"Full market time." The Agora was a beehive. From the round Tholus at thesouth to the long portico at the north all was babel and traffic. Donkeysraised their wheezing protest against too heavy loads of farm produce.Megarian swine squealed and tugged at their leg-cords. An Asiatic sailorclamoured at the money-changer's stall for another obol in change for aPersian daric. "Buy my oil!" bawled the huckster from his wicker boothbeside the line of Hermes-busts in the midst of the square. "Buy mycharcoal!" roared back a companion, whilst past both was haled a grinningnegro with a crier who bade every gentleman to "mark his chance" for afashionable servant. Phocian the quack was hawking his toothache salvefrom the steps of the Temple of Apollo. Deira, the comely flower girl,held out crowns of rose, violet, and narcissus to the dozen young dandieswho pressed about her. Around the Hermes-busts idle crowds were readingthe legal notices plastered on the base of each statue. A file of mulesand wagons was ploughing through the multitude with marble for some newbuilding. Every instant the noise grew. Pandora's box had opened, andevery clamour had flitted out.
At the northern end, where the porticos and the long Dromos street ran offtoward the Dipylon gate, stood the shop of Clearchus the potter. A lowcounter was covered with the owner's wares,--tall amphorae for wine, flatbeakers, water-pots, and basins. Behind, two apprentices whirled thewheel, another glazed on the black varnish and painted the jars withlittle red loves and dancing girls. Clearchus sat on the counter withthree friends,--come not to trade but to barter the latest gossip from thebarber-shops: Agis the sharp, knavish cockpit and gaming-house keeper,Crito the fat mine-contractor, and finally Polus, gray and pursy, who"devoted his talents to the public weal," in other words was a perpetualjuryman and likewise busybody.
The latest rumour about Xerxes having been duly chewed, conversation beganto lag.
"An idle day for you, my Polus," threw out Clearchus.
"Idle indeed! No jury sits to-day in the King Archon's Porch or the 'RedCourt'; I can't vote to condemn that Heraclius who's exported wheatcontrary to the law."
"Condemn?" cried Agis; "wasn't the evidence very weak?"
"Ay," snorted Polus, "very weak, and the wretch pleaded piteously, settinghis wife and four little ones weeping on the stand. But we are resolved.'You are boiling a stone--your plea's no profit,' thought we. Our heartsvote 'guilty,' if our heads say 'innocent.' One mustn't discourage honestinformers. What's a patriot on a jury for if only to acquit? Holy FatherZeus, but there's a pleasure in dropping into the voting-urn the blackbean which condemns!"
"Athena keep us, then, from litigation," murmured Clearchus; while Critoopened his fat lips to ask, "And what adjourns the courts?"
"A meeting of the assembly, to be sure. The embassy's come back fromDelphi with the oracle we sought about the prospects of the war."
"Then Themistocles will speak," observed the potter; "a very importantmeeting."
"Very important," choked the juror, fishing a long piece of garlic fromhis wallet and cramming it into his mouth with both hands. "What a noblestatesman Themistocles is! Only young Democrates will ever be like him."
"Democrates?" squeaked out Crito.
"Why, yes. Almost as eloquent as Themistocles. What zeal for democracy!What courage against Persia! A Nestor, I say, in wisdom--"
Agis gave a whistle.
"A Nestor, perhaps. Yet if you knew, as I do, how some of his nightspass,--dice, Rhodian fighting-cocks, dancing-girls, and worse things,--"
"I'll scarce believe it," grunted the juror; yet then confessed somewhatruefully, "however, he is unfortunate in his bosom friend."
"What do you mean?" demanded the potter.
"Glaucon the Alcmaeonid, to be sure. I cried '_Io, paean!_' as loud as theothers when he came back; still I weary of having a man always sofortunate."
"Even as you voted to banish Aristeides, Themistocles's rival, because youwere tired of hearing him called 'the Just.' "
"There's much in that. Besides, he's an Alcmaeonid, and since their oldmurder of Cylon the house has been under a blood curse. He has married thedaughter of Hermippus, who is too highly born to be faithful to thedemocracy. He carries a Laconian cane,--sure sign of Spartanizingtendencies. He may conspire any day to become tyrant."
"Hush," warned Clearchus, "there he passes now, arm in arm with Democratesas always, and on his way to the assembly."
"The men are much alike in build," spoke Crito, slowly, "only Glaucon isinfinitely handsomer."
"And infinitely less honest. I distrust your too beautiful and too luckymen," snapped Polus.
"Envious dog," commented Agis; and bitter personalities might havefollowed had not a bell jangled from an adjacent portico.
"Phormio, my brother-in-law, with fresh fish from Phaleron," announcedPolus, drawing a coin from his wonted purse,--his cheek; "quick, friends,we must buy our dinners."
Between the columns of the portico stood Phormio the fishmonger, behind atable heaped with his scaly wares. He was a thick, florid man with blueeyes lit by a humourous twinkle. His arms were crusted with brine. To hiswaist he was naked. As the friends edged nearer he held up a turbot,calling for a bid. A clamour answered him. The throng pressed up thesteps, elbowing and scrambling. The competition was keen but good-natured.Phormio's broad jests and witticisms--he called all his customers byname--aided in forcing up the price. The turbot was knocked down to a richgentleman's cook marketing for his master. The pile of fish decreased, thebidding sharpened. The "Market Wardens" seemed needed to check thejostling. But as the last eel was held up, came a cry--
"Look out for the rope!"
Phormio's customers scattered. Scythian constables were stretching cordsdusted with red chalk across all exits from the Agora, save that to thesouth. Soon the band began contracting its nets and driving a swarm ofcitizens toward the remaining exit, for a red chalk-mark on a mantle meanta fine. Traffic ceased instantly. Thousands crowded the lane betwixt thetemples and porches, seeking the assembly place,--through a narrow,ill-built way, but the great area of the Pnyx opened before them like theslopes of some noble theatre.
No seats; rich and poor sat down upon the rocky ground. Under the openazure, at the focus of the semicircle, with clear view before of the city,and to right of the red cliffs of the Acropolis, rose a low platform hewnin the rock,--the "Bema," the orator's pulpit. A few chairs for themagistrates and a small altar were its sole furnishings. The multitudeentered the Pnyx through two narrow entrances pierced in the massyengirdling wall and took seats at pleasure; all were equals--the Alcmaeonid,the charcoal-seller from Acharnae. Amid silence the chairman of the Councilarose and put on the myrtle crown,--sign that the sitting was opened. Aherald besought blessings on the Athenians and the Plataeans their allies.A wrinkled seer carefully slaughtered a goose, proclaimed that itsentrails gave good omen, and cast the carcass on the altar. The heraldassured the people there was no rain, thunder, or other unlucky sign fromheaven. The pious accordingly breathed easier, and awaited the order ofthe day.
The decree of the Council convening the assembly was read; then theherald's formal proclamation:--
"Who wishes to speak?"
The answer was a groan from nigh every soul present. Three men ascendedthe Bema. They bore the olive branches and laurel garlands, suppliants atDelphi; but their cloaks were black. "The oracle is unfavourable! The godsdeliver us to Xerxes!" The thrill of horror went around the Pnyx.
The three stood an instant in gloomy silence. Then Callias the Rich,solemn and impressive, their spokesman, told their eventful story.
"Athenians, by your orders we have been to Delphi to inquire of the surestoracle in Greece your destinies in the coming war. Hardly had we completedthe accustomed sacrifices in the Temple of Apollo, when the PythonessAristonice, sitting above the sacred cleft whence comes the inspiringvapour, thus prophesied." And Callias repeated the hexameters which warnedthe Athenians that resistance to Xerxes would be worse than futile; thatAthens was doomed; concluding with the fearful line, "Get from this templeafar, a
nd brood on the ills that await ye."
In the pause, as Callias's voice fell, the agony of the people became nighindescribable. Sturdy veterans who had met the Persian spears at Marathonblinked fast. Many groaned, some cursed. Here and there a bold spiritdared to open his heart to doubt, and to mutter, "Persian gold, thePythoness was corrupted," but quickly hushed even such whispers as rankimpiety. Then a voice close to the Bema rang out loudly:--
"And is this all the message, Callias?"
"The voice of Glaucon the Fortunate," cried many, finding relief in words."He is a friend to the ambassador. There is a further prophecy."
The envoy, who had made his theatrical pause too long, continued:--
"Such, men of Athens, was the answer; and we went forth in diretribulation. Then a certain noble Delphian, Timon by name, bade us takethe olive branches and return to the Pythoness, saying, 'O King Apollo,reverence these boughs of supplication, and deliver a more comfortableanswer concerning our dear country. Else we will not leave thy sanctuary,but stay here until we die.' Whereat the priestess gave us a secondanswer, gloomy and riddling, yet not so evil as the first."
Again Callias recited his lines of doom, "that Athena had vainly prayed toZeus in behalf of her city, and that it was fated the foe should overrunall Attica, yet
" 'Safe shall the wooden wall continue for thee and thy children; Wait not the tramp of the horse, nor the footmen mightily moving Over the land, but turn your back to the foe, and retire ye. Yet a day shall arrive when ye shall meet him in battle. Oh, holy Salamis, thou shalt destroy the offspring of women When men scatter the seed, or when they gather the harvest.' "
"And that is all?" demanded fifty voices.
"That is all," and Callias quitted the Bema. Whereupon if agony had heldthe Pnyx before, perplexity held it now. "The wooden wall?" "HolySalamis?" "A great battle, but who is to conquer?" The feverish anxiety ofthe people at length found its vent in a general shout.
"The seers! Call the seers! Explain the oracle!"
The demand had clearly been anticipated by the president of the Council.
"Xenagoras the Cerycid is present. He is the oldest seer. Let us hearkento his opinion."
The head of the greatest priestly family in Athens arose. He was avenerable man, wearing his ribbon-decked robes of office. The presidentpassed him the myrtle crown, as token that he had the Bema. In a tensehush his voice sounded clearly.
"I was informed of the oracles before the assembly met. The meaning isplain. By the 'wooden wall' is meant our ships. But if we risk a battle,we are told slaughter and defeat will follow. The god commands, therefore,that without resistance we quit Attica, gathering our wives, our children,and our goods, and sail away to some far country."
Xenagoras paused with the smile of him who performs a sad but necessaryduty, removed the wreath, and descended the Bema.
"Quit Attica without a blow! Our fathers' fathers' sepulchres, the shrinesof our gods, the pleasant farmsteads, the land where our Attic race havedwelt from dimmest time!"
The thought shot chill through the thousands. Men sat in helpless silence,while many a soul, as the gaze wandered up to the temple-crownedAcropolis, asked once, yes twice, "Is not the yoke of Persia preferable tothat?" Then after the silence broke the clamour of voices.
"The other seers! Do all agree with Xenagoras? Stand forth! stand forth!"
Hegias, the "King Archon," chief of the state religion, took the Bema. Hisspeech was brief and to the point.
"All the priests and seers of Attica have consulted. Xenagoras speaks forthem all save Hermippus of the house of Eumolpus, who denies the others'interpretation."
Confusion followed. Men rose, swung their arms, harangued madly from wherethey stood. The chairman in vain ordered "Silence!" and was fain to bidthe Scythian constables restore order. An elderly farmer thrust himselfforward, took the wreath, and poured out his rustic wisdom from the Bema.His advice was simple. The oracle said "the wooden wall" would be abulwark, and by the wooden wall was surely meant the Acropolis which hadonce been protected by a palisade. Let all Attica shut itself in thecitadel and endure a siege.
So far he had proceeded garrulously, but the high-strung multitude couldendure no more. "_Kataba! Kataba!_" "Go down! go down!" pealed the yell,emphasized by a shower of pebbles. The elder tore the wreath from his headand fled the Bema. Then out of the confusion came a general cry.
"Cimon, son of Miltiades, speak to us!"
But that young nobleman preserved a discreet silence, and the multitudeturned to another favourite.
"Democrates, son of Myscelus, speak to us!"
The popular orator only wrapped his cloak about him, as he sat near thechairman's stand, never answering the call he rejoiced of wont to hear.
There were cries for Hermippus, cries even for Glaucon, as if prowess inthe pentathlon gave ability to unravel oracles. The athlete sitting besideDemocrates merely blushed and drew closer to his friend. Then at last thedespairing people turned to their last resource.
"Themistocles, son of Neocles, speak to us!"
Thrice the call in vain; but at the fourth time a wave of silence sweptacross the Pnyx. A figure well beloved was taking the wreath and mountingthe Bema.
The words of Themistocles that day were to ring in his hearer's ears tilllife's end. The careless, almost sybaritic, man of the Isthmus and Eleusisseemed transfigured. For one moment he stood silent, lofty, awe-inspiring.He had a mighty task: to calm the superstitious fears of thirty thousand,to silence the prophets of evil, to infuse those myriads with his own highcourage. He began with a voice so low it would have seemed a whisper ifnot audible to all the Pnyx. Quickly he warmed. His gestures becamedramatic. His voice rose to a trumpet-call. He swept his hearers with himas dry leaves before the blast. "When he began to weave his words, onemight have deemed him churlish, nay a fool, but when from his chest camehis deep voice, and words like unto flakes of winter snow, then who couldwith him contend?" Thus Homer of Odysseus the Guileful, thus as truly ofThemistocles saviour of Hellas.
First he told the old, but never wearisome story of the past of Athens.How, from the days of Codrus long ago, Athens had never bowed the knee toan invader, how she had wrested Salamis from greedy Megara, how she hadhounded out the tyrannizing sons of Peisistratus, how she had braved allthe wrath of Persian Darius and dashed his huge armament back at Marathon.With such a past, only a madman as well as traitor would dream ofsubmitting to Xerxes now. But as for the admonition of Xenagoras to quitAttica and never strike a blow, Themistocles would have none of it. With aclearness that appealed to every home-loving Hellene he pictured the fateof wanderers as only one step better than that of slaves. What, then, wasleft? The orator had a decisive answer. Was not the "wooden wall" whichshould endure for the Athenians the great fleet they were just completing?And as for the fate of the battle the speaker had an unexpected solution."Holy Salamis," spoke the Pythoness. And would she have said "holy," ifthe issue had been only woe to the sons of Athens? "Luckless Salamis" werethen more reasonably the word; yet the prophetess so far from predictingdefeat had assured them victory.
Thus ran the substance of the speech on which many a soul knew hung themending or ending of Hellas, but lit all through with gleams of wit,shades of pathos, outbursts of eloquence which burned into the hearers'hearts as though the speaker were a god. Then at the end, Themistocles,knowing his audience was with him, delivered his peroration:--
"Let him who trusts in oracles trust then in this, and in the old prophecyof Epimenides that when the Persian comes it is to his hurt. But I willsay with Hector of Troy, 'One oracle is best--to fight for one's nativecountry.' Others may vote as they will. My vote is that if the foe by landbe too great, we retire before him to our ships, ay, forsake evenwell-loved Attica, but only that we may trust to the 'wooden wall,' andfight the Great King by sea at Salamis. We contend not with gods but withmen. Let others fear. I will trust to Athena Polias,--the goddess terriblein battle. Hearken then to Solon the Wise (the or
ator pointed toward thetemple upon the soaring Acropolis):--
" 'Our Athens need fear no hurt Though gods may conspire her ill. The hand that hath borne us up, It guides us and guards us still. Athena, the child of Zeus, She watches and knows no fear. The city rests safe from harm Beneath her protecting spear.'
Thus trusting in Athena, we will meet the foe at Salamis and will destroyhim."
"Who wishes to speak?" called the herald. The Pnyx answered together. Thevote to retire from Attica if needs be, to strengthen the fleet, to riskall in a great battle, was carried with a shout. Men ran to Themistocles,calling him, "Peitho,--Queen Persuasion." He made light of their praises,and walked with his handsome head tossed back toward the general's officeby the Agora, to attend to some routine business. Glaucon, Cimon, andDemocrates went westward to calm their exhilaration with a ball-game atthe gymnasium of Cynosarges. On the way Glaucon called attention to aforeigner that passed them.
"Look, Democrates, that fellow is wonderfully like the honest barbarianwho applauded me at the Isthmus."
Democrates glanced twice.
"Dear Glaucon," said he, "that fellow had a long blond beard, while thisman's is black as a crow." And he spoke the truth; yet despite thedisguise he clearly recognized the "Cyprian."