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Athaniani! bshold the Son of ThsMui ! '
DIO THE ATHENIAN;
OR.
FROM OLYMPUS TO CALVARY.
BY REV. E. F. BURR, D.D.,
Author of " Ecce Ccklum," " Patkr Mundi," " Ad Fidkm," etc.
** Then Jesus, beholding him, loved him." — Mark x, ti.
*^'rewai6Tijc ooi, k(u rpoiruv reK/i^piov To oxvf^' ^X^ic t66', i^Tic el noT\ d yvvat.*^
— EuRiPiDBS, Gam. 938.
FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS.
NEW YORK: PHILLIPS & HUNT.
CINCINNATI: HITCHCOCK <& >ArALDEN.
1880.
a ^^ . 1893
From the Ijibrary of Prof. A. P. PBABODY (^l)
Copyright 1880, by New York.
TO MY FRIEND, REV. JULIUS H. SEELYE, D.D., LL.D.,
FRBSIDBMT OF AMHERST COLLBGB, WHO, ALTHOUGH A OBBEK, DOBS NOT FIIL INCLINED TO GO TO TBS
GARDEN, NOR TET TO THE LYCEUM, FOR HIS FHILOBOPHT.
PREFACE.
THE object of this work is to illustrate the natural progf- ress of a cultivated Greek of the First Century from the best form of Classical Paganism, through the various Philo- sophical Schools most akin to those of our own time, to theo- retical and practical Christianity.
In pursuing this object the author has, of course, sought to give the narrative verisimilitude by correctly representing the time and country in which the scenes are laid, in regard to main features of topography, manners, opinions, and ad- ventures. He ventures to think that Greek scholars will find in the book no serious failures in these respects.
It is just possible that some may think a few of the char- acters and incidents to be improbable, not to say impossible. They are confessedly rare. But rarities as really belong to the scheme of Nature as do commonplaces ; and, accordingly, it is just as possible, though not as easy, to be true to Nature in describing sunrise from Rhigi, or the mortal and immortal strife of Thermopylae, as in describing the Pontine marshes. Dio is only Rhigi. The incidents recorded of him are only Thermopylean. It is as natural for such incidents to gather about such characters as it is for heavy thunder-clouds and wondrous scenery to gather about a lofty mountain. The writer of this parable can only hope that the strong colors which fidelity to Nature demands in treating parts of his sub- ject may be found naturally laid on.
Lyme, Conn.
•* Behold Where on the ^Egean Sea a city stands, Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades ; See there the olive groves of Academe, Rate's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long ; These flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites To studious musing ; there Iliasus rolls His whispering stream ; within the w«ll« then view The schools of ancient sages ; his whp bred Great Alexander to subdue the world, Lyceuni there, and painted Stoa next."
MfLTQN, Paradise R^qiued,
CONTENTS.
-♦-
CHAmK Paoc
I. Hail, Native Land ! ii
II. An Athenian Palace ly
III. Dear old Nurse 31
IV. The Pantheon at Home 51
V. Is PiRiEUS in Flames ? 73
VI. Agora and Artists as God-Makers 91
VII. Consults the New Academy at the Parthenon,
NOT TO SAY THE DiONYSIAC THEATER II5
VIII. For Shame, Bacchantes ! 151
IX. Ho, Pilgrims from Delphi ! 173
X. PiEANS TO Olympian Jove 199
XI. Pyrrhonists, Epicureans, Proconsuls, and —
What not 223
XII. The Blue JEgjeah and Profound Tartarus 263
XIII. What the Lyceum has to Say 307
XIV. In the Name of the Athenian People 33 t
XV. Who Will Conquer at Salamis? 347
XVI. The Jewish Contingent * 373
XVII. Damaris and the ^Egis of Pallas Athene 387
XVIII. The Twelfth Labor — Bestir Thyself, Alcides! 405
XIX. Thunder from Mars' Hill — but not from^ Mars 465 XX. Ossa on Pelion — Calvary on Olympus 483
^llnBtxKtiottB.
"Athenians, behold the Son of Theskus ! " 2
Parthenon 123
The Feast of Bacchus 153
The Philosopher and nrs Disciples 241
HAIL, NATIVE LAND!
"Xcup* G) ^ikri y^, did xQ^'^ov ttoXXov a* t6i»>v iand^oiuu,"
Menander, Piscat, 8.
** Hail, dear country ! I embrace thee, seeing thee after
long time.*'
DIO THE ATHENIAN.
-♦•♦-
CHAPTER I.
HAIL, NATIVE LAND!
IN the bright moonlight, to the low chant of the rowers, a galley was making its way toward the Piraeus, Not far in advance ro^e the two towers of the Athenian port ; beyond dimly appeared the height^ of Hymettus j on the left glittered the white tomb of Themistocles.
Two men stood near the prow. One was the shipmaster— a man of common stature, wearing a sleeveless tunic confined at the waist by a cord, and a brimless skull-cap of red cloth, which allowed one standing near (as we do just now) to see not only the grizzled locks escaping from beneath, but also a grave, honest, self-reliant face, as of one accustomed to freedom and responsibility, but not to the abuse of them. The other was a young man of heroic stature. He wore over his tunic the graceful Greek himation^ or small cloak, fastened on his right shoul- der by a brooch that shone under the moon with a soft emerald light. His face was shaded by the somewhat drooping brim of his felt peiasus, or hat,
12 Dig the Athenian.
but the light was enough to show such features as haunt the dreams of great artists and poets.
" Would that I too were nearing home,*' said the sailor. " No doubt it is very pleasant to you to see again these familiar objects.**
** Yes,*' replied the young man, " like the honey of yonder Hymettus ; but also like that honey when the acid is beginning to show itself from too much exposure to the fierce summer heats."
" Youth has the privilege of unlimited hope and easy forgetting of troubles. One would think that Dio, coming home in his early youth with all the honors and none of the scars of a Roman veteran, would have nothing but pleasant thoughts."
** You forget, captain," said Dio, " that it is a long time since I heard from my parents, and I naturally have my fears as to what news the next few hours may bring me — especially in view of the anxieties my friends must have felt at my long delay in arriving. Four months is a long time from Puteoli. A mother would imagine many dreadful things. And, then, I miss from my side my faithful companion (I will not call him servant, for he had long ceased to be that) who was brought up with me and had shared all my fortunes till — ^you know when — and for whom his old mother is now waiting, and to whom I must carry such sad news."
" Perhaps,** suggested the other, " she will be in
Hail, Native Land! 13
a degree prepared for such news by your long delay in arriving. Certainly you have the comfort of feeling that you did every thing possible to save your friend. Your Athene herself could hardly have done more.**
" Ah, my friend, had it been such a night as this — see how plainly one can trace the outline of the shore, and the oliveyards with their shadows beyond ! — I should have seen the pirates creeping out from be- hind the headlands of Cythera, and been better pre- pared to receive them. But so it was to be. The storm had so crippled the galley and its crew that we could hardly have kept the enemy from boarding us. And as for Euphorus — in the struggle with my own assailants I did not become fully aware of his sit- uation until, having disengaged myself, and hasten- ing to the point where the noise of struggle still continued, I saw him, covered with blood, being thrust over the side of the ship by four stout fel- lows. Ah, captain, that they were sent headlong and shrieking after him does not well console me for having been just a little too late. Doubtless, if I had not plunged in as soon as possible and sought him long, both above the surface and below it, I should have felt worse. May the infernal gods be merciful to his shade ! The fatal shears never cut so near my heart before.'*
At this moment a slight change in the course of
14 Dio THE Athenian.
the galley as it passed into the mouth of the port brought out into sudden brilliancy in the north-east the colossal statue of Athene Promachus, and the grand temples on the Acropolis which her glittering spear and shield seemed both to protect and en- lighten. How white and pure and majestic — and withal intensely living — seemed the great warder- Maid ! Is she not just descended from Olympus, with its white glory still drenching her, to fight for her own beloved Athenae?
" Great goddess ! I salute thee," exclaimed Dio enthusiastically, throwing a kiss in the direction of the Acropolis.
" True God of Athens and of all lands, statueless God of gods ! " exclaimed the sailor, devoutly un- covering, " I adore thee^
" And I, too — if there be such a God," gravely said the young man in a low voice.
" And you will inquire for him — will ask of him as a possible being to manifest himself to you ? **
" Yes, that looks reasonable — I see no harm in promising that. I would do a greater thing at the asking of one I esteem so highly. Indeed, I have already done it sometimes — ever since those long talks in Cythera, while we were waiting for the re- pairs on the galley, and for you to recover from your well-nigh fatal wounds. But I would not have you think that I am almost ready to give up the gods
Hail, Native Land! 15
of my country and ancestors, sung by poets and emulated by heroes. That would be a great step."
" I do not now ask it/* said the captain. " But you are honest, you are sagacious, you have *an old head on young shoulders,* as Menander says ;* you will use your leisure to look about you. If, above all, you will look upward, I am content. The One above will lead you.**
Here the master of the galley was called away to attend to the preparations for landing at a long por- tico that skirted the left side of the Piraeus. A few heavy-geared corn ships from Alexandria and the Euxine were lying at intervals along the quay — all of them silent and dark. A single light, however, shone from under the portico. Toward this the galley was steered. The rays were soon seen to come from a small room.
" You see,** said the captain as he stood again at the side of the young Greek and pointed to the light, ** that, late as it is, I am in time to get my orders for Alexandria to-night. So before break of day we shall be on our way. Your boxes, according to your wish, will be left at yonder shipping office with- out address, and will be delivered on mention of Arno the Phenician. Farewell.**
" Sorry,** said the Greek as he warmly pressed the hand held out to him, ** that you cannot now
* Ex. Incert. Comoed., p. 224.
i6 Dio THE Athenian.
stop with me and allow my parents to return some of the many kindnesses you have shown me. Do not fail to seek me out when you come to Athens â– again. May the gods be favorable to my friend Arno ! "
" May the one God be favorable to Dio ! " re- turned the Phenician, " and give us to meet each other again."
The galley touched the landing, and Dio leaped lightly ashore. Did he stumble ? No ; he only knelt to kiss his sacred native soil.
II.
AN ATHENIAN PALACE.
KpecTTOV yap kariv dp^aadcu dxl)i 'npaTreiv rf fitidiiTOTe,- DiONYSIUS OF Halicarnassus, ix, 9.
"Better late than never."
2
An Athenian Palace. 19
o
CHAPTER II.
AN ATHENIAN PALACE.
N his way to the city Dio counted among the remains of the Long Walls three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter gods and goddesses. The quarter was a broken image of Bacchus at the Peiraic Gate, on whose sole remaining finger hung the key of the postern, while the janitor himself lay drunk at its sole remaining foot.
It was midnight when he stood before the largest house in the street of the Archons. The full moon was pouring on its front. It was of Pentelic marble, long on the street, two large stories high — the up- per story only having windows. In front was a beautiful though narrow green, enriched with clus- ters of shrubs and flowers, and having in the cen- ter a small stone altar, on which stood a statu- ette of Apollo. A low marble parapet, with a locked gate in the middle, separated the plot from the street.
Dio sprang lightly over the gate, made a slight reverence as he passed the altar, mounted the steps, two at a time, to the great door. It was double, made of polished oak, studded with bronze spikes,
20 Dio THE Athenian.
and held a heavy bronze knocker, over which in silver relief was this inscription, " Welcome^ friends of the immortal gods^
Rap, rap — very gently, as if he were unwilling to rouse the neighbors. Immediately a deep growl was heard just within.
'* Ha, Chron ! I hoped to hear your voice. It is a good omen. You will do more for me than knockers. I will set you to work in my favor again.'*
The low knock was repeated. This time the dog seemed fully roused, and sent out a succession of barks in the deep, rich tone peculiar to the great Molossian hound ; and the clanking of his chains could be heard as he sprang furiously toward the door.
" That surely ought to bring the porter," thought Dio.
And soon some one seemed trying to quiet the dog. When he had succeeded a small panel in the door was drawn back, and a voice asked, " Who is there ? "
" Cheion, is that you ? Glad to hear your old voice once more. The pleasantest sound I have heard for many a day, and not so very much the worse for wear either. Let Dio in as quickly as you can."
At this the dog set up another furious volley of
An Athenian Palace. 21
barks, which the porter seemed to have much diffi- culty in quieting. When all was again still, instead of hearing the sound of bolts and bars being with- drawn, Dio saw, as he thought, an eye reconnoiter- ing him from the opening.
''Cannot 'come in to-night," at length said the porter ; " I do not know you.*'
*' What, not know Dio, your master's son, whom you saw and heard every day for eighteen years, un- til he went to the wars ? I am afraid, Cheion, that the last four years have dealt less kindly with your eyes and ears than I could have wished."
By this time other servants had evidently joined the porter, and Dio could hear low talking of many voices within. He saw, too, eye after eye appear at the orifice. At last the porter said in a tremu- lous voice :
" It cannot be ; our young master we shall never see again, and you have neither his voice nor look. So you must begone, or the dog — " whereupon the dog set up another paroxysm of barking.
" I see how it is," said Dio to himself; "strange that I did not think of it before. My voice and size and whole look have so changed during my absence that the faithful fellows, and even the sharp instinct of Chron, cannot recognize me. What shall I do
After reflecting a moment he put his lips to the
22 Dio THE Athenian.
opening: "Cheion, ho, Cheion! I think I must not be very hard on you for not knowing me. No dt)ubt I have changed somewhat in four years. But hark you ! I did not want to disturb my father and mother at this hour of the night, but I do not see that it can be helped. Go call your master. I vent- ure that he will know his boy even if his body is just a trifle bigger than it was, and his voice just a thought gruffer."
No answer, for awhile, was made to this ; but Dio could hear a good deal of whispered conference go- ing on. After waiting what he thought a reasonable time, and not catching* the sound of any step leav- ing the hall, he again said, in a voice a little impa- tient -and commanding :
" Well, men, (Cleon, Tychon, Pichos, and the rest of you,) what is the matter now? Why does not some one go and call my father? Go and tell him that some one claiming to be his son is at the door, and has been for a long time — thanks to the stupid fidelity of his servants ! '*
Here the dog, which had lately changed his fierce bark into a low growl and then a whine, broke out into a quick succession of short joyful barks that seemed almost to come from another animal ; and seemed making desperate efforts to get free from those holding him. At the same time an earnest dispute began among the servants in tones less
An Athenian Palace, 23
guarded than before. Dio heard one say, " Why, even Chron begins to know him ! " Suddenly a great misgiving came over Dio. " Is it possible that my father is dead ? " The thought stabbed him. Put- ting his lips again to the opening, he said, in a faint voice that shook with emotion :
" Tell me, Cheion, instantly — and is it even so that I no longer have a father to welcome me? Alas, alas ! that I should have escaped the wars and the seas for this ! "
This greatly increased the noise and confusion within. Perhaps Dio's voice in his deep feeling went back more to the tones of his earlier years and touched the memories of some of his list- eners. Cries of " 'Tis he," " 'Tis he,*' mingled with " No," " No," were heard, until a new voice spoke out:
" Our master and mistress are living ; but the fact is they are both gone away, leaving us strict charges; and some of us feel it unsafe to let in a stranger at this time of the night, though he talk never so fairly. You had better go to the guard-house at the Peiraic Gate and wait till morning."
" Now all the immortal gods be praised ! " ex- claimed the young man in a tone of great relief. ** My worst fear is gone. I can pardon you a good deal for this piece of good news. But, Praxis, you rogue of a steward, do you call me a stranger?
24 Dio THE Athenian.
Why, even Chron now knows me. If you know less than a dog, don't you see that you are by no means fit for a steward, and that we must think about put- ting some one in your place ? There's Cleon, my pedagogue : he will make a very good steward. He knows a thing or two. Did I not hear him say just now, * 'Tis he ? ' To be sure it is he ; and Praxis, stupid Praxis, who knows less than a -dog, is making his master's son wait outside the door like a dog."
The confusion that now took place within was wonderful. It seemed almost as if a small battle were going on. Dio could hear pushing and scuf- fling, and a plenty of loud pagan swearing besides. But Cleon and the dog swore the loudest. The last had the advantage in point of voice, and fairly shook the house with his grand tones of mingled defiance and triumph. Dio was really afraid that blood would be shed between the two parties. A thought occurred to him.
" Look here. Praxis, (now be quiet all of you !) what will satisfy you that I am Dio ? You see that I know you all. Why, I can describe to you every room in this house ; especially my own room, which I warrant you my mother has let no one alter one jot since I went away. Pass through the hall into the court, cross the court to the west portico, turn to the first door on the left, mount the stairs, enter the door at the top, and you are in my anteroom.
An Athenian Palace. 2$
On the wall are the horns of the first stag I ever killed, and, hanging from them, my bow and quiver and other gear for the chase. Entering my room, what do you see ? A mosaic floor in red and green marble, walls and ceiling painted with the deeds of the hero Theseus, a marble figure of Alcides as a boy, busts of Zeus, Athene, and Apollo on a silver tripod, and a small altar before them made of cop- per from our mines in Salamis; a table of black marble between the windows, in the cavities of whose raised back are many rolls of papyrus and parchment ; a small cabinet made of citron wood and ivory and containing some relics of my cloth- ing when an infant, my playthings when a little boy, my school-parchments and tablets, the stylus with which I did my first writing, and the first dag- ger I wore. You see on the top — ''
Here Dio was interrupted by a shout from the servants that was almost a shriek — the hound taking care to join in lustily with his majestic barytone. He saw that he need not carry his description further. The men were already rushing in a body on the door, as if it were the goal at Olympia or the gate of Paradise. The struggle to be the first and do the most in undoing the fastenings sadly inter- fered with the progress of the work ; but at last, amid many cries and not a few blows well laid on, the doors flew open, and showed the wide hall full
26 Dio THE Athenian.
of servants in almost all colors, attitudes, and stages of undress — some bearing lighted sconces, and one trying to light the great sconce that projected from the wall. For a moment a misgiving seemed to come over the crowd as they took their first full view of the great stature of the young man crossing the threshold ; but they were at once reassured when the dog, who had in some way managed to free himself from his chain, rushed up to Dio, and, without even stopping to smell of him, leaped at his breast with a passionate and almost human cry of joy. Dio caught the huge fellow in his arms and hugged him. I would despise Alcides himself for not doing the same.
" Come back at last, my fine old fellow — you knew me, didn't you, in spite of night and years. Now we will have fine times again on Parnes and Citheron. But we must not rouse the neighborhood,'* added Dio, setting the dog down gently on the pavement, . as he stepped within and closed the door behind him. Chron at once used his freedom in upsetting half a score of the men with a perfect tempest of gambols.
Then followed a scene of recognitions, greetings, hand-kissings, knee-embracings, better fancied than described. So authors are wont to say when fancy fails them. Praxis and Cheion seemed to feel it necessary to make amends for their backwardness
An Athenian Palace. 27
in opening the door by special demonstrations of joy; and frolicked about almost equal to Chron himself. They at last fell to begging pardon, fall- ing on their knees.
" Nothing in the world against you, men. You did right to be jealous of a big stranger coming at mid- night with a sword by his side. I should have blamed you myself if you had not been careful in the absence of my parents. But you have not yet told me where they have gone and when they are to return."
By many inquiries, and by putting this and that together after the manner of artists in mosaic or tapestry, Dio at length made out a coherent pict- ure. It appeared that, some weeks before, his par- ents, in great anxiety on account of his failure to arrive long after the coming of galleys known to have started from Italy much later than himself, had gone to Corinth, the head-quarters of navigation with Italy, to see if any light could be had on the fate of their son from the seamen of that port ; also to confer with the pioconsul of Achaia, who might know of some unexpected recall of Dio to Rome. Perhaps also they had gone as far as Delphi to con- sult the oracle. The household were daily expect- ing their return.
" Now, Praxis," said Dio, when he had gathered what information he could, " let us break up for the
28 Dio THE Athenian.
night. You have seen that I do not need to have any one show me my room. To-morrow we will all renew our acquaintance with each other — Chron in- cluded," giving the mastiff, who stood by his side and was seemingly trying to find a hole in his hand in which to insert his nose, a caressing pat or two. " Meanwhile charge all the servants strictly not to speak of my return to any outside of the house. I wish it to be quite unknown in the city till the re- turn of my parents/'
" I should not wonder," he added to himself as he turned away, " if this charge of mine should be it- self a herald with a trumpet. Can new wine be shut up in such weak bottles? I expect nothing less than an explosion, and to see my precious Chian running freely down the street into the Agora."
As he crossed the peristyle to his own room he was heard saying, " Hereafter I will take old Ho- mer's advice, *And thou, my friend, b$ not long at a distance from thy home.* " *
♦ Odyss., iii, 313.
IIL
DEAR OLD NURSE.
H [iaXa XvypTf^ nevaecu dyyeXlifg, rj firj <30eA^ yevea&cLi, keItqj, narpo/cAof.— Homer, //., xviii, i8.
** Certainly thou shalt liear sad news, "wliicli would to Heaven -were not— Patroclus lies low.**
Dear old Nurse. 31
D
CHAPTER III.
DEAR OLD NURSE.
10 rose late the next morning. Standing with uplifted hands before the busts of Jupi- ter, Minerva, and Apollo, he thanked them for his safe return; prayed for the safety and speedy com- ing of his parents ; invoked all blessings on them, on Athens, and, with some hesitation, on all Greece. It was not usual for Athenians to go so far — no far- ther than Attica.
Just as he was closing his devotions he seemed to recollect something. Turning slightly away from the statues, he raised his hands and eyes heavenward saying, "And thou, Great Spirit, unborn, knowing all things, making all things, ruling all things, right- eous altogether, if indeed thou art, reveal thyself to me and guide me." A prayer which subsequent events lead us to suppose was fully answered.
Opening a door, he went up by a narrow flight of steps to the flat roof of the house, and thence into a slender tower that rose from the junction of two broad marble parapets. The sun was high and shining brightly. The two quadrangles of the im- mense mansion lay exposed at his feet. Away, he
32 Dio THE Athenian.
could see almost the whole city spread out like a map — its historic hills of various elevations; the chief public edifices ; the wall of Themistocles wind- ing about in an irregular oval and hidden at intervals by the hills within ; without, scattered cottages em- bosomed in gardens, vineyards, olive and fig plan- tations; and, in the distance, the richly wooded uplands and mountains opening on the south to the sea. On the north, and very near, the Great Virgin of the Acropolis, clad in flashing armor, looked down upon him from above the glorious Parthenon and other temples that crowned the summit or nestled warmly at the base. Just a little to the left lay the hill of Areopagus, with its famous tribunal and sanctuaries of Mars and the Furies ; and over its templed steeps he could see the great temple of Theseus, the Achamian gate, and, far away, the mountain line of Parnes, where he had often chased the stag and boar. At the foot of Areopagus, and almost at his own feet, lay the picturesque oblong of the Agora, that throbbing city heart, where, un- der plane trees and porticoes, and amid shrines and altars and statues, traders were selling, magistrates consulting, and philosophers disputing — bounded on the east by the great State edifices, the Metroum or House of Records, the Senate House, and the New Prytaneum : while just a little further to the right, sloping toward him from the sides of the Acropolis,
Dear old Nurse, 33
rose the immense literary structures of the city, the Odeon and Dionysiac Theater, made immortal by the majestic rivalries of ^schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. From the left side of the Agora he could trace the Sacred Way going north-westerly to the gate Dypylum, and thence, skirted with tombs, through the outer Ceramicus, past the groves of Plato's Academy to the Pass of Eleusis. Return- ing, his eye followed another long street, flanked with porticoes, issuing from the Agora and passing between the castellated Museum and the Pnyx south- westerly to the Peiraic Gate, and on between the re- mains of the Long Walls to the rocky crescent of the Piraeus, with its nest of masts, and the isle of Salamis for background. Turning southward, Dio saw, beyond a confused mass of dwellings, the Itu- rean Gate, the road to Phalerum through vineyards, the Hippodrome on the bay where the gentlemen of Athens daily displayed their steeds and skill, and then the gleaming waters of the Saronic Gulf flecked with white sails, and among them the peculiar rig (so he fancied) of an Alexandrian corn ship creeping away toward the south-east over against the bold shore of iEgina. To the east he saw, first, the in- complete but still magnificent temple of Olympian Jupiter J next, the hill behind which lay the long parallelogram of the Stadium, where the chief games
were held ; and then the gate Diochares, with the 3
34 Dio THE Athenian.
Lyceum of Aristotle just beyond. In the north-east, just without the walls, rose the craggy summits of Lycabettus ; far away, the white cliffs and quarries of Pentelicus ; and from the plain at its foot came suspi- cions and even gleams of Marathon and the Eubean waters. It was a glorious and inspiring scene — a leaf torn from an oriental imagination or the mantle of Zeus fallen on an opal sea — especially to Dio, who could so well take in with its outward features all its long history and traditions, and people every place appropriately with the august forms and deeds of burfed centuries.
While feasting his sight on the lovely prospect from which distance and sunshine had taken away all the ugly stains and scars of time and war, he heard a confused sound immediately below. Look- ing down into the front court he found it swarming with servants evidently awaiting his appearance. He at once went down to them. I need not de- scribe minutely how he passed among them with cordial greetings and inquiries — how, like most Greeks and old Hesiod, who knew " how much bet- ter the half is than the whole, and how great pleasure there is in wholesome herbs,** * he took his simple morning meal of bread dipped in well- watered wine in the open court, where all could see him and he occasionally say a word to each —
* Hesiod, 40,
Dear old Nurse. 35
how he then visited Chron in his quarters, and had a fine frolic with the noble fellow, to the infinite de- light of the servants who followed — how, afterward, he wandered by himself over the house and made acquaintance anew with almost every room, study- ing over again the familiar pictures and statuary with which a noble Attic taste and great means had adorned every part ; lingering now before a Zeuxis, or Parrhasius, or Apelles, now before a Phidias or Praxiteles, or Lysippus. He lingered longest in the library, where, among busts of renowned authors and of the Dionysii for many a generation, were ranged along walls wainscoted in black oak of Dodona, each in its own little recess, the chief lit- erary treasures of the time. The part allotted to Greek manuscripts seemed to attract him the most. Taking out of their lettered cases roll after roll of vellum or papyrus he glanced lovingly over char- acters as fair with Egyptian ink as ever graver made with his tool, as if to salute his old favorites and make sure that they had come to no harm in his absence, and hear them say in their grand, silent speech, *' Welcome back, Dio.'* At last he came to a roll which he did not recognize. It was fresh- looking as if just from the hand of the scribe. What was it ? He turned to the case and read, ** Sacred Writings of the Jews, translated by the Seventy — Navos, of Alexandria, Scribe.*' Just below, in her
36 Dio THE Athenian.
own hand, he found the name of his mother, " Hys- pate, daughter of Eudoxus, Eteobutadae 11. , 206 Olymp." The young man put the name to his lips. ** This,'* said he, " must be what Arno spoke of. I will soon look at it again."
Thus the morning was passed. After the mid-, day meal, which was almost as simple as that of the morning, he sallied forth to pay the dreaded visit to his nurse. The old Athenian custom which re- quired that no gentleman should go abroad without an attendant had by this time greatly relaxed in the presence of so much that was foreign ; so he went out alone. And I may as well say, though at the risk of disgusting my reader, that he also went without a cane^ though canes were still mightily in fashion among the gentry of Athens. Perhaps he thought such an appendage preposterous for a young man — especially for one with the thews and sinews of a Hercules ; and, it may be, he did not care to be recognized even as an Athenian. He had small fear of any more specific recognition. The great change in his personal appearance, of which he had now be- come fully aware, together with the fact that the Athenians were quite in the habit of seeing strangers among them curiously examining their monuments and city life, put him quite at his ease as he passed al^ng toward the Itonean gate. He soon had an opportunity of testing the penetration of his ac-
Dear old Nurse. 37
quaintances, and really did not find them quite as sharp as the best arrows in the golden quiver of Apollo. The Athenian gentlemen were just mak- ing their way back from the equestrian grounds at Phalerum, and among them he saw not a few per- sons whom he well knew, who seemed to eye him curiously, but on whom he looked with the bearing of a perfect stranger. Did they really know him, or half know him ? He determined to set the matter at rest on the first opportunity. Very soon he saw coming to meet him, on the same side of the street, his old gymnasium-master, and with him a young man, a cousin, with whom he had been quite inti- mate up to the time of his embarking for Italy, " Now," said Dio to himself, " let me settle the doubt." As they drew near he looked them square- ly in the face with a steady but courteous gaze, and, stopping, begged to know whether any thing of interest had occurred at Phalerum that morning. He was answered in the negative with great defer- ence, and quite without any air of recognition.
" I certainly am in no danger of being known by others," thought Dio, as he thanked them and passed on; "Why, Amphis would have shouted, and caught me by the neck, (that is, if he could have reached it,) and made a scene at the first idea that he was speaking to me. A sharp-eyed fellow, too ! And Epicrites, whom I used to meet every day for
38 Dio THE Athenian.
two years in the gymnasium until my going away, and who seemed to know every muscle in my body almost as well as if he had made me — he plainly is as much in the dark as Amphis.'*
His long absence had given the city considerable novelty of appearance; so that he very naturally wore the air of a well-bred stranger making his first curious rounds. His eye was alert to the whole scene — to the open shops ; the movable stalls where many handicrafts were plied ; the scribes with their small tables and ready styli at street corners; the numerous horsemen, and occasional litters with bright eyes beaming out upon him. At one point his eye caught on the opposite side of the street a shrine with a fresh-looking statue in it. He crossed over to examine. He found a life-size figure, in Parian marble, of Diana habited as a huntress. Dio thought he had never seen any thing half so exquisite in female form and features — so express- ive in its perfect symmetry of all that is simple and pure and high. It was as if the best artist had set himself to make his best idea of a god maidenly, and had succeeded, without loss of divine character- istics. It was as if he saw the goddess at a mo- ment when, in some highest and transfiguring mood, she was just in the act of springing toward the sky, whither her eyes were half raised ; and then, touch- ing her with a wand, suddenly changed her into
Dear old Nurse. 39
marble. Dio stood before the marble glory almost oblivious of what was passing around. The instinct of worship wrought in him strongly. He made an unconscious reverence.
So absorbed was he that he did not notice the gradual gathering across the street of a large group, who were almost as much absorbed in looking at him.
"Well, I never!'' exclaimed a little cobbler with a dilapidated sandal in his hand. "Who can he be? I did not know there were such men in these days — or in any days, for that matter. Zounds! what a figure! If I had not just seen Apollo safe on his pedestal at the head of the street I should say it is he — very considerably improved, too, by the change of place, upon my honor. I say, neigh- bor Haemon** — at the same time leaning forward and punching with his sandal the shoulder of a large man, wearing both a smutted apron and a smutted face — "who is he?*'
" How should I know? One of our masters, no doubt, (see, he has neither a cane nor a servant,) come to take account of stock, and polish himself against our Athenian grindstones.' Plainly, he never saw that grindstone before. It is a famous good one to begin upon, I must confess, and the young man plainly has the good sense to know it.'*
^'That is no Roman, take my word for it," said
40 Dio THE Athenian.
the fellow behind, contemptuously. "Why, man, look at his face, now that he is raising his petasus I Pure Greek, every bit of it. Depend upon it, such a face as that was never made on the banks of the Tiber. No, neighbor, [with a good-natured gesture of contempt, and winking to the man by his side,] I honor your judgment about locks and keys, and the very first job at repairing them which I am unfortunate enough to have shall come to you, but as to the fine arts — well, the less said the better. Depend upon it, my friend here on the right has the right of it. That stranger is Apollo off on his travels again. Does not Homer say that * the gods are very knowable at sight?'* What is more, I Crites say it, and say that it is as plain as day, that Melius himself is among us, and very naturally takes a liking to his sister as soon as he sees her. Brother and sister — any one can see it with half an eye/' and he gave a triumphant flourish with his thumb, as if the matter were settled at the Areop- agus in full session, Mars and the Furies and Stars looking on.
Dio at length became aware of the attention he was drawing, and passed on, saying to himself, " Either another Phidias has appeared in my ab- sence, or that figure is a copy of some living per- son— neither of which seems possible. What a
* II., xiii, 72.
Dear old Nurse. 41
worshipful thing ! I much doubt if even Arno the Phoenician could see it without pulling off his cap. If all our gods and goddesses were as this Artemis looks, one would have less perplexity about them."
Just outside the Itonean gate, on the right of the road leading to.Phalerum, in the midst of market- gardens and small olive yards, stood a number of cottages — evidently built of stones taken from the old Phaleric wall, some remains of which could still be seen on the other side of the road. At the open door of one of these cottages Dio presented himself. An old woman within was bending over her distaff to disentangle a thread. He stood for a moment looking at her with a troubled expression. Sudden- ly raising her eyes she discovered him. She rose.
" Is my lord wishing to speak with me — ^will he step within ? My sight is dim, and he must excuse me if I ought to know him," she said with an ac- cent and manner far above her apparent station. I am somewhat used, good mother," said Dio, to being unknown. I am a friend of the Dionysii. Arriving in the city last night I found the family absent. As I happened to know that you were once nurse in the family, I have come to you. Can you give me any news of Dio ? "
The woman suddenly lifted both hands to her face, and for a moment said nothing. ** Alas, alas ! that I can," she at length said in a faint voice, while
ti
42 Dio THE Athenian.
the tears ran down her furrowed cheeks. " He lies below the sea, the dreadful, dreadful sea ; and my own son who went with him to the wars is there by his side."
" This is, indeed, bad news. How did you learn it?"
" Ah, noble sir, it has long been told all over the city. Every body says it is so. The Dionysii are a great family, and have sent out galleys in every direction to search. But in vain. Nothing could be learned about Dio and my son since they sailed from Italy four months ago. Ah, sir," and here the tears broke out anew and her voice sank almost to a whisper ; " no doubt they are lying at the bottom of the sea ; and their shades must wander sadly for a hundred years on the banks of the infernal River." She wrung her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break.
" And they were good, too," she added after a moment ; " faithful to the gods. Many a sacrifice has my son laid on the altar of Poseidon. And he was so kind and gentle to me. And Dio — ah, sir, if you knew him you know how good as well as brave and noble he was, after the manner of his an- cestors. Alas that I should have lived to see this day! Day! I shall never see days again; they will be all nights. My old eyes shall never rest on the dear boys more. They will be cast from wave
Dear old Nurse. 43
to wave, and the sea-monsters will feed on them, and their spirits will go up and down on the banks of the sad river and plain, and look longingly across, and perhaps never find rest. O cruel gods ! **
" We must try to propitiate them," said Dio. ** If we lay costly offerings on their altars they may discover the body, that it may have the last sad rites."
" Ah, sir, I am poor and lowly — scarcely above a slave — and our gods do not mind such. Even when thinking of Dio himself I have small comfort ; for though there is no family in all Greece greater than his, and they would do any thing to make the gods favorable, how can they know wAom to propitiate ? One is asleep, another is busy, another is unjust, an- other is neither wise nor strong enough for the need ; even Zeus himself cannot always have things his own way. The gods often disagree among themselves ; to please one party is to displease another ; how can one tell where to go for help ? No, I have thought it all over these weary months since my heart was broken, and- 1 have small hope from any thing that even the Dionysii can do ;" and the poor old woman sank down again on her stool, and swayed herself backward and forward with such a hopeless look as was more pitiful than tears.
What could Dio say? He felt the truth of what she said, and that if she was to be comforted at all
44 Dio THE Athenian.
it must be in the way of distraction. So he began to tell her what high praise of her son he had heard from Dio^how faithful and brave and attached to his master he was — ^how tenderly attached Dio was to him, and how he was wont to treat him as a dear friend rather than as a servant. As he went on in low sympathizing tones the mother gradually ceased her swaying motion, her face awoke, and her eyes fastened on his face with an intentness that grew every moment more absorbing. Then he told her that from what he knew of the family of Dio he felt sure that they would do all they could to please the gods and recover the body of Euphorus. ** And," said he, ** we will make rich offerings, not only to Zeus and Poseidon, but to all the Olympian deities, so as to make their help surer ; especially to Aphro- dite, since it was near Cythera — but no matter ; no doubt all will be done that can be done."
She was now so still that Dio, who had purposely kept his eyes from her distressed white face as he spoke, let them fall on her. She was leaning eager- ly toward him, her eyes widely dilated, her lips slightly parted, seemingly even breath suspended.
" You speak only of my son Euphorus," she at length said, slowly and in a voice almost too faint to be heard. " Do you know, I had two sons ? Which of them was dearest I could not tell. Dio, too, was my son. I held him on my knees and in
Dear old Nurse. 45
my bosom when a babe, taught him to creep and walk, went with him abroad for air and exercise, and he and Euphorus, being nearly of the same age, were almost always together. As Dio grew up he never forgot his poor nurse, but came often to see me, and brought me many a present, and treated me as if I were really his mother — ^so gently and re- spectfully and tenderly; ah, the princely lad be- came a true son to me, as dear as Euphorus himself! And it would take away half my sorrow could I know that though Euphorus is gone my son Dio is safe."
" Your son Dio is safe," said the young man, step- ping quickly forward, bending on one knee, and tenderly putting his arms about the poor woman. She gave one passionate cry, clasped her hands about his neck, and then lay on his bosom like a stone. He said nothing, but laid his cheek by the side of hers, softly stroked her white hair, ever and anon by a gentle pressure of his arm recalled her fainting consciousness to the fact of his presence and profound sympathy.
At last she murmured, "The gods be praised! They have not been so hard to me as I thought. Euphorus is indeed gone, but Dio lives. I thank the Immortals for that. Perhaps they will yet send me the body of my other son, and then his soul can cross the sad River and find rest."
46 Dio THE Athenian.
Dio had many questions to answer; and many were the tears shed by the poor woman, especially as she heard some particulars of the scene near Cy- thera. To escape so many dangers and yet perish so near home — how sad ! Blame not the long low wail she could not keep back. Dio did not, but, vent once given, he so wisely avoided the sadder details, and mixed up warm praises of his foster brother with what he did tell, that when he finished he had the satisfaction of seeing that the lone, bruised heart was being sustained beyond his ex- pectation. It was still night, but a night into which many stars and even the full moon had come.
" Now, mother," said he at last, " I will go and lay votive offerings, not only on the altar of Plouton, king of the dead, and Poseidon, king of the sea, and Aphrodite, near whose isle and favorite shrine we lost our Euphorus, and who is tender-hearted, but also on the altars of all the chief deities of our country. Besides, I will promise them still greater gifts in case they come to our help. So, perhaps we shall succeed in enlisting them in our behalf, and we shall find my brother again, and his ashes shall rest with the Dionysii whom he loved so well and served so faithfully, and so, as you say, his dear shade be at rest. Meanwhile I will have a rich cenotaph made that shall tell with
Dear old Nurse. 47
fitting inscription how good and brave and faithful he was."
He gently disengaged himself, at the same time kissing again her withered cheek — kissing it as if it were some ancient altar on which ancestral fires were still feebly burning. " You must expect to see your son Dio very often now. But he wishes for the present to have his return remain unknown in the city. So do not speak of it to any until my parents come back. And now you must let me do a son*s part for you — nay, do not refuse me, or I shall feel grieved," and he pressed a purse into her hand, closed her fingers tightly on it, then stepped quickly into the street.
** Dear old nurse ! " said Dio to himself with a sigh, as he passed into the city : " I have tried to be a physician to her, and perhaps not altogether without success ; but who shall cure me, who am be- ginning to be sick with DOUBT? No doctor suffices for himself."
Just then a blind street-singer^ also going into the city, on the other side of the street, began to ply his vocation ; and, singularly enough, chanted in a strong voice, curiously compounded of the gay and
grave, the following verses :
*
" I knew of a doctor whose skill was so great That his fame went out to the end of the land,
And the sick sent early, and the sick sent late, For help to the doctor, the Doctor Legrand.
Dio THE Athenian.
" Bol one day Ihe greal doclor himself fell sick ;
The pain took him so hard he took to his bed, And sent for a doctor — 'A doctor I' say you ;
'Why, he was a doctor himself, as you said.
" 'Why not feel his own poise, and rap his ownbreast. And tell what the matter and what to be done 7
For surely a doctor like Doctor Legrand Should know how to doctor an ail of bis own 1 '
" Not «o thought the doctor, bat sent man away —
Sent him as fast as feet could well go — And called Doctor Divine, just over the way.
To divine him the ail and what he should do.
" ' For,' said he, ' 'tis a maxim come from old lime
That DO doctor is fit to doctor himself ; A sick body is sure sick judgment to make —
So doctor, dear doctor, be doctor yourself/
" So Divine took the case, made diagnosis,
Looked grave, said 'twas the plague, took Ihe plague in hand. And patient had nothing, just nothing, to say.
As if he were nothing but patient Legrand.
r
" Good-bye to the sick man who treats his own casi Whatever the plague he has taken in hand ;
He shall go to the bad who goes to himself. Though hinuelfbe doctor, and Doctor Legrand."
J
lY.
THE PANTHEON AT HOME.
UdvTa ttXtjqtj 6eo)v, — Aristotle, D^ A»,, i, 5.
'•All things full of gods."
The Pantheon at Home. 51
CHAPTER IV.
THE PANTHEON AT HOME.
AT Rome one now visits with special interest the Pantheon. This ancient temple to all the gods is, in some respects, a copy of one much more ancient that stood near the Agora in Athens : but the vast rotunda of the Athenian temple had neither porch nor roof. Within, a rich portico fol- lowed the entire circuit of the walls, and was divid- ed up into a great number of shrines accessible only from a broad chariot-course that passed just in front of them, and which was separated by a bronze railing, broken at frequent intervals, from the great central area of the building. This central space was wholly open to the sky, and adorned with fountains and columns and statues and altars.
At the open gate of this structure Dio in due time presented himself. After glancing about the interior, as if to refresh his memory, and, perhaps, to ascertain whether any familiar faces were to be seen or any special rites were in progress, he turned aside into one of the neighboring shops, devoted to the sale of such things as were used in worship or thought to be appropriate offerings to the various deities.
$2 Dig the Athenian.
Defending himself as he best could against the sharp practice of the very irreligious dealer in relig- ious things, he managed to provide himself with a variety of costly articles for some of the more prom- inent deities — most of them miniature copies in precious material of such things as were reckoned favorites or symbols of those deities ; for example, a golden eagle for Jupiter, a silver lyre for Apollo, a bronze trident for Neptune, a Iamb carved in ebony for Pluto, a cestus richly embroidered for Venus, a gold-hilted dagger for Mars, an eye ex- quisitely wrought in sapphire for Minerva. Where should he stop ? In a vague way he had proposed to himself to propitiate the leading divinities ; but where should he draw the line? He found it no easy matter to decide. The merchant, finding so good a customer, was naturally anxious to make the list of magnates as long as possible ; and when Dio began to hesitate, he proceeded to urge the claims of various divinities to a leading rank, and to insist on the very great importance of keeping them in good humor — setting forth with great ingenuity and in strong picturesque style their jealous dispositions: how implacable they sometimes were, even when unintentionally offended, and how impossible it was for even Jupiter himself, with his many cares and intrigues, to be sufficiently alert to defend against them one who had been so unfortunate as to incur
The Pantheon at Home. 53
their ill-will — glibly reciting stories from the poets in confirmation.
" Does not the noble gentleman remember how, once upon a time, some of the inferior deities con- trived to get the Thunderer asleep, and so managed to have every thing their own way for awhile. There is Dionysus now (your Bacchus, for I see that you are a Roman) — you do not seem to have thought of him ; yet he is in the main a mighty clever fellow if you can only get on the right side of him, and a rough customer when displeased — witness how he treated the sailors of Naxos ! And he has, too, not a little to do with the sea. He relies, as you know, on long voyages to give his wines their best flavor; and he is an almost universal favorite with gods and men, especially with sea-gods and sailors — almost equal to Aphrodite herself in this respect. You should by all means propiate him with this gold cup, which I bought at a bargain, and so can let you have cheap — only two minae. A perfect gem ! Never sold any thing so cheap before. Then there is Persephone ; she ought by all means to be propiated. A young man like you may be excused for not knowing how much influence a wife has with her husband, but an old fellow like me, who has been witched about and governed by his Hera for thirty years, can tell him a thing or two. Noble sir, my candid opinion is that the goddess can wind her grim lord about her
54 Dio THE Athenian.
finger just like this, [here he made his finger revolve at an unconscionable rate,] and that, if you want to carry a point with the monarch of the infernal re- gions, she is just the one to do it for you. Now here is a jeweled garland, imitating the very flowers she was the fondest of when on the earth — the crocus, the violet, the rose, the hyacinth, the nar- cissus— this will be almost sure to win favor for you in that quarter, and the price is as nothing to my lord."
So ran on the glib trader, as if on a well-oiled tramway. In those days the Athenian commons were great talkers. Their tongues were naturally hung in the middle. They were the ancient per- petual motion. They moved as easily as water goes down hill or as a windmill in a gale. Quick, inquisitive, social, spending their lives in the open air, in constant converse with each other on all sorts of subjects, the natural gift of the people had large cultivation. Their tongues became the best part of them. Perhaps they had never heard that " silence is golden." Certainly they believed in no such tre- mendous nonsense. Especially the retail trader. He believed in speech above every thing. It was his chief stock in trade, however large that might be. It was his staff of life — well-sharpened and full of knobs. He would have talked if there had been no profit in it ; but then he was as keen for gain as
The Pantheon at Home. 55
any razor of Aristophanes. Also, he was full of the traditions of his country, of the fame of its great orators and writers, and of the fact that in Athens, from time immemorial, all great things had been in the gift of persuasive and eloquent speech — from the thrones of Cecrops and Solon to those of Pericles and Plato and Demosthenes. So speech was de- voutly worshiped by him — even more than Pallas Athene herself. A few philosophers objected to this ; but even they, for the most part, advocated silence with endless speech. Dio had only fallen in with the average Athenian in that shop near the Pan- theon— though he had fallen in with a razor on legs.
He was amused, but he was saddened. He could not but confess to himself the justice of the unpleas- ant inference which the shrewd fellow drew from the current religious beliefs. Certainly, what with the great number of gods and goddesses, and their abounding dissensions, mistakes, prejudices, injus- tices, and limitations of place and power as well as knowledge, it was not a very promising task he had undertaken. How could he be sure of getting for it even the notice of a single divinity? But he kept his thoughts to himself, and, till the man had well shown the contents of his shop, allowed him to ex- pend his oily eloquence without interruption.
At last Dio asked, " How many gods are wor- shiped in Athens?"
)
56 Dio THE Athenian.
" Well/* said the merchant, shrugging his shoul- ders, " they have become pretty numerous of late years, since we have become so hospitable as to keep open house for all our neighbors* gods as well as our own. What with the Phoenician, Egyptian, Roman, and Grecian deities, the number can hardly fall short of a good many thousands. And they are increasing the number every year. Last year they put up in the Agora a statue to the god Claudius Caesar. This year sees another set up under the name of the god Demos. Yes, the number is very considerable. It must be confessed we are ex- tremely well provided for in the matter of deities as well as of doctors. We can suit ourselves as to either at very short notice. I overheard an old rogue say the other day that it is easier to find gods in Athens than men. Of course it is, and ought to be. Gods are by far the most profitable."
** You see, my friend," said Dio, " that you are making a very discouraging argument of it. To make offerings to all these divinities is plainly out of the question. I should have to buy up your whole stock, and more. And yet it seems that I cannot really be safe in neglecting one of them. The one I neglect may feel sore at the slight, and avenge himself on my cause at some vital point. Would it not be better — at least as well^since the mutual jealousies of the gods are so great, to rriake
The Pantheon at Home. 57
no offerings at all ? When one does not know what to do, would it not be better to do nothing? Cer- tainly, it would be much cheaper,'* and he, too, shrugged his shoulders. " Besides, Plato, if I mis- take not, says that the gods are not such that they can be gained over by gifts." *
This brought the dealer to a more moderate vein. He became inclined to think it would answer to make offerings to the twelve Olympian deities, with the addition of Pluto. On still further thought, he felt sure this would do. If successful, the presents would secure a party among the Immortals strong enough to overbear all opposition ; if unsuccessful, it would be well not to have thrown away any more money — " not that money spent on me will be thrown away," he added with a twinkle.
So Dio soon left the shop followed by a slave loaded with the purchases — carrying in his own hand but a single article, the choicest of all, namely, a delicate tablet of alabaster encircled with brill- iants, in the middle of which was a bleeding lamb, figured in gold, with these words beneath, " I have sinned."
Entering the Pantheon, Dio passed from shrine to shrine, leaving at each its appropriate gift, and say- ing, as he touched the knees of god or goddess, " Be propitious to my lost friend, and thou shalt have
* Aicibiad., ii, 13.
58 Dio THE Athenian.
greater!*' On reaching the shrine of Mercury he found a man just leaving on the altar a fine chaplet.
"W/iew/*' he heard the slave behind muttering to himself; "I know that chaplet — the very one we had such a hunt for this morning after this fellow • was in the shop. No doubt he stole this offering for Hermes, in order to get help in a greater theft. Now we shall see how he will pray ! "
The fellow had fallen on his knees. Not content with this, he touched the pavement with his fore- head, and remained some time in this posture, mut- tering in most earnest and devout tones what could not be understood. When he rose and turned to leave he found in front of him the slave, who had stolen out from behind Dio, and was now vigorous- ly shaking his fist at him. The man started as if the wand in the hand of the god had dealt him a rousing thwack over the eyes ; then, suddenly catch- ing up a pebble from the pavement, he threw it spitefully at the statue, ducked beneath the out- spread arms of the slave, sprang over the railing, and in a moment disappeared behind the altars and columns of the central court. He evidently was used to running away, and did it well.
Just as they were leaving the shrine of Mars a man came up on the run, with torn clothes, bloody face, one eye swollen and closed, and with such an expression of rage and hate in his whole aspect that
The Pantheon at Home. 59
Dio instinctively stopped to see what he would do. He went into the shrine, and, falling on his knees before the god, poured out a torrent of impreca- tions on his enemy — beseeching the god to break every bone in his body, to spill every drop of his blood, to jam his head between two rocks till it should be as thin as a leaf of papyrus — promising that if he would grant these amiable requests he should have (here the man hesitated and rubbed his head for a moment) his best jar of honey.
** You would better bring the jar at once," said the priest, with a laugh in his eye. " This god, though not afraid in battle, is afraid to trust.'*
At the shrine of Bacchus they found both his priest and a devotee busy at a skin of wine out of which they had been drinking in honor of the god and for the benefit of the next vintage, until they were almost too stupid to stand or see. They did not seem to see Dio. ** Come on,** said he to the slave, with a shudder, " we will not stop here just
now.**
They came to the shrine of Venus. Every thing was delicately clean and white, from the Lesbian alabaster of the statue and altar down to the white marble pavement ; and it was with a feeling of relief that Dio, fresh from the sanctuary of the wine-god, with its human beasts and puddles of wine and foul scents, lingered for a moment after he had said his
63 Dio THE Athenian.
prayer and laid his cestus on the altar. But while he lingered an unveiled woman in the dress and with the free, bold air of a courtesan came up. As she entered Dio drew into the shadow on one side, and, as he softly stole out, heard her praying for a plenty of lovers, and promising one tenth of all her gains to the goddess.
At almost every altar the young man saw or heard something to offend him. Why offended? Had he not been familiar with just such things from boyhood? and why should they strike him now as they had never done before? The fact is, during his four years of absence on the frontiers of the empire, away from temples and in the midst of great and novel experiences and almost absolute self-guid- ance, both his intelligence and moral sense had started into maturity quite as suddenly as his body. The battle-axes of the Britons did for him what the ax of Vulcan is said to have done for Minerva, They clave the way for him. They set him at lib- erty. It was a rough midwifery; but what if a god- dess, or even a maUy come of it ! A man did come of it. And one day his young companions were startled to see Dio standing among them, not only majestic in person and terrible in arms, but, withal, so mature in judgment and graciously austere in morals — in short, so like their conception of his tutelar goddess, Athene — that they enthusiastically
The Pantheon at Home. 6i
saluted him, Dio Athenos. And now, at home, Athenos saw the old scenes with new eyes. He was greatly disturbed — shocked. Must he take refuge in the unknown God? And should he do so would He cease to be unknown? Accordingly, when he reached the recess consecrated to Mi- nerva his face wore a very grave, not to say severe, expression.
It was in harmony with all he saw within. No ornament, nothing superfluous, every thing intense- ly white and simple — the closely-draped figure and majestic face of the goddess holding an inscribed roll in one hand and an olive branch in the other, the plain marble altar before her, and even the veiled votaress standing before it with uplifted hands. Dio started. Where had he seen that form? His thought flashed back to the Diana of the street- shrine. Though the face was turned from him there was something in the poise and outline of the figure, as dimly revealed through the nebulous dra- pery, that made him feel sure that he had before him the original of that statue which had touched him as never had statue or living being before. Cannot the naturalist divine the whole from a part? Dio was a naturalist — for the time being. He instantly reconstructed the whole person from the little that he saw ; and stood gazing at it with half-suspended breath, as if the slightest movement on his part
62 Dio THE Athenian.
might dissolve the heavenly vision, or cause it to dart back, like a reflected sunbeam, into its native heaven. But she moved not. The light zephyr toyed lovingly with her white veil; it softly rose and fell as if resting on some wave of repressed emotion. She drew her head slightly back that her eyes might better rest on the face, of the statue ; her lifted hands and even her whole person swayed slightly in the earnestness of her prayer; but there was nothing that betrayed a consciousness of a human presence. What great petition was she making? Or was this but the common worship of one whose nature was of so divine a make that it rose as naturally heavenward as do the white mists of the summer morning, or as the Olyrnpians them- selves ? It is hard to say how long Dio would have stood — afraid to move and half afraid to stay — had not the noise as of a procession advancing through the temple roused him. He turned to see what was coming. The maiden turned also — forgetting to drop her veil. Their eyes met. He was right ; there was the same heavenly face that had spoken so de- lightfully in the marble ; but how much improved by the subtle living glory that sat throned on the white brow, and looked forth from the eyes, and mantled the cheek, and filled every feature to over- flowing with ils soft yet triumphant light ! It was soul rather than body that he seemed to see. And
The Pantheon at Home. 63
what a soul ! Her expression, as he first caught it, was not one of alarm, but rather of pleased surprise — as if she had gotten the answer to her prayer un- expectedly soon, or, at least, seen an omen of its fulfillment. He instinctively bowed low. Just at this moment the head of the procession appeared near him. The maiden dropped her veil, and he was obliged to step back and within the railing that separated the drome from the open area of the temple.
This area was fast filling up with spectators. From the place among them to which Dio gradual- ly drifted he could no longer see the interior of the shrine he had left, and, for a few moments at least, he must occupy himself with the passing pageant. At first it was not plain to him what sort of a pag- eant it was. The many intervening pillars of the portico were a considerable obstruction to his sight. But it was evidently an elaborate religious show ; and when he saw a little boy, ragged, pale, thin, but with a bright, intelligent face and great hungry eyes, while trying to worm himself among the taller forms so as to get a better view of the procession, rudely struck and thrown back by a showily dressed young man in the front rank, on whom the little fellow in his anxiety to see had pressed somewhat, he almost unconsciously stepped forward, said a kind word to the tearful boy, caught him up in his arms, and set
64 Dio THE Athenian.
him on his shoulder, from whence he could look sub- limely above the heads in front. The Athenians around, quicker than the Neapolitans of the present day at seeing and expressing themselves, sent up a spontaneous cheer. When the young man in front turned to see what was the matter, they saluted him with as spontaneous a hiss. His swarthy cheek flamed up as he saw all eyes centered on him, the little boy with the tears still on his face looking down at him triumphantly from his perch, and es- pecially the grave regard which Dio was bending on him. His face, Just now, was excessively ugly, yet it was regular, mobile, evidently capable of kind and good expressions as well as of the opposite; excep- tionally intelligent, but the intelligence was that of a snake, and just now of a snake with deadly menace in his eyes, and hissing tongue, and fang erected to strike. It was but an instant. The spiteful, malignant look that shot out toward Dio, like a sheaf of poisoned arrows, from every feat- ure, retired almost as quickly as it came behind a certain wary coolness and blandness of man- ner which seemed his habit, as he turned to re- sume his watch of the procession. But that un- guarded moment seemed to Dio to have revealed the whole man to him almost as well as years of ac- quaintance could have done. It was not a judg- ment for which he could have given reasons, it
The Pantheon at Home. 65
was rather a flash of insight— a lightning darting into the pitchy night, and for a moment vividly re- vealing every thing — such as we all have at times, and is not uncommon to highly gifted natures. Dio felt sure that he had before him a man of profound and dangerous passions, capable of all the depths of mazy intrigue, and who in pursuit of his ends would be restrained by no scruples whatever — in short, a new edition of the old Homeric demagogue, Thersites, without his bandy legs, crooked shoulders, and woolly hair * — also one who from that time would be his enemy. " Should I one day stand for an archonship," said he to himself, " I shall not get the vote of this man, nor of any whom he can in- fluence."
By this time Dio had become more fully aware of the nature of the show. It was a procession in honor of Venus. The different shrines were fiercely jealous of each other, and, to impress the public and win patronage, the priests attached to each would, every now and thenf get up a spectacle in honor of their own deity. Had Dio been present yesterday he would have seen one in behalf of Apollo. To-day he saw one in behalf of a still more popular deity. In front marched two large beadles carrying aloft between two spears a white silken banner on which were emblazoned various epithets
* II., ii, 212.
66 Dio THE Athenian.
of the goddess — such as "Queen of Beauty/* ** Swan of Cyprus," " Goddess of Love." Next came a band of musicians playing on cymbals, tibias, cyth- eras, harps, and Carian flutes. This was followed by several priestesses on foot, each with a boy behind profusely covered with flowers and supporting the long white train of her robe with one hand while with the other he held a tiny silver trumpet to his mouth. Then, on a light and graceful chariot, coh- ered with bass-reliefs and arabesque work in gilt of the gayest designs, and drawn by milk-white Cyp- rian ponies, whose arched necks and stately but glid- ing motion justified the name of "Cyprian swans," often given them, came a beautiful woman with bare head and shoulders, but with the rest of her person veiled in a cloud of white laces and feathery gauzes of Coz and other draperies, so disposed as to imi- tate the sea-foam from which the goddess was sup- posed to have sprung — in short, a Venus Anady- omene. She bore in her hands a huge bouquet of roses and myrtles. On her head was a gold wreath made to imitate these favorite plants. Rings of ori- chalcum and gold, of great size, glittered in her ears. From her neck hung a profusion of gold chains with gems of various hues attached, and which shone in the sunbeam like infant rainbows embracing each other. By her side sat a fair but arch and roguish- looking boy, quite nude, and equipped with a small
The Pantheon at Home. 67
silvered bow and quiver filled with arrows feathered with the brightest plumes. About the chariot danced four gold-filleted and white-robed girls — gliding and leaping and tossing their airy forms in exactest sympathy with the music. Next came a car on which was displayed a rich collection of the. presents which had been made to the goddess; prominent among which Dio recognized his own cestus. This car was followed by another contain- ing various emblems of the benefits supposed to be conferred on men by Cupid and his mother; this, by a number of empty private equipages ; these, by a number of gayly dressed young horsemen.
As the procession passed slowly around the tem- ple, Cupid sometimes made a feint of shooting his arrows among the spectators. When he came over against Dio, he suddenly sprang on the seat, caught from his quiver a whole sheaf of arrows, and, with immense enthusiasm of manner, affected to shoot them all at him in rapid succession. This drew uni- versal attention to the young man — very unpleas- antly to him, especially as the attention was imme- diately followed by a loud cheer and much putting of heads together as if asking, " Who is he ? " and, worst of all, the goddess herself looked inquiringly his way, and, as if satisfied with the look, shot at him a radiant smile. This brought out another cheer, from which he was glad to escape by seating
68 Dio THE Athenian.
himself on the pediment of the column against which he had been leaning, and occupying himself with questioning the little boy placed by his side as to his name and friends, until the procession had fin- ished its round and disappeared from the temple. Then, dismissing the child with a kind word and a pat on the head, (as we do nowadays, and as good people have always done from the beginning,) he returned with the slave hastily to the shrine of Mi- nerva. He was sorry to find it vacant. He depos- ited his offering, said his prayer, and turned away. He had visited thirteen shrines. The stock of of- ferings in the hands of the slave was exhausted, with a single exception. What should he do with the cup intended for Bacchus ? After hesitating a mo- ment, he took the cup from the slave and dismissed him.
In the center of the court of the Pantheon stood a large altar with this inscription. To THE UNKNOWN God. It was the highest and most cheerful-looking object in the whole structure. The light from the open sky always shone brighter here than elsewhere ; and just now the low sunbeams were gloriously slanting in upon it through the western gates, and drenching it with rich colors. To this Dio now bent his steps. Without statue, or priest, or single votary, but transfigured, and, as it were, appealing frankly to all the heavens, it offered a striking con-
The Pantheon at Home. 69
trast to the altars he had just visited, hidden away as they were in dim recesses as if afraid of the day and akin to benighted times. Daughters or mothers — which ?
He deposited the cup, covered it with the bleed- ing alabaster tablet, bent a moment with face buried in his hands, then rose and left the temple.
Will the gods, or the GOD, do any thing for pray- ing Dio? Not the gods. No stony ear in that Pantheon will hear his prayer. No stony eye among all those shrines will discover the lost Euphorus. No stony hand, though it be that of Zeus himself, will lift the limp form from where it lies, (on the hard sea-bottom amid the drowned wealth of forty centuries, not one obolus of which can close the poor eye, turned ever upward so piteously toward the bright day which it cannot use, toward the swift galleys that blithely come and go and bring no help,) tenderly through the lapping, remorseful waves, to some hospitable shore and a bed in the green and flower-sprinkled earth. Dio does not ex- pect it from them — hardly from those spiritual be- ings on Olympus which these stony figures repre- sent. Are there any such beings? And the inter- rogation point, at first a mere point though a very black one, is now as large as a Polyphemian shep- herd's crook, in the mind of the young man. Will it do the work of one, and guide his thought into
TO Dio THE Athenian.
the presence of the Great Unknown, until He stands out to faith as does yonder colossal Maid to sight in the glory of the setting sun? I am not without my hopes. Dio will still look upward. Up- ward-looking men are apt, sooner or later, to see stars. And what are stars but suns on the way — glorious, swift-going triremes, on which our thoughts, brightly embarking, go surely into port ? Celestial PirEEus, we salute thee !
V.
IS PIRiCUS IN FLAMES?
Kal ai) Xafiffdveig^ ijv ttjv ndXiv Tagdrrfj^, — Aristophanes, Equity 864.
"And thou cstchest if thou disturb the city."
Is PiRiEus IN Flames? 73
CHAPTER V.
IS PIRiEUS IN FLAMES?
THAT night Dio dreamed of a battle. The strife grew, the din rose louder and louder, the supreme moment came. " Ho, my brave fel- lows, now put forth all your effort, and the victory IS ours !
He awoke. At once he became sensible that the din was not all -in his soul. He heard confused sounds and outcries. A glare was on the ceiling. He sprang to the window, and saw the servants run- ning about excitedly with lights in the court below. Throwing open a sash, he asked what was the matter. Praxis^ answered that there was a great alarm of fire in the city. Hastily dressing himself, Dio mounted to the roof, and then to the turret. He could see no flames, but the streets were full of people with torches ; and loud cries came up to him from every quarter.
The flow of torches seemed to be toward the Piraean Gate — indeed, he could see a stream of them beyond the gate, stretching as a milky way far across the plain. Descending, he told the servants that he would go out and make inquiries, charging
74 Dio THE Athenian.
them to remain within and be ready to admit him promptly on his return. " For you know," said he with a smile, " I had to wait a little too long the other night."
He had barely left the house and crossed to the oth- er side of the street where the shadows better screened him from observation, when a man came running down from toward the Agora, crying, " Fire ! fire ! " at the top of his voice and in every variety of tone. When he came opposite the mansion of the Dio- nysii he seemed to redouble his efforts, and almost stopped, in order, it would seem, that he might bet- ter intensify his voice and give those within a better opportunity to hear him. As soon, however, as he had well passed the house the stormy wind-bag of ^olus suddenly collapsed. Both lungs and legs gave out at once, and Dio was able to pass rapidly down his own side of the street, and, making a cross- ing considerably in advance, to meet the tamed tor- nado in a natural way just as he had made another feeble outcry.
'* Where is the fire?"
" In the Piraeus," answered the man.
" Is it very large — as large, for instance, as the noise I heard you making just now?"
" Larger. You see that the whole city is astir. Why, the entire port is being destroyed — temples, warehouses, shipping, and all!"
-J
Is PiR^us IN Flames? 75
" How can that be ? There is not the least glow in that quarter."
"Well," said the man, with a little hesitation, " the moonlight is strong, and, indeed, the worst of the fire was over some time ago. Several of Sinon's galleys are gone — loss said to be a thousand talents — and he a great friend to the people."
The light was not enough to allow of Dio's seeing the man's features well, but he thought he recog- nized the look of the man whom he had found at the shrine of Mercury in the Pantheon. Passing on, he shortly turned again and fell in with the stream of people that soon turned toward the Piraean Gate. Of some of these Dio made occasional inquiries. The replies at first were all one way. It was a fire, a fire in the Piraeus, an immense fire ; and such minute details were given of its beginning, the course it took, the buildings it had consumed, the tragical incidents attending it, that Dio was tempted to ask how his informants had learned so much. Had they been on the spot ? No, but it was what every body said.
He noticed, however, that the stories grew fewer and less circumstantial as he went on ; and by the time he reached the gate they had almost wholly disappeared. Then he began to hear it questioned whether the fire was really at the Piraeus. One said it was at Phalerum. Another said it was at
76 Dio THE Athenian.
Munychea. Then he found a man by the way- side, standing on a fragment of the Long Walls, pointing in a direction just opposite that in which they were going, and affirming to a group gathered about him that the fire was at the Lyceum. He kneiv it was. " Do you not see," said he, " that the sky is brighter in that quarter than anywhere else ? " Farther on the eddies in the stream of people be- came many and large.
Before long Dio overheard one expressing the opinion that there was no fire at all — that the whole alarm had been gotten up in wantonness or mischief, perhaps to give opportunity for some mischief in the city. This was a very unpopular opinion at first ; but, once proposed, it constantly grew in favor, until at last the people came to a full stop. No fire at all ! Is it possible that the whole city has turned out of bed, and gone so far, and all for nothing? Even so. For a man, clambering up a mass of masonry by the side of the road, re- ported that the whole line of torches in advance had reversed its movement : and soon persons ap- peared who had actually been all the way to the port, and found not the slightest foundation for the alarm.
So the crowd flowed backward, and Dio with it. He had, almost from the outset, anticipated such an ending of the affair ; but as the night was pleas-
Is PiRiEus IN Flames? 77
ant, he was glad of an opportunity to mix with and study the people without being closely observed, and so he had kept with them. As he returned he said to himself, " If Arno the Phoenician were here he would say that this story of a fire in the Piraeus is very like the stories of our gods — beginning without the slightest foundation in fact, made up wantonly or to serve a mischievous purpose, gradually en- larged and embellished as time went on by the fan- cies, fears, mistakes, and wickedness of men ; at last deluding whole peoples with the most circumstantial falsehoods."
As he passed through the gate two men came running down from the north, crying out with loud voices and with great excitement of manner, ^^Help ! help! Robbers! Murder! M-U-R-D-E-R ! "
On being questioned they explained that Sinon's house near the gate Dypylum was being attacked by a large force of robbers, and was in great straits ; and that he had sent them to ask the people to come to his aid immediately. They added that doubtless the alarm of fire in the Piraeus had been started to draw off the people and give free scope for the attack. The people hesitated. They had been deceived once — might they not be again? Besides, though fond of excitement, they were not quite so fond of actual danger — a weakness common to populaces. But Dio also hesitated.
78 Dio THE Athenian.
He was far from being satisfied with the bearing of the two men — their manner seemed to him some- what artificial. But then their story might be true. True men have not always the gift of naturalness ; and it would be a pity if a citizen in distress should ask for help in vain, especially such a citizen as he had heard that night Sinon to be. On the whole, he felt like going with the men. But the citizens seemed still undecided. He saw that they needed an example and leader. Pray where is the democ- racy that does not ? So, stepping up to the new- comers, he asked them if they would be responsible for the truth of their story and would serve as guides. Getting an affirmative answer, he turned to the crowd, and in a strong military voice that clave the night like the sword of a king, cried, " It is not far. These men consent to be held responsible for the truth of their story. I will go with them. Who will follow ? "
The people looked at him for a moment, and saw enough, even in the moonlight, of his commanding person and stately bearing to inspire confidence. Some one called out, " Let us go," others immedi- ately chimed in, the cry became general, and soon Dio found himself moving north, the two men just before him, followed by nearly the whole stream of people.
The street up which they now moved was lined
Is PiR^us IN Flames? 79
with large, substantial dwellings. Convenient to the three ports and near to the gates, it had been, from time immemorial, the favorite resort of prosperous traders, especially the houses on the left hand, as these abutted on the city wall, and so afforded easy access at all hours to the open country to such householders as had no objection to a rope and a basket — as many had not, unless report greatly be- lied them. Smuggling is no modern invention — its hair was white as snow even in the first century. As the houses had no open space in the rear for gardens and shrubs and flowers, the deficiency was generally made up by a narrow strip of open ground in front and on the sides, bounded by walls of wood or stone. In the case of the more showy and costly dwellings these walls were often very high, and the space they inclosed very considerable.
Less than half an hour brought Dio and his com- panions to a house of this sort. It stood widely apart from its neighbors, and was surrounded by a wall of masonry so exceptionally high and strong as to make the place seem like a stronghold rather than a city dwelling. The windows all showed lights; lights as from torches hurrying about in the yard glared on the walls ; against the great iron gate of open work in front an immense beam had been fast- ened ; and two or more persons, armed with bows and arrows, could be seen crouching behind the
8o Dio THE Athenian.
close parapet of each of the balconies which sur- rounded the upper story.
" Hearing us coming, they must have taken fright and fled," said one of the guides. "You see the house is all in arms."
" Ho, there, within ! " shouted Dio. " We are friends come to help you if you need help."
After a delay of a few moments two men bearing torches appeared on the balcony over the great door. One was a man somewhat advanced in life, the other was much younger — evidently father and son. In the latter, the torch which he carried beaming full on his face, Dio recognized without difficulty the young man whom he had so disagree- ably encountered in the Pantheon. It was disa- greeable to encounter him again. A snake is not a pleasant object even though not hissing. Two snakes are still more unpleasant.
The elder snake called out, " Thank you, my very good friends! you have helped us already. The rogues heard you coming and left without cere- mony. It may be, however, that they are still lurk- ing about and will return in case you should leave us. They attacked us very sharply. We have had a hard time of it to keep them out, and we should be sorry to see them again. If you can content your- selves to remain before the house for awhile, it may be of great service to me ; and I will send out to
Is PiRiEUS IN Flames? 8i
you a plenty of refreshments — good strong wines and fruits and cakes fit for the gods — to help you pass the time pleasantly. I would admit you all to the yard if I could, for Sinon loves the people and would gladly take each by the hand ; but the gate, as you see, has been securely fastened with great pains — besides, the yard could not hold half of my friends."
" Long live Sinon, friend of the people ! " shouted lustily the two guides.
Many joined in the cry, and Dio saw that most of the crowd were more than willing to accept the proffered hospitality. What Agora, since the world began, has refused a free entertainment? Certain- ly not the Athenian. Such unspeakable folly was impossible to those living under the shadow of the goddess of wisdom. They relished gossip above all things ; but next to gossip they relished eating and drinking at others' expense. So they at once began to settle themselves as comfortably as pos- sible against the wall, and on the steps and in the porches of the opposite houses. They were sure not to go home till morning — besides being disor- derly in the meantime. So Dio quietly disengaged himself. He did it all the more readily and quick- ly because of the presence of the young man who had impressed him so unfavorably — to say nothing
of the distasteful demagogical speech of Sinon, 6
82 Dio THE Athenian.
and what seemed to him a certain parade of con- fusion and alarm about the establishment which awakened suspicion. As he made his way home- ward reflectively, almost unconsciously putting this and that together, his suspicions grew apace, and he gradually increased his pace till it became a rapid stride.
As he crossed the deserted Agora, and passed near the Metroum, or Hall of Records, the great door slowly opened a little, and a man, with a lantern of horn in his hand and a small parcel under his arm, looked cautiously out. Catching sight of Dio, he swiftly drew back as if he had seen Pluto himself, and closed the door. Dio stepped up and tried to open it. It was fast. He now felt sure that some large mischief was on foot ; but it would not do to be found breaking into the building himself, and, besides, he had become quite too uneasy about his own home to remain away from it any longer. So he hastened on.
As he drew near the house he heard the voice of Chron. The dog was barking with startling vio- lence. Dio sprang up the steps and was about to lift the knocker when he saw that the door was slightly open. He went in. There was no light in the passage, and he could see nothing; but as the dog instantly became perfectly silent, he could dis- tinctly hear the sound of voices in the court beyond.
Is PiRiEus IN Flames? 83
Feeling his way softly to the door opening on this court, he cautiously opened it just enough to look within. He saw — well, a sight sufficiently disagree- able, not to say alarming. What seemed the whole body of servants sat cowering together in the first comer of the court to the left, while a dozen or so of men, with bare daggers and several torches, were keeping watch over them ! He understood the sit- uation in a moment. Near the party was the muni- ment-room, containing the title-deeds and jewels of the family; and this was being plundered, while a part of the robbers were keeping the servants from giving the alarm. What should he do? He was wholly unarmed. He looked about for a weapon of some kind. The faint light from the distant torches, passing through the narrow opening at the door, fell on a leaden statuette of Mercury, standing in a niche in the wall. He snatched it from its place without hesitation, (will the god forgive him?) and, stepping back softly to the dog, who had remained breathlessly silent since his entrance but now lay crouching as in the act to spring, with eyes that glowed like meteors in the dark as they watched his every movement, he patted the huge head, and said in a low voice, '* Now, Chron, my fine fellow, you shall have a chance to do your master a service which he will not soon forget." Grasping ihe dog's collar firmly with one hand, he gave a sudden twist
84 Dio THE Athenian.
on the chain with the other. A broken link fell to the pavement. Then, keeping hold on the collar, Dio cautiously led Chron through the door, and, turning under the right portico as being the most shaded from the moon and torches, stole along as near the wall as possible. It was wonderful how completely the animal seemed to divine his master's purpose. No modern mind-reader could have done it better — should I say as well? His eyes were fixed intently on Dio*s face. He uttered no sound ; his feet fell as carefully on the pavement as Dio's own, and Dio*s fell as noiselessly as did the moon- light itself. In this way they made their way around the court till they had approached very near the party. Just as their discovery seemed inevitable, a man came running from the atrium, and, hurrying directly across the court, spoke a few words to one of the robbers. This man immediately gave a most shrill whistle. Then, with a threatening gesture, bidding the servants not stir, he began to draw off his men toward the atrium. At this moment Dio let Chron loose. Without a sound the dog swept up like a bolt to the leader and pulled him to the ground. Dio availed himself of the confusion thus made to pass rapidly toward the door of the passage leading up to the muniment-room. This door he found widely open. About to step in, casting a look back, he saw one of the robbers coming up stealthily
Is PiRiEus IN Flames? 85
behind Chron with uplifted dagger. As the torch carried by the man flared in his face, Dio recognized again the rogue he had met at the shrine of Mer- cury, and afterward so zealously acting as public crier and volunteer tornado in front of the house.
" Now let the god avenge himself," said Dio to himself as he hurled at the fellow the leaden Mer- cury. It flew almost as fast as the messenger-god was thought to fly when on urgent state affairs, and struck the descending arm just as it was in the act of plunging the dagger into Chron.. The weapon flew far away. The man gave a terrible cry of pain, as his arm sank helpless by his side. Instinctively looking down to see what had hurt him, and seeing at his feet the image with the little wings on its helmet and sandals, he dropped his torch in con- sternation, and ran precipitately toward the hall, crying out loudly, " O Hermes, cursed Hermes ! "
But Dio had not stopped to hear and see all this ; for as he launched his missive he heard steps hastily descending the stairs behind him. He barely had time to step within the door and into the shadow behind it, when a large and powerfully-built man appeared on the landing above, with a torch in one hand, a bag partly filled in the other, and his belt bristling with darts and daggers. Dio thought he had never seen a fiercer face. It would have con- demned its owner anywhere. Nature sometimes
86 Dio THE Athenian.
makes bad men do their own advertising ; and sets every feature to saying, " This man is a reprobate," before his actions have had time to say it. Such was the face at which Dio looked from his shadows; And when it came hurrying by him he clenched his hand and felled it to the floor with right good will. The man gave a slight groan, and lay motionless. Dio caught up from the floor the unextinguished torch, tossed the bag of plunder behind the door, snatched a dagger, and darted out. The band was just disappearing into the atrium, Chron tugging fiercely at the heel of the hindmost, while two comrades were dragging with all their might at his arms. By the time Dio was able to reach the great door the fellows were in full flight down the street, and the dog, standing on the threshold, was follow- ing them with a mighty roar, that had in it enough wrath and defiance to supply an army. Dio drew him within and fastened the door. Stooping to ca- ress the noble animal, he found his mouth covered with blood, and the pavement all around wet with the same. A great fear came over him. But a short examination satisfied him that the dog was wholly uninjured ; and he soon found sufficient explanation of the profuse blood. Something resisted the clos- ing of the door into the court. On looking down, lo, a piece, and not a small piece, of a brawny hu- man heel ! Chron wagged his tail significantly.
Is PiRiEus IN Flames? 87
"Ah, Chron, cruel Chron," said his master in a tone of affected severity, " I see that you take quarter though you do not give it ! *' The dog did not seem particularly cast down at this rebuke, but rather to take it by the rule of contraries — especially when it was followed by liberal caresses on the part of his •master. And by his grand and stately gambols he gave abundant proof that it was not his own blood •but that of the enemy that had been wasted.
By this time the servants had plucked up courage to leave their corner, and came crowding about Dio with busy tongues of explanation. He learned that the porter, hearing an authoritative knock, and mak- ing no doubt that his master had returned, opened at once, despite Chron's furious protestations. The whole band rushed in. Their first step was to col- lect the servants, that none of them might escape and give the alarm. This took considerable time, as the slaves had fled precipitately in every direc- tion, and some of them had to be hunted out of the corners where they had hidden themselves. But their great trouble had been with the dog. He was Chron the invincible. They first tried to silence him with soft words and a huge piece of flesh ; but, unlike Cerberus, he paid no attention to the present, and only made the more uproar — as much, seeming- ly, as if he had Cerberus's fifty heads. Then they tried to approach him so as to dispatch him with
88 Dio THE Athenian.
their daggers; but his attitude became so mena- cing, his voice so terrible, and his efforts to break his chain so extreme and promising of success, that they desisted, and contented themselves with clos- ing the door upon him and so muffling his barks as much as possible. Collecting, then, the servants in the corner of the court, the leader turned them over with many threats to the care of the other robbers, and then went up to the muniment-room, the door of which was soon heard to burst open.
This reminded Dio, He sprang across the court to look for his prisoner. He was nowhere to be seen. The bag of valuables was found behind the door, where it had been tossed — but where was the robber himself? He was traced by drops of blood on the floor to the roof, and thence to the front parapet, from which he seemed to have dropped himself into a balcony, and thence to the ground. Very sour fruit, and plainly not yet ripe 1
YI.
AGORA AND ARTISTS AS GOD-MAKERS.
Hepvdvreg Kara ttjv dyogdv Aeyerat ri Kcuvdv.-^
Demosthenes, Pkilp., i, lo.
"Wandering through the Agora, "What new thing is told?"
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 91
CHAPTER VI.
AGORA AND ARTISTS AS GOD-MAKERS.
THE Greeks were early risers. In this they were Aristotelians — believing, with the Stagy- rite, that " It is well to rise before break of day, for this conduces to health, wealth, and wisdom."*
It was easy fpr Dio to conform to this rule the next morning, for sleep did not return to him after the events just narrated. But he was of too vigor- ous a make, and too much accustomed to the vigils and sudden strains of camp, to mind this.
Had there been a morning newspaper in Athens he undoubtedly would have sought that the first thing after rising — and saying his prayers, especially his promised prayer to the one God, of Arno the Phoenician. As it was, the best thing he could do was to go or send to the Agora — as much still the ear and tongue of the city as it was when Demosthenes rallied the Athenians on their newsy market-place. He chose to send, lest going himself he should be recognized by some who had seen him the night be- fore. So, calling the steward, he directed him to go out and learn all he could about the late events.
* CEcon., i, 6.
92 Dio THE Athenian.
Meanwhile he would take his breakfast and lay his plans for the day. This he could hardly do while Praxis was present ; for the fellow, in addition to his natural love of talk, felt bound to give large explana- tions of how fifty men, with himself at their head, could be mastered by twelve robbers.
Having dispatched his simple meal, Dio went at once to the muniment-room. This he had not ex- amined particularly the night before, contenting himself with placing within it the bag found on the robber, and temporarily securing the door. He now found that two of the many marble coffers ranged around the walls had been broken open. The claws and some other tools with which this had been done were lying near, and among them some ancient look- ing parchments. Many jewels of various hues also lay about on the floor — evidently dropped by the robber in the alarm and haste inspired by the unex- pected signal from his comrades. Dio emptied the robber's bag. It contained what seemed to be the titles to several important estates in Attica. What the robber could have wanted with these Dio could not imagine. Did he mean to hold them for ransom ? It seemed as if he would have taken the stores of jewels and coin contained in the room instead of seeking to enrich himself in the more indirect, troub- lesome, and dangerous way. Besides, a selection among the documents had evidently been made.
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 93
The most time-stained of the coffers had been opened. Instead of taking from these what first came to hand the fellow had plainly examined for a choice. What principle guided his choice — ^though bad men are said to have no principle ? Dio could not see his way clear to an answer. " Perhaps," thought he, " my father when he arrives will be able to see through the stone.'* So, putting the valua- bles back to their places, he called in one of the servants, who was a smith, to repair the locks — a short task, as the surface sockets of the bolts had merely been burst off. By the time the steward re- turned all was finished, and Dio was awaiting him in the court.
" Well, Praxis, what do they say in the Agora?" " They say that a large force of Eubaean pirates had been gathering in the city for several days; that last night, disguised as citizens, they started all over the city, and especially in the Inner Ceramicus, the alarm of a great fire in the Piraeus with a view to draw the people away from the points to be as- sailed; that when apparently successful in this, they came together and attacked the house of Sinon, the great merchant ; that here a most des- perate onset was made, and the whole household would no doubt have been butchered, had not one of the gods led a large body of the people to the
rescue."
94 Dio THE Athenian.
" What god did they suppose was so kind ? " said Dio with a smile.
" They differed about that/' answered the steward. " One said it was Zeus himself, another Theseus, still another was sure it was Apollo. This last man be- longed to Sinon's household ; and on that account his view of the case seemed to take best with the people, as being probably that of his master, who is a great favorite with the Agora. It seems that Sinon has just been making some rich offerings to Apollo in behalf of certain galleys of his trading with Delos, and her feels certain that the god was so propitiated by the costly presents that he came in person to his help in his distress."
" How did he know that his friend was any thing more than a taller man than usual ? " asked Dio.
" The very question old Cleon a^ked the man," said Praxis, " but he cried out in contempt, What, do you think we cannot tell a god from a man ! (* Not always so easy a matter,' sneered Cleon.) There is not so tall a man in Athens, or anywhere else. Why, he was at least twenty feet high. And I never saw such a splendid presence: his eyes shone like Castor and Pollux ; his hair streamed out on the night breeze like Helios' own ; the light that beamed from his face made the torches dim, and when he spoke his voice sounded like the golden
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 95
trump with which Hermes summons the Olympians to council."
" There, there ! " cried Dio, " that will do. I thought that yoM^ Praxis, could tell a story just as you heard it — that was the reason I sent you ; and now you turn poet, and come back to me with — "
" Almost the very words I heard, and quite the sense," interrupted the steward. "And this was not the most wonderful part of what I heard ; for the man went on to say that all on a sudden the god disappeared, and on looking up he saw him with a star in his forehead flashing through the sky toward Parnes, from which quarter shortly came a most deli- cate and heavenly odor. * Was it not so, Laon ? and you, Timias? andyou, Anthos?* said the man, point- ing his finger successively at certain men in the crowd. * You were there as well as I — have I told any thing but the blessed truth ? ' They shook their heads."
"And did the people believe this?" asked Di6, shrugging his shoulders.
" Believe it, my master ! Of course they did. How could they do less ? To be sure, one old fel- low with a long gown began to laugh, but seeing his neighbors casting their eyes affectionately toward a heap of small stones that lay near he finally came around and believed with the rest."
" Then nothing was said about the attack here ? "
" Not a word. It was all about Sinon, and the
96 Dio THE Athenian.
hostility of the robbers to him, and the wonderful interference of the god in his favor. I had a great mind to tcU my story, but, remembering your wish to remain unknown till your father returns, I bit my lips, and, finding that not enough, throttled myself with both hands, and so came away safely."
"You did well," said Dio; "and your throat also seems to be doing well considering the severe hand- ling it has had," he added with a smile.
As he turned away he thought, " If Amo were here he would say, ' See how easily your deities and their histories may have been made out of V£ry slen- der materials.' "
To a greater extent than now each occupation had its special quarter in the ancient cities. In Ath- ens the special quarter of the lai^e dealers in marble works, as well as in paintings and other works of fine art, whether in wood, clay, or metals, was that part of the Sacred Way lying between the Agora and the Dypylum. This district was near the chief tem- ples, as well as the noble and wealthy families. It was also near the Outer Ceramicus, with its costly patrician tombs, which made so large a part of the demand for Athenian art. Thither Dio now direct- ed his steps. The better to escape recognition by any who had seen him the night before, he had made some changes in dress. He now wore a light military Roman cloak ; and his gray Milesian tunic
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 97
was bordered at the wrists and the knees with strips of purple, while a broad purple band crossing his breast was sometimes to be seen as the cloak opened in walking.
Near the gate, and opening on the right portico, Dio found a large warehouse of marbles which he did not remember to have seen. It evidently had been set up during his absence, and on that account offered him a better chance of being unknown. So he entered. He found a long show room of com- pleted sculptures, some fresh from the chisel, others stained by time and exposure — busts, statues, torsos, statuettes, relievos — some of them historical, but most referring to the ancient deities and their tradi- tions. Back of this room he could see another, filled with models in clay. Still further in the rear ap- peared another room, in which modeling was going on under the hands of bare-armed and aproned workmen ; and behind all he could descry an open yard, where men were busy chipping marble blocks in all stages of forwardness.
Dio had never before seen so large an establishment
of the kind. Though seeking but a cenotaph, he
felt disposed to linger in a room filled with so
many interesting objects. They were grouped in a
very orderly manner. All the sculptures of any
given deity, or in which he was the leading figure,
were set by themselves. Accordingly, Dio was struck, 7
98 Dio THE Athenian.
as he had never been before, with the very great variety, and even incongruity, in the current repre- sentations of the same deity : had it not been for the presence of some arbitrary sign, as the crescent of Diana, one in many cases would hardly have sup- posed it possible that they were meant for the same being.
" What is the principle that governs sculptors in their various representations of this goddess ? " said Dio to the dealer who had just come up, and point- ing to a group of Dianas in which the differences were strongly marked.
" Well," answered the man slightly smiling, " I believe they have very little principle about the mat- ter, save the broad one, namely, to make things to please their customers. People differ widely as to the sort of Artemis that pleases them, and so we keep a large variety on hand."
" But, of course, in matters of this sacred kind you want to conform to fact, and not misrepresent the goddess as to character or history."
" We can hardly afford to be very particular about that. ,When we receive an order for an Artemis, we commonly get with it some description of the sort of Artemis wanted. If nothing is said, or the matter is distinctly left to us, we fall back on some hint from the old poets, or (when a spasm for nov- elties comes on the market, as happens just now) we
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 99
either take some living model, as we have lately done with very great success, or cast ourselves entire- ly on our invention. We have just got up some new and striking patterns in Artemises. A man in our employ is quite skillful in that sort of thing — almost equal to Homer and Hesiod themselves in invention. It would be quite worth your while, if you have lei- sure, to look over his collection of sketches. You will find that he has struck out some very original ideas — sparks with which some day we hope to fire Pentelic marble as Prometheus fired us. This is from one of his designs," pointing to a very arch and coquettish looking figure, with a quiver at her back.
" This sort of thing seems well enbugh in matters of dress and personal ornament," replied Dio grave- ly ; " but is it not a little dangerous to treat religion as if open to unbounded invention ? Some of these pretty novelties of yours may find their way down to other ages, and may get mistaken as express- ing actual fact. Besides, how do I know but that your practice has been that of past artists — so that the current conceptions and histories of our deities may -be largely a fabrication, with an impossibility of distinguishing the true from the false ; as much a fabrication as this building, which seems to be a composite of several ages, according to the taste or whim or convenience of successive occupants."
loo Dio THE Athenian.
" I suppose our practice, noble sir, does not differ from that of our predecessors in every age. Artists are poets in stone and metals and colors, and have the privileges of poets. Poets have always been al- lowed to take liberties with facts. The whole realm of fancy and invention is theirs ; and they only limit themselves by the consideration of what will best show their own powers and please the tastes of the people. This, you know, is the habit of poets nowa- days, and, no doubt, it was that of the older ones — even of Homer and Hesiod. Beautiful invention has always been their confessed calling. Indeed, it seems to have been the unconfessed calling of some of our historians themselves. The Father of History himself [shrugging his shoulders] I fancy was some- thing of an inventor."
"I suppose you see," said Dio, "whither these views of yours tend — to the destruction of at least the religious part of your business. If your views are just we cannot rely on any part of our current sacred traditions as having any foundation in fact. Invention, beautiful invention, has been so long and freely exercised in this field that we cannot say that any given alleged fact in the life, or feature ia the character, of any one of our gods and goddesses is real — in short, that their existence itself is real. It is as easy to suppose a star as a stone."
" The immortal gods forbid ! " exclaimed the deal-
Agora and Artists as God-Makers, ioi
er, holding up both hands with an air of immense astonishment and deprecation, "that you should think me an infidel. I do as my fathers have done. No man in Athens makes the altars more offerings than myself. I expect to continue my gifts. The gods have no better friends than we artists and dealers in art. We do more to help them to honor and worship than any other class of men. Why, I have just sent out a whole galley-load of them to Sicily and Italy, and am more than willing to send another. To be sure, what would become of us were the old religion given up ! It would be the destruc- tion of our business. No, no, we are not to be sus- pected of being unfriends of the gods.*'
" I see that you are neither a Jew nor a philos- opher," said Dio gravely; and then requested to be shown some cenotaphs. He was conducted to the room of models. Finding nothing that exactly suited him as to pattern, he took his tablets from his girdle, and in a few moments showed the dealer a low coffer, with columns at the four corners, and an inclined top, on which appeared a high and irreg- ular coast line, a broken galley, a body floating in the water in the foreground, and just beneath, this inscription : " To my lost friend, Euphorus." Hav- ing engaged a tomb from this design, at a price that seemed quite satisfactory to the dealer, Dio was about turning to leave when the man begged him
'
102 Dio THE Athenian.
to do him the favor to look at a painting in the room above, the design of which was strikingly like that he had just given for the cenotaph. ^
They mounted a flight of steps, which brought them to a spacious gallery lighted only from above. The walls were covered with paintings.
" This is my brother," said the guide, as a young man came forward to meet them. " He has charge of this department, and will be pleased to show it to you, especially the 'Wreck.' '*
Dio courteously recognized the new guide to whom he had been transferred, and then turned to inspect the pictures. As he walked slowly along, pausing now and then before a work of special merit, sometimes seeking out choice points of view, he almost forgot that he was not alone. Suddenly, however, he awoke to the fact, and remembered that not a 'word had fallen from his companion. This was so strange for an Athenian trader that Dio turned to look at the man more particularly. He found him standing some distance away, and watching him with an absorbed eagerness of expres- sion for which he could not account. But, more than content to be left to find his own way about without officious interruption, Dio dismissed the matter from his thought, and resumed his survey of the paintings. He found few landscapes, save as the background of persons ; and the persons were
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 103
mostly deities, or men exalted by tradition to al- most the rank of deities. Here were Theseus, and Cadmus, and Perseus, and Hercules, and Jason ; here the Grecian chiefs that went to the siege of Troy; here Neptune and Minerva contending for the naming of Athens ; here Jupiter and his Olym- pians hard pressed by the Titans ; Jupiter dethron- ing his father; Jupiter suspending Juno in mid- heaven with anvils fastened to her feet ; Mercury stealing the oxen of Admetus ; Apollo destroying the children of Niobe with his arrows ; Mars raging and exulting amid the horrors of a battle-field ; Proserpina carried off by Pluto; Vulcan hurled from Olympus ; Diana and Endymion ; Venus and Adonis ; Jupiter and Europa ; and many a similar picture, which, though not gross in details, and dec- orated with all the splendor of colors and lovely proportion, brought in on his mind a flood of recol- lections of the generally unworthy character of his ancestral deities. The wave struck him like a stone. It almost took away his breath, and quite filled his mouth with brine. A flush sprang to his cheek, and, unconsciously, he gave a slight stamp. " Should we," thought he, ** worship such beings as these if real ! I would not bow to men with such characters, ♦ whatever their power and knowledge and. station. If Arno were here how much capital he would make out of this collection — especially out of yon group
I04 Dio THE Athenian.
of pictures!" and his eye rested on several pieces painted in four colors only, and evidently long before Aristotle had begun to succeed in his ex- postulating with the Athenian artists in behalf of the public proprieties. They were beautiful enough to be the works of Apollodorus, Zeuxis, or even Apelles — but the young man turned his back upon them.
Far more than in the room below, with its more stubborn material, Dio noticed the immense liber- ties taken by artists with the histories of the deities. "What warrant in the traditions for this?*' said he to himself, as he came up to a certain freshly paint- ed Juno which evidently had taken no counsel of Zeuxis the Legislator; and he instinctively turned about to say as much to his guide. He saw him seated on a stool at the opposite side of the room, with a sheet of papyrus on his knee, a crayon in his hand, and eyes bent on him with the same eager observation as before. Dio beckoned. The man laid down his work and came to his side.
" 'Tis a fancy piece," replied the dealer, answer- ing to Dio's look, "and the design is very much liked, especially by the strangers in the city. I have sold several exact copies of this — one this morning."
" Not for religious purposes?" said Dio dryly.
" Yes;" answered the man, " The one just sold
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 105
was bought by a priest of Hera for the great temple in Argos, whose Cyclopean architecture strongly resembles that in the picture."
" Is there not some danger that the worshipers in the temple may come, by degrees at least, to take yonder scene as a true part of the history of the goddess ; and, should the painting last a century, include it in the sacred traditions, and put it on a level with those which have come down to us from the fathers?"
" It would seem so. But we only do as artists before us have always done ; as, in fact, it is neces- sary for us to do. Like the poets, we must exercise our invention and get up some new and interesting • things. We are just now getting up an altogether new scene for Apollo, in which he appears as pre- siding over the founding of a Roman city. Strange idea — that ! I once caught our artist laughing at it in a way that alarmed me. Every Greek knows that his national god never did and never will do such a thing. (I beg your pardon, most noble sir, but your face is so Grecian that I made no account of your dress.) But it is at present the fashion, as you know, for the Romans to like Greek things, our gods among them ; so a certain city in Campania wants to have it understood that Apollo was its founder, and has sent to us for a painting that shall express the fact — the same to be placed in a
io6 Dio THE Athenian.
grand temple to the god now building. The work is already well advanced. Permit me to show it to you."
Dio followed the man to a side room, where he found a painter at work on a large canvas. To the right and left stretched walls and towers. In the middle of the canvas rose a superb gate-way on which last stones were being placed by workmen, whose director was gazing upward toward a soft, rich light which illumined the whole picture.
" The artist has not yet come to the most impor- tant and most difficult part of his work," said the guide, pointing to the vacant place in the canvas above the glow — " There is to be the figure of the god, and on this, of course, the main effort must be expended."
Dio admired the work greatly, and said as much: ** The artist has, indeed, a great task before him, to complete his design with a work even superior to what I now see. I could almost pronounce it ipmpossible."
** It certainly is not easy. The artist is naturally desirous — while preserving some of the traditional characteristics of the god, so that he may be readily recognized — to avoid copying any of the well-known pictures or statues of him ; and yet he has not been able to satisfy himself with any ideal designs of his own. Ah, if the god would only be kind enough
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 107
to sit for his picture just a little while, we would be under everlasting obligations to him ! "
" That would hardly be fair/* said Dio, smiling, ** for I imagine it would be treating you with more favor than he has ever yet shown to any artist what- ever— not even excepting the Legislator himself."
"Still we are not without hopie. The gods are sovereign, and sometimes grant their favors in quar- ters where one would hardly expect them. We have a case just in point. Who would have thought that Apollo would appear in his own person to de- fend Sinon the merchant ? And yet he did so last night, according to all accounts, in defiance of our Callimachus, who says, * Apollo is seen by none ex- cept the just ; whoso sees him, great is he/ * Sinon is neither just nor great — yet what a deliverance! Why should not the god help us out of our diffi- culties as well as Sinon out of his ? We, too, claim to be friends of the people."
** One reason might be," replied Dio, " that the help to him could be given in the all-concealing night ; whereas, to help you, the god would have to make a daylight appearance. Besides, yours is not exactly a case of necessity. Why not do as Timanthes is said to have done — who, in his * Iphi- genia Led to the Sacrifice,' having pictured on an ascending scale the grief of Calchis the priest, of
* Callim., Apol., i, 9.
I
io8 Dio THE Athenian.
Ulysses the friend, of Menelaus the uncle, and hav- ing exhausted on the sorrow of the uncle all the resources of his art, had nothing left for Agamem- non the father. He covered the father's face with his robes. So you can do with your indescribable Apcpllo. Make yonder glow a little more diffusive, and back of it suffer to be seen, as through a veil, a dim outline of the god, with his bay-crowned brow, golden bow, and quiver."
'■I think we must do something of the sort, unless we can do better. But, really, gracious sir, will you not .lIIow us to do better by giving our artist a sit- ting vT two. You shall have a duplicate for nothing — and many thanks besides."
" I am not able to gratify you," answered Dio promptly and decidedly. "To say nothing of the danger of provoking the son of Leto, whom you see, in yonder painting by Nicias, destroying with his arrows the competing children of Niobe, I have no fancy to have my face and figure worshiped in a Roman temple."
" I am sorry that you take this view of the case. It is so unlike what most men would do that it might well lay you under suspicion of being Apollo — were not the gods so very like men. Has not Claudius Caesar a statue in the Pantheon, set up by his express consent ? Is not the Demos itself there, put there by its own hands? Most men ar^ glad to
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 109
be worshiped — women, too, for that matter. We
never had any difficulty but once in getting a woman
•
to stand for a goddess. However, we managed to get over the difficulty, and secured the finest marble Artemis that has been seen for many a day. The goddess has reason to be thankful that she is so well represented. She could hardly have done bet- ter had she sat to us in her own proper person. But I must now show you the painting of which my brother spoke."
Here the guide whispered a few words to the art- ist, who during the colloquy had not taken his eyes from Dio, and then led the way to a distant part of the room. As soon as the two were fairly in motion the artist caught up the crayon and papyrus which his principal had left on his stool when summoned by Dio, and stole after them. When they stopped before the painting they sought, he drew behind a pillar not far away, and fell busily to work with his pencil — every now and then stealing a penetrating glance at Dio, especially when he shifted his posi- tion for the sake of better points of view. Dio was evidently to be taken, even against his will. A plain, if not gross, case of man-stealing. The theft was helped by a bright steel mirror that hung on the wall by the side of the painting.
The scene shown in the painting startled Dio. The moon had just risen, and was pouring a strong
no Dio THE Athenian.
light on a stretch of sea and a high, broken coast- line in the background. In front lay a galley like an Alexandrian <^om ship — its bulwarks broken, its sails streaming loose, its oars lying about in the wa- ter, or protruding irregularly from the sides, its deck without human being, but stained with fresh blood. In the water in front of the galley, and most clearly visible just bcncdth the transparent surface, lay two bodies. They were dressed, not as seamen, but as soldiers: one far more richly than the other. Their faces could not be distinguished, but their forms were young. There they lay — so helpless, so limp, so ready to yield to every impulse of the wave, so silent and appealing to the cold beholding moon, so forsaken of all things else, the tears started to Die's eyes. He recognized Cythera, the ship, and the supposed fate of himself and his servant. The picture itself, in eveiy part, seemed to shed tears, and to say with Homer, " I do not think it unfitting to weep over him who has died and met a gloomy fate."* So drenched was it in pity, the £oddess of Pity herself might have painted it. Who pd? Should he ask? " A fancy piece ? " inquired he. ^ Perhaps so. It was designed to express the sup- ^d fate of two young Athenians on their way - from Italy. Opinion is divided as to whether • Od)-s3,, 195.
Agora and Artists as God-Makers, i 1 1
the disaster was by storm or pirates, or both. For some reason the artist has conformed to the last view. Why she located the event near Cythera I do not know, unless it be that the ship has been traced from Puteoli to that neighborhood, where pirates are known to have lurking-places."
" What is the price of the painting? " asked Dio. " It is not for sale. I wish it were. It is the work of an amateur artist, and merely sent here to be framed."
" Would he suffer a copy to be taken ? If so I would like to have you take one for me — always supposing the original cannot be had. Are you sure of that ? Who is the artist ?*'
" Damaris, the loveliest maiden in all Attica." " You mean, therefore, in all Greece." •* I mean, noble sir, in all the worlds ** Having never, to my knowledge, seen either her or all the world," said Dio with a smile, " I am not prepared to dispute you. Certainly I can believe almost any thing good of the one making this picture. It has a wonderful faculty. Somehow as I look at it I seem to see not so much the picture itself as a right gracious personality behind it — even as one sometimes in looking at a fountain sees not so much it as an image in its far depths of the bright heavens that made it. Do I express your thought ? "
no Dio THE Athenian.
light on a stretch of sea and a high, broken coast- line in the background. In front lay a galley like
•
an Alexandrian corn ship — its bulwarks broken, its sails streaming loose, its oars lying about in the wa- ter, or protruding irregularly from the sides, its deck without human being, but stained with fresh blood. In the water in front of the galley, and most clearly visible just beneath the transparent surface, lay two bodies. They were dressed, not as seamen, but as soldiers : one far more richly than the other. Their faces could not be distinguished, but their forms were young. There they lay — so helpless, so limp, so ready to yield to every impulse of the wave, so silent and appealing to the cold beholding moon, so forsaken of all things else, the tears started to Dio's eyes. He recognized Cythera, the ship, and the supposed fate of himself and his servant. The picture itself, in eveiy part, seemed to shed tears, and to say with Homer, " I do not think it unfitting to weep over him who has died and met a gloomy fate.*** So drenched was it in pity, the goddess of Pity herself might have painted it. Who did ? Should he ask ?
"A fancy piece?'* inquired he.
** Perhaps so. It was designed to express the sup- posed fate of two young Athenians on their way home from Italy. Opinion is divided as to whether
♦Odyss., 195.
Agora and Artists as God-Makers. 1 1 1
the disaster was by storm or pirates, or both. For some reason the artist has conformed to the last view. Why she located the event near Cythera I do not know, unless it be that the ship has been traced from Puteoli to that neighborhood, where pirates are known to have lurking-places."
" What is the price of the painting?** asked Dio. " It is not for sale. I wish it were. It is the work of an amateur artist, and merely sent here to be framed.*'
" Would he suffer a copy to be taken ? If so I would like to have you take one for me — always supposing the original cannot be had. Are you sure of that? Who is the artist ?**
" Damaris, the loveliest maiden in all Attica." " You mean, therefore, in all Greece.** •* I mean, noble sir, in all the world.** ** Having never, to my knowledge, seen either her or all the world,'* said Dio with a smile, ** I am not prepared to dispute you. Certainly I can believe almost any thing good of the one making this picture. It has a wonderful faculty. Somehow as I look at it I seem to see not so much the picture itself as a right gracious personality behind it — even as one sometimes in looking at a fountain sees not so much it as an image in its far depths of the bright heavens that made it. Do I express your thought?**
112 Dio THE Athenian.
** Hardly. But what you say of the picture I can say of the person. One needs but to see her once ; after that, were Athene herself to say a word to her disadvantage she would not be believed. Some persons, like some truths, shine by their own light." And he bowed low toward Dio.
Dio did not notice the compliment, for his eyes were fixed on the painting. Said he, after a pause : ** How came she to feel such an interest in the fate of these young men as is expressed in the picture? — for one that so weeps and bleeds with sympathy I never saw before.**
" I perceive you are a stranger. One of these young men was the only child of our great Dionys- ian house — the most ancient and honored of all the Athenian families. But this answer is not wholly satisfactory, for Damaris is the niece of Sinon, a bit- ter enemy of the Dios. How that happened let the gods explain, for I cannot — the gods, who have every thing their own way, and whose ways are sometimes very astonishing.**
Dio soon left.
The dealer was crafty. He had made his ex- planations longer than was necessary, for while he was talking his artist was sketching — at the same time stealing a man and making a god.
YIL
CONSULTS THE NEW ACADEMY AT THE PARTHE- NON^NOT TO SAY THE DIONYSIAC THEATER.
AyaSfj de 7Tapai<t>aalg eoriv kraipov, — Homer, //., xi, 793.
"The advice, of a Mend is good."
8
Consults the New Academy. ii$
CHAPTER VII.
CONSULTS THE NEW ACADEMY AT THE PARTHE- NON, NOT TO SAY THE DIONYSIAC THEATER.
DIO was waked next morning by loud cries from the street. They were uttered with such strength of lungs and in such a variety of pierc- ing and extravagant tones that, remote as was his room, it was filled with the sound.
As soon as he could collect his thoughts he un- derstood the case. It was the last of the Baccha- nalia. He remembered that in the last afternoon, while visiting his nurse, he had seen booths going up at street comers ; rustics crowding in from the country with back and donkey loads of wine skins, ivies, vine branches, garlands, masks of grotesque pattern ; and an unusual air of freedom and jocular- ity in the throngs on the street. And to-day the whole city would give itself up to theatrical enter- tainments and a revel in honor, or dishonor, of the wine god. Already the people are on their way in procession to the great Dionysiac theater — singing, and shouting as they go.
Shall he go forth to see and hear what he may ? He had never been suffered by his parents to be
ii8 Dio THE Athenian.
know me ; and, besides, I will so frame my inquiries as not to expose my own unsettled state of mind.*'
As he crossed the court, on his way to the street, Praxis presented himself. " I have set the vessel of wine before the door according to custom, and have allowed most of the servants to go out to see the preparations. As your father left no instructions as to this, I have done as usual.*'
Pleasantly nodding assent, Dio passed into the street. He found it all aglow with greens and gay colors, and with preparations for beginning the revel as soon as the theater should break up. Before al- most every house stood a vessel of wine with a cup attached for the free use of the public. Men, wom- en, and children were still streaming in from the suburbs on donkeys and in rude wagons, as well as on foot — all in high state of loquacity and jocu- larity, and some dragging very reluctant goats be- hind them for sacrifices.
" Got away, has he, Alcmen ? Never you mind — we will help you catch him ! ** And away scamper the mischief-loving boys down the street with whoop and halloo worthy of the nineteenth century, and almost loud enough to reach it; and away goes capricornus like the wind through the crowd, re- gardless of consequences — especially consequences to other people.
Occasional shouts and grotesque sounds gave sign
Consults the New Academy. 119
of the coming excitement; the slave population seemed mostly abroad, and, like the same class in other ages, were specially drawn about the mounte- banks and puppet shows that had already begun to oflFer their attractions ; in the Agora the stands were bare of goods or securely closed, save those of the dealers in wine and masks and masquerade clothes and garlands and flowers and thyrsi and the noisier and coarser sorts of musical instruments, as horns, conches, cymbals, drums. These were in full feath- er ; especially the stands of the sellers of masks and masquerade clothing. Knots of people were gath- ered about these, trying on the wares amid great bursts of merriment. A few, fully equipped in most ludicrous and extravagant gear, were already skip- ping and dancing about like mad. But in general one was struck, not so much by any actual disorders, as by an air of preparation for them.
As Dio approached the flight of steps leading up to the Acropolis he noticed a rich litter at one side — with several slaves standing or sitting near. Be- fore beginning the ascent, he paused a moment to survey anew the imposing structures that towered above him and stretched their white marble masses along the whole western brow of the hill for one hundred and seventy feet. The same glorious Prop- ylaea that had so smitten his boyish imaginations ; but mofe grand and beautiful than ever to his rip-
120 Dio THE Athenian.
ened judgment ! He had been struck since his return with the apparently diminished size and worth of many things, as he remembered them ; but this great work of Pericles seemed to him far more perfect in the snowy and airy magnificence of its elaborately-sculptured masses than he had ever known it. As he slowly mounted the steps, with eyes raised and drinking in the beauty and grace on which five centuries had not left a scar or stain — especially of the central portico, with the colonade within and the five bronze gates still beyond — was it not a fair gate-way to Olympus itself? Must there not be something in the religion that had so long inhabited, if it did not inspire, such goodly and sub- lime architectures? But, then, was it so very un- usual for the false and the bad to live in palaces — even in palaces contrived and built by themselves ? The gates were closed. The great sanctuary and museum of Athens was too precious to be left open to the chance visits of men beside themselves with wine on this day of license and Bacchus. A slight knock, however, brought the porter, who, just glanc- ing at Dio, bowed low and admitted him without a word. What a skill janitors in all ages have had in deciding to whom they are to open ! Just over the threshold the young man again lingered a moment to take in the whole scene of wonderful art on the esplanade before him. Old and yet new— familiar
Consults the New Academy. 123
and yet fresher to his admiration than if he now saw them for the first time, were those crowded statues, monuments, temples. There was scarcely an object there, now bathed in the golden Attic sunlight, with which he was not almost as familiar as he was with the interior of his own home ; but had he been act- ually the Roman stranger which some thought him, he could hardly have been more impressed with the scene than he was. As he noticed how the gods of his country mixed themselves up intimately with and dominated every thing — as he lifted his eyes to the pillared temple of Minerva beautifully supreme among the chiseled wonders, and to the colossal bronze statue of the goddess, stretching her protect- ing aegis and spear above all, he felt how hard, if not impossible, it would be to remove these ances- tral deities and have any thing left.
" What a stronghold they have made for them- selves in all the glory of Hellas — ^and in its shame also,'* he mentally added, as a stray bacchanal shout came up to his ear from the Agora.
Just then a stately female form, clad in white and closely veiled, glided from a door in the north wing of the Propylaea and moved toward the Parthe- non. Dio knew at once that it must be the priestess of whom he was in quest. He followed her to the east end of the temple. Allowing himself only a glance at the great altar of burnt-offerings just in
124 Dio THE Athenian.
front, only a glance upward at the famous frieze, with its marvelous sculptures, only a glance at the vast collection of rich oflFerings displayed on either hand as he passed through the portico, he hastily sprinkled himself with the holy water, drew aside a heavy curtain of silk and gold, and entered the sanctuary. The white robes of the priestess were just disappearing into the vestry at the north-west extremity of the cella. At the south-west two sol- diers in complete armor paced before the door of the public treasury. At first Dio thought himself the only person present ; but, on advancing toward the dais, with its oblation-table, behind which rose under its canopy Phidias' glorious cryselephantine statue of the goddess, he saw a figure kneeling be- fore it. Coming near, his heart began to flutter. Was not that the form that had not ceased to haunt his waking and sleeping moments — the Artemis of the street shrine and the maiden of the Pantheon ? He could not doubt it. Almost unconsciously he glided along and kneeled softly by her side.
She was praying : " O for poor Athenae, beloved of great Pallas! O for poor Hellas, mother of heroes and child of the immortal gods ! be propi- tious, great goddess, and help us ! "
The voice was faint, scarcely audible to Dio, but rich and pathetic with a certain tremulous earnest- ness which sent it at once to his heart. For awhile
Consults the New Academy. 125
silence ; then came another supreme wave of feeling and devotion, casting her up on the shores of speech, and again the voice faintly said: " O Athene, forget not thine own ! We are not as our fathers — the sages, the heroes. May the old glorious times come again ! "
" Amen," murmured Dio, involuntarily.
The maiden started and turned on him the well- known transcendant face, flushed with surprise and dewy with tears.
Here a low chant began. Dio looked toward a small altar before the statue, and saw the priestess trimming the perpetual flame upon it ; and, as she did so, she chanted a prayer and sprinkled incense with many a grateful gesture and majestic attitude which taken together were in themselves almost a poem as well as a prayer. She then took from the oblation-table various offerings with writings at- tached to them showing by whom offered and for what purpose, and laid them oh the altar, and then held them up in succession before the goddess, say- ing as she did so : " See, great Pallas Athene, and be propitious ! *'
Bowing low, she descended from the altar and came directly toward Dio and his companion who were still on their knees. As she came near he was struck with her venerable and engaging appearance. Her robes were snowy white — her face and hair
126 Dio THE Athenian.
were as white as her robes. Not a trace of color in her cheek; but her eyes were large, steady, and bright as two stars, and her step and mien had about them an easy majesty befitting a daughter of the Eteobutadae, and which would have done no in- justice to Minerva herself. Dio felt, as he gazed on the noble, sincere, benignant face that was moving toward him that, after his own mother, there was no one to whom he would so freely comniit himself for motherly sympathy and counsel as to Lysymache, the high-priestess of Athene. As she came suffi- ciently near to see the features of Dio, she hesitated, stopped, seemed about to retreat ; but, command- ing herself with a great effort, she resumed her grace- ful and majestic approach.
** Your blessing, mother," murmured the maiden. The priestess laid her hand lovingly on the fair head, stooped, and kissed her forehead. ** My daughter is always welcome. I expected you to-day. But — " and here she turned her eyes fully and questioningly on Dio.
" I, too, mother, crave your blessing, though a stranger to you, and also to this young lady whom I found here in the act of worship, and whom I joined without her knowledge and almost without my own. We had a common Athens to pray for.**
Lysymache gazed at him for a moment in silence, and then slowly said : " My son, you have my bless-
Consults the New Academy. 127
ing. What I see in your face makes introduction unnecessary. You are the Athenian I have long waited for and expected. Come with me — both of you."
They rose and followed her, as she proceeded toward the east entrance. Passing out, she led the way toward an ancient plane-tree that stood near the Cimonian wall on the south-east of the temple. Beneath this tree were marble seats so surrounded by shrubs and monuments as to be well seclud- ed from observation. Seating herself and the maiden by her side, she motioned Dio to a seat opposite.
*• I have a message for you," she said, " and no doubt you have one for me. Let yours be spoken first — perhaps last also, at least for the present. As for this maiden, she is as my own child ; and what- ever I may hear she may hear as well."
" True, mother, I have sought you to-day for a purpose. I wish to give a wise answer to some questions which a friend of mine has proposed or may propose. He has many noble traits, I owe much to him, he has shown great love to me ; and I would be glad to set him right in whatever relig- ious respects he is at fault. He is not a believer in our gods. And he reasons in this way : * There is not the slightest evidence that they really exist; supposing them to exist, there is no reliable way of
128 Dio THE Athenian.
ascertaining their will ; if their will could be ascer- tained there is no certainty or even probability of its being right, their characters are such; in fact most of them are so depraved that on that ground alone they are unworthy of worship.' This is the general way in which my friend talks. Now I am, as you see, still a young man, and am only just be- ginning to look into the grounds of our ancestral re- ligion. May I, therefore, crave to know of you what answer I should make to this man ? I come to you because I know that you are revered by those whom I most revere, and because you are the priestess of the goddess of wisdom."
The priestess replied: "Your question is very broad — I fear too broad to be answered well unless you break it up into particulars."
" My friend complains," said the young man, " that the histories of the gods, as we have them, are full of uncertainty and even mutual conflict. What an- swer shall I make to this ? "
" Admit it. The histories of the gods, beyond a doubt, are largely the inventions of the poets and others, and if there are in them any actual facts, we are not now able to separate them from the fables with which they have become entangled."
" My friend complains that the character of our deities, almost or quite without exception, as given by the traditions and as understood by the people,
Consults the New Academy. 129
is such as to make them unworthy of worship or even respect."
" Admit this also. As conceived by the people at large and even by most of their priests, Dionysus, Aphrodite, and even Zeus himself do not deserve the honors paid them."
" He says further," added Dio, with eyes that be- gan to dilate with astonishment, " that the paying of worship to such beings, to say nothing of their examples and of the specially obnoxious rites with which some of them are worshiped, is itself demor- alizing in a great degree."
** I say the same — have said and felt it these many years."
The face of the young man grew paler and his eyes more intense as he proceeded : ** But he says also that even if their characters allowed us to wor- ship them, their limitations of knowledge, power, and place — their feasts, sleeps, mistakes, absence on private affairs, jealousies, and quarrels among them- selves, would make them unable to respond to or even notice by far the greater part of all the appli- cations made to them for aid. For example, if one should ask aid of Athene in any strait, the chances must be greatly against her being aware of the fact, or, if aware, against her being able to give relief."
" It is even so," said Lysymache, in a composed voice. " We can never be sure of being helped, or
I30 Dio THE Athenian.
even heard, in any given case. One must be a per^ sistent worshiper — in which case only can he hope to attract the attention of the deities and secure their general superintendence of his affairs in his favor. Of course, we would be glad of something more, but this is better than nothing."
" But he says that there are no reliable means of finding out the will of the gods — that we have no sacred books that deserve the name; and as for omens, and oracles, and divinations from the entrails of animals, he has seen no evidence that they can be depended on for manifesting any thing more than the credulity of mankind."
" Nor have I. But the will of good beings is that we do right ; and if we wish for the right, and in- quire for it, and pray to be guided to it, we shall largely succeed in finding it."
" But Arno, if here," continued Dio, fetching a long breath, " would, no doubt, ask how these ad- missions of yours are consistent with your position as priestess of Athene. Would you still further ad- mit, what Arno claims, that there is no evidence of even the existence of the gods ? "
" By no means," said the priestess ; and turning to the maiden by her side she said, " Damaris, you are my pupil ; you have been taught, not after the manner of present Athenian women, but after the manner of Miletus and our older and better times.
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How can I, a priestess of the Parthenon, honestly and devoutly continue to be such after making such admissions as I have done ? Tell the young man."
"Ah, mother,'* said the maiden, with downcast eyes, and cheeks that suddenly glowed under this appeal, " I would not that your cause should suffer at my hands ! '*
** I am not apprehensive," and the priestess smiled encouragingly. ** It were, indeed, strange if one who has been my pupil from her childhood were unable to make a reasonably fair statement of the more material views of her teacher. You know that the philosophers sometimes set their favorite disci- ples (and here she tenderly passed her hand over Damaris' fair hair) to expound their doctrines to new- comers, while they sit by and listen, and, if neces- sary, correct and enlarge. For once I will imitate the philosophers."
Without further objection, Damaris lifted her eye timidly to Dio's face and began: "The priestess agrees with the New Academy in thinking that per- fect certainty in any thing is not attainable by men ; but regards probability as both attainable and suffi- cient for all our need. On this basis she believes in many beings superior to man. She thinks such a belief warranted by the almost universal consent of the nations and ages as far as known, as well as by
fhe fact that beneath man is found such a vast 9
132 Dio THE Athenian.
gradation of intelligences. Some of these superior beings she believes to be bad, and so unworthy of worship ; and, accordingly, she has long refused to worship any such being. But, in her view, it would be unnatural and violent to suppose all the beings above us to be of this depraved sort ; some of them should be assumed as, in the main, good as well as great, and so worthy to be treated with reverence and honor, and to be appealed to for such helps as their great knowledge and power can grant — ^just as we appeal to our more powerful human friends to help us in our straits. In addition, she thinks it reasonable to believe that among these good beings, as among good men, there are various peculiarities of taste, faculty, place, function : for example, that one is specially at home in the field of wisdom and counsel, whom we may call Athene ; another in the field of music and the fine arts, whom we may call Apollo ; another, whose favorite haunt is the sea, and whom we may call Poseidon, and so on ; and that so it is a natural and proper thing to bespeak the good offices of these deities in their respective fields. Further, that these beings are of various grades of intelligence and power, and so must have at their head one who should receive supreme hon- ors, and whom we may call Zeus. All these good beings, like good men, are liable to be slandered and misconceived, and have been so to a great ex-
Consults the New Academy. 133
tent; and we are to treat these slanderous stories as we do the unproved accusations against good men — refuse them. All the other stories in regard to the deities we may, without vouching for their circumstantial accuracy, or even supposing that they are any thing more than poetic inventions, take as illustrations of their character and tenor of conduct. They are, perhaps, just as useful for this purpose as actual facts would be.'*
Damaris looked inquiringly at the priestess. She inclined her head, and, turning to Dio, asked, " Is your question answered ? "
He was hardly prepared to reply. The fact was that, though so profoundly interested in the subject, he had from the moment Damaris began to speak been so absorbed in the speaker — in the strange melody of her voice, and the changing expression of the most speaking and bewitching countenance he had ever seen, that though he had taken note of every word, and laid it away in his memory as care-^ fully and tenderly as men lay away in their coffers the family jewels, the operation of his judgment had, for the* time being, been suspended. He had thought that face, even in the repose of marble, the most exquisite and inspiring he had ever seen ; but now it took on a beauty that even he could not have thought possible. He was in a delicious dream — a dream from which he was sorry to awake. But,
134 Dio THE Athenian.
roused by the questions of the priestess, and paus- ing a moment or two to recover himself and con- sider what reply to make, he at length answered:
" I do not now see but that my questions are met. As I now understand you, the beings you worship are not the actual gods of the people, but such as they should be, and bearing the same name. Will you allow me to think of this and confer with you again ? I do not doubt," he added, after a pause, and with a grave emphasis, "thafboth the priestess of Pallas and her pupil are without a shadow on their candor and uprightness.**
A loud shout of a multitude of voices came up to them. The priestess arose and, drawing a key from her girdle, proceeded to unlock a small gate which admitted to a flight of steps leading to the top of the wall. She beckoned to her compan- ions. They followed her up the steps to a point where the wall was very broad, and protected from the sun and from observation below by some droop- ing branches of the great plane-tree under which they had been sitting. She took a seat on a block of marble, and pointed the others to like blocks. Seated, they could see beneath and between the branches the immense area of the Dionysiac the- ater climbing toward them. Just below was the portico that covered the first tier of seats allotted to women; then followed tier after tier open to
Consults the New Academy. 135
the sky, down to the circular orchestra with its central altar and chorus, and the narrow stage with its bronze statues of iEschylus, Sophocles, and Eu- ripides, and with its background of scenery — to-day, the traditional palace with its two wings and three doors. Thirty thousand spectators filled the seats, and had just greeted the appearance of a new piece by a favorite author.
The leader of the chorus came forward. Their elevated position, and the favorable direction of the light breeze, and the sub-cantus used by the speak- er, enabled. Dio and his companions to hear dis- tinctly every word that was uttered ; while through the wonderfully clear air every motion could be seen.
The choragus spoke of the ancient glory of Greece. In a short time, and with a pomp of paint- ed and painting words, that seemed borrowed from the sunset sky, he managed to pass in review before his sympathetic audience those deeds and person- ages of the past on which the citizens most prided themselves ; and truly a most brave and august pro- cession they made ! Every thing of which a Greek could not boast was adroitly left out — every thing of which a Greek could boast was adroitly brought in. In his sonorous recitative swept across the stage legislators, patriots, heroes, poets, orators, statesmen, historians, painters, sculptors, sages — in
136 Dio THE Athenian.
it temples shone, banners streamed along, laurels and myrtles waved, lyres and trumpets sounded, phalanxes and galleys met in shock of battle. The- seus and the Heraclida; lived again. Lived again Marathon, Salamis, and Platea. Homer sung his epics anew — the athletes contended anew at Olym- pia and the Pnyx. Again Solon, the wise, made laws ; Pericles, the magnificent, set up his illustrious architectures; Demosthenes, the thunderer, poured along the fierce floods of his dense eloquence. Ho, Phidias and Praxiteles, Zeuxis and Apelles ! Ho, Themistocles and Aristides, Miltiades and Cimon! Ho, Pythagoras and Aristotle, Socrates and Plato !
" O glorious Hellas," finally exclaimed the cho- ragus with all the power of his voice, " what is the root and fountain of all these glories? Tell us, O North, East, South, West ! " and he slowly turned with uplifted, challenging hands to those points of the compass — " especially tell us ye all-seeing and always seeing Heavens, where dwell the immortal gods ! ** and with face upturned and clasped hands he sank upon his knees.
A moment of silence. Then the chorus broke in with a low, musing chant : " A deep question. Can it be answered? Ah, we fear not. But listen, ye wisdom-bearers — listen thou goddess of the serene and azure eye, and thou Delphian Apollo, secret- compelling — and thou, Uranus, in whose broad bo-
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som are hidden the answers to all mysteries! Tell us — ^whence the glory of Hellas?'*
Another profound silence. The pictured door in the right wing of the palace opened, and there swept in upon the stage a figure with long priestly robes and the sacred fillets. His face was so grave and his carriage so measured and stately that the audience were vastly surprised when he suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. He tried hard to sup- press it — he grasped his sides; he pressed both hands over his mouth ; he straightened himself to the utmost of his stature, and tightly folded his arms across his breast; he paced the stage, now swiftly and now slowly, and twisted himself into all possible attitudes — but in vain. Volleys of the most natural laughter in the world still broke from him. Soon one of the chorus set up a very tolerable im- itation, and in a moment the whole theater was in a blaze of sympathetic merriment. It was a wild scene — one vast hysterical convulsion of laughter — the people standing on the seats and imitating the priest in all his contortions and outbursts, appar- ently unable to do otherwise. But all at once the priest made a violent effort and stood composed, with hand uplifted. A great hush followed.
The man then began in a very grave yet collo- quial tone to say that it seemed to him very strange, and almost ludicrous, that any body should be at a
IT*"
loss to account for the glory of Greece in presence of the religion of the country. Time out of mind, the peopie had cherished among them the doctrine, examples, and worship of the immortal gods— what better explanation of this glorious history could be desired than lay in that fact? He then offered to show how particular features of the Grecian great- ness had been produced by certain features of the current religion. Those most illustrious events in the days of old when all the States marched as one man to the siege of Troy, or against the Persians — how naturally these resulted from our having al- ways in view the admirable and everlasting concord among the celestials! The heroism and sublime deeds of warriors and patriots — how easily these came from seeing the valor of Ares when he fled before Diomed, bellowing loud as ten thousand bulls, or the valor of Zeus and his court, when, be- ing hard pressed by the giants, they dropped every thing, and betook themselves pell-mell into Egypt. The great poets — who can doubt that their fiery energy and sublime flights came from brooding over such epical things as the mutual jealousies and dis- putes of the deities, the curtain lectures of Hera, and the adventures of Pan and Momus and Dio- nysus? The great historians — where would they have been without those classical and captivating narratives of the sayings and doings of the celestials,
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which quickened their fancies, tuned their style, gave them their love of truth and fact, and taught them to distinguish between the credible and the incredible? The great legislators and statesmen — they had been familiar with the Delphic responses, the exquisite system of jurisprudence deducible with equal ease from the commands of Zeus and the uniformly correct conduct of his whole Panthe- on, the subtle plots and counterplots ever on foot among the immortals, the masterly expedients by which the king of gods and men kept his subordi- nates in order — see whence came the wisdom of Solon, Lycurgus, and Minos; and the profound statesmanship of Themistocles, Pericles, and the archons generally ! The probity of Aristides and Socrates, indeed of all the Ionic race from the be- ginning— how can any one for a momeftt think of any other explanation of the glorious purity and uprightness of such characters than the splendid ex- amples of these qualities furnished in the lives of all the gods, but more particularly of the twelve Olym- pians— of Hermes, who never stole ; of Ares, who never murdered ; of Dionysus, who never drank too much ; of Hera, who was never selfish or cruel ; of Aphrodite and Zeus, who never violated the sacred domestic relations. " O holy Olympus," exclaimed the priest, with uplifted face and hands^ " surely our good men have learned all their goodness from thee ! *'
140 Dio THE Athenian.
He ceased, and stood with folded arms. The choragus threw his hands behind him and walked slowly around the altar with chin sunk on his breast and meditative air. Coming round again to the chorus, he asked, " What think you ? "
They chanted : " His meaning seems to be good, but his l<^ic a little twisted. Sure that he has studied at the Lyceum?"
" Should not wonder were we to find the Organott under his robe this blessed minute," and the chora- gus sprang upon the stage and flung open the priest's robes, when lo ! beneath appeared the som- ber and tattered mantle of a Cynic philosopher.
The choragus started back and held up both hands with astonishment.
" An atheist ! An atheist ! " shouted the people.
The detected philosopher at first looked at him- self with as much apparent surprise as did others — then he set his arms akimbo, cast a defiant glance at the audience, set up the same inextinguishable laughter as before, and ran precipitately for the door by which he came on the stage. After the door had closed upon him the laughter was still heard, volley after volley. And the people also laughed as if they would never stop.
The corypheus stood forth again. He lifted his hand, and the people became quiet. "The glory of Hellas, the glory of Hellas — Hellas the world-
Consults the New Academy. 141
center, the world-famed, whither all lands now look for art and wisdom — who will account for this? Hear, O Helios, who from the earliest times hast daily sent thy fiery glances into all the world!"
And the chorus went in stately dance around the altar, and chanted as they went: "Yes, hear, O Helios, and ye always marching Heavens with the thousand eyes ! Whence the great glory of Hellas ! "
As the last note died away, the door in the left wing of the palace opened, and a man came forth wearing a long, coarse, dirty, philosophic mantle ; barefooted, with smutted, sneering face and un- kempt hair. He stood quietly for a moment till the people had fully taken him in ; then a great sob burst over the theater. Then another. Then a cluster of sobs and weepings in rapid succession. All was so natural, and the philosopher was making so natural an effort to suppress himself! But in vain. Nature proved too strong for him ; and at last he fairly broke down in a flood of unrestrained weeping. He wrung his hands, he paced the stage to and fro, tears poured down his cheeks, he cov- ered his face with his hands and tears poured be- tween his fingers. By this time the chorus was crying. Then the whole audience caught the infec- tion, and one would have thought that some great national disaster had been just announced, or that
142 Dio THE Athenian.
some one had uttered the word " Chaeronea " in the hearing of the people.
All at once the philosopher made a mighty effort — ^and conquered himself. He stood composed. The people became composed too. Then, in a voice strikingly dispassionate, he proceeded to say that it seemed to him a strange thing, almost a sad thing, (here he wiped his eyes with a corner of his mantle,) that in the two hundred and seventh Olympiad, and after philosophy had been inquiring and teaching so long, any body should be at a loss to account for any thing. Why, (here he snapped his fingers with a flourish) it is the easiest thing in the world to explain not only the glory of Greece, but also Greece itself, and. even the whole world — including that remarkable individual who has just disappeared so mysteriously. Was not his own name Chari- chrysus? Was not the world made up of atoms? What more was needed to explain the world, and all it contained, and all its history? The history of Greece, with all its many-laurels, was but a chapter in the life of those blind atoms which, coming to- gether and parting according to forces and laws in- herent in themselves, gradually work out all the history and personages of Nature. Here was the explanation of all the Greek vegetable growths. Here was the explanation of all its animals — includ- ing those called men. Then the speaker ostenta-
Consults the New Academy. 143
tiously scraped off a patch of dirt from his face and held it up to the view of his audience. " Be- hold ! " he cried. " This contains the whole secret. Here in epitome are the glorious heroes, poets, ora- tors, historians, philosophers — in short, here am I myself y
He then went on to show, by a variety of ingen- ious considerations, how even so great a man as him- self could have come up by slow degrees, through the more respectable vegetables and brute animals, into what they now perceived him to be. As the people perceived him to be very small, very crooked, very shabby, and dirty withal ; and had never heard of Charichrysus, the jewel of sages, the pride of Greece, and ornament of human nature — they burst into hearty and universal laughter. The philoso- pher seemed beside himself with rage. He stamped, shook his clenched hand at the audience, and finally caught at his gown and gave it an enormous rent. Lo, the white priestly robe appeared under the garb of the philosopher ! On this discovery, the people shouted and waved their sunshades and cushions ; and the detected priest, after surveying himself for a moment with a highly perplexed air, as if uncertain as to his own identity, set up again the same tre- mendous fit of crying with which he had introduced himself, and fled precipitately through his own door.
The choragus sprang to his feet. "What think
144
Dio THE Athenian.
you, fellow-citizens?" he called out to his chorus, "Has the question been answered?" And there arose from the twelve men a smoke of unorganized or disorganized sound — a fog of words. The man thrust his head forward, put both hands behind his ears, as if to catch out of the jargon something in- telligible, and then, as if in despair, stamped till the orchestra shook, and shouted again:
"Theglory of Hellas! The glory of Hellas! I sum- mon the Around, the Beneath, the Above to appear and tell us, if they can, whence cSme it. Third and last cail. Now let the light come, even if Dionysus himself has to appear and'bring it,"
The words had no sooner left his mouth than the central palace door opened, and a little old man, with a bald head and fiat nose and a drunken gait, came on the stage. Silenus was followed by a group of satyrs, dancing in grotesque style. At last came an effeminate-looking young man, dressed in a purple tunic hanging negligently from an em- broidered shoulder-knot and covered with a trans- parent saffron-colored scarf. His hair was gathered behind in a knot, he was crowned with ivy and vine leaves, horns- were on his forehead, and he carried a wine cup in one hand and a thyrsus in the other.
" Euoi Bakche ! pic rapturously.
lo Bakche!" shouted the
peo-
Consults the New Academy. 145
'* Dionysus himself will explain," squeaked Silenus in a cracked voice, broken with hiccough.
" Dionysus himself will explain," cried the satyrs in voices half human and half goaty, interspersed with bleatings.
" To be sure Dionysus himself will explain all to his faithful subjects," followed the god, in a womanly treble, at the same time taking a sip from his cup and quieting the noisy troop about him with taps of his thyrsus.
He then went on in a rollicking way to narrate his own history — painting in strong colors the most striking and amusing of his adventures — and finally claimed that among his feats was to be included the production of all that was most valuable in Greece and its history. It all came from himself — " from this^^ he exclaimed, holding up his cup as high as he could and then taking another rapturous sip.
** Amen," screamed little Silenus, and tumbled on the stage in a drunken heap.
*' Amen," bleated the satyrs, and capered.
Taking on a very satisfied air, and nodding famil- iarly to the people, Bacchus set his head well on one side, and, tapping the rim of his cup with his thyrsus in an argumentative fashion, proceeded to make good his claim.
" Did he not bring the vine to the knowledge of Greece? The vine beautifies and enriches the land
i
146 Dio THE Athenian.
and makes it worth the loving. It makes the peo- ple contented, enterprising, generous, and brave. A man drinks, and lo, all his little vexations and troubles and meannesses disappear; he is patriotic, magnanimous, and virtuous; capable of any height of self-sacrifice for the public weal. He drinks, and lo, he feels as rich as Plutus, and straightway orders a painting, a statue, a temple. He drinks, and lo, a fire is in his blood, he is as bold as a lion, he is ready for any adventure, he makes no account of odds, he fights the battle of Thermopylze. He drinks, and lo, all things seem possible to him — the labors of Hercules, the triumphs of Achilles — he is equally ready to build you a galley,' a poem, a history, a statue, a painting, a temple, a government. A great crisis comes (and who does not know that the vine can j/mke crises as well as improve them) — a great battle is "to be fought, a great poem made, a great oration delivered — the man takes a long draught from a wine skin (here he took a tremend- ous swig from his cup) and in a few moments he is lifted above himself— as, says Aristophanes, 'Come, bring me out quickly a drink of wine that I may wet my mind and say something clever.'* Now he is inspired for extraordinary efforts. Now all things sre on his level. The Iliad, Marathon, the laws of ■Solon, the Philippics of Demosthenes, yonder Par- * Eqiiit., 90.
Consults the .New Academy. 147
thenon of Sister Athene, and — By Zeus ! Apollo and Artemis themselves!" he exclaimed, dropping his cup and thyrsus on the stage and holding up both hands in sudden astonishment.
At that moment the breeze had slightly lifted a branch of the tree that overhung Dio and Damaris, and, thus letting in the sunlight fully upon them, had shown them to the actor in a transfigured state. Hence his involuntary exclamation. The people rose in a body and turned round. But by this time the leafy curtain had fallen again, and the vague look which they cast toward the Acropolis was not sufficient to discover any thing to the crowd. They concluded the whole to have been an admirable piece of acting on the part of Bacchus, in order to bring his part to a stirring close. Viewed in this light it highly gratified them, and cheer after cheer of applause shook the theater.
"Answered?** called out the choragus to the chorus.
The chorus bowed low toward the stage and cried : " Hail, Dionysus, revealer of secrets ! Hail, Diony- siac theater, mother of iEschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles ; nurse of statesmen and orators ; inspirer of great thoughts and deeds among the people! Hail, the Dionysia — the refresher, inspirer, and re- newer of the commonwealth — the fountain of glad- ness and patriotism ! " 10
148 Dio THE Athenian.
The great palace door opened, and Silenus reeled toward it, and the satyrs capered after him singing a bacchanal, and the young Bacchus, snatching up his cup and thyrsus and flourishing them hilariously- above his head, flung himself into the midst of his retreating body-^uard with such agility and force as sent several of them tumbling through the door.
It closed. Shout after shout rose billowing. The people rose too. So did the party under the plane- tree.
YIIL
VOR SHAME, BACCHANTES!
KdroTn-Qov eldov^ x^^^ k<JT% olvov de vov, iEsCHYLUS, Fragm, {Stoba, Ethic.^ xviii.)
" Bronze is the mirror of the face, but -virine of the xxiind."
For Shame, Bacchantes! 151
CHAPTER VIII.
FOR SHAME, BACCHANTES I
AFTER returning home, Dio spent the remain* der of the day, till somewhat late in the aft- ernoon, in the library — reflecting on what he had heard and seen, and reading in his mother's copy of the Septuagiht. He was greatly struck by the He- brew conception of God, as being so vastly above all other beings that fellowship with any of them in the matter of worship is simply preposterous.
As the day declined and the noise in the street increased, the young man bethought himself of his purpose to go abroad and see for himself the state of things in the city. As he was crossing the peri- style, Praxis met him and diffidently suggested that it was not usual for an Athenian gentleman to go abroad without an attendant. ** You forget," said Dio, smiling, " that I am not supposed to be known — even as an Athenian. For aught that appears I am a Roman, with a somewhat Grecian cut to my face, and fashionably aping, to some extent, Grecian ways ; or, at the most, a Greek from Asia. Besides, I really do not care to have any servant abroad at such a . disordjerly time ; in fact, would not go out
IS2 Dio THE Athenian.
myself save for an important purpose. But I will take Chron with me," he added, as the dog came bounding toward him across the court, "he will make the best of attendants, and besides is proof against bad manners."
The great door had no sooner closed behind them than they found themselves in a scene of the wild- est uproar and confusion. Every body seemed abroad. Every body was in grotesque masquerade. And almost every body was bent on doing the most extravagant things, and as many of them as possible. The air was filled with the odor of wine. Knots of meanly-dressed people were sitting on the door- steps of the larger houses, drinking from the charity vessels. On the sidewalks, and even in the middle of the street, were gathered at short intervals groups of men and women about as many wine-skins, ply- ing briskly all sorts of oddest drinking vessels — acorns, leaf-cups, odds and ends of gourds, skin- pouches, straws put together like a duster- column, reeds, immense jars, and buckets — with bursts of wild and maudlin merriment. Near the wall of a house a man was lying on his back, with mouth stretched open to its utmost, while one was pouring wine into it from a pitcher at a second-story window. At a strcut corner was fixed a blue awning with stars painted on the inside, from among which descend- ed a pipe labelled, " The drink of the gods," and
For Shame, Bacchantes! 155
connected with a wine-skin hidden above the awn- ing. Some were running about with long grape- vines, trying to catch and trip as many as possible. Others were making a feint of trying to leap over a group of drinkers, but would manage to come down on their heads or in their laps. Others still went staggering about among the crowd, plunging and falling this way and that, and bringing to the ground as many as they could ; and the stagger was by no means always a feint. Many, indeed, were far beyond the power to stagger, and were lying dead drunk on pavements, under the porticoes, and even on the steps and thresholds of the temples. Many a hu- man brute did Chron step daintily over that after- noon, with the grand air of one belonging to a superior race. Occasionally he would apply his nose to some specially filthy and besotted fel- low, as if to make siire that he was a pig. It was curious to see how readily the dog would discrimi- nate between those who were really drunk and those who were only pretendihg to be. In this matter he could have split a hair with the best metaphysician. When the first sort staggered toward him he quietly avoided them; but the others had warning in his dangerous eye and " touch- me-if-you-dare " look, not to come too near. And somehow the warning was always heeded, save in one instance. A great fellow, with a boar's head for a mask and a tremen-
156 Dio THE Athenian.
dous false abdomen, came out of the Agora on a rapid zigzag, as if he were trying his best to imitate the lightning without its brightness; apparently trying to pare an orange with a long knife, while plunging hither and thither at an unconscionable rate. Chrdn eyed him suspiciously. On came the man, and his next line of plunge seemed likely to bring him in collision with them. The dog gave the usual sign— with an exaggeration. This be- ing unattended to, he uttered a fierce growl, and crouched, as in the act to spring. Still on came the fellow ; and, just as he came near, he lost his balance entirely and fell with his whole weight, point of the knife downward, on — not the dog, but the spot where the dog had just been. In a moment the knife was in Dio's possession, and Chron had the man by the back of the neck and was shaking him as if he had been a serpent. The fastenings of the mask gave way, and Dio saw in the hard face before him, not only one who was not drunk, but, as it. seemed to him, the very robber whom Chron had pulled down in the peristyle. Still, he wa? not quite sure — by no means as sure as the dog seemed to be when called off; for he left his prey with great re- luctance and with many a growl. Every individual hair rose up and went to protest. But his master contented himself with pointing significantly at the man who had risen, but had forgotten to resume
For Shame, Bacchantes! 157
the appearance of a drunken man, and saying to the crowd that gathered closely about, " You see that this man is not beside himself with wine — his drunk- enness was mere pretense to give him a safe oppor- tunity to* stab the dog whom he has occasion to remember. He will have occasion to remember the dog's master, too, if he does not mend his ways. I will keep his knife as a token."
" Yes, keep it," said a voice, " and we will keep the rascal himself, and make him drunk in earnest. We'll fill him to the brim — we'll round him out, and stuff him, and cram him — and then, if he cannot stagger, why, he's capital for rolling, and we'll roll him down the steps of the Areopagus, as the gen- tleman suggests."
By this time, however, the rogue was on the run — ducking and dodging among the crowd and dis- appearing with wonderful swiftness. The people gave chase.
Dio now entered the Agora. It was so crowded with people as to be almost impenetrable. Ac- cordingly he turned up the steps of the Metroum, whence he could overlook the whole scene. It was worth overlooking — also needed it. The numerous plane-trees were festooned with vines, and colored lights gleamed among the branches. Beneath them green booths, decorated with garlands and flowers, resounded with boisterous merriment. The many
158 Dio THE Athenian.
statues of gods and historical persons, which occu** pied the intervals between the trees and fronted and surmounted the porticoes, were all liberally decked with ivies and vine-leaf ornaments. In the center, the famous Altar of the Twelve Gods was, for the time, an altar of Bacchus alone ; and the re- mains of a goat were still smoking upon it. And such an uproar ! Dio had before thought th6 noise almost intolerable ; but now it was terrific. Shouts, bacchanal songs, idiotic laughter, the clangor of all sorts of noisy instruments, screams and yells pitched in every key and run through every possible scale of sound, and often loaded with oaths and obsceni- ties, surged about him in confused floods. Could he be among human beings ? Every now and then a group of young men would pass near him in a state little short of madness — almost nude, shout- ing, cursing, fighting, singing the vilest songs, fling- ing themselves about in the most outrageous fashion, Dio patted the head of his noble dog, and — was ashamed of his race.
What are these? Centaurs, griffins, mermaids, satyrs, harpies, chimeras, the dog Cerberus, the ser^ pent Python, the horse Pegasus — all followed by a talking donkey, who explained the group before him to all whom it might concern, and then invited the menagerie to take a drink all round. It was to be expected that mermen and mermaids would
For Shame, Bacchantes! 159
drink like fishes; but all the monsters displayed a wonderful capacity; taking their cue from the don- key, who showed in his own person that talking is a thirsty business, and then showed it again by in- troducing the god Mercury to the audience. This deity, with his winged cap and sandals and staff, climbed nimbly to the back of the donkey, and, bal- ancing himself on one foot, proceeded to assure the people, in his capacity as patron of eloquence, that wine was not only the inspirer of eloquent speech, but also the best restorer of the exhaustion conse- quent iipon it. He had noticed that his own hap- piest efforts had been both preceded and followed by liberal drinking. And, lest they should think that he and Bacchus were the only liberal drinkers among the celestials, he begged to introduce the whole merry-making Olympian court to his very good friends. The gods would show for themselves what the gods could do. Indeed, as the official herald, he had been sent for the very purpose of announcing this — and them.
He plucked a trumpet from his bosom and blew a long blast, crying, ** Attention, citizens ! the great gods are at hand. They will set you an example- will show you what merry times we have up yon- der," and he snapped his fingers theatrically at the sky.
He had scarcely done speaking, when a donkey-
i6o Dio THE Athenian,
cart made its appearance, containing an immense bowl wreathed with vine-leaves, driven by Hebe, with Ganymede for a post-rider. Then came a great farm-cart, drawn by two remarkably lean and dis- consolate mules, (looking both as if they had never had a grain of barley and never expected any,) and around the far-projecting gearing sat, with dangling feet, men and women already unsteady and foolish with wine, but aping in dress and symbols the Olympian magnates, from Jupiter downward. The people kissed their hands and roared,
" Hail to the Great Twelve, and their illustrious example ! "
After this came a pell-mell of bacchantes, with fawn skins on their shoulders, brandishing thyrsi, screaming and dancing, and confounding confusion by the utmost possible clamor of numerous drums, horns, castanets, cymbals, and tambourines. On went the procession to the central altar where the gods were incensed, and then served out of the great bowl by Hebe and Ganymede with potation after potation till they all tumbled together in a drunken heap at the bottom of the cart, and were driven away like a load of oflfal, but not half as valuable, amid the coarse jests of the crowd — a crowd fast getting to be as drunk as the gods themselves.
Dio could endure it no longer. He knew that even worse was to come; and silently promised
For Shame, Bacchantes! i6i
himself that this should be the last time of his vol- untarily looking on such scenes. He noticed, how- ever, that he was not quite alone in his attitude as a curious but disgusted spectator. Here and there, at points favorable for observation, were some in foreign garb who seemed, like himself, to be mere lookers on, and whose faces were far from ex- pressing any sympathy with what they saw. Go away, young patricians —you have seen enough. So have we.
Leaving the Metroum, Dio and the hound thread- ed their way along the south porticoes of Jupiter Eleutherius and the King to the street leading to the Piraean Gate. Where was he going? Very likely he could not have answered the question himself. How often it happens that the most in- telligent cannot interpret his own conduct! Per- haps the One God of Arno the Phoenician, to whom, after his groping manner, Dio has been praying, is beginning to direct his steps. I hope it is so. Have I not seen somewhere a promise that " if we com- mit our way to the Lord he will direct our steps?** We will hope the best for our young Greek as he goes musingly down the street leading to the port.
It seemed as if the Piraeus had emptied itself into it. Sailors and fishermen, and the various crafts- men naturally associated with these, to say nothing of the lowest class of the Hetairai, were moving and
1 62 Dio THE Athenian.
♦
standing and lying about in all stages of excitement and drunkenness. All the vile smells, as well as sights and sounds, of the port were there. The dog was not a little demonstrative of discontent. He carefully avoided contact with the people, and every now and then, with nose high in air, gave a snort as of disgust and contempt. As for Dio, he strode rapidly along, with wonder and pity pictured in his face. The poor wretches who looked up curiously at the stately stranger, who seemed almost to be- long to a different sphere and race from themselves, saw, indeed, an element of displeasure in his aspect, but it sat on the throne and wore the robes of con- cern and compassion ; so that his progress among them, and all the more on account of Chron's con- temptuous bearing, so far from being offensive, was a most eloquent protest against their conduct, and suggestive of better things. Those who were not too far gone in intoxication deferentially made way for him as they would have done for a prince, and softened the roughness of their voices and behav- ior as he came near. Many an eye was turned, after he had passed, to watch his movements, and the recollection of that grieved and wondering ex- pression with which he had regarded them, as if he could hardly conceive the possibility of such scenes, manifestly softened the scene behind him — just as a great ship makes behind it a smooth sea.
For Shame, Bacchantes I 163
Through the whole long street to the gate neither Dio nor his dog received a single insulting word ; though, instead of walking under one of the porti- coes that bordered the street on either hand, they kept the middle of the street, and so were easily seen by all.
The gate is now before him. Will he pass through ? or will he turn to the right, and, crossing the open space around the little sanctuary of Bacchus, with its surrounding statues of the Muses and of the principal gods, on whose pediments are reclining and drinking many a noisy group, follow northward the Street of the Merchants, that skirts the wall? He chose the latter. The farther he went in this new direction the fewer people he found. By the time he had reached Sinon*s house not a soul was to be seen in the street, whatever way he looked ; only just within the strong iron gate in front stood a servant apparently trying to get a glimpse, through the bars, of the street to the northward, by looking in a curve. Of course Dio cast an inquiring look at the premises which he had so imperfectly seen by torch-light. He was struck even more than before with the unsocial and almost fortified look of the building, so little in keeping with the democratic pretensions and repute of its master. Sinon smiled — his house frowned. Sinon said, "Come** — his house said, "Go.** Sinon said, "We are friends** —
164 Dio THE Athenian.
his house said, " We are enemies/' and said it with all its might.
And was this the home of Damaris ? To be sure, he had only been told that she was the niece of Sinon ; and very likely she did not live in the same house with her uncle. He hoped she did not* What he had seen and heard of the .man and his son made him turn from them with strong repug- nance ; and he did not like to think of Damaris as having lived, perhaps long, in close connection with such persons. Yet, would she have been spoken of as the niece of Sinon if she had been living in the house of well-kno^n and honorable parents? On the whole, he unpleasantly felt that, considering the customs of the country, it was very unlikely that the maiden should live elsewhere, or be other than a ward of the man who had impressed him so un- favorably. His face took a graver ca^as he passed on. Who likes to have two mutually hostile ideas chained together in his mind ? It is making a bat- tle-ground of himself from morning to night.
In the upper part of the street, especially in the lower grounds, (for the whole street was broken with small hills,) the dwellings )iad not been rebuilt since their destruction by Sylla. As Dio was passing through one of these lonely little valleys he met a litter, with the curtains down, borne by six slaves. He at once recognized the litter he had noticed in
For Shame, Bacchantes! 165
the morning at the foot of the Acropolis. The slaves glanced at him timorously as they passed, and hurried along as fast as half-intoxicated men could well do. It flashed upon him that here was Damaris returning from her visit to the priestess ; but how could she have put off her return to so late and dangerous a time? She would not have done it. Still, as he went on reflecting, he became more and more uneasy, and finally came to a full stop. He looked behind him. The litter had passed out of view. Should he follow? While he hesitated, he thought he heard a faint scream, and then an- other— sharp, decisive, full of agony. At once he sprang back at a rate only possible to a youth trained after the old Greek manner; and even Chron found himself outstripped. Soon the litter was in sight, standing in the middle of the street, sur- rounded by a number of men, some of whom were holding and beating the slaves, while one was rude- ly pulling a lady from the vehicle. This sight gave Dio new wings. He flew as if he had borrowed for the time both the cap and sandals of Mercury. He was among the ruffians in a moment. They were about a score, all in masks, and all half drunk.
" For shame, men of Athens ! ** cried Dio, thrust- ing the brutes aside, right and left, as if they were children.
"And as for you^' he added, seizing the fellow 11
i66 Dio THE Athenian.
who held tightly in his arms the struggling Damans, " not even your drunkenness and the license of this day that so disgraces the city shall prevent my punishing you for this outrage and profanation." Carefully unclinching the man's hands from the maiden, and holding him as in a vice till she was able to stagger away from him, Dio hurled him back among his companions with such force that several of them fell, and he heavily upon them. Sobered and infuriated by his fall, the fellow sprang to his feet, and, plucking a short dagger from his bosom, made at Dio with a loud oath. His companions, too, picked themselves up and came staggering on with menacing words and gestures.
"You see," said Dio, with his walking staff raised in his right hand, while the left pointed at the dog by his side, who held between his glittering teeth the collar of a tunic, and was crouching with fiery eyes bent on the leader, " You see, men, that I have an able and willing friend to stand by me, and one who has not taken any wine to-day. I give you fair warning not to come within reach of his fangs or of