CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEWS AT ATHENS.
The _Skylark_ excelled herself in the display of her sailing qualities.Thanks to this, Callias, in spite of the untoward delays which hadoccurred on his journey, was the first to bring intelligence of thevictory to Athens. The news ran like wild fire through the city,gathering, as may be supposed, a vast number of imaginary details, as itpassed from mouth to mouth, and the assembly which was called byproclamation for the next day, to hear the reading of the despatches,was, considering the empty condition of the city, most unusuallycrowded. No one who could crawl to the market-place was absent, and allthe entrances and approaches were thronged by women, children, andslaves. The first stress of fear had been relieved, for it was knownthat a victory had been won; but there was still much room for anxiety.The victory had not been gained without cost--no victories everwere--and it was only too probable that in this case the cost had beenheavy. The despatch was brief and formal. It told the numbers engaged,and the order of formation, with the number of hostile vessels capturedor sunk. It mentioned the fact that there had been losses on the side ofthe conquerors, and promised details when there should have been time toascertain the facts.
After the assembly had been dismissed, Callias was overwhelmed withenquiries. To these he thought it well to return very vague answers. Thefact was that there was much that he knew and much that he did not know.He knew the name of more than one of the ships that had been sunk ordisabled. Two or three had been run down before his eyes. About othershe had information almost equally certain. He could have told some ofhis questioners what would have confirmed their worst fears. On theother hand he could not give anything like a complete list of thelosses. Some enquirers he could reassure. He had seen or even talked totheir friends after the battle. All the admirals, he knew, were safe.And steps, he was sure, had been taken to rescue the shipwrecked crews.On the subject of Diomedon's fears he preserved absolute silence. If anydisaster had happened, it was only too sure to be heard of before long.
On the evening of the day of assembly a great banquet was held in thePrytaneum, or Town-hall of Athens. Such a banquet was always aninteresting sight, and on this occasion Callias, as he witnessed it forthe first time, also saw it to the very greatest advantage. All thepublic guests[26] of the city that were not absent on active service orwere not positively hindered from coming by age or infirmity werepresent. The ranks of these veterans were indeed sadly thinned. The warhad been curiously deadly to officers high in command. The fatalexpedition to Sicily had swept off many of the most distinguished.Others had fallen in the "little wars" in which Athens like all statesthat have wide dominions had been perpetually involved. One famoussurvivor of a generation that had long since passed away was there,Myronides, the victor of Oenophyta. The old man had been born in theMarathon year, and was therefore now eighty-four. His life, it will beseen, embraced with remarkable exactitude the period of the greatness ofAthens. The victory that had made him famous had been won fifty-oneyears before, and had been, so to speak, the "high water mark" ofAthenian dominion.[27] He had lived to see almost its lowest ebb, thoughhappily for himself as he died before the year was out, he was sparedfrom seeing the absolute ruin of his country. Callias was distantlyrelated to him and was on terms of as close a friendship as thedifference of age permitted with his son Eteonicus, one of the ablestand most patriotic statesmen of the time. After the libation which wasthe usual signal for the wine drinking, had been poured, the old manrose from his place, as his habit was, and walked down the hall,touching our hero on his shoulder as he passed.
"Come," he said, as Callias looked up, "if you can spare half an hourfrom the wine cup to bear an old man company."
The young man immediately left his place and accompanied the veteran toone of the small chambers leading from the hall.
"And now tell me all about it," he said, when they were seated.
Callias gave him as full an account as he could of all that he had seenduring the campaign. Myronides plied him with questions that showed anintelligence of unabated vigor. The armament and sailing qualities ofthe ships, the _morale_ and _physique_ of the crews, every detail, infact, that concerned the efficiency of the force that Athens had in thefield, were subjects of liveliest interest to the old man. When he hadheard all that his young kinsman had to say, he heaved a deep sigh. "Ah!my dear boy," he said, "things have come to a pretty pass with Athens.As an old soldier I know what some of the things that you tell me meanbetter than you do yourself. We are near the beginning of the end, and Ican only hope that I shall be gone when the end itself comes. I don'tmean that this is not a great victory that Diomedon and the rest of themhave won; but it is a victory that will never be won again. In the verynature of things it can not. Do you think that the old men and boys thatI won the day with at Oenophyta[28] would have sufficed for a regularforce, a force that the city could rely on? Of course not. I could noteven have afforded to risk the chance if they had not had somethingstrong behind them. But now what is there? Old men and boys, and nothingbehind them. The slaves, you say? Very good; they fought very well, Ihear. And of course they will get their freedom. Do you think that theywill fight as well again after they have got it? Why should they? A manmay as well die as be a slave, and so they might very well risk theirlives to get free. But, once free, why should they risk them again?"
"What!" cried Callias, "not to keep the Spartans out of Athens?"
"You talk as an Athenian," said the old man, "and they are notAthenians. You and I, I allow, would sooner die than see Spartans withinthe walls: but what would it matter to them? They could eat and drink,buy and sell just as comfortably whoever might be their masters. Yes, myson; it is all over with a city that has to fall back on its slaves.There is only one chance, and that is to make peace _now_, before welose all that we have gained. But what chance is there of that? Is thereany one who would even dare to propose such a thing?"
"You would, sir," said the young man.
"Yes, I might; but to what profit? I don't suppose they would do me anyharm. 'Poor old man!' they would say, 'he dotes.' But as for listeningto me--I know better than that. Is there one of the responsiblestatesmen who would venture to give such advice? Would my son Eteonicusventure? Not he; and yet he is a sensible and honest young man, andknows that I am right. But it would be as much as his life, or, what hevalues more, his whole career is worth, to hint at such thing. Oh! whatopportunities I have seen lost in this way. Unfortunately a victorymakes the Athenians quite impracticable.[29] They don't seem capable ofrealizing that the wheel is certain to take a turn. But you have hadenough of an old man's croakings. The gods grant that these things mayturn out better than my fears! And now give me your arm to the gate,where my people will be waiting for me."
Callias conducted the old man to the door, and saw him put safely intothe litter which was waiting for him. He then stood meditating how heshould dispose of himself for the rest of the evening. He was unwillingto return to the banquet. Questions would be put to him, he knew, bymany of the guests to which it would be difficult either to give or torefuse an answer. He would gladly, indeed, have hidden himselfaltogether till the fuller despatches should have arrived, which wouldrelieve him of the necessity of playing any longer the difficult partwhich had been imposed upon him. His thoughts naturally turned toHippocles and Hermione, and he had already taken some steps in thedirection of the Peiraeus, when the thought occurred to him that he wasscarcely on terms of such intimacy with the family as would warrant avisit at so late an hour. As he stood irresolute, the door of aneighboring house opened, and a party of four young men issued from itinto the street.
"Ah!" cried one of them, "'tis the sober Callias. Seize him, Glaucus andEudaemon, and make him come with us."
The two men addressed ran up to our hero, and laid hold each of an arm.
"You are a prisoner of my spear," said the first speaker, whose name, Imay say, was Ctesiphon, "and may as well submit to your fate with asmuch grace as possible. You
shall not suffer anything unendurable, andshall be released at the proper time. Meanwhile you must join ourexpedition."
"I submit," said Callias, willing, perhaps, to have the question thathad been puzzling him settled for him. "But tell me, if I have to followyou, whither you are bound."
"We are going to the house of Euctemon, where there will be something, Iknow, worth seeing and hearing."
"But I am a stranger," said Callias.
"A stranger!" cried Ctesiphon, "you are no such thing. The man whobrings good news to Athens is the friend of everybody. Besides Euctemonis my first cousin, and he is always pleased to see my friends. Youshould have been at his dinner, but that there was no room on hiscouches for more guests. But now when the tables are removed[30] weshall easily find places. But come along or we shall lose something."
There was no want of heartiness in Euctemon's greeting to his newguests. To Callias he was especially polite, making room for him on hisown couch. When the new arrivals were settled in their places, the hostclapped his hands. A white-haired freedman, who acted as major-domo,appeared.
"We are ready for Stephanos," said Euctemon.
A few minutes afterwards a figure appeared, so curiously like thetraditional representations of Homer that every one was startled.Stephanos was a rhapsodist, or professional writer, and he had made itone of the aims of his life to imitate as closely as he could the mostdistinguished member that his profession could boast. In early life hehad been a school master, and an accident, if we may so describe a blowfrom the staff of a haughty young aristocrat, whom he had ventured tochastise, had deprived him of sight. His professional education hadincluded the knowledge of the authors whom the Greeks looked upon asclassics, Homer holding the first place among them, and he was glad toturn this knowledge to account, when he was no longer able to teach. Inthis occupation too his blindness could be utilized. It had its usualeffect of strengthening the memory, and it helped him to look the part,which, as has been said, he aspired to play.
The blind minstrel was guided to the seat which had been reserved forhim in the middle of the company by an attendant, who also carried hisharp.
"What shall we have, gentlemen?" asked the host. "You will hardly findanything worth learning that Stephanos does not know."
The guests had various tastes, so various that it seemed very difficultto make a choice. One wanted the story of the Cyclops, another the taleas told by Demodocus to Alcinous and the Phaeacian princes, of the lovesof Ares and Aphrodite. A third, of a more sober turn of mind, called forone of the didactic poems of Solon, and a fourth would have one of themartial elegies with which the old Athenian bard Tyrtaeus stirred, aswas said, the spirits of the Spartan warriors.
"Let Callias, the bringer of good news, name it," said Euctemon, aftersome dozen suggestions had been made.
The proposal was received with a murmur of approval.
The young man thought for a moment. Then a happy idea struck him. Abouta year before there had occurred an incident which had roused thedeepest feeling in Athens. The aged Sophocles, accused by his sonIophon before a court of his clansmen, of imbecility and incapacity formanaging his affairs, had recited as a sufficient vindication of hispowers, a noble chorus from a play which he was then composing, the lastand ripest fruit of his genius--the "Oedipus in Colonus." The verseshad had a singular success, as indeed they deserved to have, in catchingthe popular fancy. They were exquisitely beautiful, and they were fullof patriotic pride. Every one had them on his lips; and before they hadtime to grow hackneyed, the interest in them had been revived by thedeath of the veteran poet himself.
"Let us have the 'Praises of Athens' by Sophocles the son of Sophilus ofColonus."
The choice met with a shout of applause. The minstrel played a briefprelude on his harp in the Dorian or martial mood,[31] and then began:
"Swell the song of praise again; Other boons demand my strain, Other blessings we inherit, Granted by the mighty spirit; On the sea and on the shore, Ours the bridle and the oar. Son of Chronos old whose sway Stormy winds and waves obey, Thine be heaven's well-earned meed, Tamer of the champing steed; First he wore on Attic plain Bit of steel and curbing rein. Oft too, o'er the water blue, Athens strains thy laboring crew; Practiced hands the barks are plying, Oars are bending, spray is flying, Sunny waves beneath them glancing. Sportive myriads round them dancing, With their hundred feet in motion, Twinkling 'mid the foam of ocean."
He concluded amidst thunders of applause, the reference to the fleetbeing especially rewarded with a purse from the host and a shower ofgold pieces from the guests.
Other recitations followed, not all, it must be confessed, in soelevated a strain; each was produced with a few bars of musicappropriate to its character.
The next entertainment was of a less intellectual kind. Now dancers wereintroduced into the room by the trainer who had taught them, and whoseslaves in fact they were. The man was a red-faced, bloated lookingcreature, who, however, had been very active in his time, and couldstill display a wonderful amount of agility when he was engaged inteaching his pupils. The dancers were brother and sister, twins, andcuriously alike, though the boy was nearly a half-head taller, andgenerally on a larger scale than the girl. The performance commencedwith a duet of the harps and the flute. The harp, a small instrumentnot larger than a violin was played by the boy, the flute by a femaleplayer, who had come into the room along with the dancers. After a whilethe harp became silent, the flute continuing to give out a very markedmeasure. To this the girl began to dance, whirling hoops into the air asshe moved, and catching them as they fell. Many were in the air at once,and the girl neither made a single step out of time nor let a singlehoop fall to the ground.
A more difficult and exciting performance followed. The flute-playerchanged the character of her music. The Lydian measure which had beenadmirably suited to the graceful steps of the dance gave place to theswift Phrygian scale, wild and fantastic music such as might move thedevotees of Cybele or Dionysus to the mysterious duties of theirworship. At the same time an attendant of the trainer brought in a largehoop, studded round its inner circle with pointed blades. The girlcommenced to dance again with steps that grew quicker and quicker withthe music, till, as it reached a climax of sound, she leapt through thehoop. The flute-player paused for a moment, as the dancer turned torecover her breath, her bosom rising and falling rapidly, and her eyesflashing with excitement. Then the music and the dance began again, withthe same _crescendo_ of sound and motion, till the same culminatingpoint was reached, and the same perilous leap repeated.
The spectators watched the scene with breathless interest; but it was anexhibition that was scarcely suited to Greek taste. A Greek could beeven horribly cruel on occasions, but a cruel spectacle--and spectaclesthat depend for their attraction on the danger to the performer arecritically cruel--offended their artistic taste. The company began tofeel a little uneasy, and Euctemon finally interrupted the festival whenafter the second leap had been sucessfully accomplished he signed to theflute-player to cease her music.
"Child," he said to the dancer, "Aphrodite and the graces would neverforgive me, if you were to come to any harm in my house. It is enough;you have shown us that no one could be more skilful or more gracefulthan you."
The boy and girl now performed together in what was called the Pyrrhicor war dance. Each carried a light shield and spear, made of silveredtin. They represented two warriors engaged in single combat. Each tookin turn the part of the assailant and the assailed, the one dartingforward the spear which had been carefully made incapable of doing anyharm, the other either receiving the blow upon his shield or avoiding itwith agile movements of the body.[32] The flute-player accompanied thedance with a very lovely and spirited tune, while the company looked onwith the greatest admiration, so agile, so dexterous, and so invariablygraceful were the motions of the two dancers.
When the boy and girl had retired, and while the guests were againdevoting themselves to the wine, Calli
as was accosted by a neighbor withwhose handsome features, characterized as they were by a gravity notoften seen in young Athenians, he was familiar, though he did not happenever to have made his acquaintance.
"I am about to retire," said the stranger, "and if I may presume sofar, I would recommend you to do the same. Our host is hospitable andgenerous, and has other virtues which I need not enumerate; but hisentertainments are apt to become after a certain hour in the night suchas no modest young man--and such from your face I judge you to be--wouldwillingly be present at. So far we have had an excellent and blamelessentertainment; but why not depart. What say you?"
"That I am ready to go with you," answered Callias. "My friend Ctesiphonbrought me hither, and I know nothing of our host except the report ofhis riches and liberality." "What! are you going?" cried the host, asthe two young men rose from their places. "Nay, but you are losing thebest part of the entertainment. It is but a short time to the firstwatch when Lyricles will come with his troop of dancers. He says thatthey are quite incomparable."
"Nay, sir," said the young man who had spoken to Callias, "you mustexcuse us."
"Ah!" cried one of the guests, a young dandy, whose flushed face andflower-garland set awry on his forehead seemed to show that he had beenindulging too freely in his host's strong Chian wine, "'Tis oldSilverside. He pretends to be a young man; but I believe that he isreally older than my father. At least I know that the old gentleman isfar more lively. Come, Philip and Hermogenes," he went on addressing twoof his neighbors, "don't let us permit our pleasant party to be brokenup in this way."
The three revellers started up from their places, and were ready to stopthe departing guests by force. But the host, who was still sober, andwas too much of a gentleman to allow annoyances of the kind to beinflicted upon anyone in his house, interfered.
"Nay, gentlemen," he cried, "I will put force on no man for if ourfriends think that they can be better or more pleasantly employedelsewhere, I can only wish them good night, and thank them for so muchof their company as they have been pleased to bestow upon us."
The two, accordingly, made their escape without any furtherinterference.
"Will you walk with me as far as my house," said Callias' companion tohim. "It lies in the Agrae.[33] The night is fine and I shall be glad ofyour company."
Callias cheerfully consented, and was glad that he had done so, so wittyand varied was his companions conversation.
When they had reached their destination his new friend invited him toenter. This he declined to do for the hour was late, and he wished to beat home.
"Well then," said the other, "we can at least meet again. This, you see,is my house, and my name is Xenophon, the son of Gryllus."
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Persons who had rendered distinguished services to their country inpeace or war received, among other rewards, the privilege, lasting forlife, of dining in the Town hall. The city had no greater honor tobestow.
[27] It had brought about for a time the subjection of all theBoeotian towns (Thebes only excepted) and of Phocis to Athens.
[28] Myronides marched out with the citizens above and under themilitary age--all the available force that was left at Athens at thetime--and won two victories, the first at Megara, the second and mostfamous of the two at Oenophyta in Boeotia.
[29] The old man was thinking of the Spartan offer to make peace afterthe capture of the five hundred and ninety-two prisoners at Pylos (B. C.425). Terms much more favorable might have been secured than wereobtained four years afterwards by the Peace of Nicias. Again, after thedefeat and death of the Spartan admiral Mindarus in B. C. 410 peacemight have been made, and the ruin of Athens probably postponed for manyyears; but the people refused to enter into negotiations.
[30] When the meal was ended the tables were not cleared, but removed.
[31] There were three original moods in Greek music, the Dorian,Phrygian, and Lydian. The last of these was in a major scale, and wasreckoned to be plaintive and effeminate. So Milton writes in_L'Allegro_.
"And ever against eating cares Lap one in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse; Such as the melting soul may pierce In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out."
The Dorian was in a minor scale, and was considered to be manly andvigorous. Martial music was of this kind. So, to quote Milton again, wehave:
"Anon they move In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft melodies; such as raised To heights of noblest temper heroes old Coming to battle."
The third, or Phrygian, was also minor, and was considered to besuitable for sacrifices and other religious functions as being of anecstatic kind. There were combinations and modifications of these moods.Readers who may desire to know more of the subject, should consultProfessor Mahaffy's _Rambles and Studies in Greece_, pp. 424-444 (3rdedition). A more elaborate account may be found in Mr. Chappell'sHistory of Music.
[32] So Hector in the single combat with Ajax.
[33] A quarter of Athens south of the city on the Ilissus.