + +Telesippe did not think of avenging herself on Pericles, as +Clytemnestra did on Agamemnon, or destroying him by a shirt of Nessus, +as Deianeira killed the faithless Heracles. Her mind was petty, so too +was her anger, her hate, and her revenge. + +In the presence of the Erinnyes who sat beside his hearth, what did it +avail Pericles that he had conquered before Sardis, sunk the hostile +commander’s galley? While the Agora was ringing with his fame, he was +compelled at home to endure Telesippe’s contemptuous, angry words, +Telesippe’s disapproving look. + +And Elpinice? The first time she met Pericles after his return, she +accosted him as follows: + +“For shame, Pericles! My brother Cimon conquered the Persians, the +Barbarians, but you have shed Greek blood, and allow yourself to be +applauded as the oppressor of your own kindred.” + +Silently, without vehement retaliation, but in the gentle manner +natural to him in his intercourse with others, Pericles allowed the +strife that had entered his existence with Aspasia, to press onward to +a decisive goal. He had at first supposed it would be an easy matter to +keep the rights of the woman he loved apart from those of his wife. Had +not Telesippe also thought so? Had she not contemptuously scorned the +Milesian hetæra, who might win her husband’s heart, but must leave the +rule over his hearth to his lawful wife? Had she not driven the +intruder away from the threshold of her home, and was not the latter +compelled to yield? + +But matters had progressed. Pericles himself was no longer the same. +The idea of a marriage-bond of a new kind had not been cast, like a +glimmering spark, into his soul in vain. + +The days during which the greatest of all Athenian festivals were +celebrated, had returned. + +The population of the rural districts flocked into the city, for the +festival was what its name implied, and what its founder Theseus +intended it should be—a constantly-renewed fraternization between the +whole population of Attica. The guests even came from distant regions, +the allied cities and islands, the colonies, nay from all Hellas. + +But Athens had never before witnessed so large an assembly of native +and foreign visitors within her walls. This time, in addition to the +attraction always exercised by the Panathenaic festival, there was +universal curiosity to see the wonderful Parthenon, opened for the +first time, and the unveiling of the marvellous statue of Pallas +Athena, wrought by Phidias of ivory and gold. + +The usual contests took place for several days prior to the great +festal procession. In the lowlands by the Ilissus the young heroes of +the Athenian gymnasia wrestled for the prize of victory. The most +skilful boys contended first, then the bravest youths, and then the +most experienced men. In the strife between the boys, Alcibiades, +Pericles’ ward and the favorite of all the Athenians, conquered, to the +great joy of Pericles, but the vexation of Telesippe, who hated the +lad, because he threw her own two sons, Paralus and Xanthippus, who +possessed little talent, completely into the shade. + +How this youthful victor glowed, as he gazed at the other contests at +which, to his sorrow, he was only allowed to be present as spectator, +not as candidate for the prize. Accompanied by Pericles himself, he +stood on the plain lying westward of the Piræeus outside the city, +enviously watching the clouds of dust grow wet with the steaming breath +of the flying steeds, and seeing the contestants in the Hippie arts +standing in the chariots, beside each rider a companion armed with +helmet and shield, who while the coursers dashed around the +race-course, sprang down, ran steadily for some distance, vying with +the speed of the chariot, then with an equally firm leap, bounded back +to it again. + +And how the lad was attracted by the famous sword-dance of the youths! +How his eyes sparkled at the mimicry of war, as keeping time to music +they went through all the manœuvres of a battle, exhausting every +method of attack, defence, evasion, in a sort of dancing-step, in +harmony with the rhythm of the rushing melody, during which swords were +clashed against uplifted shields, so that the clear sound of the metal +united to the accords of the music, and sometimes the melody of +victorious pæans, awakened a sort of martial enthusiasm and excitement +even among the spectators. As Alcibiades, infected by this excitement, +began to imitate the movements of the dancers and seemed glowing with a +desire to join their ranks, Pericles could not help thinking of +Artemidorus’ tale, and the scene when the Milesian suddenly beheld his +son Chrysanthes snatched away from him on the Tmolus, into the mad riot +of the Corybantes. In fact the noise of the sword-dance could not have +failed to recall that of the Corybantes on the Tmolus, had not +everything there been fierce and cruel, while here everything was +presented to the eye with grave and noble moderation. + +But the night too had its festival—the great torch-race, with which the +Athenians honored their gods of light, Hephæstus, Prometheus, Pallas +Athena. Only the handsomest and most agile youths in Athens were +permitted to contend. The object was to bear the torch, still burning, +to the goal; whoever had his light extinguished must retire from the +ranks. Whoever ran slowly, to spare the flame, was spurred on by the +eager, derisive shouts of the people. + +The Athenian families chose from their midst the handsomest old men and +stateliest men of middle age to adorn the procession. The youths and +maidens were also selected; but blooming youth needed less severe +scrutiny than middle life and old age, to afford the eye only graceful, +beautiful and noble forms. + +The contests closed with musical competition. + +Pericles, fostering every form of talent with equal zeal, had +introduced into the Panathenaic festival contests in the art of playing +flutes and stringed musical instruments. Among the offices and +dignities with which he was invested, was that of a director of the +public games and festivals of Athens. + +At dawn on the day of the real festival, when according to ancient +custom the so-called peplos was offered to Athena, the guardian goddess +of the city, in the Erechtheum, and the victors in the Panathenaic +combats were to be crowned in the new Parthenon, the procession formed +in the Cerameicus. + +The whole vast space was thronged with portions of the procession, all +moving towards the place of meeting, which afforded a scene of motley, +gay, and brilliant confusion. Here stood the beautiful horned bullocks +destined for the sacrifice, yonder the strong, elastic, fiery nature of +the noble steeds displayed itself in a shower of sparks from the +stamping hoofs. Beside the rearing horses stood youths, holding the +glittering bridles with powerful hands, occupied in curbing them, or +making them move in graceful caracoles. Thus the eye was perpetually +delighted with living groups, models of strength and symmetry. The +motley throng dispersed. The procession formed and began to move to the +accompaniment of trumpets, flutes, and stringed instruments. First came +the hecatomb of victims, hundreds of splendid cattle intended to be +slain on the Acropolis for an offering to the goddess, and then served +up to the populace for a festal banquet. They were magnificent animals, +fat and thick in the neck, with hanging dew-laps, their horns +beautifully curved like the two sides of a lyre, garlanded with wreaths +of flowers and gilded at the tips. Strong youths led them, controlling +with steady hands the struggles of the rebellious beasts. The cattle +were followed by rams, no less strong and beautiful, with splendid +horns and superb fleeces. + +Behind these animals, with their drivers, attendants, and the +sacrificers, came bearers of other gifts of the most diverse kinds: +they carried cakes on flat dishes, and liquor partly in wine-skins and +partly in large, handsomely-shaped vessels. + +Next followed a brilliant train of Athenian matrons and maidens, clad +in rich festal robes, bearing gold and silver sacrificial vessels, +which were kept year after year in a certain place, and only displayed +on such occasions. Dainty baskets filled with flowers, fruits, and +frankincense were carried on the heads of some of the virgins, who were +adorned with golden ornaments. Chosen from the fairest daughters of +Athens, at once slender and stately, charming and dignified, these +basket-bearers delighted every eye by the grace of their attitudes, +movements, and gestures. They were girlish buds, still chastely folded, +but sparkling with the dew of youthful freshness. Concealed during the +year, like the golden vessels, and secluded from the eyes of the world +in the women’s apartment, they were now brought forth to shine in the +light of the festal day. The festival disclosed what was usually kept +from every eye, displayed and unveiled everything brilliant and +beautiful. To-day the god of love discharged his arrows, to-day the +eyes of fair maidens and youthful suitors met. + +Next to the magnificent sacrificial vessels were borne the still more +superb gifts, which had never been more numerous: beautiful vessels, +glittering gold and silver shields, richly-ornamented tripods of +graceful shape, and even statues from the hands of admirable masters. +All these things, carried openly, sparkled with dazzling lustre in the +sunbeams. + +The virgins’ procession closed with the pretty, delicate, childish +figures of the Arrephori in the festal robes they had worn during the +sacred rites on the Acropolis, among them gentle, devout, courageous +Hipparete. + +Now followed the bearers and attendants of the gifts and victims +offered to the goddess by the Athenian colonies, or the cities and +islands allied with Athens. + +Then came the most important of all the gifts, the centre of the whole +procession, the ample, superb peplos. It was not borne by human hands, +but stretched like a sail over a magnificent ship that moved on wheels. +Must not this carriage, in the form of a ship of remarkable size and +beauty, have been intended to remind the spectators of the naval power +of Athens, and at the same time of the sea-god, whose worship was +formerly associated with that of Erechtheus and Pallas? Was not the +peplos made the principal object in the Panathenaic procession, instead +of the superb ship, to recall the victory of Pallas Athena, goddess of +light, over the gloomy wielder of the trident? The part taken by the +goddess of light, in the battle between the gods and the giants, was +represented in the glittering gold embroideries, skilfully wrought on +the purple or crocus-yellow ground of the fabric. + +Stretched over the mast of the stately vessel, this gold-wrought +picture of the battle of the gods of light against the rude primeval +powers, glittered in the sunshine before the eyes of the populace. + +Behind the magnificent ship with the peplos, proudly walked the victors +in the Panathenaic contests—the musicians with their stringed +instruments, the conqueror in the torch-race, holding in his hand the +lighted torch, with which, according to ancient custom, was lighted the +fire for the great sacrifice to the goddess on the Acropolis; the +victors in the chariot-races, with their magnificent equipages, drawn +by four horses, each chariot containing the driver and his companion, +armed with helmet and shield; then came, bearing olive-branches in +their hands, the procession of handsome, dignified old men, who had +conquered in the trial of masculine symmetry. These men with silver +hair, who had preserved the dignified beauty and freshness of body and +soul until so late in life, were looked upon as noble examples by the +Athenian youths. The mounted Ephibi followed, the young men of Athens, +slender figures with dark waving hair and sparkling eyes, sitting their +noble steeds like well-trained riders. Next came all the men of Athens +capable of bearing arms, led by the Strategi and Taxiarchs: the +heavily-armed troops, and cavalry, composed of men of noble birth in +glittering armor, on the handsomest and most fiery steeds—for the +wealthy and aristocratic Athenians appeared on horseback in peaceful +processions, as well as in the field—then an endless procession of +citizens, led by various dignitaries: the archons, the members of the +council, the chief priests, the people arranged by districts, men and +women in festal garments with myrtle-boughs in their hands, and behind +them the foreign residents, the women carrying oak-branches, in token +of being under the protection of Zeus Xenios, the god of hospitality. +Other wives and daughters of foreigners walked behind the Athenian +women, whose protection they enjoyed, carrying parasols in their hands +to hold over their patronesses’ heads, when the procession stopped in +the burning sun, or small daintily-shaped chairs without backs, on +which they might sit when the train halted. + +The procession now moved from the outskirts of the Cerameicus, through +the finest streets in the city, up to the Agora, which was strewn with +oak-leaves and otherwise decorated: the duty of the slaves on this day. +Here it halted for the first time, and the mounted squadron of +aristocratic Athenians in glittering armor performed various manœuvres +and exercises in the vast square, which formed almost the finest part +of the whole spectacle. + +While the procession remained in the Agora, part of the train of +victims, with its attendants, branched off to go in advance, and offer +the usual preliminary sacrifices, one on the hill of the Areopagus, and +the other at the altar of Athena Hygieia. + +After these sacrifices were completed, the procession with the hecatomb +and ship bearing the peplos, again moved forward, passed through the +most aristocratic streets and by the most famous sanctuaries, at which +a short pause was made, doing honor to the god by a sacrifice or +singing a pæan. + +When it reached the place where the way led up the hill of the +Acropolis, the steeds and chariots, which could not follow the +procession up the wide, but steep road, or find room on the plain at +the summit, were left behind. Yet there was no lack of bold riders, nor +even of chariot-drivers, who with their brave steeds accompanied the +procession, keeping in the middle of the broad road, for the furrowed +pavement here lessened the danger of slipping for horses’ hoofs as well +as chariot-wheels. + +On reaching the Acropolis, the procession halted between the Erechtheum +and the newly-completed temple of Pallas Athena. The peplos was taken +into the Erechtheum and, amid the singing of a pæan, the great +sacrifice of the hecatomb began before an altar standing in the open +air on the eastern side of the Parthenon. + +But no glance from the multitude sought the dusky hall of the +Erechtheum, where the ancient statue of Athena Polias, standing on a +flower-wreathed throne, received its customary tribute, the peplos; the +holy rite of sacrifice also remained unheeded: every eye turned towards +the gleaming marble splendor of the temple, whose doors were to open +to-day for the first time, to the gaze of the Athenian nation. + +The first impression produced by the new edifice was a radiant vision +of light. Nearly the whole structure was glittering marble, shining in +the purity of its virginal whiteness, from the stones of the foundation +to the last daintily-carved tile in the roof. The remainder was +decorated with golden ornaments or bright colors. The wondrous +building, steeped in sunshine, stood on the height, extending in a long +quadrangle surrounded by pillars, from the western to the eastern side. +Noble, clear, and symmetrical in its proportions, it yet seemed to soar +upward from its strong foundation. Even this foundation, with the +marble steps leading to it, rose above the heads of the spectators. The +temple itself, with its forest of marble columns, the carvings on its +frieze, the spirited colossal marble groups, which peopled the broad +pediment as if with a throng of wondrous figures, the gleaming +ornaments in gold and colors, whose glitter here and there outshone the +snowy Pentelican marble, seemed as if it were rising towards the virgin +goddess into her native realm of light, the ether sacred to her. + +But, during the first few moments, nothing so strongly attracted the +eyes of the Athenians as the large marble groups, which filled the +broad space of the two pediments. The spectacle was overpowering; for +the superb figures represented resting, standing, walking, not in +bas-relief, but in statues, separated from the background, seemed about +to step forth and descend to the Athenian populace, so beloved by the +gods. Symmetrical in bearing and movement, they appeared full of +healthful, vigorous life. + +The moment immediately after Athena’s birth from the brain of Zeus, was +depicted on the pediment on the eastern side. In the centre of the +group were the god, the goddess, and the Titan Prometheus, who cleft +Zeus’ head to aid the birth of the goddess of light—on both sides Nice +and Iris hastened away with the joyful message, while goddesses and +heroes met them, eagerly listening to the tidings; in the left corner +rose Helios with his fiery steeds, in the right the goddess of night, +with her coursers, was disappearing in the waves of Oceanus. + +The western pediment contained a group representing the contest between +Poseidon and Pallas Athena for the possession of the Attic country. In +the centre were the two divinities—impetuous Poseidon, who had just +struck the rock with his trident and called forth the sacred spring, +opposite to him Pallas Athena and the olive-tree which grew at her +command; beside her the rearing steeds for the triumphal procession; +the divinities and heroes of Attica joining the goddess, Poseidon +attended by his sea-tritons. From these figures of colossal size, +carved in marble, the eye wandered to the smaller sculptures on the +frieze above the columns, where in the long succession of metopes was +represented the battles of Hellenic champions with fierce Centaurs; and +thence, through the columns surrounding the temple, to the carving on +the inner frieze encircling the external marble of the hall within. + +As his gaze rested on this, the Athenian’s eye began to sparkle still +more brightly; for here was the reflection of the festal procession, +chiselled in marble—scenes from the Panathenaic procession and the +preparations for it: groups of beautiful, modest maidens, youths on +rearing steeds, pairs of horses dashing proudly along, battle-scenes of +the Agones, [7] the presentation of the peplos, and amid all the +beautiful human forms, the Olympic gods, who had emerged from their +invisible, unapproachable sphere, as witnesses of the magnificent +festival. So simple, so noble appeared every figure, despite its +beauty, that they seemed to say from the marble to the Athenian nation +for all futurity: “Maintain beautiful symmetry, and let your lives +constantly develop into the noble simplicity, loveliness, and purity, +that confront you here in the marble forms from Phidias’ studio—” + +When the victims of the hecatomb had been offered, the highest +dignitaries in Athens marched forward, in the presence of the expectant +throng, up the steps to the doors of the temple, where they formed in +two lines. In the centre stood Pericles and the archon Basileus. + +Then the wide, richly-ornamented metal doors of the temple opened. The +interior, with its glimmering columns and the new, sublime statue of +Pallas Athena by Phidias, shining amid the sacred gloom, were revealed +for the first time to the Athenian populace. + +The members of the procession began a song of praise to the goddess. +When it had died away, Pericles came forward and from the steps of the +temple addressed the throng. + +“In ancient times,” he said, “Pallas Athena had poured forth a wealth +of temporal blessings upon the cradle of the Athenian, and as the +bestower of the nourishing olive-tree, the giver of the first +blessings, the founder and promoter of the prosperity of the Attic +country, was honored in the venerable, but shapeless wooden statue of +the Erechtheum. Then came the time when Athens girded on the sword, +battled in the van of Hellas with the Barbarians, and strengthened by +conquest, soared upward to the full development of her might. As a +symbol of this period, the colossal statue of the goddess towered on +the Acropolis far over land and sea. Now a time has commenced, when the +goddess develops her inmost and deepest nature, and with it bestows the +fairest portion of her blessings on the Attic country and nation. She +now desires to reveal herself as the goddess of light-giving ether, in +whose presence darkness melts away, the thoughtful, meditative +divinity, around whose brow free thought hovers with beautiful +clearness, the fosterer of all beautiful trades and arts, and every +blessing emanating from the mind. As such Phidias now represents her, a +Pallas Athena of peace. Above this new statue of the goddess has been +reared the new temple worthy of her, no priestly house of sacrifice, +but a Panathenaic festal dwelling, in which, released from priestly +limitations, she can reveal the real light and power of her nature. +This temple significantly surrounds the goddess, completing the +revelation of her own nature and that of the nation she protects; for +the character of the divinity and her chosen people will soon be +blended into one. So, revering the ancient customs of our ancestors, +the peplos will still be offered to the venerable wooden statue of the +guardian of the city, but the goal and central point of the Panathenaic +festival will henceforth be the Parthenon. Henceforth the victors in +the Agones must receive the prize from the hand of the magistrate +sitting at the feet of the goddess, and the nation will turn to the +carvings on the brilliant temple, to receive into their souls the +emanations from the goddess’ inmost nature, and fill their minds with +the lofty and important truths, which speak with marble tongues from +walls, pediment and frieze. In these sculptures the Athenian will read +the story of his own existence, read it in the heroic pæan carved in +stone of the victory of light and intellect over darkness and savagery. +Becoming conscious of its strength, the Hellene’s mind will kindle with +noble aspiration to be worthy of the monument he has planted here for +all ages.” + +After these words from Pericles the populace enthusiastically repeated +the pæan to the virgin goddess, and, amid the song and the music of +flutes and stringed instruments, which accompanied the procession, the +band of young girls at a sign from the archon Basileus, conducted by +him, were the first to ascend the steps and pass through the open doors +of the Parthenon. It was fitting that the new sanctuary of the virgin +goddess should be first trodden by virgin feet. The maidens were +followed by the youths, and while the former stood on the right and the +latter on the left of the statue, amid the melody of the pæan, the +bearers of gifts, clad in festal garments, entered the temple and laid +the offerings at the goddess’ feet. Other gifts, especially gold and +silver shields, were hung on the architraves of the pillars. The +victors in the Panathenaic contests were now led across the threshold, +attended by the umpires and highest dignitaries in Athens. + +Louder rose the sound of flutes and stringed instruments, still more +inspiring was the pæan, as the radiant statue of the goddess stood +directly before the eyes of those conducted into the temple and the +crowd of Athenians, who flocked after. The gaze of all was fixed upon +it. + +The colossal figure of the divinity gleamed with a lustre as dazzling +as the temple; the undraped portions were formed of ivory, all the rest +of gold. The grave, beautiful face, shaded by a heavy gold helmet, from +beneath which fell luxuriant curls, gazed thoughtfully into space. The +features wore a meditative expression, which seemed to melt into a mild +radiance. At the left of the goddess rested the shield, peacefully +lowered, no longer victoriously uplifted. The spear leaned idly in her +hand. She seemed no longer a combatant, but a conqueror; in her +out-stretched right hand she held, as one bears a dove or a falcon, a +statue of winged victory, that extended to her a glittering gold +wreath. Under the shelter of the shield coiled the sacred serpent, +symbol of the earth-born, but divinely-guarded primitive power of the +Attic country and nation. On the goddess’ breast was the ægis with the +radiant Gorgon head. Beneath the curve of the towering ornament of her +helmet was carved a sphinx, and on the right and left griffins, emblems +of thoughtfulness, penetration, and watchfulness. Many another +significant ornament strove to fully interpret the goddess’ nature—on +the outer side of the shield, the battle with the fierce Amazons, on +the inner the struggle with the defiant giants, on the edge of the +sandals the savage Centaurs; everywhere strife with dark, evil powers. + +The magnificent temple was a fitting sanctuary for the superb statue. A +double row of gleaming columns, twined with festal garlands, ran +through the interior, dividing it into three apartments. In these side +chambers a second row of pillars, above the first, formed an upper +story, an open portico. The flat roof, resting on this upper row of +columns, had a wide square opening in the centre, so that the light +fell from above into the windowless interior and upon the statue. This +brightness, streaming from above, was wonderfully suited to the dignity +and divinely mysterious stillness of the temple—the glimpse of this +opening and the blue sky above divested the mind of the oppressive +sensation produced by the magnificent and powerful carving. The falcon +and eagles, the fiery steeds of Helios, and the thunder-clouds of Zeus +passed over it, and in the changeful play of light and shade, now +steeped in golden radiance, now bathed in cool white moonlight, anon +veiled by temporary twilight, the goddess’ face seemed to gaze downward +from her height with varying expression, by turns grave and gentle. In +the noble grandeur of the temple, there was nothing which could have +diverted the spectator’s gaze from the goddess; everything led the eye +to her, even the succession of beautiful glittering gifts between the +columns. There was no trace of the scattered ornaments, diverting the +attention, with which other ages and nations have striven to adorn the +abodes of their gods. The vast, sublimely beautiful statue stood alone +in the marble hall, pervaded with its atmosphere of radiant light and +mysterious stillness. + +After the new temple of Athena had been offered and consecrated to the +goddess by the Athenian nation, amid enthusiastic songs, accompanied by +the music of flutes and stringed instruments, and the rich gifts had +been laid at her feet, the distribution of prizes to the victors in the +Panathenaic contests commenced. They were summoned by the umpires, and +as the trophies were awarded first to the victorious boys, then the +youths, and then the men, it happened that the fourteen-year-old son of +Cleinias, Alcibiades, as victor among the boys, was the first one +called to receive the prize in the newly-opened Panathenaic temple. The +proud, joyous lad obtained a beautifully-formed amphora, adorned in +brilliant colors with a representation of the youthful Heracles +destroying the serpent. This exquisite vessel was filled with oil from +the sacred olive-tree of Pallas Athena, in the garden of the Academy. +The victors in the other Agones received similar gifts; but those who +conquered in the musical contests obtained golden garlands. + +When the distribution of prizes was completed, the treasure of the +Athenian commonwealth was conveyed into the storehouse at the back of +the Parthenon, before the eyes of the populace. This building which, +enclosed by the pillars of the Parthenon, adjoined the temple on the +western side, was a solid, windowless chamber, that could be lighted +only by a lamp, and in whose mysterious gloom the coined and uncoined +treasure of Athens, with jewels of every kind, costly vessels used for +display, and even public documents of special importance, were +henceforward to be preserved under the charge of the treasurer of the +Athenian people. + +Among the throngs who crowded the height of the Acropolis, to gaze at +the newly-revealed splendors of the Parthenon, were many who came from +other countries, among them a man from Sparta. + +As the latter was about to enter the new hall of the temple, an +Athenian youth, who had watched him for some time, seized his shoulder, +exclaiming: + +“Away from this threshold! Dorians are forbidden to enter here.” + +Indeed, an old decree prohibited men of the Dorian race from entering +the sanctuaries on the Athenian Acropolis, and the outspoken foes of +Athens were sometimes reminded of this law. As a large crowd of people +had gathered around the Spartan, and the youth repeated the envious +remarks he had heard from the latter’s lips, all took sides against the +foreigner, and he was compelled to leave the place. + +Thus the enmity which formerly divided the two great Hellenic races, +sometimes blazed significantly, though only in lightning flashes. + +But there was also an Athenian on the Acropolis, who watched the festal +throng surging around the new Parthenon with looks of wrath and envy. +This man was Diopeithes, priest of Erechtheus. + +True, according to ancient inviolable custom, the peplos had been +carried into the Erechtheum, offered to the wooden statue of Athena +Polias. But the rite was hastily and coldly performed, while the +Athenian populace turned towards the newly-erected temple, the +priestless sanctuary of Pallas Athena. Not to the Palladium sent down +from heaven to the city of Athens, not to the goddess of his sanctuary, +had the Athenians paid their homage, but to the frivolous showy statue +of Phidias. At the feet of this new statue, not in his temple, were +laid the costly offerings. The gods of the Erechtheum were angry, and +their priest with them. + +As on the day when Pericles and Aspasia, accompanied by Sophocles, +wandered over the summit of the Acropolis and saw the foundation of the +now completed structure, Diopeithes was standing engaged in +conversation with one of his confidantes at the door of the Erechtheum. +Even as on that day, when talking with Lampon about the corruption of +the times, he now suddenly saw the man he hated, with the same Aspasia, +walking on the height, accompanied by Phidias, Ictinus, Callicrates, +Sophocles, Socrates and other distinguished Athenians, who with +Phidias, inscribed on their banners the Homeric saying: “Pallas Athena +never suffers me to tremble.” + +As the hour of the great festal banquet had arrived, in which the flesh +of the slaughtered hecatomb of cattle and the remains of the +preliminary sacrifices were served up to the populace, moistened with +lavish gifts of Dionysus, this chosen group now wandered over the +Acropolis to gaze undisturbed at the newly-finished building. + +Phidias’ countenance was not grave and thoughtful as usual, a radiant +expression rested on his brow. + +Pericles expressed his great delight that, after watching the +commencement and gradual growth of this work, he had now, on returning +to Athens after a year’s absence, been surprised by a completed +structure whose splendor he had never anticipated; and again extolled +the genius by which so much that was great and beautiful had been +finished in so short a number of years, been produced as it were, by a +single brain. + +Phidias replied that the miracle had not been performed by a single +brain, but the thousand skilful hands that served it. Yet they had not +so much served a single head, as the one spirit which animated all with +the most beautiful harmony. + +While the men, in their joyful excitement, drank in the charm of the +newly-created temple with enraptured eyes and gave utterance in words +to their emotion, Aspasia gazed at the work of Phidias, Ictinus, and +their assistants with an eager, sparkling glance, nay even with flushed +cheeks, but in silence. + +Her muteness perplexed even Phidias, the most silent of men, who at +last, turning to her with a smile peculiar to him, said: + +“If my memory does not deceive me, the beautiful Milesian has long been +considered by many the best judge in Athens of everything relating to +matters of art. She has also, to the best of my recollection, never +been backward in expressing her opinions. How happens it that she, a +woman, shames us men to-day by her silence?” + +All looked earnestly at Aspasia, mutely making themselves sharers in +the question. + +“You are right to remind me that I am a woman, Phidias,” replied +Aspasia. “As such I am not always so calm as you men, and in my +thoughts there is less rigid sequence and order than in yours. Woman’s +temperament is mobile, and you must take heed that you have not +ventured too much in granting to me, a woman, apparently the only one +of my sex, the right of free thought and speech. Here stands the +wondrous new structure, vast as a mountain, beautiful as a flower, and +what a wealth of finished work is at the same time spread out and +revealed before my eyes! Everything is so graceful in its dignity, so +multifarious in its noble simplicity, so stirring in its repose, so +mature in its youthful freshness, so profound in its naturalness, so +bright in its solemnity, so human in its divinity, that the mind of +every man can be in no other condition than that of the utmost +satisfaction and absence of all farther desire. But a woman’s nature, +like a child’s, prompts her, when receiving in her hand one article she +wants, to stretch out the other for another, and perhaps follow a third +with her eyes. If I were a man, I should be satisfied at this moment +with enthusiastically praising Phidias as the first, the greatest of +all the Hellenes. As a woman I have another wish to utter, nay, an +accusation to make. Have you no fear of golden Aphrodite’s anger, +Phidias? You seem to me to be ever seeking to embody in human form the +lofty, the pure, the divine; and if the divine did not always happen +also to be beautiful, I believe you would not trouble yourself about +beauty. Never do you seek it; the loveliness that charms the senses, +kindles the heart, has no echo in your soul. You disdain to represent +feminine beauty for its own sake, as poets so enthusiastically do, when +they sing of Aphrodite. Your mind is always steeped in holy austerity, +and your soul hovers, like the eagle, only over lofty heights. Oh! +Eros, has thou no arrow for this man? Why, oh! Cyprian goddess, dost +thou not bind him with thy golden chains, that he may consecrate his +chisel to thy charms, and through him thy inmost nature be revealed, as +that of his goddess, Pallas Athena, has been disclosed in these +images?” + +“In truth,” replied Phidias, “I have hitherto found protection from the +arrows of Eros and the fetters of Aphrodite beneath Pallas Athena’s +shield, and doubtless owe it to her that my art has not become +effeminate. Accuse the Lemnians, however, Aspasia, if having just +completed the statue of the virgin goddess for the Parthenon, I do not +now devote my art to golden Aphrodite. The Lemnians do not ask an +Aphrodite, but have long urged me to make them a bronze statue of this +very Pallas Athena.” + +“Your words fill me with greater hopes than you suppose,” answered +Aspasia, after a thoughtful pause. “To-day, while Pericles was +addressing the populace, I heard him allude to the progress made from +the insignificant, shapeless wooden statue to the mighty colossal +Athena, and thence to the virgin goddess of the Parthenon. Who would +not believe that the Pallas of the Lemnians will also surpass the +virgin of the Parthenon? Who would doubt that the more you create, the +more warmly, the more brilliantly the fiery waves of life and beauty +will leap from the bronze or marble? After you have carved the warrior +form, half masculine, half feminine, and the thoughtful virgin, what is +left except woman?” + +“Whether I shall advance or deviate from my course by listening to the +suggestions of a beautiful woman, I know not,” replied Phidias. “But +what you ask seems to lie in my path.” + +“Do you, to whose eye no Hellenic woman would deny the sight of her +charms, represent woman and her loveliness,” continued Aspasia, “and +announce to the Greek nation, as the last and highest message: Only in +the garb of beauty will wisdom conquer all hearts.” + +Such was Aspasia’s conversation with Phidias. Pericles now began to +discuss with the sculptor and Ictinus the plan of the magnificent +porticos, which were to complete the coronation of the mountain on its +western side, and which, according to the views of these men, ought to +be no less sublime and gorgeous than the Parthenon itself. But they +constantly turned back to gaze at and enjoy the finished structure, the +carvings, the superb offerings. The work of one and another of Phidias’ +pupils was singled out—here Alcamenes was praised, yonder Agoracritus, +and thus each one of the countless sculptors, who with eager zeal had +united their powers. + +Phidias now conducted Pericles and the rest of his companions to the +work of Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, the group of Graces, which the +truth-seeker had undertaken to carve for an offering to the temple on +the Acropolis. + +They beheld the three virgins, sculptured in marble, embracing each +other. Spite of a strong resemblance, they were yet dissimilar. One was +charming, the second noble, but severe, the third thoughtful. + +When the spectators wondered at this diversity, the sculptor, a shade +of sadness resting on his face, replied: + +“I thought you would not consider this difference strange, but +perfectly natural. Why should we imagine a trio of Graces, if all three +are one and the same? I sought to trace the deep meaning of this +trinity, for I did not doubt that three diverse traits of character +must be united in the nature of the Graces. But I could not succeed in +discovering what these three different qualities were, until Alcamenes +took us to the beautiful Theodota. Scales fell from my eyes, when the +Corinthian successively danced Aphrodite, Hera, and Pallas. What is +Aphrodite’s nature except physical beauty, what Hera’s save loveliness +of soul, goodness, morality, and what Pallas’ except intellectual +beauty or truth? So I learned, that body, soul, and mind must unite to +form the perfect nature of the Graces. + +“This is what I learned from Theodota, but would not disclose when you +questioned me, because I longed to express the idea my mind had +grasped, not in words, but sculpture, like Phidias. I have not +succeeded. If I had, these words would not have been needed. I have +toiled with the marble, yet must now use speech. You, Aspasia, do not +require words to express your opinion; I read it in your looks.” + +“What do you read?” asked Aspasia. + +“You tell me: ‘Turn back, investigator, from statues and living forms +to thoughts, ideas, and words—’ I will do so. From this day forth, I +will lay aside the chisel, or rather offer it as a gift to the wise +goddess, instead of the work of my hand. I will shatter this image of +my wretched art, content if the thought that created it lives on and +will be embodied in the minds, souls, and emotions of the Athenians, +instead of in lifeless marble.” + +“Nay, Socrates,” said Pericles, “offer your chisel to the goddess, that +in future you may pursue only your real mission, which no other can so +well perform. But leave this group uninjured; for although formed less +by the artist’s hands than the sage’s intellect, this group places +before the eyes the noblest goal of the Hellenic spirit—body, mind and +soul united and transfigured into the fairest flower of the Graces. +More impressive expression cannot be given to the efforts hitherto made +by us all, or a more worthy incitement to fresh creation and action! +Here, before this piece of sculpture, is the spot to clasp hands, in +renewal of the bond which has united us. Here, too, it seems to me, +before the group of the Graces, is the place to thank our noble Aspasia +for what she has promoted in unison with us, not so much urging with +words, as directly animating us by the inspiration of her nature, +which, as you all know, streams into our souls like a sunbeam, ever +kindling something new and beautiful. Let her be the model from which +you carve your new statue of Pallas, Phidias; for she not merely tells +you, but has proved to you and to us all, that wisdom, robed in the +garb of beauty, is invincible. + +“Usually,” continued Pericles, “the footprints of beauty are +fleeting—it comes and goes like the sunlight or the fructifying rain. +The beautiful graciousness, emanating from Aspasia’s nature, will +remain with us as a carefully-guarded treasure. You no longer see +before you a stranger, at whom the shafts of envy may be aimed with +impunity, or who may be insulted with abusive names. From this day +forth she is my wedded wife. The marriage-tie that united me to +Telesippe has been peacefully sundered. Hereafter Aspasia will rule my +hearth in her place. I know the Athenians look askance at a +fellow-citizen, who brings a foreigner into his house as his wedded +wife. I know our law even denies the scions of such a marriage the +rights of Athenian citizenship. Yet I have wedded Aspasia. The bond I +have formed with her, however, is a new one, a marriage which—I know +not whether husbands or wives are at fault—has never yet been realized, +hovers before the minds of both. Our community has recently experienced +many changes, but if public life is regenerated, why should not +individual, domestic existence yearn for a new birth? To me and to +Aspasia, this day, which displays the life of Athens on a glittering +pinnacle, will be at once a turning-point and high festival of our +existence. Athens and all Hellas strive under new stars towards new +goals: we will both do the same within the narrow circle of the inner +life. Here, as well as there, the moving spirit, mind, and thought are +the same. Here, as well as there, I believe, the same thing will be +verified in the same way.” + +Before any of the friends could give utterance to the emotion Pericles’ +words had aroused in the minds of all, Aspasia clasped her husband’s +hand, replying: + +“What you say is true, Pericles; I arrogate no power of words, nor of +conscious wisdom. If, in connection with you, I have fostered anything, +the influence emanating from me was merely that of womanhood, +permitted, for the first time, to express itself freely, without +reserve, untrammelled by the fetters of sex. If I am an envoy, it is of +womanhood. Perhaps the world, hitherto bound by the harsh chains of +masculine character, must be born again of woman’s nature, to strip off +every remnant of the barbarism of ancient times. As a scion of the +Ionian race, I am, voluntarily or not, the champion of the Ionic nature +against the stern, harsh Doric character, which would stifle the +fairest flower of Hellenic life, if it obtained the victory. Woe betide +the beautiful gods of Hellas, if it ever gains the upper hand.—If I am +really summoned and able to toil and battle for a cause, and have, as +you say, proved myself an intercessor for the beautiful and feminine +with the masters of sculpture, I would fain, essaying other sides of +life, declare open warfare against every prejudice, every custom that +has become meaningless, every narrow-minded or gloomy opinion, every +thought unworthy the dignity of man. Striving to obtain allies, I will +apply to those of my own sex. They will listen to me, for I shall be +the wife of Pericles.” + +The group of friends listened to Aspasia’s words with thoughtful, +earnest sympathy. Diopeithes, the priest of Erechtheus, concealed in +the shadow of a column, also heard them. His lips curled scornfully, +and a burning glance of hatred rested on the Milesian. + +The friends now began to enthusiastically express their joyful +interest, and praise the purpose of the noble pair. + +Socrates alone remained silent, as he often did from modesty, when he +found himself in a circle of distinguished men. + +Pericles smilingly asked: + +“What does our friend of wisdom think of the bond, formed here in the +presence of his Graces?” + +“Only this one thing is clear to me,” replied the son of Sophroniscus, +“that our Athens will be the most highly praised of all the cities in +the world. All else is unknown and veiled in darkness. But we will hope +for the best in every direction, from the favor of Father Zeus and his +glorious daughter, Pallas Athena.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +OWLS ON THE ACROPOLIS. + + +If it is true, as related by legend and the famous author of the +Eumenides, that on the Athenian Acropolis Prometheus brought down fire +from heaven and delivered it to man, it is not surprising that at the +mention of the Acropolis many see in imagination only a lofty height, +steeped in a pure radiance, and crowned by the gleaming marble of the +Parthenon. + +But there were also owls on the Acropolis. + +There were owls in Athens—so many of them that the saying, “carry owls +to Athens,” might be used as a synonym for a superfluous action. + +These birds were sacred to Pallas Athena, belonged to her, as the birds +of thought-producing, meditative night. Though night itself is dark, +ideas germinate and mature in the wakeful brains of men better than in +glaring day. Not infrequently night yearns to be something in itself, +something better than the light to be born of it, and then assumes a +hostile attitude towards the day. + +So it happens the birds of night, the owls, have become enemies of the +light. + +There were many of them on the Acropolis, and they preferred to build +their nests in the space between the cornice and the roof of the +ancient Erechtheum, together with lizards, mice and serpents. + +They were the favorite birds of Diopeithes, priest of Erechtheus, who +was engaged in eager conversation with a man, and at the same time in a +somewhat singular performance. + +This occupation consisted in walking up and down the steps of the +Parthenon in a very excited manner. Before the entrance of the temple, +to render the ascent easier, smaller steps had been hewn in the wide +lofty ones. Up these smaller steps went Diopeithes, counting them as he +walked, and mentioning the number aloud. + +After he had pointed out the number of steps to the man, by going over +them and counting them aloud, he said: + +“You know the rule in regard to the number of steps before a temple, +established among the Hellenes by the devout and well-considered custom +of many years. According to ancient usage, the number is uneven, to +secure the favorable omen of stepping on the first and last one with +the right foot.” + +“That is undoubtedly true,” replied the person Diopeithes addressed. + +“Very well,” continued the latter, “you see the men, who built this +Parthenon, supposed they would never need the favorable omen. The +number of these smaller steps is even. They may have sinned against the +sacred custom from intentional defiance, or been cursed with +forgetfulness by the gods; but what they have erected betrays itself at +the first glance as an impious work, displeasing to the Olympians. And +I say—in its whole design it is an insult, a humiliation, a scoff at +the gods. Why, just see! Since the close of the Panathenaic festival, +since the victors in the contests received their prizes, since the +people gaped till they were weary at the gold and ivory lavished on +Phidias’ statue, the festal temple, as they call it, is shut, the +statue of the goddess covered, that it may not gather dust till the +next festival, and instead of priests, treasurers daily go in and out, +carrying on their business of counting the money received and paid. +Thus, oh shame and sacrilege, instead of pious words the base jingle of +gold and silver pieces rings all day long in the goddess’ ears!” + +At this remark, the man with whom Diopeithes was conversing, and whose +appearance showed him to be a foreigner, began to inquire eagerly about +the extent, value, and amount of the coined and uncoined treasure +stored in this building under the protection of Pallas Athena. The +priest did not withhold the information he could give. + +“You Athenians have gathered a goodly amount of savings, or rather let +us say, a goodly amount of booty,” observed the stranger. “But it seems +to me the store will soon be exhausted, even in times of peace.” + +“It won’t last long,” replied Diopeithes. + +“But I see,” continued the stranger, “that, though the costly temple is +just completed, a new work is commenced with the same haste and zeal, a +magnificent entrance to the Acropolis, sumptuous porticos no less +superb than the Parthenon itself.” + +“And no less meaningless, no less superfluous!” exclaimed Diopeithes. +“That is just the sin of the insolent men, who now guide the destiny of +Athens. They let the sanctuary of Erechtheus, which even the Persians +only ventured to partially destroy, fall to ruins, and erect instead +magnificent halls, filled with the frivolous work of the troop of men, +who have flocked to Phidias from every part of Hellas.” + +“Is Pericles omnipotent?” cried the stranger. “How happens it that of +all the famous Athenian generals and statesmen, not one, so far as I am +aware, escaped the fate of banishment, while Pericles has maintained +his supremacy unassailed for a long series of years?” + +“He is the first statesman,” said Diopeithes, “to whom the Athenians +allow time to ruin them.” + +“May the gods forbid! I am a harmless man from Eubœa, and wish the +Athenians all prosperity.” + +“Why dissemble?” asked Diopeithes, looking the stranger quietly in the +face. “You are the Spartan, whom they turned away from the threshold of +the Parthenon at the festival. I witnessed the incident and instantly +recognized you, when wandering over the height of the Acropolis, you +addressed a few questions to me. Ay, you are a Lacedæmonian, and when +you say you wish Athens every good, you utter a falsehood. But fear +nothing from me! There are Athenians whom I hate far more than the +whole Spartan race. You are doubtless aware, that here in Athens the +enemies of innovation, the friends of the good old times, are called +friends of Sparta. Nor is it unjust.” + +Almost involuntarily the Spartan extended his hand to the priest of +Erechtheus. + +“Do not suppose,” continued the latter, “that the number of those, who +secretly bear ill-will to Pericles in his new Athens is small. Come +with me! I will show you a spot around which, no less than about the +Erechtheum, implacable spirits of vengeance hover.” + +With these words Diopeithes led the Spartan to the edge of the western +slope of the Acropolis, and pointed to a rugged, gloomy, jagged rock, +which, separated from it only by a ravine, towered opposite. + +“Do you see that steep cliff, whose masses of rock seem to have been +heaped together by the hands of Titans?” asked Diopeithes. “Do you see +the steps hewn in the stone leading to a square chamber, which has rows +of seats like the steps. From this place another flight of stairs, also +cut in the rock, leads down into a deep, dark ravine, from whence +gushes a black stream. In that ravine stands the sanctuary of the +gloomy goddesses of vengeance, the serpent-haired Erinnyes, and the +square chamber on the hill-top is the place of the meeting of the +ancient, venerable tribunal, established by the gods themselves, which +we call the Areopagus. The sanctuary of the Erinnyes is entrusted to +the gray-haired members of this council; in their hands are placed +ancient statues and relics, on which rests a mysterious obscurity, and +with which is connected the welfare of the nation. They alone know what +the dying sufferer Œdipus whispered into King Theseus’ ear, when on the +mountain of Colonus he found in the grove of the Eumenides the goal of +his long pilgrimage. The disputants, whose cause these judges decide, +are placed between bleeding fragments of victims, and the magistrates +take an oath, calling the most horrible curses upon themselves and +their families if they determine otherwise than according to the +strictest justice. After hearing the case, they silently drop their +lots into two urns, the urn of mercy and the urn of death. Their duty +was at first to judge intentional murder, but in former times they were +also called upon to punish immorality, innovations in the government +and the service of the gods, and even permitted to penetrate the inmost +secrets of families, to bring hidden guilt to light. They sentenced +parricides, incendiaries, those who needlessly killed a harmless beast, +boys who pitilessly blinded a young bird. Permission was given them to +protest against the decrees of the whole nation. Is there any cause to +wonder, that this shield of ancient times, this stronghold of pious +custom established on the Hill of Ares, has long been a thorn in the +side of the ruler of the new Athens? Pericles was the first who +ventured to defy this sacred power, limited its privileges, diminished +its authority, rejected its influence in public affairs. But as the +fiery arrows of the Persians flew from this very Hill of Ares against +the citadel and ancient temple of the Acropolis, so now the angry +glances of the Areopagites, pregnant with maledictions, rest upon +Pericles’ new sanctuary.” + +“But the great mass of the Athenians love Pericles,” said the +Spartan—“they believe him a sincere friend of popular government.” + +“I don’t think Pericles foolish enough to be an honest friend of +popular government,” replied Diopeithes. “A man intellectually +prominent is never a sincere friend to popular rule. How could it +afford him pleasure, to voluntarily share with the unreasoning mob the +power he has once wrested from it, allow himself to be disturbed and +impeded by narrow minds in his best plans, his noblest enterprises? +Pericles, like all these demagogues, flatters the people in order to +use them to carry out his ambitious plans. Perhaps enough of the golden +treasure in the storehouse of the Parthenon will be left to make a +crown, which he will put on at a Panathenaic festival before the eyes +of the assembled people, at the feet of Phidias’ goddess. Prepare, +Lacedæmonians, to do homage to the king of the Hellenes and his queen, +Aspasia, by offering a clod of Spartan soil and a jug of water from the +Eurotas.” + +The priest glanced around him as he uttered the last words. “Let us +go,” he said to the Spartan. “I see people approaching, to mark out the +place for the new porticos. I should be accused of a conspiracy with +Lacedæmon, if we were seen talking together.” + +So saying, the priest of Erechtheus disappeared with the Spartan behind +the columns of the Erechtheum, where they conversed confidentially for +a long time. + +A few days after the Panathenaic festival, Telesippe, separated by +mutual consent from Pericles, left her former husband’s house, and +Aspasia was installed in her place as his wedded wife. + +Telesippe did not quit the house humiliated; but with head proudly +erect went forward to meet a destiny for which she believed herself +born, but whose fulfilment she had not ventured to hope. + +The beginning and end of her lamentations had always been: “I might +have become the wife of the archon Basileus!” + +When Pericles had resolved to part from Telesippe, he could not help +thinking how he could best lessen the painfulness of the impression +this determination would produce upon his former wife, and remembered +how often she had spoken of the archon Basileus. The present magistrate +was a friend of Pericles, somewhat advanced in years, but still +unwedded. Pericles went to him and asked if he were not inclined to +marry. The dignitary, a quiet, unassuming man, said he was not averse +to forming a marriage-tie, if a suitable bride could be found. + +“I know a woman,” said Pericles, “who is exactly suited to a man like +you. She is my own wife. For me she has too little of the cheerfulness +a much-tried statesman needs to refresh him after his daily cares, and +too much of that austerity and dignity of character, which would +doubtless attract a grave man of priestly dominion, like yourself. I am +on the point of separating from Telesippe, but should esteem myself +very fortunate, if I knew that she will go from my house to that of a +better husband, and there find what she missed in my home.” + +The archon Basileus took these words as seriously as they were +intended. His objection that an archon usually wedded no one but a +virgin, Pericles removed by promising to exert all his influence with +the Athenians to have this violation of an ancient custom pass +unpunished. The Archon then announced himself ready to conduct +Telesippe, as his lawful wife, directly from her present husband’s +house to his own. + +Pericles informed his wife at the same time of his own resolution to +separate from her, and the archon Basileus’ intention to make her his +wife. + +Telesippe heard the decision coldly and silently, and retired to the +women’s apartment. But when she saw her two sons, whom she was now +compelled to leave, she clasped them in her arms and wept. She thought +of the children she had borne Hipponicus, of his casting her off and +her being compelled to abandon them forever; of the children she had +given Pericles, whom she was now forced to leave and go forth to wed a +new husband. She seemed to be unlawfully pushed from house to house— + +But to be the wife of the archon Basileus! To reach the goal of her +ambition! To secure the once lost happiness of her life! True, this +would only afford satisfaction to the rejected wife, not the mother. +Through the woman’s foolish pride she still felt the anxious throbbing +of the unreconciled mother’s heart. + +When the moment came in which Telesippe left her husband’s home, and +pressed the last kiss upon the foreheads of her sons, whom she was now +compelled to leave forever, Pericles suddenly felt overpowered by a +strange emotion—it seemed to him that no sacred tie which had once +united two human hearts could be sundered, without shedding some of the +heart’s blood. + +Telesippe had borne him children, children whose faces had the impress +of his features, his character. How could a man fail to hold forever +sacred the woman, who had given him children who bore his features? On +the brows of Telesippe’s children shone the stamp of their mother’s +unsullied honor. This heritage she left to her husband and her sons. +Pericles first became clearly conscious of it when she quitted his +house. + +He had parted from her with a cold, quiet clasp of the hand; now he +again seized the hand of the woman, who had given him children, and a +tear fell upon it. Long after Telesippe had gone, Pericles stood with +his head bowed in thought, pondering over one of those questions no +human wisdom has ever solved. + +Strangely and intricately entangled are human rights and duties. + +The die was cast for Pericles and his married life. + +The turning-point in his domestic existence had a twofold face, like +almost every earthly event. Telesippe’s stern departure was followed by +Aspasia’s joyous entrance. Her coming gently dispelled the shadow from +Pericles’ thoughtful brow, and diffused light and splendor to the +remotest corner of the house. Aspasia came attended by all the smiling +spirits of youth. A fresh, fragrant breeze swept away the oppressive +atmosphere of the house. + +The venerable household gods had gone with Telesippe. Aspasia brought +new ones. She placed in the peristyle joyous Dionysus, smiling +Aphrodite, and the bright guardian deity of the gay Ionic race, Apollo, +director of the Muses. The Graces too did not lack an altar in this +house, where a fitting sacrifice had been so long denied them. + +The spirit of innovation, that everywhere followed Aspasia’s steps, +accompanied her into Pericles’ dwelling. Within a short time this house +was transformed into a gay and luxurious abode. Artists were summoned +to adorn the walls of the rooms with charming pictures. Henceforward, +not merely the things which ornament and beautify life, but even those +that minister to the daily wants of existence, were supplied by +artists’ hands. + +Hitherto Pericles’ style of housekeeping had been very simple; now this +simplicity displeased him. Nothing is more delightful to a lover, than +to make the home of the woman he loves as charming as possible. No +husband decorates his house for himself; but for a beloved wife even +the miser will become a spendthrift. Pericles joyfully aided Aspasia to +transform the abode of his new happiness into a temple of beauty. + +The finely-developed sense of what is pleasing to the eye, suitable and +harmonious, peculiar to woman, and which she exercises in the choice of +her dress and ornaments, Aspasia possessed to so remarkable a degree +that Pericles felt as if under the spell of an enchantress, and +entreated her not to transform him, like everything else around her. +Yet he was already transformed. Without having become a weakling, he +now developed a sense that had hitherto slumbered in the ever restless, +active man. The woman he loved, or rather love itself, taught him to +recognize and value the contemplative poesy hitherto unheeded. What had +pearls and jewels formerly been to him? Now he could long watch a gem +glittering in a gold bracelet on Aspasia’s lily-white arm, becoming +absorbed in the sparkling colored light, as if it were some wondrous +revelation. + +What had fragrant perfumes, all the sweet odors in the world, formerly +been to him? Now his appreciation of the most delicate scent that he +could detect near the woman he loved was aroused, and each variety +corresponded in his mind with a different, keen delight. What had +colors been to him? At best a fleeting charm, of which he was scarcely +aware. And now? What life, what magic to his eye dwelt in vivid red, +fiery yellow, enchanting blue, lovely green, when they floated around +Aspasia, or her rosy limbs were relieved against them, in their +dazzling whiteness. + +No matter how long and happily the bond of love and limitless devotion +may have united two hearts, the tie Hymen weaves around them affords a +new happiness, hitherto unknown. Marriage, like love, has its special +honey-moon. To daily lose each other and daily meet again, may give +spice to the honey-moon of love, but the consciousness of being always +in the presence of one’s fairest happiness is enviable. + +Whoever inveighs against marriage, does not know love. + +Each day now had its special pleasure, its special brightness, its +special bloom. Aspasia was always everything to Pericles, yet ever +changing—in the morning his rosy-fingered Eos; in the evening his +Selene, dropping sweet slumber on his eyelids; during the day his Hebe, +who filled the beaker of life. She was the Hera of the “Olympian,” but +never needed to borrow golden Aphrodite’s girdle. Nay more, she often +seemed to command the reverence due a mother, and at other times he +loved her with a feeling akin to that bestowed upon a child. + +If lifeless ornaments, gems, pearls, perfumes, brilliant colors, gain a +new charm through love, what exalted life, what a new, fresh spell must +poesy and music obtain for loving hearts. What a wealth and variety of +charm and pleasure Aspasia, so skilled in witchery, must have drawn +from these sources! + +If she sang to the accompaniment of a lute, or read aloud from some +roll of MS., as she had done to Philammon when a child, Pericles knew +not which most delighted him—when, with glowing cheeks, she became +wholly absorbed in her art or the poet she was reading, or when, with +saucy petulance, she constantly interrupted her music or reading with +childish prattle, superfluous love questions, or pretty blandishments. + +The Athenians, as a rule, had no real home. Pericles now possessed one. + +Nay, did not even the fact that his sons, Xanthippus and Paralus, were +not Aspasia’s children, tend to increase his conjugal happiness? He +need not share Aspasia’s love with them. + +If anything was wanting in the happiness of the wedded pair, it was +perhaps the full, complete consciousness of it. It is not the +fortunate, who perfectly realize their bliss, but those deprived of it. +The gods benevolently mingle a drop of wormwood in every cup of +pleasure; for only shadowed or imperilled happiness is really conscious +of its joy. + +The love-marriage of Pericles and Aspasia afforded the Athenians an +inexhaustible topic of conversation. The fact that Pericles kissed his +wife, whenever he left the house or returned home was discussed on the +Agora, in all the booths, all the gymnasia, all the shops of the +artizans and barbers throughout Athens. A man in love with his own +wife! People talked of the white Sicyonian steeds and superb equipage, +which sometimes bore Pericles’ new wife through the streets, of the +transformation his unpretending house had undergone. They discussed the +magnificent new paintings which adorned its walls, especially that +depicting the plundering of Olympus by Cupids. Decked with the spoils +of the robbery, Cupids flitted joyously about; some with Apollo’s bow, +others with the helm and shield of Ares, the gnarled club of Heracles, +the Bacchic thyrsus, the torch of Artemis, the winged shoes of Hermes. + +It was even said, that Aspasia prepared the speeches Pericles delivered +before the people. Pericles, the Olympian, the famous orator, smilingly +allowed it, and confessed that he owed to her the happiest +inspirations. Aspasia possessed the charm of ready, fluent speech, +sometimes found in women, united to a silvery, musical voice, and thus +produced upon men the impression that she was a fine rhetorician, from +whom they might learn with advantage. + +But it was also rumored among the people, that Aspasia wished to induce +Pericles to strive for royal power. It was said she was unwilling to +remain behind her countrywoman Thargelia, who succeeded in becoming the +consort of a king. + +The venerable Elpinice continued to be the leader of the news-mongers +in Athens. She might have been called the living, perambulating +chronicle of the events occurring in Pericles’ house. From her came the +tidings of the kiss the statesman gave his wife at parting and meeting. +She knew Aspasia’s feelings towards Pericles’ children and Alcibiades. + +She was able to relate, that Aspasia did not like Paralus and +Xanthippus, troubled herself very little about them, and left them to +the care of the pedagogue, but lavished a mother’s affection on +Alcibiades, and reared him so delicately, that in her hands Cleinias’ +son would become a weakling, or something worse. + +Was it any marvel if Aspasia was more partial to Pericles’ handsome, +talented ward, than to the sons, who it is true had their father’s +features, but in character were the image of their mother, Telesippe? + +Besides Alcibiades, Paralus, and Xanthippus, another boy was growing up +in Pericles’ house, who would not probably be numbered among his +relatives, yet could not be included with the slaves. This lad, whom +Pericles had brought to Athens from the Samian war, occupied a peculiar +position. Nothing more was known of his origin than that he was the son +of a Thracian, Scythian, or some other northern king, that he had been +stolen from his parents by enemies when a child, and then sold for a +slave. Pericles found him at Samos; his interest was awakened by the +boy’s peculiar character and destiny, he purchased him and took him to +Athens, where he had him educated with his own children. His name was +Manes. His features were far removed from the delicacy and nobility of +Hellenic forms; he even bore some slight resemblance to his kindred +nation, the Scythian mercenaries on the Agora. But he was distinguished +by his beautiful, lustrous light-brown hair, bright eyes, and roseate +fairness of complexion. He was silent and thoughtful, betraying a +peculiar sensitiveness in many things. + +Alcibiades tried to tempt his new playfellow, infect him with his own +careless gayety. He did not succeed. Manes liked to be alone, showed no +brilliant mental gifts, but eagerly entered into all the branches of +learning taught to him in common with the sons of Pericles. Pericles +himself became warmly attached to him, Aspasia thought him droll, and +Alcibiades made him the butt of his jeers and saucy jests. + +It was no detriment to Pericles’ domestic happiness, that his house now +stood more open to his friends, and that Aspasia, intentionally +abandoning the custom of the Athenian women, took part in her husband’s +presence, in the conversation of the men. + +Nay, it merely adds new zest, twofold bliss to the happiness of those +who love each other, when after, as it were, wasting hours in a larger +company, they again find themselves alone. + +Among Pericles’ older friends, Anaxagoras now retired more into the +background. He was supplanted by the brilliant Protagoras, whom Aspasia +favored, and whose fresh, unprejudiced, boldly progressive views of +life, made him seem a fitting ally for the Milesian. The author of +“Antigone” appeared very rarely in Pericles’ house, either because, +with the delicate tact peculiar to him, he did not wish to fan the +jealousy he well knew his friend already felt, or because he found it +necessary to repress some increasing but untimely emotion, or because +some other charming woman had gained the mastery over him and withdrew +him from older friends. It is not impossible, that all these various +motives influenced him. + +If the cheerful Sophocles made himself a rare visitor, gloomy +Euripides, his rival in the domain of tragic poetry, sought Aspasia’s +society all the more frequently. With him came Socrates, still +unchanged in his faithful devotion. Business connected with his +profession sometimes brought Phidias, and Aspasia enjoyed the triumph +of seeing that he did not avoid her society. In his company she +developed a kind of charm well suited to his peculiar temperament, yet +in her conversations with him always reverted to his Lemnian goddess. +She grew excited, even angry. In her opinion, Phidias now stood where +two roads crossed, and she hoped to influence his decision in regard to +the direction he should choose. She made every effort to break the +obstinacy of his view of art. + +She repeated the reproach that, as a sculptor, he did not allow +feminine charms to exert their full influence over him. + +Phidias really did disdain the so-called models. He carried within +himself the perfect original types of all beautiful forms. Thus his +artist-eye was constantly turned inward, and the older he grew, the +more he relied upon his mental vision. He was too proud to simply copy +reality in bronze or marble. Yet this was exactly what Aspasia desired +of him. + +Once, when she had again carried on an animated conversation of this +kind with Phidias, and the latter had taken leave, Pericles said +smiling: + +“You seem to be very angry with Phidias, because he will no longer +attend the school of charming reality.” + +“Of course,” replied Aspasia. “The only ideals formed in his soul are +those, so to speak, of grave, unconscious beauty. It is time he ceased +to disdain to draw from reality fully developed, conscious loveliness.” + +“To what woman would you direct him, that he might draw from the purest +source this perfect loveliness, rejoicing in its own charms?” asked +Pericles. “As Phidias cannot conjure up from Hades the Homeric Helen, +and you are yourself, according to unanimous opinion, the fairest of +all living Hellenic women, I should like to know how you intend to +answer him, if he asks you to what woman you will direct him?” + +“I would direct him to a woman, who belongs only to herself,” replied +Aspasia. + +“But suppose he should insist upon applying to a woman, who doesn’t +belong to herself?” + +“Then he would be obliged to apply to the person to whom she belonged,” +answered Aspasia—“to her master, if she is a slave, or her husband if +she is the wife of an Athenian.” + +“And do you think,” said Pericles, “that an Athenian could ever consent +to allow the woman, who belongs to him, to be exposed to another’s +eyes?” + +“Why ask me a question you are better able to answer?” replied Aspasia. + +“Well then,” returned Pericles, “I will answer it. The Athenian will +never suffer the woman, who belongs to him, to reveal her charms to +another. Feminine modesty should be no empty name; and if the virgin is +chaste by nature, the wife must be doubly so from love, because by +renouncing modesty she does not disgrace herself alone.” + +“Your opinion is an ancient one and doubtless correct,” said Aspasia, +“but the reason you assign for it does not seem to me to stand the test +in every respect. You men often commit your wives to the hands of +physicians, though only in your own presence. So it seems, that modesty +is not the highest of all considerations, or every revelation is not +shameless.” + +Aspasia and Pericles had advanced to this point in their conversation, +when they were interrupted by two men, whose simultaneous entrance +greatly surprised them. + +These men were Protagoras and Socrates. + +After the first greetings were exchanged, Aspasia said, smiling: + +“Why, how does it happen that two distinguished men whom, ever since +Hipponicus’ banquet, I have feared might be at enmity with each other, +enter the house to-day in such peaceful companionship?” + +“I’ll tell you how it happened, if you wish to know,” replied Socrates. +“Protagoras and I, coming from opposite directions, ran against each +other before the door. I had been standing some time on the threshold, +delaying my entrance because, just at the moment I was coming in, a +thought seized upon me, which I could not escape. While I stood there +with my eyes fixed on the ground, Protagoras came up from the other +side. He didn’t see me any more than I saw him, for while my eyes were +bent on the ground, he held his head erect, gazing at the clouds and +the heavens. So our bodies struck against each other; I recognized +Protagoras and he me, and as each of us noticed that the other intended +to enter here, both wished to turn back and let the other go in alone. +But when each declared himself ready to leave the field to the other, +neither would accept the sacrifice, and so we finally hit upon the idea +of coming in hap-hazard together.” + +Pericles and Aspasia smiled, saying that they saw a good omen in this +meeting, the more so as they had just been engaged in a sort of +philosophical discussion. The question, that occupied their attention, +was one whose solution might be aided by the opinions of two men, who, +different as their modes of thought might be, were both undeniably +wise. + +As Protagoras and Socrates inquired about the subject, Pericles had no +hesitation in explaining the matter. + +“We were beginning to argue the question whether a man could be found, +who was willing to disclose the beauty of the woman he loves to a +sculptor’s gaze for the purpose of having it copied. I denied it; but +Aspasia proved to me that we men give our wives into the hands of +physicians, though only in our own presence, and therefore are +sometimes disposed to place other considerations higher than a regard +for modesty. The accident that brought you here is a sign from the +gods, to request you, as philosophers, to decide the matter.” + +“Undoubtedly,” said Protagoras, “there are considerations higher than +those of modesty, and motives which can excuse its apparent violation. +One of these motives Aspasia herself has already cited. I will add—what +would become of the art of sculpture, if the most beautiful forms +prudishly denied themselves to the artist’s eye? Beauty’s obligations +are not solely to itself. What nature has so lavishly bestowed she +should turn to the advantage of art. Beauty, in a certain sense, +belongs to the world, and the world will not allow itself to be +deprived of its right. Besides, beauty in its very nature is something +fleeting, something which only exists for its contemporaries, and +cannot be perpetuated and transmitted to posterity, unless the poet +glorifies it in song, as Homer did the wife of Menelaus, or a sculptor +delivers the living charm of loveliness to future generations, so far +as it is possible, in bronze or marble.” + +“Then, in your opinion,” said Pericles, “a beautiful woman should be +considered common property, which no one ought to be permitted to +possess alone.” + +“Only her beauty—not she herself!” replied Protagoras. “As everything +that may happen in the world depends upon the manner of the event, and +the circumstances under which it occurs, so in my opinion the +exhibition of feminine charms for the promotion of a great artistic +purpose, may take place in a way and under circumstances, which +entirely remove the objectionable part of the matter.” + +“And what might these circumstances be?” asked Pericles. + +“That is a matter,” replied Protagoras, “which is somewhat difficult to +discuss. As Aspasia, from what you have told us of your previous +conversation with her, has already said, we consider a woman, who +without witnesses seeks a physician’s aid, immodest and coquettish, but +regard it as perfectly unobjectionable if the consultation takes place +before the husband’s eyes. Therefore it might be established, once for +all, that there is a method, in which the husband thinks a woman can +reveal her charms to a stranger’s eyes without dishonor.” + +“Of course,” said Pericles, “this is the only way I could regard a +woman’s exhibition of her beauty, if made from force of circumstances +or for some great purpose. I hope you will also add the condition, that +the woman shall only give the sculptor what he requires for his art, +and that modesty shall retire to a certain point, but defend that +point, so to speak, to the last drop of blood. Yet, do you not remember +the story of that Eastern king, who enchanted with his wife’s charms, +had them displayed to a favorite? If I remember rightly, that monarch +lost throne, wife, and life, through the favorite who, enraptured by +these charms, never rested until he possessed them.” + +“A sculptor,” replied Protagoras, “gazes at a beautiful figure with far +different thoughts and feelings from the effeminate favorite of an +Eastern king. The former, in beholding exquisitely-rounded limbs, +perceives so much to occupy an eye trained to observe symmetry of form, +such a wealth of information flows into his mind, that there is little +room for sensual emotions. Whatever might find space, he has learned to +control. Moreover, habit has rendered him obtuse to the grosser charm +of unveiled beauty. There is old Phidias—is he a man? No, he is a +divinely-inspired, sexless artist soul, which has a body, a hand merely +to guide the chisel—he is a person to whom everything in the world is +form, never substance.” + +“We now know the opinion of Protagoras,” said Pericles. “Let us hear +what Socrates has to bring forward about the matter. What do you think, +Socrates? Is it allowable for a woman to lay aside her modesty, to +promote a great artistic purpose?” + +“That seems to me to depend upon whether beauty ranks higher in the +world than goodness,” replied Socrates. “This, to the best of my +recollection, is the very question in whose solution we have been so +long engaged, and whose discussion was again broken off at Hipponicus’ +banquet—” + +“By all the Olympic gods,” interrupted Aspasia, laughing, “you will +greatly oblige me, my dear Socrates, if you will give up the discussion +of that question to-day, and also pardon me for not perceiving why +morality should have the preference over beauty. If it is a law, that +everything in the world ought to be good and moral, it is also a law +that everything in the world aspires towards beauty, and finds in it +the bloom of its existence, the goal of its development. Finally, both +of these laws must be a secret, self-given rule to men. There, I +believe, we can let the matter rest for to-day.” + +“Certainly!” cried Protagoras. “As each individual calls truth only +what seems to him true, so the good and beautiful must be to each what +appears so to him. There is no fixed morality in and of itself, any +more than there is a fixed truth.” + +Socrates’ good-natured face assumed a somewhat scornful expression, as +he said: + +“You always assert, Protagoras, that there is no fixed truth, and yet +are the very man who can give the most brilliant and irrefutable +information about everything concerning which people may choose to +inquire.” + +“To express one’s opinion openly,” replied Protagoras, “is better than +for a man to allege, with false modesty, that he knows nothing, and +then always pretend to know everything better than others.” + +“I yearn for the knowledge I do not possess,” said Socrates. “But you +deny all possibility of its existence. Shall we give up the labor of +human thought as vain, when we have just commenced it?” + +“Far better,” retorted Protagoras, “than to seek to destroy the +freshness and harmony of Hellenic life, by subtle and peevish +investigation.” + +“I understand now,” replied Socrates, “that there are people, who as +they set little value on the profession of thought, cultivate the art +of speech still more brilliantly. For since, according to their own +confessions, the thoughts they express have no absolute value, it can +only be the brilliant words with which they expect to influence their +hearers.” + +“There are also people,” rejoined Protagoras, “who neglect the art of +rhetoric, because they believe others will seek behind their feigned +simplicity profound thought, behind their stammering the wisdom of an +oracle, and behind their modest questions the condescension of a +superior mind.” + +“It seems to me better to compel people to think, by asking questions +which disturb their comfort, than guide them to thoughtlessness by +hasty, ever-ready answers, agreeable to the inquirer,” said Socrates. + +“Thoughtlessness is better,” replied Protagoras, “than, leaving the +firm ground of reality behind and riding in clouds and airy images, to +lose one’s self in boundless space. Yet such absorption in the world of +boundless thought is often intelligible. There are probably persons, +who were compelled to set out in pursuit of ideas, because the divine +gift of living, artistic creation was denied them—” + +“There are also people,” retorted Socrates, “who dally with images, +because the gift of clear and pure ideas is denied them.” + +“Those peevish investigators,” said Protagoras, “are the very men who +make virtue repulsive, by constantly reverting to it in words—” + +“Those people are certainly more worthy of admiration,” rejoined +Socrates, “who cast virtue wholly aside, in order never to emerge from +the sphere of a pleasant and beautiful sensuality.” + +“So long as sensuality is beautiful and pleasant,” retorted Protagoras, +“it is better than the enforced renunciation of those, who see the +weeds of anxious doubts in the fields of beauty and enjoyment, because +they themselves are not summoned to beauty and pleasure.” + +“Such a man am I!” replied Socrates quietly. “But you, Protagoras, seem +to me to belong to the ranks of those, who wish to make free thought +what they are themselves, slaves of the senses!” + +“I regret,” said Pericles, interrupting the disputants, “that you have +not come to any decision regarding the point in question by this +argument, but it seems to me have become heated with fruitless words.” + +“I know I can be nothing but the vanquished party here,” said Socrates. + +After this reply he quietly took his leave, without the slightest trace +of excitement on his features. + +Protagoras soon withdrew also, but not without first having given vent +to his emotion in words. + +“The two philosophers seem to be perfectly-matched foes,” said Pericles +to Aspasia. “They attacked each other like practised warriors, and it +is hard to tell which of the two should claim the honor of the +victory.” + +Aspasia only smiled, and even when Pericles left her alone the smile +still hovered around her lips. She knew exactly what gave the dispute +between the two men so sharp a point, and mingled with it so many +cutting and bitter words, even on the part of the gentle Socrates. She +read the truth-seeker’s heart as plainly as the brilliant sophist’s, +who uttered no word which he was not sure would please the ear of the +beautiful Milesian. + +This dispute between Socrates and Protagoras roused an increasing anger +in Aspasia’s mind against the former, and almost unconsciously a plan +arose by which, with feminine cunning, she might detract from the +wisdom of the man who boasted of “free thought,” and despised the +“slaves of the senses.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE THESMOPHORIAN FESTIVAL. + + +“That is beauty itself!” cried the Athenians, when Phidias had finished +the new bronze statue of Pallas, ordered by the Lemnians, and revealed +it for the first time to the gaze of his fellow-citizens. A cry of +astonishment ran through all Athens. + +“What did Phidias mean?” No Greek had ever imagined the goddess as his +last statue represented her. + +She was without helm or shield. Waving locks floated unconfined around +the face, upturned with an expression full of dignity and sweetness. +The contour of this face was marvellous, the cheeks were chiselled with +incomparable delicacy. People fancied they could see them blush. The +bare arms, like the hands, were models of the most perfect and noble +symmetry. One upraised arm permitted part of the right side to be seen, +the robe was draped loosely about the hips, and here, as well as +everywhere else, disclosed the outlines of the figure with perfect +distinctness. + +Unanimous as were the Athenians in praising this last creation of +Phidias, they were equally so in declaring that Aspasia must have been +the sculptor’s model. + +Nor was the assertion wholly erroneous. + +Indeed, though Theodota understood how to treat her figure as artistic +material, and by it give expression to the character of various female +divinities, while all Athens went to witness these performances, +Aspasia could practise the art in a still nobler and higher degree of +perfection. But the only spectators were Pericles and Phidias. + +Grave Phidias went so far, as to admit for a moment that nature could +often approach the ideal. + +Yet in Aspasia’s Pallas, Phidias no longer had simple nature before his +eyes. What he beheld was a creation of mimetic art, a physical +perfection born of the mind. Aspasia, with artistic knowledge, +impressed upon the natural material of her beauty a precise stamp, as +much as Phidias carved the marble block according to a precise idea and +design. + +As Phidias transferred the fair and wise Aspasia’s charms to enduring +bronze, he was really fulfilling Pericles’ injunction to represent +wisdom in the enchanting, all-conquering garb of beauty. + +Alcamenes had attained new and wonderful results, when permitted to +draw from the living fount of Aspasia’s beauty. Phidias performed the +same task, but like the great master of all, lofty and peerless. + +What Phidias produced in his last Pallas was Aspasia, but elevated to a +height so pure and superhuman, that she appeared at the same time like +an ideal vision, the embodied dream of the noblest sculptor’s soul. + +When Socrates saw the new statue, he said in his thoughtful way: + +“The beautiful Aspasia might learn as much from Phidias, as Phidias has +learned from the beautiful Aspasia.” + +It was strange, that the praises heaped by the Athenians upon his +Lemnian Pallas rendered the sculptor morose and gloomy. He did not like +to hear it mentioned, and perhaps valued the work less because he had +not created it solely from his own mind. He had apparently discharged, +with a residue of half unconscious displeasure the task imposed upon +him from without, and by whose performance he strove to shake off a +restlessness aroused by some alien spell. + +Now he seemed to wish to retire still more completely into himself. He +wandered about more silent and grave than ever, absorbed in some +sublime vision gleaming in the hidden depths of his heart. He had +become himself again. He avoided Aspasia, scarcely held any intercourse +with Pericles, and one day left Athens quietly and secretly, to +realize, in a place sacred to all the Greeks, the loftiest idea of his +lofty soul. + +Socrates remained the insatiable and unwearied observer of the Lemnian +Pallas. He seemed to transfer his love for the Milesian to Phidias’ +goddess. The natural Aspasia never again seemed to him perfect, from +the moment he beheld her higher ideal embodied in bronze. Yet it might +have been said he divided his time between that Pallas and her living +original. His steps were daily bent towards Pericles’ house, even at +the risk of meeting the eloquent Protagoras. + +How did it happen? When Socrates wandered thoughtfully, and, as he +thought, aimlessly through the streets of Athens, he at last found +himself unexpectedly before Pericles’ house. Like the labyrinth of +streets, he seemed to be walking through a labyrinth of feelings, from +which he found no exit, and which constantly brought him back to the +same spot. + +So it was unintentional when Socrates directed his steps to that +dwelling. But what did he do there? Offer homage? Give signs of the +secret fire consuming him? Had he, like Protagoras, grown accustomed to +draw his wisdom from the eyes of others? No one of these things. He +argued with Aspasia. He taunted her; once even making in her presence +the remark—since frequently quoted, but which tradition ascribes to +Pericles, though he obtained it from Socrates—that the best woman was +the one least talked about. He made bitter speeches to her, and even +when seeming to flatter, was full of the subtle irony characteristic of +his character and conversation. + +And Aspasia? She appeared to grow more gentle, conciliatory, amiable +and bewitching, as Socrates gave freer rein to his caprice. And vice +versa—the more gentle and winning Aspasia was, the more peevish and +eccentric became the wise Socrates. + +What did these two strange natures desire of each other? Were they +fighting the old vexatious duel between wisdom and beauty? This +singular game had been carried on with special eagerness, ever since +the argument between Socrates and Protagoras in the presence of +Pericles and Aspasia. + +Aspasia feigned to believe, that Socrates visited the house on account +of his favorite Alcibiades. Nay, she carried her teasing mood so far as +to address verses to him, in which she gave him counsel as if to a +lover. Socrates smilingly accepted all this without the slightest +objection, the least attempt to contradict his mischievous friend. He +never seemed to grow tired of the handsome boy, who still clung to him +with almost tender affection. To the lad he was frank, cheerful and +kind, without a trace of the whimsicality and irony, with which it +suited him to return the graceful advances of the loveliest of Hellenic +women. + +Aspasia also still had frequent conversations with the woman-hater +Euripides, who had now won still greater distinction as a tragic poet. +The character of his Muse, which inclined to meditation, found +sympathy, and he soon became the favorite poet of a period, that was +advancing more and more from the direct and simple view of things to +thoughtful and enlightened observation. He had had rich experiences, +and the mental results of these experiences constantly overflowed from +his lips. Moreover he had a severe, unreserved temperament, which +allowed him to express what he thought frankly and boldly. He made +concessions to no one, not even the Athenian nation, which every one +considered himself obliged to flatter. When a verse, whose purport did +not please the Athenians, was once hissed, he came out on the open +stage to defend himself, and when the people shouted that the lines +must be omitted, replied that the populace must learn from the poets, +not the poets from the populace. + +Neither did he flatter Aspasia, indeed no one else would have ventured +to talk with her about women in the tone he adopted. + +He had cast off his first wife and married another, a fact Aspasia, as +has been already mentioned, craftily praised in a letter to Pericles as +an example of manly resolution. + +One day Aspasia accidentally reverted to this matter in the presence of +her husband and Socrates. After commending his prompt decision, she +asked him about his newly-chosen wife. + +“She’s exactly the opposite of the former one,” Euripides answered +morosely, “but no better for that—she merely has the opposite faults. +The first was a plain but honest woman, who wearied me by her +commonplace love; this one is a coquette, who drives me to desperation +by her frivolity and fickleness. I’ve come out of the frying-pan into +the fire. I am born under an evil star, and the gods give me every +bitter thing to taste in succession.” + +“I heard that your wife is beautiful and amiable,” said Aspasia. + +“Yes indeed, to everybody except myself,” replied Euripides. “She would +doubtless be so to me too, if I could resolve to look upon all her bad +qualities as so many virtues.” + +“What are the bad qualities with which you reproach her?” asked +Aspasia. + +“She neglects the housekeeping; the hens peck the yarn on the loom. She +dances and feasts with her female friends, and is so ill-bred as to +peep out of the house door into the street.” + +“Is that all?” asked Aspasia. + +“No!” replied Euripides. “She is fickle, whimsical, treacherous, +untruthful, full of deceit, false, malicious, spiteful, unjust, cruel, +revengeful, envious, stubborn, frivolous, silly, sly, jealous, fond of +dress, coquettish, unprincipled, heartless, brainless—” + +“Enough!” interrupted Aspasia. “It might be hard for you to prove all +this in one individual.” + +“All this and more!” replied Euripides. + +“Perhaps you show your wife too little love, and thus render her averse +to you.” + +“Why, of course!” cried Euripides, with a sneering laugh. “When such +wives are heard of, the husbands are always charged with want of love. +‘You have no heart, my friend, said the viper to the he-goat.’ But on +the contrary, I tell you, my unhappiness proceeds from not treating the +woman as most Athenians treat their wives, from allowing her too much +influence over me and my mind, permitting myself to be tormented by +her. Women are gentle as lambs, so long as they are held in check, but +grow overbearing if they have reason to think themselves indispensable. +Yes, there is only one way of securing a woman’s heart, love, esteem, +devotion; that is, to neglect her. Woe betide the man, who lets his +wife perceive he cannot do without her. She will set her foot on his +neck. To love a woman is to arouse the evil demon within her. But +whoever treats his wife with cool friendliness and goes on his own way, +whoever shows her that he can do without her, will be petted and +caressed, have his cheeks stroked and feel her hand laid on his +shoulder with the question: ‘What will you have to eat to-day, dear?’ +He will be honored as the sacred shield and master of the family, will +receive eager thanks for the crumbs of favor he lets fall. But if the +same man showed he was pining with love for her, he would seem tiresome +in a week, be detested in a month, and tormented to death in a year.” + +Pericles and Aspasia smiled as they listened to this peevish outburst +of feeling, but Euripides, with the same sullen earnestness and +emphasis, continued: + +“Man’s destiny is woman. She it is who spins the thread of his +life—dark or golden.” + +Pericles almost started at these words. Aspasia smiled. + +“I cannot believe,” said Pericles, “that the husband is usually so +dependent on the wife.” + +“He will become so, if he is not now,” replied Euripides. “I see the +future. Woman’s power is dangerously increasing. Do you not understand +the poets and sculptors, who from ancient times have brought forward +the fabulous sphinx, the mysterious woman with a soft bosom and sharp +claws. The sphinx is woman. She offers us the beautiful alluring face, +the beautiful alluring bosom, but the rest of her body is a beast with +tiger’s paws and deadly talons!” + +“Will you not make the whole feminine sex proud,” said Aspasia, “if by +such comparisons you impress upon it so magnificent a character?” + +“Magnificent crimes on the part of a man,” replied Euripides, “may +inspire admiration, but a woman with great vices is always repulsive. A +man’s sins may sometimes arise from an excess of noble qualities, but a +woman’s proceed from petty, exaggerated weaknesses.” + +“Yet we see women triumph with these petty weaknesses!” said Aspasia. + +“Not forever!” retorted Euripides. “The avenging day comes which, with +the fire of a healthy, lawful passion, extinguishes the flicker of a +sickly, feeble fancy. Women are strong, only so long as we men show +ourselves weak. Woman is a sphinx, it is true, but we need only cut the +great claws and she becomes harmless. With uncut claws she is a +tigress, when they are cut, only a cat. Our fathers did well to hold +woman in check. But we innovators are too tender-hearted—including +myself—we let the women’s claws grow. That is not well—” + +Aspasia’s brow slightly contracted, as the peevish poet blusteringly +uttered these words. Socrates noticed it and said: + +“Don’t forget, friend, that you are speaking to Aspasia.” + +“To Aspasia,” replied Euripides, quickly recovering himself, “but not +of Aspasia. I am speaking of women. Aspasia is a woman, but women are +not Aspasias.” + +Socrates, as has already been mentioned, did not lack asperity in his +conversations with Pericles’ wife. But he had never entered into +Euripides’ tone. It is proper to state, that Euripides in talking to +Aspasia, abused the whole feminine sex, but with ready courtesy +excepted her, while Socrates on the contrary discharged his arrows at +Aspasia personally, but willingly defended the sex in general. + +Now, too, he took their part against the misogynist Euripides, by +saying: + +“It seems to me a strange, but undeniable fact, that every man when he +speaks of woman, always means his own wife. Therefore I think only +bachelors should be allowed to discuss women in general. I boast of +being one; and however far my friend Euripides may surpass me in wisdom +in other respects, in regard to women, as he is married, I possess the +advantage of greater impartiality. Since Pericles is also married, and +Aspasia herself is a wife, I am the only person here who seems called +upon to take up the cause of the sex so persecuted by Euripides. True, +I lack eloquence, and might well wish for Protagoras. The latter would +not fail to praise woman as the giver of the sweetest joys, the +dispenser of the brightest happiness, the guardian of the divine +treasures of beauty and pleasures on earth, the delight of man’s eyes, +his rest from toil, his relief from pain. What a marvellous creation, +he would say, is a beautiful woman! She enraptures us with every atom +of her being. Her presence exhales bliss. Such would be Protagoras’ +words. Euripides, on the contrary asserts: women are sphinxes; they +have lovely faces and tender bosoms, but sharp talons. Would it not be +allowable to say, vice versa: women, it is true, have sharp talons, but +lovely faces. Why should we not lay the principal stress on woman’s +good qualities, instead of her evil ones? Their claws must be cut, says +Euripides. But would this deprive their hostile feelings of all +possibility of doing harm? Would it not be more profitable to strive to +correct them? The claws would then become harmless of their own will. +How many virtues a woman can display! How many blessings she can +bestow, not only by what she gives, or says, or does, but by what she +is. Women are the natural champions of the beautiful; but as they make +every cause they uphold victorious, how glorious it would be if we +could henceforth make them champions of goodness and truth! So long as +the light of a wise discernment does not illumine women’s brains, they +will follow only the impulses of their physical nature, and these +impulses are always coarse and selfish. Perhaps in future the efforts +of men will be directed to rendering women, through clear perception, +priestesses not only of real beauty but of genuine goodness, instead of +servants of the dark instincts of nature.” + +“Yes, the serpents still lack wings!” cried Euripides, with a scornful +smile. “Besides, this hope of woman’s improvement, by means of +knowledge, is not surprising on the part of a man who expects the +salvation of mankind to proceed from discernment and clear ideas. But I +tell you woman’s worth and nobleness does not depend upon the +cultivation of her perceptive faculties, but of her heart, her +feelings.” + +“That will have its due proportion,” replied Socrates; “but it is +questionable whether the heart and its feelings can ever be cultivated +by themselves, whether the influence of a certain degree of knowledge +is not requisite.” + +Pericles applauded Socrates’ words. Aspasia was silent and instantly +let the conversation drop; for much as part of what Socrates had said +harmonized with her own ideas, it seemed to her as if, under the mask +of modesty, he had again sought to cope with her, instruct her. She was +aware that she herself toiled for intellectual freedom, for the +elevation of her sex. + +Had she not long since placed before her an unconcealed goal? Had she +not openly vowed to herself and her friends on the Acropolis, to strive +towards that goal with all her powers, after she became Pericles’ wife? + +She had kept her word. To thoroughly transform the lives and positions +of women, had since that time been her bold aim. + +But to accomplish this, she had been compelled to strive to obtain an +influence over the Athenian women, to play the part of leaven in this +indolent throng, to conciliate those hostile to the intruder and make +them adherents, pupils, friends. + +Pericles had aided her designs, for he loved her and cheerfully +procured her every gratification. He introduced her, if this expression +is allowable, into Athenian society. The women of Athens were excluded +from intercourse with men, but they associated with each other. Aspasia +mingled in this society with apparent ease. + +Among the beautiful and really clever women, who possess the power of +bewitching men, are some who, in spite of the envy, hatred, and +jealousy they arouse, also have the gift of attracting and winning +members of their own sex. Of course they do not attain this by an +excess of amiability, or by garrulous, intrusive advances, but rather +by the unassuming manner with which they seem to voluntarily subdue the +dangerous lustre of their charms, and by the most accurate knowledge of +the peculiarities and pretensions of those they seek to win. Aspasia +endeavored to inspire confidence. Unlike the foolish of her sex, she +knew that a beautiful woman generally allures men, as well as women, by +a sensible, quiet, dignified manner. She first saw that people were +forced to esteem her; to appear charming followed as a matter of +course. + +When Aspasia had prepared the ground for her enterprises by this style +of conduct, which in her was not even the result of reflection, but +only a natural womanly impulse, she brought forward her plans and +designs more openly. + +After a short time the Athenian women were divided by Pericles’ wife +into a number of parties. + +There were the implacable ones, who hated her and fought against her +openly and secretly, with all the weapons of feminine hostility. There +were some, who did not refuse a sort of personal liking, but were of +the opinion that her efforts were too bold and unbridled, and others +who, while regarding her personally with disapproving eyes, were urged +by some secret impulse to follow the track of her efforts and imitate +her in many things. But there were also some, who had been completely +convinced and won, though all did not have courage to openly unite with +their leader in a battle for women’s rights. + +Among Aspasia’s most implacable and dangerous enemies, as may be easily +supposed, were Pericles’ rejected wife and Cimon’s sister. The latter, +as it were, kept an account of Aspasia’s life and conduct, learned and +spread abroad the remarks she made about women, and it not unfrequently +happened that these remarks were so distorted in passing from mouth to +mouth, that they became well calculated to rouse the Athenians’ anger +against the wife of Pericles. + +It happened one day, that Aspasia was talking with a newly-married wife +in her husband’s presence. The young couple asked her on what the +secure happiness of love and marriage depended. + +Aspasia was seized with a desire to try Socrates’ method of expression. + +“If your neighbor,” she said to the young wife, “has a handsomer dress +than you, which do you prefer, yours or hers?” + +“Hers,” replied Hipparchia. + +“And if your neighbor has a handsomer ornament than you,” continued +Aspasia, “which do you prefer?” + +“Hers, of course,” answered the young wife. + +“And if she has a better husband than you, to whom would you give the +preference, yours or hers?” + +Hipparchia blushed at this unexpected, bold, perplexing question, but +Aspasia said smiling: + +“In the natural course of things the wife will prefer the better +husband, the husband the better wife. So it seems there is no other +possible way of securing happiness in love and marriage, except by the +husband striving to seem to the wife the best of men, and the wife +trying to appear to the husband the best of women. Many demand love +from others as a duty, which is very unfair. We must seek to deserve +it, and constantly strive to foster it.” + +The suggestion made to the young couple in these words was not without +excellent sense. But what did it become in the mouths of Elpinice and +those of the same mind? Aspasia’s conversation with the newly-wedded +pair went the round of Athens. But instead of reporting that Aspasia +had said the sole security of changeless conjugal happiness was, that +the husband should consider his wife the most charming of women, and +the wife think her husband the best of men, it was rumored that she had +told young Hipparchia, in her husband’s presence, to prefer a stranger +to her own spouse, if the former pleased her better. + +Aspasia determined to give up the Socratian manner in her future +conversations, and be still more careful about the kind of people with +whom she talked. But her enemies went so far as to intentionally draw +her into conversations, in order, under the pretence of affection, to +lure from her remarks calculated to lower her in the opinion of the +Athenians. Aspasia easily penetrated such a design, and sometimes +succeeded in baffling their plans in a way which, besides the +satisfaction of attaining her object, afforded her a certain degree of +amusement. + +Thus one day a certain Cleitagora approached her with feigned +admiration. But Aspasia knew Cleitagora belonged to the circle of the +friends of Telesippe and Elpinice. + +Cleitagora asked Aspasia by what arts a wife could best bind her +husband. + +“The most effectual of all the arts, by which a crafty woman can bind +her unsuspicious husband to herself and the domestic hearth,” replied +Aspasia with a very mysterious manner, “is that of cooking. I know a +woman, whose husband reverences her as if she were a goddess, merely on +account of the dainties she daily sets before him. Her masterpiece is +the light and delicate sesame porridge she makes by mixing sesame meal, +honey and oil in a pan. She takes barley, crushes it in a mortar, +shakes the meal in a vessel, adds oil to it, constantly stirs the +porridge while it slowly cooks, moistens it from time to time with +strong broth made of chicken, goat, or lamb, sees that it doesn’t get +overdone, and when boiling has it served up to him. Her hare-pasties, +and pies made of hedge-sparrows and other small birds, are also +excellent. What man would withdraw from the allurements of such things? +There are men too, who go into raptures over the so-called Cappadocian +cakes. It is best to knead them with honey and cut the dough into thin +sheets, which roll up at the mere sight of the pan. These little rolls +are then dipped in wine, but must come to the table very hot.” + +In this manner Aspasia continued to dilate upon the rules of delicate +cookery, to the amazement of part of her listeners and the vexation of +others, who found nothing in these explanations that could be used to +lower her in the opinion of the public, and strengthen the reports of +her frivolity and dangerous principles. + +The disagreeable opposition Aspasia’s efforts encountered among the +Athenian women, made her all the more gladly seize the opportunity +afforded her to adopt the orphaned daughters of her older sister, who +had died at Miletus. In these delicate young girls, Drosis and Prasina, +one fifteen, the other only a year older, Aspasia believed she would +find pliant material for the realization of her ideas about the +cultivation of the Hellenic woman to intellectual and personal freedom. +They might be expected to do honor to the school from which they came, +and help win the victory for Aspasia’s cause, which was at the same +time the cause of the whole female sex. + +Meantime Aspasia was impatient, capable of forming extensive plans, +that in their nature could only ripen slowly, but also not averse to +bold, hasty strokes. + +Such a stroke she now attempted, in order, if possible, to gather, once +for all, the reins of guidance over her sex into her own hands. + +Among the numerous religious festivals of the Athenians, was one +exclusively celebrated by women, which no man was permitted to attend +on pain of severe punishment. This was the Thesmophorian festival in +honor of Demeter, worshipped not only as the goddess of agriculture but +also of marriage, on account of the connection between the ideas of +growing and producing, harvest and birth. + +The sacred rites of this festival were performed not only by appointed +priestesses, but women chosen each time from the different families. +These women were compelled to prepare to take part in the ceremonies by +practising abstemiousness for a certain period. They slept on herbs, to +which were attributed the virtue of cooling the blood and promoting +abstinence. Among these were the agnus castus and a certain species of +nettle. The festival itself consisted of processions, assemblies in the +Thesmophorian temple, and traditional customs, in whose seriousness +blended jest and merriment. + +The festival lasted four days. On the first, they went to the seaport +of Halimus, and there celebrated certain mysteries in a temple +consecrated to Demeter. On the second they returned to Athens. The +third day the women were assembled from early dawn till evening in the +Thesmophorian sanctuary. Demeter, Proserpina and other divinities were +invoked, and dances were performed in their honor. In the pauses the +women sat on agnus castus and other herbs of the kind mentioned, +entertaining each other with conversation and jests customary on this +occasion. During their stay in the temple, they took no food, but made +up for this abstemiousness by the joyous sacrificial banquet, with +which the whole ceremony closed on the following day. + +Imagine the women of Athens, usually shut within the narrow limits of +their households, under their husbands’ eyes, left to themselves for +four days with the men rigidly excluded, united in a vast throng, +holding festal processions, then assembled in the temple, sitting down +on the sacred herbs to rest, and talking with perfect freedom—imagine +this buzzing feminine assembly, and it will be understood that it was +well adapted to unbridle not only women’s tongues, but also their +minds, and rouse them to defy the restraints of custom. + +The Thesmophorian festival had returned. + +Again the Athenian women sat on the agnus castus in the Thesmophorian +temple, chatting together during the intervals between the songs and +dances. Again a confused hum of voices arose. What were the subjects +discussed among the various groups of women sitting on the floor? Some +were talking about the bad habits of their husbands, others of the +faults of their slaves, or saying that children were far more saucy and +unruly than in former days; some were arguing about the best way of +making sesame cakes, some telling each other of magic spells, or giving +their younger companions advice about preparing love potions. Some told +ghost stories or tales of Thessalian witches, or the newest family +secrets. Some talked of Aspasia, and this conversation gradually became +the most animated one in the temple. + +“Aspasia is right,” said a pretty young wife, whose blooming face was +most advantageously set off by the withered, rouged countenances of +most of the women around her. “She is right, we must compel the men to +treat us as Pericles treats Aspasia.” + +“That we will!” cried several of the Milesian’s adherents. “We must +force them to arrange our domestic and married life, as Pericles does +his with Aspasia.” + +“I’ve already made a beginning with my husband,” exclaimed a vivacious +little lady named Chariclea. “My Diagoras has already become accustomed +to kiss me whenever he leaves the house or returns to it, as Pericles +does Aspasia.” + +“Do you also receive visits from philosophers, and serve sculptors as a +model?” scornfully asked one of the women in the group, one of those +whose cheeks were most withered and painted. + +“Why shouldn’t Aspasia and Chariclea do so, if their husbands permit +it?” cried another. “We’ll do so too, and compel our husbands to allow +it.” + +“Every man isn’t born so lenient,” said the first speaker, with a +malicious smile. + +“Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Chariclea angrily, placing herself +before this woman, with arms akimbo, “do you mean to say I betray my +husband?” + +“I won’t say it of you,” replied the other, “but perhaps your mistress, +Aspasia, will teach you this too!” + +As the insolent words were uttered, a slender, exquisitely-formed +woman, closely veiled, suddenly stepped forward from among the group +who had listened to this conversation, passed directly in front of the +sharp-tongued speaker, threw back her veil and gazed at her with +flashing eyes. + +“Aspasia!” exclaimed several of the spectators, and the name ran +quickly through the temple, causing an excitement which was +communicated to the most distant groups. The whole temple was in an +uproar. “What is it?” cried those most distant. “Has a man slipped in?” + +“Aspasia!” echoed the reply. “Aspasia is here.” + +At this news all the women pressed forward, and Aspasia soon found +herself the centre of the whole assembly. + +She had come, surrounded by her adherents, amidst whom, veiled beyond +the possibility of recognition, she had remained concealed from the +eyes of the throng. + +Even now these followers encompassed her like a body-guard, as she +stood with her figure drawn up to its full height, gazing angrily at +her insolent opponent. + +While Aspasia thus confronted her foe, one of her companions pressed in +front of her, exclaiming contemptuously: + +“You are right! Every man isn’t born so lenient. You must be well aware +of that. I know you! You are Crytilla, whose first husband, Xanthias, +cast off because he discovered you met your lover at night before the +door, beside the laurel-tree that shades the altar of Apollo, protector +of streets.” + +A dull red flush crimsoned Crytilla’s face, she started up and made a +movement as if to seize her foe. But she was forced back by Aspasia’s +adherents, and the latter herself began: + +“This woman has defamed my husband—defamed him only because he, the +first of all the Athenians, honors the dignity of woman in his wife, +and does not degrade her to the level of a slave. If men like Pericles +have to endure mockery and abuse, not merely from the mouths of men, +but even from women themselves, on account of the love and reverence +they pay their wives, how can you hope that your husbands will resolve +to follow the example of the noblest of men?” + +“That is true!” said the women, looking at each other, “Crytilla has +done wrong to abuse Pericles and Diagoras. Would to the gods all +husbands were like them.” + +“Husbands are what you deserve to have them,” replied Aspasia. “Try for +once to use the power, the irresistible influence bestowed upon the +female sex. You have hitherto neglected to develop this power, nay, +seem never to have known of it. Your slavery is a voluntary one. You +boast of the title of mistresses of the house, and are kept under more +rigid government than the female slaves—for slaves are permitted to +show themselves freely in the streets or at the market. You are +prisoners! Is it not so?” + +“It is indeed!” cried one of the women in the group. “My husband, when +he was going away on a journey for a few days, once locked me into the +women’s apartment and sealed its door with his signet.” + +“Mine,” exclaimed another, “has procured a huge Molossian dog, which +keeps guard at the door, that no lover may slip in during his absence.” + +“Even the housekeeping is not entrusted to you without control!” +continued Aspasia. + +“Quite true!” eagerly interposed another woman, “my husband carries the +keys of the store-room about with him.” + +“Don’t they go to market themselves, to buy meat and vegetables?” +exclaimed a second. + +“Yes, and in time of war,” cried a third, “when the men go about armed, +they can be seen in the market in suits of mail with Gorgon shields on +their arms, bargaining for eggs and vegetables, or bringing meat home +in a brazen helmet.” + +“Since they don’t even allow you to assert your authority by the +domestic hearth,” said Aspasia, “it is not surprising they don’t permit +you to utter a word about public affairs. When they come from the Pnyx, +where the question of peace or war has been discussed, are you even +permitted to inquire what was decided there?” + +“No indeed!” cried the women. “‘What is it to you?’ they say. ‘Keep to +your distaff and be silent.’” + +“And if you are not silent?” + +“Then matters are worse!” + +“My husband,” said one of the women, “repeats till I am fairly sick, +the foolish old proverb: ‘Oh! woman, woman’s fairest ornament is +silence.’” + +“We know the proverb too! It’s in every man’s mouth,” ran through the +circle. + +“Why do we have tongues?” asked one, and added: “Merely to be kissed +and caressed, and talk folly.” + +The women laughed, but Aspasia continued: + +“They wish you to be spiritless and dull; for only then can they rule +you. The moment you become clever and intelligent, conscious of the +power given to women over man, that moment their tyranny would be over. +You think you have done everything if you keep the house clean, wash +and nurse your children, see that moths don’t gnaw the woollen +garments, and the hens don’t tangle the yarn on the loom. If one of you +does more and seeks to please her husband, she imagines she can gain +this object with the help of a crocus-yellow robe, pointed shoes, +perfume boxes, and a little cinnabar. But physical beauty and fine +clothes are dangerous weapons against men only in the hands of those, +who also possess a little intellect. Where could you get what I call a +little intellect, except by having freer intercourse with the world, +from which men shut you out as if by a brazen wall? You must in future +be allowed to purify and refresh your dull minds with the vivifying +atmosphere of freedom, be influenced by the external world, and +receiving impressions from what is occurring there, exert a counter +influence on the world and life, with the ennobling liberty of the +developed feminine soul. Woman’s intellect must exert an equal +influence upon the world with man’s. Then only will marriage and the +whole domestic life be transformed, the arts reach their fullest +development, war and all rudeness vanish from mankind. Let us form a +league, a peaceful conspiracy, and take a mutual vow to do all in our +power, to battle for the rights our sex requires in order to freely +exert the sovereignty to which it is called.” + +Eager assent greeted Aspasia’s words from the greater portion of the +assembly; but so loud and confused a roar of voices followed, that +nothing could be distinctly heard, for the women began to vehemently +discuss the subject together, all speaking at once. It seemed as if a +wandering flock of twittering, screaming birds, had suddenly entered +the Thesmophorian temple. + +At last a slender, but energetic figure elbowed its way through the +dense throng towards the centre of the group where Aspasia stood. The +white kerchief that covered her head also concealed a portion of her +face, so that she could not be instantly recognized. But as she now +paused, fixing her eyes maliciously on Aspasia, all distinguished the +sharp masculine features of Cimon’s sister. + +Elpinice was dreaded throughout Athens, feared by all the members of +her own sex. She ruled by the power of her tongue, her almost masculine +strength of will, the wide extent of her connections. So a timid +silence fell upon the whole circle, while Cimon’s sister attacked +Aspasia with the words: + +“By what right is the stranger allowed to speak among native Athenian +women?” + +Elpinice’s question instantly made a deep impression, and many eagerly +nodded, wondering why this scruple had not at once occurred to them. + +The former continued: “How does this Milesian venture to teach us? Does +she dare make herself one of our circle? Has she shared our customs, +our rules, our manners, our sacred rites from childhood? We are +Athenians: at eight years old we wore the holy garb of the Arrephori, +at ten we ground the sacrificial meal in the temple of Artemis, we were +consecrated as blooming maidens to the same goddess, walked together as +basket-bearers in the Panathenaic procession. And this woman? She came +from a foreign country, without the guidance or blessing of the gods, a +profligate, crafty adventuress, and now seeks to force herself among us +because she succeeded in beguiling an Athenian, till contrary to law +and custom, he received her into his house?” + +Quietly, yet not without a sarcastic smile, Aspasia answered: + +“You are right! I did not grow up in the dull solitude of an Athenian +women’s apartment; I did not attend your Brauronia [8] in a saffron +robe, did not carry a basket on my head and wear a string of withered +figs around my neck in your Panathenaic procession, did not wail upon +the roofs at your Adonis festival. I have not spoken as an Athenian to +Athenians, but as a woman to women.” + +“Corrupter of men! Ally of the godless!” cried Elpinice still more +furiously, “dare you enter our temple, profane our sanctuaries with +your presence?” + +These words were impetuously uttered, the short hairs on Elpinice’s +upper lip fairly bristled with indignation. Her friends, who had +gathered around, assumed a threatening attitude towards the Milesian. + +But Aspasia’s friends also drew nearer to their leader, ready to +protect her, and the number of those who still remained by Pericles’ +wife was by no means small. + +The buzz of eager voices again rose, and many a violent altercation +threatened to cause a passionate quarrel between the parties. + +At last Cimon’s resolute sister again obtained a hearing, to play her +strongest trump. + +“Remember Telesippe!” she cried. “Remember how this foreign +adventuress, this Milesian hetæra drove an Athenian wife from her +hearth, from her children, from her husband! Which of you can believe +herself secure from this woman’s wiles, if she takes it into her head +to bewitch other women’s husbands? Before you listen to this serpent’s +hiss, remember that she has poison in her mouth.” + +“Look,” continued Elpinice, glancing towards a corner of the temple, +“look at Telesippe! See her shrouded in her grief—see her pale face—see +the tears roll down her cheeks at the mention of her children!” + +All the women, following Elpinice’s eyes, turned towards Pericles’ +rejected wife, who was standing at some distance, gazing, pallid with +wrath and anger, at Aspasia. + +Elpinice went on: + +“Do you know what she thinks of us Athenians? Need I say it? Has she +not told you herself? She thinks us foolish, ignorant, inexperienced, +unworthy a husband’s love, and graciously condescends to teach us, +securely conscious, in her secret pride, that we can never become like +her, the fair, wise, peerless, bewitching Milesian, with whom even the +loveliest of you all can never vie.” + +These words produced an almost incredible influence upon the assembly. +The mood of all suddenly changed, even in the hearts of those who had +hitherto favored Aspasia. + +Elpinice continued: + +“Do you know what your friends, Pericles’ companions, say of her, what +all the men of Athens are repeating? ‘Aspasia is the most charming +woman in Athens—nay, the only charming woman in Athens—people must go +to Miletus if they wish to find lovely and bewitching women.’” + +At these words the humiliation and craftily-kindled rage of the women +burst forth. They pressed upon Aspasia with fierce outcries and +upraised arms. She stood erect and calm, white with anger, yet with a +look of unspeakable contempt, saying: + +“Hush, you beet, parsley, caraway-seed women! Hush, you apple, cheese, +butter women! Do you mean to scratch and bite?” + +The few remaining faithful followers of Aspasia threw themselves before +her, a wild tumult, almost a scuffle, arose. Some of Elpinice’s +companions gesticulated as if they intended to scratch Aspasia’s eyes +out with their nails, others drew the sharp clasp pins from their +garments and threatened their enemy with them. Aspasia, under the +protection of those who still closed bravely around her, hastily left +the Thesmophorian temple. + +Thus ended the attempt to free the women of Athens, by the power of the +mind. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE ARCADIAN GIRL. + + +Several years had passed. Aspasia had battled bravely, but could not +boast of having conquered. The stormy scene in the Thesmophorian temple +had become known throughout the city, and she was compelled to endure +the mortification, that under all circumstances, is connected with +defeat. Some few persons clung to her, but the greater part of her sex, +through envy, blindness, and the malicious reports disseminated by her +enemies, had become enraged against her. + +A feeling of melancholy sometimes overmastered Pericles. He thought of +the unclouded happiness he had enjoyed with the Milesian during their +brief, but blissful seclusion on the strand of Ionia. It seemed at +times as if he must again tear himself away from his daily anxieties, +fly from noisy Athens, where his best happiness was destroyed by the +many-tongued expressions of animosity buzzing like a swarm of bees +about his head. + +When the news reached Athens, that Phidias had completed in Elis his +gold and ivory statue of the Olympic Zeus, the most sublime and +magnificent of all his works, what a tempting opportunity it seemed to +Pericles to take a short excursion to the land of the Dorians. But the +journey through the mountain region of Argos and Arcadia appeared too +toilsome for Aspasia, and the idea of such an expedition, when first +mentioned between the two, was only regarded as a pleasant jest. + +The Athenian nation had gradually taken that sort of aversion to +Aspasia, with which beautiful, influential women, whose fate is +connected with that of a man in high position, always have to contend. +They continued to attribute Pericles’ plans and enterprises to her +secret influence, and assert that she was inciting him to make himself +ruler of all Hellas. The gay authors of comedies, at their head +Cratinus, the friend of Polygnotus, who had been enraged against the +Milesian at Hipponicus’ banquet, put sharper and sharper points to the +arrows directed against her. The Attic Muse resembled the bee-hive—it +dripped with virgin honey, but carried a sharp sting. + +Pericles became indignant, and attempted to restrain the insolence of +the comedy. + +Every one attributed the effort to Aspasia’s influence. + +“Do they take me for an old lion, whose teeth have dropped out and who +can only drivel?” said Cratinus. + +In his next comedy, he fearlessly hurled an insulting epithet at +Aspasia before the assembled Athenians. + +Cratinus’ invective was unboundedly insolent, terribly wounding, almost +crushing. In it culminated the ill-will of Aspasia’s secret and open +enemies. The mirth-loving crowd seized upon and repeated it. The soil +of Athens was beginning to burn under the Milesian’s feet. + +From that day the journey to Elis was a settled fact between Pericles +and Aspasia. It now seemed less difficult to the angry pair, to tread +the rough ground of the peninsula of Pelops, than to linger on the +glowing soil of Athens. + +In Athens the Milesian’s life was divided among many, who basked in the +light of her intellect and beauty. In the still, quiet meadows of +Argos, on the idyllic heights of Arcadia, even amid the tumult of +Olympia, they would again live wholly for themselves and their own +happiness. + +The preparations for the journey were quickly made, and soon Cimon’s +sister, who was first to know everything that happened, could tell +loquacious Athens that Pericles was about to go to Olympia, and the +effeminate hero could not do without his beloved Aspasia, who however +did wisely to escape from the disgrace that covered her in Athens. +There were many, who jested about the inseparableness of the pair. +There were many also, who secretly envied them. + +A light carriage conveyed the two inseparables to the Isthmus. Slaves +and mules had been sent forward to Corinth, to be used on the journey +over the rough paths of the Peloponnesus. + +What a sigh of relief both uttered, when they had left Athens, once so +beloved, behind them.—They knew not, that in flying from the city they +did not retard, but hastened the fate appointed. + +From the magnificent, ever-changing views of land and sea constantly +presented to their eyes, down to the monuments along the roads, the +statues of Hermes and altars of Hecate at the cross-roads, everything +was charming and significant to the pair, who had once more regained +their happiness. + +They found the broad road from Eleusis full of travellers. Devout and +philanthropic people were placing fruits and other food before the +statues and temples of the way-side gods, that poor and starving +wanderers might refresh themselves. Here and there trees were planted +by the side of the road, whose fruit was also common property to all +who were thirsty. Nor was there any lack of shelter. + +“We Hellenes are fond of travelling,” said Pericles to Aspasia. +“Generous hospitality and joyous festivals lure us from place to place. +And as you see, provision is made for the wanderer.” + +Many a spring leaped from the mountain slopes along the road, and many +a traveller resting beside the huge trunks of the poplars that shaded +them, had carved, in token of his gratitude, a proverb or a verse, or +hung an offering on them. + +Flourishing cities and hamlets, adorned with temples and columns, +attracted the eyes of the wedded pair. First Eleusis, the sacred city +of the mysteries, where at Pericles’ suggestion a superb new temple for +the celebration was rising under Ictinus’ hands. Then Megara, the +Dorian city, which awakened unpleasant memories in Aspasia’s mind. Her +fair face clouded; she was silent, but unforgotten sorrow and unavenged +disgrace forced tears from her eyes. Pericles understood her and said: + +“Be comforted. Your enemies are mine. Megara will atone for her crime.” + +On reaching crowded Corinth, Pericles went to the house of his friend +Amynias, who received him and his wife with great honors. + +The height of Acrocorinthus, the Acropolis of the city of Corinth, a +cliff densely overgrown with flowers and plants, sloping abruptly down +towards the city, a watch-tower of Hellas, beckoned alluringly to the +new comers. On its summit gleamed the famous temple of the goddess of +love. As intellectual Athens was under the protection of reflecting +Pallas Athena, the rich, pleasure-loving commercial city placed herself +under the guardianship of joy-giving Aphrodite. Like Pallas Athena in +Athens, Aphrodite was here the ruler of the citadel, and stood armed +within her sanctuary. From the highest peak the pinnacles of her temple +shone far over the sea, she too was a sign to mariners. A thousand +hieroduli, servants of the goddess, charming and complaisant daughters +of pleasure, dwelt within the temple precincts on the mountain height, +which by terraces, porticos, gardens, groves and baths had been +transformed into a doubly charming Eden. + +From this height, standing in the centre of the Hellenic countries and +seas, Pericles and Aspasia overlooked all the oddly-shaped peaks, +glowing in a peculiar magic of tints. In the north they beheld the +snow-capped summit of Parnassus, farther eastward Helicon, greeted the +mountains of Attica, and with no little pleasure even saw the familiar +cliff of the Athenian Acropolis glimmering through the pure air in the +distance. Towards the south their eyes wandered over the heights of +Northern Arcadia. Amid the countless mountains and valleys they saw the +sparkling bays and coasts, the sea-islands—either green or with +glittering white cliffs, all steeped in the charm of a peerless +atmosphere. + +Pericles and Aspasia were somewhat disturbed in their enjoyment of this +lovely scene, by the crowd of hieroduli wandering through the porticos +and groves near the temple precincts. + +“You have no such worship in Athens,” said the Corinthian host, who had +accompanied the pair, to Pericles, “and are perhaps not disposed to see +in these priestesses sacred persons. With us such a priesthood has long +been held in high and honorable esteem. These gay, hospitable girls, +who, presiding over the service of Aphrodite, strive towards the spirit +of the mother of love, are present at the sacrifices and other +religious ceremonies, take part in the festal processions of the +citizens, and while so doing sing the pæan to Aphrodite. We apply to +them for their intercession with the goddess, the guardian divinity of +our city. You smile? Well, you Athenians may think you owe more to +Pallas Athena. With you the community is rich and powerful, with us it +is the individual citizen. Each is a Crœsus, a king in himself, and +enjoys the good things of life, obtained by trade and commerce. We do +not strive for power and wealth in Greece; we do not lavish our +treasures on building fortifications or navies and similar things, but +live comfortably, and believe that after all only the individual +exists, the community is a mere idea. Be this as it may, even though +you Athenians still look down upon us so scornfully, you have entered +the path that brings us nearer to each other. You love and foster the +beautiful, with which a love for the pleasant things of life always +makes its appearance.” + +The Corinthian’s words made a deep impression on Pericles, though he +did not seem to heed them. He gazed across at the mountains of the +Peloponnesus, and after a pause, turned with a fleeting smile to +Aspasia, saying: + +“It is significant that here, on the threshold of the grave, stern +Peloponnesus, we meet Hellenic life developed to the climax of +luxuriousness. Who would imagine, on coming from bright, art-loving, +intellectual Athens, or standing in joyous Corinth on the summit +crowned by Aphrodite’s temple, surrounded by throngs of hieroduli, that +so short a distance away, on the other side of the isthmus and yonder +gloomy mountains, unspoiled shepherd folk live in primitive simplicity +on the heights of Arcadia, that opposite to these abodes of beautiful, +delightful leisure, on the farther side of those mountains, the rude +Spartan and morose Messenian, like the fierce lions and wolves, destroy +each other in savage conflicts amid the horrible ravines or dark +forests. What a wrestling ground of fierce, heroic power that region +behind the lofty mountains has been from ancient times. From citadels +reared of rocks piled one above another, the Argive princes went forth +against Ilium. Along the paths of the Peloponnesus, Heracles and +Perseus went their heroic way, strangled lions, battled with the brood +of serpents in the marshes, and the flocks of noxious birds in the air. +Even at the present day, does not manly vigor strive for the prize on +the meadows, on the isthmus at Nemea, at Olympia? Do not men, longing +for the laurel that crowns heroic strength, flock thither from all +Hellas? This Peloponnesus seems gloomy, rude, and threatening, and the +waters of the Styx do not wash its dark mountain shores in vain. But we +will defy its terrors, we will venture into the lions’ dens, and if we +have grown too effeminate, steel ourselves with fresh strength in these +harsher airs.” + +“Since when has Pericles admired, nay even envied the rude and simple +men on the other side of the isthmus?” asked Aspasia, smiling. “Cheer +up, my friend! Let them strive and fight as they choose. The victorious +light of Pallas Athena does not shine on their mountain peaks, as on +the Acropolis of Athens.” + +The travellers left Corinth the next morning with a large escort, and +set out in high spirits for the journey across the Argolian mountains +into the land of the Dorians. Aspasia usually disdained the litter +Pericles, with affectionate solicitude, had had prepared for her use, +and which could be carried by slaves or mules across the most rugged +portion of the hilly region. She preferred to ride on a mule by her +husband’s side. Thus, engaged in familiar conversation, they travelled +through the rustling mountain forests, following the course of the +streams that rushed through the ravines, passing over steep ascents and +wooded peaks to broad open plateaus, then through narrow passes and +valleys, where the oleander and wild pear-tree intertwined their shady +branches over the dark path. + +In such gloomy ravines, Aspasia cast many an anxious glance into the +bushes, in search of the dark form of some lurking robber. Pericles +smiled, and glancing at the troop of well-armed men, familiar with +every path, whom he had obtained for an escort through the mountains, +said: + +“Fear nothing, Aspasia! The savage giants long since vanished from +these defiles, even the malicious tyrant Sinis, the pine-bender. We +need only guard against the serpents that infest these hills and +valleys; for you doubtless remember, what happened close by the Nemean +plain, when the nurse laid the little boy down to fetch a drink of +water, at request of the seven passing towards Thebes.” + +After a toilsome day’s journey, the travellers reached the threshold of +the plain of Inachus, and saw between the grey mountain peaks +Agamemnon’s city, famed in legend, the ancient guardian of this +mountain road, the citadel of Mycenæ, lying watchfully in its rocky +nook—“in the corner of Argos,” according to the words of the Homeric +song. At the right rose the bare cone-shaped mountain, with the ancient +citadel of Larisa, the Acropolis of the city of Argos, which extended +over a wide portion of the plain at the foot of the mountain, still +flourishing and no less densely populated than Athens. Beyond the long +sea-beach sparkled the blue waves of the bay of Nauplia; +mountain-chains, steeped in sunset hues, here towered in jagged peaks +towards the sky, and yonder ran in sweeping curves to the sea. On the +opposite side of the glittering gulf appeared the dim outlines of +mighty mountains. + +A strange emotion took possession of the travellers. Their eyes rested +on the grey height of Mycenæ, seeking some traces of the royal palace +of the Pelopidæ, and all the other indestructible remains of the +Cyclopian treasuries, graves, walls, and arches of former days. + +When they reached Mycenæ itself, darkness had closed in. They stood on +the rocky height, where the grey masonry, built of huge but +regularly-hewn blocks of stone, and overgrown with moss and ivy, +produced a dismal, almost ghastly impression in the gloom. Yet they +scorned to go down to the houses of the few Mycenæans, who still lived +in the ruined, deserted city of the Atridæ. Pericles and Aspasia +determined to spend the warm summer night in a tent near this venerable +relic of the past. But the moon rose, flooding with her white, radiant +light the masonry, the height itself, all the mountain peaks of Argos +and the plain between to the distant sea. Though weary, Pericles and +Aspasia could not resist the temptation of this bewitching moonlight, +and drew fresh strength from the strange excitement of their minds. A +few days ago noisy Athens surrounded them, and now, in the starry +night, they stood thrilled with awe on the ruins of Mycenæ, amid the +death-like stillness of the Argolian mountains. The spirit of Homer +seized upon them. In the sighing of the wind, the rustling of the +tree-tops, they heard a faint echo of the immortal heroic song. The +full moonlight, shining upon the peaks of the mountains of Argos, +reminded them of the fire that had once flashed from one summit to +another, bearing the message of the Greek conquest of Troy over sea and +mountain to Agamemnon’s citadel, where the fierce Clytemnestra, +secretly sharpening the murderous steel, with her lover Ægisthus by her +side, awaited the return of the victorious Greek commander. And within +the deserted ruins that lay before them, in the silent, night-shrouded +solitude, that dagger flashed. Behind those walls echoed the +death-rattle of the ruler. + +Pericles and Aspasia walked along the mighty wall, which, with many +turns and angles, followed the edge of the rugged mountain. They +reached the famed lion-gate, the ancient entrance to the citadel of the +Atridæ, above which rose the oldest piece of sculpture in the world. +Through this gate-way they entered the stronghold, and stood before the +inner walls, behind which the Atridæ lived in security; but only the +foundations showed them the position of the royal apartments. They +continued their walk, and farther on, not on the summit of the +mountain, but its slope, reached the venerable, still uninjured +circular building, which was at once a treasury and the tomb of the +Pelopidæ. + +As Pericles and Aspasia approached this building, they were startled by +the figure of a gigantic man lying before the door, who raised himself +to a sitting posture as the strangers came up. He recalled the huge +forms of Homer, that hurled blocks of stone, whose weight the men of +later generations could not have raised from the ground. Pericles +accosted him, and after a short conversation perceived that he had +encountered one of the beggars wandering through the mountains of +Argos. His limbs were scantily covered with rags; his bronzed face +seemed worn by wind and weather. So perhaps looked the patient wanderer +Ulysses, when he escaped from his wrecked ship to land, after +struggling with the waves for days, while the salt tide gnawed his +limbs. + +The weird, gigantic, gray-haired beggar said that he was guarding the +treasure of Atreus, and no one should approach the door of the treasury +without his consent. Then he began to babble of vast stores of gold, +which still lay concealed in these rock-chambers, and would make the +finder the richest of all mortals, a leader and king in Hellas, the +heir and successor of the Hellenic prince Agamemnon. + +Pericles smiled and said to Aspasia: “Mycenæ was famed in ancient times +as the richest of the Hellenic cities; but I think her gold has long +since flowed to Athens, and we need not seek it here. Yet this +wonderful rock-tomb irresistibly allures me.” + +“Guide us into the treasury, you guard,” he continued, turning to the +giant. “We are Athenians, and have come into the mountains of Argos, to +show our reverence for the dust of the divine Atridæ.” + +He then ordered several slaves to light torches. The beggar, over whom +Pericles’ manner seemed to exert a certain influence, silently prepared +to act as guide. Exerting his gigantic strength, he pushed aside with +his strong hand a piece of rock that lay before the entrance, +completely barring it. Even then it was not easy to make their way over +the rubbish and stones, that almost choked the door, into the vault, +which extended far into the earth. + +Through the entrance, formed of huge blocks of stone, Pericles and +Aspasia reached the lofty, gloomy vault, whose walls were not erected +in the usual manner—the layers of stone were placed one above another +in ever-narrowing circles, and finished with a conical arch. Traces of +a metal lining were on the walls, a favorite ornament in the days of +which Homer writes. How the smooth, polished metal walls of the royal +apartments must have sparkled in the light of blazing torches! But here +the metal plates had been violently torn away, and the gray stone +masses of the huge circles, piled one above another, stared nakedly +down upon the spectators. + +Pericles and Aspasia passed from the circular room, through a narrow +door, into a chamber hewn in a square form from the solid rock. + +They stood absorbed in thought. The dim light of the burning torches +feebly illumined the gloomy stone vault. + +“It would be a bold idea,” said Pericles, “to take shelter for the +night in this stone vault, which seems pervaded with a strange horror.” + +Aspasia shuddered, but the next instant smiled, and could not resist +the spell exerted by the terrible, yet tempting thought of spending a +night in the tomb of the Pelopidæ, which had endured a thousand years, +resting above the dust of Atreus and Agamemnon. + +Many objections were raised, but at last they resolved to execute the +daring idea. The slaves spread carpets and prepared a couch on the +stone floor of the smaller rock-chamber. The gigantic beggar stretched +himself out in the vaulted room to sleep, the servants lay around the +outer entrance. + +Pericles and Aspasia now found themselves alone in the awful, rock-hewn +chamber. The uncertain light of the torch, fastened on the floor, +flickered with a ghostly glimmer over the gray, windowless walls. A +death-like stillness reigned. The repose of a sepulchre surrounded +them. + +“On this night and in this place,” said Pericles, “the thought of +corruption and annihilation confronts me almost in bodily form, with +Titanic power. How delicate, variable and perishing every living thing +appears, and how stubbornly and tenaciously that, which we are +accustomed to call dead, defies the teeth of time. Atreus and Agamemnon +perished long ago, and we are perhaps inhaling the invisible atoms of +their dust with every breath we draw. But the lifeless walls, which +towered above those men, surround us now, and will perhaps rise over +those who will absorb our dust a thousand years hence.” + +“I do not think, like you, Pericles,” replied Aspasia, “that this +fleeting human existence has any reason to envy the indestructible life +of the dead. The falling block of stone buries the flowers, but they +return with every spring and twine their shoots about the rock, which +after centuries crumbles away, but the flowers are always here. So life +lies buried under the ruins of cities, but secretly creeps forth again +and surrounds the masonry that boasts of its duration: its shoots even +grow through and burst the rock, and thus at last only what is +apparently fleeting and perishable becomes eternal.” + +“You are right,” said Pericles, “life would soon become weary and +disgusted with itself, if allotted the changelessness of the dead. +Changelessness is synonymous with death, and change is life.” + +“Is not the heroic soul of Agamemnon renewed in a thousand heroes?” +said Aspasia. “Does not the love of Paris and Helen live on forever in +a thousand lovers?” + +“Yes, life comes and goes,” replied Pericles, “and returns in perpetual +transformations. But are we sure, that in this coming and going some +portion of its original strength is not at last lost? Must not the +grandeur in the world slightly resemble the stone circles in the arch +of this vault, which it is true repeat themselves towards the top, but +constantly grow smaller? Agamemnon’s heroic spirit seems to have +returned, and we have defeated the Persians, but it seems to me we have +shrivelled a little in comparison with Homer’s heroes.” + +“Many things may become weaker in returning,” answered Aspasia, “but do +you not perceive, that many are still more vigorous and beautiful? The +art that perished with these ruins has returned, and carved the +sculptured marble ornaments of the Parthenon!” + +“But,” said Pericles, “when these sculptured marble ornaments have also +some day crumbled into ruins—if perhaps Pallas’ magnificent team of +four horses, falling from the pediment of the Parthenon, is shattered +with a thundering crash upon the rocky slope, are you sure that art +will only return in a more glorious form? Or will a time come, whose +glory will merely exist upon the reflection from the immortal ruins?” + +“Let later generations trouble themselves about that,” replied Aspasia. + +“You have also spoken of the love of the handsomest couple of ancient +times,” continued Pericles, “and how it is revived in countless pairs.” + +“Do you doubt it?” said Aspasia. + +“No,” cried Pericles, “and I believe that love, and love alone, always +returns with the same power, the same freshness, the same bliss.” + +“Love and pleasure!” said Aspasia smiling. + +“Even so!” repeated Pericles. “True, I must wander through this place +with shame, and perhaps am not worthy to rest even one night above the +dust of Homeric heroes. But if, with sorrowful envy, I must renounce +the heroic fame of Achilles, I share the happiness of Paris—the +possession of the fairest Hellenic woman.” + +The expression with which Pericles said this, was not wholly in harmony +with the words themselves. He looked as if he doubted whether it was +seemly for a man to renounce the fame of Achilles, and be content with +the happiness of Paris. + +But Aspasia understood how to soothe the thoughts stirring in Pericles’ +mind, by exerting the spell at the command of the most beautiful woman +in Greece. Her eyes shed a magical light through the gloomy +rock-chamber, the rose-hue on her cheek seemed diffused through the +whole vault. The torch, which but now had flickered so dimly, perhaps +like those that had once burned here at the interment of the buried +Agamemnon, suddenly appeared to blaze up cheerily like a hymeneal +taper. The light of beauty, shining in the gloomy tomb, seemed to +transform the dark vault to a bridal-chamber, and the eternal freshness +of life and love gained the mastery over the horror of death and +corruption, the dust of the Atridæ that had lain mouldering for a +thousand years. + +When Pericles and Aspasia left the sepulchre and emerged from the +rock-hewn vault, the dewy light of morning was shining on all the +fields and slopes. Yet, even in the brilliant radiance of day, the +ruins of the citadel of the Atridæ were no less lonely and silent. Only +a vulture, with outspread pinions, hovered high in the blue air above +Mycenæ. + +While the travellers breakfasted on the provisions brought with them, +and some wine carried by a slave in a skin, Pericles asked Aspasia if +she had had no dream during her slumber in the tomb of the Atridæ. + +“Yes,” replied Aspasia, “a dream really did transport me to the camp +before Ilium. I saw Achilles in bodily form, and he still hovers before +my eyes—a youthful figure, fiercely beautiful, of almost unearthly +aspect, tall and slender, the face of the purest oval, framed by dark +waving locks, the eyes, black as coals and almost circular in shape, +which, despite the nobility of the features, gave the face a somewhat +Gorgan-like, terrible expression; the mouth was unusually small, but +the lips wore an impress of power; everywhere youthful beauty was +blended with fierce, almost superhuman, heroic strength. So I saw him +standing on the ship, his battle shout alone spreading terror within +the walls of Ilium.” + +“A dream bore me also into the Homeric world,” said Pericles, “but +strangely enough, not among the heroes. I saw Penelope, yet stranger +still, not as Homer describes her, the faithful wife waiting for +Ulysses, but as the youthful bride in the light of a legend, which +charms me more than all Homer has sung of her. You surely know the +story of Ulysses’ courtship—how the Spartan king Icarius consented to +give his daughter to Ulysses, hoping to induce the latter to settle in +Lacedæmon, but when he did not succeed in this, sought to estrange his +beloved child from the suitor; nay when Ulysses took away his bride to +Ithaca, followed the carriage with his paternal pleadings, until +Ulysses asked the maiden to say whether she accompanied him willingly, +or would rather return to Sparta with her father. Penelope made no +reply, but timidly veiled her face; upon which Icarius let her go and +erected a statue of virgin modesty in the spot where this occurred. +What a charming picture is this silent, blushing Penelope, veiling her +face in maidenly embarrassment. And in that virginal form I saw her +last night in my dream.” + +Thus Pericles and Aspasia related the visions that had fallen to their +lot, while resting on the dust of the Atridæ, and wondered half in +jest, half in earnest, whether they concealed any omen or secret +meaning. + +Casting one more glance from the ruined citadel of Mycenæ upon the +plain of Inachus and ancient Argos, they continued their journey, and +began to cross the Argolian mountains into the Arcadian chain. + +Pericles and Aspasia enjoyed walking for long distances over the paths +of the wooded heights, engaged in familiar conversation. + +Aspasia had hitherto been accustomed to rest only on cushions and +carpets; she now learned that it was possible to recline on green turf, +moss, herbs, and pine needles. Sometimes, when they sat down in a +pleasant spot, a slave, at a sign from Pericles, brought one of the +rolls of MS., containing Homer’s poetry, and Aspasia, at her husband’s +request, read aloud to him in her clear, sweet voice. They had not +wished to visit the remains of the ancient kingdom of the Atridæ +without the poet, and indeed, since seeing these ruins, the bard +appeared to them in all his reality. + +From time to time a passing difference of opinion arose, when Pericles +praised the patriarchal heroic days too enthusiastically, while Aspasia +preferred to seek the ideal of human life in the present or even the +future. + +“I find a remarkable lesson in Homer,” Pericles said—“namely that men +were once animals, and gradually became human beings. We see in his +writings, especially in the Odyssey, how the transformation gradually +took place. Everywhere he lays special stress upon the victory of +humanity over what is rude and animal. Everywhere we see this struggle +of humanity against the still unconquered remnants of brutishness. He +shows us in the savage Læstrygones and Cyclopes, what we once were. He +describes these fierce barbarians in contrast with noble human +feelings, compares the cannibals with the hospitable Phæacians, and to +guard mankind from any relapse into brutishness, associates it as +closely as possible with the divine nature. Pallas Athena, the goddess +of wise human judgment, energy ennobled by humanity, is the constant +companion and guide of his heroes. Humanity is what he preaches, +humanity in contrast with brutishness. With him pure humanity is coined +into pure poesy. Every object floats in a pure, clear atmosphere. Lofty +simplicity never spoke more eloquently from any lips.” + +Here Aspasia interrupted Pericles’ praise. + +“Pardon me,” she said, “a word has escaped you, which I cannot let +pass, and you perhaps will gladly retract. Homer is neither plain nor +simple, at least not in the sense that some of the sculptors were, who +preceded Phidias. With Homer, to use an old comparison, poetry sprang +fully matured from the brain of Zeus. His language is broad, rich, +sonorous. His descriptions are sometimes as pompous as they are vivid, +and there are passages in the Iliad and Odyssey whose rhetorical +magnificence of expression no later poet will surpass. And his +eloquence! Are not the speeches with which the angry Achilles is +persuaded to return to the battle, and the answer he makes, +masterpieces? Not merely in consequence of their vigor; by their +arrangement and striking force of demonstration they will remain models +of perfect oratory.” + +“What you say is true!” said Pericles. “Yet Homer, in a certain sense, +possesses what I call sublime simplicity. Perhaps it is the secret of +the highest art, to permit this lofty simplicity to echo through the +cultivated magnificence of style, and blend primeval freshness with the +maturity of the present.” + +After a journey of several days, the travellers found themselves in the +midst of the rough mountainous portion of Arcadia. They were +accompanied through the hilly region by native shepherds, who not only +acted as guides but, armed with clubs and spears, served also for +guards. Amid the solitude of the mountains they saw eagles circling in +the clouds above them, beheld other birds with sharp talons and crooked +beaks fighting and screaming on the jagged rocks, saw flocks of cranes, +starlings, and daws flying before the hawks that darted down upon them +from the peaks. Here and there the blows of axes and the crash of +ancient trees, falling under the hands of wood-cutters, resounded from +the forest depths. Not one of the carnivorous animals, which usually +only emerge from their dens at night, crossed their path, but they +found the ground in the Arcadian woods covered with bright-eyed +tortoises, creeping clumsily among the plants and stones, or basking in +the sun. + +Thus Pericles and Aspasia wandered through the quiet country, and while +supposing that they calmly regarded everything new and strange as a +temporary and chance event, all these things had a momentous secret +influence, fitted into their lives like a previously-ordained link, and +without perceiving or suspecting it, they were going forward to meet +changes, transformations, decisions in their future destiny. + +Passing over lofty plateaus near the clouds, the travellers often +obtained wonderful views of Hellas, and sometimes saw the peaks of +snow-clad mountains glittering on the most distant horizons. One day +they set out before dawn, and traversed summits still veiled in +darkness. + +“Are you shivering in the chill mountain air?” Pericles asked the +shuddering Aspasia. + +“No, I am trembling in the presence of this dark, dreary, mountain +solitude,” she replied. “It seems as if we were no longer on Hellenic +soil, and had been deserted by all the Hellenic gods.” + +At this moment Pericles’ eye rested on a tiny golden cloud visible in +the extreme north. He directed Aspasia’s attention to it. The cloud +grew larger, but remained in the same spot and stood forth in wonderful +relief against the monotonous grey of the rest of the night sky. +Gradually the upper surface gained remarkable distinctness and firmness +of outline, which no longer resembled a cloud. It looked like a far +golden meadow, where happy gods wandered. Indeed, when morning dawned +and the lines of more distant mountain ranges appeared, this light +spread downward, and the travellers perceived that they had beheld no +motionless cloud, but the snow-clad peak of a distant mountain in the +north, illumined by the rays of the still invisible sun. + +“That, I believe, is the summit of the Thracian Olympus, the mountain +of the gods!” said Pericles gaily. “Do you see, the Hellenic gods have +not abandoned us. From the spot, where they sit throned in endless +bliss, they send through a cleft in the mountain a greeting to this +cheerless solitude.” + +“They want to tell us not to forget them and all other beauty in the +gloomy Dorian country!” replied Aspasia smiling. + +The travellers soon passed from the bare lofty plateaus into the +tree-shaded western portion of Arcadia, filled with bubbling springs. +Here countless little streams, now dashing swiftly, now murmuring +gently, flowed down from the wooded slopes. Even in the heat of summer, +the luxuriant vegetation on the meadows was always fresh and +unscorched. Elms, beeches, plane-trees and oaks towered towards the +sky. The valleys resounded with the lowing of cattle. Everywhere the +travellers perceived that they were in the domain of the rude god, who +flung about his shoulders the red skin of the lynx, and to whom on all +these heights, the sacrificial blood foamed from the shaggy breasts of +rams. + +Everywhere his statue, carved from the wood of the elm-tree, was +erected; everywhere traces of him appeared. Here they saw a shaggy wild +boar skin, hung on a plane-tree in his honor, yonder the antler of a +stag, nailed to a beech-tree, in token of gratitude. Beside the springs +were statues of nymphs, erected by the shepherds: offerings hung near +them. + +Pericles and Aspasia wandered through lofty oak forests, flooded with +golden light by the rising or setting sun. Sometimes a sunbeam glowed +through the boughs of a tree like a carbuncle, scattering around it +long shafts of light, that seemed as if they might be grasped in the +hands. All this was new and strange to them; they had never seen +anything like it. + +One day the pilgrims, while passing through a forest that shaded their +path for miles, noticed an unusually loud rustling in the branches. + +“I remember having heard of an Arcadian oak forest called Pelagos, the +sea, on account of the loud rustling of its countless tree-tops, which +resembled the surges of the ocean,” said Pericles. “Perhaps it is the +very wood through which we are walking.” + +But the native guides replied, that this rustling in the heart of the +forest was unusual, and predicted a storm, at the same time pointing to +the sky, which a short time before had been perfectly clear, but had +now grown lustreless, like tarnished steel. The travellers quickened +their pace to reach the spot where they intended to spend the night, +before the tempest burst. But the rustling of the trees soon changed +into a wild roar, and the tops began to crack. A few small black +clouds, heavy with rain and lashed by the wind, swept over the misty +gray sky. The sun, a short time before so radiant in its golden light, +stood like a sulphurous yellow ball above the mountains, whose peaks +ever and anon were illumined by a livid glare. The hurricane bowed the +trees almost to the ground, sweeping leaves, sand, and little twigs +whirling before it. Single drops began to fall, and a few minutes after +a torrent of rain, mixed at first with hailstones, came pouring down. +The travellers hastily took refuge under the branches of a mighty oak. +Suddenly a peal of thunder shook the mountains, flash followed flash, +clap followed clap, and the winds from all quarters of the heavens +seemed to meet. The blue flashes of lightning appeared to cross each +other over the heads of the terrified travellers, and the thunder found +an echo in a hundred valleys and ravines. Meanwhile the rain poured +incessantly, the wind raved, birds of prey shrieked, and from the +distance the howl of a wolf was heard. + +The travellers gazed anxiously from their shelter under the leafy roof +of the oak out into the tempest surrounding them on all sides. + +Suddenly a flash of lightning, darting from a black cloud that hung +over the crest of a jagged mountain, struck one of the tallest trees in +the forest. In terrible splendor, the giant trunk burst into a red +blaze, and in an instant was wrapped in flames from top to bottom; a +shower of sparks flew from the crackling boughs, and a smell of sulphur +pervaded the air. From the burning oak the flames leaped to other +trees, and already threatened the travellers’ shelter. The Arcadians +promised to guide the fugitives to the nearest settlement, where they +could spend the night, and hurrying over the pathless ground, they +followed them downward. + +After a time the force of the rain abated; but they heard the dull roar +of the swollen torrents rushing from the heights into the valleys. +Pebbles, sand, broken boughs, and fragments of rock were washed away by +the waters and hurried down into the depths. + +Meantime evening had closed in, but while the travellers hastened +through the wooded region, the storm ceased. The clouds were soon +dispersed by the wind, and the moon smiled calmly above the forest, +where the fierce battle of the elements had just raged. + +The fugitives now reached a large opening in the trees, a hill covered +with vegetation, stretching down over a gentle slope. A singular +panorama was disclosed in the stillness of the night. On every side the +jagged mountain peaks towered upward in the light of the moon, which +sometimes shone brightly from the clear sky, sometimes dimly through +floating clouds. The eye had a wide prospect to grasp, and the weary +pilgrims walked on as if in a waking dream. In the centre of the +clearing were the enclosures and buildings of a shepherd’s farm. As the +travellers approached an armed man, dressed in skins, who evidently +guarded the premises against the attacks of wild beasts, came forward +to meet them. Two huge dogs ran barking by his side. + +The Arcadian guides quickly explained matters to him, and asked +hospitality for the Athenian travellers. The watchman, driving away the +barking dogs by throwing stones at them, led the strangers behind a +wall, protected by a hawthorn hedge, which enclosing the farm-house +formed a spacious court-yard, where a fire was burning. The owner of +the farm, a simple shepherd, came out, welcomed the guests without +asking their origin, names, or the goal of their journey, and ordered a +wether to be killed and roasted for their entertainment. + +After thus refreshing the travellers, he gave the slaves quarters for +the night in the barns, but he and his wife resigned their own chamber +to Pericles and Aspasia, preparing a fresh couch for them by strewing +small branches and dried herbs on the floor, and spreading soft fleeces +over them. For coverlids he gave them several goat-skins, and his own +cloak. + +The changing incidents, little adventures, and even the discomfort of a +journey increase instead of lessening the enjoyment of travellers. The +mere change of scenes and occurrences charms, and the pure breezes of +heaven bestow on the weary not only strength and refreshment, but +cheerful spirits. + +Pericles never felt happier than in the shepherd’s hut, before the +wretched couch. Aspasia’s silvery laughter blended strangely with the +idyllic lowing of the cattle from the stalls. + +“How many wonderful things the gods, in whom we trust while travelling, +bestow!” said Pericles. “A few days ago we had an ancient royal +sepulchre for a sleeping room, and to-day it seems as if we were about +to experience the adventures of Ulysses. Homer’s spirit has hovered +around us since we crossed the isthmus; I believe we shall become +transformed during our wanderings, and when we return never suit the +refined, almost effeminate Athenians!” + +When Pericles and Aspasia, roused by the barking of the dogs and the +prolonged lowing of the cattle, rose from their couch and went out into +the spacious court-yard, they saw the rude shepherd lads going to the +stalls. A large shaggy dog was playing with a tortoise he had found in +the wet grass. Barking and leaping, he seized it sometimes by the paw +and sometimes by the snout, and dragged it around until it lay dead. +Another dog was fighting or rather playing with a ram. The ram struck +at him with his horns, but the dog snapped at the ram’s beard or tried +to bite his muzzle. A naked child sat by the spring, throwing pebbles +at the sun’s disk, reflected in the water. + +The herds of cattle now came out of the stalls; first, rejoicing in +their strength, the draught oxen; the calves bounded bleating around +their mothers. Two men, bearing crooked shepherds’ staffs, followed +them, accompanied by two powerful dogs. Then, driven by boys, came the +bleating goats. A shepherd caught the he-goat at the head by its long +beard, and caressed it. “This good fellow,” he said to Pericles and +Aspasia, “always gives warning on dark nights when a wolf or lynx +creeps into the farm-yard, even if the dogs are asleep and neglect to +drive the creature away.” + +The lambs gathered around a brown-skinned girl, whose face was shaded +by a broad-brimmed hat, and who held a crook in her hand. There was +something about this maiden, which even at the first glance attracted +attention, produced an impression which could not instantly be +understood. But on looking more closely, scanning her figure and the +miserable dress in which she was clad, she seemed like a shepherdess, +scarcely distinguishable from any other, save by her braids of fair +hair and the strange expression of her eyes. They were remarkably deep +and dreamy, and seemed to be gazing, with a sort of childish surprise, +even at the familiar world which surrounded her. + +The lambs pressed bleating around and leaped upon her. One of the +youngest, a snow-white little creature, licked the young girl’s +out-stretched hand. + +When the flock of lambs, led by the girl, had passed out through the +gate of the court-yard, the hospitable shepherd approached Pericles and +Aspasia, who learned from him that she was his daughter, his only +child, and was named Cora. Then, assisted by his wife, Glycaina, he set +before them various provisions from his country store. + +Pericles asked his host if he would allow him and his party to remain a +day in his house, as they greatly needed rest after the exertions of +the last week. + +The shepherd gladly consented, ran to his wife and said mysteriously: + +“Glycaina, I shall always believe that the two strangers, who have come +to our farm, are no common mortals. In their dignity and beauty of +form, they seem like gods in disguise, as the divinities have often +come to poor shepherds. Besides, they scarcely touch the food set +before them.” + +“And the slaves,” said Glycaina, “do you take them for gods too?” + +“No,” replied her husband, “they eat and drink like human beings. But +those two—well, no matter! Only entertain them as well as you can.” + +The shepherd returned to his guests, led them about everywhere, showed +them his stables, his store-rooms for fruit, his smoothly-polished +milk-pails, bowls filled to the brim with whey, and hampers bursting +with cheeses. Then he took them to see the white-toothed sows and +sucking-pigs, praised their flesh, and fed them with acorns and +cornels. When Aspasia looked as if she were tired and would like to sit +down, the shepherd was instantly at hand to spread a spotted +chamois-skin on the ground for her, smiling slily meanwhile, as if he +wanted them to perceive he knew what treatment disguised goddesses +expected from mortals. + +Skins and heads of slaughtered wild beasts hung on the enclosure of the +court-yard and the trees surrounding it, and after Pericles and Aspasia +had looked at these, they went out into the open country and were left +to themselves, breathing more freely in the spicy air of the hill-side. +The mountains glittered in their robes of green, as if washed clean by +the rain. The dewy blades of grass sparkled in the sun like polished +swords. A flock of crows flew over the meadows as if absorbed in +business, alighted on a solitary tree, and in a few minutes hastily +rose again and were lost in the blue air. Shepherds with their flocks +were seen wandering over the distant mountains. The valleys between +were filled with white mist and vaporous fog, that floated like the +waves of the sea, and in which the flocks descending from the heights +seemed to plunge and vanish. Lambs and cattle were grazing in all the +low-lands, and nimble goats climbed the rocky slopes. Ever and anon the +music of reed-pipes and song, the shepherd’s pastime, echoed from the +distance. The two loiterers heard from a certain spot sounds whose +sweetness allured them. They turned in that direction, and found a +group of shepherds listening to the best performer on the shepherd’s +flute. But soon some one emerged from the circle of listeners to cope +with him. As Pericles and Aspasia approached, the rival musicians took +the reed-pipes from their mouths and almost dropped them, while all the +shepherds looked amazed at the appearance of strangers. But when +Pericles kindly invited them to continue their contest, and told them +that he and his wife were Athenians, detained by a violent thunderstorm +on their way to Elis, the shepherds resumed their contest with still +greater zeal, and begged the Athenian and his wife to act as umpire. + +Pericles and Aspasia were delighted with the music of the shepherds’ +flutes, and wondered that among such rude, untaught people as these +mountaineers, any art, however insignificant, could have been +cultivated to such perfection. + +Aspasia asked the shepherds if they did not understand how to vie with +each other in pantomimic dances. They pointed to the youngest, a +slender boy, who, at Pericles’ request, came forward, and with blended +drollery and grace executed a rural dance, in which he imitated various +occupations of country life. + +“Couldn’t you try a dance in pairs?” asked Aspasia. + +“If Cora would,”—he answered almost sadly, gazing mournfully into the +distance. + +“Cora?” cried the other shepherds laughing. “Foolish boy! Why do you +talk of Cora? Cora cares nothing for you.” + +The boy sighed and slipped away. + +Walking farther on, Pericles and Aspasia reached the lambs’ pasture, a +pleasant forest meadow surrounded with trees. Here they found Cora +sitting among her flock. Some of the little white-fleeced ones forgot +to graze, and preferred to rest, with their heads lying on her lap. +Cora herself sat with bowed head, absorbed in gazing at a tortoise, +which lay on her knee and seemed to answer the glance of the girl’s +beautiful eyes. + +“Where did you find that creature?” asked Pericles, who had approached +with Aspasia. The girl had been so absorbed in her dreamy reverie, that +she did not notice the two strangers until they stood before her. Then +she looked up, measured them with a glance from her round, childlike +eyes, and said: + +“These creatures come creeping up to me of their own accord from the +neighboring woods. This one, in particular, always returns, and has so +little fear, that instead of hiding its neck and head when I touch +them, it stretches them out as far as possible, and looks at me with +its bright eyes. Old Baubo says Pan sometimes conceals himself under +the form of a tortoise. I think,” the girl softly continued—“there is +something mysterious about this one, for since it has constantly come +out of the forest and spent the day with me and the lambs, the herd +increases and thrives in a wonderful way.” + +After being induced to talk, the Arcadian girl was easily led, by +Aspasia’s questions, to continue her strange, childlike prattle. +Charming to hear was her story of Pan, the woodland and shepherd god, +how wonderfully the music of his flute echoed from the distance in the +lonely mountains, how he was sometimes gracious, sometimes malicious. +She also told of the goat-footed satyrs, who wandered through the +woods, teasing with their mischievous pranks not only the nymphs, but +the shepherdesses. One of them had once laid in wait for her, but she +drove him away with a brand snatched from the watch-fire lighted in the +forest. Then she spoke of the nymphs, who like the satyrs lived in the +forest, and sometimes met mortals in the moonlight, which was a great +misfortune, for whoever met a nymph in the depths of the woods was +seized with madness, and could never be cured. + +The young girl’s mind was filled with the marvellous legends and tales +of her Arcadian native land. She spoke of wild swamps and horrible +ravines, lakes cursed by the gods, in whose waters no fish thrived, of +caves where evil spirits lurked, of strange sanctuaries of Pan on +lonely mountain heights. The more horrible the girl’s stories became, +the wider she opened her childlike, frightened eyes. + +“In Stymphalus,” she said, “under the temple roof, hang the dead +Stymphalian birds the hero Heracles slew. My father has seen them +himself. And behind the temple stand marble statues of maidens with +birds’ feet. The dead Stymphalian birds are as large as cranes, and +when they were alive flew at men, hacked their heads with their beaks, +and eat them. Their beaks were so strong that they could bite metal.” + +From the lakes cursed by the gods, in which no fish could live, and +into which even the birds that chanced to fly over them fell dead, Cora +went on to the horrible waters of the Styx, which drip from desolate +rocks in the most terrible mountain ravine of Arcadia. From the +dreadful waters she spoke of the wild beasts in the mountain forests, +and the hunts of the Arcadians for them. Then her eyes lost their +timid, childlike expression, and a brave spirit sparkled in their +depths. She told them how the shepherds, when a wild beast appeared +near the farm, were compelled to watch out of doors through many a +rainy night, how bright fires were kept burning in the yards, how the +hungry roars of the beasts were heard from the forest in the stillness +of the night, how all set out to follow its trail, or lurked in some +hiding-place, and when it tried to leap over the wall of the enclosure, +suddenly rushed out upon it with spears, fragments of rock, and +firebrands until it succumbed, overpowered by the number of its +assailants. Pericles and Aspasia were surprised at the expression of +daring courage, that flashed in the shepherdess’ eyes while relating +these tales, though her mind seemed to have no room for anything beyond +the legend-fostered superstitions of her native land. + +“It seems as if you yourself would not be unwilling to take part in +such conflicts!” said Aspasia. + +“Oh! I would do so gladly!” cried Cora. “Besides the malicious satyr, I +have twice driven away with firebrands a wolf, that endeavored to +approach my flock.” + +“This girl reminds me,” said Pericles, “as she stands before us at this +moment, of that famous daughter of Arcadia, Atalanta, who cast off by +her father when a child, because he wanted sons only, was nursed by a +she-wolf, reared by hunters and then, armed with spear and bow, lived +in the Arcadian woods, a terror to wild beasts, a bold virginal +huntress, who would yield to no tender emotion.” + +“Are you always alone here with the lambs?” asked Aspasia. “Is there +nothing you love, and would gladly have with you always?” + +“Oh! Yes indeed,” said Cora, looking into her questioner’s face with +the old expression of childlike wonder in her eyes. “I love the +tortoise, that always gazes at me with its bright glance, and will +perhaps suddenly be transformed and speak to me, for I sometimes dream +of it at night, and then it always talks. I love the lambs too, and +these well-known rustling trees, to whose murmur I listen for hours. I +love the sunshine; but I also like the rain that comes plashing on the +leaves, and the thunder that rolls so beautifully among the mountains. +I love the birds, the larger ones, the eagles and cranes that fly over +my head, as well as the smaller which sing among the branches. But most +of all I love the mountains, especially in the evening when they glow +with crimson hues, or at night when all is still, perfectly still, and +their peaks stand so calmly in the white light.” + +Pericles and Aspasia smiled. “We were mistaken,” said the former, “in +supposing a shepherd maiden, who loves so many things, incapable of all +tender emotions.” + +Aspasia drew him aside, saying: + +“How this simple Arcadian girl, who sits with the tortoise in her lap, +waiting for it to change into the god Pan, would stare if she were +suddenly transported to Athens. How drolly she would behave, if I +placed her with the two young maidens I have adopted, and whom the +Athenians have already begin to call my school.” + +“She would appear like a raven among doves!” replied Pericles. + +Yet they were both attracted by the girl’s prattle, which revealed an +unusual degree of imagination and a peculiar phase of feeling. But +Aspasia soon began to change places with the Arcadian, becoming +narrator, instead of listener. She began to tell the shepherd girl +about Athens, until Pericles broke off the conversation by asking her +to continue their walk. They soon lost themselves in the forest. +Noonday had come, the sun had dried the morning dampness and warming +the depths of the woods, released all their spicy odors. In the meadows +and clearings stood tall blooming plants, whose fragrance, blending +with the aroma of the resin, made the mountain air refreshing, almost +intoxicating. Cicadas chirped in the thickets under the scorching sun. + +When they sat down to rest in the seclusion of the forest, the +tortoises Cora loved crept up to them also; the large birds flew over +their heads, and the smaller ones sang in the branches, the rustle of +the leaves to which Cora listened for hours, murmured above, and Cora’s +beloved sunshine played around them. + +“The deep rustle of these Arcadian mountain forests,” said Pericles, +“which seem to come from an infinite distance and die away again in +endless space, fills me with strange awe. I never felt anything like +it. I have never listened to the voices of a forest, carelessly passed +by things which now suddenly seem to wish to say something to me. Look +at the delicate threads shining in the sunlight, stretched from the tip +of the wild-oats to the top of the blue bell-flower; have you noticed +the wondrously fine silvery work of the spider? This Arcadian girl +teaches us, that we can admire and learn to love things usually +scarcely noticed, and which we enjoy unconsciously and therefore +ungratefully, as we breathe.” + +“Your mind opens too easily to new impressions, Pericles,” replied +Aspasia. “An Arcadian child has infected you with a novel and +unprecedented kind of love, a love for trees, passing clouds, and +flying birds, and the perfume of the Arcadian mountain herbs perhaps +already seems sweeter, than the fragrance of the Milesian rose-hedges.” + +“Only admit,” said Pericles, “that this aromatic forest fragrance +invigorates the heart, but amid the heavy odor of roses the mind at +last becomes enfeebled. I really feel a breath of renewed life. When we +once stood in the grotto of Pan on the Acropolis, and you despised the +shepherd god, we did not suspect he would afterwards receive us so +kindly as his guests, entertain us so hospitably. Peaceful happiness +surrounds us here, and when I mentally transport myself from this +primeval solitude to noisy Athens, the impetuous haste and restlessness +of its citizens seem almost frivolous, compared with the divine repose +of these shepherds on their lovely mountain slopes.” + +“I only half share your enjoyment of the pleasures prepared for us by +the hospitality of the shepherd god,” replied Aspasia. “These people +are plain and coarse, the distant snow-capped peaks of the mountains +chill me, and the nearer ones make me timid, as if they were about to +fall upon me. The solemn, monotonous rustling of these lofty firs +affects me unpleasantly, and seems adapted to awaken a gloomy, +thoughtful, fanatical spirit in the human mind. I love open sunny +plains, blooming meadows, shores with a wide view of the sea. I like +the places where a cheerful spirit develops in beautiful maturity. You +would apparently like to stay here with these shepherds, I on the +contrary would fain take them all away with me, to make men of them. +Well, do as Apollo did, when he once took a fancy to join the shepherds +and tend flocks. Stay here! You can live like a cicada: be wise, +passionless, bloodless. If you sometimes long for activity, you can +weave snares for crickets, or push lime-twigs through the trees to +catch birds, or drive the starlings and cranes from the grain fields, +with stones hurled from a sling. Or, you can watch the lambs for Cora, +who will accompany me to Athens.” + +Pericles smiled. “So you really mean to take Cora away with you.” + +“Of course I do,” replied Aspasia, “and hope you will not refuse your +consent.” + +Pericles was surprised. “My consent will not be withheld. But what is +your object in the matter?” + +“A jest,” replied Aspasia. “This comical Arcadian will serve to amuse +me. It makes me laugh, whenever I look into her big, round, timid +eyes.” + +It was precisely as Aspasia said. She wanted to amuse herself with the +young girl, see how oddly the superstitious, inexperienced shepherd +maiden would behave, if suddenly transported into the midst of the +super-refined life of Athens. + +The illness of one of his slaves induced Pericles to remain the +shepherd’s guest another day. + +This was spent principally in the society of the brown-skinned +shepherdess. Again Cora prattled, told shepherd tales, nay even sang +some strange childish songs, composed by herself, like the following: + + + Down from the cliff the little brook, + Plunges in merry play, + Casting the while a laughing look, + Where the deer, grazing, stray. + + Sprinkling the flowers with its foam, + The beasts it doth entice + To slake their thirst. Let winter come, + And it is pure, clear ice. + + +She also related the story of the love-sick Daphne, who pined away in +sorrow and melancholy, and for whom all the animals mourned. But the +sad tale did not find favor with Aspasia; she listened with a scornful +smile on her rosy lips. + +If in walking they came to one of the springs, surrounded by luxuriant +herbage, which formed a clear crystal basin, and Aspasia wanted to look +in, Cora anxiously pulled her back, saying that a person who looked +into a spring sometimes saw the reflection of another image, that of a +nymph, looking over her shoulder, and was then hopelessly lost. + +When the sun stood in the zenith, and the notes of a reed-pipe were +heard in the brooding noontide stillness, Cora said: “Pan will be angry +again; he doesn’t like to be roused from slumber at noon, when he is +resting, by the sound of a pipe or other instruments.” The music came +from the shepherd lad, who requested by Pericles and Aspasia, had +performed a rural dance the day before. He was well aware that Pan did +not like the notes of a pipe at noon, yet always played when he saw +Cora near, because he hoped to please her. But she reproached the poor +fellow. Still, she had a kind heart, for she compassionately rescued a +cicada, that had become entangled in a spider’s web. + +The young girl listened earnestly, when Aspasia began to tell her about +Athens. + +During the conversations the former held with Cora, she intentionally +described the life of the Athenian city in the most tempting colors. +She disturbed the peace of this idyllic nature, awakened discord in the +harmonious world of the child’s heart. Finally she invited her to +accompany her to Athens. Cora made no reply, but seemed absorbed in +thought. + +Aspasia appealed to Cora’s estimable parents, and told them she would +take their daughter to Athens, where she might expect a happy fate. + +“If it please the gods!” said the honest shepherd. “If it please the +gods!” replied the shepherdess. But they did not say yes. No matter how +often Aspasia renewed her request for their consent, they only said: + +“If it please the gods!” + +The father and mother could not easily resolve to part from their only +child, even if she had the happiest fate. + +On the evening of the same day, Cora was suddenly missed after +returning with her flock of lambs, and they searched for her a long +time in vain. At last Pericles and Aspasia, who were standing near the +entrance of the court-yard, saw the young girl coming up the slope. Her +attitude and bearing were very singular, for she held both hands +pressed firmly over her ears. A group of Pericles’ slaves stood outside +the court-yard at some distance. When the girl had approached very near +them, she suddenly removed her hands from her ears, seemed to be +listening to their words, then started back, pressed her hand on her +breast, and stood as if rooted to the earth. + +The Athenians approached and asked the cause of her confusion. + +“I asked Pan, whether it was the will of the gods that I should go with +you to Athens,” she replied. + +“How did you do that?” both inquired. + +“Down in the valley,” said the girl, “is a grotto-sanctuary of Pan. The +god’s statue, carved from oak, stands in the cave. All the shepherds go +there, when they want to ask anything secret. They whisper the question +in the god’s ear, cover their own with their hands until they come near +people who are talking together, and then suddenly remove them. The +first word heard is Pan’s reply, the god’s answer to the question +whispered in his ear.” + +“And what word did you hear first among those slaves?” asked Aspasia. + +“Athens!” replied Cora, trembling with excitement. + +“So it is Pan’s will, that I shall go to Athens,” she continued +sighing. + +“He will permit you to take your favorite tortoise,” said Aspasia +smiling. + +Cora’s parents came up. + +“Pan wills that I shall go to Athens!” said the young girl in a +sorrowful, but resolute tone. And she repeated the story of the oracle, +for which she had gone to Pan’s grotto. + +The shepherd and shepherdess heard the tale, looked at each other in +perplexity, and then repeated, no less sadly than the young girl: + +“Pan wills, that Cora shall go with the strangers to Athens.” + +Then they went up to the weeping girl and kissed her. + +“Cora will be rewarded for her obedience to the god!” said Aspasia. +“She will often send messengers to bring you news and gifts, and when +you have grown old, summon you to spend the rest of your days with +her.” + +“An omen happened in the house yesterday,” said the shepherd, “a snake +that stole into the swallow’s nest on the roof, fell down on the hearth +through the vent-hole for the smoke.” + +Aspasia continued to speak encouraging, consoling words, and the father +and mother at last yielded to the will of the gods, though with sore +distress. + +Mournfully the notes of the shepherd lover’s pipe echoed from the +distance, while the shadows gathered more deeply around the quiet paths +across the country. + +All went into the court-yard together, to spend the night, which to +Pericles and Aspasia was their last among the Arcadian mountains. They +intended to set out at daybreak and continue their journey to Elis, +where more important events awaited them, than in the quiet country of +the shepherds. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE NEW GOD AND HIS LIGHTNING. + + +Pericles and Aspasia had not wandered to Elis, to see the Olympian +racers dart towards the goal, the wrestlers and pugilists struggle over +the sand, or to hear the loud shouts, with which the Hellenes greeted +the victors. Their hearts yearned towards their friend Phidias, when +amid the radiance of a dewy morning, they reached the famous plain of +Olympia, watered by the waves of the sacred stream Alpheus. They found +all the roads leading to Elis from the Arcadian mountains, the south of +the Peloponnesus across Messenia, or the north across Achaia, crowded +with travellers; but especially the so-called sacred holiday road, that +ran along the Alpheus; even across the western sea they saw garlanded +galleys coming from the Italian and Sicilian coasts. + +They mingled in the throng of festal caravans, festal embassies, which +no large community in Hellas neglected to send to the great, peaceful +Hellenic contest in Olympia. Wherever such a caravan passed, the stream +of other travellers on foot and horseback divided, and all gazed at the +members of the procession, who, clad in festal robes and crowned with +wreaths, sat in garlanded chariots, at the chariots themselves, which +were not unfrequently adorned with paintings, gilded, and hung with +tapestry, the magnificent beasts for sacrifices, costly sacrificial +vessels, and numerous attendants. + +Not far from the rows of shops and booths, almost opposite to the +entrance of the sacred grove, was a sculptor’s studio. Here Phidias had +toiled for years; here with Alcamenes and some of his other pupils he +had labored in the seclusion of the lowlands of Elis, whose quiet was +interrupted only once in five years by the gay tumult of the Olympic +festival, to complete the noblest and most magnificent of all his +statues. Having escaped the spell of joyous Athens, shaken off all the +influences that sought to bind his sublime thoughts to earth with +flowery chains, he created in this solitude, fanned by mountain breezes +and soothed by the waters of the sacred stream, his Olympic Zeus. + +Two men came out of Phidias’ studio and walked up the bank of the +Alpheus. + +One was the impetuous Alcamenes. His companion might be recognized as +the much-praised Polycleitus of Argos, whose statues in bronze and +marble vied with the great Athenian’s. Yet, with the quiet, sober +temperament of the Peloponnesian, he endeavored to comprehend humanity +solely as such, especially the masculine sex, which he liked best to +embody in statues of athletes. His school was Olympia; here he trained +and saturated eyes and mind with the living contours of harmoniously +powerful figures. + +The difference between Phidias’ art and that of his Argive rival, +caused a secret hostility. While the Athenian thought people were +beginning to value the Argive’s unaspiring art too highly, the latter +was secretly offended because, passing over the Peloponnesian artist, +the Athenian and his pupils had been summoned to execute the largest +and most superb piece of sculpture on Peloponnesian soil. This was one +of the Athenian triumphs Aspasia had predicted, when she tried to prove +to Pericles, that a community can surpass its rivals by fostering the +beautiful. + +Therefore Polycleitus, during his stay in Olympia, had held no +intercourse with Phidias and his companions, except Alcamenes, whose +frank, cheerful, vivacious temper always triumphed over petty scruples, +and who had now on the occasion of a chance meeting, entered into an +unembarrassed conversation with his Argive brother artist. + +Polycleitus, a sensible, circumspect man, who even in his hostility to +Phidias and his school felt no passionate bitterness, inquired for +Agoracritus, and asked why he had not accompanied his master to help +finish his glorious work, as he did on the Acropolis. + +“You may well wonder,” replied Alcamenes, “that the master’s favorite +pupil is absent, while I, who since the victory won over him by my +Aphrodite, can scarcely venture to boast of Phidias’ personal regard, +followed him here and continue to work by his side. When people live +and labor together, it doesn’t depend upon whether they love each other +more or less, but whether they have peaceable dispositions. I could +have endured Agoracritus’ companionship, though he is ill-disposed +towards me; but he could not bear mine, and since the completion of the +Parthenon has gone his own way merely to escape the sight of my hated +face. Meantime, he undertook to carve a Zeus for Coroneia. But, as when +he intended to make an Aphrodite he produced a Nemesis, so people +supposed his Zeus, when finished, to be a god of the nether world. Thus +he becomes more and more absorbed in melancholy, and as my style of art +constantly progresses in the contrary direction, we have reached a +degree of opposition, in which we are certainly no longer fit to labor +side by side at the same task.” + +“Your impetuous spirit, Alcamenes,” replied Polycleitus, “urges you to +take long strides in your art, which your companions cannot easily +follow.” + +“I could move more freely here, than among the works on the Acropolis,” +said Alcamenes. “There the master’s mind held everything created in +strict unity, according to a fixed plan; here he left the external +decoration of the temple entirely to Pæonius and myself, while he +remained completely absorbed in his Olympian ruler of the gods.” + +As Alcamenes uttered these words, he suddenly fixed his eyes upon a +distant part of the crowd surging along the bank of the Alpheus. He +seemed to have recognized some one, and his manner betrayed unusual +excitement. Turning to Polycleitus, he said: + +“Do you see that stately, dignified man, trying to make his way through +the throng, beside a closely-veiled woman with a charming figure? That +is Pericles from Athens, accompanied by his wife, the beautiful +Milesian, Aspasia.” + +“I recognize Pericles,” said Polycleitus. “I saw him years ago at +Athens. But the beautiful woman is a stranger to me.” + +“A woman as dangerous and crafty, as she is beautiful,” replied +Alcamenes. “You cannot love without hating her, or hate without loving +her.” + +When Pericles and Aspasia saw Alcamenes and Polycleitus, they +approached each other, and after the Athenians had exchanged cordial +greetings with the two sculptors, Pericles instantly asked for Phidias. + +“We arrived at Olympia late last evening,” said he, “not to witness the +games, which for me have long since lost the charm of novelty, and my +wife as a woman is prohibited from attending, but merely to see Phidias +and his god, about which marvellous things have been told recently. We +are just looking for the master and you, Alcamenes, will doubtless +gladly direct us to him.” + +“He is in the sacred grove,” replied Alcamenes, “in the newly-finished +temple of Zeus, He shut himself up there with his assistants and +workmen, and will admit no one, partly in order not to be disturbed, +and partly because he doesn’t wish to expose his statue to the eyes of +spectators until it is in its place, erected in its full splendor. The +temple will not be opened until the games are over. Rigidly as the +reserved and almost misanthropic man secludes himself from every one, I +will try to enter the closed temple and announce guests, whom he surely +will not fail to receive with joy.” + +“Never mind, Alcamenes!” said Pericles. “Phidias ought not to be +disturbed in his occupation, even by us, and will not wish us to see +his work, except in the full splendor of completion. We will have +patience for a time, but I don’t intend to wait with Aspasia for the +formal opening of the temple. We should not care to enjoy that +spectacle for the first time, amid the countless throng of Hellenes. I +hope Phidias will conduct us at least a day before into the lonely +sanctuary, and allow us to gaze at his completed statue of the god in +silence.” + +“That wish certainly will accord with the master’s desire,” replied +Alcamenes. “Then, if you intend to leave Phidias undisturbed in the +temple, content yourselves with my society and Polycleitus’, who is +more at home on the soil of Olympia than almost any other Greek, and +whose bronze and marble statues are gleaming yonder amid the branches +of the plane and olive-trees in the sacred grove.” + +Pericles and Aspasia, with cordial thanks, accepted the guidance of the +two famous men. + +They walked together through the vast crowd in the wide, open plain, +that extended between the tree-shaded bank of the Alpheus and the +sacred grove of Attis, where the new temple of the Olympic Zeus towered +amid a forest of bronze and marble statues. + +They passed the houses intended for the numerous persons who belonged +to the service of the temple, the inns, which could not contain half +the strangers, the buildings where the war-chariots were kept, the +stables where noble steeds and mules were neighing. The larger portion +of the multitude had encamped in tents in the open air. + +After walking a few steps, they came to the superb tent of the embassy +from Sicyon, somewhat farther on to those which sheltered the envoys +from Corinth, Argos, Samos, Rhodes and others. Around these tents +thronged many persons, especially those connected with their owners by +the ties of nationality. Then they were told: This magnificent tent +belongs to the rich Periander from Chios, that to wealthy Euphorides +from Orchomenus, the third to Pauson from Eretria. The occupants of the +tents stood at the entrances, talking and gesticulating eagerly +together, greeting their friends and inviting them to rest under the +shade of the purple linen. Strangers, sunburnt youths, approached, +endeavoring to prove themselves the sons and relatives of former +guests, by showing one half of a broken ring, whose other half was in +the hands of those whom they accosted. + +Booths of every description adjoined the gay city of tents. + +The populace surged to and fro. All the various Greek dialects blended +confusedly together. People did not always understand each other. +Beside the harsh tones of the Peloponnesian, the broad accent of the +Theban, the heavy one of the Megarian, echoed the soft Ionian and +Æolian tongues. Amid the crowd of Hellenes, the eager, bright-eyed +Athenian and grave, gloomy Spartan were especially conspicuous, and +were often seen to measure each other with hostile glances. + +The gigantic forms of the athletes also moved to and fro. People +pointed them out, and mentioned their names and victories. + +Before the tent of the embassy from Chios, Pericles saw a boy weeping +bitterly, while an old man, perhaps his grandfather, vainly strove to +console him. Pericles asked the cause of the tears, and learned that +the lad had been excluded from the contests of the boys on the charge +of effeminacy, because he had come to Olympia with long hair and a +purple robe. Aspasia, in tones of mingled scorn and anger, without +fearing those who might hear, blamed the gloomy, old-fashioned +strictness of the Elis inspectors of combats, then caressingly stroked +the boy’s dark curls, saying: + +“Don’t cry! Pericles from Athens will intercede for you with the +Hellanodicæ.” + +The wide space became more and more densely crowded. Pericles and +Aspasia, in passing along, saw groups thronging around sculptors, who +publicly exhibited their works, or rhapsodists, or a clear-voiced man, +who mounted a sort of orator’s platform, to read aloud to the listening +Hellenes the histories he had composed of Greek cities and islands. Or +they pressed around some excellent musician, or men of haughty bearing +clad in magnificent purple robes, Sophists who sought here in Olympia +to increase the renown of their name, and were ready to declaim to the +throng on any subject; or some insignificant little man, on whose bald +crown the perspiration, under the burning sun of Elis, glittered like +morning dew-drops, and who offered for general examination an +astronomical chart, a work of great ingenuity and toilsome calculation. + +An aged, white-haired Spartan gazed at the eager bustle with a gloomy, +dissatisfied expression. “I like the time, when Olympia was nothing +more than the place for testing the manly strength of the Hellenes, +while now it is abused as a spot for exhibiting effeminate arts. When I +was a boy, nothing was sold here except necessary food, and articles +especially required for the festival, such as ornaments, fillets, +wreaths. Now the booths bristle with useless trash; we have a great +fair here, at which the tradesfolk from all the cities and islands wish +to offer their most tempting wares. The place swarms more and more with +rhapsodists, musicians, sculptors, sophists, and other people of that +sort, and soon the great purpose of the Olympic festival will disappear +amid exhibitions and displays of unmanly rivalry, with which the +Athenians and other Hellenes of the lowlands, the islands, and the +Ionian coast try to press forward. Ambitious fools! Each wants to +parade in some way, make himself conspicuous. See, yonder are some +Megarians scrawling their names on the bark of the poplars, to do +something to secure immortality.” + +“And I see some people gathering the beautiful, bright-hued pebbles +from the sand of the sacred stream,” replied his companion. “I must get +some too, to take home to my boys.” + +At these words the Spartan’s friend disappeared among the poplars on +the banks of the Alpheus. The former looked after him, shaking his +head. + +At this moment, drowning every other sound, arose the loud voice of the +herald, who passing through the city of tents from time to time, +succeeded in fixing the eyes and ears of all the Hellenes upon himself +for a moment. He was the universal mouth-piece of the Greeks, and +announced the most diverse events: “The Panormitans and Leontines +solemnly inform all the Hellenes of the treaty of peace they have +concluded, after the settlement of their quarrels.” Then: “The +Magnesians announce to the Hellenes, that they have formed a perpetual +defensive alliance with the Larissæans and Demetrians.” + +Again his sonorous shout echoed on the air: “The Lechæans, in the +presence of the whole Hellenic nation, thank the Pliasians for the +assistance rendered in the conflict with the Cenchreæns.” + +“That was worth while!” exclaimed a Cenchreæn. “Do the Lechæans really +suppose we feared them and the Pliasians? By Heracles! They’ll hear a +different proclamation from the herald, at the next Olympic festival.” + +“Admirable bragging!” replied a Lechæan who stood near. “Never mind! We +still have arrows enough to cover the whole Cenchreæn city.” + +“And we spears enough,” retorted the Cenchreæn, “to spit all the +Lechæans!” + +“Be off!” cried the Lechæan furiously, “or you won’t recognize your own +face in the mirror to-morrow.” He raised his clenched fist. + +The Athenian caught his arm. “What does this mean? Let the Cenchreæn +alone or you’ll have to deal with me.” + +“Why, just see,” said a Samian in the group of spectators who crowded +around the pair; “the Athenians even want to ingratiate themselves with +the Cenchreæns, and we know their designs, when they sneak into favor.” + +“Yes, indeed we do!” cried several Spartans and Argives. + +“For some time,” exclaimed one of the Argives, “the Athenians have been +making extraordinary efforts, to win friendship on the isthmus and at +the entrances to the Peloponnesus!” + +“Have they time?” asked one of the Spartans, grinning. “Has the great +Pericles, the Olympian, finished his magnificent temples, propylæa, and +gold and ivory statues of Pallas? And does the Hera of the Athenian +Olympian desire to extend her domain beyond the pine forests of the +isthmus?” + +“She has already sent her friends and champions in advance!” cried the +Argive, pointing over his shoulder towards Phidias’ workshop. + +The Athenians would not submit to be laughed at, and the wordy war +threatened to grow fiercer and more general. + +Suddenly a man’s voice was heard. Powerful, melodious, and wonderfully +impressive, it instantly gained a hearing from all. + +“Whose is the Hellenic tongue,” cried the speaker, “that derides the +new temple and statues of the Athenians? Whatever praiseworthy thing +has been created at Athens, has been created for the honor of the whole +Hellenic name. Remember that for centuries our forefathers, no matter +of what race, have always maintained peace in this spot, where the +sacred waves of the Alpheus flash in time to the festal Olympic songs +of the whole Hellenic nation. We have ever met here for peaceful +contests; this was sacred soil, here dwelt divine peace. The +Panhellenic festival within the temple precincts of our common god, +Zeus, unites us. Keep the peace, Hellenes, on the Pisatian meadow. No +weapons must clash, no clang of metal be heard here, save the tinkling +of broken halves of rings fitted together, by which Hellenic guests +from every land affectionately recognize each other.” + +At these words the shout “Pericles!” rang through the crowd. “Pericles +of Athens! Pericles, the Olympian!” Fathers lifted their sons to show +them Pericles. He had at first been recognized only by a few. Now that +he had spoken, now that the thunder of his Olympic oratory had +resounded, he was known by the whole Hellenic nation. Shouts of +applause echoed across the Alpheus, and the waves of the stream seemed +to plash in harmony. + +Pericles withdrew from the crowd by entering the sacred grove Altis, +accompanied by his friends and Aspasia. Here they wandered amid temples +and sanctuaries of every kind, statues, tripods, monumental columns, +beneath the rustling foliage of olive, white poplar, plane, and +palm-trees. A gilded goddess of victory, placed between two gilded +prize vessels, flashed with dazzling lustre on the summit of the new +temple of Zeus. They examined Alcamenes’ sculpture on the rear +pediment. He had represented the battle of the Lapithæ and Centaurs, +and in so doing given freer rein to his predilection for animated life +and manifold variety of attitude and gesture, than at the Acropolis of +Athens. + +Guided by Polycleitus and Alcamenes, Pericles and Aspasia examined the +countless wonders of the sacred grove. + +At last they ascended a flight of steps, leading northward from the +Altis to a wide terrace. This terrace extended along the southern base +of the hill of Cronus to the Stadium. Upon it stood a row of so-called +treasure-houses of different cities, in which they deposited the +offerings intended for Olympia. + +Ascending the hill of Cronus from the treasure-houses, Pericles and +Aspasia saw the sanctuaries that adorned it. From the summit they had a +most beautiful view of Olympia. Below lay the sacred grove Altis, with +its temples and statues; beyond it the majestic river Alpheus flowed +through the plain; on the right was the river Cladeus, flowing from the +Pisatian mountains to mingle its waters with the Alpheus; on the left +was the Stadium, and farther down, bounding the sacred grove, the +Hippodrome, the scene of the Olympic contests. At the right of the hill +of Cronus, nearer the northern exit of the Altis, they saw the +buildings which formed the centre of the government of Olympia, and +where the umpires, as well as the athletes themselves, swore to observe +the laws of the contests before the statue of Zeus Harkios, armed with +the double lightnings. Beyond, nothing was to be seen on all sides +except the circle of towering mountains, beneath whose shelter lay the +sacred plain of Olympia. + +The men of the party gazed at the scene with delight, but Aspasia began +to complain of the burning heat, and the numerous gnats that tormented +them. + +“How does it happen,” said she, “that the Hellenes chose for their +athletic contests the season of midsummer, and this sultry, marshy +lowland?” + +“Their founder, Heracles, didn’t mind gnats!” said Alcamenes smiling. + +“Nor we men until now!” added Pericles. “But since our attention has +been called to it, I must agree with you, Aspasia; the countless tiny +blood-suckers are certainly annoying.” + +Returning through the Altis, Pericles and Aspasia lingered near +Polycleitus’ statues. + +Meantime the throng and bustle between the Altis and the Alpheus had +constantly increased. Countless victims were offered towards evening at +the flower-wreathed altars of the gods in the Altis. The athletes were +seen watching for omens of their success in the entrails of the +slaughtered animals. The largest throng of spectators gathered around +the festal burnt-offering on the famous ancient altar of Zeus. + +The performance of these sacred rites lasted until far into the night, +amid the sound of music, by the light of the moon, which was +approaching its full. Everything was done in magnificent style, and yet +in perfect order, amid a silence that commanded reverence. Not until +midnight were the torches in the sacred grove extinguished, while the +last flames on the sacrificial altars died glimmering away. Then no +small part of the throng hurried to the race-course, to secure places +and wait for the grey dawn and the commencement of the games. + +The next morning Pericles and Aspasia ascended the hill of Cronus. + +Pericles’ eyes rested upon the crowded Stadium, of which he had a +distant view, with the interest such a spectacle always obtained from +the Greeks. He had only renounced the pleasure of mingling with the +spectators for Aspasia’s sake. + +The Milesian’s eye did not turn with the same satisfaction to the spot +where physical strength, excited to almost murderous eagerness, was +struggling in the dust and sun. + +“Why does your glance wander almost contemptuously to those rejoicing +spectators?” asked Pericles. + +“Does it not seem,” said Aspasia, “as if the Hellenic nation, which has +become so eminent in many things truly beautiful and magnificent, +reserves the highest of its crowns of glory for the athletes of +Olympia? Ought strength of arm and nimbleness of foot, to be considered +the highest of all excellencies on Hellenic soil?” + +“I understand,” replied Pericles; “you are the champion of womanhood, +and everything that refines, ennobles, and beautifies life; but here +the rude masculine nature celebrates its triumph.” + +“Such wrestling and pugilistic contests, where men fight each other +till the blood streams from their mouths, is a true Dorian spectacle,” +replied Aspasia. “You are right, I hate these games, for where virility +goes beyond its mark, barbarism does not seem far distant. I fear the +rude charm of this spectacle will ensnare the minds of men more and +more, and at last lead them again to barbarism.” + +“You go too far,” replied her husband, smiling. + +The conflict of opinions between Pericles and Aspasia was destined to +receive a still greater stimulus by a little scene of which they became +witnesses. + +The evening of that same day, accompanied by Polycleitus and Alcamenes, +they were strolling near the Stadium, Aspasia gazing at the places so +new to her, when it happened that just as they sat down to rest on a +stone bench, a party of athletes, who had taken part in the contests of +the day, met another group, and all entered into an animated +conversation. The battles of the first day were fought over again in +words, and each success underwent a severe scrutiny. Those who were +vanquished explained by what accident their opponents had become +conquerors, and how the victory had merely hung by a hair, or accused +their foes of having violated the laws of the games; but this was +usually of little avail, and they were sometimes compelled to hear the +jeers of their companions. + +“No matter, worthy Theagenes,” one said, “you must bear the thumps you +received from Nisostratus. You look very pitiable with the oil-soaked +rags around your broken head, and diffuse the odor of a lamp-post.” + +“Scoff on!” said the person addressed, a youthful wrestler and +pugilist, who had received a good drubbing, and therefore wore a cloth +soaked in oil wrapped about his head. “Scoff on!” he continued; “I’ve +tried now what flesh and blood can bear. I received blows on the head, +which I believe, would have crushed a block of stone. Yet do you +suppose I feel any discomfort except a little heat? At the utmost, a +few harmless bumps have swollen. But my spine is beginning to ache a +little—very possibly from the violence, with which I fell backward on +the ground in the wrestling match.” + +“It’s evident you are a novice,” said the others, “since you don’t yet +know that the head is the least, and the spine the most sensitive part +of the body.” + +“Your spine will recover in three days,” said one, “but look at +me—where shall I get back my teeth? If I had spit them out, when a blow +from Meleager’s fist struck me, I should have confessed my loss, so I +preferred to swallow them. It’s disagreeable to carry one’s teeth about +in the stomach, instead of in the mouth.” + +“You’ll digest them!” said Cnemon the Bœotian. “An athlete’s stomach +must digest teeth.” + +“I shall hardly get as much flesh on my limbs from them as you have!” +replied Theagenes. Cnemon was really an elderly coarse fellow, who had +absorbed the juices of many cattle, calves, and lambs. His ears were +crushed by numerous blows, the flesh on his broad arched breast and +back seemed like brass, he resembled a hammered bronze statue. The +muscles on his arms stood out round and firm, like the pebbles in a +river-bed, which have long been rolled and rounded by the waves. + +“Do you suppose,” he cried, “that I’ll yield to any of you because I’m +a little clumsy, and not so light footed? I’m no racer, but a man who +can no more be overthrown than an iron column. If the earth itself +trembles—I stand firm.” + +Cnemon laid a disk on the ground, and continued: + +“Well! Is there any one of you who can push me down?” + +The athletes, one after another, vainly tried their strength. Cnemon +moistened the disk with oil till it was very slippery, but still stood +his ground. + +Then he stretched out his right hand, holding the fingers, also +extended, pressed firmly together. “Now try to separate the little +finger from the rest!” he exclaimed. + +They attempted to do so, but the fingers seemed soldered to each other +like metal. + +“That’s nothing!” boastfully exclaimed Stenelos the Argive. “I can stop +a team of four horses at full speed, by grasping the spokes of the +wheels.” + +“And I,” said Thermios the Elian, “once seized a stallion by the hoof +at Pylus, and when he tore himself free, I held the hoof in my hand.” + +“These are feats of strength,” said the Thessalian, Enagoras, “but +equal what I once did at Larissa—I stole the sandals from the feet of +the famous runner, Cresilas, in the midst of the race.” + +“What?” cried the Spartan Anactor, “does the light-footed Thessalian +boast in the presence of boxers? What will your swift legs profit you, +if I hurl you face downward on the ground?” + +“My fists are no worse than my legs!” exclaimed the Thessalian, “and if +I should touch you, you can gather up your bones from the sand.” + +“Silence!” cried the Spartan, “or I’ll crush your eyes out, as a cook +mashes a cuttle-fish.” + +“I’ll tear you to pieces,” replied the Thessalian, “till the ants carry +you away in crumbs.” + +“You fight with words!” exclaimed Cnemon the Bœotian. “That is not the +custom of athletes. Put it to the test.” + +“That we will!” cried both. + +“Very well!” said the burly Theban, “but what do you mean to do? Will +you race together, or belabor each other with your fists? They are +trials by no means to be despised. Meantime, do you know the athlete’s +best test, in which all, be they runners, pugilists, or anything else, +meet on common ground?” + +“Well?” asked the Spartan and the Thessalian at the same instant. + +“The athlete’s best test,” said the Theban, stroking his stomach, “is +the power of digestion. Think of Heracles; he killed lions by dozens +among the mountains, but he also consumed a bull at one sitting. Here +is Rhodus, men, fight here. Have—I won’t say an ox, for what would +Heracles be, if he did not remain the only man of his kind—but have a +large fat wether roasted, divide it into two equal parts, and eat it at +one sitting. He, whose stomach first refuses its service, must admit +himself conquered, for he will be the weaker of you two.” + +“Quite right!” ran through the group; “Anactor and Enagoras must +undergo the great test of athletes before our eyes. We’ll bring the +wether at once and roast it on a spit.” Anactor and Enagoras agreed. At +the same time several went away to get the largest wether they could +find. + +The scene had progressed thus far under the eyes of Pericles and his +companions, when Aspasia rose from her seat, saying: “Let us go, +Pericles, I no longer have strength to witness these Olympic games.” + +The rest of the group smilingly rose, and set out on their return. + +“Aspasia’s feeling towards these athletes,” said Alcamenes, “seems to +me neither more nor less than the right and natural impulse of a woman, +who is thoroughly healthy in body and soul. What real use are these +immensely powerful men? Are they more effective in war than others? Do +they mow down the ranks of the enemies, like the Homeric heroes? No! +Experience opposes it. Are they adapted to be of service in improving +the human race? No! Experience contradicts that also. They are good for +nothing, except the feats they perform in the Stadium, amid the +approving shouts of the spectators.” + +“Yes,” replied Pericles, “the usefulness of the profession the athletes +practise, is not realized in their own persons. Yet the advantage +derived from that exhibition of strength, and the undue honor paid it, +is great and priceless, in so far as it vividly reminds the Hellenic +nation, that the powers of the body are no less capable of being +increased and developed than those of the mind. There is more danger +that man will neglect his physical, than his mental training, for he is +constantly urged to intellectual activity by a secret impulse and the +pressure of necessity. The cultivation of the body he leaves to nature, +unless stimulated by some external spur.” + +As Pericles uttered these words, the party had reached the sacred grove +and were nearly opposite to some statues of famous victors, from the +hand of Polycleitus. + +Aspasia, fixing her eyes upon them, said: + +“In looking at these works of Polycleitus, the sculptor seems to me to +be of my opinion in these disputes. He has not vouchsafed to represent +the excess of strength or the unyielding bulk of the limbs, but places +before us images and types of just proportions, the harmonious, +fully-developed figure. It always appears to me that Polycleitus is to +be commended, because he does not, like Phidias, despise human nature, +but gives it the honor that is its due, and as Phidias represents +divine nature in its most sublime form, he most clearly realizes +unpretending humanity.” + +This eulogy produced a less pleasant impression on Polycleitus’ mind, +than Aspasia expected. + +“The artist,” he replied, “is dependent upon the wishes and needs of +those who claim his skill. The Elians also seem to believe, that +Phidias alone can worthily represent the gods, since they summoned him +to Olympia. Not so the Argives, who wish to try me, their countryman, +and have commissioned me to make the gold and ivory statue of Hera for +their great temple at Argos.” + +Aspasia could not succeed in soothing the visible ill-humor of the +sculptor, who, in a short time, on some trivial pretext took his leave. + +“You have now served as a spur to stimulate Polycleitus to do his best, +and make the Hera of Argos worthy the Zeus of Olympia,” said Alcamenes +smiling. + +“He may execute an admirable statue in emulation of Phidias,” replied +Aspasia. + +“But as Phidias, after once stooping to earth with his Lemnian Pallas, +quickly soared back again to Olympus, and since then has done penance +at the feet of the Olympic Zeus, Polycleitus, I believe, will speedily +return from Olympus to earth and his own peculiar domain. True, the +imaginative Peloponnesian suggests in his statues little of the +activity and depth of the soul; but do not Athenian artists also leave +something to be hoped for and desired? May I confess, that I sometimes +see in dreams visions of the gods no Phidias, Alcamenes or Polycleitus +has yet realized with the chisel. Last night, Apollo, dearest to me of +all the divinities, the god of light and music, appeared before me. He +made himself manifest under the guise of a marvellous, slender, +youthful figure, victorious and bewitching, moving with a bold yet +graceful stride. The dragons of gloom, mortally wounded by the mere +sight of him and the bow in his out-stretched hand, writhed before him. +Who can chisel the god as I beheld him? Not you, Alcamenes! Yet you are +the most ardent of all our sculptors, and with ever-youthful mind +devote yourself to life and its charms. That is why life reveals its +mysteries to you, and in your statues its mighty breath ruffles the too +level surface of pure form.” + +Alcamenes’ eyes sparkled enthusiastically. + +“The Arcadians have long intended to build a temple to your favorite +god, and applied to Phidias to adorn its frieze with sculpture. The +latter sent them to me. But the Arcadian mind is circumspect, and they +will doubtless wait many a year until the god, with his fatal darts, +causes them to fulfil their vow. If they then remember their plan and +me, the carving on that frieze shall bear witness, for all futurity, of +the flame to which you encourage me to give free course, Aspasia.” + +“Be wholly yourself,” said Aspasia, “do not heed the words of the cold +and stern, and you will create something at which even the +fault-finders will gaze with wondering admiration.” + +From this moment, the last spark of ill-will towards Aspasia vanished +from Alcamenes’ heart. + +The following day some trifling accident led Pericles to go out without +Aspasia, leaving her in the society of Alcamenes, Polycleitus, and some +other friends he had met at Olympia. After a long interview, all took +their leave except Alcamenes, who continued the conversation with his +usual vivacity. + +More and more ardent became the young sculptor’s words and looks. + +But Alcamenes not only displayed his admiration of Pericles’ wife, now +that he found himself alone with her, but—apparently unconsciously and +involuntarily—adopted a tone which had a shade of familiarity. Was he +justified by the courtesy, with which the art-loving Milesian had once +admitted to friendly intercourse Phidias’ most talented pupil? + +Aspasia noticed this touch of familiarity with a feeling of offended +pride. + +Impetuous Alcamenes began to make comparisons between the contours of +her mature and youthful charms, speaking of them as people discuss +things, with which they are thoroughly familiar. + +This also offended the high-spirited Aspasia. + +Alcamenes took her hand, scanned it with the eye of a connoisseur, +praised its beauty, and said it was an inexhaustible source of artistic +instruction to him. + +Aspasia withdrew it, reminding him that Theodota would be no less +inexhaustible in instructive charms. + +“You are angry with me, because I have praised Theodota!” cried +Alcamenes. + +“Have I ever made you suffer for it?” replied Aspasia coldly; “did you +find me hostile, when we met each other here again? Have I ceased to +cherish expectations that do you honor, and urge you, as the most +talented sculptor, to the attainment of the highest goal? I knew you +hated me, but to me Alcamenes’ art and Alcamenes himself are wholly +separate. I have returned neither your love nor your hate.” + +“Your words may seem cold and sensible,” replied Alcamenes, “but secret +emotion gives them a keen and bitter point. You are still angry with me +on Theodota’s account. Forgive the sin I committed! What you call my +hate, was the vengeance of love.” + +“Long before your hatred became apparent to me, I told you what I have +just recommended to your consideration—that there is a line between the +interest a man’s mind takes in anything, and that felt by his heart.” + +“Is it so with women?” asked Alcamenes, smiling insolently. “I repeat: +you are angry with me on Theodota’s account. It was perhaps also a deed +of vengeance, that you have rekindled the same old fires within me. +Once more, forgive, and do not condemn the ardor you yourself have +usually praised in Alcamenes’ nature.” + +With these words the impetuous fellow suddenly embraced Pericles’ wife. + +The proud beauty measured the aggressor with a look, that recalled him +to his senses. + +At this moment Pericles entered, and read what had happened in the +expression of Alcamenes’ face. + +The latter took his leave in great embarrassment and rushed away, his +heart filled with fresh wrath against Aspasia. + +Pericles looked very pale. + +“Is explanation necessary?” said Aspasia. “You read in Alcamenes’ +features—” + +“It seems,” replied Pericles, “that Alcamenes treated you as people +treat a woman, who—” + +“Say no more!” cried Aspasia. + +“I know,” continued Pericles, “the line you draw, according to +Protagoras’ meaning, between your beauty and yourself. I know the +precept, according to which woman’s veil might be shrivelled to a +fig-leaf. You see he has a different opinion of the sacredness of the +fig-leaf. He is wrong, you say; but his view of the matter, not yours, +decides his manner of treating you. You know the man’s ardent, but not +ignoble nature. He will now be doubly incensed against you, and +increase the number of your open enemies.” + +“He will apparently find an unexpected ally in this hostility!” said +Aspasia. + +After a few more bitter speeches and retorts, Pericles left the room. + +Aspasia stamped indignantly. + +“This accursed Peloponnesian soil is bringing me misfortune,” she +murmured. + +But fresh courage soon returned. “This is only a passing cloud,” she +thought, “which will sail harmlessly across the clear sky of love. The +fire will blaze more brightly after the new heat, than before the +chill.” + +Aspasia was not disappointed. But does not an uncomfortable residue of +old ashes linger in the breast, beneath those brightly-blazing flames? +Does love forget all it forgives? + +Pericles and Aspasia were Phidias’ guests at Olympia. He had lodged +them in one of the spacious apartments of his workshop, though he +himself remained invisible. He was constantly engaged in the temple, +superintending the completion and erection of the huge gold and ivory +statue, and refused to see them, but had promised, through Alcamenes, +that they should be the first of the whole Hellenic nation, to whom he +would reveal the greatest work of his hands. + +The eagerly-anticipated hour was approaching. + +A glowing summer day was followed by a sultry evening, with a +threatening thunder-shower. Dark flying clouds had gathered around the +lofty mountain-peaks. After darkness had closed in, one of Phidias’ +slaves came to Pericles, saying that he had been ordered to conduct him +and Aspasia into the temple of Zeus. The Arcadian girl, at Aspasia’s +request, accompanied them. They passed through the sacred grove of +Altis, which lay in deep shadow under the clouded night-heavens. The +place was deserted; only a faint rustle echoed through the tree-tops. + +They reached the temple. The slave opened the doors, led them into the +inner hall, conducted them to a raised platform at the end where they +could sit down, then withdrew, closing the doors behind him, and left +the three alone in the darkness. A faint glimmer of light fell through +the opening in the roof from the dark, clouded sky, but did not reach +far into the hall. + +They waited silently, almost timidly. Suddenly the veil of gloom before +their eyes was rent asunder, and they started, dazzled by an +indescribable vision of light. The curtain that divided the back of the +hall from the front had been drawn aside, and the three spectators +beheld, in the bright glow, the colossal gold and ivory statue of the +Olympic god. He was represented seated on a glittering, +richly-ornamented throne, yet touching the temple-roof with the august +head, whose nod, according to the singer’s words, shook the heights of +Olympus. + +Around the ivory limbs of the ruler of the gods hung a golden mantle, +enveloping the left shoulder, arms, and lower portions of the body. +This golden cloak sparkled with bright enamel, a decoration of tiny +figures and blooming lilies seemed embroidered on its surface. The +olive-wreath on the Olympian’s locks was of gold enameled with green. +In the left hand he held a sceptre, which artistically wrought of +various precious metals, and sparkling brightly, inclined slightly +forward, and was supported by the floor. The out-stretched right palm +held a goddess of victory, formed of the same materials as the statue +of the god himself. Four pillar-shaped feet, between which stood small +columns, supported the superbly-decorated throne, gleaming with gold +and marble, ivory and ebony. The flat front was colored dark-blue, a +background well suited to display the lustre of the gold and ivory. + +Beautiful, significant carvings surrounded the god and the throne on +all sides. An eagle perched on the sceptre, golden lions adorned the +supports of the stool, on which rested the feet of the ruler of the +gods, sphinxes emblems of the fathomless counsels of Zeus, upheld the +arms of the throne. On the sides, painted by Pæonius, glittered, in +bright hues, the deeds of the famous son of Zeus, Heracles. Other +heroic forms appeared, and also representations of all the contests of +Olympia. + +On the wide surface of the socle, above which rose the throne itself, +the fairest of Zeus’ daughters, golden Aphrodite, ascended from the +foam of the sea. + +The Olympian’s face was divinely gentle, yet full of indescribably +sublime earnestness. The mild benevolence was wonderfully blended with +stern power and grave wisdom, but the expression of supreme power was +the predominant and prevailing one. + +Aspasia, almost terrified, hid her face on Pericles’ breast. This +luminous vision inspired her with a sort of awe. Here there was nothing +womanly blended with the divine nature, as in the figure of the +virginal Pallas Athena. The grave, stern, lofty power of the ruler of +the gods was here raised to its summit. + +Aspasia felt something like a sudden pain in her breast at the +spectacle. + +The Arcadian girl was also greatly startled; but instantly recovered +herself and gazed up at the god with the confidence of a child. + +The storm had slowly risen. Through the opening in the temple-roof, +they saw the lightning flash across the sky and heard the roll of +distant thunder. + +Aspasia wanted to draw Pericles away with her, but he remained absorbed +in silent contemplation. He, too, was accustomed to receive a pleasant +impression from sculpture, but now saw himself confronted with the +sublime in a form never before imagined. There was something like a new +revelation in this statue. + +The thunder rolled nearer and nearer. + +Suddenly a flash of lightning darted through the opening in the +temple-roof. + +Pericles and Aspasia were blinded for a moment; when they recovered +their sight, they saw a marble tablet, on which the twelve Olympic +divinities were carved in relief, cleft and blackened by the +thunder-bolt. + +Zeus’ countenance had shone for an instant with Titanic majesty in the +glare of the lightning. It seemed as if his hand had hurled the dart, +that shattered the inferior Olympic deities. + +Now his face beamed with such quiet dignity, that the terror roused by +the lightning melted at the sight. The god appeared so great, that even +the lightning played around him like faint, feeble sparks. + +“This god of Phidias’,” said Pericles, absorbed in thought, “has grown +above the temples of the Hellenes. His head towers towards the +unattainable, the infinite—” + +Half-constrained, Pericles at last yielded to Aspasia’s urgency, and +both went in search of Phidias. + +The latter, unseen, had watched the pair, while they stood gazing at +the god. + +Then, to avoid speaking, he disappeared and remained concealed. + +When the husband and wife thoughtfully returned to their lodging, +Aspasia shook from her mind the impression produced by the solemnly +sublime spectacle, as a bird shakes the glittering rain-drops from its +light wings. + +Not so Pericles. + +But Aspasia did not rest, till she had banished the Olympic sternness +from his brow. + +At last the supernatural, solemnly sublime spectacle, beheld amid +lightning and thunder, receded into the background, and admiration of +the peerless sculptor obtained mastery in his soul. + +Even with closed eyes, the Arcadian girl saw herself in her sleep that +night surrounded by streams of light, the sparkle of gold, the gleam of +ivory, and the flash of lightning strangely blended together. + +Pericles started restlessly from sleep several times. He had dreamed +that Phidias’ seated god had risen to his full height, and shattered +the temple-roof with his head. + +Aspasia had another strange dream. + +She saw Zeus’ eagle fly down from the sceptre to the socle, and peck +out the eyes of golden, smiling, joyous Aphrodite’s doves. + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CHILD OF LIGHT AND THE PRIEST OF DARKNESS. + + +The Peloponnesian journey of Pericles and Aspasia formed a strange +contrast to their Ionian honeymoon. On the gay strand of Miletus, +victorious womanhood with soft arms drew the Athenian hero into her +magic circle; here, amid towering mountain peaks, the manly Dorian +spirit approached Pericles, accompanied by many things well suited to +awaken serious thoughts. Here nature herself filled his soul with +solemn awe, here the ancient relics of a heroic past, compared with +which later generations could not help feeling themselves a feeble +race, accosted him; here amid scenes, whose legends were inseparably +connected with the old heroic world, a worship and rivalry of virility +was fostered, well suited, as Aspasia felt, to rouse, sustain, and +develop opinions in the soul of the Greek, which would rather injure +than aid the victory of beauty and womanhood in every department of +life. In the shepherd’s lonely mountain meadows Pericles had beheld a +simple, idyllic existence, untouched by the breath of the new +civilization, and which fostered views, feelings, presentiments, that +perhaps only awaited the decline of the true Hellenic spirit, to weave +a grey, formless mist around the bright Greek world. Even the +Athenian’s art, placing his last and noblest work in the temple of the +Olympic ruler of the gods, seemed to seal forever the triumph of lofty +sublimity over graceful beauty. + +These emotions and influences affected Pericles differently from +Aspasia. Their minds were not wholly alike, and the nature of their +relation to the outside world also differed. Aspasia was working, +giving, active in all directions; Pericles, without impairing his manly +vigor, was receptive, allowing every external influence to act upon his +noble Greek soul. Like the Hellenic nation itself, he was placed, with +his extreme susceptibility, between the opposing powers; and, like the +Hellenic nature and Hellenic mind, experienced, by the constant +transition of these influences and contrasts, a development, a mental +history, whose limit and issue were not yet to be seen, while Aspasia +stood immovably and changelessly firm in the inmost depths of her +nature—as the powerful champion of the gayety and beauty of Hellenic +life. + +Was there not reason to fear, that through this trifling contrast, +hitherto concealed by the rose-garlands of love and happiness, the +exquisite harmony of the love-life that united the handsome, noble pair +on the very summit of human existence, might some day be shadowed? + +Doubtless the peril was imminent, but the roses of love and happiness +now seemed fadeless, gifted with a magic, eternal perfume. + +Pericles still remained susceptible and receptive, Aspasia active and +expressive. + +They often attacked each other’s opinions in conversation, and Pericles +frequently believed he had drawn his beloved wife into his views and +mood. Finally, however, he usually perceived that it was she who had +converted him, that it was impossible wholly to resist the potent spell +in the hands of this peerless woman. He constantly allowed himself to +be led back from the summit of free, wide, views of life. The beautiful +harmony between the two souls was constantly restored, they continually +realized afresh the ideal of Hellenic life at its highest summit of +development, and afforded a spectacle on which the Olympians looked +down with satisfaction. + +Aspasia admirably understood how to manage her husband’s moods. Whether +she would always be able to stifle the newly-budding germ of his inner +life, check the progress of his mental development, it was as yet +impossible to determine. + +This only is certain, that Aspasia always understood how to blend the +mirthfulness of Anacreon’s songs with the earnestness aroused in +Pericles by the hymns of Pindar, and between these two the real Greek +spirit always maintained its ground. + +The past had cast a fleeting shadow over Pericles’ conjugal happiness, +in the little incident connected with Alcamenes. Aspasia breathed more +freely when, on their return from Olympia to Athens, they left the soil +of the Peloponnesus behind. She did not suspect, that still more +unpleasant events awaited her in Attica, just before reaching the +desired goal. + +While Phidias was creating his Zeus at Olympia for all Hellas, as he +had formerly at Athens created Pallas Athena for the Athenians, his old +associate and friend, Ictinus, had been employed in Eleusis, the Attic +city of mysteries, where he had been summoned to erect a new temple to +Demeter for the celebration of the great ceremonies. + +As the time for this celebration was close at hand, Hipponicus, who at +this festival held the office of a Daduchus, long hereditary in his +family, had just moved to Eleusis, occupying a country villa, which, +like many other rich Athenians, he possessed in the neighborhood of the +beautifully-located city, which was situated near the sea, opposite the +ford and island of Salamis. The hill-sides were covered with the houses +of the residents and vast temples, surrounded by extensive grounds. + +During his stay at Eleusis, Pericles became Hipponicus’ guest. + +The first day was devoted to the inspection of the large new temple +completed by Ictinus, and which, being intended for the celebration of +the mysteries, contained numerous subterranean halls and labyrinthic +passages of vast extent, the scene of the secret rites only the +initiated were allowed to behold. + +The subject of the Eleusinian mysteries was one against which Aspasia +resolutely directed the sharpest arrows of her mind and wit. Everything +that shrank from the light, sought the darkness, surrounded itself with +the veil of secrecy, seemed to her connected with superstition and +fanaticism, and she thus perceived in these ceremonies peril to the +free, aspiring spirit of the Hellenes. + +When she blamed the Athenians for the reverence and holy awe felt for +these mysteries, Pericles said: + +“Perhaps the awe experienced by the Hellenes, is the natural timidity +the human mind feels in the presence of the secrets slumbering +undeveloped in its own depths. Who knows how many revelations of the +human intellect will yet be brought forth from the sacred abyss?” + +“I wish to hear nothing about the revelations of the future,” said +Aspasia. “The revelation of the present is the revelation of beautiful +humanity, and everything that might follow would be only a +degeneration. Let us cling with mind, soul, and every fibre of our +being to the beautiful, bright present.” + +Pericles referred his wife to the Daduchus Hipponicus, asking whether +this man, whose body constantly grew more corpulent, whose cheeks +constantly glowed with a deeper crimson, showed any trace of +fanaticism? Yet he was not only one of the initiated, but even the +holder of a priestly office at Eleusis, one of those who consecrated +the mystics. + +Aspasia replied, that those who led others into the domain of +superstition and fanaticism were rarely free from the sentiments they +inspired, though it sometimes happened that the holders and +transmitters of holy secrets were like the mules, that here and there, +according to ancient custom, were used as bearers of sacred +temple-vessels or statues of the gods, but received no part of the +divine blessing they carried on their backs and gave to others. +“Harmless Hipponicus,” Aspasia added, “seems to me to belong to this +latter class.” + +Hipponicus was proud of his office of Daduchus because the Hellenic +nation regarded it as an honor. But he really felt attracted by no +secret impulse, no personal inclination, towards the other things +associated with and required by this dignity, only by the circumstance +that he belonged to the family from which the Daduchi of Eleusis were +chosen, and the choice had fallen on him. + +He defended the mysteries against Aspasia’s attacks as a cause he +represented, but without growing excited over it. + +Averse to philosophical discussion, he contented himself with showing +Aspasia a painting that adorned his dining-room. The picture was +executed by Polygnotus, and represented Ulysses’ visit to the realm of +shades. Hades was depicted in all its terrors, and the living prince of +Ithaca walked fearlessly amid the pallid ghosts. + +As Pericles looked at the picture with Aspasia, he noticed, as one of +the initiated, that its details contained many references to the +mysteries of Eleusis. Hipponicus assented to the remark, and said to +Aspasia: + +“It is allowable to betray this much, that the way to the holy light of +Eleusis leads through Hades, through the terrors of Erebus. As for the +uninitiated, and those who obstinately disdain to allow themselves to +be consecrated, their fate in the nether world is very easily shown in +this very painting.” + +Hipponicus then earnestly advised Aspasia to allow herself to be +initiated, reminding her that, according to the universal belief of the +Hellenes, those initiated into the mysteries of Demeter at Eleusis, +walk after death through the fields of the blessed, while the +unconsecrated were destined to languish throughout eternity in horrible +darkness and desolation. + +“I have often heard so,” replied Aspasia, “and it always sounded like +the jarring notes of a tuneless cithara, or the noise of a sharp iron +instrument drawn over glass. It is marvellous to what things even +Hellenic ears can become accustomed. I know there are people who, when +they feel the end of life drawing near, quickly have themselves +initiated, and many hasten to have their children, even at a very +tender age, made sharers in this salvation.” + +“I have myself been initiated, like almost all the Athenians,” said +Pericles, “and would gladly share these secrets with you, as well as +all others.” + +“I understand,” replied Aspasia, “that superstition affords a +sufficient motive for the foolish to be initiated, and curiosity for +the wise. But, as a woman, I have a double right to curiosity. What +must I do, Hipponicus, to share the consecration.” + +“It is a very easy matter. You must go next year to the minor +Eleusinian festival at Athens, receive through the intercession of some +one already consecrated the minor initiation, and six months after +proceed in the Eleusinian procession from Athens to Eleusis, to be +initiated into the great consecration and behold the real mysteries.” + +“What?” cried Aspasia, “must I restrain my curiosity so long? I must +wait for the minor Eleusinian festival, and then see six months elapse, +before the mysteries are revealed to me? Are you not one of the +Daduchi, Hipponicus, and, as such, can’t you procure me the favor of +receiving the minor initiation at the same time with the great one?” + +“Impossible!” replied Hipponicus. + +“What prevents you?” asked Aspasia. + +“The interval between the two consecrations is appointed by sacred +custom,” replied the Daduchus. + +“You can help me evade the sacred custom, if you only choose to do so!” +replied Aspasia. + +“The Hierophant is a stern, severe man, like Diopeithes at Athens,” +said Hipponicus. “Shall I bring down the wrath of the chief priest upon +my head?” + +Aspasia persisted in her request, but the Daduchus repeated his +“impossible.” He was a foe to unpleasant complications, and felt no +inclination to rouse the whole Eleusinian priesthood. He liked peace +and comfort. + +The next day the Eleusinian procession came from Athens to Eleusis. +Pericles, Aspasia and Hipponicus were among the spectators, as the +throng, numbering thousands, passed along the sacred road. While +Aspasia’s eyes wandered over the sacred relics borne in the procession +and the throng of mystics themselves, all garlanded with myrtle and +ivy, and carrying in their hands ears of corn and farming utensils in +honor of Demeter, giver of the fruits of the earth, suddenly, by the +light of the burning torches—for the arrival of the Eleusinian +procession took place in the darkness of evening—Telesippe’s dull eyes +and flabby cheeks appeared amid the motley throng of faces. + +Telesippe’s husband, who through Pericles’ influence was the +newly-elected archon Basileus, who had the charge of overlooking the +Eleusinian mysteries, marched in the company of the Athenian priests +and superior magistrates; Telesippe, with head erect, walked by his +side as Basilissa, the sharer of his religious dignities and functions. + +The wife of the chief archon looked very stately, and as her glance, +roving haughtily to the right and left, fell upon her former husband +and the Milesian by his side, she raised her head still more proudly, +while a contemptuous expression appeared on her pouting under lip. Her +countenance was as solemn, as if she were standing at the Lenæan +festival as “the mystic wife of the god,” in the temple of Dionysus, at +the head of the inferior priestesses, performing the mysterious +ceremonies, rites no masculine eye was permitted to behold, and +concerning which she received from the participators a vow of silence. + +When Aspasia beheld this woman, so proudly supported by the +consciousness of her priestly dignity, and hurling the arrow of scorn +from disapproving eyes, the old hatred and sharp-tongued ridicule +stirred in the Ionian’s breast. + +“See,” she said to Pericles smiling, “see how proudly the estimable +Telesippe walks along, her well-rounded limbs covered with sleek fat! +After being wedded to two mortals, she has now become the mystic wife +of the god Dionysus! But I should be surprised if the youthful god did +not soon yield her to another, nay to Silenus, his round-bellied +comrade; for whom she seems exactly created.” + +Some of this sharp-edged ridicule reached Telesippe’s ears. But it was +still more distinctly heard by Elpinice and the seer Lampon, who walked +behind her in the procession, and had also looked the Milesian sharply +in the eye. Glances of ill-suppressed indignation were cast at the +insolent speaker, and a silent vow to hasten a long-resolved vengeance +was taken at the same moment in three wrathful souls. + +During the night the festal dancers rioted on the coast of the +Eleusinian bay, led by the god Iacchus with a blazing torch. The light +shone over the flowery meadow, and the enthusiastic chorus whirled +around the god, stamping on the ground in the dance and shaking their +waving locks, crowned with myrtle-wreaths, amid which were ripe +berries. The ranks, swinging their torches aloft, crossed each other in +manifold curves. One mystic frequently handed a torch to another. This +mystic glare was considered sacred, and the sparks showered from the +torches were supposed to purify the souls of those they touched in +falling. + +With the closing in of the evening, that ended the preliminary festival +and preceded the mysteries in the temple, the mystics prepared for the +sacred rites by various purifications, libations, sacrifices and other +sacred customs. + +Meantime Aspasia had repeatedly renewed her entreaty, that Hipponicus +would use his influence to have her initiated into the mysteries. + +Hipponicus reminded her, that the celebration of the mysteries took +place under the direction of the archon Basileus, Telesippe’s husband, +and as he had the control of the Eleusinian priests, his wife, as +Basilissa, commanded the priestesses of Eleusis during the time of the +mysteries. + +All this seemed only to stimulate Aspasia’s obstinacy, but she would +scarcely have overcome his resistance, had he not finally fared like +Alcamenes at Olympia. He did not keep in the house for days, in vain, +the firebrand that had already once scorched his heart. Mindful of the +incident with Alcamenes, Aspasia would probably otherwise have guarded +against fanning this flame afresh, and thus conjuring up a danger that +appeared momentous on Pericles’ account. But she had resolved to +thoroughly investigate what she must combat, in order to fight with +greater success. She noticed with satisfaction the ardor of Hipponicus, +whom she usually despised; it was a guarantee that he would fulfil her +request. + +It was even so. The Daduchus at last consented to give Aspasia the +minor consecration, she ought to have received six months before at +Athens. He knew how to win over the mystagogue, whose duty it was to +introduce and prepare the novices at the minor Eleusian festival at +Athens. + +The Daduchus, after certain preliminary ceremonies of purification, +ordered Aspasia to step on the fleece of a lamb sacrificed to Zeus, and +the mystagogue then taught her various customs and formulas, which she +required in the temple to prove that she was initiated, in order not to +be refused admittance with the mystics into the interior of the +sanctuary. Finally he made her swear, that she would forever maintain +inviolable silence about everything she would hear and see in the +temple of the great consecration. + +All the mystics were not introduced at once when the days of the +consecration came, but one division followed another. + +Pericles and Aspasia were among the first throng admitted. + +A smile hovered around Aspasia’s lips as, guided by the mystagogue, she +entered the inner hall of the sanctuary with the throng, and saw the +Hierophant with the rest of the chief priests and assistants, arrayed +in glittering emblematic garments, with diadems resting on the waving +locks that floated freely over their shoulders—tall, aged men, of +venerable aspect, displaying mysterious symbols, among them the +Daduchus with a torch in his hand. + +Still more charming was the fair Milesian’s smile, when the “sacred +herald” raised his voice before the assembled mystics, summoning every +one who had not received the consecration to retire, as well as every +one whose hands were not free from guilt, and who was not worthily +prepared to behold the sacred light of Eleusis. Lastly, all took a +solemn vow to maintain eternal silence about what they would see and +hear, after which a question was whispered into the ear of each mystic, +which only that particular individual could answer, and which he +answered in an equally low tone in the questioner’s ear, while the +solemn hymn to the goddesses of Eleusis was sung by an invisible +chorus. + +The subtle smile still hovered on Aspasia’s lips, when the mystics were +led into the interior of the temple, where certain holy objects, +remnants of primeval days, emblems of the blessings and mysteries of +the Eleusinian service of the gods, were shown them, and then offered +to be touched and kissed, while being explained by the Hierophant. + +With the same smile she watched the pantomimic representations of the +holy legends, vivid and affecting when seen in the mysterious, dusky +light of the temple, accompanied by the music of stringed instruments, +flutes, and songs. + +The throng of mystics was now conducted down flights of steps into +subterranean vaults and passages, where they were soon surrounded by +total darkness. The pilgrimage began, a long, toilsome, aimless +wandering in nocturnal gloom. Only the Hierophant’s voice, uttering in +grave, dignified tones significant maxims and exclamations, served as a +guide through the dark labyrinth. + +Suddenly a dull roar was heard, as if the foundations of the earth +trembled, amid which blended wails, groans, rushing water, rolling +thunder. Timid surprise, awe, and fear now succeeded the quiet gaze of +the crowd of mystics, drops of perspiration stood on their foreheads. + +Terror constantly increased; for horrible shapes, monsters of the +nether world, were momentarily illumined by the glare of lightning-like +flames, whose tints were red, blue, white, or livid and awful, flashing +alternately from the ground. There were Gorgons with horrible heads, +Echidnæ crawling like serpents, strange chimeras, blending the forms of +the lion, goat, and snake, Harpies with huge jaws and protruding teeth, +pale, blood-thirsty Empusæ, barking Scyllæ with dogs’ heads, and the +horrible figure of Hecate. + +The terrible apparitions grew still more awful, until at last, +surrounded by a livid glare, Thanatos, god of death, appeared throned +on dead men’s bones, clad in a black robe, his brow garlanded with +asphodel, in his hand a reversed torch, beside him a pale steed, on +which he traversed vast distances. + +Around him were his faithful followers, Eurynomus, the demon of +corruption, one of the spirits of Hades, whose office was to gnaw the +flesh of corpses to the bones. He sat on carcasses like an eagle or +vulture, and greedily closed his teeth on the mouldering flesh. + +Farther on, grouped around pallid Thanatos, were the plague, pale, +emaciated hunger, the fury of war Enyo, sickly love-madness, and Ate, +the furious demon of folly, blindness, and sin. + +Aspasia still smiled, but the smile was no longer charming, and her +face was pale as marble. + +At a sign from the Hierophant, the Daduchus lighted his torch at one of +the livid flames flashing from the ground, and, while the music of +flutes and the invisible chorus sounded still more terrible, a gloomy +cave, filled with mephitic vapors, received the throng. A dull roar, +like that of a torrent, echoed from the distance, blended with a loud +barking, which seemed to come from a triple-headed dog. + +As the mystics traversed the long, horrible way through the cave, they +saw, as if in a dream, a wide, monotonous, gloomy domain, dripping with +the dews of sleep and encircled by mournful streams. + +The baying of the triple-headed dog of Hades was silenced by the sacred +herald’s staff, and the throng of mystics beheld, with horror, +Persephone’s grove of the dead; where, in the livid light, stood +willows and silver-poplars, pallid and motionless, with drooping +boughs. + +Then came the field of Asphodel, overgrown with the mournful flower of +death, whose pale blossoms swayed dreamily on their lofty stalks. + +Above this field the shades, the souls of the dead, hovered to and fro, +like visions of a dream, or smoke, intangible, destitute of human +speech, but filling the wide space with a low, monotonous hum. They +were only half conscious, as if sunk in dreamy, waking slumber, only +aroused by a proffered draught of the fresh-steaming blood of a victim. + +Night-birds whirred through the air, but these too were shadowy and +ghost-like. Shadowy also, with transparent bodies, the fish glided +noiselessly to and fro in the streams of the nether world. These +streams, which surrounded Erebus, were Acheron, the river of eternal +woe; Cocytus, the river of tears; Pyriphlegethon, the river of fire, +and the night-black waters of the Styx. + +The mystics, conducted by the sacred herald, walked dreamily through +the twilight of the floating, wavering world of shadows, until, with a +noise like thunder, a huge brazen door crashed open before them. + +Across the brazen threshold they entered Tartarus, the abode of souls, +who were not permitted to float over the field of Asphodel in a half +slumber, feeling neither joy nor sorrow, but were dragged by the +avenging Erinnyes into the deeper gulf of Hades, filled with +lamentations. + +To be bound forever to a rolling wheel—to be forever threatened by +overhanging rocks just ready to fall—to eternally stretch out the hand +with unfulfilled longing towards boughs laden with fruit, that +constantly escaped—to perpetually roll up a mountain a stone that +continually rolled down again—to toil with desperate energy to dip up +constantly escaping water in a pail full of holes—to expose entrails +continually renewed to a vulture’s bite, and the limbs to the lashing +of the Erinnyes’ serpent scourge—to be forever a plaything in the hands +of these Stygian shapes of horror: this was the lot of those, whom the +throng of the initiated beheld with a shudder in this realm of anguish. + +The images of these tortures of the nether world were various, but most +numerous of all were the symbols of vain perpetual striving and +aspiration. + +Thus those summoned to the consecration were led, with souls filled +with fear, through the horrors of the abyss, the sufferings of life, +and the terrors of death. + +Through all these apparitions and scenes of horror, the Hierophant’s +voice was heard, raised in solemn tones of warning and interpretation. + +Still more horrible grew the subterranean darkness, still louder the +wails and groans of the tortured. The rivers of the nether world began +to roar, the whole realm of darkness seemed to groan in a heart-rending +death-gasp, in which the upper world appeared also to unite, and the +voices of all living creatures to blend in a prolonged wail of agony. + +Suddenly a wondrous light burst from the bosom of the most intense +darkness. + +Pleasant scenes appeared, meadows strewn with golden flowers; sweet +voices resounded, happy groups of dancers hovered over the bright +fields. + +Here Persephone’s palace beckoned invitingly in the brilliant glow. On +its threshold, holding a lyre on his arm, stood Orpheus, the ancient +sacred singer of mysteries, his lips proclaiming mysterious tidings. + +Behind him the boy Demophoon smilingly greeted the mystics from the +midst of the purifying flames, with which his divine nurse, Demeter, +had surrounded him, to the terror of his mortal mother. + +Above the golden doors of the temple hovered, illumined by the most +brilliant rays, the emblem of the winged Psyche, no longer brooding, +shadow-like, in Hades, but soaring upward above fields of Asphodel, out +of Tartarus and Elysium into the kindred divine ether. + +The pilgrims from the nether world were conducted through the +temple-gates. Here the unuttered part of the mysteries was revealed. +Here glowed before them, according to each individual’s power of +vision, the full sacred light of Eleusis. + +The day succeeding Aspasia’s initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries, +found the Milesian in a bewildered, strangely-altered state. Her +excitement almost rose to the height of fever. In an eager conversation +with Pericles about what she had seen and heard by his side, she strove +to restore the lost harmony of her mind. As there are night-birds and +other creatures of darkness, whose eyes love gloom and cannot bear the +light, there are also children of light, who are only at ease in the +golden rays of the kindred and familiar element, and whose pupils +cannot endure to gaze down into the black gulf of night. Aspasia was +one of them. This pilgrimage seemed to her a look into the darkness, a +glimpse of the black night, and what was called the holy light of +Eleusis did not appear to her like light, but a different kind of +obscurity, for it was gloomy and led to gloom. She could only imagine +the light as cheerful. To her light was only that which brightened and +made glad. The livid, cold, ghostly, and then glaring, dazzling rays +the Hierophant of Eleusis had cast into the depths of life, appeared to +her a base counterpart of the real roseate light. The fantastic arts, +bordering upon magic, of the Eleusinian priests, she called jugglery +and confused symbolical nonsense. + +She was agitated, seized with an oppressive restlessness and urged to +opposition in a way never felt before. + +Meantime it had remained no secret to the strangers, especially to the +Athenians who thronged Eleusis, that Aspasia had been allowed to be +initiated into the mysteries by her husband’s side. Even the minor +circumstances of this initiation were soon learned by those, who +followed the Milesian’s acts with the sharp eyes of disapproval. The +worst of her foes, whom she had just again insulted and roused to +vengeance, remained in Eleusis, among them Lampon, the officious +Lampon, who had won a still higher place in Telesippe’s confidence and +favor since she became the wife of a man high among the priesthood, and +was exactly adapted to be the tool of the revengeful wife and her +intriguing friend. Lampon soon wrested from the unsuspicious mystagogue +the secret of the bold expedient, in defiance of the sacred law, to +which Aspasia owed her initiation. Through him the news reached her +enemies. + +The archon Basileus, as guardian of the holy laws, was speedily +informed of the sacrilege, and a storm gathered over the heads of +Aspasia and her accomplice, Hipponicus, who against priestly rule had +helped her obtain the consecration. + +Aspasia as yet knew nothing of the impending trouble, and ere she +obtained tidings of it, an unpleasant event of a different nature +occurred in Hipponicus’ house. + +She was seated with her husband and their hospitable host at the +morning meal. Sacred usage required a certain degree of abstemiousness +during the celebration of the mysteries, and Aspasia therefore took +still greater pleasure in urging on the old reveller, Hipponicus, by +gay toasts and songs, until he was more mindful of the inspiring god +Iacchus than of stern Persephone. He applied himself industriously to +the beaker, and his eyes sparkled more and more brightly as the +charming woman took the field against the mournful solemnity of the +mysteries, nay against all melancholy, even the gloomy idea of duty, to +which she opposed the bright claims of life and joy. + +Pericles withdrew to visit one of his colleagues, and Aspasia went to +her room. + +Suddenly Hipponicus, much intoxicated, appeared before her and began to +load her with reproaches. + +“Woman,” he stammered, “your name is ingratitude. Didn’t I release you +from evil complications at Megara? What was my reward? Haven’t I again +plunged heels over head into danger, by smuggling you, contrary to all +sacred customs, into the mysteries? And am I to have no reward for that +either, not the smallest? Why, if your mind is so free, are you so +reserved towards me? Do you fear your husband? He is absent. Or the +gloomy idea of duty? You have just made it ridiculous. Am I not young +and handsome enough for you? Then take this ring with its precious +gems! It cost two talents in cash. Do you know whether Pericles will +always love you, whether he may not some day cast you off, like +Telesippe. Everything in the world changes and varies. Rely upon +nothing! Seize the present! Take the ring, fair woman! Take the ring +with the gems, that cost two talents! Do you know how long you will be +charming? You are beautiful still, but the time will come when you will +be old and ugly. Take the ring, fair woman, and give me a kiss in +exchange.” + +The drunkard shrank back for a moment before Aspasia’s wrathful eyes. +Then he grew angry, and muttered: + +“Who are you? Eh, who are you? A hetæra from Miletus, by Demeter! Since +when have you attempted to be a Spartan wife, an austere matron? Oh! +you prude, who once, without coyness, served the youthful Alcamenes as +a model.” + +Aspasia trembled, and turned pale with rage against the insolent +drunkard. Again she pushed the staggering man back, hastily threw her +upper garment around her and rushed out of the room, out of the house, +to meet her husband, Pericles. + +She had scarcely left the villa, when Diopeithes’ pliant friend, Lampon +the seer, entered. + +He was sent by Diopeithes, who had arrived in Eleusis the day before. + +When those inspired by mortal hatred towards Pericles and Aspasia first +heard the news of Aspasia’s unlawful initiation, they instantly +determined to accuse her and the Daduchus before the sacred council, +and most of them rejoiced that they could plunge the much envied +Hipponicus into ruin, as well as the woman they hated. + +But Diopeithes himself, the real head of this hostile party, was of a +different opinion, and devised a plan that did honor to his cunning. He +would gladly have exposed Hipponicus to the accusation and sentence of +condemnation, but calculated that, if not accused and condemned, he +might be more useful to the party. + +“If we accuse him at once,” he said, “the powerful Pericles will aid +him with all his influence, and even if he does not escape wholly +unpunished, he will receive a much milder sentence than we desire. +Perhaps he may get off with a fine, easily paid by the richest man in +Athens. He will pay it, and remain precisely as he is now. It will be +quite different if we do not call him immediately to account, but let +the indictment for the present hover as a perpetual threat over his +head. We will let him know that we possess his secret, and have the +power to ruin him as soon as we choose. This will render him yielding +in everything. A man like him, who values his ease above all else, and +for whom no price is too high to escape an annoyance or entanglement, +will become a helpless tool in our hands from mere anxiety. His +influence at Athens and the power of his riches are great: it will be +better to conduct this water over our wheel, than our enemy’s.” + +After addressing these words to his companion, the crafty, malicious +priest sent Lampon to Hipponicus’ house. + +The seer found the Daduchus in a strange condition. He was intoxicated, +and at the same time violently excited by rage at what had just passed +between him and Pericles’ wife. + +Nevertheless Lampon entered into a conversation with Hipponicus, and +frankly told him it was known that, contrary to one of the sacred +rules, he had initiated Pericles’ wife into the mysteries. + +Hipponicus was so greatly startled by these words, that he became +almost sober, but his anger against the Milesian burst forth with +double fury. He began to curse her as a temptress and corrupter. + +“Seize her!” he exclaimed, “break her on the wheel, put her in the +pillory, spear her, do whatever you choose with her, she deserves it.” + +Lampon heard these expressions of wrath with delight, and after +craftily increasing to the utmost the man’s rage and fear of the +ruinous indictment, he made the disclosure that those who could arraign +him were ready to secretly enter into an agreement with him, and asked +if he would accept their invitation to an interview. Hipponicus +breathed more freely, and promised in advance everything that could be +asked. The time and place for the meeting were instantly arranged +between him and Lampon. + +During this conversation, Aspasia was hurrying through the streets of +Eleusis. Her rapid pace was soon checked by the crowd, and she could +not fail to notice that she was recognized. She found herself the +object of attention that perplexed, confused, and alarmed her. + +The throng of people assembled in Eleusis had been excited against +Aspasia by her enemies in every possible way. The rumor of her unlawful +initiation went the rounds of the populace. There were some who +ventured to say loudly, that Pericles’ wife had once been a hetæra from +Miletus and Megara, had been driven from the latter place with insult, +and, on account of this past, her initiation was a sacrilege. +Exaggerations and tales of the most foolish kind, as usual, ran from +lip to lip, arousing contempt and anger. + +The crowd through which Aspasia pressed, with anxious haste, was +animated by these feelings. + +There was no lack of insolent persons who curiously followed her, nay +walking behind her, even uttered insulting words that could not fail to +reach her ear and wound her. + +“What is the news in Athens?” + +“Nothing, except a woman there carries spear and shield, and the men +are womanish.” + +“It can’t be denied that Athens is ruled by a woman.” + +“By Pallas Athena, you mean?” + +“No, by a Milesian hetæra. It is said that Pericles is going to have +her statue placed on the Acropolis.” + +“Poor Pericles! He never could resist women. He was Elpinice’s lover +too, and it is known that she bribed him with her elderly charms.” + +“Is the Milesian the same person he wandered with in Asia Minor several +years ago?” + +“Yes, indeed; they say he made a pilgrimage with her to the under +petticoat of Omphale, the hero conqueror, which is hung in the temple +of Diana at Ephesus.” + +“But how could it have entered his head to take this same woman with +him into the rude Peloponnesus, where she can’t possibly feel at home. +Kittens, says a proverb, like a soft place to sleep.” + +“It is said the gnats at Elis were very uncomfortable to her, and I’ll +wager the gadflies of Eleusis will please her still less.” + +“In truth their buzzing seems to suit her very badly.” + +“Ah, these tender chickens from Paphia’s nest, who have slept on purple +cushions from childhood, these Ionians, with the melting eyes and +pliant arms, without a bone in their bodies, full of gentleness and +love—what do they seek in battling Olympia or grave Eleusis?” + +Such were the malicious taunts, that echoed from the crowd constantly +increasing behind Aspasia. + +When this had lasted for some time, she suddenly stood still, threw +back the covering that veiled her head, so that her face was wholly +visible, and calmly gazed with radiant eyes at the throng around her. + +Then her lips parted and she answered the staring populace. + +“Years ago, I once stood a helpless woman in the streets of Megara, +surrounded by the crowd, guiltlessly insulted, guiltlessly persecuted +with looks and words. I was watched with eyes that glowed with hatred, +for the hostile Dorians pressed upon me. I was mocked with unjust +words, grasped with rude hands, for the rude, fierce Dorian mob +surrounded me. To-day a crowd encircles me in the streets of Eleusis. +But I raise my head quietly and calmly, for I think most of those who +encircle me are Athenians. It is no Dorian throng, but an Ionian one, +whose worst shaft, I believe, is the insolent glance of the eye, and +the heedless word that always springs readily from the keen-edged +tongue. But why do you crowd around me? Why do you stare at me? I have +intruded unbidden into the mysteries of Eleusis, you say? Do not be +paltry in your thoughts, clear-minded Athenians, and do not too readily +follow the hints and words of those who hate the light and love the +darkness, those who would fain sell you into the gloom! Men of Athens! +Pay not too much honor to the gloomy pair of goddesses at Eleusis, and +remember your own Pallas Athena, the goddess of light, the true and +worthy protectress of the Attic land and nation, whose statue, in its +brilliant radiance, dispersing all the brood of night, towers on your +citadel.” + +As Pericles’ wife uttered these words, with her bright face fearlessly +raised to the throng pressing around her, the men looked at each other, +saying: + +“By the gods, this Aspasia of Miletus is a beautiful woman, and we must +forgive her many things.” + +Then they separated a little, and allowed her to quietly continue her +way. + +The friends of Diopeithes, who chanced to be among the crowd, were +still more enraged with the Milesian, went to the priest of Erechtheus, +and reported that Aspasia had boldly uttered contemptuous words about +the sanctuaries and venerable goddesses of Eleusis before the assembled +populace. + +The hour for the interview with Diopeithes, to which Hipponicus was +invited, had arrived. + +A number of men, with sullen faces, declared enemies of Pericles, were +assembled with the priest. + +The trembling Daduchus consented to everything. Relying upon his +declarations and the outbursts of his anger against Aspasia, which +Lampon had witnessed, Diopeithes henceforth numbered him among his +allies and accomplices. + +For his sake, they said, the accusation against Aspasia in a matter +very dangerous, according to the Athenian laws, should be deferred so +long as he showed himself worthy of consideration. The conspirators +thought the bold, irreverent remarks made by Pericles’ wife about the +Eleusinian goddesses, before all the people, would be sufficient to +ruin her. The charge of impiety, contempt for religion, could be +brought against her at any moment. + +There were present men belonging to the party of oligarchs, who said +that they must go still farther, must not be satisfied with assailing +the Milesian, who after all was nothing but a woman, but attack +Pericles himself. They referred to the ruinous transformation in the +community which had emanated from him, the unlimited authority of the +people gained by his compliance, and held in check by nothing save the +personal influence of the popular strategus. Thus Athenian affairs were +exposed to the discretion and pleasure of a single individual. Others +thought men like Anaxagoras, Socrates, and the Sophists, were the real +root of the mischief in the state. These would have taught the +Athenians to think freely and speak audaciously of the gods and divine +things, seek them above everything else. There were also, among the +adherents of Diopeithes, foes and enviers of Phidias and his school, +who wished to see the persecution extended to them. + +Diopeithes’ eyes sparkled at the mention of all these names. All were +equally hateful to him. + +“We shall understand how to seize them all,” said he, “either +successively or at once. But let us craftily watch for a suitable +opportunity, wait for a favorable mood of the Athenians. Meantime let +us quietly do everything according to a fixed plan, to prepare for the +ruin of the guilty ones.” + +Such was the speech made by the priest of Erechtheus. Many things were +then considered and discussed among the assembled group. + +Aspasia did not return to Hipponicus’ house that night; the following +morning, just before leaving Eleusis with his wife, Pericles went once +more to the Daduchus. + +He spoke to him of the bold insult he had offered Aspasia. Hipponicus +apologized on the plea of intoxication, for which Aspasia was herself +partly to blame, since by Anacreon’s songs and gay conversation she had +encouraged him to Dionysian freedom. Then he complained bitterly of the +embarrassment and danger, into which he had been betrayed by his +complicity in Aspasia’s unlawful initiation into the mysteries. + +Pericles deplored these embarrassments and promised his protection. But +Hipponicus was not to be soothed. + +Yet when Pericles, shrugging his shoulders, took his leave, the +Daduchus followed him to the door, glanced anxiously around several +times, then whispered in his old friend’s ear: + +“Be on your guard, Pericles! Evil things were planned by Diopeithes +yesterday evening. I too was present—forced to be so—for the rope was +round my neck. Beware of Diopeithes, and make him harmless, if you can. +They want to ruin Aspasia, Anaxagoras, Phidias, and yourself. The +blood-hounds have me in their power—I was obliged to assent to +everything proposed—but may dogs and ravens rend in pieces the priest +of Erechtheus and all his followers!” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +ASPASIA’S SCHOOL. + + +Years had passed since little Alcibiades wounded one of his companions +in the Lyceum, by a cast of his disk. + +The boy had grown into a youth and reached his majority, for he had +attained his eighteenth year. According to Athenian custom, he had been +introduced into the popular assembly with the other youths who became +of age the same year, had been conducted, armed with spear and shield, +to the sanctuary of Agraulos at the foot of the Acropolis, and there +taken the solemn vow with which new Athenian citizens consecrated +themselves to their native land—he had sworn not to use his weapons +discreditably or desert his companion in battle, to fight for the +sanctuaries and common welfare, that the commonwealth should, if +possible, descend to later generations with increased power and honor, +to obey the laws given by the people, and not suffer any one else to +violate or cancel them. + +But for the present, the native land to which young Alcibiades vowed +fealty by this oath, made very moderate claims upon his zeal and +efforts. The Peribolan service the Athenian youths, who had just +attained their majority, were called upon to render, consisted in +little expeditions for the interior security of the Attic country, and +these were considered a pleasure rather than a burden. + +The community allowed Cleinias’ son ample leisure to enjoy the +pleasures of the golden days of youth. Young Callias, who called his +father a niggard, had also grown up, and Pyrilampes’ son Demos, famous +for his beauty, was also of the opinion that his father did not know +how to make a proper use of his wealth. These three were inseparable. +Xanthippus and Paralus were sometimes drawn in to help play some wild +prank by Alcibiades, who grudged them the renown of virtue, but were +forced to be content with a minor part. In the first place Telesippe’s +children lacked intellect and cleverness, and secondly their purses +were not so full as those of the sons of the two richest men in Athens, +or even Alcibiades’, who on attaining his majority had come into full +possession of his father’s property. + +Alcibiades felt a peculiar affection for the young foreigner, whom +Pericles had brought from the Samian war and reared in his own house, +with his two sons and ward. But all the latter’s efforts to draw the +dreamy, taciturn, somewhat clumsy youth into his gay circle, failed. + +This same youth began to be the object of attention, not unmixed with +awe, on account of a strange disease that attacked him. He developed +the mysterious tendency known by the name of somnambulism. In the dead +of night, when every one was asleep, he rose from his couch, walked +with closed eyes through the moonlit peristyle, then ascended to the +flat roof of the house, wandered about there for a time, and finally +returned to his bed as unconsciously as he had left it. The news of the +sleep-walker in Pericles’ house spread through Athens, and from that +moment he began to be regarded with a certain touch of fear, as a +person under the influence of evil powers. + +If the boy Alcibiades had attracted general attention from the +Athenians, he was naturally still more discussed when his chin became +rough with the tender down of manhood. His whimsical conduct formed the +daily topic of conversation, and after prematurely learning the charm +associated with the reputation of an agreeable, good-for-nothing +fellow, he not only imposed no restraint upon himself, but if he +committed one wild prank, over which the Athenians shook their heads, +made them forget it by inventing another still more outrageous. He knew +that even the fault-finders secretly admired him. It often seemed, as +if he were trying to discover whether he could do anything to make the +Athenians really angry with him. Vain effort! No matter how wanton his +conduct might be, he himself was always lovable. + +Hipponicus still persisted in the idea that the fairest maiden in +Greece, his daughter Hipparete, ought to become the wife of the +handsomest Hellenic youth. He therefore made himself as agreeable to +Alcibiades as possible, invited him frequently to his house, and +treated him with almost a father-in-law’s affection. + +Alcibiades made sport of him, as he did of every one else, and teased +him with insolent jests. One day Hipponicus sent him a +deliciously-cooked fish on a gold platter. Alcibiades kept the platter, +and thanked Hipponicus by saying: “You are too kind to send so nice a +fish besides the gold platter.”—Hipponicus laughed till his stout frame +shook, and praised the wit of his daughter’s future husband to +everybody. + +The lovely girl herself, whose father had constantly pointed out +Alcibiades as her future husband, was secretly in love with the +handsome fellow. She had seen him several times at the public +festivals. But he scoffed at the fair young maiden and preferred the +beautiful, clever hetæræ, whose number was constantly increasing in the +Athenian city. + +Theodota, in particular, initiated the youth into all the mysteries of +the gayest life. About ten years had passed since Alcamenes had asked +the rich Corinthian for the beautiful woman, in payment for his +admirable statue. She was perhaps no longer the fairest, but still the +most famous of her companions. + +To Alcibiades she was the centre of a seething whirlpool of gayety and +pleasure—only the centre, however, while the circles constantly +widened. + +Diopeithes rubbed his hands contentedly, saying: + +“Theodota will ruin Pericles’ promising ward for us.” + +But real health, strength, and beauty are apparently sometimes +incorruptible. + +The dissolute Alcibiades bloomed like a rose in the morning dew. His +cheek had the bloom moralists think it their duty to give to virtue, +while not unfrequently the virtuous go about with the sallow faces and +lustreless eyes the moralizer generally depicts when, with flaming +words, he paints the frightful picture of the sensualist. + +Theodota at first fulfilled her task towards the pleasure-loving youth +with cheerful alacrity, but soon more passionate feelings began to stir +in her heart. Poor woman! While it seemed the most enviable bliss to be +loved by Alcibiades, it was certainly the worst misfortune to love him. + +Alcibiades attained his majority a few days after Pericles and his wife +returned from their journey to Elis. Although the youth, on taking +possession of his father’s property, ceased to be an inmate of +Pericles’ house, habit and affection, together with the charm Aspasia +could not fail to exert over him, often brought him back to the +threshold of the dwelling where he had grown up. + +Need it be mentioned, that the spoiled favorite of the Graces thought +he might even venture to approach Pericles’ beautiful wife with a shade +of the kind of homage learned in Theodota’s school? But the lovely +Milesian was still too young to find immature men attractive, too +sensible to consider them desirable, and far too proud, in spite of the +youth’s remarkable beauty, to allow herself to be harnessed before the +triumphal car of a stripling with a downy beard. She well knew that no +woman, not even she herself, could really catch, bind, and rule this +impetuous youth. Far greater than the equivocal satisfaction of +increasing the number of hearts he had won, was the charm of the +thought of avenging her sex on him, and punishing him for the +inconstancy she gave him no opportunity of testing in her own person. +Therefore it did not occur to her to adopt the tone of maternal +tenderness, apparently justified by the difference in age, beneath +which the wooing of an elderly woman often conceals itself, or to seek +the role of confidant. She answered his civilities merely by entirely +overlooking them, treating him with maternal severity rather than +maternal tenderness. This bewildered the victorious, spoiled conqueror. +He felt secretly indignant, but the high regard he paid the Milesian +was not diminished, but on the contrary unconsciously increased. So he +was constantly drawn back to Aspasia, and pressed upon her the role of +confidante she was far from seeking. + +One day a rumor spread through Athens of a fresh prank of Alcibiades, +better calculated to attract attention and employ every tongue than any +of his previous ones. It was reported, that during a trip to Megara in +the company of his chosen comrades, to transact some business, he had +stolen a young girl whom he now kept concealed as a prisoner in Athens, +to the no small wrath of the Megarians, who were always hostile to the +Athenians. + +Many already spoke of the open warfare, which would break out between +Athens and her Dorian neighbor on account of this trick of an Athenian +youth. + +Alcibiades, when questioned, by no means denied the truth of the +affair, and at last told the whole story in detail, nay with delight, +to his maternal friend Aspasia. + +“We had grown tired,” said he, “of the wearisome Peribolan service in +the country districts, though we sometimes obtained a little variety by +carousing with the vagabonds and robbers we should have caught, and +instead of these preferred to hunt a Thracian maid in the groves of +Phelleus or a sturdy Acharnian. + +“So I determined to take a little sea-voyage of a few days, with my +friends Callias and Demos. A long time before at our mutual expense, we +had had a handsomely-ornamented, roomy, pleasure-boat built, which we +sometimes used for fishing. We went on board this vessel with three +pretty Ionians, who knew how to play and sing, a couple of +hunting-dogs, some nets and javelins, for we intended to row along the +coast, landing here and there to hunt. We passed through the straits of +Salamis. Our boat, the ‘Bacchante,’ danced merrily over the waves. Her +gayly-painted prow, which terminated in a Bacchante astride of a gilded +panther, glittered in the sun. We had garlanded the mast with ivy and +myrtle, as if it were a thyrsus. The bottom of the vessel was covered +with carpets and soft cushions. We chatted, jested and sang; one of the +three beauties played the flute, another the cithara, a third clashed +cymbals, till the sea echoed the mirth and singing, and we were obliged +to drive away the inquisitive dolphins, by striking them on the head +with our oars, to keep them from jarring or overturning the barge. + +“Coasting along the shore, we passed numerous country-houses and +lingered a short time before one, to give the beauty who occupied it a +serenade. We sang and played. The fair one was delighted to hear the +music echoing from the sea, and see her young friends crowned with +garlands. She stood smiling on the balcony of the house. We tossed up +wreaths and kissed our hands to her, then went farther out to sea. The +sun scorched, but we knew how to protect ourselves. Taking our upper +garments, we stretched them over our heads like an awning. This made +the barge look as if it were gayly supplied with sails and pennons, and +the reflection of the purple in the sea dyed the waves. It seemed as if +the clear, bell-like laugh of a siren must be heard. Those were Halcyon +days, during which calms prevail and the halcyons brood. We had left +the straits of Salamis behind, and the Megarian shore appeared on our +right. Here the coast began to be lonely and monotonous, from time to +time the sound of a shepherd’s flute reached us from the mountain +heights, and we saw herds of cattle, lambs and goats grazing. We landed +here and there, and enjoyed ourselves in many ways. We caught fish with +hooks, lowered by long lines dropped from the rocks on the shore, and +even caught some wild geese, ducks and bustards with snares. + +“Just as we had entered our boat again to continue our way to Megara, +we met a pleasure-barge no whit inferior to ours in elegance and +luxurious adornment. In this superb vessel sat an elderly man, and by +his side a beautiful girl, at sight of whom my heart kindled. The +meeting was only too short. The two barges glided swiftly past each +other; the Megarian turned around a projecting cliff and thus vanished +from our eyes. + +“We again landed, in a spot that particularly allured us. Close by was +a wood, which our dogs instantly rummaged. In a few minutes they +started a hare, we seized our nets and javelins and, in the hope of +securing the animal, followed it, leaving our friends near the barge. +The hare was driven away from the woods into the fields and pastures; +but as the dogs, baying loudly, pursued, they raised a great commotion +among the shepherds and flocks. It happened that one goatherd’s animals +were scattered by the dogs rushing through their midst, and the +startled goats ran down to the sea. Enraged by this dispersal of his +herd, the fellow seized a sharp stone lying near, threw it at one of +the dogs and wounded him fatally in the head. It was my faithful +Phylax, endowed with all the qualities of an admirable hunter. + +“When we saw the incident from the distance, we let the hare go and +rushed furiously after the goatherd. But meantime the latter had +summoned other shepherds to his protection, and we found ourselves +confronted by a threatening band. At this moment a slave came running +from a neighboring country-house to ask, in his master’s name, what +this uproar meant. When we learned from the slave’s words that the +shepherds were in the service of the owner of this country-house, we +asked to speak with him to obtain satisfaction for the wounded animal. +Following the slave we approached the country-house, a handsome +dwelling that seemed to be the property of some rich man, and were no +little surprised to see, strolling in the garden near the mansion, the +very same old man and lovely child we had just met on the sea. We told +the old man the story, and said we meant to take vengeance on the +shepherd. The grey-beard, as a Megarian and foe of the Athenians, +answered with sullen words. The shepherds, many of whom had followed at +our heels, complained with loud outcries of the damage done their +fields, the dispersal of their herds. Joined by the household slaves, +who were encouraged by a sign from their master, they pressed upon us +and amid violent abuse of the insolent Athenians, compelled us, by +superior numbers, to retire without satisfaction. + +“Greatly as the incident excited me, I had not neglected to cast a few +glances at the youthful beauty, who had watched the conflict from the +garden with mingled curiosity and terror. While returning with my +companions, I told them of my resolution to avenge myself on the +contemptible Megarian. I supposed the beautiful child to be some +purchased slave; my plan was to remain concealed in the neighborhood +with my companions for a time, watch for some moment when the +country-house was unguarded and the girl alone in the garden, then +hastily seize and bear her away. + +“The desired opportunity came sooner than we had hoped. Before the +second day elapsed we had grasped the girl, stopped her screams by +fastening a bandage over her mouth, and borne her swiftly to the barge +concealed beneath the cliff. + +“Under the protection of the gathering dusk, we fled, with our fair +prize on board, from the Megarian coast.” + +“And the young girl?” asked Aspasia. + +“Accommodated herself to her fate,” replied Alcibiades, “though she was +no slave, as I supposed, but a freeborn maiden, the niece of the +accursed Megarian. Her name is Simaitha, and I call her the fairest of +all Hellenic—not women, but maidens.” + +Megara! The word had a strange sound to Aspasia’s ear. She had listened +to the bold youth’s story with evident interest, and now asked numerous +questions about the young girl. Alcibiades gave an enthusiastic +description of her. + +Aspasia asked to see Simaitha. The youth willingly acceded to the +request, and brought the Megarian to her. The girl’s beauty was so +remarkable, that Aspasia marvelled, but in character she was like an +unpolished gem. Had she not been reared in Megara! It was time for her +to be snatched away, if this pearl were not to fade in seclusion. + +The rich Megarian had received her into his house when a little child, +and treated her better than a slave, but not like a daughter. + +He seemed to have intended to rear her solely to be the helpless tool +of his pleasure. The old Megarian bore no resemblance to the noble +Milesian, Philammon, whom Aspasia had so warmly praised in relating the +story of her youth to Pericles. Simaitha hated him, and declared she +would rather kill herself than go back to his house. Aspasia’s keen eye +perceived the germs of womanly charms of the highest order, in the +character of this young girl, who had scarcely passed her fifteenth +year. Her eyes were as radiant with intelligence, as her features with +beauty. Aspasia longed to develop the beautiful bud, and speedily +forming her plan, said to Alcibiades: + +“This girl is yours, not so much by the robbery you committed, as her +own firm resolve not to return to the Megarian’s house. But you are not +yet worthy of her. Noble maidens, nay even Hipponicus’ affected little +daughter, are far too good for youths like you. Women of Theodota’s +stamp exist for the striplings of your character; you can, so to speak, +sow your wild-oats with them. For the rest, you would not fully enjoy +the possession of Simaitha as she now is. You would soon weary of her, +for the germs of those qualities which are necessary, if disgust is not +finally to win the mastery over love, are not yet developed in her +character. Leave the child to me for a time. Trust the treasure you +have won to my care, put out your capital at interest—you will receive +it in due time from my hands with its value enhanced tenfold.” + +Alcibiades was too young and too fickle, to find it a difficult task to +deliver the young girl to Aspasia’s care. + +“I am ready to put out my precious treasure at interest,” he replied. +“I know I shall be richly repaid for the short sacrifice, which will +not be complete, since you will doubtless allow me to see the lovely +child in your house.” + +“Why not?” answered Aspasia, “you can be a constant witness of her +progress.” + +Simaitha was brought to Aspasia. Pericles had at first refused his +consent; but his disposition was wonderfully indulgent and, at +Aspasia’s repeated entreaties, he at last gave the desired permission, +coupled with the condition that the young girl’s stay in his house +should last only until the question of surrendering her to the +Megarians should be positively decided. Had not the Megarians been so +bitterly hated in Athens, Pericles’ compliance in granting the maiden +an asylum in his house, out of love for Aspasia, would doubtless have +been more sharply condemned than was really the case. + +People had long since began to talk of Aspasia’s school, and the name +was now better justified than ever. + +There were no less than four young girls in the earliest bloom of +maidenhood, who lived in Aspasia’s house under the immediate training +of the Milesian. Her nieces from Miletus, who had already been with her +some time, were joined by Cora, the Arcadian girl, and the young +stranger from Megara. + +The name of school harmonized perfectly with Aspasia’s secret plans. +Her personal efforts to ennoble and free the women of Athens had been +attended with very doubtful success. But the ardent longing of her soul +gave her no rest. She thought she had convinced herself that it was +vain to try to transform mature women, the influence, she believed, +must begin in early youth. + +She did not wish to train hetæræ, but champions and allies, adapted by +their intellect and beauty to gain influence as she herself had done. +The school she established should keep alive what she transmitted, and +diffuse it to wider circles. Through the operation of united powers, +according to her belief, prejudices would at last be shattered, and the +victory of intellect, beauty and womanhood secured. + +Not in the foreground, yet not wholly alien to the thoughts of the +aspiring though calculating Milesian, was the idea of the advantages +which might arise from her school in other respects. Her pupils, like +their mistress, might obtain for husbands powerful and influential men, +who would strengthen Pericles’ authority and oppose the efforts of his +enemies. + +Did Pericles’ wife feel no scruple about gathering around her a number +of young and charming girls, under her husband’s eyes? Nay, this proud, +lofty soul, striving for a living influence, was elevated far above +paltry considerations and petty feelings; she was not content with +personal success like an ordinary woman, but lived and labored for a +great idea. Besides, she knew that Aphrodite’s girdle was still in her +power, that it had lost none of its old magic in her hand. She knew she +would long remain the mistress among her pupils, that the latter must +become what she was. With regard to Pericles, she had a firm conviction +that nothing in the world would break or weaken the power of the spell +with which she had ensnared his heart, and custom only made the +stronger. + +A caprice of nature had denied Aspasia the joys of maternity. She +endured it without complaint. If she had not been permitted to train +daughters into her own likeness, fate offered her a compensation in +these promising girls, on whom she could try, to her heart’s content, +the magic power of her shaping hand. + +The Muses and Graces seemed to descend from Olympus and enter Aspasia’s +service, as teachers in her school. There was given the great lesson of +how nature is refined by noble art, and art must again become nature. +There the unity of everything beautiful was understood and realized; +there music became a dance of the soul, and dancing a music of the +limbs—there beauty became poetry, and poetry beauty. + +Aspasia’s endeavor was to rouse her pupils’ intellect through and for +the sake of beauty, and then free their awakened minds. + +But not only every kind of art served as a means of waking +intelligence, many of the possessions of wisdom, knowledge, and science +were borne like fructifying pollen, on the wings of Cupids, into +Aspasia’s school. Nothing, except sternness, severity, gloom, was +excluded. Gayety was proclaimed to be the chief law of beauty and life. + +The principal lesson Aspasia taught her pupils, was the folly it would +be to expect to win every success by their charms. She showed them that +these would not long remain lovable, if dependent solely on themselves, +and told them beauty was a virtue and must be learned, practised, +cultivated, like any other. She made them perceive that intellect was +the spice which, blended with beauty, kept it fresh. “A silly beauty +soon grows old,” she said, “the charm that vulgarity surrounds like a +dismal swamp, soon fades. Nothing so quickly destroys the bloom, as +dull vegetation in mindless monotony. To be beautiful was not a +condition, but an act. Beauty was the highest activity, and its +efficiency depended upon the harmony of all the noblest agencies—upon a +pleasant and harmonious activity of the body and soul. It was no dead +object of admiration, no motionless light, but like the sunbeams, a +living dance of rays, a shower of sparks.” + +“Beauty cannot be directly bestowed,” she used also to say, “but +ugliness can be everywhere stifled, subdued, diminished. You cannot too +frequently cast a glance into the mirror—not to see how beautiful you +are, but to surprise yourself in some moment of ugliness. Only in that +way will you learn that no one is always beautiful, and no one is +always ugly—that the flower of every beauty changes its form and color +a hundred times a day, that left to itself it wavers helplessly, +destitute of support or firmness; that a beauty, who sure of herself, +can venture to fold her hands in her lap, is a dream of fools, and that +to be beautiful is a difficult art even for the loveliest woman. Let +not ugliness approach you under any form. Its shapes and disguises are +countless. Ugliness is a demon with which we must struggle every day, +if he is not to gradually overpower us. But most frequently of all, he +turns his deadly weapons against the bloom of the body, from behind the +shelter of the soul.” + +Aspasia did not content herself with warning words, but actively aided +her pupils in the strife against the malicious, threatening demon, +pursuing the germs and traces of everything ugly, as the bailiff +follows the thief. As school-masters hold a staff or rod, she carried +in her hand a little silver mirror, and held it before the culprit in +whom a spark of physical or mental ugliness appeared. Thus she taught +the young girls self-control, suppression of every disfiguring caprice +or passion, calmness, cheerfulness, noble symmetry of body and soul. +One of Aspasia’s nieces, Drosis, developed a brilliant natural talent +for dancing, Prasina, on the contrary, showed principally skill in +singing and music. But Aspasia did not permit either to devote herself +exclusively to the cultivation of such one-sided dexterity. She desired +each to seek to please, not by the exercise of any one art, but by a +harmoniously-developed personality. Devotion to a single art, she said, +always led to neglect of the personality itself and its harmonious +development. + +Drosis was naturally bewitching by her grace. Her figure was tall and +elegant, so ethereally light that she seemed, like a nymph, incapable +of crushing a blade of grass or flower in walking over the fields. Her +limbs possessed the slenderness, youthful delicacy, and graceful +softness, which is far more alluring than voluptuous roundness. + +Prasina resembled her, but had the advantage of the clear, silvery +voice, with which she charmed every ear, while singing the songs of +Sappho. Can there be anything sweeter than the voice of a girl of +sixteen? Prasina’s sweet, melting, impassioned tones surpassed the +songs of the nightingales in the valley of the Cephissus. + +But charming Drosis and ardent Prasina were soon outstripped by the +beautiful development of the budding maiden Simaitha. The loftiest +charm of Hellenic form was embodied in her figure and features. Even +the masters of the art of sculpture had scarcely dreamed of such +marvellous purity of outline. She possessed the indescribable +clearness, the lustrous yet somewhat dreamy freshness of the eye, that +sometimes appears with a bewitching charm in girls of very tender +years. But Simaitha most nearly resembled her mistress in mind and +soul, as well as personal beauty. She seemed closely allied to her by +the manner in which her thoughts and feelings were developing, and +appeared destined to be no less perfect an embodiment of the real joy +and beauty-loving Hellenic spirit, than was the Milesian herself. She +grasped Aspasia’s thoughts with fervent enthusiasm, and her +intelligence surpassed that of her companions. She loved the arts, and +seemed to possess Aspasia’s incomparably keen and appreciative eye for +sculpture. She also resembled her mistress in placing no value on any +single personal talent, but developed all her powers in beautiful +harmony. Thus she was the pearl of the Milesian’s school. Aspasia loved +her with almost a mother’s tenderness, and fixed her fairest hopes upon +her. + +And Cora, the Arcadian girl? It was hard to say whether she ought to be +included in Aspasia’s school. When the latter brought her from her +Arcadian home, the very crudity of the material tempted her to exert +her skill upon it. But this simplicity seemed to increase faster than +the power of Aspasia’s forming art. Cora was the butt of her +companions, who degraded her almost to the level of a servant. Yet +there was something in the girl’s nature, which would not suffer her to +sink entirely into a slave. She was not charming, possessed no symmetry +of figure, was not even gay, but grave and thoughtful, and the peculiar +traits of character she had brought to Athens remained unchanged. But +she startled those who surrounded her by occasional flashes of +intelligence and wit, which always bore traces of originality, and +thereby aroused special interest. She seemed like a creature from some +strange world, hitherto unknown. + +Aspasia found it advisable, contrary to Athenian custom, to allow her +pupils, in spite of their youth, free intercourse with the world and +society. Her house was visited by men of commanding intellect, whose +conversation early roused the young girls’ minds from the dull +atmosphere of the commonplace. But feminine guests were not excluded. +If any of these distinguished men wished to introduce a fair friend +into this circle, the request was willingly granted. Among those who +availed themselves of this permission was the young sculptor and +architect, Callimachus, who had brought from Corinth to Athens an +orphaned girl named Philandra, of remarkable beauty, whom he tenderly +loved and intended to make his wife. Philandra, being of humble origin +and still very young, lacked the culture requisite to make her worthy +of him. How could she obtain this better than through intercourse with +Aspasia’s circle, and the latter did not disdain to extend the +influence of her school beyond the precincts of her house. + +Philandra’s beauty was nobly proportioned, but somewhat voluptuous. She +revealed a passionate, impetuous nature, and her stately figure made +her seem older than her years. + +Thus what might be termed a feminine Olympus was founded in Aspasia’s +home. Alcibiades called the young girls by the names of the goddesses +they most resembled. Artists drew inspiration from them for beautiful +pictures, poets for graceful verses. But wantonness and everything +ignoble was banished from this circle. Aspasia’s glance could hold even +the bold Alcibiades in check, and the priestess of beauty always kept +the reins of noble moderation in her hand. She was ever mindful of what +she owed the honor of her husband’s house, and knew how to avoid +increasing his doubts about the school she had assembled around her, to +the point of discord and strife. + +One day Alcibiades invited Aspasia and her young companions to take a +voyage in his pleasure-barge. The Milesian accepted, on condition that +none of his wild companions accompanied him. + +On a fresh, bright summer morning Aspasia entered the vessel, with +Drosis, Prasina, Simaitha, and Cora. Callimachus and Philandra joined +them, the latter bringing a friend named Pasikompsa, who, like +Philandra herself, had been introduced to Aspasia, and was considered +by the latter worthy to be an associate of her pupils. No one else was +in the barge except a few rowers. + +They coasted along the shore, and soon reached the beautiful bay of +Salamis. On the left was the green island, sparkling in the morning +dew, on the right the Attic strand, to which descended the Ægaleon +hills. + +Nothing can afford more harmonious and pleasurable excitement to the +soul, than an excursion on a sunny blue sea, and there could be no blue +more exquisite than that of the bay of Salamis. Thus the party on +Alcibiades’ galley were delightfully rocked by the sea and the waves of +joy. Above their heads was the blue sky, beneath them the ethereal blue +of the sea; they floated as it were between the heavens, swaying in a +divine azure. Whether the blue of sky or sea was most beautiful they +could not say, nor did they care to ask—they only saw that the birds +sometimes plunged for a moment from the blue air into the blue sea, to +taste its charm, while the fishes, on the contrary, sometimes leaped +gayly a moment from the sea to dip their heads into the blue air, as if +to obtain a fleeting draught of bliss. + +The party on Alcibiades’ barge resembled these gay birds and fishes, +rejoicing in the charms of sea and air. They absorbed all the bliss, +yet gave it as little thought as the birds and fishes. Aspasia’s +charming young companions gazed down from the deck into the beautiful +waves, but only to see their pretty faces mirrored in them. Cora alone, +when gazing into the water, saw not her own face but the sea itself. In +her mind alone the spell of the sea was vivid and conscious. + +The other girls were reflected in the sea, but the sea was reflected in +Cora. + +The impression produced upon her mind almost rose to terror, for she at +last began to listen with a sort of dread for the sounds from the +bottom of the water. When the others smilingly asked if she heard the +voices of the alluring sirens rising from the depths, she assented, and +the merry laughter of her companions echoed far over the waves. + +Perhaps tempted by the melody of these voices, a dolphin gliding along +the surface of the water accompanied the voyagers. A little bird that +had wandered too far from land, perched on its back a moment to rest, +without being noticed by the fish. + +Just as the silvery laughter at Cora again rang out from Alcibiades’ +barge, a large merchant-vessel passed. As it came very near, the crew +of the merchant-man and the party in Alcibiades’ barge could see each +other distinctly. The former were rude and savage in aspect, and gazed +sullenly, almost threateningly, from under their bushy brows, like +hawks, at the flock of doves in Alcibiades’ galley. But as the +merchant-man rowed much faster, it soon left the barge behind, and the +gay company paid no farther heed. Callimachus thought it was a Megarian +trading-vessel. + +They stopped in a small bay, and determined to land to spend some time +on the tempting shore. It was the very spot where people point out the +rock-chair of the Persian king, Xerxes, on the side of the Ægaleon +mountains sloping towards the sea, the rock-chair on a lofty part of +the shore the great king occupied when he reviewed his fleet before the +decisive battle, and from which, first in the proud consciousness of +victory, then with increasing terror, he gazed down at the battle +tempest of Salamis. + +Callimachus and Alcibiades accompanied Aspasia and the young girls up +to this seat in the cliff, and Alcibiades invited Aspasia, as the most +honored guest, to seat herself in it. She accepted it, and Callimachus +took his place by her side. The young girls and Alcibiades reclined +around her in a graceful group. + +Clumps of sea-weed and myrtle-bushes, full of dark and light berries, +grew between the cliffs. + +A wondrous atmosphere of peace brooded over the sunny land and +sparkling sea. Seen from this elevated spot, Salamis looked doubly +charming. Between the island and the main-land lay the motionless blue +waves. Silvery, glittering streaks here and there furrowed the azure +surface, like shimmering bridges. There was no sound save the low +rustling and grating of the slowly advancing and receding waves upon +the sand below, and from time to time the scream of a sea-gull hovering +around the cliff. + +“By all the sea-nymphs!” said Alcibiades, “it is as peaceful and silent +here as on the Sicilian shore. One might think the amorous Cyclops +Polyphemus must be sitting somewhere near, gazing out upon the water +where the image of Galatea is reflected, as she wanders over the flood. +The rude shepherd’s dog runs barking down to meet her, but the nymph +laughingly splashes the messenger of love with a rolling surge, so that +he retreats whining.” + +Indeed, a blissful stillness prevailed, which seemed as if it never had +been and never could be interrupted. + +Aspasia cast a glance from her rocky seat towards the mountains of the +Peloponnesus. + +“If it is possible,” she said, “to wash away from my soul all the +peevish gloom I saw and experienced beyond those mountains, this hour +will enable me to do so. The sea and air are too radiant for melancholy +to gain any victory here. I boldly challenge you to battle, rude +Peloponnesus.” + +“And I too!” cried Alcibiades, clenching his fist at the mountains of +Argolis. + +“So do we all!” exclaimed the young girls laughing. + +At this moment Aspasia’s eye, wandering towards the right, rested on +the Megarian vessel, which now seemed very small in the distance. It +appeared to be motionless. Aspasia’s proud, almost contemptuous glance +roved quickly away. Her eyes flashed with a spark of the arrogance that +filled the heart of the Persian king, when he sat on this rocky throne. + +At a sign from Alcibiades, a slave brought a skin containing a +delicious cordial, and soon beakers clinked against each other and +songs echoed on the air. The joyous melody sounded sweetly amid the +beautiful sea-solitude, and echoed far over the peaceful bay. + +Urged on by the Dionysian spirit of revelry, the young girls dispersed, +some wandering along the shore, some among the cliffs, where fragrant +plants grew amid the stones. They were like hovering butterflies, +teased and caught by Alcibiades. + +Now they ran with merry shouts after some dead sea-creature, a polyp or +dolphin, which formerly, dashing through the salt waves, had terrified +the smaller fishes and borne the daughters of Nereus on its back, but +at last been cast by a foaming wave in some fierce storm on the rocky +strand. Then they sat down and Alcibiades told marvellous +hunting-tales—for instance, how he had once caught on the sea-shore a +large polyp and a hare at the same time. Drawing the polyp out of the +water he hurled it on the land, where it chanced to fall upon a hare +sleeping among the sea-weed, which was instantly seized by the polyp’s +hundred arms. + +Meantime Callimachus was talking with Aspasia. + +The artist’s relation towards Pericles’ beautiful wife was of a +somewhat singular nature. A cordial friendship bound him to Alcamenes, +and being informed by the latter of everything that ever occurred +between Agoracritus’ rival and the fair Milesian, he had brought with +him from Corinth a prejudice, nay almost a secret anger against +Aspasia. After the violent scene between Alcamenes and Aspasia at +Olympia, of which Callimachus had also heard, he had joined his friend +in a sort of league of vengeance against Aspasia. At Athens he +approached the Milesian and, attracted by her magic spell, half forgot +the thought of vengeance. + +Aspasia herself turned the conversation upon Alcamenes, and praised the +flight of his transforming imagination. + +“You do well,” she said, “to be on friendly terms with this man, and it +seems to me that a certain kinship of souls has drawn you together. +For, like him, a desire to direct art into new channels seems to +animate you.” + +Aspasia in these words alluded to the fact, that Callimachus no longer +contented himself with the chisel, but worked with the auger, executing +the details of his labor with a wonderful diligence, a brilliant +perfection, never before witnessed. + +“If people acknowledge, that the art of sculpture has advanced by the +industrious use of the auger,” said Callimachus, “I might also prove +the kindred art of architecture profitable. My mind has long been +occupied with a matter apparently very easy and simple, but in +which—you’ll smile when you hear what it is—I cannot succeed. +Progressive art seems to me to require a richer decoration for our +pillars. The Ionian spiral is the utmost we have accomplished. That has +satisfied us for centuries. Isn’t it time to venture above it with some +bold design?” + +“In the East,” replied Aspasia, “I saw the form of leaves and flowers +applied with refined imagination to the decoration of capitals. We are +timid, as you justly remark. Why don’t you venture upon what you think +necessary?” + +“Will you believe,” answered Callimachus, “that I have racked my brain +about this matter? I have invented hundreds of forms, but hitherto not +one has fully satisfied me.” + +“Why do you seek to invent, discover, and draw the new form entirely +from your own imagination?” asked Aspasia. “Nature is a great teacher, +the architect as well as the sculptor must obtain his best designs by +watching her. Keep your eyes open, and what you seek will meet you. +Then you need only grasp it correctly and shape it to your wants.” + +At this moment the pair were interrupted by the young girls, who said +they had discovered a small monument in a pretty secluded nook of the +rocky shore, and wanted to show it to Aspasia. + +Aspasia and Callimachus accepted the invitation, and allowed the girls +to guide them to the spot, where they had found the little monument. It +lay concealed amid the rocks, and was almost hidden by an overhanging +cliff. It consisted of a plain narrow stone, on which a short +inscription was carved. On the slab stood a dainty basket, filled with +faded wreaths and flowers. Aspasia tried to read the inscription, and +deciphered half of the name of a young girl, but the task was +difficult, for a luxuriant acanthus had not only covered the slab with +its large, exquisitely-shaped leaves, but grown half over the basket. +Its fresh, living green formed a striking contrast to the dead, +withered flowers. + +Aspasia and her companions expressed their surprise at finding a +gravestone in such a place. But Callimachus said: + +“The existence of this little monument was no secret to me.” + +The young girls eagerly asked its origin, and Callimachus replied: + +“The man who placed this slab and basket here was my friend, and I am +one of the few to whom he confided its history. + +“The friend of whom I speak,” he continued, “was an admirable Athenian +youth, who earned his living by painting vessels and funeral urns with +great skill. While living in Corinth he saw the fairest flower-girl in +the city, and fell in love with her. But a young Spartan, who was +staying in Corinth with some friends, also loved the girl and wished to +make her his own. He succeeded in intimidating her by threats and +violence, and was on the point of bearing her away from Corinth. The +Athenian, furious with rage, fought with his rival and killed him. +Then, to escape the vengeance of the dead man’s friends, he took the +young girl, who returned his love and willingly accompanied him, +entered a boat, and fled to his native Athens. + +“The lovers coasted gayly along the shore—the youth’s heart was full of +joy, and the young girl was radiant in the bloom of her bridal beauty. +She had nothing except her loveliness, save the little basket filled +with fresh flowers, just as she had carried it to market in Corinth on +the morning her lover bore her away. The sea-spray dashed around the +boat, and wet the roses in the basket. But as the youth snatched a +saucy kiss from the girl’s lips, the basket fell over the edge of the +boat into the sea. She hastily leaned forward to catch it, but +stretching out her hand too far, lost her balance and fell into the +waves. With a cry of despair, the youth flung himself into the sea, and +after a long struggle grasped the maiden’s body and swam with it to the +shore. Climbing up the cliff, with her senseless form clasped to his +breast with his left arm, he laid her on a level portion of the rocky +strand. Her eyes were closed, her face was pale, vainly he called her +by a thousand loving names. He had saved only a corpse. + +“All day long he sat motionless beside the lifeless form, then prepared +to bury it. He hollowed a grave in the spot where he had brought her to +land. What did he suddenly behold among the rocks? The basket of +flowers had been carried to the shore, and was now wedged fast between +the cliffs. He went down, and sighing mournfully, raised the little +basket, still filled with fresh flowers, and placed it, bedewed with +his tears, on the young girl’s grave. He went to Athens and soon +returned, with this simple slab, to the secret grave, around which +murmured the waves of the sea. He placed it here, and again set upon it +the basket with its now withered flowers. The seclusion of the spot +secures it from profaning hands, and the acanthus, as you see, has +undertaken the part of protector, by almost covering both slab and +basket with the tendrils of its superb foliage.” + +The young girls listened attentively to Callimachus’ tale, and loudly +lamented the sad fate of the lovers. + +But Aspasia, after a pause, said: + +“Spite of the sympathy awakened by your story, Callimachus, I cannot +shut out the impression this flat, narrow stone, this monument for +which nature has done far more than art, produces upon me, and will +surely make upon all who behold it. How daintily the foliage of the +acanthus twines above the white marble slab, around the graceful basket +filled with withered flowers. Is not this one of the forms nature +sometimes produces in a sportive mood, yet whose charm sculptors rarely +equal by their inventive powers?” + +Callimachus made no reply, but a thought darted through his brain like +a flash of lightning. + +He gazed a long time at the basket overgrown with foliage, then turning +to Aspasia, exclaimed: + +“Yes, Aspasia—this basket with the tendrils twining gracefully around +it, is one of those forms, for which as you said, the sculptor must +keep his eyes open, because he can learn from them—” + +“And because,” interrupted Aspasia, smiling, “he may find in them what +he has long sought in vain.” + +Callimachus now enthusiastically poured forth the thought which filled +his mind. + +While he explained to the Milesian his idea of the new decoration for +pillars, which was to step forth victoriously into the world of beauty, +and whose renown would be forever blended with Callimachus’ name, the +young girls disappeared to gather flowers, with which they intended to +deck the Corinthian’s grave. + +Soon they were again roving merrily along the shore like sea-nymphs, +among whom Alcibiades renewed his rôle of the teasing, pursuing Triton. + +Gradually, however, the simplicity and reserve of Cora, who was left +behind on a lonely part of the shore, began to exert a stronger charm +over the impetuous youth than the gayety of her companions. + +The lovely Simaitha noticed that he attempted to draw the Arcadian into +gay conversation, jested with her against her will, but without any +touch of jealousy; for she resembled Aspasia in having little room in +her proud soul for such an emotion. She too, seemed only capable of the +love which does not disturb the cheerful repose of the mind. Besides, +what a contemptible rival the shepherd’s child appeared to the most +brilliant pearl in Aspasia’s school. + +Transported from the world of reality, the party enjoyed the charming +silence of the bay, which nothing could apparently disturb. + +Yet hostile eyes were watching the group from a distance. + +When the Megarian vessel passed Alcibiades’ pleasure-barge, one of the +men on board gazed keenly into it, and said, in a hasty, eager tone to +his companions: + +“Did you see that Athenian youth roving about with the young hetæræ on +the sea? That’s the bold, worthless ravisher, Alcibiades! I know him. +I’ve seen him several times at Athens. And among the young girls was +Simaitha—the stolen Simaitha!” + +“What?” cried the Megarians, greatly excited. “What? Is that the bold +fellow who stole the girl from Psaumias’ country-house, and still +rejoices in his spoil unpunished?” + +“Ay,” said the other, “he still enjoys his spoil unpunished, for he is +under powerful protection. As you know, all the efforts of Psaumias and +his fellow-citizens, who demanded the girl’s delivery from the insolent +Athenians, were vain. Don’t these Athenian dogs always believe they can +mock at the Megarian commonwealth? A time will come, to show them they +were wrong in jeering at the Dorian city on their borders. But now, +friends, as far as Simaitha is concerned, we must take advantage of the +opportunity offered. That pleasure-barge, besides the beardless +ravisher, contains only one unarmed man and the few slaves who are +rowing. There are enough of us to capture the galley, if we choose to +attack it, at any rate, to seize Simaitha and carry her back to +Megara.” + +This proposal pleased the Megarians, but while consulting how to attack +the barge, Alcibiades’ party landed on the shore of the little bay. The +Megarians perceived this from the distance. + +“So much the better!” said their commander. “We’ll hide our vessel near +the shore and follow our prey on the land. Most of us will leave the +galley, and while single ones steal nearer the group, others can lie in +ambush in pairs along the rocky shore, where the party are scattered. +It will be easy to rush out at the right moment, and seize the girl for +whom we have watched. The Athenian youths and their slaves will be +unable to prevent it, nay perhaps will not see it, for if we choose a +moment when Simaitha is separated from her companions, and the men’s +attention is directed elsewhere, we may succeed in carrying her off +unperceived and shall then be safe from pursuit. They won’t know what +has become of the girl, until we have our prize in security. If we were +compelled to use force, the youths might perhaps receive aid from some +Athenian vessel passing this way, and rescue our booty before we could +get back to our vessel, or put out to sea. So let us be cautious, and +watch for a favorable opportunity.” + +Such were the Megarian captain’s directions, and the men obeyed them. +They concealed themselves singly or in pairs on the shore, or among the +rocks, and from their hiding-places sharply watched the unconscious +revellers. + +The favorable moment for the Megarians was long in coming. At last it +happened, that Simaitha, Drosis and Prasina, gathering flowers, +unsuspiciously approached a rock behind which several of the crew were +concealed. Alcibiades was a long distance away, absorbed in Cora, and +Callimachus was still with Aspasia at the grave of the Corinthian girl. + +The Megarians rushed out to seize Simaitha. + +The latter, on seeing the savage looking men suddenly coming towards +her, fled screaming with terror. Drosis and Prasina followed, also +filling the air with loud cries for help. + +But Simaitha far outstripped her two companions in their flight, and +had already nearly reached the spot where Alcibiades lingered. The +latter, as well as Callimachus and the rowers in the barge, heard the +young girls’ shrieks, and quickly hurried up. Alcibiades always wore a +dagger, and drawing it from the sheath, prepared to rush upon the +robbers with the slaves, who were armed only with oars. + +But the Megarians would not leave the spot without some prize. As +Simaitha had escaped, they seized her companions, Drosis and Prasina, +who in their terror, like frightened doves, had not so surely found the +right path by which to fly. + +Perceiving the danger in delay, and avoiding open strife for the +reasons already mentioned, they dragged Drosis and Prasina away with +them to the shore, leaped on board their vessel, and were speeding +towards the bay of Megara, ere Alcibiades and his assistants could +enter his barge to pursue them. + +Yet the furious youth was about to throw himself blindly into the boat +to follow the robbers. But when he prepared to do so, the young girls +raised a loud outcry, lamenting that they would be left on shore and +perhaps exposed to other lurking enemies. Yet he was prevented from +taking them in the barge and thus pursuing the enemy, by their dread of +being carried out to fall a prey to the foe. Callimachus, the rowers, +and especially Aspasia, urged him to consider that pursuit was +impossible, and plenty of ways and means would be found to chastise the +insolence of the Megarians. + +Aspasia had turned deadly pale at the sight of the Megarians’ deed, but +the pallor was quickly succeeded by a vivid flush of anger. Yet she was +the first to regain her composure, and almost smiled as she requested +Alcibiades to return home without delay. All hurried to the barge, to +hastily go back to Athens. + +“Vengeance on the Megarians!” cried Alcibiades, standing erect in the +vessel as it pushed off from the shore, and hurling a beaker against +the steep cliff. + +“May the pigmy defiance of Megara and her allies be shattered against +the rocky brow of the Athenian Acropolis, as this beaker is broken +against the cliff.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +CALLICRATES’ MULE. + + +According to Aspasia’s supposition, it was an easy-matter for Pericles +to demand the restoration of the stolen girls by the Megarians; for at +that time, from various reasons, the chastisement of the Megarians was +the watch-word of the day in Athens. + +But the Megarians answered, that they would not fail to restore Drosis +and Prasina, who for the present were placed as hostages in the keeping +of a distinguished fellow-citizen, as soon as Simaitha, stolen by an +Athenian youth, had been restored to them. But Simaitha herself pleaded +earnestly against this rendition, and found powerful support in +Aspasia. The young girl from Megara had become the Milesian’s favorite. + +The Megarians were as much hated at Athens, as the Athenians at Megara. +Pericles had more than one motive for procuring a popular decree, which +prohibited them from entering the harbor or market of Athens, not only +until they had delivered up the young girls, but also given the +Athenians satisfaction in some other matters. + +This exclusion from the Athenian market was sensibly felt by the +Megarians, and it was believed they would not long defy it. + +Yet, as it was to be feared that the Megarians would secretly apply to +Sparta to seek her active mediation, while a somewhat serious quarrel +with Corinth, and the revolt of the Attic colony of Potidæa aroused a +certain degree of uneasiness among the Athenians, the enemies of +Pericles and Aspasia availed themselves of the opportunity to stir up +the people against them. The public peace of Hellas, they declared, was +threatened by the arrogance of this foreign woman and the +licentiousness of her friends, and now, for the sake of two little +stolen hetæræ, Pericles hurled among the Greeks, like a firebrand, the +popular decree against the Megarians. + +Great and popular statesman do not always oppose national laws, because +they know that the people finally follow their guidance with a sort of +blind confidence, and the peril of these laws is counterbalanced by +their personal influence, at least while they stand at the helm. But +the timid ask what will happen, as soon as men of this stamp, perhaps +summoned from the world by death, no longer hold the reins of the +community in their firm grasp. On the other hand, the friends of the +people who are solicitous for the preservation of popular rule, +perceive in this silent subservience of the public to the will and +opinions of a single prominent man the greatest danger to freedom. So +it happened, that the omnipotent Pericles was secretly opposed by the +champions of free popular government, as well as by the oligarchist +party. + +Cleon, the tanner, Lysicles, the sheep-dealer, and Pamphilus the +sausage-maker, believed that the wisdom of an individual was more +dangerous to the state than the folly of the multitude, and whenever +they found an opportunity, renewed their warnings to their +fellow-citizens against the “new Pisistratus.” + +People of the stamp of Cleon, Lysicles, and Pamphilus already sometimes +ventured to declaim violently against Pericles in the popular assembly. + +Pericles did not look indifferently upon the perplexities prepared for +him by many things in Aspasia’s conduct, and Alcibiades’ wanton +behavior. Aspasia was unassailable. The storm may uproot oaks, but not +break down flowers. But Pericles gravely pointed out to Alcibiades the +dissoluteness, by which in part this unpleasant Megarian difficulty had +been caused, admonished him to emulate his forefathers by rendering +service to his native land, and strive for the distinction of +praiseworthy deeds. + +“That I will!” replied Alcibiades, in a tone of mingled jest and +earnest. “But who is to blame save you, Pericles, that I find no +opportunity to distinguish myself by glorious deeds? How long must we +drag out our lives in this wearisome peace? Give me a fleet, and I’ll +conquer Carthage and Sicily. But you even refuse the few paltry vessels +with three banks of oars, necessary to restore the two bright-eyed +little maidens, Drosis and Prasina, from their captivity in miserable +Megara. There is nothing left, if I want to serve my native land, +except to go to Sparta and carry off the king’s wife, that I may blend +the Dorian blood with Ionian for the benefit of the Athenians. Surely, +Pericles, I don’t lack the desire for action—” + +“Mere gushing impulse, without dignity or earnestness of mind,” said +Pericles, “will never accomplish anything useful, but merely prove +destructive. Your advantages, Alcibiades, are no hope, but a danger to +your native land, so long as they are united with vices like yours.” + +“Is it a vice,” cried Alcibiades, “to love pleasure, and isn’t youth +the best time for enjoyment?” + +“You are mistaken,” replied Pericles gravely; “youth is not the time +for enjoyment, but the time to prepare body and mind for the pleasures +of life. It is the time to develop the capacity for enjoyment, not to +dull it. You think you are finding pleasure, youthful son of Cleinias. +But your tasting of every cup of joy is nothing more than boyish +wantonness, thoughtless sport.” + +“The gods give us but one life to enjoy!” said Alcibiades. + +“For that very reason,” replied Pericles, “we ought not to squander, +but to preserve it.” + +Such was the tenor of Pericles’ conversation with the youth, but the +latter went from the statesman to his friend Theodota, smilingly +repeated the words, and added: + +“I now see my old friend, my beloved Socrates, is really wiser than +Pericles or any of the other wise men in Athens, for he alone +understood long ago—that all warnings of that kind, addressed to +Cleinias’ son, were vain and foolish—” + +Some time had elapsed since Pericles and his wife returned to Athens +from Elis, and the priest of Erechtheus secretly entered into a +conspiracy at Eleusis with the enemies of the noble pair. + +Diopeithes, however, had not failed to profit by the interval. The +weapons for the first assault were already forged. He had availed +himself of Pericles’ absence from Athens, to come forward in the +popular assembly with the proposition of a law against those who +derided the religion of the Attic country, and the philosophers whose +teachings were opposed to the belief in the gods, inherited from their +forefathers. The priest of Erechtheus stood before the multitude with +the authority of one inspired by a god, and his language was so +impassioned, so spiced with threats and prophecies of evil, that he +actually succeeded in obtaining for his law the decisive majority of +votes on the Pnyx. + +Since that day the sword of Damocles hung over Anaxagoras’ gray head. +Diopeithes’ shaft was first aimed at him; but his designs went still +farther. He secretly courted allies and assistants, leagued himself +with Pericles’ enemies of every kind. + +The wrath in his soul daily found fresh food, for before his eyes the +hated Callicrates still walked among the swarming crowd of workmen on +the summit of the Acropolis, urging forward the magnificent propylæa, +under the direction of Mnesicles, with the same zeal he had formerly +bestowed on the temple of Pallas. Callicrates was an abomination to the +priest, so too were the laborers, who by day pursued their hated work, +but at night lay asleep in throngs on the piles of stones or sand. +Another abomination was the old mule who, as has already been +mentioned, could not endure the involuntary leisure of its age, but +according to ancient habit, wandered about on the Acropolis, and to +whom had been granted the favor of having all the injuries it might do +by grazing and nibbling the property of others, made good at the public +expense. + +Great results spring from small causes, says the proverb. + +Grown saucy by the public favor shown by the Athenian people, +Callicrates’ mule, wandering over the Acropolis, continued the unruly +conduct by which it had long since exasperated Diopeithes to the +utmost, fearlessly approaching the sanctuary of the Erechtheum, and +seeming to find nothing so dainty as the plants that grew within the +precincts of the temple. It did not fear the venomous looks Diopeithes +cast at it, and scarcely heeded the blows with which the +temple-servants tried to drive it away. It sometimes snuffed at the +cakes placed by the devout as offerings on the altar of Zeus, which +stood in the open air before the Erechtheum. If Diopeithes complained +of the sacrilege to Callicrates, the latter, shrugging his shoulders, +appealed to the animal’s legal privileges and the willingness of the +public treasurer to make good any damages it might commit. Thus, +gaining little by his complaints, the priest had long since vowed +vengeance against the bold creature. + +But the latter, running blindly to destruction and unconsciously +filling the measure of crime, one day ventured through a door +accidentally left open and unwatched, into the inmost sanctuary of the +Erechtheum and Athena Polias. The horrified temple-servants found it +insolently snuffing at a fresh wreath, they had twined, that very +morning, around the ancient wooden statue of the goddess. The next day +Diopeithes secretly lured Callicrates’ mule towards him, and flung the +animal a cake. In the evening of the same day the creature was found +lying dead on the steps of the Parthenon. + +One of Callicrates’ workmen had seen the priest of Erechtheus toss the +mule food, and all were convinced that it had fallen a victim to +Diopeithes’ vengeance. + +Some vowed to punish him for it, gathered before the Erechtheum, and +loaded the priest with loud invectives. Had not Mnesicles come up just +in time, Diopeithes would have fared ill at the laborers’ hands. + +The cup of wrath in the priest’s breast was now full. He could no +longer delay giving vent to it, commencing the great, long-plotted work +of vengeance. + +It was a stormy night, the sky was shrouded in darkness and rent clouds +floated over the moon, when three men assembled for a secret interview +in the dreary grotto of the Eumenides on the hill of the Areopagus. + +One of the trio was Diopeithes, who had invited the other two to meet +him there; for intercourse with his secret allies on the Acropolis was +too much exposed to the keen eyes of Callicrates. + +The second of the three persons, who met on the hill of Ares, was the +oligarch Thucydides, whom Pericles had overthrown. He and Diopeithes +were the first to enter the grotto, and the third now came gliding in, +half disguised, like a nocturnal thief. The oligarch glanced at this +third person with a certain shade of curiosity. Diopeithes had not +mentioned his name. But when the new-comer confronted the other two men +in the secret grotto, and his face became visible in a ray of light +from the moon, which chanced to shine out for a moment, the oligarch +started back indignantly, while a scornful smile hovered around his +lips. + +He had recognized the coarse features of the tanner Cleon, who was +mortally hated by himself and the whole oligarchist party, whose rude +violence was exerted on the Pnyx in boisterous speech to carry far +beyond all proper limits the popular rule established by Pericles, but +curbed and directed by his wise judgment + +Full of amazement and anger, the oligarch turned to Diopeithes: + +“With what man,” he cried, “do you bring me in contact?” + +But Cleon also put on an air of astonishment, and smiling derisively, +cried in the same breath: + +“You offer Cleon, the man of the people, a strange ally, Diopeithes!” + +“I did not invite you here to fight out the old battle between +oligarchy and the popular government,” said the priest of Erechtheus. +“I summoned you to a common warfare against common foes.” + +“Shall I fight enemies for the benefit of a man worse than they?” said +the oligarch. + +“Shall I destroy foes?” said Cleon, “with the aid of the very person +most hateful to me among them all?” + +Such were the exclamations of the two men in the first moment of +meeting. + +But, after an hour spent in secret conversation, during which the +crafty, malicious priest of Erechtheus talked most, a keen eye, had one +been watching the rocky hill of Ares on that gloomy night, would have +seen the two men clasp hands, though hastily and without any real +cordiality. + +Diopeithes evidently did not meddle with political affairs. He stood on +as good terms with the fierce demagogue Cleon, as with the oligarch +Thucydides. He fought, at least so he declared, solely for the respect +due the gods of the country and their sanctuaries. Neither the +demagogue nor the oligarch had any scruples about supporting him in the +conflict if, as they supposed, they thereby gained a by no means +contemptible ally for the prosecution of their own plans. But in fact +both were merely tools in the hands of the far more cunning priest, +whose sole object was to ruin his personal enemies, Anaxagoras, +Phidias, and Aspasia. + +To destroy them, he must entangle them in dangerous indictments, and in +order to indict them had secured a law specially adapted to them. But +to accomplish their condemnation he was obliged to be sure of the +people. + +He was compelled to gain influence over the votes of the multitude, but +to do this needed confederates and allies. + +This was the cause of his friendships, his secret intercourse with +persons of the most different character. His first, as it were +preparatory assault, was to be directed at Anaxagoras, then a blow, +which could not fail to also strike Pericles, would be dealt Aspasia. +Lastly, the most difficult, apparently impossible thing, would be +attempted, and all powers united to accomplish the overthrow of +Pericles, beloved by the great majority of the Athenian nation. + +He traced out all the Milesian’s foes in Athens, and secretly gathered +them around him, divided and commanded them like a well-arranged army, +and used each individual as a combatant and messenger in different +circles. + +Through the priestess of Athena Polias, he stood in close relations +with the feminine world of Athens, Telesippe and Elpinice. He formed +connections with gloomy Agoracritus, became the ally of Cratinus, +Hermippus, and other comic poets, who were doubly enraged against +Aspasia, since owing to her complaints, Pericles had at last determined +to limit the lawlessness of the comic stage. His relations extended to +mad Menon, the ex-slave, the eccentric man known to the whole city and +popular with the dregs of the populace, who willingly aided every +intrigue, and cheerfully undertook to stir up the people by malicious, +sarcastic remarks, rude jests, and coarse inventions against the +philosophers and Pericles’ wife. + +Scarcely a month had passed since the meeting of the three men on the +hill of Ares, yet the larger portion of the Athenian populace was +pervaded with a leaven of hostility towards Aspasia and Pericles’ best +friend. + +As for Anaxagoras, it was agreed that he was a denier of the gods. + +There was scarcely a person, who did not remember some bold assertion +he had heard from the philosopher’s lips on the Agora, in the Lyceum, +or some other public place. What had formerly scarcely been heeded, nay +received by some with applause, was thought suspicious by the fickle +populace, now that their mood was changed, and hatred of the +philosopher had been sowed among the people by Cleon, who was secretly +in league with Diopeithes. + +Late one evening, when the streets of Athens were deserted, a man +walking with hasty noiseless steps, glancing round him in fear of being +seen, and evidently seeking the protection of the darkness, which +surrounded him from the clouded sky, came from the street of Tripods, +in the direction of the Ilissus. + +He was not attended by the slave who, bearing a torch, usually walked +behind a nocturnal pedestrian. When this man had reached the Ilissus, +he crossed it and continued his way to the Itonian gate, where stood +only a few insignificant dwellings. + +He knocked at the door of one of these unpretending houses, and +exchanged a few words with the slave who opened it. + +The latter led him into the old man’s sleeping-room, a poorly furnished +apartment, where he lay on a couch. + +This old man was Anaxagoras, and his nocturnal visitor, Pericles. + +The philosopher looked somewhat surprised at the appearance of the +friend whom he had not seen for some time, and by whom he supposed +himself almost forgotten. + +“It is no pleasant message that occasions me to disturb your slumber,” +said Pericles, “but it may seem to you a cheering omen, that it is I +who bring it. Nor have I come solely as a messenger, but also as +counsellor and helper.” + +“If it is only bad news that brings Pericles to his old friend +Anaxagoras,” replied the old man, “that too is welcome. Say plainly and +without reserve, what you have to tell.” + +“The ambitious Cleon, who as I know is secretly instigated by the +priest of Erechtheus, has to-day accused you before the archon Basileus +of denial of the gods.” + +“Denial of the gods,” said Anaxagoras calmly, “according to Diopeithes’ +law, is punishable with death. A slight punishment for an old man.” + +“A venerable gray head threatened,” replied Pericles, “awakens more +sympathy than a youthful one. Yet I would answer for the safety of your +life with my own. I would myself appear before your judges as your +intercessor and, if it should prove necessary, offer my head for yours. +But what I shall be unable to prevent is this, that you will be placed +in prison until your case is decided—and this dreary, pitiless +imprisonment may last a long time.” + +“Let me be imprisoned,” replied Anaxagoras. “What will it avail me to +have my feet free, if my words are not?” + +“That will pass!” replied Pericles. “Your words will also be restored +to liberty, and the gnawing mouse will obtain the law the priest of +Erechtheus artfully won from the intimidated people, while I was far +away from Athens and could not throw my words into the scale. But for +the present yield to the necessities of the moment. Rise, and bind the +sandals on your feet. Leave Athens secretly, without delay. Everything +is prepared for your flight. Yonder, in the lonely bay of Phalerum, a +vessel waits to bear you wherever you choose. I have arranged +everything with my friend Cephalus, and he will himself accompany you +to your chosen asylum. It is hard for me to come to a feeble old man’s +couch at night, and say: ‘Rise and depart.’ But I must do it. In the +secret gloom of night, I will myself take you down to the bay of +Phalerum, where Cephalus awaits you.” + +“I have no important reason for going,” replied Anaxagoras, “far less +for staying; for I am old and all the roads in the world lead to the +final rest of Hades. If the man is waiting for me in a vessel in the +bay of Phalerum, why should I make him wait in vain? Take me to the +Mysian coast, to Lampsacus. There dwell men, who are friendly to me. +There they can bury me and place above my grave the word truth, that +the grandsons of the Athenians may read it when they visit Lampsacus, +and see that on the shore of the Hellespont, near the country of the +barbarians, an asylum was not grudged to truth, and a dying old man who +preached it. Call my slave, Pericles, and tell him to bind the sandals +on my feet, pack in a bundle the second chiton yonder and the few books +I possess, and go with me down to the sea and farther, if he chooses.” + +The old philosopher, with Pericles’ assistance, rose from his couch, +let the slave bind the sandals on his feet, put on his chiton, and in a +few moments was ready to set out. + +Then the two men, followed by the slave, walked silently through the +Itonian gate under the shelter of the darkness, and down the dreary +road beside the long wall to the bay of Phalerum. + +Reaching it, they found Cephalus in a nook surrounded by rocks, where +the sea plashed dreamily upon the shore. The two men greeted each other +with a silent pressure of the hand. + +Anaxagoras stood ready to take leave of Pericles, and enter the vessel. + +As they clasped hands in farewell, Pericles gazed with deep emotion at +the old man, thus cast forth in the gloom of night into a foreign land +and on a heaving sea. + +“Why do you pity me?” said the sage. “Nothing in the world finds me +unprepared. During my long life I have destroyed, bit by bit, +everything in us which is capable of suffering. As an impetuous youth, +I suffered much, saw how alluring was life, but also how frivolous and +vain. Then I gradually threw everything aside, and plunged deeper and +deeper into the quiet gulfs of undesiring contemplation. So I have +grown old and my body is decaying, but the firm pillar of +indestructible peace remains immovably fixed in my soul. You Athenians +imagine you are sending me forth on the unstable sea, and remain behind +on the firm land. But in fact it is I, who from the solid strand see +you tossing on the wild surges of life. To you, my friend, a different +fate from mine has been allotted. You have yearned for beauty, +happiness, gayety, pleasure, authority, fame. You cling to a beautiful +woman, who has ensnared your senses, a woman fair enough to bless you. +I call you blessed, but can I also call you happy? He who enjoys is +blessed, but no one is happy save he who can lose nothing, and whom +life has no power to disappoint, because he asks nothing of it.” + +“Fate allots different paths to mortals,” replied Pericles. “I have +aspired to many things, attained many things, but the last moment +closes the account, and death alone settles the sum of life. I cling, +as you say, to a woman. I have formed with her a bond of a new nature, +for the beautiful, free, and noble enjoyment of life. We are united in +testing a new thing, but how the trial will result, I do not yet know. +Many an element of perplexity interferes, a bitter drop sometimes falls +into the cup of joy, and a feeling akin to anxiety steals over me. Have +I perhaps set an undue value on beauty, life, happiness and their +shining promises? Whatever may happen, the die is cast, and my lot must +be manfully fulfilled.” + +Thus Pericles and Anaxagoras poured forth to each other the inmost +depths of their souls, as they stood together in the silent night, and +said farewell beside the waves. + +Then they remembered their warm friendship of four and twenty years, +and embraced and kissed each other. + +Anaxagoras once more glanced back at the dim outlines of the city, +saying: + +“Farewell, thou city of Pallas Athena! Farewell, Attic soil, which has +so long been hospitable to me! Thou hast afforded a place for my germs +of thought. Good and evil spring forth at the same time from the seeds +sown by mortal hands, but only the good lasts forever. Calmly, and with +many a wish for thy happiness, I descend into the tossing ship and, as +an old man, again trust to the same surges that bore me in my youthful +vigor to thy strand.” + +With these words, the sage of Clazomenæ entered the vessel. + +Again he waved his hand to Pericles, then the sound of oars echoed on +the air—there was a low plash of surf—and the vessel glided silently +and swiftly across the gray surface of the water out towards the dark +open sea. + +A few sea-birds in the clefts of the rocky shore were roused from their +sleep, fluttered their wings a little, and then slumbered again. + +Pericles stood on the lonely strand, gazing after the fast disappearing +ship. + +Then, absorbed in thought, he returned to the city, fanned by the first +cool breeze of the gray dawn. + +On reaching the Agora, he saw that in spite of the early hour, a throng +of people were pressing around the so-called royal hall. + +The crowd were staring at a paper containing a publication of the +archon. It was the copy of a public accusation. + +As the throng was great and those in the rear became impatient, a tall +man read aloud in a stentorian voice this impeachment, which was hung +before the official seat of the archon Basileus in the royal hall. + +It ran as follows: + +“Accusation, signed and defended by oath of Hermippus, son of Lysis, +against Aspasia, daughter of Axiochus of Miletus—Aspasia is guilty of +the crime of not acknowledging the gods of the country, of having +spoken irreverently of the sacred customs of the Athenians, and joined +the debates and views of the philosophers who denied the gods. She is +also guilty of seducing and corrupting young people by dangerous +speeches, especially young girls, whom she has in her house, as well as +leading freeborn women to insubordination and immodesty. Punishment: +death.” + +These words echoed loudly over the market-place just as Pericles +passed, unobserved by the throng, whose attention was fixed upon the +royal hall. He turned pale. + +“Hurrah!” shouted some one in the crowd. “That will fall into Pericles’ +conjugal happiness like a thunderbolt into a dove’s nest.” + +“And Hermippus, the accuser!” exclaimed a second. “Hermippus, the comic +poet!” + +“That was to be expected!” replied a third. “I heard it myself from +Hermippus’ lips, after Pericles, at Aspasia’s instigation had clipped +the wings of comedy. ‘Ah, well!’ said he; ‘if our mouths are shut on +the stage, we’ll open them in the Agora.’” + +Rarely had any accusation excited the minds of the Athenians to such an +extent, rarely had party strife been kindled to such a degree, as by +the indictment of Pericles’ wife, and people looked forward with no +little impatience to the day when the complaint would be officially +dealt with before the Heliastæ. + +At the same time Phidias returned from Olympia to Athens, and +Diopeithes was no little enraged to see the man he hated again walking +over the Acropolis, talking with Mnesicles and Callicrates, and aiding +by his counsel the work on the propylæ. + +One day Diopeithes, standing behind the pillars of the Erechtheum, saw +Phidias in the company of his former favorite, Agoracritus. The two men +walked up and down for some time between the Parthenon and Erechtheum, +engaged in eager conversation, then approached a block of marble, close +by the priest of Erechtheus, whom they did not see, sat down on it and +quietly continued their talk. It was an easy matter for Diopeithes to +hear the whole. + +“The plastic art of the Athenians is beginning to take strange paths,” +said Agoracritus. “On seeking Athens once more after many a pilgrimage, +I find singular work exhibited in the studios of many of my younger +fellow-artists. Where has the old sublimity and dignity vanished? Have +you seen Stypax’s entrail-roaster? We devoted our best efforts to the +statues of gods and heroes, and now all the subtleties of the art are +employed to represent a miserable slave, who is puffing out his cheeks +to blow the fire over which he is roasting entrails. Strongylion’s art +is essaying the task of casting the Trojan horse in bronze. From the +hands of Demetrius I saw an old man with a bald head, swollen veins, +and a beard in which single hairs seemed blown apart from the mass by +the wind.” + +“Sculptors would not create such things,” said Phidias, “if they were +not beginning to please the Athenians. Who could fail to perceive the +degeneration gradually stealing into the heart and veins of the +Athenian nation? As in sculpture hideous things are beginning to appear +beside beautiful ones, so on the Pnyx the noisy outcries of a Cleon are +becoming audible beside the Olympic oratory of the noble Pericles. +Formerly we had but one Hipponicus and one Pyrilampes, now we have +hundreds.” + +“Luxury and pleasure are gaining too much preponderance,” said +Agoracritus. “And who first publicly preached the message of luxury and +pleasure-seeking? Since Pericles’ friend once snatched the prize from +my—I might almost say your—work in favor of the insolent Alcamenes, +rage against the alluring woman has never left my soul. When she +contemptuously called my Aphrodite a Nemesis, the thought darted +through my brain: ‘Ay, she shall be a Nemesis to you! You shall feel +the power of the avenging goddess!’ And indeed, vengeance is +approaching with slow, but sure and steady steps.” + +“The gods will judge equally and justly!” replied Phidias gravely. “And +if they subdue the Milesian’s smiling insolence, they will also punish +the secret malice of that Diopeithes, whose ally your thirst for +vengeance has made you. Whatever we may have to censure and avenge in +Pericles’ wife, do not forget, that but for her brave and encouraging +words, the pinnacles of our Parthenon would not tower here completed, +and that we have had no fiercer opponent of this very work, than the +malignant priest of Erechtheus.” + +“So you put yourself forward as the friend and protector of the +Milesian?” said Agoracritus. + +“Not so!” replied Phidias. “I like Aspasia as little as Diopeithes, and +shall avoid both by instantly leaving Athens for Olympia, which has +grown dear to me. I have found the Elians more grateful than the +Athenians. I have done enough, it seems to me, for Athens. The remnant +of my days I will consecrate to Hellas, leaving Athens to its Aspasias, +demagogues, drunkards, and spiteful, worthless, revengeful priests of +Erechtheus!” + +“You did right to turn your back on Athens;” said Agoracritus, “the +Athenians might perhaps have weakened and corrupted even your +art—according to their latest taste, you would perhaps be compelled to +carve Priapus instead of the Olympic gods.” + +“Or the loathsome, misshapen form of yonder beggar, who is basking on +this pure height like a salamander escaped from some marsh!” replied +Phidias, pointing to the well-known cripple Menon, who was lying in the +sun between the pillars. + +The beggar had heard Phidias’ words, scowled, clenched his fist, and +muttered a curse. + +Phidias and Agoracritus rose, and taking a step farther in the +direction of the Erechtheum, saw Diopeithes standing behind the +pillars. + +“Why, see how watchful the owls of the Erechtheum are!” said Phidias. + +The embarrassed listener cast a sullen glance of hatred at the +sculptor, saying: + +“The owls of the Erechtheum have sharp beaks and talons! Take heed that +they don’t rend your eyes.” + +The sculptor merely repeated the Homeric saying: + +“Pallas Athena never suffers me to tremble!” + +“Very well!” murmured Diopeithes, when the two men had turned away. +“Rely on the protection of your Pallas, I will depend upon the power of +mine. The preparations for the decisive battle between your gold and +ivory botchwork, and the ancient divine statue within the sacred halls +of the Erechtheum have been made long enough.” + +He was just turning away, when mad Menon, still abusing Phidias in a +soliloquy, struck his crutch against one of the smooth polished +pillars, breaking off a fragment. + +Perceiving this, Diopeithes approached; the eyes of the mad beggar and +the priest of Erechtheus met. + +They knew each other. + +Menon, as has already been mentioned, had once been tortured with the +other slaves of his accused master. Hellenic slaves were never +questioned before a court, except with the rack. So under the torture +Menon made his deposition, and on the strength of the deposition the +Athenian was acquitted. But from the time of that painful examination, +the slave’s limbs withered and he became a cripple. His master, out of +sympathy, released him, and at his death bequeathed him a considerable +sum, which the half-crazy Menon threw into the gulf of Barathron, +preferring to wander among the Athenians as an idle beggar. Part of the +time he lived on the food placed upon the graves of the dead. When +freezing in winter, he warmed his palsied limbs beside the smith’s +forge or the public baker’s oven. His favorite spot was a gloomy place +in Melitæ, where the bodies of executed criminals and the ropes and +clothes of suicides were thrown. He carefully collected the ropes, and +counted them daily. A dog that had grown mangy, and therefore been +driven away by its master, attached itself to him, and the pair became +inseparable. Menon had a spiteful, malicious nature, and it seemed to +afford him the greatest pleasure when he could cause discord or other +mischief among the people. He seemed filled with a secret desire for +vengeance, and everything he did appeared calculated to avenge slavery +on the free oppressors. The cripple intentionally pretended to be more +insane than he really was, in order to hurl the sharpest truths into +the Athenians’ faces, and especially to be permitted many liberties, +that would not have been forgiven any one in his sober senses. He was +always to be seen on the Agora or in other public places, and had +become perfectly at home on the Acropolis, where he wandered among the +throng of workmen. He liked every spot, where there was a crowd and he +could play his spiteful part. + +But he found special enjoyment on the Acropolis, from the moment he +perceived that the priest of Erechtheus, Diopeithes, and the architect, +Callicrates, were bitter enemies. He seemed to find his chief +occupation in fomenting quarrels between the temple-servants and +Callicrates’ workmen, willingly allowing himself to be used as a +tale-bearer or spy. He served both parties, and hated both, as he hated +all men who were freeborn and Athenians. + +Diopeithes himself sometimes talked with him, and soon perceived the +usefulness of this tool. The man was always among the people, watching +and listening to everything. No one thought himself obliged to conceal +aught from the imbecile, and the biting wit of his evil tongue made him +liked as well as feared in the market-place and the streets. + +So Menon and Diopeithes knew and understood each other perfectly. The +instinct of secret rage and vengeance made the priest and the lame +beggar allies. + +“You are angry with Phidias?” Diopeithes began. + +“May the hell-dog seize him with its hundred jaws! Arrogant scoundrel! +Always pushed me out of the door, when he saw me warming myself at the +melting-furnace in his workshop—jeered at my deformity. ‘You are a +monster, Menon,’ said he ‘a horror’—he wanted to see nothing but +Olympic gods and goddesses around him—ha! ha! ha! May lightning blast +him, him and all the Athenians!” + +“So you often lingered in his studio?” + +“He didn’t always see me—but I saw him—Menon knows how to lurk in +corners—saw him carrying on his foolish shining work—saw him and his +pupils at work on the white stone, and the bronze, and the ivory, and +the shining gold—” + +“Did you see him working with the gold?” + +A strange light gleamed in the priest’s eyes, as he uttered the words. + +“Did you see him working with the gold, Menon?” he repeated, his eyes +glowing mysteriously; “with the shining gold the city of the Athenians +delivered to him, that he might shape from it and ivory the statues of +the gods on the Acropolis.” + +“Of course, of course—with the shining gold of the Athenians—saw him +wallowing in whole heaps of gold and ivory—that sparkled, that +glittered—” + +“Did all the shining gold go into the melting-furnace, Menon? Didn’t +some of it stick to the fingers of those who worked with it?” + +At this crafty question, the beggar grinned cunningly at the priest. A +fiendish light flashed in his eyes. + +“Ha, ha, ha,” he cried, laughing. “Menon knows how to crouch, to +watch—saw him work, even when he thought himself alone and +unnoticed—saw him secretly open chests where the hidden treasure +glittered—ha! ha! ha!—the bright gold—the Athenians’ gold—he stared at +it like a griffin guarding treasure—seized it as if with claws—so—he +foamed at the mouth when he saw me—pushed me out of doors—wouldn’t let +me warm myself. Wait, you rascal—flash your eyes, you gray old +griffin!” + +Again the beggar raised his crutch menacingly against the Parthenon, as +if longing to shatter it, in defiance of its creator. + +After a short pause, the priest advanced still nearer and whispered: + +“Hark ye, Menon, would you say what you have just said on the +Agora—before all the Athenians?” + +“Before the Athenians—before the twenty thousand scurvy knaves of +Athenians—may the plague destroy them!” + +From the hour of this interview, tidings spread through Athens of the +harsh, proud, offensive words Phidias had uttered against his +fellow-artists and the whole Athenian nation. It was related how he had +abused popular government, and scorning his native land, praised the +Elians, vowing to turn his back on Athens, and henceforth consecrate +his services to other Hellenes. At the same time rumors were whispered, +that all the gold delivered to him at the public expense had not found +its way into his melting-furnace. + +Like evil seed, these words sprung up amid the Athenian populace in +poisonous weeds of rage and hostility against the noble, quiet creator +of the Parthenon. + +The day had come on which Aspasia’s case was to be decided before the +Heliastæ, under the superintendence of the archon Basileus, [9] in one +of the courts of justice in the Agora. + +From early dawn the populace surged around the court of justice. + +Aspasia was the only calm and composed person among the Athenians on +that day. She stood in the upper room of the house, gazing through a +window-like opening upon the throng moving towards the Agora. + +Her face was somewhat pale, but not from fear, for a contemptuous smile +hovered around her lips. + +Pericles approached. + +He was far paler than Aspasia, and an expression of deep earnestness +rested upon his features, as he silently gazed upward at the cloudy +sky. It was a gray day. Flocks of cranes were flying from Strymon +across Attica, and their croaking seemed to forebode rain. + +A long procession of elderly men now passed up the streets. They were +the Heliastæ, who were to try Aspasia—the judges before whom Pericles’ +wife was to appear, by whom her sentence would be spoken. + +“Look at those old fellows!” said Aspasia, smiling. “Half of them wear +shabby cloaks, and look hungry and lean as they walk, leaning on the +long Athenian staff, which Phidias did not spare the friends of beauty, +even on the frieze of the Parthenon. Some are chewing garlic, and +carrying between their lips the dirty oboles they are to receive in +payment for this day’s work.” + +“They are men of the people,” replied Pericles, shrugging his +shoulders. “They are men of the Athenian people, who once pleased you +and for whose sake, as you told me, you left the Persian court and your +beautiful Miletus and, urged by longing, came across the sea to seek +and live among them.” + +Aspasia made no reply. + +“These garlic-chewing Athenians, who carry long staffs and hold oboles +in their mouths,” continued Pericles, “are the same whose symmetry and +unaffected dignity seemed to you worthy of admiration, whose patriotism +touched you, whose taste for art not only seemed to you peerless in the +works of sculptors and poets, but also in their enthusiasm, their +subtle power of seeing, hearing, enjoying—” + +“But I now know,” interrupted Aspasia, “that the much-praised, refined +Attic nation still has a remnant of rudeness, I may say barbarism.” + +“There is nothing perfect under the sun,” said Pericles, “and brilliant +lights are associated with the darkest shadows. I remember having +recently seen a strange statue in one of our sculptors’ studios—a +figure with wings on its shoulders and the hoofs of a goat. The +Athenian nation seems like this mongrel. It is winged for the loftiest +flight, but also walks on goats’ hoofs. For the rest, consider that the +greatest merits of the Athenian nation are exclusively its own, but it +shares its weaknesses with others. And as the fairest woman is still +always a woman, the most gifted nation is still a nation, burdened with +the weaknesses and passions of those called the people, the masses, the +great multitude.” + +“The Athenian nation,” cried Aspasia indignantly, “is more thankless, +fickle, frivolous, swayed by every breath, than any other.” + +“But it is amiable,” said Pericles, with a slight touch of sarcasm, +“and pleasure-loving, and gay, and an enthusiastic friend and patron of +the beautiful. What do you want more, Aspasia? Haven’t you yourself +often laughed at and derided the poor thinker, Socrates, because he +seemed to demand of the Athenians other virtues than those I have just +named?” + +Aspasia turned proudly away, as if offended. + +“It is time to go to court in the Agora, where the judges await you,” +said Pericles after a pause. “Have you no fear, Aspasia? Your features +betray none. Will you leave me to bear all the anxiety alone?” + +“I fear the odor of garlic in those rooms,” replied Aspasia, “far more +than the sentence that may be passed upon me by the lips of those men. +I still feel animated by the same courage, that inspired me amid the +throng at Megara and in the streets of Eleusis.” + +During this conversation, the Heliastæ had reached the court-room, as +well as the archon Basileus with several subordinate officials, public +clerks, and witnesses. Outside the court-room, the throng of people +swarmed in eager excitement. There was a confused murmur of opinions, +wishes, predictions. Friends and foes of the accused, as well as +impartial judges, were heard among them. + +“Do you know why they accused Anaxagoras and Aspasia?” cried one. +“Because they wanted to strike Pericles in a sensitive spot, and dared +not attack him personally. There is no man in Athens, who would venture +openly to assail Pericles.” + +“But couldn’t it be done?” cried a crafty little man with cunning eyes, +coming forward. “Couldn’t it be done? Could not a better and more exact +account be required of Pericles, after his long years of rule, than he +has hitherto rendered? Don’t items occur in his accounts with the mere +note: judiciously employed? What does judiciously employed mean, I ask? +Eh? Can dust be more insolently strewn in people’s eyes? Do you hear, +judiciously employed?” + +So saying, the man continued his way through the crowd, asking +everywhere what judiciously employed meant? + +“Those are the sums,” replied one person mysteriously, “Pericles used +to silence influential men in the Peloponnesus, that they might do +Athens no harm—” + +“That they might not prevent the establishment of tyranny at Athens!” +observed the crafty little man with a scornful laugh. “If you suppose +the learned Pericles, when he whispers with his friend, is only +calculating the length of a flea’s foot or the width of a gnat’s rump, +you are greatly mistaken. He has long talked foolishly about the unity +of the whole Hellenic country—he would like, to put it briefly, to +become ruler of all Hellas. His wife, the Milesian, placed this worm in +his ear, and it has now crept into his brain and made him mad. This +hetæra yearns for nothing less than a crown—she would fain be called a +queen—queen of Hellas—her countrywoman’s laurels won’t let her rest.” + +Such were the words of the sharp-tongued scenter of tyrants. But in the +court-room in the Agora, the judges already sat on their benches, +waiting for the commencement of the trial. The presiding officer was +the archon Basileus, surrounded by clerks and servants. + +The court-room was surrounded by bars, a latticed door affording +ingress only to those summoned by the archon. + +Opposite the seats of the judges a somewhat lofty stage was erected for +the accused as well as for the complainant, thus rendering their +figures visible and their voices audible for a long distance. + +On one of these elevated platforms sat Hermippus, a man of morose +nature, whose piercing eye roved restlessly around. + +On the other Aspasia was seated, with Pericles beside her, for as a +woman and especially a foreigner, she was obliged to be represented by +a man who was a native citizen. + +It was a touching spectacle to many hearts, to see the fairest and most +gifted woman of her time, the wife of the great Pericles, on the +platform as an indicted prisoner. + +The fact that Pericles sat beside her increased the serious, moving +character of the scene. + +The judges, and the majority of the people, felt a sort of pride in +seeing that even the most powerful were compelled to appear before +their tribunal, submit to the omnipotent civil law. + +Hermippus gazed maliciously at the beautiful woman, whose face was +overspread by a slight pallor, that scarcely diminished the expression +of resolute will which rested on her features. + +The archon Basileus now opened the examination by calling upon the +complainant to take an oath, that he had only made the accusation for +the sake of truth and justice. The judges themselves, on entering upon +their office, had taken the oath of justice and conscientiousness. + +The archon next ordered one of the public clerks to read aloud, first +the accusation, and then the refutation. + +Then he requested the complainant to prove his accusation, verbally and +in detail. + +Hermippus rose. His speech was full of sarcasm. The people felt +transported to the comic stage. He discussed in sharp, incisive words +the acts on which, according to his assertion, the accusation against +Aspasia rested: how at Eleusis she had spoken irreverently, before all +the people, of the Eleusinian gods and the sacred customs of the +country; how she had held intercourse with Sophists, with Anaxagoras, +Socrates, especially Protagoras, that most eloquent denier of the gods, +who had lived for some time at Athens, but was at present wandering in +other Hellenic cities, preaching heresies and corrupting youth; how she +had directed all her efforts to inciting Athenian women to rebel +against the laws of the country, and once at the Thesmophorian festival +stood forth before all the Athenian women to induce them to overthrow +the venerable laws that hallowed marriage and family life; how she had +lured freeborn women into her home, to teach them the arts of the +hetæra, and at last gone so far as to keep in her house a number of +young girls, for the sole purpose of alluring the distinguished men of +Athens. + +Hermippus brought forward as witnesses many of those who had heard the +remarks Aspasia made at Eleusis; but allowed the written depositions of +some of them to be read aloud by the public clerk. The instigation of +the women to a conspiracy against the laws of the state he proved by +several women, who had taken part in the Thesmophorian festival. The +attempt to corrupt freeborn women he corroborated by the written +deposition of Xenophon’s wife, which had been extorted by Telesippe and +Cimon’s sister. With regard to the young girls in Aspasia’s house, he +appealed to the general knowledge of the Athenians, and did not neglect +to bring into special prominence the fact that, for the sake of one of +these girls, the Athenian commonwealth had recently been involved in by +no means safe complications with Megara, and the allies of this hostile +Dorian city. + +He closed with the statement that Aspasia had committed a threefold +crime—against faith in the gods and the religion of the country, +against the government and the dignity of its laws, against propriety +and morality, then requested a number of edicts to be read aloud by the +clerk, and proved that, according to the Athenian code, all these acts +were punishable, and since death was the penance assigned to most, +Aspasia’s life, after being convicted of these crimes, was forfeited to +the law. Lastly, with raised voice and passionate excitement, he +entreated the judges to guard the most sacred thing a commonwealth +possessed, chastise the insolence of the foreigner who sought the +overthrow of the statutes inherited from their forefathers, and not +allow the Athenian government, hitherto loved and blessed by the gods, +to perish in the school of insubordination, contempt of law, and denial +of the gods. + +Hermippus’ passionate speech made a deep impression on the judges, most +of whom were elderly men from the lower classes of the people. A murmur +rose among the crowd beyond the barriers, who had listened silently to +Hermippus’ explanation. + +“Hermippus has spoken admirably—his argument was sharp and +convincing—he has the law on his side—the Milesian’s life is +forfeited.” + +After Hermippus had concluded and resumed his seat, Pericles rose. + +The deepest silence instantly prevailed, and every one listened +intently for the first words from the lips of Aspasia’s husband. + +Pericles seemed changed. He did not appear as he looked when standing +before the people on the orator’s platform upon the Pnyx, announcing +his opinions with dignified composure, secure of success. For the first +time his calmness seemed feigned, and a slight tremor in his voice was +audible when he began to speak. + +He denied Aspasia’s guilt and, taking up one accusation after the +other, sought to prove, that only the exaggeration of hatred could drag +her conduct within the limits of crime worthy of death. Where he could +not deny that the letter of the Athenian law was against her, he +appealed from her acts to her noble intentions, and tried to show that +noble deeds could never be criminal. + +But this time there was something uncertain in the argument of the +famous orator, who bore the surname of the Olympian. It could not fail +to be noticed, that his words produced but a slight impression upon his +hearers. Was the secret emotion that possessed his mind too powerful? + +At last Pericles followed Hermippus’ example, and closed his argument +with an address to the judges, which coming from the heart, appealed to +the heart. + +He said: “This woman is my wife. If she is guilty of the crime of which +that man accuses her, I am her accomplice. Hermippus accuses us of +having diminished the consideration paid to the gods, impaired the +authority of the government, injured modesty and morality. Men of +Athens! If I can be permitted to arrogate to myself any part of the +fame you have bestowed on my impetuous deeds, I have not diminished the +splendor of the divinities of this country, but glorified them as no +one else has done, by the erection of superb temples and statues on the +Acropolis and at Eleusis. I have not injured the state, but fought for +it in battle, I have broken the power of the oligarchs, and given +liberty to the people. I have not lessened, but promoted morality, by +seeking to spread among you the love of the noble and beautiful, the +eternal conquerors of everything rude and base. In such efforts, men of +Athens, this woman, Aspasia of Miletus, has not hindered, but supported +and encouraged me. No small part of what will perhaps glorify the +people and city of the Athenians forever is due to her. The memory of +her name will always be connected, not with the decline of this +commonwealth, but with its noblest prosperity, power, and splendor. +These are deeds, men of Athens, and we both believe we have rendered +services to the nation and city of the Athenians. But that Hermippus +comes to you and cries: ‘Tear Pericles’ chosen wedded wife from his +breast, and drag her to death before his eyes.’” + +With these words a tear shone in Pericles’ eye. + +A tear in the eye of the quiet, dignified Pericles! A tear in the +Olympian’s eye! It produced the effect of something not imaginable +according to any ordinary law of nature. It was bewildering, like a +miraculous apparition, a meteor, a sign sent by the gods. + +Those who had seen with their own eyes the tear that had sparkled for a +moment in Pericles’, to be instantly crushed again, looked gravely at +each other and whispered: + +“Pericles wept.” + +From the court-room to the Agora the words spread: + +“Pericles wept.” + +From the Agora the tidings ran in a short time through the whole city +of Athens: + +“Pericles wept.” + +At the same time the news reached Athens of a naval battle at Sybota, +in which Athenian vessels had helped the Corinthians conquer the +Corcyræans. But the people only half listened to the tale—they were +talking of Pericles’ tear. + +Hermippus’ speech before the Heliastæ had been closed by the running +out of the sand in the hour-glass, Pericles’ was ended by a tear. + +At a sign from the archon, a servant came forward and distributed the +votes among the judges, handing each a white and black stone, one for +acquittal and one for condemnation. + +Then the Heliastæ left their seats, approached a bronze urn and threw a +white or black stone into it. The other pebble was flung into another, +wooden vessel. + +The first voting was to decide the question of guilt or innocence, the +second was intended in case of guilt, to determine the punishment of +the accused person. + +The votes of the Heliastæ were now delivered, and the black and white +stones instantly counted before the archon’s eyes. + +The gaze of all was fixed with intense eagerness on the black and white +stones rolling out of the urn. + +Behold! the white lots of life increased in number, victoriously +outshining the dark stones of death. + +Pericles’ wife was acquitted. The heavy weight of the hero’s tear had +fallen with decisive power into the scales of Themis. + +The verdict announced by the archon’s lips was carried, as if on wings, +over the whole Agora. + +Aspasia rose. A faint flush suffused her face. Her glance, sparkling +with brighter radiance, wandered for a moment toward the Heliastæ. Then +she mutely held out her hand to Pericles, who led her away. A veil +covered her face, as she passed through the crowd. + +The clear-voiced greeting of the Athenians received Pericles in the +Agora. + +In every street through which he passed with his veiled wife on his way +home, all kinds of remarks, according to the mood of the individual, +were whispered or uttered aloud. + +But one exclamation was constantly repeated: + +“What a superb woman Aspasia always is!” + +This exclamation at last gained the upper hand over all others, and +only mad Menon shouted an insulting epithet after the beautiful +Milesian as she passed him. + +Suddenly, emerging from the crowd, Socrates stood beside Pericles and +Aspasia. + +“I congratulate you, Aspasia!” he said, joining them. “What hours of +torture these have been to your friends.” + +“Where were you, when the verdict was given?” asked Aspasia. + +“Among the people!” replied Socrates. + +“And what did you hear among the people all this time?” + +“Many and various things,” answered Socrates; “but at last only two +sentences remained and passed from lip to lip.” + +“And what were they?” + +“‘Pericles wept!’ and ‘what a beautiful woman Aspasia is!’ + +“Strange coincidence!” continued Socrates in his fantastic, reflective +way. “Aspasia is the most beautiful woman, and the happy husband of the +fairest wife wept. Take care, Aspasia, that this tear of Pericles is +his last! It is only a first tear which is sublime, the second would be +ridiculous. Only the first touches, moves—a second has no effect. +Pericles must never be permitted to weep again! Do you hear, Aspasia? +Pericles must never be permitted to weep again.” + +“Is it I, who force tears from Pericles’ eyes?” asked Aspasia, secretly +offended. + +“I assert nothing, except that Pericles must never be permitted to weep +again!” replied Socrates, and vanished amid the crowd. + +Aspasia was greatly excited, “What? The hostile Athenian populace had +acquitted her, and from amid the throng of reconciled enemies stepped +forth a friend, to accuse her in words full of evil foreboding.” + +“You know the strange fellow!” said Pericles. “Have patience with him. +You are well aware he means kindly by us both.” + +But Aspasia was angry. A long-cherished idea of punishing the strange +mortal for the bold license of his tongue, awoke with redoubled power +in the brain of the high-spirited woman, as she walked proudly, secure +of victory, by her husband’s side. + +Two men followed the pair at some distance, a scornful smile hovered +around their lips as they whispered together. + +It was Diopeithes and the oligarch Thucydides. + +“The woman has escaped us,” said the oligarch, with a gloomy look. + +“So much the worse for her!” replied the priest. “You know the people. +If she had been condemned, they would pity her and Pericles; now she +has been acquitted they will instantly say the judges were too lenient, +and that Pericles’ power is growing more and more dangerous, if a +criminal is released for his sake.” + +“Triumph for to-day!” continued Diopeithes, shaking his fist at +Aspasia’s husband. “The arrows you turned from your wife’s head, will +strike yours only the more surely.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CONFLICTS AND VICTORIES. + + +Pericles, accompanied by his friend Sophocles, entered the Agora early +in the morning just as the gloomy Euripides came up with the +truth-seeker. Somewhat surprised at the sight of the luggage several +slaves were carrying behind him, both stood still and asked the poet +the cause of his departure, and where he intended to go. + +“I am about to sail for Salamis,” replied Euripides. “On the quiet +island I hope at last to find the seclusion and peace I need. The +grotto on the shore, where I first saw the light, I will henceforth +make my favorite resting-place and give myself up to my thoughts +undisturbed.” + +“Doesn’t your country-house afford you sufficient quiet and seclusion?” +asked Pericles. + +“Don’t talk to me of the country-house!” replied the poet rudely. “I’ve +become thoroughly disgusted with it by the constant increase of the +frogs, who croak all night in the neighboring ponds, and still more so +by the swarms of crickets, whose incessant chirping night and day +disturbs my thoughts and interrupts me in composing. The old bachelor, +Anacreon, praised the ‘clear-voiced cicadas,’ but I curse them. My head +is sore, and I’ve been driven half crazy by the shrill noise of these +tormenting spirits, these chirping evil demons. In vain my friend +Socrates helped me catch and kill them for several days. Do you smile, +lamb-hearted Sophocles? You are doubtless capable of giving us, without +delay, an enthusiastic eulogy on the frogs and crickets.” + +“Why not?” replied Sophocles, smiling. “All nature rejoices in sound, +and sings. The waves, the winds, the pine-trees sing, the stone sings +when touched by the foot of the pedestrian. And sound is so fond of +hearing itself that, a second Narcissus, it ogles its own image in the +mirror of the echo. Therefore, worthy Euripides, leave us the frogs and +crickets.” + +“There it is!” Euripides angrily interrupted. “Oh, these wits, these +‘beauty-blessed,’ ‘beauty-living’ people, or whatever else they choose +to call themselves. They understand how to cover everything, even the +most accursed, with the varnish of pretty figures of speech, never do +they look seriously at the serious affairs of life. I tell you, +crickets are insufferable insects, whatever old Anacreon and pious +Sophocles may poetically write about them. Besides, as you know, it’s +not only the frogs and crickets that disgust me with living on the soil +of Attica. I no longer like Athens. People don’t care to endure the +jeers of the street urchins about a runaway wife, however well they may +be spiced with Attic wit. This life isn’t to my taste, and there are +all sorts of threatening things in the air. What is the use of being +more enlightened, if morals degenerate? Farewell! I am going to Salamis +at once.” + +“Must our happiness be dependent on place?” objected Sophocles. “We +must remain at our posts. It ought to be the pride of a Greek, I think, +to remain unchanged amid everything stern and gloomy that may assail +him, and live on in undisturbed cheerfulness and beauty, as one who +realizes, in the beautiful harmony of his own nature, the best and +highest portion of human existence, and will allow nothing to disturb +him in the noblest enjoyment of life.” + +“And when age approaches, with shaking knees, and the sources of +pleasure are exhausted?” observed Euripides. + +“Then I will renounce the pleasure whose sources are dry,” replied +Sophocles, “but only to seize, instead of the glad enjoyment of +manhood, always connected with a certain uneasiness, the far more +beautiful, divine repose and cheerfulness, the halcyon peace glorified +by beauty, of age.” + +“You speak like a son of the good old time,” answered Euripides, “and +do not consider that we have gradually become too thoughtful to live in +beautiful idyllic cheerfulness.” + +“As for me,” Socrates now began, “I think what Sophocles has said about +being obliged to preserve a beautiful harmony in our own natures very +singular. I should like to learn, and some impulse urges me to ask him +explicitly, whether in speaking of ‘beautiful harmony’ he has morality +in view, or whether he thinks of harmony as beautiful, in the sense in +which we call women or works of sculpture beautiful, charming, and +pleasant to the eye? Whether, to express it differently, he places +special importance on goodness, or what in the ordinary sense is called +beautiful? Whereby we are brought back to the old question so often +raised between us, but never settled, whether beauty should take +precedence of goodness, or goodness of beauty?” + +The truth-seeker gazed eagerly into the poet’s face, while awaiting his +reply. + +At the same moment a tumult arose in the throng, which meantime had +assembled in the Agora. The signal for a popular assembly on the Pnyx +had been given, and everybody was moving towards it. + +Pericles, also preparing to take the same direction, said smiling: + +“Nor can we settle your favorite question to-day, worthy son of +Sophroniscus, for the Athenians are summoned to the Pnyx, and there are +more urgent matters to be decided there.” + +Socrates stood silent and perplexed, like a person who has been +interrupted just at the wrong time. + +“Myrmecides,” said an Athenian citizen to his neighbor, as he was in +the act of leaving the Agora and ascending to the Pnyx with the rest of +the excited crowd, “whatever we may decide up there to-day, I have a +presentiment of evil, evil for Hellas. There are oracles—oracles of +ill; there are also oracles of Bacis in circulation, now suddenly +becoming intelligible. But the most ominous thing—you know Delos, +sacred Delos, the island of the Ionian god Apollo, was never visited by +an earthquake—” + +“Never!” replied Myrmecides; “every boy knows from infancy that sacred +Delos is fastened with brazen chains to the bottom of the sea, and +cannot be shaken by subterranean storms like the other islands of the +Archipelago.” + +“So it was believed till yesterday,” continued Cynogenes; “but +yesterday the news came that the ground trembled for a minute, and the +subterranean storm passed beneath it with a hollow, threatening roar.” + +“Delos shaken?” cried Myrmecides; “then there is nothing firm in +Hellas.” + +Other men joined Myrmecides and Cynogenes, mingling in their +conversation. But they were soon interrupted and induced to turn by a +loud tumult behind them on the Agora. + +“A Megarian dog!” was the cry, “a Megarian dog! Kill him, stone him!” + +A shrieking throng had hastily assembled around a man, who had been +seized by several Athenians, and was now firmly held amid loud +exclamations of anger. + +It was not the first time a Megarian had been involved in a dangerous +fray at Athens. Even before the Athenian market and harbor were +prohibited to the Dorian city, many a citizen of the latter, when +bringing a fat sucking-pig or other article to market, had been jeered, +reviled, or rudely pulled about. + +But the ill-will against the Megarians had risen to fury since the +latter, with barbarous cruelty, had ventured to kill the herald sent +from Athens to Megara. Since that day the Athenian people had sworn to +stone any Megarian, who allowed himself to be caught in Athens. + +The man thus assailed begged for his life, swearing by all the gods +that he was no Megarian, but came from Eleusis. + +“Don’t believe it!” cried the man who had first seized him and still +held him with an iron grasp. “Don’t believe it! I know him. He’s a +Megarian dog—a Megarian dog!” + +At this moment several archons passed who, after inquiring into the +affair, prevented the man’s murder, summoned several of the Scythian +archers, and ordered him to be taken away as a prisoner. + +On the Pnyx, a little apart from the place of the popular assembly, +three men were whispering together in low, eager tones. These were +Cleon, the tanner, Lysicles, the sheep dealer, and Pamphilus, the +sausage-maker. They did not seem to agree. + +The ambassadors of the Lacedemonians now came up the Pnyx to join the +popular assembly of the Athenians. They had arrived to demand +satisfaction for their ally, Megara, and measured the Athenians, who +surrounded them, with scornful eyes. + +One of the oligarchs whispered into the ear of another: “Shall we +desire war or peace?” + +“It might perhaps be profitable,” replied the other, “if the +Peloponnesians would come and clear a little in the country.” + +A few hours later, the Athenians came down from the Pnyx in a more +excited mood than they had gone up. Numerous groups formed on the +Agora. + +“I think Pericles never spoke so admirably!” cried Myrmecides. “Oh, +that fox with the lion’s face! How moderately he behaved, how quietly, +how full of apparent compliance! How ready he seemed for any possible +concession! Only he made counter demands, which he well knew would +never be granted. What a master-stroke, when he said Athens was ready +to restore perfect liberty to her allies, only Sparta must first do the +same with hers.” + +“I scent the smell of tar, the creak of oars, the shouts of trierarchs, +the gilding of statues of Pallas at the Piræeus,” said Sporgilus +thoughtfully. + +“Why not, you coward?” cried the others. “Have you no fancy for a merry +naval expedition?” + +“Well, the sea is such a salt, bitter thing!” replied Sporgilus. + +“Feed yourself on garlic,” echoed around him, “on garlic, you coward, +like the fighting-cocks, that you may grow more ardent and get +courage.” + +The voice of the notorious tanner, Cleon, was now heard in another +dense group. “I want war, but without Pericles!” he exclaimed. “The war +ought not to be allowed to make Pericles greater. How shall we demand +an account from him, how shall we get at him, if he is at the head of a +fleet or army? So away with Pericles! The Spartans’ demand that he +should be banished from Athens as an Alcmæonid, ought to have been +granted. Banish Pericles! Banish Pericles!” + +Thus Cleon shouted amid clumsy, vehement gestures, for he always flung +his whole body about and did not remain a moment in the same place. + +“War, but without Pericles!” he repeated incessantly. + +Pamphilus was of the same opinion, but vying with the other in the +loudness of his shrieks, added that Pericles ought not to be banished, +but called to account for his management of public affairs and thrown +into prison. + +Old Cratinus now came up with Hermippus and a third companion, a youth, +who had the “Attic glance” to a still higher degree than the other two, +and it was said would soon come forward with a comedy. + +“Are you for war or peace, old satyr?” shouted one of the crowd. + +“I’m for roast hares, wine in the jar, silver in the strong-box, figs +in the storehouses, garlanded goats, Dionysian festivals, new wine, +beakers tilted upside down, gay dancing-girls—” + +“So you’re for peace?” + +“Yes indeed, and against having the Megarians shut out from the +Athenian market. Be sensible, you violet-wreathed Athenians! Cease +suspecting that every quean, who appears in the market, is a disguised +Megarian. Since you excluded the Megarians there’s not a good +sucking-pig, such as the old victors of Marathon deserve, to be had. We +shall soon come to eating roasted crickets. Besides, why are you +quarrelling about war and peace? Did the Spartans leave the popular +assembly with any other answer, than the one Pericles proposed? Let +Pericles rule and others of his stamp, the tanners, wool-dealers, and +sausage-makers, who comb your beards, fan the flies from your heads, +clean the dust from your shoes, and brush the specks from your +clothes.” + +These jibes made Cleon’s blood boil. “In one point,” said he, “Pericles +has done right—in trying to muzzle the spiteful, disorderly little mob +of comic writers, the curs, who snap at every man’s shanks.” + +“Why, see Cleon!” exclaimed Cratinus; “Cleon, the fearless! I shouldn’t +have ventured to come here, if I had known the greedy-toothed, horrible +man with the rolling eyes was present. The smell of leather ought to +have told me better.” + +Cleon was furious. Myrmecides held him back, while Cratinus continued: + +“You call us disorderly because we swing the whip over our heads, +careless whom it hits? If it doesn’t always strike the right man, +perhaps it does the right thing! Does Zeus, when he sends the +lightning, ask where it strikes? It is enough for him if it purifies +the air.” + +“Old driveller!” cried Cleon, “are not you the man, who is said to draw +his inspiration from the wine-cask?” + +“And are not you,” retorted Cratinus, “a man swollen with venom, of +whom it is said that a serpent lately bit him and—died? But no matter. +We don’t fear. We’ll wage war with the stench of leather, the furious +glances of the rolling blear eyes, with a hundred red-haired Cerberus +heads. And when we have once got the better of the woman-hero Pericles, +we’ll remember the knavish buffoons, sausage-makers, wool-dealers, and +tanners, and rid ourselves of all the ‘violet-wreathed Athenians.’” + +A shrill, jeering laugh suddenly rang out from behind a column. People +looked around and saw mad Menon crouching there. + +“Look at Menon!” cried the youngest of the three comic poets. “The +fellow is so ragged and dirty, that Euripides will soon doubtless make +him the hero of some touching drama.” + +The Athenians laughed. Menon gnashed his teeth, exclaiming: +“Scoundrels! violet-wreathed scoundrels!” + +They wanted to beat him, but he set his dog on them. + +The people then took up stones to throw them at his head, but at this +moment Socrates passed, pitied the man, and led him out of the throng. + +The crowd dispersed. Pamphilus, walking angrily away, saw Pericles, +followed him and pursued him all day long with insults, whenever he +caught sight of him. + +Again he followed him. “You are a tyrant, like Pisistratus!” said he. +“You only pretend to support democracy. In reality it is you alone, who +hold the reins of Athens.” + +Pericles was silent. + +“You want to plunge the Athenians into a war,” continued Pamphilus, +“that you may not be compelled to render any account.” + +Pericles made no reply. + +“You won’t recognize the merits of other men, who are no less fitted +for orators and leaders of the people than you!” raved Pamphilus. + +Pericles remained silent. + +“You learned your art of government through intercourse with sophists +and hetæræ. You have allowed the power of the Athenians to be stifled +by increasing wantonness and effeminacy.” + +As Pamphilus uttered these words Pericles reached home. The streets +were very dark. According to Athenian custom, the statesman had a slave +bearing a lighted torch behind him. + +The slave knocked, and the porter opened the door. Pamphilus was still +standing there. + +“Go and light this man through the streets with your torch, it has +grown dark!” said Pericles, and quietly entered the house. + +Socrates, sometimes with and sometimes without his bosom friend, +Euripides, went in and out of Pericles’ house. He still visited +Aspasia, still liked to talk to her, but his own words constantly +sounded more confused, mysterious and oracular. + +A few days after the last meeting on the Pnyx, Socrates again entered +Aspasia’s house and was soon engaged in eager conversation with her. +Aspasia spoke with joyful courage of the impending conflict with the +Dorians, but indignantly of the schisms in the Agora, the hostile +designs of Diopeithes, the conduct of the friends of Laconia, the +coarseness of the demagogues. “For the sake of these rude men,” she +said, “we shall perhaps soon behold the fading flower of Hellas.” + +“The fading flower of Hellas?” cried Socrates. “How could that be +possible? Surely you are mistaken. How long is it since it was said +that Hellas was approaching her most perfect bloom? Since the day when +we stood joyously on the Acropolis before the completed Parthenon, and +I thought the moment of that finest bloom had come, but you said that +though our art had grown almost divine, many things were still lacking +to thoroughly transform our lives and render them beautiful in every +respect—since that day I have been very eager for the promised moment +of perfect bloom, and waited impatiently for it. As I had heard of +Eastern flowers, which secretly illumined by the eyes of Zeus, open +their wondrous calixes only at midnight, I thought the flowering time +of mortals might be similar, and the idea gave me no rest even at +night; for I was always fearing I might lose the most beautiful moment +while asleep. Above all else, I have constantly kept in view the new +strange bond of love and marriage you and Pericles formed before my +statue of the Graces; for it seemed to me that its success would secure +the fairest bloom of Hellenic life. So, as you then expressly summoned +us by-standers to be witnesses, I have faithfully discharged my office; +for I undertook it in solemn earnest and thought myself summoned to be, +not merely for a moment, but forever an attentive witness of that +strange compact. But as in the garden we daily visit a particularly +rare little tree, that promises to bear abundant fruit, always fearing +to find it broken by some rude hand, touched by the frost or withered, +and forever rejoice anew in its unimpaired freshness, I come to you, no +longer to hear as formerly, but to see what love is, how it develops, +from what point it emanates, and to what goal it tends. It is certainly +an important matter when Ionians and Dorians are preparing for a +decisive struggle; but almost more important to me is the history of +your love-bond, and the final issue of the conflict going on beyond and +within you. Nations are immortal, or at least long-lived, and their +destiny may be constantly transformed and arranged anew; but a human +fate is confined within a narrow circle, as it results it is generally +fixed, for the Fates grant no time for renewal and readjustment. I +watch the internal and external history of your love, so strangely +founded on liberty. However light may be the steps with which it +advances, my senses are not too dull to perceive them.” + +“So, from a lover, you have become a spectator and witness of the love +of others?” said Aspasia. + +“From the day in the Lyceum, when, while hurrying away you called to me +to sacrifice to the Graces, I have done so, but apparently in vain,” +replied Socrates. “My lips have not become more delicate, nor my +features more pleasing. And I have since comprehended that, to grasp +the idea of beauty with the mind and at the same time enjoy it with the +senses, is rarely, or never, allotted to one and the same mortal.” + +Aspasia doubted whether the ardor, which had then blazed uncontrolled +for a moment in the young sculptor’s soul was wholly extinguished. + +The time for executing the little plan of vengeance, with which she had +long intended to humiliate and shame the philosopher, seemed to have +come. + +She craftily began: + +“That moment in the Lyceum, which you now recall after so long a time, +has not vanished from my memory and, to be frank, I have often secretly +regretted that unnecessarily and under a mistaken impression, I +offended you by calling as I ran away, that you must sacrifice to the +Graces, an exclamation you interpreted to mean that in order to be +loved, you must first try to gain those qualities that render people +lovable. I ought to have considered that you are a sage, who could not +seriously yearn for my love. Since that time, Socrates, I have always +felt that I owed you some satisfaction.” + +“You to me?” said Socrates, with a mournful smile. “No, I had no +satisfaction to ask of you; but ever since that moment I have thought I +owed one to myself.” + +“I was foolish in those days!” said Aspasia. “Now I could lean my head +innocently on your breast, for I know—” + +Aspasia and Socrates were sitting in a room very pleasantly and +luxuriously furnished, and pervaded with delicate intoxicating +perfumes, which seemed to exhale from Aspasia herself; for like the +gods and goddesses of Olympus, she was always surrounded by an +exquisite fragrance. She shone with fadeless charms, and a bewitching +gayety animated her features. She seemed to be in the best possible +mood—if anything so trivial as moods existed for Aspasia. + +A dove was fluttering about the room. It was Aspasia’s favorite, a +pretty creature, with lustrous white plumage and a bluish circle round +its neck. + +The bird often perched on Aspasia’s shoulder, seeking its usual +dainties from the beauty’s lips, but frequently alighted also on +Socrates’ head, settling there so pertinaciously, that the Milesian was +often compelled to release her guest, and in so doing could not avoid +coming into close proximity to him. + +When she succeeded in driving the dove from Socrates’ head, it +fluttered off and settled elsewhere, first uttering its low “gru, gru.” + +“If the universal verdict of mankind had not decided that the cooing of +doves sounded tender and affectionate,” said Socrates, “I should, +according to my own taste, consider it disagreeable. I should call it a +subdued neighing.” + +“What?” cried Aspasia, “do you revile Aphrodite’s birds? Take care, +lest the doves or the goddess herself seek vengeance upon you.” + +“They have done it in advance!” replied Socrates. + +“The ways of the gods are incalculable,” said Aspasia; “sometimes they +are envious and withhold their gifts, then become favorably disposed +and grant tenfold as much as they formerly denied. But Aphrodite is the +most whimsical of all the goddesses. She requires any one who asks a +favor of her to await the right moment and the right mood, and to +return again and again. Whoever tries his fortune with her but once is +foolish. Are you ignorant of this, Socrates? And does it not perhaps +apply to beauties, as well as goddesses?” + +“I don’t know,” replied Socrates, “for I haven’t tried.” + +“There you did wrong!” said Aspasia. “It is your own fault, if you do +not know whether Aphrodite and women are favorable to you.” + +Aspasia made many similar bantering speeches, while caressing the dove +and exchanging kisses with it. Socrates did not remember ever having +seen her so extravagantly gay. The more coquettish she appeared, the +more silent, grave, and thoughtful he became. + +Again the dove, with a coo that was almost like a titter, perched on +Socrates’ head; but this time entangled its tiny claws so closely in +his hair, that it could not release them. Aspasia hastened to his +assistance. He felt her fingers in his hair. The close proximity of a +perfumed, charming woman thrilled him—her bosom was heaving close +beside him. No sea heaves so maliciously, with such peril of hopelessly +swallowing up its victim, as a woman’s breast. + +The slightest movement—and Socrates would have received a fresh rebuff +far more humiliating than the former one in the Lyceum, afforded his +secret foe, the crafty beauty, another triumph by the hasty impulse of +the heart and senses. + +What thoughts passed through Socrates’ mind at that moment? + +He rose quietly, saying calmly: + +“Never mind the dove, Aspasia! I don’t think I have escaped the +revengeful bird at too great a cost, by leaving a lock of my hair in +its claws. + +“I understand,” replied Aspasia, in an altered and somewhat haughty +tone, “I understand that you don’t fear baldness. It is closely allied +to wisdom, and you are a philosopher. You have grown so wise and +perfect, that you deserve to be plucked perfectly bald by the talons of +Aphrodite’s birds.” + +“Baldness may suit the sage,” replied Socrates, “but know that I have +renounced everything, even the fame of wisdom, and at this moment am +thinking only of doing my duty as a citizen. I am going to-morrow, with +others who have drawn the lot, to the camp before Potidæa. Alcibiades +is going too.” + +“So you don’t seem to have resigned that, after having as you say, +given up everything else?” replied Aspasia. + +“We obey the call of our native land,” replied Socrates. “Don’t you +approve of it? Isn’t it to fight the Dorians?” + +“Do you mean to fight the Dorians?” cried Aspasia. “Why, you have +become a Dorian yourself.” + +“No!” replied Socrates, “I believe I am a true son of thoughtful Pallas +Athena.” + +“In truth,” said Aspasia smiling, “you have turned from Eros and the +Graces to cold, masculine Athena. What has become of the fervor that +animated your soul, when you questioned me in the Lyceum about the +nature of love?” + +“My ardor,” replied Socrates, “has undergone the same change as your +beauty, since Phidias apotheosized it in the Lemnian Aphrodite. As, in +that statue, your charms have been elevated above all earthly and +temporal things, so my love has been matured, deified, I might almost +say petrified. The glowing coal has become a star.” + +At this moment the fluttering dove again settled on Aspasia’s shoulder. + +What fiend, what saucy Eros was concealed beneath the form of the bird? + +It began to pull with its claws at the spot where a clasp confined the +narrow edges of the chiton. + +The bird’s feet moved restlessly, till the clasp opened and the garment +fell back disclosing the gleaming white shoulder. + +“Sacrifice that dove to the Graces!” said Socrates, covering with his +cloak the bare shoulder of the beautiful woman, and taking his leave. + +The proud Milesian turned pale, seized a silver mirror in one trembling +hand, and for the first time was startled by a disfiguring shadow that +swept over her features. + +Was beauty no longer invincible? Was there something that ventured to +defy it? + +A thrill of fear ran through her limbs. + +Alcibiades was greatly delighted, when the wish to appear in the field +of martial honor, which he had expressed to Pericles, was at last +fulfilled. Fate had numbered him, as well as Socrates, among the +Athenian citizens who were to be sent to the seige of the rebellious +city of Potidæa. + +Up to this time the youth had continued his reckless mode of life, and +never failed to supply material for the loquacity of the Athenians. + +He had founded the society of Ithyphallians, which included the boldest +and most reckless young men, who yielded to the most unbridled +caprices, as might be expected from a society named for the unclean +demon Ithyphallus. The initiation was wanton and whimsical to the most +audacious degree. Only those were admitted, who thought themselves +specially entitled to boast of this demon’s favor. + +To deride the custom which prohibited carousing before noon, Alcibiades +and his companions instituted a morning drinking-bout. He named a dog, +of which he was very fond, “Demon,” and it was droll to hear him, like +Socrates, speak of “his demon.” + +Yet, though the wantonness with which the youth was constantly +overflowing, thus seemed to strike Socrates, it did not prevent him +from calling the same man the best and dearest of his friends. He +really still cherished an almost mysterious affection for the +truth-seeker, but apparently without granting him any influence over +his conduct. + +Even when Alcibiades set out for Potidæa, there were circumstances +which afforded food for gossip. He ordered weapons of a special kind to +be made, and had a shield of gold and ivory. On this shield, like a +coat of arms, was an Eros, armed with the thunder-bolt of Zeus. + +Eros with the thunder-bolt! A brilliant idea, worthy of a Hellenic +brain. It really seemed at that time, as if the thunder-bolt of Zeus +was about to pass into the hands of the winged boy. + +Some of Alcibiades’ companions also went to the field, and sought to +follow the example of their model in procuring costly and peculiar +arms. Callias, Hipponicus’ son, is said to have gone to the war in a +coat made of a lion’s skin. + +There was one woman in Athens, who was filled with grief when +Alcibiades was about to leave the city; a woman who had long known +neither pain nor love, who not only despised the bonds of Hymen, but +also derided the fetters of Eros, a woman who had said of herself: “I +am not the priestess of love, but of pleasure.” + +This woman was Theodota. It was she, as has already been mentioned, +whom young Alcibiades considered his teacher, when he rushed into the +whirlpool of pleasure and youthful extravagance. His vanity made him +desire to call his own the most beautiful and famous hetæra in Athens, +Theodota, who, though at that time no longer in the highest bloom of +her beauty, was at the summit of her renown. Theodota was also proud of +possessing Alcibiades, and the fact of his devotion no little increased +her fame. + +For some time Alcibiades enjoyed no woman’s society more than the +dark-eyed Corinthian’s, and often invited his friends to merry revels +in Theodota’s house. Her gayety, no less than her beauty, spiced the +beaker of pleasure to her lover and his companions. + +But Theodota was not always so joyous as she had been during the first +part of her intercourse with Alcibiades. The youth was too beautiful +for a woman’s heart, even though it had never loved and foresworn love +forever, not to at last pay for the pleasure of his society with its +freedom. + +She had at first cared little, when her young friend smiled at other +women and hetæræ; nay when Demos and Callias banqueted with him at her +house, herself assembled young and charming women around her. + +But the young Ithyphallian prince soon began to notice with +dissatisfaction, that the Corinthian’s nature was changing. She +appeared thoughtful and grave, sighed frequently, and her gay +tenderness seemed impaired by a sort of passion and restlessness. +Sometimes she clasped her favorite in a close embrace, as if to hold +him forever, many a tear mingled with her kisses, and if Alcibiades +smiled upon any other woman before her eyes, she turned pale and her +lips quivered with a spasm of jealousy. + +This change in Theodota did not please the reckless youth, who +everywhere filled the cup of joy to the brim, drained it, and went on +again. + +Theodota’s charm and spell had vanished. She now seemed dismal to the +gay young fellow. + +At times, when she gave full vent to her jealousy, she aroused his +anger; but he was more ready to forgive this, than the excess of +tearful tenderness with which she annoyed him. + +She vowed to love him only, to be his alone. This was a matter of +indifference to him. The sole possession of one woman, the highest need +of the mature man, is worthless and troublesome to the young rake. + +He answered: + +“You are commencing to become intolerable, since you began to torment +me with your tearful complaints. You don’t know how ugly a woman is +who, instead of bewitching by her radiant gayety and charming grace, +allows her face to be disfigured by traces of jealousy, wets her own +cheeks or even her lover’s with the hot, salt torrent of tears and, +transformed into a fury, bursts into passionate accusations. You no +longer amuse me, Theodota! You weary me! You will never bind me by +dismal lamentations and passionate violence—you only foster and +increase what I dislike. If I am to be what I was, become what you once +were!” + +She strove to seem gay, but usually failed. If Alcibiades left her in +anger, she humbled herself, overwhelmed him with messengers and +letters, hurried to him, loaded him with entreaties, allowed herself to +be ill-treated by the insolent fellow. + +One day Socrates came to his young friend’s house and found her lying, +dissolved in tears, before the threshold of the pitiless youth. + +She looked at him and recognized the man, who had once uttered so +strange an eulogy of the gay “self-sacrifice,” of which she was no +longer capable. She wanted what she then willingly dispensed with—to +love and to be loved. Theodota bewailed her suffering to Socrates, who +consoled and led her away. + +He then intended to return to Alcibiades, to act as mediator for the +woman; but was so lost in thought, that on reaching his door, he stood +still, and when the youth came out, he found his friend on the +threshold. + +“What are you pondering over?” he asked. + +“I just fancied that I was on the trace of the real nature of love. I +believed for a moment I had found that it consists in either shedding +tears or extorting them—abusing or being abused—trampling or being +trampled upon—but in an instant I have grown doubtful again—” + +When Alcibiades went to the camp at Potidæa, he thanked the gods for +having escaped the love of the woman, who with bitter lamentations was +tearing her hair in her grief at his departure. + +After some time, Alcibiades wrote to Aspasia from the camp, as follows: + +“You wished to learn from me how our friend Socrates proves himself in +his new calling. Well, he is precisely the same in the camp before +Potidæa, that he was years ago in Phidias’ studio. Sometimes he is +animated with the greatest zeal, sometimes lost in idle reverie. In +clear, starry nights when every one in the tents is sleeping, Socrates +wanders about and watches, and thinks—and questions—and seeks—of course +in vain. He is always renouncing knowledge, but it constantly urges him +again to ponder, seek, and question. + +“Long ago, when I was a boy and you, for a day, a Spartan youth who +entered Pericles’ house, you told me of the friendships of the young +Spartans, friendships which unite the younger and older men, making +them inseparable companions in battle. A similar partnership has now +been formed between me and Socrates. And certainly the worthy man +always has enough to do, to prove himself my friend. I often quarrel +with the people in the neighboring tents, who don’t like to hear me +drink and sing with my friends at night, because, they say, we disturb +their sleep. Nay, they even object to our being gay in the daytime, and +turn up their noses if we drink a little after breakfast. They complain +to the strategi and taxiarchs that, while pretending to be drunk, we +play all sorts of insolent tricks on them and their slaves. So there is +frequent quarrelling, and sometimes a little skirmish. In such cases +the strategi and taxiarchs are powerless, and only Socrates’ +intercession saves one or another from being stretched on the sand, or +well beaten according to the rules of the gymnasium. + +“I like Socrates, because he has not the pretentious character which +renders other sophists, philosophers, and preachers of morality +unbearable to me. He has a nobility of soul and quiet excellence, which +no man in all Hellas is farther from possessing than myself. But we +most admire what we have not, and contrasts apparently attract men to +each other. At times something emanates from his usually unassuming +nature, like the flash of a divine inspiration, and this has become +more effective in the course of years. I have often noticed that any +one struck by this flash seemed illumined and warmed—he blushed and his +blood stirred as if in the presence of a lovely woman. + +“A short time ago I planned a little nocturnal trick with Callias. +Homer’s magnificent lines about the nocturnal expedition of Diomedes +and Ulysses, and the capture of the steeds of Rhesus haunted our +brains, and though the Potidæans hardly had steeds of that kind to +steal, we intended to have a little adventure on our own account. We +knew that small bodies of Potidæan troops often passed around the walls +at night, and meant to attack one of these bands, slay them, and bring +back their weapons as a prize. So towards midnight we quietly left the +camp, and on arriving near the walls of Potidæa actually encountered a +little troop of armed men, making their rounds. We rushed upon these +fellows and killed a few of them, but the rest took flight and raised +an alarm, which brought others to their aid, and thus reinforced they +turned back and attacked us in greatly superior numbers. We made a +brave stand, but I don’t know what would have become of us, if a man +had not mingled in the fray as suddenly as if he had sprung from the +earth. He rushed upon the Potidæans so boldly and with such eagerness, +that the latter, after losing some of their best men, again found it +advisable to give up the fight and fly to the shelter of the walls. The +assistant was no other than Socrates, who had been accidentally lured +out by the beautiful night, not in quest of adventure, but pursuing +some thought, and wandering about outside of the camp, was attracted by +the noise of our weapons and interfered just at the right time. On this +occasion I saw what this man could do, if he were wholly a warrior. He +rushed upon the Potidæans just as he used to attack the blocks of +marble with his chisel in Phidias’ studio. And as, when a stone-cutter, +the blocks of marble suffered when the thought-problem that occupied +his mind presented special difficulties, on that starry night the heads +of the Potidæans atoned for Socrates’ having again vainly endeavored to +solve the mystery of the world. He is capable of listening to a bird’s +song in the midst of a battle, or, when on duty as sentinel, fixing his +eyes on the stars instead of the Potidæans’ movements. He is still in +the habit of considering the most ordinary matter important, and if +people doubt it, says things seem ghostly to him because he cannot +understand them and they will not reveal their nature. + +“At present he is brooding over a plan for rendering war unnecessary, +and when he isn’t fighting the enemy himself, explains to us how +horrible this alternate murdering of men is, how at some future time +people who kill each other in battle will be talked of as we now speak +of cannibals, and that a day will come when people will scarcely be +able to understand that the human race was once so rude and savage. He +says a league must be formed among the nations and a supreme court +instituted, before which all disputes can be settled, and thinks +something of the kind might be attained, if one or two countries would +publicly declare that henceforth, in every war, they would take the +part of the nation assailed or wronged. Dreams worthy of an original! +The wings of men’s energy ought not to be clipped, and the world, +without hate, contention, or war, would be as wearisome as without +love. + +“As for me, military employment seems to suit me. I believe I have +already grown better. + +“But these are things which must weary you. Farewell, Aspasia, and tell +me how the rest of the city fares without Alcibiades.” + +A small community can never possess a large army, but may have a great +navy. Athens was in this situation, when King Archidamus of Sparta +entered Attica with sixty thousand Peloponnesians. Most of her allies +could also render aid only on the sea. + +While the fleet was being prepared, the people from the rural districts +overrun by Archidamus, flocked into the city. Those who found no +shelter within the walls encamped in the open air, especially between +the long walls, and managed as best they could. The whole space between +the city and the Piræeus swarmed with these guests, and gradually a +city of tents arose there. The poorer refugees found shelter in the +huge butts used in Athens. From the city walls the inhabitants could +see the watch-fires of the Peloponnesians encamped in the fields and +vineyards; but, thanks to the fortifications Pericles’ zeal had long +since provided, were secure from any assault. Faithful to his original +plan, from which he would not allow himself to be diverted by the eager +impatience of the Athenians, Pericles sent only horsemen out of the +gates to guard the environs. + +When Archidamus, from the heights of Attica, saw a proud fleet of a +hundred vessels emerge from the Piræeus and steer towards the +Peloponnesus, the event Pericles had foreseen instantly occurred. +Seeing before them the impregnably-fortified city, and at the same time +knowing that the unprotected cities of their native land were exposed +to the powerful hostile fleet and the army it conveyed, the +Peloponnesians departed, left Attica, and marched towards home across +the isthmus. + +Pericles had been obliged to relinquish the personal command of the +navy, for he seemed indispensable in Athens, so long as the +Peloponnesians still remained on Attic soil. + +But when the latter retreated, his first enterprise was to march with a +small, but admirably equipped army to Megara. The enraged Athenians +imperatively demanded a settlement of their account with the hated +city. + +The statesman’s absence from Athens was again eagerly desired by many. + +The owls on the Acropolis awoke and fluttered their wings. + +Diopeithes, eager to execute his long-cherished plan of ruining the +sculptor, availed himself of Menon’s services against Phidias. + +A notorious sycophant, named Stephaniscus, appeared at the priest’s +instigation as Phidias’ accuser. This man had married a hetæra, who, it +was said, continued her profession in his house, while he sought a +livelihood as a sycophant. In his bold indictment, he asserted that +Phidias had laid aside and appropriated part of the gold given him to +make the statue of Athena Parthenos. He also reproached him with having +shown vanity incompatible with reverence for the gods and their +sanctuaries, by carving his own likeness and that of Pericles in the +representation of the battle of the Amazons on the goddess’ shield, and +produced Menon as witness of the stealing of the gold. The latter had +formerly been very frequently in Phidias’ rooms, rendering trifling +services for such gifts as fell to the lot of beggars. During this +time, he now asserted, he had once watched from a dark corner and seen +Phidias, when he believed himself unobserved, take part of the gold +given him for the statue and hide it, evidently to appropriate it +himself. + +The germs of calumny, long industriously sown by Diopeithes’ adherents, +had grown luxuriantly, and Stephaniscus found well-prepared soil in the +Athenian people. + +The venerable sculptor, who had just arrived in Athens again, was +thrown into prison at this accusation of Stephaniscus. + +The creator of the most beautiful monument in the world, which, as +Pericles said, the Athenian people had erected to itself for all +futurity, was taken to prison under a disgraceful accusation. + +As Diopeithes had availed himself of Pericles’ departure, the base, +ambitious agitators also endeavored to extend their influence among the +people during the absence of the only man who could restrain them. + +The number of the common people in the city had been largely increased +by the influx of the rural population, during the invasion of the +Peloponnesians. Moreover, this throng had become accustomed to a +certain idleness, and many remained in Athens after Archidamus’ +departure, because their lands had been laid waste by the foe. Thus, as +the number of impoverished citizens increased, the class called the +rabble was gradually formed. These very starvelings, however, flocked +most eagerly to the popular assemblies, because they received two obols +there, and the councils on the Pnyx therefore became more crowded and +noisy than ever. Cleon, Lysicles, and Pamphilus ventured forth more +openly, and the Athenian nation gradually became accustomed to see +people of this stamp ascend the orator’s platform. + +Of these three men, Pamphilus was most positive in the opinion that an +attempt to overthrow Pericles should be made. One day he stood in the +Agora, surrounded by a large number of Athenian citizens, and explained +to them for what reasons Pericles might be accused. He reviled him as a +coward, who had allowed Attica to be ravaged by the enemy, tyrannically +prescribed to the citizens the manner in which they should defend +themselves, and during the whole time the Peloponnesians were on Attic +soil, permitted no popular assembly to take place on the Pnyx, in order +to be able to rule according to his own will. + +There were many among the throng who shared Pamphilus’ opinion, a +certain Crespilus in particular pressed forward, trying to surpass the +sausage-maker in furious outcries against Pericles and showing the +necessity of instantly arraigning him before the people. + +Suddenly Sporgilus the barber came running up. “Good news!” he shouted. +“A string of cracknels for the bearer of good tidings! Pericles is on +the way home from Megara! He is already in Eleusis with his troops. He +has chastised the Megarians properly, and will reach Athens to-day.” + +Pamphilus turned green with rage. “Do you ask a string of cracknels?” +he replied in a hollow tone. “Your tongue ought to be cut out for your +news, you dog!” + +The tidings produced a very depressing effect on the rest of the +conspirators, and though Pamphilus still strove to stir up the throng, +one after another stole away, believing it would be difficult to +accomplish anything against the victorious Pericles, and the affair +must be deferred until a more favorable opportunity. + +As Crespilus, shrugging his shoulders, also turned to depart, the +enraged Pamphilus seized him by the garment, shrieking: + +“Coward! Deserter! Are you not ashamed to basely take to flight at the +mere words: ‘Pericles is here!’ Look at me! I don’t fear meeting +Pericles personally at any moment! I have courage. I was born on the +day of the battle of Marathon!” + +“I wasn’t!” replied Crespilus. “I was one of the children prematurely +born in the theatre of Athens, of mothers shrieking with terror at the +performance of Æschylus’ Eumenides.” + +With this apology Crespilus wrenched his robe from Pamphilus’ hands, +and ran away. + +“They have gone,” cried the demagogue, gnashing his teeth, “scattered +as if a pail of dish-water had been emptied on their heads.” + +Just at that moment mad Menon came up and asked the cause of his wrath. + +The latter bewailed his trouble. + +“Fool!” said Menon grinning. “Do you want to overthrow a wall and +vainly brace your shoulder against it? Lie down under it and go to +sleep—at the right time it will fall on your head of its own accord.” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE FESTIVAL OF DIONYSUS. + + +After the relief from the anxiety and distress of war, the winter +festivals were celebrated in Athens with twofold splendor and gayety. +Yet mirth was still more fully unchained, since milder breezes had +blown across the sea, and the time of the greatest of Bacchic +festivals, the Dionysian, approached. Kites appeared in the woods, the +halcyons twittered joyously on the sea-shore and the swallows in the +cornices of the roofs. On the heights of Hymettus, Pentelicus, and +Lycabettus, spring budded in every bush. Violets and anemones, cowslips +and crocuses sprang up, and the shepherd’s staff, forgotten in the +fields, was overgrown with blossoms in the morning. + +The sailors in the harbors hoisted the anchors, disentangled cordage, +raised the masts, and gave the sails to the breeze. New life awoke on +the waves of the Saronic gulf. Embassies from the allied cities and +islands came bringing tribute to Athens, at the festal season. Guests +from distant lands thronged all the inns and private houses. Crowds of +citizens and strangers, adorned with garlands and holiday robes, walked +through the streets. Not only were all the altars and busts of Hermes, +standing in the open air, hung with wreaths, but huge mixing vessels +were placed beside them filled with the gifts of Bacchus, bestowed by +the rich for the free enjoyment of the people. Again Hipponicus gave +the people wine, inviting all who chose to come to the Cerameicus, and +supplying them with ivy-stuffed cushions. + +Forgotten was the calamity of war, partisan strife kept an armistice, +Diopeithes’ plans were momentarily interrupted. Peace and pleasure +ruled. Loud jests and joyous laughter resounded everywhere—and the +Athenians’ wit was doubly sharp, their tongues were doubly nimble. Yet +woe betide him, who during this time practised any deed of violence +against an Athenian citizen. Not even the plea of drunkenness protected +him—his life was forfeited. + +How did it happen, that so many charming women were suddenly seen in +the streets of Athens? Who were the gay, richly-adorned, bewitching +beauties? They were Hieroduli from the temple of Aphrodite at Corinth, +and other priestesses of joy of the same stamp, who increasing the +number of their native companions, had come from the various cities of +Greece to the gayest and most unbridled festival of the Athenians. + +Ah, what a medley of strangers the mirthful, crowded Dionysian festival +had allured! Yonder were jugglers and miracle-mongers, their faces +bronzed by wanderings in many lands, swallowing swords, or sending a +rain of fire from their mouths. There were Thessalian girls, executing +their sword-dance in the midst of a gaping crowd. No spectacle was +lacking, down to the itinerant puppet-shows, and gayly-dressed monkeys +dancing on ropes, that delighted the children. + +Traders, too, had come from far and near, and set up their booths among +the crowd on the Agora, at the Piræeus, and by the Ilissus. + +Throngs of country people mingled with the citizens and, sharing with +them the joy of the festival, gathered around their favorites, the +Theban fifers, who were in the habit of wandering through the rural +districts, or transferred to the city the favorite sport at their own +country Dionysian festival—leaping upon oiled wine-skins, in which each +person who, jumping with bare feet on the slippery ball tried to obtain +a firm stand, always slipped off with comical kicking, amid the +laughter of the spectators. + +Pleasure ruled unrestrained in the city, as soon as darkness closed in. +The night-revellers wandered about, wearing wreaths and carrying bells +and torches, among them women in men’s clothes, and men in women’s +garments—clapping their hands as if keeping time with cymbals, to the +ringing of the bells and the singing. + +Many wore masks. Some had merely smeared their faces with the dregs of +wine or vermilion, or disguised them with the leaves or bark of trees. +Others wore exquisitely-painted masks of grave or comical aspect. Here +wandered horned Actæon, yonder hundred-eyed Argus, farther on Euippe, +partly transformed into a horse; giants, Titans, centaurs, stamped on +the ground, Methe staggered, Peitho persuaded, Apate allured, Hybris +raged, and horrible forms sometimes mingled amid the ranks. + +But the most frequent, nay the most prominent figures in the streets +were the hoofed satyrs and bald Sileni, the aged but still mirthful +satyrs, their heads wreathed with the evergreen ivy. There were also +throngs of Bacchantes, who often carried for a thyrsus only a +vine-shoot, twined with ivy. + +Extravagant gayety, even intoxication, was considered a duty to the god +during these days and nights. + +And the god, during this time, justified his surname of “liberator.” +Even the prisoners were released from their dungeons for the festival, +and wine was poured upon the graves of the dead. They wished to soothe +the shades, who surely could not be deprived of the pleasures of the +living without envy. The timid believed, that the souls of the dead +sometimes mingled in the crowd, and a fleshless skull was concealed +beneath many a satyr mask in the festal throng. + +During these times Telesippe industriously chewed the leaves of the +hawthorn and had her doors smeared with tar, for thus alone could the +evil be averted, that at the great Dionysian festival, menaced the +living from the envious shades. + +It was really almost ghostly to see the light of torches flash here and +there in the dark streets, and a fantastic train appear which rushed +noisily by. + +A vast throng was now moving through the streets, that led from the +Lenaion to the theatre. The statue of Dionysus was borne from his +temple in the Lenaion, and placed in the midst of the festal assembly. +This statue was a work newly completed by the hand of impetuous +Alcamenes. As Phidias placed his new glittering statue beside the old +wooden image of Athena, Alcamenes’ superb new work was now placed in +the Lenaion beside the ancient unadorned statue of Dionysus. This was +the statue now borne into the festal assembly in the great theatre of +Dionysus. Throngs of Bacchantes surrounded it. But who were the mad +crew that bore a Phallus before the statue, and sang songs in honor of +Priapus? It was Alcibiades and his Ithyphallian society. + +At the crossways and on the open squares the procession halted, to +offer libations or sacrifice victims. + +The flat roofs of the houses were filled with spectators, many of whom +carried torches and lamps in their hands. There was no lack of women +among them, and jests and witticisms from the roofs mingled with the +unbridled revelry in the streets. + +Alcibiades seemed to have reached the climax of his extravagant gayety, +and at the head of his society surpassed himself in wanton pranks. + +“Consider,” he shouted to the Ithyphallians, “that we, who usually +revel and riot, are obliged to revel and riot doubly at the Dionysian +festival, if we don’t wish to be outdone and surpassed by the soberest +citizens of the Athenian city.” + +Amid such exhortations, Alcibiades, knowing and known by all the +Athenians, rushed through the throng with his companions. + +When night had closed in, he ordered torches to be carried before him +and, preceded by music, led his companions in a noisy procession to +serenade beautiful girls and boys. The musicians themselves were +principally players on the flute and lute, dressed as Mænads, and as +those who were greeted with music joined in the procession, it more and +more resembled a swarm of Bacchantes, gathered around the god Dionysus. + +At last the saucy, intoxicated Alcibiades seized a young hetæra, named +Bacchis, whom he met wandering about, and forced her to join the train, +calling her his Ariadne and himself, her Bacchus. + +On reaching Theodota’s house, he gave her also a noisy serenade and +entered with his companions. + +Theodota had not seen the youth for a long time, and the torture of her +love had constantly grown more violent. She now beheld him once more; +but how far from pleasing was his entrance! He came intoxicated, at the +head of a noisy throng. This she might have forgiven; but he brought +with him a blooming young hetæra, whom he instantly presented as his +Ariadne, beginning to extol her charms in extravagant words. + +A banquet was now arranged in the apartments of the reluctant Theodota, +who dared not openly object, though her heart was almost bursting with +sorrow. Alcibiades called upon her to be merry, extravagantly gay, and +in his drunkenness began to relate the pranks he had played that +evening, boasted of having kissed a young girl in the midst of the +festal assembly in the Lenaion, and praised the custom which, at the +feast of Dionysus, loosed the fetters from the hands of the Athenian +women. He spoke of Hipparete, Hipponicus’ charming daughter, the secret +love she cherished for him, her blush at the sight of him, at the same +time jesting about her reserved, embarrassed, girlish manner. He also +mentioned Cora the Arcadian shepherdess transported to Athens, the most +absurd and prudish creature imaginable, yet who must be his at any +cost. He would rather give up the radiant Simaitha, the new wondrous +star of beauty, than the stubborn Arcadian. + +After these words, the excited youth reproached Theodota for her +silence and sorrowful manner. + +“You have grown ugly, Theodota!” he exclaimed. “These melancholy looks +disfigure your face. Is this the way to receive an old friend like me? +Of what do you complain? My wantonness? Wasn’t it you yourself who +taught it to me? Do you no longer remember the joyous days and nights, +when I received your lessons in all kinds of beautiful gayety? And now? +What means this peevish manner? Why must I be different from what I was +at the time we pleased each other best, and spent the merriest hours? +Be sensible, Theodota! Remember the man who was so foolish as to fall +in love with you, whose melancholy adoration seemed so wearisome, and +whom you pitilessly thrust from your door! And now you want to become +an enthusiast yourself. Can the best principles, the most lovable +qualities be so disgracefully denied? Be gay and reckless again, +Theodota! Dance, I wish it, and so do we all! Let yourself be admired +again in all your splendor.” + +But Theodota could no longer restrain her tears, and answered with +passionate reproaches, calling him insolent, faithless, profligate, +pitiless. + +“Why do you accuse me,” replied Alcibiades, “if you have changed, grown +older, and lost the gayety of youth? Accuse time, which transforms us +all. I, too, must submit when at some future day I become, instead of a +young satyr, an old bald-headed Silenus. Even then I shall still be +gay. But you get angry and rage against me and fate, because you are no +longer a gay, blooming, bewitching girl, like Hipparete, or Simaitha, +or Bacchis here. If you want to grow young again, go to Argos. It is +rumored that there is a sanctuary there, with a spring, in which you +need only to bathe to emerge a maiden. Even Hera, the poets say, used +to visit this bath from time to time, to make herself charming to the +father of the gods. If even the old father of the gods knows how to +prize such things, why shouldn’t I, a blooming youth, one of the +Ithyphallians?” + +The drunken Alcibiades jested on in this way, while Theodota answered +still more vehemently with words and tears, and even poured forth such +an outburst of rage against Bacchis, that she seemed like a fury. + +“There’s my brave companion, Callias,” said Alcibiades, “his axiom is +never to make love to a woman more than once. And I—haven’t I returned +to your house often enough? Ay, by blissful Eros, haven’t I often come +in the evening, we three or with several more friends, the golden +apples of Dionysus in our bosoms, and in our hair the white poplar +wreaths of Heracles entwined with purple fillets? But it shall not +happen again. Never will I return, neither alone nor with others! Let +us go, my friends! Time hangs heavy here! Farewell, Theodota!” + +Terrified by this threat, Theodota stopped the angry youth, and drying +her tears promised to do exactly as he wished. + +“Well then,” cried Alcibiades, “do what I asked you before. Do honor to +your much-praised art again.” + +“What shall I dance?” asked Theodota. + +“Just now,” replied Alcibiades, “excited by the goad of your passion, +you were not unlike Io, who pursued by a gadfly sent by Hera, wandered +despairingly through all the countries of the world. Show us, if you +please, adorned by art, what you first displayed in rude, unpleasant +reality.” + +Theodota silently prepared to dance Io. + +Accompanied by the music of the flutes, she danced the story of the +daughter of Inachus, who was beloved by Zeus, persecuted by Hera, bound +and watched, at the latter’s command by Argus of the hundred eyes, and, +after her keeper had been killed, hunted through every land by the +sharp sting of implacable Hera’s gadfly. + +At first Theodota had only fulfilled the request by putting strong +restraint upon herself, but gradually becoming more and more animated, +seemed to throw her whole soul into the part she was representing. Her +mimetic dancing obtained an artistic finish, a fervor of expression, +which enraptured all the spectators. + +But when she began to depict Io’s sorrowful wanderings, fear of Hera’s +anger, and dread of the insect sent by the goddess, her gestures +assumed a wild, passionate haste, and as grief for the lost happiness +of her love seemed to blend with the terror of the fugitive, the fair +Corinthian’s features and whole manner gradually wore an almost +alarming aspect. She enacted with terrible fidelity to nature the +despairing, hunted, mad Io. + +But she was no longer acting. Her eyes started and rolled horribly in +their sockets, her bosom heaved, foam appeared on her parted lips. + +Her gestures became so fierce and impetuous, that Alcibiades and his +friends rushed up in terror to seize her and curb this unbridled +madness. + +Io—Theodota began to grow calmer. She gazed around the group with dull +eyes, smiled confusedly, and addressed the by-standers by strange +names. Alcibiades himself she called Zeus, Callias, who was disguised +as a satyr, her father Inachus; but in Demos she fancied she beheld the +hundred-eyed Argus, and suddenly fixing her gaze upon Bacchis, again +burst into wild frenzy, and cursing the malicious Hera, was about to +rush upon the young girl— + +Theodota had gone mad. + +She now sank down exhausted, and in confused meaningless words uttered +whimpering lamentations. + +A slight thrill of fear seized upon Alcibiades and his companions. But +they were intoxicated with wine, so leaving Theodota to her slaves, +they staggered out of her house into the street, where the noisy +bacchanal mirth drew them into its seething whirlpool. + +The next day there was another procession, bearing the statue of +Dionysus. This time, however, it was the ancient one, brought from +Eleutheræ to Athens, that was carried from the Lenaion to a small +temple outside of the city, near the Academy, where it had been erected +in ancient times. Once a year, at the great Dionysian festival, the +statue was borne in a festal procession to the old place. + +This now happened again. + +The festal train accompanying the god was larger and more magnificent +than ever before, very unlike the former simple customs of the Athenian +forefathers. Every street through which it passed, and all the roofs +from which it could be seen, were thronged with spectators, who, +adorned with wreaths of violets, also wore a festal appearance. + +In front of the procession walked throngs of satyrs and Sileni, clad in +red garments, with garlands of ivy twined around their bodies. + +Then a wreathed altar was borne along, surrounded by boys attired in +purple robes, who carried frankincense, myrrh, and saffron in golden +vessels. + +Then followed all kinds of masked dancers. First came an old man with a +double-faced mask, representing time, then the youthful blooming Hours, +bearing fruits, then a magnificently-adorned woman with the symbols of +the Dionysian festal season, and finally a handsome youth, whose mask +represented the joyous Dithyrambus. + +Next came thirty musicians, who wore golden wreaths and played on +golden lyres. + +Then followed a superb triumphal chariot, which conveyed the statue of +Dionysus. The god was clad in a saffron robe and gold-embroidered +purple mantle. In his right hand he held aloft a golden beaker, filled +with sparkling wine. Beside him stood a huge gold mixing vessel, and +over his head was a canopy from which the foliage of the ivy and +grape-vine hung in rich green tendrils. The chariot itself was +completely entwined with garlands, and its upper edge adorned with +tragic and comic masks, which looked down upon the people with grave +dignity or droll grimaces. + +The immediate attendants of the god were male and female Bacchantes +with dishevelled locks, their heads crowned with branches of the ivy, +grape-vine, or smilax. + +This chariot was followed by another, in which stood a gilded +wine-press, filled with artificial grapes. Thirty satyrs stood around +it, apparently pressing the grapes to the melody of a merry +vintage-song, accompanied by the music of flutes, and pouring fragrant +liquor along the way from a skin made of green plover’s skin. Satyrs +and Sileni thronged around this, shouting noisily as they caught the +wine in up-raised beakers. + +Then came a third chariot, upon which was a glittering ivy-grown grotto +formed of light stone, within which springs of all the Hellenic wines +gushed forth. Garlanded nymphs sat smiling beside these fountains, +doves fluttered around, darted in and out, and thrust their bills into +the green branches of the ivy. Satyrs and Sileni tried to catch these +doves, which took refuge in the bosoms of the nymphs. + +Then followed groups of boys singing in chorus, then the procession of +aristocratic Athenians on their magnificent steeds, and youths, who +bore gold and silver vessels consecrated to the service of Dionysus. + +Enthusiastic throngs joined the procession, Bacchantes and other +maskers, who with extravagant mirth, whimsically imitated the pageantry +of the festal train. + +On reaching the Agora, a halt was made at the altar of the twelve +Olympic gods, and here choruses of men and boys sang the Dithyrambus, +while the choir at the same time moved with a rhythmic, dancing-step +around the altar. + +These tones had scarcely died away and the Dionysian train moved on, +when a most singular scene attracted the attention of the Athenians. + +At that time wandering mendicant priests of Cybele, called +Metragyrtans, apostles of the god Sabazius, who originally of the same +nature as Dionysus, had passed into mysticism, also enthusiasts who +boasted of reviving the mystic wisdom of Orpheus, had appeared in +Athens and begun to press their views. + +The priests of Sabazius announced and worshipped a mighty savior, by +whom mankind would be rescued from all evil, and mortals might obtain +any desired happiness—this very Sabazius. They and the Metragyrtans +went in procession through the streets, with the statue of the god or +the mother of the god, and executed to the sound of cymbals and the +Asiatic tympan, dances in which they behaved as wildly as Corybantes. +They practised and recommended flagellation, and even self-mutilation, +like the priests of Cybele on the Tmolus. They wandered through the +country begging, a donkey carrying their sacred relics, they sold all +kinds of magic remedies, and even offered to soothe the anger of the +gods for money, nay to expiate the sins of the dead, and release them +from the tortures of Tartarus. They sold the favor of the gods, and +negotiated between them and mortals. + +The Hellenic mind no longer remained wholly aloof from such fanaticism, +and here and there it began to take root in the minds of individuals. + +No one regarded such attempts to transport from the East into cheerful +Hellas a gloomy and mystical worship of the gods, with more indignation +than Aspasia, and she resisted it by every means at her command. Gay +young Alcibiades, to whom gloomy fanaticism was no less +incomprehensible and horrible, aided her like a brave champion against +these jugglers. + +The wandering Metragyrtans and priests of Sabazius thought the festival +of Dionysus would afford a favorable opportunity to win converts for +their god and savior, Sabazius, and his fanatical, horrible service. +They moved about, garlanded with poplar and fennel, carried in their +hands serpents which they swung over their heads, and, surrounded by +throngs of people, performed their frantic dance, the Sicinnis, amid +the corybantic roar of cymbals and tympans, flogging and wounding +themselves till the blood flowed. + +One Metragyrtan had collected a large crowd about him and, with loud +outcries and vehement gestures, was preaching the savior Sabazius. He +spoke of secret consecration, and the highest, most pleasing deed of +the god’s service, self-mutilation. + +While the crowd stood around the Metragyrtan listening, some with minds +not wholly unmoved, the drunken Ithyphallians suddenly came up and +heard the foreign fanatic speaking of the worship of Sabazius and +self-mutilation. + +“What?” cried the reckless leader of the Ithyphallians, “dares any one +talk to us of self-mutilation, amid the exuberant gayety of +bacchanalian joy? No! Such words shall not be heard on Hellenic soil, +so long as there are Ithyphallians.” + +With these words, the crowd of intoxicated, reckless youths rushed upon +the Metragyrtan, dragged him away, and mindful of the vengeance long +since sworn against men of his stamp, hurled him into the abyss of +Barathron. + +The young girls under Aspasia’s care had also mingled among the female +Bacchantes, who thronged around the festal procession. + +How could they, trained to freedom, help enjoying the liberty of these +days during which, even for those usually in bonds, all fetters burst +and all barriers fell. + +They had even concealed the Arcadian girl, though she submitted +reluctantly, under the mask of a Bacchante, and dragged her away into +the ranks. + +Alcibiades seemed to be very anxious that Cora should not absent +herself from the Bacchantes, who left Aspasia’s house. + +The young girl was far less beautiful than her companions, but she was +coy, and her strange seriousness charmed the youth, and at last excited +him to audacity. + +On Cora’s account he followed the young girls with his companions, who +were unrecognizable beneath their satyr masks. The bold plan he had +formed was no less than to lure the shy Arcadian away from her friends +or, failing in this, drag her by force to his house. + +The satyrs, jesting gayly, mingled with the Bacchantes, Alcibiades +remained by Cora, but found her as obstinate as ever. + +Suddenly, in a lonely spot favorable to the enterprise, Alcibiades made +a sign and rushed upon the girl with his companions, to bear her off +under the shelter of the gathering darkness. + +But the Arcadian’s heart was full of the same courage with which she +had formerly put an assailing satyr to flight. As she then seized a +brand from the fire in the forest, to drive away the insolent intruder, +she now snatched a burning torch from the hands of one of her +companions and thrust it into the face of the disguised Alcibiades, +whose satyr mask taking fire, instantly flashed into flames, and he +retired in confusion. Cora profited by the momentary bewilderment to +fly with the speed of a hunted deer, and in a short time vanished from +her pursuer’s eyes. + +She hurried swiftly through the streets with a throbbing heart, until +she reached Aspasia’s house. + +Young Manes, Pericles’ foster-son, had been among the satyrs what Cora +was among the Bacchantes. + +He too had been reluctantly obliged to wear a mask, he too was dragged +by Xanthippus and Paralus into the midst of the mad mummery. The tumult +that surrounded him seemed disagreeable, even alarming. The festal joy +appeared like unbridled license. Mad Menon behaved as shamelessly as +his dog. At last Manes perceived that he himself had become the +defenceless butt of the jesters. Naturally slow of wit, he did not +understand how to meet the jests with which the throng pressed upon +him. + +“Beware!” cried some, “this mournful satyr is suspicious. Envious +shades from the nether world, or even Thanatos himself, or the plague, +have often stolen among the living under such a mask! Tear it off! Who +knows what horrible face we shall meet.” + +The youth’s thoughts grew confused, his head began to ache, and forcing +a way through the crowd with his powerful arms he went towards home. + +On reaching the house he slipped unobserved up to the roof, which at +this moment was entirely deserted, seated himself on a little stone +bench, took off the satyr mask from his face, laid it down beside him, +and became absorbed in thought. + +His features had assumed an expression of deep melancholy, and he +seemed to bear some secret sorrow in his breast. When he retired from +the loud joyous tumult of the Dionysian festival, it was perhaps not +merely on account of his aversion to such things, but owing to the +perplexity that now overpowered his soul in consequence of a deep and +powerful impression. + +Manes had sat a long time in this attitude, absorbed in thought, with +the satyr mask lying beside him. Suddenly Aspasia stood before him. + +He looked up, startled. The mistress of the house gazed silently a few +moments at his troubled, gloomy face. Then she said kindly: + +“How does it happen, Manes, that you disdain the pleasures enjoyed by +the companions of your own age? Do you feel no trace in your blood of +the impulse that urges others to enjoy the beautiful, fleeting, +never-returning time of youth?” + +Manes gazed steadily at the ground, and made no reply. + +“Does any grief oppress you?” continued Aspasia. “Are you dissatisfied +in this house, and would you prefer to live among others? Are you angry +with Pericles, for having brought you here from Samos and reared you +like his own son?” + +At these words the youth involuntarily rose from his seat and, while +tears sprang into his eyes, with an eager gesture of denial protested +against such a supposition. + +Aspasia continued to ask the cause of his sadness. + +Manes sometimes answered with a faint sigh, sometimes with a blush. His +hand trembled slightly and he rarely ventured to look up; but when he +did his brown eyes had a sorrowful, almost pathetic expression. + +The youth was so unyielding, so rude of nature, and yet there was +something gentle, almost girlish in his manner. + +Aspasia gazed at him with the interest, which is the necessary result +of anything unusual, strange, and mysterious. + +Every moment she found herself more and more strengthened in the +conjecture, that some secret sorrow was consuming the young man’s +heart. + +It could not be love; for who could have aroused this hidden fire? No +one except one of the young girls in the house, and Manes had always +seemed confused in their presence and shyly kept aloof from them. Had +they not endeavored to draw him into their joyous circle, and always in +vain? + +A thought flashed through Aspasia’s mind, a thought which at first was +somewhat comical, almost amused her. + +But when the youth raised his expressive eyes to her face, the +ludicrousness of the idea diminished, and she found herself stirred by +an emotion of cordial sympathy in a way by no means usual with her. + +She did not weary of gently reproaching him for his unmanly melancholy, +and encouraged him to gain the cheerfulness that beseemed his youth. + +While Aspasia was thus occupied with Manes, Cora sat alone in the +deserted peristyle. On returning from the mad whirl of festal pleasure, +she had silently seated herself there, removed her mask and laid it +beside her, and was still remaining in the same place, lost in thought, +when Pericles accidentally returning to the house, passed through the +peristyle. + +He was surprised to see the young girl sitting there so lonely and +thoughtful, with the Bacchante mask lying beside her. + +Approaching Cora he asked the cause of her hasty return, and separation +from the companions with whom she had left the house. + +Cora was silent. She held in her lap a wreath she had worn as a +Bacchante, and her hand played absently with the flowers. The floor was +strewn with the leaves she had plucked off. + +The girl presented a singular spectacle at this moment. Her attitude, +the unconscious toying with the wreath, the earnestness of the pallid +face, formed a contrast to the garb and symbols of the Bacchante, which +almost provoked a smile. + +Pericles, looking her steadily in the face, continued: + +“I never remember having seen so sorrowful a Bacchante. It seems to me, +Cora, that you would far rather exchange the thyrsus-staff for the +shepherd’s crook. Is it not so? You don’t feel happy in this house? You +are longing for your native wooded mountains, your lambs and +tortoises?” + +Cora raised her deer-like eyes to Pericles for a moment, and gazed at +him with an expression even more melancholy than before, yet with an +artless, childlike look, which seemed to utter the assent of an earnest +soul. + +“Do you want us to send you home?” asked Pericles in a cordial tone, +well calculated to inspire confidence. “Say frankly what you desire and +need to make you happy in this house. There is surely something you +miss.” Pericles spoke very persuasively, fixing his eyes intently upon +the young girl, while awaiting her reply. + +“Do you wish to leave this house?” he repeated. + +Cora sorrowfully shook her head. + +“So your melancholy seems causeless,” continued Pericles, “a sorrow +that attacks your mind like a sort of disease. Struggle against it, my +dear child! Don’t yield unresistingly to its power. The demon of sickly +moods would often fain seize upon me also, but I struggle against him. +Life must be cheerful and a source of pleasure to us: were it not so, +we could not help envying the dead. Don’t people all wish to be gay and +happy, and enjoy life together? Why do you seek solitude? Don’t you +desire to be gay and happy, too?” + +Again Cora raised her eyes frankly to Pericles, and said slowly: + +“I am happy when I am alone.” + +“Strange child!” exclaimed Pericles. + +He gazed silently and thoughtfully at Cora. She was not beautiful. The +spell of her girlish shyness had no sensual charm. + +Yet there was something in this maidenly diffidence, this childishness, +this strange mood of feeling, that aroused a special interest in noble +natures. + +Pericles had found in Aspasia the embodiment of every feminine charm +and grace. Now womanhood suddenly stood before him in a new, +unsuspected form. What he saw embodied in Cora was wholly unlike +anything hitherto beheld, admired, and loved. + +The new phase of feminine character appeared to him neither lovable nor +charming, but an emotion seized upon him as new and strange as that +which aroused it. He laid his hand on the Arcadian’s head, and +recommended her sick heart to the protection of the heavenly powers. + +“Shall we not seek Aspasia?” he then asked, and, hearing from a slave +that his wife had gone upon the roof, took the girl kindly by the hand +to lead her to the mistress of the house. + +Strange coincidence! At the same moment that Pericles, with a feeling +of sympathy, laid his hand, in the peristyle, on the grieving +Arcadian’s head, Aspasia, who had finished her conversation with Manes +on the roof, rested her hand on the head of the melancholy youth. + +It seemed as if her fingers touched his brown locks with almost +maternal tenderness, her eyes rested almost affectionately on the young +original’s features. + +Yet cheerful ease was enthroned upon her free, proud brow, and she +greeted Pericles with a quiet smile as he approached, leading the young +girl by the hand. + +“I bring Cora to you,” said Pericles, “she seems to need your friendly +consolation no less than Manes.” + +The statesman had noticed the affectionate gaze with which Aspasia’s +eyes rested on the youth. + +She obeyed his nod, and he led her to a distant part of the roof, where +a couch was placed under blossoming vines. + +Here Aspasia related her conversation with Manes, and Pericles his with +the Arcadian girl. + +At last Pericles said with quiet earnestness: + +“You have tried sympathetic looks, nay even caressing gestures to cheer +the youth’s sorrowful heart!” + +“And does this suggest the thought that he might be dear to me?” asked +Aspasia. “No,” she continued, as Pericles remained silent, “I do not +love him, for he is almost ugly. His heavy cheek-bones offend my eye. +But some fleeting emotion, I know not of what nature, seized upon me. +Perhaps it was compassion.” + +“Do you know so exactly what love is, and what it is not?” asked +Pericles. + +“What love is?” cried Aspasia laughing. “Are you too beginning to +torment me with that foolish question? Love is a thing not to be +rebuffed when it comes, and not to be held back when it goes.” + +“And you can say nothing else of it?” asked Pericles. + +“Nothing except what I have often said,” replied Aspasia. “It is a +feeling that may degenerate into tyranny, by making the loved one a +mere weak tool. This impulse to degeneration must be repressed. Love +must be a joyous bond of the heart, formed and maintained by freedom!” + +“Whenever you have repeated this to me,” replied Pericles, “it has +always seemed unanswerable. My mind, after calm reflection, is as +firmly convinced of it now as on the day when we ourselves formed such +a bond of the heart in perfect liberty. Love must renounce the +tyrannical impulse to destroy the freedom of that which it loves, but +the question: Can this be love? remains unsolved in my mind. Is love +ever able to victoriously resist this impulse?” + +“It can,” replied Aspasia, “for it must be able to do so.” + +“Love is not to be detained when it goes, you said!” continued Pericles +thoughtfully after a pause. “What will become of us, Aspasia, if its +beautiful fire dies in our breasts also?” + +“Then we will say, that we have together enjoyed the highest earthly +happiness,” replied the Milesian. “We have not lived in vain. We have +emptied the cup of joy in the full vigor of love and life, on the +highest summit of existence.” + +“Emptied—emptied—” replied Pericles in a hollow tone. “You uttered a +word that makes me shudder.” + +“It is the fate of beakers to be emptied,” replied Aspasia, “the fate +of flowers to wither, and the fate of all living creatures apparently +to disappear, but really to revive in perpetual transformations. It is +the business of a mortal to look, with the cheerful composure of true +wisdom, upon all these changes and vicissitudes occurring around and +within him. It would be foolish to cling to the heels of what is +vanishing. A time will come for cheerfully flinging the beaker into the +abyss, from which the waves of pleasure have foamed. Everything strives +upward to a summit, to descend again the scale of existence to +destruction. Everything follows the course of nature.” + +As Pericles and Aspasia finished these words, they prepared to go into +the house, and approaching the spot where they had left Cora and Manes +found them engaged in conversation. + +Aspasia had transformed the flat roof into a sort of garden. There were +arbors to afford protection from the sun, and tall blossoming bushes +growing in pots filled with earth. + +One of these bushes concealed the husband and wife from the youth and +maiden, who were, however, too deeply absorbed in conversation to +notice their approach. + +Pericles and Aspasia involuntarily paused a moment, perplexed at the +sight. They had never noticed that Manes and Cora talked together, or +that one sought the other’s society. + +They had been as silent and reserved towards each other, as towards the +rest of the world. + +The spectacle of a melancholy satyr and a sorrowful Bacchante talking +together was in itself well calculated to attract attention. + +Cora was telling the youth about her Arcadian home, the beautiful +forest-clad mountains, the tortoises, the god Pan, the Stymphalian +birds, the hunting of wild beasts. + +Manes listened with quiet interest. + +“You are very fortunate, Cora,” he said at last, “to have all this so +clearly before your mind, and be continually able to recall it. When I +am awake, I can remember nothing about my home and childhood. Only in +dreams do I sometimes find myself transported to deep rustling forests, +or see rude men clad in the shaggy skins of animals, riding fleet +steeds over the plains. I am always sad all day long after having had +such dreams, and feel as if I were attacked by a kind of homesickness, +although I have no home and should not know whither to bend my steps, +if I wished to seek one. I only understand that I must go northward, +always northward, and often dream I am wandering into infinite +distance. Surely you must be doubly sorrowful, that you cannot return +to your home, Cora, because you know it and your parents, and might +easily find them again. Tell me if you wish to go, and I will secretly +guide you there, for I am still young and strong. Why shouldn’t I live +with the Arcadians, and hunt wild beasts?” + +“No, Manes,” said the young girl, “you ought not to go to Arcadia, +because your longing draws you towards the north. No, I could not bear +to have you settle in Arcadia, for you would surely always be yearning +for your home. You must journey towards the Hellespont and then keep on +towards the north, surely you must find your home, and perhaps a +kingdom.” + +“I would gladly journey towards the north,” replied Manes, “but I +should be sorrowful when I thought that you were here vainly longing +for Arcadia.” + +Cora gazed thoughtfully at the ground then, after a short pause, said: + +“I don’t know why it is, Manes, that I should be just as willing to go +towards the north as to Arcadia, if we went together. It seems to me, +as if every place to which we journeyed would be Arcadia.” + +Manes flushed at the young girl’s words and his hand trembled, as it +always did when overpowered by some strong emotion. At first he was +unable to speak at all, but after a pause, began: + +“But surely, Cora, you would far rather go to Arcadia, to your own +family! I will gladly accompany you, and become a shepherd. It seems to +me as if, wherever I went with you, I should again find my home and +even a kingdom.” + +Here he hesitated, flushing deeply again. Up from the streets rose the +loud tumult of a passing throng of Bacchantes. Torches blazed, joyous +songs echoed on the air, pleasure exulted in unbridled freedom—while +above the youth and maiden, the satyr and Bacchante, stood before each +other with heavy hearts, pale, silent, and confused, neither daring to +take the other’s hand, or raise the eyes bent timidly on the floor. + +“They love each other!” said Pericles to Aspasia. “Those two love each +other, but apparently with a strange kind of love! It seems as if they +loved only with their souls. They speak of nothing but the mutual +sacrifices they would willingly make.” + +“Indeed,” replied Aspasia, “those two love each other with a sort of +feeling only Manes and Cora could devise. They have lost all their +cheerfulness, are pale, sick and sorrowful, and though they know they +love, have no pleasure in their mutual affection, for they don’t even +venture to clasp hands, far less kiss each other.” + +“It is a shamefaced love,” replied Pericles, “a chaste, sad, unselfish, +sacrificing love. Perhaps its constancy and beautiful symmetry supplies +the lack of rapturous delight. Perhaps it is less subject to the blind +course of nature, which you asserted ruled all love.” + +“This melancholy love is a disease!” cried Aspasia. “Woe betide the day +it was first discovered. This new pale-cheeked Aphrodite, wreathed with +white roses, arose from no sea crimsoned by the kiss of sunrise, but +from the waters of the Arcadian Styx. This sorrowful, passionate love +is as bad for mankind as war, pestilence and hunger. I saw this kind of +love at Eleusis, among the attendants of Thanatos, and this thought was +the only one that pleased me in the Eleusinian vaults!” + +Then the husband and wife came forward, and Aspasia took the Arcadian +girl into the house. + +On the evening of the same day Pericles gave a little banquet, as was +the custom with all Athenian citizens during the Dionysian festival. +Several guests were present, among them Callimachus, with Philandra and +Pasikompsa. + +On this occasion they had not assembled in the usual dining-room of the +house, but in the cooler and more spacious peristyle, where the breezes +of the mild spring night might blow with refreshing coolness. + +Pericles, according to his habit, withdrew early. + +Suddenly Alcibiades arrived with several of his friends. In his +extravagant gayety, he almost burst open the doors of the house and, +pressing in with his companions, took his seat among the assembled +company. + +Cora instantly fled to the interior of the dwelling. + +When Alcibiades perceived this, he sought compensation from the +charming Simaitha, but the young girl proudly repelled him. She +despised him for having humbled himself so far as to attempt to seize +the Arcadian shepherdess. The other young girls rebuffed him for the +same reason. He strove a long time to conciliate the angry beauties, +but in vain. + +“What?” he cried at last, “Cora runs away from me stiff as a +torch-thistle, when the hot summer dries it—Simaitha turns her back +upon me—Aspasia’s whole school look grave and frown like old +Anaxagoras—well then, if you all reject me, I’ll cling to lovely +Hipparete, Hipponicus’ modest, diffident, blooming little daughter.” + +“Do so!” said Simaitha. + +“I will!” cried Alcibiades; “you shall not have challenged me in vain, +Simaitha! Alcibiades doesn’t allow himself to be trifled with. I shall +go to Hipponicus early to-morrow morning and ask him for his little +daughter. I’ll marry, turn virtuous, renounce all foolish pleasures, +and spend my time in conquering Sicily and making the Athenians dance +to my pipe.” + +“Hipponicus won’t give you his daughter!” cried Callias; “he thinks you +too worthless a fellow!” + +The rest of his companions chimed in: “Hipponicus won’t give you his +daughter, you’re too worthless a fellow.” + +“Hipponicus will give me his daughter!” exclaimed Alcibiades +emphatically, “even if I have boxed his ears just before. Will you make +a wager? I’ll promise to box Hipponicus’ ears, and then ask him for his +daughter. And he’ll give her to me.” + +“You are a braggart!” cried his friends. + +“The wager!” replied Alcibiades. “A thousand drachmæ, if you choose.” + +“Done!” cried Callias and Demos. + +Alcibiades held out his hand to his friends, and they clasped it. The +bet was for a thousand drachmæ. + +“Why shouldn’t I turn virtuous,” cried Alcibiades, “when so many +mournful signs and marvels are happening around me? Isn’t it enough +that Cora flees from me, Simaitha casts me off, Theodota has gone mad? +Must I also lose my oldest and best friend? He has broken his faith +with me and married.” + +“Of whom are you talking?” asked several. + +“Whom but Socrates?” replied Alcibiades. + +“What? Has Socrates married?” asked Aspasia. + +“Even so!” replied Alcibiades. “He secretly took a wife. Give him +up—you’ll never see him again.” + +“How did it happen?” asked Aspasia. “I have heard nothing of it.” + +“It is probably about two weeks,” said Alcibiades, “since I was +standing in one of the quietest streets beyond the Ilissus, talking +with a friend I happened to meet. Suddenly the flower-wreathed door of +a house opened, and a procession of flute-players and singers, wearing +garlands and carrying torches in their hands, came out. These were +followed by a veiled bride, walking between the bridegroom and the +bridesman. The trio entered a vehicle drawn by mules, which stood +before the house. Then the bride’s mother followed with the torch, with +which she intended to light the fire on the new hearth, and joined the +rest of the white-robed, garlanded train. The carriage began to move, +and was accompanied down the street to the bridegroom’s house, with the +music of flutes, songs, and joyous shouts and bounds. The bridegroom +was Socrates, Aspasia’s friend, and his bridesman Euripides, the +woman-hater.” + +“And the bride?” asked many. + +“The plain daughter of a plain citizen,” replied Alcibiades, “but she +instantly seized the reins of the household with an iron grasp, and +understands the art of managing the remnant of Socrates’ patrimony. +Socrates married! The poor truth-seeker! He sought truth, and found—a +woman. I repeat, signs and miracles are occurring. The old world seems +to be getting out of joint. Socrates married, the gay Theodota mad, and +moreover, it is said several cases of the plague, that has long been +lurking in Egypt, have occurred at Ægina and Eleusis, and a suspicious +satyr mask was seen in the Agora to-day, beneath which it is supposed +Thanatos, or the plague, or some other horrible shape has slipped in. +Taking all these things together, you must confess that it threatens to +become very tiresome in the city of the Athenians. If, in addition, I +marry Hipponicus’ daughter, the Hellenic sky will grow as gray as an +ash-heap. But we’ll be merry to-day—by Eros with the thunder-bolt! +Don’t sulk any longer, girls! Let us begin a gay war against the +mournful powers that threaten us! Let us snap our fingers at all signs +and wonders! If joyous mirth has deserted all the rest of Hellas, it +must surely still linger in this circle. Am I not right, Aspasia?” + +“Yes,” replied Aspasia, “we will be allies in the conflict against +melancholy.” + +She ordered new beakers to be brought, the delicious wine again foamed +in the mixing vessel, the sparkling goblets were emptied again and +again. Gay jests, laughter and songs of joy echoed through the +peristyle, and Alcibiades showered sparks of Dionysian wit. + +Midnight came. Suddenly a door leading into the peristyle opened and, +with closed eyes like a ghost, Manes slowly entered—Manes, the +sleep-walker! He had absented himself from the banquet and sought his +quiet couch, but his strange disease robbed his pillow of repose. + +At the sight of the somnambulist walking with closed eyes through the +peristyle, the jocund revelry was silenced and all, seized with a +thrill of fear, gazed mutely after the ghostly wanderer. + +Passing through the peristyle, he turned towards the stairs leading to +the flat roof of the house, ascended them with a steady step, and +instantly vanished from the revellers’ gaze. When the first thrill of +terror had been conquered, most of the guests determined to follow him. + +“Thus Dionysus punishes those who rebel against his gay service!” cried +Alcibiades. “We’ll convert the despiser of the gods. Come! We’ll wake +him and drag him down to our banquet by force.” + +The greater portion of the revellers rose and went to the roof, but on +reaching it, beheld a spectacle that again filled them with horror. + +Manes was walking along a high sloping projection of the roof, close to +the extreme verge, a spot where only the somnambulist, with closed +eyes, could move without turning giddy and falling to the ground. + +The other inmates of the house had hurried up, on hearing the news that +Manes was walking in his sleep. + +Pericles also appeared. + +He, too, shuddered when he saw the youth, saying: + +“If he wakes now, he will surely fall, but it is impossible to approach +that spot and rescue him.” + +Just as he uttered the words, Cora rushed up. + +Terrified, deadly pale, her large round eyes dilated, her face +half-covered by her dishevelled locks, the young girl gazed at the +somnambulist. On hearing Pericles’ words, she shivered an instant, then +darted as if on wings towards the spot where Manes was walking, swung +herself over the high projection, walked with a firm tread several +steps down the perilous descent, seized the youth’s hand and dragged +him back from the outermost verge of the pinnacle to where both had +firm footing. + +Not until Manes was safe did giddiness overpower her. Then she fell +fainting. + +It was now Manes who, opening his eyes, anxiously seized the young girl +and bore her onwards in his arms, till she regained her consciousness +and half-frightened, half-confused, ran blushing away. + +The revellers had watched this scene with amazement. Now they +surrounded Manes and amid gay, cheering words, led him down into the +peristyle. + +Pericles lingered a moment with Aspasia. + +“How sorry I am,” said the former, “that Socrates did not witness this +scene.” + +“Why do you regret it?” asked Aspasia. + +“He would at last believe he had beheld what love is.” + +Aspasia gazed silently at Pericles a moment. “And you?” + +“This couple perplex and shame me a little,” he replied. “It seems as +if they wished to say: ‘Withdraw from the stage and make room for us.’” + +Again Aspasia gazed intently at Pericles’ grave, thoughtful face. Then +she replied: + +“You are no longer a Greek!” + +The words exchanged were few in number, but full of meaning. They fell +heavily into the scales of fate. + +With them something like a secret rift occurred between two souls, once +so beautifully and tenderly united. + +A long prepared entrance into Pericles’ soul of new, dark, sorrowful +powers, doubt and secret dissension was accomplished. + +The slow, noiseless fracture of something lofty, beautiful, and noble, +ended with this trifling altercation. + +Uttering the words; “you are no longer a Greek,” Aspasia turned away, +with an expression of mingled anger and compassion on her face. + +Both went silently down stairs, Pericles to his room, Aspasia to the +guests. + +Meantime the revellers had vainly endeavored to detain Manes at the +banquet and convert him to a fitting worship of the god of pleasure. He +broke from them, and retired to the inner rooms of the house. + +The conversation now turned for some time on Cora. All admired her +courage, or rather the strange power of a feeling, a mood, a passion, +under whose influence she had acted, by which she had been blindly, +unconsciously borne along, and which to almost all bore the impress of +an insoluble mystery. + +Alcibiades also began to express his regret, that Socrates had not +witnessed this scene. + +“What a feast it would have been to the eyes of the truth-seeker, who +ponders over the most commonplace things, and would doubtless never +rest until he had discovered the inmost meaning of this strange event. +He’s a sort of somnambulist himself, attacked by the lunacy of +philosophy, who shuts his eyes that he may think better, and wanders +astray on giddy heights. Only no Cora appears to lead him back with +gentle hand from the gulfs of thought. Well, I’ll go and tell him about +the whole affair, though it’s almost dangerous to visit Socrates in his +own house. Xanthippe, its young mistress, is always afraid I shall +corrupt her husband, and looks upon me with unfriendly eyes. When I +went with a few friends to visit the newly-wedded pair, we were greatly +embarrassed, for the little woman began to bewail and lament that she +could not suitably entertain such distinguished people. ‘Never mind,’ +said Socrates, ‘if they are good men they will be content; if wicked, +we need not trouble ourselves about them!’ But these words only enraged +Xanthippe still more. I instantly perceived that she ruled the house. +By way of a joke, I began to talk with her husband in the frankest way, +and load him with friendly caresses. Since that time she has been +furiously angry with me and when, a short time ago, I sent a dainty +cake to Socrates, went so far as to throw it out of the basket and +trample it under her feet. And Socrates? He only ventured to say: ‘What +is the matter? If you hadn’t crushed the nice cake, you might have +eaten it.’ Alas! it seems as if the wisest men in Athens no longer +understood how to treat their wives. By my Demon,” continued +Alcibiades, after draining his beaker, “I repeat, the world is out of +joint! Delos shaken, Theodota mad, the sages scolded by their wives, I +myself on the point of wooing Hipponicus’ daughter, priests of Sabazius +in the streets, somnambulists on the roofs, the Peloponnesus in arms, +the plague at Lemnos and Ægina.” + +“Don’t forget the eclipse of the sun,” interrupted Demos, “besides, it +is said that a ghost wanders about Hipponicus’ house—” + +“Is that true?” all asked Hipponicus’ son, Callias, who happened to be +present. + +“Yes, it is really so!” replied the latter, and told the company that a +ghost actually did wander about his father’s house, and Hipponicus had +grown pale, thin, and thoughtful, the daintiest morsels no longer +pleased him, nightmare oppressed his dreams. + +“There it is,” cried Alcibiades—“eclipses of the sun, and ghosts in the +houses of merry old gluttons. Deuce take the world, if it’s beginning +to grow so gloomy. Once more, friends, cheer up and fight against the +dreariness of the times!” + +“Does it need a challenge?” cried young Callias. “By Heracles! Haven’t +we done our duty, during this whole festival, better than ever before? +Didn’t we throw the Metragyrtan into the gulf of Barathron? Didn’t we +behave as might have been expected from the merry Ithyphallians? And +hadn’t we all the Athenian youth behind us? Was there ever a gayer +Dionysian festival at Athens, than the present one? Have you ever seen +the populace so wild and reckless? Did the wine ever flow in more +abundant streams? Did a larger number of priestesses of joy ever swarm +in Athens and were they ever more eagerly sought? What do you mean by +dreary times, Alcibiades? This is a merry time, say I. The world is +advancing in jollity, not receding, as you think, and whatever may +threaten will only grow still gayer. That’s as it should be. Long live +pleasure!” + +“Long live pleasure!” again resounded and the beakers clashed together. + +“Let me embrace you, worthy Callias!” cried Alcibiades, kissing his +friend. “That’s the way I want to hear you all talk! Long live +pleasure! And that it may forever live, flourish, and thrive among the +Athenian people, the Ithyphallians must work with the school Aspasia +has founded. The Ithyphallians and Aspasia’s school must be the +stronghold of gayety, charming extravagance, and all joyous mirth. So +don’t sulk, Simaitha! Don’t rebuff me, Prasina! Don’t make a face at +Alcibiades, Drosis! Smile again, Simaitha! You have never been more +charming than to-day. By Zeus! For one bewitching smile from your lips, +I’ll lose the thousand drachmæ I have wagered and let Hipponicus’ +little daughter wait awhile.” + +All now turned to Simaitha, and begged her to be reconciled to +Alcibiades. + +Aspasia herself joined in the entreaties. “Don’t bear Alcibiades +ill-will any longer!” said she. “He may be right in saying that +Aspasia’s school must maintain friendly terms with the Ithyphallians, +but only in so far as the Ithyphallians’ recklessness must be tamed and +curbed by women’s hands. We must receive these Ithyphallians, in order +to impose upon them the curb of correct and beautiful moderation, that +the bright realm of pleasure may not sink into sadness and +dissipation.” + +“We will submit to you!” cried Alcibiades. “We’ll choose Simaitha queen +of the realm of pleasure, with unlimited power.” + +“That we will!” echoed around the circle. “Why shouldn’t the +Ithyphallians allow themselves to be curbed by so charming a little +hand?” + +Amid extravagant gayety, the smiling, lovely Simaitha was proclaimed +queen of the banquet, victorious ruler of the realm of pleasure. + +A beautiful throne, richly garlanded with flowers, was erected; she was +clad in purple robes, a golden diadem was pressed upon her curls, and +wreaths of roses and violets were twined around her body. + +She shone in the peerless magic of her youth and beauty—a true queen. +Even Aspasia’s eyes rested on her admiringly. + +“Aspasia ruled the present,” exclaimed Alcibiades, “to you, Simaitha, +belongs the future.” + +The beakers were filled with wine, and drained in honor of the radiant +queen of pleasure. + +“Ruled by this sovereign,” cried the youths, “the kingdom of joy will +spread throughout the whole world.” + +“Take your thousand drachmæ, Callias and Demos!” cried Alcibiades. +“I’ll give up the wager as lost. I shall not go to Hipponicus +to-morrow. The prince of the Ithyphallians will form a new bond with +the queen of beauty and pleasure! Thank the gods! She is smiling again, +and her teeth glitter like one of the rows of marble pillars in the +Parthenon.” + +With these words the reckless youth, excited by wine and love, +approached the royally-adorned maiden and, amid the cheers of his +companions, threw his arm around her and tried, with a kiss, to seal +the bond just concluded. + +At this moment all who were looking at Simaitha, noticed a vivid flush +suffuse her face. + +Waving Alcibiades back with her out-stretched hand, she complained that +a sudden burning heat had attacked her head. + +At the same time her parched lips seemed to long for some refreshment. + +A beaker filled with wine was offered, she thrust it back, asked for +water, and emptied goblet after goblet of the cooling fluid; but they +seemed like mere drops falling on a mass of glowing metal. + +It was now noticed that her eyes were growing red and bloodshot. + +The girl’s tongue grew heavy—her voice sounded harsh and hoarse—and she +began to complain of swelling of the mouth, throat and tongue. + +At the same time a feeling of terror showed itself, her whole body +trembled, a thin cold perspiration covered her limbs. + +They wished to lead her to her room, her couch; but, as if pursued by +some terrible fear, she wanted to plunge into a well, into deep cool +water, tried to rush away like a lunatic, and was only restrained by +force. + +Pericles was summoned. + +He appeared, saw the young girl’s condition, and turned pale. + +“Go!” he said to the revellers. + +Their brains were still half clouded by bacchanalian intoxication. + +“Why does the young girl’s state alarm you so much?” they cried. “If +you know her disease, speak!” + +“Go!” repeated Pericles. + +“What is it, what is it!” exclaimed Alcibiades. + +“The plague!” said Pericles, in a low, hollow tone. + +Quietly as the word was uttered, it fell upon the assembly like a +thunder-bolt. + +All were silent, turned pale, and dispersed. + +The young girls began to lament—Aspasia herself turned deadly pale, and +trembling violently, strove to relieve her lost favorite. + +Simaitha was borne away. The revellers silently began to retire. + +Alcibiades alone, the most intoxicated of all, maintained his +composure. + +“Must we then yield to the gloomy powers?” he cried, seizing a beaker. +“Has our struggle been vain? If you all despair and shamefully +acknowledge yourselves conquered, I will not yield! I defy the plague +and all the terrors of Hades!” + +He continued to talk in this tone, until he at last perceived that he +was standing alone in the deserted peristyle, amid scattered garlands +and half-emptied or overturned beakers. + +He looked around him with glassy eyes. “Ho! where are you, merry +Ithyphallians?” + +“Alone!” he continued—“all alone! They have all abandoned me—all! The +kingdom of pleasure is deserted—the gloomy powers conquer!” + +“Be it so!” he cried at last, hurling the beaker from him. “Farewell, +beautiful pleasures of youth! I will go to Hipponicus!” + + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE SATYR AND THE BACCHANTE. + + +On the eventful night, when Simaitha was crowned queen of pleasure at +the joyous banquet in Pericles’ house, and the torches of thronging +Bacchantes glittered in every street in Athens, a bird of evil omen, +one of the gloomy owls perched on the shadowed frieze of the Parthenon, +upon the silent, lonely Acropolis, repeatedly uttered its awful, boding +cry. + +The festal tumult arose in a subdued hum from the city streets, +blending strangely with the nocturnal cry of the owl from the frieze of +the Parthenon, which echoed from the heights of the Acropolis like a +message of death. + +It was indeed a note of doom. + +At the very moment Alcibiades and his companions, in the climax of +reckless mirth, raised their beakers at the banquet at Pericles’ house, +and drank the health of the radiant queen of pleasure—at that very +moment Phidias was dying in prison; the immortal master of the +Parthenon, who some time before had been attacked by a wasting disease, +gave up his great soul. + +But at the very hour the loftiest soul among the Greeks, the most +famous centre of Athenian creative genius passed from earth amid the +gloom of a dungeon, and Aspasia exclaimed: ‘You are no longer a +Greek’—in that hour it seemed as if a rent passed not only through the +bond that united Pericles and Aspasia, but through the heart of the +Hellenic world—as if its star darkened; and with the victorious cry of +the owl on the Parthenon blended the malicious laughter of evil demons +hovering in the air around the height of the Acropolis. + +The priest of Erechtheus woke at the owl’s cry. To him, it seemed to +say: + +“Cheer up, your time has come.” + +The demons whispered to each other: “At last power to burst forth is +given us. Let us swoop down on Athens, on Hellas!” + +At the head of these ranks of demons flew discord and the plague. + +The latter spread its black pinions and, in advance of all the rest, +soared over the city of Athens, shrouded in the darkness of night, but +resounding with bacchanalian mirth. + +The fiend was searching for the spot where the festal gayety foamed +most brightly—found it, and darted like a vulture upon the radiant +young queen of pleasure in Pericles’ house. + +The fairest of the young Hellenic women, to whom, as Alcibiades said, +the future belonged, was the first prey of the demon. + +There are times when great physical evil is added to secret corruption, +revolutions of the moral nature, perplexities and degeneration, when +the harmony and order of the spiritual and physical world are disturbed +at the same time. + +Such a period now dawned for Athens—for all Hellas. + +To the secret corruptions of the community, slowly and gradually +prepared by increasing luxury and pleasure-seeking, by the numbers of +reckless demagogues, and especially by the natural course of human +affairs, which necessarily leads from full bloom to decay and +degeneration—to this secret corruption were added the outbreak of +bloody feuds among the various nations of Hellas, from which none +emerged as victor, while they gradually destroyed the prosperity and +welfare of all, and the horrors of the plague, the destroying +pestilence. + +The Hellenic “Kalokagathia” was to be shaken—no longer could Hellenic +life boast of “a sound mind in a sound body.” + +The news of the first case of plague in Pericles’ house had spread +through the whole city of the Athenians, and reckless bacchanalian +festivity instantly gave way to pallid fear and paralyzing anxiety. + +Other fatal shafts of the death-angel followed, and in a few days the +plague was raging violently, unfolding all its horrors. + +As had happened with Simaitha, the disease broke out with intense heat +in the head, together with inflammatory swelling in the throat. Bloody +matter was discharged from the jaws, the mouth, and even the tongue. +Then the chest was attacked, and violent coughing expelled a little +thin saliva. A loud roaring in the ears followed, convulsive twitching +of the hands, trembling of the whole body, feelings of fear and +restlessness increasing to madness, consuming thirst, internal fever so +great that it drove many to the cisterns. Sometimes, descending to the +bowels, the disease caused severe vomiting. The skin was flushed, at +times turned dark-blue, ulcers and pimples broke out; yet it seems as +if this, like other pestilential diseases mentioned by the ancients, +lacked the boils, recognized as the most prominent symptom of the +dreaded scourge of the nations known in later times under the name of +the Eastern plague. + +The sickness usually lasted a week, then came death with hollow eyes, +sharpened nose, and cold body, very harsh to the touch. Even those who +recovered did not escape easily; for the corruption often spread to the +very ends of the limbs—the feet, hands, and other members were +withered, paralyzed, or blighted. Sight was often lost. Memory and +reason suffered; convalescents frequently became idiotic, and some on +rising from their sick-beds did not remember their own names. + +All remedies were ineffectual. By Hippocrates’ advice large fires were +lighted, as it had been noticed that smiths, working constantly near +the fire, were rarely ill. + +But the power of the disease only increased. As knowledge proved +powerless, people sought aid from superstition. Never were the +countless ceremonies of expiations, purifications, conjurations, at the +command of the Greeks, so zealously practised. During the first weeks +the city resounded with lamentations for the dead, and was filled with +funeral processions following to graves or funeral pyres those snatched +away by the plague. + +But when the number of deaths increased, and the contagion emanating +from the sick or corpses spread terror and consternation, many died +alone in deserted houses, or even in the streets, and the sacred rights +were neglected. The obolus for the ferryman of the nether world was no +longer placed in the dead man’s mouth, the cake to quiet Cerberus no +longer put in his hand, he was no longer bathed and rubbed with +fragrant ointment, no longer handsomely clothed, garlanded with ivy, +and laid on a couch in the peristyle of the house. Wailing mourners no +longer preceded the funeral train, the corpse was no longer honored by +a long procession of mourners, funeral banquets, funeral sacrifices, +and the sombre garments usually worn by the survivors. Hurriedly, +noiselessly, almost without followers, the countless corpses were borne +out, buried in graves, or laid on funeral pyres. At last even this duty +to the dead, long considered by the Hellenes the most sacred of all, +was neglected. The bodies lay corrupting in heaps. Corpses were found +in empty temples, whither the sick had perhaps dragged themselves to +implore the help of the gods; many were also discovered near the +fountains to which, consumed by inward fever, they had crawled to +moisten their parched lips; and to realize the extremity of horror, +dead bodies were even found in the cisterns themselves, into which the +delirious, burning with internal fever, had plunged. Soon the +refreshing water of the wells was regarded with suspicion and terror—it +might be defiled by the abomination of corruption. + +The streets were piled with the corpses of those who had dragged +themselves there, been borne lifeless from the houses and hastily +thrown down, or hurled themselves from the roofs in desperate fear. + +When these corpses were collected, the Hellenes’ aversion to touching +dead bodies, mingled with the fear of infection, so confused their +minds, that in frantic haste the dying were thrown among the dead, the +unconscious among the rotting. + +Where relations had erected a funeral pile to burn a dead body, others +pressed forward with other corpses and tried to throw them into the +flames, until the fire was stifled by the number of bodies, and a +fierce conflict arose around the burning pyre. + +People thought they noticed, that not even birds of prey and wild +beasts would touch the unburied bodies of those who died by the plague. +If they did, they quickly fell victims to the disease and perished. +This also frequently happened to dogs. + +The fear of contagion estranged men. The Agora was deserted, the +gymnasia were empty, the people no longer ventured to assemble on the +Pnyx. The doors of the houses were either firmly locked to prevent all +approach, or stood wide open because the interior was deserted. Terror +even loosened the ties of blood. Many saw themselves abandoned to their +slaves, who now avenged themselves for former oppression by +disobedience, defiance, theft, and insolent plunder. + +In the minds of some, irritation alternated with dull resignation. Not +a few sought to deaden their senses by reckless dissipation and the +unbridled enjoyment of pleasure. Courage or forgetfulness was sought in +intoxication. + +Mad Menon stood forth as a fearless, laughing despiser of peril, and +was to be found wherever the horrors of the pestilence were greatest. +He seemed to be most fond of lingering among corpses, and was often +seen sitting on a heap of dead bodies, as if enjoying the misery, and +jeering at the cowards who fled from the dead and him, the infected +one. When it was seen that he, who with drunken insolence defied +danger, was spared, the number of those who did the same increased. +Soon the streets and squares were abandoned to intoxicated vagabonds, +who pledged Queen Plague and defied her terrors. These were the people, +who for gold would carry the dead out of the houses or pick them up in +the streets and take them to be buried or burned. They practised their +trade with the rude temerity of men, who will not risk their lives +gratis. They demanded and received whatever they chose, robbed and +practised every kind of violence in the houses into which their calling +led them. There was no fear of the law for the activity of the courts +had long since ceased, and the criminal thought that the pestilence +would either snatch away those who might accuse him, or spare him the +necessity of defending himself. + +But it was not merely poor men, who gave themselves up to dissipation, +the rich did the same, especially young men, who tried in this way to +arm themselves against the horrors which surrounded them. Many saw +themselves suddenly made rich by inheriting the property of their +parents, brothers and sisters or relations. But as they could not help +fearing that they might suffer the same fate as those from whom they +obtained their wealth, they tried to enjoy the gifts of fortune as much +as possible, and squandered them in dissolute pleasure. The sight of +these persons so speedily enriched, aroused in others the expectation +of rejoicing in a similar destiny; expectation gave birth to hope and +criminal wishes. + +Thus moral restraints were gradually loosened, and the survivors +rejoiced in the advantages which fell to them from the excess of +universal death. + +But if the pestilence and its results appeared to increase the longing +for pleasure in many hearts, here as well as everywhere else the rule +asserted itself that contrasts appear side by side or blend with each +other. With unbridled acts and the dissolution of all restraints, +gloomy superstition extended its reign farther and farther. Those who +still avoided intoxication and excesses, sought a new safeguard and +consolation in exaggerated piety, superstitious reverence for the gods. + +Men like Diopeithes came forward, who represented the misfortune sent +upon Athens as a punishment for the contempt of the gods hitherto +displayed, and directed the fury of the populace against those pointed +out by the priest of Erechtheus and his companions, as the principal +causes of the divine wrath. + +The mystic worship of Sabazius was again remembered and the +Metragyrtan, who was hurled into the gulf of Barathron by the saucy, +drunken Ithyphallians. Many now thought they had perhaps been wrong in +rejecting this savior Sabazius, the deliverer from all misfortunes, and +believed the crime committed upon the innocent Metragyrtan was the real +cause of the wrath of the gods, and especially the vengeance of the +insulted Sabazius. To reconcile him, they said, was now the first duty +and the only remedy for the destroying plague. A foreign woman named +Ninos, living in Athens, who understood all sorts of charms and +mysterious things, proclaimed herself a priestess of Sabazius. To be +consecrated to this god, was soon regarded as a means of sanctification +and deliverance. The initiation was accompanied by strange rites: +deer-skins were hung around the persons to be consecrated, a sacred +potion handed them to drink, they were rubbed with mud and clay, and a +serpent was drawn over their bosoms. During this time they sat on the +ground and, when the ceremony was ended, rose with the exclamation: “I +escaped evil and gained the good.” A nocturnal festival blended gloomy +rites with sensual orgies. Thus the excesses and superstition, to which +the distress caused by the plague urged bewildered minds, were united +in the worship of Sabazius. Processions in honor of Cybele and Sabazius +were frequently seen. There were many who followed the example of the +Metragyrtans, danced the Sicinnis, scourged and mutilated themselves. +The devotees of the Phrygian god also boasted of healing the plague, +placed the sick in chairs, and danced around them with a wild uproar. +To mingle in these circles was considered a safeguard against the +disease. + +To such a point had the Athenian nation come. + +What Aspasia feared and thought she could prevent, happened—strange, +gloomy ideas entered the bright and beautiful world of Greece, ideas +which, though they did not instantly obtain an entire victory, served +to indicate in what way the Hellenic nation was to be obscured, like a +bright star by gloomy clouds. + +While the terrible pestilence was spreading dull despair and gloomy +delusions, and paving the way for foreign superstition, by no means +harmless like the native one, but which gnawed the roots of healthy +life, terrors of another kind lurked around the Attic country. + +War had recently broken out. The Peloponnesians attacked the rural +districts of Attica and forced its population into the city, but a +strong fleet, this time commanded by Pericles, set sail, and its +successes on the coast of the Peloponnesus again compelled the Spartan +king to hastily return home. But Potidæa still resisted, Corinth must +be besieged, and the fires of insurrection blazed forth here and there +in the colonies and allied cities. + +To remove Aspasia and his two sons, Xanthippus and Paralus, from the +most perilous place, Pericles had assigned his country-house to them +for a residence during the time of his absence. Aspasia moved there +with her whole household, but evil pursued her. After Simaitha’s death, +Drosis and Prasina were also snatched away from the seminary of grace +animated by intellect. They had been released from imprisonment at +Megara by the victorious Pericles, only to fall victims, in their +youthful bloom, to the destroying angel of the plague at Athens. + +Whoever had power to do so fled from the infested city to the rural +districts, like Aspasia and her companions, or to the neighboring +islands, where the danger seemed less. + +Aspasia’s circle of friends was broken up. Euripides had previously +left Athens. He had become a misanthrope, lived at Salamis in complete +seclusion and preferred to spend his time in the grotto on the shore, +where amid the wild roar of battle he had first seen the light of the +world. Here he sat alone, pursuing his meditations, with his eyes fixed +upon the sea, desiring to hear nothing of Athens, except what was +whispered by the waves, which rolling thence broke in foam at his feet. + +Sophocles still lived in his rural retirement on the shores of the +Cephissus, untouched by the scourge fate swung over the Athenians. +Cheerful wisdom remained faithful to him and taught him to escape +Pericles’ destiny, by allowing nothing to become too dear to his heart, +or permitting the seriousness of life to obtain too much power over his +mind. + +The scourge also spared Socrates’ head, although he did not leave the +brooding place of the pestilence, but fearlessly walked through the +streets of Athens, did not avoid his fellow-men, and rendered help +wherever he could. + +Meantime Alcibiades had married Hipponicus’ daughter, the blooming +Hipparete. + +He too, with his old insolence, defied the terrors of the plague, +though he saw that the wrath of the gods did not spare the +Ithyphallians, and the pestilence snatched from his side one of his +favorite companions, young Demos, Pyrilampes’ son. When Pericles +departed with the fleet, Alcibiades accompanied him. Thus the priests +of Sabazius could pursue their proselyting, without fearing the wild +Ithyphallians and the gulf of Barathron. + +The plague yielded a little, but only enough to make individuals +remember the commonwealth, and permit the Athenians to turn their eyes +from what immediately affected them to the troubles threatening at a +greater distance. The renewed peril of war found cowardly hearts; the +number of men capable of bearing arms was diminished by the plague, +which also prevailed on the fleet before Potidæa. Pericles was +successful with his fleet on the Peloponnesian coast. But when all +Hellas, divided into parties, was gradually drawn into the confusion, +what did it avail if the battle died out in one place, since it was +renewed in another, everywhere engaging not only the two enemies, but +also their allies, while these alliances themselves constantly wavered +and altered. It was no longer possible for one individual to command; +what was gained at one place was lost at a more distant spot, nowhere +did the enemy make a stand for a decisive battle, the great Hellenic +war was divided into countless individual conflicts. + +At the news that the cowardly population of Athens had entered into +negotiations with Sparta, Pericles hastened his return. He expected to +encourage them and prevent disgraceful despair; but the Athenians, +wearied by the heavy visitation of fate, received the secret plans of +Diopeithes and the demagogues more favorably than ever. + +The priest of Erechtheus had been attacked by the plague and recovered. +Since that time his fanatical zeal had increased, for he saw in this +deliverance from mortal peril a direct sign from the gods. + +One day a group of citizens chanced to be assembled around a man in the +Agora, for they had gradually ventured to approach each other, though a +short time before one shrank from another, as they fled from the plague +itself. + +The person who stood in the midst of the little throng of listeners, +was one of the bold free-thinkers, whose tongues seemed to have been +unloosed again. He not only ventured to denounce the demagogues and +eagerly support Pericles, but also to condemn the superstition to which +the Athenians had fallen victims. As there were many adherents of +Diopeithes and Cleon among his auditors, a violent dispute arose and +the free-thinker was finally seized and maltreated by his opponents. + +At this moment the priest of Erechtheus came up, accompanied by a +number of his friends and followers. + +When he heard that the assaulted man had defended Pericles and called +the Athenians’ confidence in their gods petty superstition, the +priest’s features assumed an expression of menacing, gloomy excitement. + +He rolled his eyes upward for some time, as if spiritually holding +intercourse with the divine powers, then turning to the people, began: + +“Know, Athenians, that last night the gods sent me a dream, and have +now led me to this spot just at the right time. During a long series of +years, sin has been heaped on sin at Athens. Sophists and deniers of +the gods have deluded you, hetæræ have ruled you, temples and statues +of the gods have been erected, not in honor of the gods, but for empty +display and the destruction of simple modes of thought and the pious +manners of our ancestors. You are now suffering the punishment of your +degeneration, denial of the gods, and luxury. It is not the first time +that the wrath of the gods has been visited on the Hellenes, and you +well know in what way their anger was appeased in our forefathers’ +time. You know that the gods could sometimes be conciliated only by the +greatest of all propitiatory sacrifices, a human victim. Seize this +denier of the gods—his life is forfeit according to the law, for his +criminal blasphemy. He is a criminal, condemned to death. But instead +of suffering his punishment by the hand of the executioner, let him +according to the ancient, half-forgotten custom, be offered as a +propitiatory sacrifice, conducted through the streets with songs and +music, burned and transformed to ashes, scattered to the winds.” + +More and more persons had collected while the priest was talking. Among +them was Pamphilus. The latter, on hearing that a friend and defender +of Pericles was to be killed, instantly supported the plan. + +“The funeral pyres on which the bodies of those who die by the plague +are consumed, burn night and day on the opposite bank of the Ilissus. +Room can be found for this man on one of the piles of wood blazing so +merrily.” + +With these words he was the first to seize the culprit, and a number of +the fiercest among his companions prepared to help him drag the +unfortunate man away. + +Pericles now entered the Agora on the way to the Bouleuterion, saw the +tumult, and asked its cause. + +The excited crowd loudly replied that the gods demanded a propitiatory +sacrifice, and they were preparing to offer one in the person of +Megillus, the blasphemer and denier of the gods. + +Pericles, with a restraining gesture, forced his way into the crowd, +but Diopeithes confronted him. + +For the first time the two men, on whom rested the guidance of the +great battle fought at Athens for years, and whose decision was +constantly growing nearer, stood personally face to face, as if in a +duel. + +“Back, Alcmæonid!” cried the priest of Erechtheus. “Do you even now +seek to deprive the gods of what is their due, a due they imperiously +demand? Do you wish to prevent the Athenian nation from seeking +propitiation for their sins and final deliverance from the woe into +which no one but yourself has plunged it? Do you not see whither your +blindness has led this people, once so beloved by the gods? It is your +work if they have turned from the old pious customs, yearned for +wealth, luxury, and idle display, followed a false light and listened +to the words of the despisers of the gods.” + +“And you, Diopeithes?” replied Pericles with grave but calm resolution; +“whither do you mean to lead the Athenian people? To the fanatical +murder of citizens—to the renewal of savage, inhuman abominations, from +which, maturing to a purer morality, the Hellenic mind turned with +horror centuries ago.” + +“Thank the gods, Pericles!” cried Diopeithes, “that they have delivered +this man into our hands—thank the gods if they are willing, for the +present, to be content with this man’s blood. For if they demanded of +us the real criminal, the guiltiest man in the Athenian nation, do you +know whom we should be compelled to seize and commit to the flames? As +the prophet Teresias once cried to the boastful Œdipus, we should be +obliged to say to you, Alcmæonid, you are the criminal, you are the +cause of the wrath of the gods! An ancient curse rests upon your race! +Through you, through your companions and friends Athens has become +impious, through you the trouble of war has burst upon us, and the +worst scourge in the hands of the gods, the plague, can be averted by +no other atonement than your blood.” + +“If it is as you say,” replied Pericles quietly, “release yonder man, +and sacrifice him who seems to you most guilty.” + +With these words Pericles released the condemned man from Pamphilus’ +grasp. The latter, grinning with satisfaction, freed his former victim +and, delighted by the exchange, did not neglect to seize the hated +strategus. + +“Why do you delay?” said Pericles to the perplexed, mute, motionless +Athenians. “Do you suppose I merely offer myself to be spared by you? +Believe me, men of Athens, it seems almost a matter of indifference +whether you spare me or drag me to death! I meant to guide Athens to +the fairest happiness, the brightest renown, the full light of truth +and freedom, and I now perceive that a change ordained by the gods—or +is it a primeval curse that clings to the whole course of nature?—again +seizes upon us and leads us back to darkness and confusion; that it is +not only external calamity, which is bursting over Hellas, but gloomy +powers are also conquering those of light within us! I shall thank the +gods, if I do not survive the splendor and bloom of my native land! +Kill me!” + +The Athenians still stood silent and motionless. Pamphilus became +impatient. + +A man now stepped forth from the crowd, and making a movement to +depart, said: + +“If you want to kill Pericles, do it without me. I won’t see it. When I +was sorely wounded at Thrace, he dragged me away with his own hands, +while all the others fled before the greatly superior number of +assailants and wanted to leave me in the enemy’s power.” + +“I’ll go too,” said a second. “He pardoned me in the Samian war, when +the other strategi wanted to sentence me to death for a slight crime.” + +“I’ll have nothing to do with the matter either,” said a third; +“Pericles aided me by his intercession, when I couldn’t get my just +rights from the magistrates of Athens.” + +“Nor I! Nor I!” echoed from the throng, and the number of men who +separated from the crowd constantly grew larger. + +“No Athenian ever put on mourning through any intentional fault of +Pericles!” resounded on all sides. Pamphilus clung convulsively to his +victim, who threatened to escape him. + +“Let Pericles go, Pamphilus!” cried several. Others joined in the +shout, and at last the call echoed in a loud chorus: + +“Let Pericles go, Pamphilus!” + +Even in their worst moments, the Athenians could not attack this man. + +“You have conquered again!” cried Diopeithes scornfully. “But perhaps +this is the last of your triumphs. I shall cast the guilt on your head, +if the gods remain unappeased and continue to scourge us.” + +A short time after this event, Pericles’ two sons, Xanthippus and +Paralus, were attacked by the plague and fell victims to it. + +The priest of Erechtheus pointed with satisfaction to the public curse +of the gods, who had at last destroyed the race of the Alcmæonidæ. + +The pestilence again increased. Diopeithes and his followers constantly +reminded the people of the neglected propitiatory sacrifice, and +Pericles, who had prevented it. The offence and the wrath of the gods +seemed credible, after the misfortune that appeared to have been sent +to this man by the divinities. + +The Athenians’ minds were more darkened than ever, and the field was +left to Pericles’ enemies. + +The latter, who after so much calamity, was now shaken by the sudden +death of his offspring and the ruin of his family, allowed matters, +with a sort of indifference, to take their course. The moment of +dealing the blow long prepared by his enemies, had arrived. + +The motion to deprive him of his office of strategus, and all other +dignities conferred upon him, was proposed with insolence and malice in +a thinly-attended popular assembly and carried in dull bewilderment. + +Was Pericles, after decades of glorious government, to again become a +simple Athenian citizen? Was Diopeithes at last victorious? + +Come on then, men who talk so grandiloquently to the people, Cleon, +Lysicles, Pamphilus, loquacious orators and counsellors on the +Pnyx—place yourselves at the head of the fleet and army! Seize the +reins that have escaped from the hands of the imperious Pericles! + +In the Agora, the unwearied Pamphilus, gathering a throng of the people +around him, eagerly vaunted his friend Cleon’s vocation for the command +of the people, and praised his courage, intellect and talents. + +After a long and eager conversation with those assembled, a poor man of +strange, half-savage appearance suddenly stepped forward, and eagerly +began to proclaim his opinions. + +“Fellow citizens!” he cried, “we have deposed Pericles, we, the +Athenian people. This was well, in so far that Pericles might perceive +we still have popular government in Athens. So far, I say, it was well. +But in other respects it’s a very queer thing to saw off a leg, when on +the point of running races at Olympia—and after we have jumped out of +the frying-pan into the fire, and the ox, as the saying goes, is to be +had for a song, and sausage-makers want us to believe they have bird’s +milk to sell.” + +“A cur should rend you, you scoundrel!” angrily interrupted the man +from the dregs of the people. “Will you be quiet?” + +“No, I won’t!” replied the half-savage man. “I’m as much an Athenian +citizen as anybody, and fear no one. I’m a man from Halimus. I was a +ribbon-dealer, and have seen better days; but after my wife and +children died of the plague and I barely escaped from my sick-bed, I +left everything and engaged myself as a corpse-bearer, that is, I help +carry the bodies of those who have died of the plague to the funeral +pyres.” + +At this remark all shrank timidly away, and held aloof from any contact +with his person. + +The ex-ribbon-dealer was not at all disturbed, but continued: + +“I boast of being a man of experience in political affairs. Fifteen +years ago I was on the Pnyx, among those who determined upon the +building of the Parthenon, and granted the judges’ pay and the money +for the plays. I’ve always done my duty as a citizen and had an eye +upon the welfare of the community, and I tell you the Peloponnesians +are no cattle and sheep, to let Cleon the tanner dress their hides +without ceremony. And if Pericles’ two sons died of the plague, we +ought to pity the unfortunate man, the childless father, instead of +humiliating him and looking upon the matter as if he ought to be +insulted and persecuted, as one marked out for the anger of the gods.” + +“Enough of Pericles,” shrieked Pamphilus, again interrupting the +ribbon-dealer. “We want to hear no more about Pericles. He’s good for +nothing. He’s ill, we hear. What use is a sick man to us?” + +“Take care, Pamphilus!” cried the other; “they say a sick lion’s remedy +is to eat a baboon.” + +“Do you mean to insult me?” cried the sausage-maker, raising his foot +as if to kick his enemy. + +“Come on!” cried the ribbon-dealer, “I’ll beat you till your skin is +purple—I’ll tear the lungs out of your body and twist your giblets!” + +Pamphilus timidly shrunk back from the corpse-bearer’s touch. + +“Back!” he cried, “back! Don’t dare to lay your poisonous hands on the +body of an Athenian citizen! Back, scoundrel! Wretch, most miserable of +men!” + +“Why?” cried the corpse-bearer, grinning. “Perhaps you’ll be obliged to +let me touch you! I hope to get dozens of such fellows as you in my +cart! But for the rest, I repeat: it was well to depose Pericles, that +he may see we can dispose him if we choose; but after he has perceived +it, the best thing we can do is to appoint him again and give him the +fleet, for we can’t do without him, I say—there’s nobody like him, and +every one who carries a club is by no means a hero.” + +It was a difficult matter to contest the logic of the words uttered in +his queer, but honest fashion, by the half-crazed peddler from Halimus. + +In fact, whoever in Athens desired war, could not help wishing also for +Pericles. Potidæa had fallen at last—hope again stirred, though only +with a feeble flutter of the wings. The mood of the volatile Athenian +populace quickly changed again. + +The next day the Athenians flocked to the Pnyx and reappointed Pericles +to his offices and dignities. + +They thought it was the old Pericles, to whom they were confiding +themselves, but they were mistaken. + +Sophocles was the first, who brought his friend tidings of the people’s +new resolution. + +“The Athenians have restored everything to you!” said the poet, +congratulating him. + +“Everything,” replied Pericles, smiling bitterly, “except confidence in +them, in the prosperity of Athens, and in myself! + +“Diopeithes still triumphs!” he continued. “He is apparently vanquished +again, but we are really the conquered party in Athens. True, +Diopeithes and his party did not reach their nearest goal, but the work +at which he and his adherents have long labored was not lost on the +Athenian people.” + +“Banish these sad forebodings from your heart!” cried Sophocles. +“Athens and Hellas are still at the apex of their splendor: they will +yet mature many a noble thing, win many a wreath of fame. We, who have +been permitted to see the rarest flower unfold, ought not to complain—” + +“But we also perceived the worm within this fairest flower!” replied +Pericles. “The evil days have not yet arrived, but a dark future casts +its shadow far in advance. We strove to reach a lofty summit of joyous +liberty, beauty and knowledge. The dream of beauty has been +realized—but the others are melting away in darkness and confusion. The +spring of a nation’s life, it seems, is short, and its blossoms wither +ere they are fully open.” + +Such were the words uttered by Pericles to the noblest of his friends, +on the day of his reappointment. + +Again the ravages of the destroying plague increased. + +At the change of the moon the night was gloomy and tempestuous. A chill +wind blew over Attica from the ravines and peaks of the Pindus. The +waves beat sullenly against the stone dykes at the Piræeus. The ships +in the harbor rocked, the beams creaked, their oars rattled. The winds +wandered like ghosts through the deserted streets of Athens, playing +with the open doors of abandoned dwellings, and wailing through the +empty peristyles. Sometimes it was impossible to distinguish between +the howling and moaning of the gale, or the sighs and lamentations of +mourning mothers. Black clouds swept over the pinnacles, pediment, and +marble statues of the Parthenon. The shields, hung as offerings on the +architrave, beat against it with a clanking sound. Nocturnal birds +shrieked. The huge statue of Athena Promachus, armed with spear and +helm, trembled on its granite pedestal. + +On this dark stormy night, when every one remained in-door and the +streets were entirely deserted, a man urged by a strange restlessness, +wandered through the streets. This man was Socrates. The old habit of +wandering about at night, while eagerly pursuing a train of thought, +had not become unfamiliar to him—though he was rather pursued by the +thoughts, than following them. So on this evening also he wandered +blindly, as if impelled towards some unknown goal. + +He found himself on the desolate shore of the Ilissus, where lay the +charred remains of funeral pyres, and mad Menon crouched amid mounds of +ashes and glimmering embers. The lunatic grinned, fanned the coals with +his breath, and warmed himself at them, sometimes taking a sip from a +flask of noble Chian, stolen from a house depopulated by the plague, +whose provisions easily became the prey of vagabonds. + +Here and there, as Socrates hurried onward through the darkness, his +foot struck against half-burned, blackened limbs. + +Again he aimlessly pursued his way, until the perfume of violets +suddenly attracted him. He approached it, and found a fountain wreathed +with violets in the Athenian fashion. The flowers had a strange odor. +Socrates stooped to cool his burning brow, and his parched lips sought +the refreshing water. But here also death confronted him, and the +strange odor blended with the fragrance of the violets was soon +explained. The sullied waters bore a corpse, one of the unfortunates, +whose terrible longing for cooling drink urged them, even in the death +agony, to the fountains. + +Shuddering, Socrates started back, then calming himself plucked one of +the violets, gazed thoughtfully at it a long time, and said: + +“Oh, ye Attic violets, who will henceforth praise ye and the +violet-wreathed Athenians, if your famed spicy fragrance is so horribly +mingled with the odor of corruption?” + +He rushed on farther through the streets, where doors were banging in +the gale, and mothers seemed to be vying with the wind in bitter +wailing. Gazing up at the Acropolis, he saw the black, jagged clouds +that, like spirits of evil, flitted with the hovering night-birds +around the gigantic statue of Athena Promachus. + +Socrates dashed along as if the evil spirits he fancied he beheld, had +descended and were pursuing him. Suddenly he found himself before +Pericles’ house. + +He stood still. How often he had crossed this threshold, and what a +long time had now elapsed since he entered the dwelling! + +Involuntarily, almost unconsciously he approached the door, and noticed +that it was not closed, but seemed forgotten, neglected, without a +porter. + +He went into the entrance-hall, but it was deserted. No sound reached +him from within. The stillness that surrounded him was horrible. + +The dim light of a few flickering lamps streamed from the peristyle. + +A shiver ran through his frame, he knew not why, yet some unknown power +urged him onward. + +In the centre of the peristyle was a couch piled with purple cushions, +on which lay a lifeless form wrapped in gleaming white robes—the brow +wreathed with the green tendrils of the ivy. + +By the couch sat a woman with bowed head, pale and silent as a marble +statue. + +Socrates stood at the back of the peristyle as if spellbound. His eyes +rested fixedly, like those of a person who had lost his senses, upon +the corpse and the woman beside it. + +This pallid, motionless woman was Aspasia; the garlanded corpse on the +purple couch, Pericles the Olympian. + +Lifeless lay the Alcmæonid, the leader of the immortal band of lofty +spirits that glorified Greece forever—the hero of a golden age of +mankind, which still bears his name, which he had fostered in Hellas, +and with whose decline he passed away. + +The body of the heroic man, felled by the shaft of the destroying +angel, looked even taller and more stately than before. But, as in +life, an expression of gentleness rested upon the face. Even the plague +had not marred his noble features. It seemed as if death had not +overthrown and crushed the Olympian, but restored the enfeebled man to +his full grandeur. The features of the corpse beamed with the cheerful +repose that the living man had recently lost, the discord that had +stolen into the soul of Aspasia’s husband seemed soothed. + +What were the pallid Aspasia’s thoughts beside Pericles’ bier? + +A brilliant succession of lofty, noble, beautiful memories was passing +through her mind. + +She recalled the moment in Phidias’ studio, when this man’s fiery +glance met hers for the first time, where after a manly, earnest +struggle for the grandeur and power of Athens, beauty threw her fetters +around him. + +His image hovered before her, now as he stood on the orator’s platform +upon the Pnyx and carried the people with him—now, as full of +enthusiasm, he walked with her over the height of the Acropolis, +rejoicing in the glorious work rising before his eyes—now, as again +seized by the longing for action, he strove for new laurels at +Samos—now, as inspired with glowing ardor at Miletus, fulfilling the +fairest human destiny, he drained the intoxicating beaker of joy with +her on the flowery summit of life—now, as he formed their marriage-bond +on the Acropolis, in the presence of newly-completed, immortal +creations, his soul filled with lofty thoughts and hopes— + +He hovered before her mind in his noble grandeur, his bewitching power +over men, his susceptibility and fervor, his manly dignity—at once +gentle, wise, heroic—the ideal of the true Hellene, too full of mind +and soul to develop into rude heroism, and yet also too full of +animation, too energetic to find entire satisfaction in effeminate +pleasure, in the magic spell of love and beauty. + +Then his image hovered before her memory as he walked by her side +through the fields of the Peloponnesus, while light shadows of +earnestness flitted more and more frequently over his brow, as thrilled +by the most secret life and web of advancing time, foreboding a new, +graver, sorrowful future, he silently concealed his deepest feelings +till he ceased to be a Greek, in the mind and opinion of the beautiful +woman with whom he had formed the gay, joyous bond of love, and after +having experienced in his own soul the course of development of +Hellenic life, overpowered by sorrowful presentiments, sank with the +power and grandeur of his native land. + +As Aspasia’s eyes rested on the face of the lifeless Pericles, Socrates +fixed his gaze on her pale countenance. + +She seemed to him like an embodied Hellas, sitting mournfully beside +the bier of her noblest son. + +How pallid and earnest were the features of this beautiful woman, this +once joyous Hellas! + +Aspasia now raised her eyes, met Socrates’ gaze, and exchanged a long, +long look with him. + +No words could express the emotion that found vent in that long, +earnest gaze. + +Not a syllable, only this one look, was exchanged between the pair; +then Socrates vanished. He had appeared like a ghostly shade—and +noiselessly vanished. Aspasia, motionless and pale as marble, again sat +alone beside the death-bed of the great Hellene. + +Socrates, deeply moved, continued his nocturnal walk, hurrying +aimlessly through the streets without any note of time. + +The force of the wailing, moaning gale had lessened. The nocturnal +pilgrim found everything still more silent and lonely. It was long +after midnight, and an almost imperceptible streak of grey in the east +announced the approach of dawn, though darkness, the darkness of night, +still rested upon the streets of Athens. A few setting stars twinkled +through the torn clouds. + +Suddenly a man apparently ready for travelling, appeared before +Socrates, accompanied by a slave. The expression of his features was +harsh, stern, almost gloomy. He gazed intently at Socrates. + +The truth-seeker looked up as the other stopped his progress, and +recognized Agoracritus. + +“Where are you going this dark night?” the latter asked his former +companion in Phidias’ studio. + +“Pressing business summoned me to Athens,” he continued, as Socrates +made no reply; “but I am hurrying to get out of the infected city. I +shall go to Rhamnus to do what has been asked of me for so many +years—provide my goddess erected there with the external symbols, that +will transform her from an Aphrodite to a Nemesis. I have delayed +long—but now something urges me to gratify people. The men of Athens +must no longer doubt that Nemesis really stands among them, instead of +smiling Aphrodite. I owe a debt of gratitude to this goddess, who moves +with slow, but steady tread! Has she not avenged me on the woman I +hate? The goddess of retribution has taken up her abode with Pericles +and Aspasia. I even heard a few days ago, that the plague had attacked +Pericles and thrown him on a sick-bed—” + +Socrates looked up into Agoracritus’ face and said in a low tone: + +“He is dead.” + +Agoracritus was silent in amazement. + +Both walked side by side for a time without speaking. + +“Dead?” asked Agoracritus. + +“I saw him myself,” replied Socrates in a hollow tone. + +Again both were silent. + +At last Agoracritus began: + +“You have seen Pericles dead; it has fallen to my lot to see Phidias +perish before my eyes in prison. I was with him in his last hours; for +on hearing that he was seriously ill I hurried to him. People told me +that he disdained all medicine, and every kind of aid. Pericles sent +Hippocrates to him; but he began to talk with the physician about the +proportions of the forms and lines of the human body. Even on his +sick-bed, his mind was solely occupied with what had formerly been his +only care. + +“When I came, those who were about him in the prison told me that he +frequently raved in the delirium of fever, and rarely recognized any +one. I went in and found him dying. At first he knew me, but gradually +his thoughts became confused by feverish visions. He talked continually +of vast temples, gold and ivory statues, and marble friezes—gave +directions to his pupils as if he were still in his studio, urged them +to work, scolded the idlers, gave precise directions about how they +should do this or that thing, and was angry if they did not work +exactly as he desired. Often he expressly named me or Alcamenes. At +last he seemed to be entirely alone with his shining statues, and his +gods and goddesses; Pallas Athena and his Olympic Zeus made themselves +manifest to him. It appeared as if, while he was dying, the deities of +Olympus all descended and stood around his couch, visible to him alone, +for he looked about him with a radiant face, hailed them, and addressed +them by their names. Finally, Pallas Athena seemed to remain alone with +him and beckon to him, for he suddenly said: ‘Whither dost thou wish to +lead me? I come!’ Then he raised himself a little, as if to go with +her, but sank back and his eyes grew dim. [10] + +“He died in the midst of his feverish dream; a beautiful death, like a +Hellene, while the fairest light of Hellas shone around him, and the +gods snatched him away from earth to Olympus, at the very moment when +the night of woe was closing over Athens, so that he saw nothing of it, +but passed away with unshadowed mind. + +“At first it caused me deep grief to see this man lie dying in prison; +for after he had created the Athena Promachus on the citadel, the +Athena Parthenos, the Parthenon itself, the Olympic Zeus at Olympia, +and so many magnificent works no one has ever surpassed and no one ever +will excel, whereby Hellas is principally glorified, his reward from +men was to die dishonored and alone, amid the gloom of his dungeon. + +“But when I saw him die, I felt an emotion not unmingled with +consolation and, after closing the master’s eyes and kissing his brow, +walked silently away and only pitied Hellas, and all of us who are left +behind, after the best and greatest have departed.” + +After Agoracritus had finished his tale, the two men walked on +thoughtfully side by side for some time, then parted. + +Agoracritus went northward toward Rhamnus, but Socrates, urged by his +secret emotion, continued his walk, and ere he had advanced many paces +saw a blazing funeral pyre, on which numerous bodies had been thrown, +among which he beheld mad Menon lying. + +The man, senseless from intoxication, had been found lying asleep among +the dead bodies by the corpse-bearers, who had flung the apparently +lifeless form on a pile of wood, where the flames were already +surrounding him. + +A dog circled, whining, around the funeral pyre. + +The flames now reached the madman. At this moment, the dog also sprang +upon the pile of wood, and was burnt with its master. + +A strange feeling took possession of Socrates. “Now you are free, +Menon!” said he. + +“Now you are free!” he repeated several times, as with burning brow he +continued his way. “Will a time ever come when all slaves are made +free?” he thought—“or all freedmen slaves?” he added reflectively. + +He now wandered through distant streets, no longer within the precincts +of the city itself, but where the country residences of the Athenians +and gardens alternated with open fields. + +A swallow flying upward announced the dawn of day. + +Socrates, as if guided by his demon, reached a house pervaded by a +certain tumult. + +Many persons were coming and going. + +It was the residence of Ariston, a noble Athenian. + +Socrates stood still and heard from those passing in and out, that a +little son had been born to Ariston during the night. After so many +images of death, there was a birth, an awakening life. + +Again some mysterious impulse stirred in Socrates breast. He entered +his friend’s house. + +The child was in the peristyle, lying in its nurse’s arms. An elderly +man, who looked like a seer or priest, had just bent his snow-white +head over it and was gazing attentively at it. Socrates also looked at +the infant, which had a broad beautiful brow, a thinker’s brow, and +whose face seemed irradiated with a mild, lofty earnestness by no means +childlike. + +Suddenly a bee flew in—a bee from Hymettus—one of the much-praised +Attic bees, buzzed around the child and brushed its lips, but lightly +and harmlessly, as if kissing it, then flitted away again. + +At this spectacle the gray-headed seer said: + +“The kiss of a Hymettus bee is a sign from the gods. Words alluring as +virgin honey will one day drip from this infant’s lips.” + +The sight of the child impressed Socrates strangely. He could not +interpret the emotion that filled his breast, but the future will bring +its explanation. + +The boy, who lay before the eyes of the restless truth-seeker, was to +proclaim a new message when he had matured in to a youth. + +His lips dripped with Attic virgin honey. With the sweetest eloquence +he will preach the bitterest doctrines. + +He will teach that the body is the prison of the soul and the soul, +releasing itself, must soar upward into the spiritual world. He will +teach that Eros despises the earth, and must ascend into the bright +realm of eternal ideas, shining in changeless beauty— + +And this lesson will find an echo on near and distant strands, become +the watchword of a new time, and conquer the world on the lips of a +Galilean. + +But with it, in a new meaning, will also triumph the teachings of the +priests of Sabazius and the Metragyrtans, the gloomy doctrine of +self-torture and self-mutilation. + +Socrates, absorbed in thought, left Ariston’s house and reached a +height from which he beheld Attica and the sea, steeped in the light of +morning. + +A vessel was sailing towards Sunium and, lost in meditation, he +unconsciously gazed steadily at it. + +This ship bore the “Satyr” and the “Bacchante”—bore Manes and Cora +northward towards a new home. + +They set forth, holding in their breasts the germ of a future allotted +to the effort to erect a kingdom of goodness upon the ruins of beauty. + +They set forth, blessed by their earnest love. + +From the bay they looked back, gazing for the last time at the city of +the Athenians, as they left it forever. + +A thin, light cloud was rising into the pure, clear morning air, not +far from the Acropolis. It came from the funeral pyre, which was +consuming the lifeless body of Pericles into sacred ashes. + +This little cloud rose and hovered around the pinnacles of the +Acropolis. + +Manes and Cora followed it with their eyes, as it floated about the +white marble brow of the sacred citadel of Pallas. + +But the tiny cloud melted away, and the pinnacles and pediment of the +Parthenon and newly-finished Propylæ stood forth with marvellous +distinctness in the clear light. + +The immortal coronet of the mountain towered high above the chaos and +confusion of the Athenian city, and the children of men. + +From the ruins of the perishable an imperishable work, victorious in +eternal serenity, rose in Hellas. It seemed to say: + +“I am raised above the changeful destiny of men, and their petty +misery. I shall shine through the centuries. I shall be always here. I +shall be like the magical light upon the mountains of Hellas, and the +eternal glitter of the waters in her gulfs.” + +Nations aspire towards the good and the beautiful. + +The good is human and noble—but the beautiful is divine and immortal. + + + END. + + + + + + + + +NOTES + + +[1] A commander of military forces on land and sea. + +[2] For most of the quotations from Sophocles’ plays the translator is +indebted to Franklin’s version. + +[3] The details of this description of the naval battle of Tragia are +purely imaginary, solely intended to serve the necessities of the +romance by displaying the character of Pericles, when engaged in +energetic action. + +[4] Scorpio, a military engine.—Smith’s Dicty. Greek and Roman +Antiquities. + +[5] Charis, (Χάρις), the personification of Grace and Beauty, which the +Roman poets translate by Gratia, and we after them by Grace.—Smith’s +Dict. of Greek and Roman Biog. and Myth. + +[6] Phallus, the symbol of the fertility of nature. (Smith’s Dictionary +of Greek and Roman Antiquities.) + +[7] Agones (ἀγῶνες), the general term among the Greeks for the contests +at their great national games.—Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Roman +Antiquities. + +[8] Brauronia (βραυρώνια), a festival celebrated in honor of Artemis +Brauronia, in the Attic town of Brauron (Herod, vi. 138), where, +according to Pausanias (i. 23. § 9, 33. § 1, iii. 16. § 6, viii. 46. § +2), Orestes and Iphigeneia, on their return from Tauris, were supposed +by the Athenians to have landed, and left the statue of the Taurian +goddess. (See Müller, Dor. i. 9. § 5 and 6.) It was held every fifth +year, under the superintendence of ten ἱεροποιοί (Pollux, viii. 9, 31); +and the chief solemnity consisted in the circumstance that the Attic +girls between the ages of five and ten years, dressed in +crocus-coloured garments, went in solemn procession to the sanctuary +(Suidas, s. v. Ἄρκτος; Schol. on Aristoph. Lysistr. 646), where they +were consecrated to the goddess. During this act the ἱεροποιοί +sacrificed a goat and the girls performed a propitiatory rite in which +they imitated bears.—Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Roman Antiquities. + +[9] The functions of the βασιλεύς, or King Archon, were almost all +connected with religion: his distinguishing title shows that he was +considered a representative of the old kings in their capacity of high +priest, as the Rex Sacrificulus was at Rome. Thus he presided at the +Lenæan, or older Dionysia; superintended the mysteries and the games +called λαμπαδηφορίαι, and had to offer up sacrifices and prayers in the +Eleusinium, both at Athens and Eleusis. Moreover, indictments for +impiety, and controversies about the priesthood were laid before him; +and, in cases of murder, he brought the trial into the court of the +Areopagus, and voted with its members. His wife, also, who was called +βασίλισσα or βασίλιννα, had to offer certain sacrifices, and therefore +it was required that she should be a citizen of pure blood, without +stain or blemish.—Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Roman Antiquities. + +[10] A: “Egeria” (Eger, 1875) as well as the collection of epic poems +entitled “Orient and Occident” by K. V. von Hansgirg contain a poem +called “Phidias,” in which, as in “Aspasia,” Pallas Athena appears to +the dying sculptor. Hansgirg himself, in the latter volume, page 79, +names 1874 as the date of the composition of this poem. My narration of +the death of Phidias, on the contrary, was written in 1873, and as the +entire romance was lying in the office of the Vienna “Neuen freien +Presse,” I can appeal to the testimony of those who had the work in +their hands, to prove that though many alterations were subsequently +made in the MS. of “Aspasia” this particular scene then existed word +for word precisely as it now appears in print, so that no suggestion +can have been obtained from Hansgirg’s poem. + + + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76058 *** |