i.

hipyllos had not mentioned where he was going. old myrmex, who accompanied him with a blazing pine-torch, did not rack his brains to discover, but trudged on with dull indifference, following his young master step by step. his most distinct feeling was that he was beginning to be tired. they had already traversed the greater part of athens, and at this time—the year chabrias was archon—athens was a large city.

96 shortly after sunset the master and slave had quitted hipyllos’ house, just inside the acharnian gate, and passed through the length of colonus, the most northern portion of the city. then they walked by the “big stones” of the acropolis with their numerous niches for votive offerings, which may still be seen at the present day. from the prytaneium they had followed the street of the tripods, with its temples of the gods and huge brazen tripods, and had gone from the odeium down through the theatre of dionysus, over whose orchestra people were in the habit of making a short cut, as the huge building, with the exception of a few festival days, stood empty almost all the year. next they had followed the street of the temples along the southern edge of the citadel, where no fewer than six marble temples gleamed through the twilight shadows at the foot of the dark cliff.

hipyllos had made this circuit to consume the time until the lamps were lighted in the houses. the moment had now come, more and more points of light glimmered through the dusk.

from the street of the temples master and man turned into a narrow alley, which wound between the houses, trees, and garden-walls. there was and is still a marked difference between the air in this quarter and the atmosphere of the rest of athens. south of the acropolis a refreshing sea-breeze usually blows over country and city.

hipyllos, inhaling the damp air with delight, pursued his walk. he had a joyous face, and his whole97 person illumined by the red torch-glare made a striking impression. his white upper-garment, adorned with a blue border, formed a picturesque contrast to his sunburnt skin and black locks, and every movement of his well-formed limbs was firm and steadfast, in harmony with the expression of his face.

old myrmex did not care for the sea-breeze. he was suffering from lumbago and, at the first puff of the damp air, he took his torch into his left hand and rubbed his side with the right—an act in which he was not impeded by his clothing, which consisted of a dark exomis, the usual garment worn by slaves, and which, to give freedom of motion, left the right arm, shoulder, and side bare.

about the middle of the street the way led close by a side-building, doubtless the women’s apartment of a stately house that apparently belonged to a wealthy citizen. from one of the sparsely scattered thyrides, a kind of air-hole, the light of a lamp streamed into the darkness. hipyllos paused. this light must have had some peculiar charm for him, he could not turn his eyes from it.

as if in the mood when some secret joy renders men communicative he suddenly patted the old man on the shoulder, saying:

“myrmex, do you know whence that light shines?” and, without waiting for an answer, he added: “from the room occupied by clytie, the fairest of all athenian maidens.”

98 myrmex stared at hipyllos with his mouth wide open in amazement.

“master, master!” he stammered, “what have you taken into your head?”

hipyllos did not hear. but myrmex feared his master was in the act of committing some hasty deed, and he knew that when a citizen was guilty of a crime, but denied his offence, it was ordained that he should have one of his slaves tortured. the law was based on the belief that the slave would testify against his master and, if he did not, the master’s innocence was proved.

as this did not seem to be one of the women who led a dissolute life, but a citizen’s daughter, a closely-guarded maiden, myrmex in imagination already felt himself stretched on the rack, whipped with brushes and scourges, tortured with thumb-screws, laden with tile-stones on his stomach, and half-choked by vinegar in both nostrils. so he repeated in a still louder tone.

“master, master, what have you taken into your head?”

hipyllos picked up a pebble, but just as he was flinging it against the wall, as though in obedience to a preconcerted signal, he saw two shadows on the red curtain inside of the loop-hole.

“aiboi! a piece of ill-luck!” he muttered, dropping the pebble, “she isn’t alone.”

then kissing his hand to the bright ray of light, he passed on half reluctantly, farther in the direction of the cerameicus, the northwestern part of the city.

99 myrmex did not think much; but when an idea once entered his brain he did not let it go easily, and now asked for the third time:

“master, master, what have you taken into your head?”

this time hipyllos heard him. he cast a glance at his companion and, seeing his troubled face, understood the connection of ideas and burst into a loud laugh.

“poor myrmex,” he said, pinching the old man’s cheeks, “are you afraid of the thumb-screws? pooh! you’ll escape! this is no matter of life and death, and a citizen can be compelled to have a slave tortured only in an affair of life and death.... have you heard,” he continued, mischievously, “the story of killikon from miletus? he betrayed his native place to the citizens of priene, and when his friends, during the preparations, asked what he had in view, constantly replied: ‘nothing but good.’ well then! when you ask what i have taken into my head i can, with still better reason, answer: ‘nothing but good.’ for the maiden belongs to a highly-respected family, and i intend that she shall become my wife.”

ii.

hipyllos walked on silently for some time, then suddenly exclaimed:

“myrmex, you don’t know—no words can tell100 how pretty she is.... it’s a little more than a month since i first saw her. she was returning home from the temple of demeter, accompanied by her mother and several slaves. the wind raised her veil and revealed a face which, crimsoned with blushes at the notice she was attracting, was the loveliest i had ever seen. the young girl was tall and wore a snow-white robe with a broad violet-blue border; her shining black hair was drawn high above her neck, and over her veil a gold clasp ornamented with a large blue stone glittered on her brow. her silver-wrought sandal-straps fitted her small feet so trimly, that even men usually blind to the secrets of beauty uttered a murmur of admiration. whenever the breeze tightened her garments, making her movements more visible, her bearing showed a reserve and modesty impossible to describe in words and, as she passed, i seemed to feel an atmosphere of freshness mingled with the faint fragrance of some costly ointment.... never has any woman so bewitched me! at night i dreamed of her dazzlingly white neck and soft black hair—heavenly powers, how pretty she is! but you don’t understand me, myrmex; i might as well confide in the trees and stones by the wayside.... all the young men she met turned—no one was content with merely seeing her pass. here, where the girls spend their days in the narrow limits of the women’s apartment, it isn’t three times in a man’s life that he meets such a maiden on the highway.

“as she and her mother approached the house101 where we just saw the light shining, one of the slaves ran into the phalerian street to knock at the door, and i now knew who the young girl was. the mansion belonged to the architect xenocles, and the maiden was doubtless his daughter clytie, whose beauty i had often heard praised. at the corner of the wall the wind blew stronger, so that the women were obliged to struggle against it. suddenly the young girl’s veil was loosened and flew away on the breeze. uttering a loud shriek, she stopped and covered her face with her hands. rushing on in advance of the rest after the veil, which was whirling around in the air, i caught it as it fell and hung on a slender branch. as i approached the young girl, who had let her hands fall and stood blushing crimson, with eyes bent on the ground, she looked so bewitchingly beautiful that, fairly beside myself, i grasped the hand with which she took the veil, exclaiming:

“‘pretty clytie, raise your eyes to mine; for here, in your mother’s presence, i swear that you and no one else shall become my wife.’

“the young girl turned pale and snatched her hand from my clasp, but she did what i asked. she raised her large dark eyes and fixed them on mine—it seemed to me not with dislike.

“the mother, however, was very angry and thrust me away, saying:

“‘who are you, youth, who dares to speak so boldly to a modest maiden? clytie—your wife!102 may all the gods forbid! know that her father has promised her to another....’

“‘by zeus!’ i interrupted, ‘that other shall yield, were he the king of persia himself.’”

myrmex looked up at his master and laughed in his beard at his audacity.

“the next morning,” hipyllos continued, “on the walls, the bark of the trees, and the stones along the roadside were the words written by different hands:

‘clytie is beautiful. no one is lovelier than clytie.’

“i alone did not write; but, at the hour that everybody was going to market, i rode my black samphora steed through the narrow lane. it was very rare to hear the sound of hoofs there and, as i had anticipated, the pretty maid appeared at the peep-hole. her room was where i had expected. she hastily drew back, but i saw by her glance that she had recognized me. the next day i again rode by. she did not vanish so quickly; but i didn’t speak to her, for i did not know whether she was alone. the last time i rode through the street i passed close by the house and laid a laurel-blossom in the loop-hole; when i came back it had been exchanged for a narcissus flower, which lay where it could be easily taken. i then sent manidoros—whom you know: the boldest and most cunning of my slaves—to phalerian street. he speedily ingratiated himself with doris, the103 youngest of xenocles’ female slaves, and how happy i was when one afternoon he came home and said:

“‘everything has happened as you wish. doris told me that her young mistress has seemed wholly unlike herself ever since she saw you. she weeps, dreams, and murmurs your name. but the man to whom her father has promised her—he is a great orator and writer of tragedies—she hates worse than death. doris declares you have used some spell, and that the girl is bewitched.’”

old myrmex shook his head.

“may all this give you happiness!” he murmured.

iii.

the master and slave continued their way towards the cerameicus.

the district through which they were walking was the most rugged part of athens, and the eye everywhere met the proud outlines of steep mountains. a few hundred paces on the right towered the acropolis; a little farther away at the left lay the museium, and five hundred paces in front the broad pnyx and steep areopagus rose into the air. most of these heights were considerable cliffs and the two nearest, the acropolis and the museium, towered hundreds of ells above the stony ground where the road lay.

it was a bright, clear evening in the month boedromion. the wind was dying away; but every time104 a faint breeze swept by it bore a peculiar spicy odor from the wild thyme that grew on mt. hymettus. the crescent moon was high in the heavens. the acropolis, with the temple on its summit, appeared like a huge, shadowy mass, against which the greyish flanks of the museium lay bathed in moonlight, so that one could count the little white houses.

suddenly from the distance a loud shriek of pain echoed through the evening stillness and repose. a man’s deep voice moaned as if some one were suffering a torturing death-agony. more than twenty times the: oi moi! oi moi! (woe is me! woe is me!) was repeated. every syllable, every intonation was borne through the soft air with peculiar distinctness. a little later the sound became fainter till at last it died away in a dull, breathless silence.

hipyllos started, though he had heard piteous wails in this place before.

the cries came from a part of the height where there were no houses. the interior of the cliff was doubtless inhabited, for about twenty yards above the place where the road wound light shone through twenty or thirty small holes in the mass of rock. these holes, ranged in two rows, may be seen at the present day, and inside of them lay—and still remain—some ancient cliff-chambers, whose origin mocks human speculation, since even that period—nearly twenty-three centuries ago—possessed no knowledge of whose hands had formed them or—if they were tombs—whose bones had mouldered there. at that time105 these rooms were used for prisons, and many a criminal sentenced to death was here—where no escape was possible—compelled to drain the poisoned cup.

hearing the wails reminded hipyllos that “the eleven” were in the habit of going at sundown to the prison to loose the chains of the condemned criminal and inform him that his last hour had come. the hapless man then took a bath, and was afterwards compelled to drink a goblet of hemlock juice and pace up and down the narrow room until his limbs grew cold under him. then he was obliged to lie down on the couch, cover his face, and await death. it was during this torturing expectation that even the strongest man uttered lamentations.

whoever knew this fact could understand the cause when, as on this evening, shrieks of anguish echoed from the dark stone chambers.h

h numerous subterranean rooms are found in the southwestern quarter of athens, the ancient cliff-city, which is now almost uninhabited. a certain part of the eastern base of the museium contains three entrances, the central one somewhat dilapidated, that lead to two rooms 10–11 feet in length and a well-like air-passage connected with lower corridors. these cliff-chambers now bear the name of hē fylakē tu socratus, socrates’ dungeon, and are marked as such by oral tradition.

even myrmex awoke from his indifference and spit three times on his breast to avert misfortune.

“do as i do,” he said to his master, “keep ill-luck away.”

hipyllos quickened his pace.

“i fear nothing for myself,” he replied “and i cannot aid the doomed man.”

106 his features at this moment wore a serious expression which showed that, spite of his youth, he had seen and experienced many things.

iv.

hipyllos’ father, chaeretades, one of the guardians of orphan children, was already advanced in life when he lost his wife, hipyllos’ mother. after the short period of mourning, thirty days, he married a young widow named cleobule, famed for her beauty, but about whom nothing good was said in other respects. scarcely six months after, rumor asserted that she was carrying on an intrigue with a young carystian who lived in the house.

the report reached hipyllos’ ears through the slaves and, stirred to his inmost soul, he taxed cleobule with her infamy, but she called all the gods to witness that she was unjustly suspected, and looked so pathetic and beautiful in her despairing grief that hipyllos did not know what to believe. but, after the carystian had left the house, the caresses which, as his step-mother, she could venture to bestow upon her husband’s son, grew warmer than was seemly and when, at the great panathenaic festival, he returned from the procession clad in his holiday robe with a garland on his hair, she ran to meet him, embraced him, and called him her young hippolytus, her young107 theseus. he thrust her away so violently that she fell on the tiled pavement of the peristyle, and from that hour cleobule pursued him with the bitterest hatred. as he stood alone—chaeretades was completely in her power—this gradually developed in his nature a premature degree of firmness and resolution. nevertheless, he was obliged to submit to many things. cleobule finally alleged that he associated with dissolute revellers, and persuaded her husband to send him to the fleet of twenty ships with which phormion, since the second year of the war, had guarded the mouth of the corinthian gulf.

hipyllos found the fleet lying off antirrhium, opposite to the peloponnesian galleys. it seemed strange to suddenly find himself so near the enemy that he could hear the spartan war-songs and see their spears and swords glitter in the sunlight. aboard young and old were confident of victory, for they had recently defeated a corinthian fleet twice as large as their own.

the battle was not long delayed.

early in the morning the peloponnesians rowed into the bay opposite naupactus, a city belonging to the allies of athens. phormion was hurrying after to defend the place, when the enemy suddenly made a circuit by which they intercepted and captured his last nine ships. hipyllos was on the eighth and, frantic at falling into the hands of the foe, he shouted to a party of messenians from naupactus whom he saw on shore:

“messenians! will you calmly see ships that were hastening to the aid of your city, captured by the108 enemy? help us save this one galley. when we are once free, we will speedily rescue the others.”

the men on land consulted together a moment, then they waded out into the sea and assisted their allies. but scarcely was the ship freed, when it rowed to the next, and when two were rescued they easily succeeded in recapturing the others, so that the peloponnesians only kept a single one of the athenian galleys. meantime phormion had rowed farther on with the remainder of the fleet, but, perceiving that the peloponnesians kept no order, he attacked and routed them, capturing six ships. the athenians raised the sign of victory, jeering at the peloponnesians for doing the same.

hipyllos was universally praised; for he had not only summoned the messenians to the rescue, but had fought bravely and killed a brother of lycophron, one of the commanders of the hostile fleet.

on his return to athens hipyllos found his father on a sick-bed. shame for cleobule’s misconduct, which at last could no longer be concealed, affected the old man like a slow poison.

hipyllos’ valor in the naval battle at rhium was his last joy. the very day that he had listened to the account of it from one of the officers of the fleet he breathed his last, holding his son’s hand in his own. hipyllos mourned sincerely for his father. cleobule was more richly dowered by the dead man’s will than she had any right to expect, but was compelled to instantly109 quit the hearth on which she had brought disgrace.

at the time we make hipyllos’ acquaintance he was in independent possession of a fine house, numerous slaves, and a fortune of more than thirty talents.i the firmness he had acquired in the conflict with his wicked step-mother now served him in good stead. having early learned to govern himself, he was wiser than most of the men of his own age and did not squander his property. when reproached for not keeping open house for his friends and sending a team of four horses to the games, he shook his head and answered:

“why should i waste my inheritance? some day athens will knock at my door, saying: ‘give me a ship for the fleet or a chorus for the theatre’—then will be the time to be open-handed.”

i an attic talent was equal to about eleven hundred dollars.

v.

hipyllos and myrmex had now reached the closely-built cerameicus. but even the great market which, half steeped in moonlight, half veiled in deep shadow, lay outspread before them with its temples, arcades, booths, altars, hermae, and statues—even here there was little movement.

most of the people had long since returned from the gymnasia, freedmen and slaves had performed the110 duties of the day, and after sunset children were not permitted to play outside of the doors of the houses.

yet life was not wholly silent. laughter and song echoed from the wine-shops, and the heavy grating of the stone-saws was heard from many a sculptor’s; for in those days sculptors had so much to do that their slaves were often obliged to work in the evening and part of the night. ever and anon the hooting of owls sounded from their countless hidden holes in the cliffs and, as usual in the autumn, there was heard, like voices from another world, the wailing notes of invisible birds of passage calling to each other in the night as they flew at a dizzy height above the city.

hipyllos turned into a side street, which led from the superb street extending from the dipylum gate to a long hill in the melitan quarter. here he told myrmex to extinguish the torch; then after looking around him and listening, till he thought himself sure that no one was following, he directed his steps towards a solitary house at the foot of the height which, seen in the moonlight, presented a peculiar aspect.

it had a hyperoon or upper story which extended only over part of the building and was reached by a staircase on the outside. it was an old-fashioned, but very convenient style of architecture, especially when this upper story was used for guest rooms. in those days, when taverns were almost unknown, nearly every house annually received visits from distant guests who, on the great festivals, came to athens to attend the111 processions and torch-races, or the performances in the theatre of dionysus. both stories were so low that a man, by standing on another’s shoulders, could have reached the roof with a staff. nevertheless, the house had a certain air of distinction from being enthroned on a huge limestone rock, in whose crumbling sides ten or twelve steps were hewn.

as hipyllos and his companion went towards the dwelling there was a rustling on the outside staircase, and the figure of a boy with closely-cropped hair suddenly appeared outlined against the grey evening sky—doubtless a young slave stationed to keep watch. at the sight of the approaching forms he began to sing at the top of his voice, apparently to attract the attention of the inmates of the house, the beginning of the old harmodius chorus:

“never has athens possessed such a man, never did citizen so serve the city....”

then he suddenly stopped and, in the stillness, which seemed doubly as profound as before, a dog was heard barking within the dwelling. hipyllos went up to the door of the house and signed to myrmex to knock with the copper ring. scarcely had the heavy blow fallen, when a frantic deafening barking was heard, interrupted by a short howl as though the dog had been silenced by a kick. a heavy step approached inside and a rough voice asked:

“who knocks so late?”

112 hipyllos thrust myrmex aside and, while he mentioned his master’s name, he himself put his lips to the door and replied in a low tone:

“zeus philios and nike.”

this was evidently a preconcerted watch-word, for the door instantly opened. the door-keeper, a big, strong slave, with dark-brown hair and beard, raised the smoking lamp aloft and, recognizing hipyllos, said in a mysterious tone: “xenocles and acestor have come.” then he led him across a courtyard only five or six paces wide to a room from which echoed loud voices and laughter.

vi.

hipyllos raised the curtain hanging over the door and entered a small, low chamber, lighted by a lamp with two wicks placed on a high bronze pedestal. the rest of the furniture consisted of four couches and a table covered with goblets, wreaths, fillets for the hair, and alabaster phials of perfume with necks so narrow that the precious contents could only ooze out drop by drop.

in this room were three men. two reclined on the same couch, half resting against each other, the third stood before them with folded arms, talking to the pair. one of the couple on the couch was a small, white-haired, white-robed man, with a pair of strangely brilliant eyes, the other was a stately personage113 with long black locks and rings on his fingers, clad in a showy yellow robe. the one who stood before them was a large, stout bald man, with a weather-beaten face and a grey beard, very plainly dressed in a grey chiton, but there was something in his bearing which attracted attention. he carried his head high, and his whole outer man bore the impress of unwavering self-confidence and unbending pride. he was evidently a man of action, and had more than once held command when the point in question was life and death. his manner clearly showed that he was host and the others were his guests.

when hipyllos entered he advanced several steps to meet him, patted him on the shoulder, and said in a curt, loud tone: “i like a youth who comes at the right hour—spite of chariot-races, dice, women, and wine. by zeus, when i was young—i always came late.”

thuphrastos—this was the speaker’s name—had formerly been a captain of horsemen and was known by the name of codon, the barker. from asthma or habit, he rarely uttered more than five or six words at a time, and so abruptly that his speech really bore some resemblance to a dog’s barking.

“ha! ha! ha!” chimed in the little white-haired man. “and i was often outside the house till late into the night. but, though my father was only a poor miller, he watched his household strictly enough. for a long time i told our old slave-woman to put a pair of dusty sandals outside of my door, so that he should114 think i was at home. one night, however, he found the chamber empty, so that trick was over. ah, i was a young fellow then—it seems so short a time ago—yet now i am old.”

hipyllos greeted the speaker with marked respect. he was the architect xenocles, the lovely clytie’s father.

“old!” repeated the man in the yellow robe—the orator and tragedian acestor—“old, don’t say that!” and, glancing at the others, he added “spite of his white hair, xenocles is the most active man among us. like the swan, the bird of phoebus apollo—he has no age.”

“hm,” muttered thuphrastos tartly, “don’t listen to him. orators are cunning flatterers. old friend,” he continued, laying his hand on xenocles’ shoulder, “we both know better. age is a sickness of the whole body. we can—at a hundred paces—distinguish a koppa-stallion from an animal destined for sacrifice; we can, if necessary, chew our barley bread, but—the girls turn their backs upon us.”

hipyllos exchanged a cold greeting with the stately acestor, clytie’s acknowledged suitor.

the latter scarcely seemed to notice the young man; for hipyllos was not known by many, while every child recognized the orator acestor. he well knew what pleased the multitude, and talked with equal ease and fluency about campaigns, legal cases, art, the working of mines, and the cultivation of vineyards. he was indebted for what he had learned115 solely and entirely to his excellent memory—he was far from rich enough to own a library. books were extraordinarily expensive. three small treatises by philolaos, the pythagorean philosopher, cost 110 minae.j

j about 1800 dollars.

whether from lack of will or lack of conviction, acestor was in one respect an incapable orator. he could never control an assembly that was unfavorable to him. signs of disapproval from the majority completely upset him, clouded his brain, and made him contradict himself. yet he was able to sway an audience as he pleased when sure of having his hearers with him. he seemed created to delude credulous folk; thousands on thousands had applauded him, and many thought that, as orator and debater, he surpassed antiphon the rhamnusian, and as a tragedian he deserved to rank by the side of the great pratinas. the more sagacious, on the other hand, held a totally different opinion; they said that he “puffed himself up till the city was too small for him,” thought his voice shrill and his statements untrustworthy and as to his tragedy they remarked with old cratinus that he “ought to be flogged until he learned to write more briefly.”

his worst opponents went still farther. they openly called him carian or phrygian, nay even gave him the slave-name of sacas—all to intimate that they did not consider him a native athenian, but a foreigner who had smuggled himself into the list of citizens. the punishment for this imposition was very116 severe, and consisted of having the hair clipped and being enslaved. yet nothing was more common than for foreigners, nay, even fugitive slaves, to bribe the recording clerks and be entered in the register of citizens. a revision of this register had led to the perplexing, almost incredible discovery, that no fewer than 4,760 persons had insinuated themselves among 14,240 native citizens.

hipyllos had not yet taken his seat when the slave-boy’s resonant voice was again heard outside. the blow of the knocker on the door echoed through the house, and the dog in the outer hall snuffed but, remembering the kick, contented itself with growling. shortly after a peculiarly firm step echoed across the peristyle.

“hush!” exclaimed little xenocles. “what a step. if heracles himself was approaching, it could not sound different. i’ll wager that is lamon.”

vii.

the door-curtain was drawn aside admitting a broad-shouldered man of middle height, with muscular limbs, sunburnt skin, short neck, curling locks, and thick beard. he wore a purple fillet around his hair and was clad in a robe of dazzling whiteness. this was lamon, famed for his remarkable strength, who in the 88th olympiad would have won the prize for wrestling, had he not unintentionally crushed to death his opponent,117 a heracleotian athlete. lamon was a fuller by trade. in those days, when the white robe was commonly worn, the business was a very general and very profitable occupation, since the fine woollen stuff, every time it was to be cleansed from stains and soils, had to be entrusted to the fuller where, among other processes, it was subjected to a skilful bleaching. lamon was therefore regarded, certainly with good reason, as a very well-to-do citizen.

there was silent admiration, mingled with a touch of submission, in the greeting of all. at that time strength was a power to which every one bowed. thuphrastos alone showed no special reverence. this man, who belonged to one of the most distinguished families in athens, had early given numerous proofs of intelligence and courage. one day, during the expedition against rebellious megara, he was separated from the heavily armed troops by a dense fog and very hard pressed by the foe. at night he ordered each of his men to collect two beds of leaves, and in the early dawn he retreated. the megarians pursued, counted the heaps of leaves, and believing the attic horsemen to be twice as numerous as they really were, did not dare to attack them, but held a council. meantime pericles came up with his heavily armed troops and the megarians were surrounded, which ended the campaign.

but thuphrastos was conscious of his distinction. he had a peculiar way of using his eyes, lowering them slowly as though measuring the person with whom he118 was conversing from head to foot. lamon was thus inspected, after which he greeted him, with a certain reserve, it is true, as one great man salutes another, yet with evident good-will.

stately acestor sprang up from his couch, went to meet the fuller, and pressing his hand, said:

“i greet you, heracles of our day!” then, turning to the others—he usually seemed to speak to as many persons as possible at once—“with lamon among us we can laugh at all informers and slaves of the city police force. lamon be praised, he is our shield, our armor!”

with these words acestor raised his head and arched his chest as though, having bowed to another, he hastened to take the place that was his due.

lamon who, like most remarkably strong men, was somewhat grave and taciturn, now opened his mouth for the first time and, without paying the least heed to acestor’s flattery, said:

“it is late. if sthenelus and lysiteles would come, we could begin.”

with these words he reclined on the couch opposite to xenocles and beckoned to hipyllos.

viii.

lamon’s wish appeared to be uttered in a lucky hour; for it was scarcely spoken when again a stir arose in the house and, directly after, voices echoed in119 the peristyle outside. it was a peculiar exchange of words, which could scarcely be called a conversation, since only every other sentence was heard. one of the speakers, especially, had a voice so low that it was lost in a faint murmur. the other, on the contrary, talked in very high, clear tones, emphasizing each syllable with a distinctness that could only proceed from long training. it was easy to perceive that his mode of speech was connected with his profession of addressing words to a numerous assembly. yet, though his voice was so well developed, there was something frivolous, mocking, almost insolent in the tone, which precluded the thought that the man might be an orator.

the dialogue outside began with a whining mutter, which sounded almost as if it came from a disconsolate dog.

“why!” replied the loud-voiced speaker, “what is there strange in that? where should two ragamuffins like ourselves meet better than in the himatiopolis agora (rag-market)?”

again a mutter was heard, that sounded like a feeble remonstrance.

“simpleton!” replied the loud voice, and each of the sonorous attic words rang out so distinctly that it was impossible not to listen. “how can you make yourself richer than you are? my cloak, my robe, every thread i have belong to the clothes-dealers, i own that! but the wine i have here” (the listeners knew that the speaker patted himself in the stomach) “belongs to me, it is my own,—my own, do you understand?—even120 if it isn’t paid for. so am i not right in esteeming wine more than clothes?”

the question was answered by a rude laugh, which could scarcely have proceeded from the low-voiced man, but was doubtless uttered by the door-keeper as he followed the guests across the peristyle.

“good!” cried xenocles smiling, “there is our merry brother sthenelus the actor.”

“and the other,” added acestor, as if the last comer was not worth mentioning by name.

the curtain was raised and two persons entered, each a queer figure in his own way. the loud-tongued man, sthenelus the comedian, was a plump fellow about forty years old, with a red face, a still rosier nose, small, piercing eyes, and tousled brown hair. his costume consisted of a shabby grey robe, whose white border was full of spots. at the first step through the door he sank low on one side—he was very lame. he had not been born with this infirmity, but once, on one of the great festivals, while personating cecrops with floating plumes, gold-broidered cloak, and sword with an ivory hilt by his side, he had carelessly stepped off the boards and fallen. half stunned by the accident he had heard, as though in a dream, the frantic laughter of the crowd. for where was cecrops? the hero’s helmet and mask were lying in the dust, and the comedian’s red face suddenly appeared, while beneath the magnificent garments were some shabby rags with a pair of thin legs, whose lack of proportion to the huge cothurni would alone have been sufficient to awake the121 mirth of the populace. but this fall, amid the laughter of thousands upon thousands of people, had serious consequences; from that day sthenelus was lame.

no one pitied him. who knew much about a poor comedian? in whatever character he appeared the spectators saw only a close linen mask, which covered the whole head, and a costume that suited the mask. an agonistēs might appear in three or four parts, year after year on the great holidays, might grow old on the stage, but win admiration and affection—impossible! it was the lifelike disguise, the mask and robe which the populace applauded. who was concealed beneath no one knew and no one cared to know.

as sthenelus’ lameness had rendered him useless as an actor, he was obliged to fight his way through the world as he best could. the scanty alms bestowed by the state upon all cripples was far from being sufficient for his needs. he first sold his stage paraphernalia, his masks, daggers, etc., and then wandered through the small towns in the neighborhood of athens, making merriment for the inhabitants. he went, as he himself said, from tragedy to comedy. jesting became his means of livelihood, and to keep up his courage he drank whenever opportunity offered, and in those days opportunities were not rare.

“why! why!” he said as he entered, “you are as solemn as the areopagites themselves. by heracles, it was far livelier where i’ve been! i come from halipedon; the good folks there were amusing themselves122 by jumping on leather bottles. finally a fat sausage-dealer set his flat feet on one so that it burst with a loud report—and over he went slap on his back in the midst of the mire. there wasn’t a dry thread on him. ha! ha! ha!”

the other new-comer, lysiteles, a small, wizened, hump-backed man, plucked sthenelus’ robe to warn him to be less noisy. then he greeted the assembled group, but in an awkward, humble way, as though he knew no one would notice the salutation, after which he shrank into himself still more, so that nothing was seen of his face except a big pale forehead covered with a network of wrinkles.

this man was one of the utterly ruined idlers, of whom there were so many in athens. as a youth he had been attractive, gay, haughty, and extravagant, but all that was left of the “magnificent” lysiteles was a decrepit old man of sixty who, with age, had red, rheumy eyes. the jester meidias asserted that hermes had changed his eyes to two fountains, which wept for his lost fortune day and night. on the whole lysiteles was accustomed to be made the butt of jests. some dissolute young fellows had once dragged him in to a dinner at the house of ?gidion, a well-known hetaera from corinth. after the banquet the question was asked.

“can any one tell why lysiteles is more crooked and bent than any other athenian?”

?gidion who, clad in a robe of semi-transparent stuff from amorgos, was reclining on a couch, stretched123 out her smooth arm adorned with a gold bracelet and beckoned to lysiteles. fixing her dark eyes on him, she gave him a light tap on his lean stomach and said: “it’s hard for an empty sack to stand upright.”

ix.

thuphrastos invited the last arrivals to be seated.

lysiteles took the couch farthest in the rear, while sthenelus stretched himself at full length on one of the front ones, close beside the master of the house.

then a tall mixing-vessel was placed on the tiled floor. it was a vase made of burnt clay, adorned with a mask of silenus, surrounded by fruits and flowers. into this beautiful vessel the chian wine was poured, after being mixed—by the general desire—in the proportion of one part wine to three of water. sthenelus alone demurred. “it’s frog’s wine, not human beings’ wine!” he said.

thuphrastos gave each of his guests a wreath, and set small tables bearing goblets in front of the couches.

to any one familiar with attic customs there was something remarkable in these preparations. not a single slave was present to wait upon the company. this exclusion of the servants was scarcely natural; but it agreed with having a watchword demanded at the door of the house. this was evidently no ordinary drinking-bout.

when the goblets were filled thuphrastos stood124 forth among the men with a certain solemnity of manner. pouring a little of the mixed wine into a shallow drinking-cup, he said: “to the good spirit,” sipped the liquor, and passed the cup to his next neighbor.

while the wine was going the round of the company, he gazed around the circle with an earnest look, then, raising his voice, he said in his singularly abrupt fashion:

“in a short time—on the eleventh day of the month—there will be a popular assembly and election of magistrates. who can foresee the result? shall we come forth rejoicing as victors or grieving and exasperated by defeat?”

one of the wicks of the lamp flared up. thuphrastos’ eyes rested on lysiteles, who sat cowering at the back of the group. the old captain did not consider his manner sufficiently attentive.

“man!” he shouted, as if he wanted to rouse him from sleep.

lysiteles started and approached with unsteady steps, looking still more hump-backed than before.

“the elections are close at hand,” repeated thuphrastos, raising his voice as though speaking to a deaf man. “many,” he added, laying his hand on lysiteles’ shoulder, “see in you a man sorely persecuted by the gods—to whom no one ought to refuse anything. others have formerly been your friends and table companions. you can win votes—many votes, if you choose.”

125 “but,” said acestor, “he is feather-brained; he might betray us.”

sthenelus half started from his couch. there seemed to be a singular comradeship existing between him and lysiteles. he himself jeered at him, but he would not allow any one else to do so.

“feather-brained?” he repeated, and staring fixedly at acestor he rolled the rug spread over the couch into a bundle and, propping his elbow on it, raised himself a little. “my friends,” he continued, waving his hand with the gesture of an orator, “lend me your ears! i know a man who in former days was handsome, wealthy, and extravagant. he was called “the magnificent.” now he is only a shadow, and considers himself a worm. i know another man too. he’s as showy and stately as one of pyrilampes’ peacocks, as hollow and noisy as a drum; but, because many admire him, he fancies himself a demi-god and behaves as though he had vanquished the king of persia himself. now, i ask, which of these two is the more feather-brained?”

“by zeus, the second!” cried little xenocles, with more haste than prudence.

all except the grave lamon burst into a peal of laughter, because it was xenocles, acestor’s friend, who had made this answer.

an angry sparkle flashed into acestor’s eyes; his lips parted. but thuphrastos anticipated him.

“no quarrelling!” he shouted harshly. “lysiteles has sworn faith. he will keep his oath.”

126 “that he will,” said sthenelus with a glance at acestor. “doesn’t he know—as we all do—that a drawn sword is hanging over our heads?”

“ah!” added xenocles, “these are evil days. what changes have happened during the last few months! first happiness, rejoicing, the intoxication of battle when the expedition to sicily was determined. the younger men flocked to the wrestling-schools and baths, the older ones to the work-shops and wine-rooms; the island was described and sketched with the surrounding sea and the cities facing libya. all quoted alcibiades’ words: ‘sicily is only the earnest money—libya and karchēdon are the wages of the battle. when we once possess them, we will conquer italy and surround the peloponnesus. a great future is before us; athens is worthy to rule the world!”

“yes,” said acestor, “and lo—in the midst of the rejoicings came evil signs and omens. what did men whisper in each other’s ears? socrates’ good spirit had predicted evil—the soothsayers, and the oracle of ammon foretold terrible things—a man mutilated himself on the altar of the twelve gods—and ravens had pecked the golden fruits on the bronze palm-tree at delphi.”

“in truth,” continued xenocles, “the omens were not false. soon came that fateful morning when all the hermae in the market-place except those outside of leagoras’ house, were found broken and shamefully disfigured. many insolent hands must have united to accomplish so much mischief in a single127 night. who will ever forget the frightful tumult in the city when the sacrilege was reported? all the morning the heralds’ voices were heard, first summoning men to the council and afterwards to the popular assembly. just before noon, a reward of ten thousand drachmae was offered for the first accusation. this opened the door to all the powers of evil. citizens, metic, and slaves vied with each other in making indictments in the council. what did it avail that alcibiades was ordered to sail with the fleet? that didn’t end the matter....”

“on the contrary,” muttered thuphrastos, “day by day there was more and more legal prosecution. every time the heralds summoned the people to a council terror and confusion arose. peaceful citizens talking together in the market hastily separated from each other—every one feared a false accusation and sought refuge beside his own hearth-stone.”

“and not without reason,” observed xenocles. “what has become of those denounced like diocleides or the rich metic teucros?—all gone, either fugitives or sentenced to death! remember the two members of the council, who first sought refuge at the altar of the gods, and afterwards—when bail had been given for them—mounted their horses to leave wives, children and all they possessed—glad to escape with only their lives! the gods be praised that it has been more quiet in the city lately.”

“don’t be too secure,” said acestor in a warning tone. “phanus, cleon’s clerk and confidential man,128 has not forgotten the time when his master was treasurer. he bore all the hetaeriae ill-will, but he has been three times worse since cleon’s death. now that he has joined peisandros, charicles, and the other open or secret rulers, he sees in every convivial meeting of friends a threat against the safety of the state, and has in his pay a whole pack of informers who, like sleuth-hounds, understand how to scent an hetaeria, often without any other clue than a chance word or a vague hint.”

lysiteles groaned; all the others were silent.

x.

it was some time before the conversation was resumed. there seemed to be no special friendship between these “friends;” each had his own hopes and wishes.

thuphrastos’ desire was to be elected state envoy to one of the tributary cities which threatened revolt. it was an office that lasted only thirty days, but during this short time afforded an excellent opportunity for money-making. the envoy only needed to inspire the city with the fear of a stern punishment, to induce it to enter into an agreement in which he placed his demands as high as possible and required the payment for each separate item in ready money. this was the universal method of proceeding and thuphrastos had no hesitation in following it. in and for itself the129 proud captain of horse set little value on money; but he was a poor manager and continually in debt. this was not without peril at a period when an irresponsible debtor might be sold as a slave, so it was extremely important for him to be elected, and he anticipated with anxiety and suspense what the next popular assembly would bring.

xenocles did not aspire so high. he wanted to be superintendent of the public aqueducts. these, which were supplied from the neighboring mountains, bore no resemblance to the roman aqueducts, but consisted of deep canals with reservoirs from which the water was distributed to the city. no one was more familiar with this gigantic work than xenocles; for in his youth he had been employed by meton who had superintended the excavations and masonry of the whole of the newest portion.

“had you not been a member of our hetaeria,” said sthenelus, “you should never have had my vote.” and when xenocles asked the reason he replied: “because, by zeus, you know the aqueducts far too well—you’ll be a costly superintendent.”

lamon cherished wholly different wishes. he wanted to be gymnasiarchk—a post for which he was fitted both by his dexterity in physical exercises and his unusual strength. he was one of those who daily visited the lyceium. it was a pleasure and delight to wander among the crowd in the roofless marble halls around the open squares, and gaze over the yellowish-130white sand, where hundreds of the handsomest youths, wrestling nude in the sunlight, displayed their agility and strength.

k inspector of the gymnasia.

acestor agreed with thuphrastos, flattered lamon, and said what he thought would please xenocles; but in his heart he despised them all and considered himself the chief man in the hetaeria. nevertheless he appeared to desire nothing except to become one of the people’s advocates. every one who knew his high opinion of himself wondered that he did not aspire to some greater goal. hipyllos had also noticed that acestor had been unusually silent at the last meetings of the hetaeria and concluded that he was cherishing some secret plan. thuphrastos also thought his manner strange, and determined to keep a watchful eye upon him.

hipyllos was very differently situated. as, with his fortune, he belonged to the class of “knights” and was bound to serve in the mounted troops with the weapons, horses, and other costly outfit incidental to this duty, the thought of obtaining the position of a captain in the police force was natural. by the aid of thuphrastos and others he succeeded in being elected, and had thus attained the end of his desires, but in doing so had by no means loosened the bond uniting them to the hetaeria.

sthenelus would have liked to be public herald, but he was a cripple and the heralds, these sacred and unblemished men with the serpent staves, the “friends of zeus,” must be persons without any physical defects.131 therefore, like lysiteles, he was obliged to wait until one of their more fortunately situated “friends” had been elected. many of those chosen to fill public offices could have clerks, and to sthenelus and lysiteles, from whose houses smoke was never seen to rise, a clerk’s salary, though small, would have been a real blessing from the gods.

thuphrastos talked of the numerous law cases that would pour in upon him when the time of his embassy had expired. oppressed citizens, informers who knew that he had obtained money, envious fellow solicitors—would all rush to him.

“so it’s worth while, friends, to be firm,” he said. “you, hipyllos,” he added with a winning smile, “must contrive to have your uncle appear before the court.”

this was evidently an allusion to a very aristocratic and distinguished man. it was a common custom to bring powerful families into the courts of justice to make an impression upon the judges. xenocles who, from his impoverished youth, had cherished a special reverence for all prominent personages, raised his head like a horse pricking its ears.

“hipyllos’ uncle?” he asked, “who is that?”

“the former archon, euthydemus.”

“an archon!” repeated xenocles, gazing at hipyllos as though the latter had suddenly grown taller.

hipyllos thought of pretty clytie, and did not lose his opportunity.

“why yes,” he said carelessly, “our family is said132 to descend from the pallantidae, theseus’ old antagonists. it has numbered not a few archons, among them one whose name you all know—lacrateides.”

“what!” exclaimed lamon with unexpected energy, “the one in whose archonship the severe winter happened. my grandmother often spoke of it. the roads were covered with snow, and poor people struggled for room in the baths so that some fell on the stoves and were burned.”

xenocles stared at hipyllos.

“a descendant of lacrateides!” he exclaimed, clasping both his hands. “excellent young man! you belong to one of the noblest races in athens—and you never mentioned it till now!”

thuphrastos, to whom this interruption seemed long, loudly cleared his throat.

“to business!” he said harshly. “what do you think? shall we deal with megas, the dyer?”

“he is a man highly esteemed,” replied lamon. “his whole family connection see with his eyes and speak with his lips. he disposes of numerous votes.”

“megas!” exclaimed sthenelus, “the dyer without a work-shop ... yes, by zeus, i know him. he’s a man of strict spartan manners—always goes plainly dressed and bare-footed.... but when this pattern of manly sobriety meets his companions at night there is—i swear to you—no infamy that is not committed. to me that megas is detestable.”

“well, there is medon, the brass-founder,” said xenocles. “he’s a pleasanter fellow to bargain with.133 do you know him?—a stout, sun-burned man, who loves wine and is always laughing. his family is even more numerous than the one of which megas is head.”

“why not win them both?” asked hipyllos.

“there isn’t money enough,” replied thuphrastos.

“shall it be medon?” said xenocles.

after some discussion, this was generally approved.

“but,” said hipyllos, more thoughtful than some of the older men, “if megas finds out that we go to medon—will he not be vexed and perhaps betray us?”

xi.

as a captain in the mounted police hipyllos was obliged to have a helmet, breast-plate, shield, lance, sword, and spurs; besides the armor required for the forehead, chest, and flanks of the horse. the greater part of this costly equipment was made by the armorer sauros. the latter did not live, like most of those who followed his trade, in the scambonidae quarter of the city, but in the street of the sun-dials, and his forge was in the alley obliquely opposite to the side-building of xenocles’ house. this was a place hipyllos never wearied of visiting; merely to know he was near pretty clytie was a delight to him.

the day after the meeting at thuphrastos’ house, he was to try on the cuirass. he reached sauros’ shop just at twilight. the smith had gone out, but a134 young slave who was filing a metal plate thought he would soon return. the work-shop was filled with smoke and unpleasant odors, so hipyllos preferred to wait outside.

a luxuriant garden extended to a slope, along which ran a walk overgrown with vines supported on cross-bars resting on tall poles. the end of this walk, where hipyllos stood, was closed by a dilapidated wall.

a wide view was obtained from this place. at the left rose the hill of the museium and farther on the acropolis towered into the air. the streets, trees, and houses between stood forth in dusky outlines amid the gloom of twilight. lamps shone here and there. the sky was slightly overcast, and the foliage exhaled a strong odor as though it was going to rain. ever and anon a sleepy gust of wind stirred the damp air. everything expressed peace and rest, and the most profound silence reigned in this quarter of the city.

suddenly light footsteps and mysterious whispers were heard at a little distance.

hipyllos looked through a gap in the ruined wall, and saw several women approaching from the other end of the walk. the first one carried a lantern with horn sides and seemed to be showing the second the way. a third figure followed.

the woman with the lantern was dressed in a strange, outlandish costume. over her head a blue cloth wrought with silver stars was drawn in long folds, two of which hung down on her breast, and on her hair above the brow, in place of a clasp, glittered a135 gold sun. she wore a blue robe, and across her bosom and shoulder passed a broad white band upon which were embroidered golden suns, crescents, and stars.

at this time there lived in athens a woman of foreign birth named ninus, who called herself a priestess of the phrygian god sabazius. she foretold future events and brewed love-potions, while invoking gods and demons. rumor said that she had a large number of customers, especially women.

hipyllos did not doubt that this was the person he saw. she seemed to be about forty years old; her face was still beautiful, though uncommonly pale, and as cold and motionless as if hewn from stone.

her companion was closely-veiled and wrapped in a long, dark robe drawn over her face like a hood. hipyllos could not catch the smallest glimpse of her features, but so far as he could judge from her figure, bearing, and gait, she was young, and so, too, seemed the female slave who followed her.

the new-comers directed their steps towards the vine-covered alley where hipyllos was standing. the priestess of sabazius set the lantern on a stone table just inside the ruined wall, and took from a basket a quantity of strange things. as well as hipyllos could see by the dim light, among them were metal bowls, laurel branches, purple wool, an iron gridiron, some wax figures, and a wheel.

during these preparations her veiled companion had often showed signs of impatience.

136 “oh, if i had never come!” she exclaimed. “a daughter outside of her father’s house after dark! if my mother should miss me—what a disgrace!”

the voice which echoed in clear, musical tones on the stillness of evening made hipyllos’ heart throb. he had never heard clytie speak, but it seemed to him that she must speak thus.

“have no fear, pretty maid,” said ninus in a singularly deep voice with a foreign accent. “let doris run back and keep watch. then you can be called at once.”

“yes, dear doris, run, run!”

the slave lingered, but was obliged to obey.

hearing the name of doris strengthened hipyllos in the belief that clytie stood before him, for the slave through whom he had learned from manodoros that her mistress loved him was called doris.

“make haste, good ninus,” said the veiled figure when she was left alone with the priestess. “i am trembling with fright.”

“give me time,” muttered ninus. “do you suppose the gods can be invoked as we draw water or chop wood? it would be a pity,” she added, pointing to the numerous articles on the table, “if all this should have been done in vain. i was obliged to bargain with and bribe slaves. how else could i get a man’s shoe or the fringe from his upper garment? but to bargain and bribe....”

ninus paused, casting a side-glance at the young137 girl, who remained silent. the priestess saw that she must speak more plainly.

“but to bribe,” she added, “requires money, a great deal of money.”

“i haven’t any; i’ve never had money.”

this was evidently not the first time the answer had been given to ninus. she understood how to help herself.

“well, well!” she cried, “if you have no money, my pretty one, you probably have many rings, clasps, and such things.”

the veiled figure threw back her cloak; two dazzlingly white arms appeared a moment and unfastened a brooch from her forehead. but the light from the lantern was so faint that hipyllos rather imagined than saw the features which to him were the dearest in the world.

“take this ornament,” she said; “i have many of them.... take this pin and clasp too.”

ninus bent her head to conceal her delight.

“generous girl!” she exclaimed, “who would not gladly serve a maiden fair as aphrodite and blooming as artemis?”

“offer your thanks to doris,” said the veiled figure. “she persuaded me to come. she has told you all, even that terrible thing—the worst misfortune which could befall me.”

138

xii.

hipyllos strained his attention to the utmost.

ninus herself seemed to become somewhat thoughtful at hearing the girl’s words.

“why don’t you speak to your mother?” she said.

“ah, no, no! mother will not venture to help me. she wants only what my father desires.”

ninus was silent a moment.

“yet there is no other way,” she said. “you must either go to your mother or do what doris advises.”

“follow doris’ advice?” cried the veiled figure impetuously. “no, never, never! what are you asking? i should die with shame.”

how eagerly hipyllos listened. here was something he did not understand.

“true,” replied ninus, “it must be torture to a respectable girl. yet to him....”

the muffled figure hastily interrupted her.

“yes,” she said, “i know whom you mean.”

a faint smile flitted over ninus’ pallid features.

“aha!” she murmured. “you are afraid i might utter his name, and that it might be an ill-omen. so you think of him very often, pretty maid?”

the young girl bent her head with a bewitching air of embarrassment.

“then it is true,” ninus persisted, “you often think of him?”

139 “always,” was the reply.

hipyllos could have hugged the sorceress for that one word.

“girl,” said ninus suddenly, “is your mind devout and your body pure?”

“before coming here i prayed to the gods and anointed myself.”

ninus was silent for a time, then going close to the muffled form she asked in a whisper:

“have you ever heard of stones animated with souls, which have fallen from the skies? we call them baetyli, but among your people they are known by the name of orites or siderites.”

“i know nothing about them,” replied the young girl, then seizing the priestess’ hand with an enquiring gesture she murmured: “tell me, what do these baetyli give?”

“counsel.”

“what! stones—talk?”

“hush, hush! in the name of the gods—silence. it is a great mystery.”

hipyllos listened attentively. he had already heard of a strange connection between demons and stones; he knew that in the temple of apollo at delphi there was a stone that had fallen from the sky, which was daily anointed with oil. this was the stone rhea had let cronos swallow instead of zeus.

“as you know, fair maid,” ninus continued, “i will gladly serve you.”

“i shall not be ungrateful.”

140 ninus shook her head.

“promises are words written in water,” she murmured.

the young girl, without answering, began to draw a ring from her finger but ninus prevented it.

“the ring is worth eight drachmae,” she said. “conjuring with the stone will cost ten times as much. know that hitherto no hellene has made a baetylus speak. such things can only be learned in phrygia.... farewell, maiden; we must part....”

“don’t leave me!” cried the girl, seizing ninus’ robe. “look!” she added drawing from her arm a glittering gold band, “if this is enough, take it.”

“i am easily satisfied,” said ninus, snatching the gold. “well then, i’ll tell you everything. before a baetylus will show its power one must fast thrice seven days and hold no conversation with men; then the stone must be washed in spring-water and clad in swaddling clothes like a little child. even this is not enough. a lamp must be lighted in a clean room in the house, incense offered, and prayers repeated. all this i have done from the hour doris first told me.”

ninus now thrust both hands down into the basket and, with great care, drew out a smooth oval stone, wrapped in swaddling clothes like a new-born child.

holding out the stone, she bowed low.

hipyllos felt like a person who, at some untimely hour, had entered a sanctuary and beheld things no mortal eye ought to see.

“maiden,” whispered ninus, “take the baetylus in141 your arms and rock it to and fro. but beware of dropping it; for then it would be angry.”

the veiled figure received the stone with evident anxiety.

ninus now lighted some charcoal on the gridiron by the flame of the lantern, scattered incense upon it, and let the smoke rise before the baetylus. then, taking it from clytie’s hands, she removed the swaddling clothes and anointed it with oil.

“look!” she cried, raising it in the air, “the soul is coming.”

hipyllos felt a slight thrill of awe. he fancied he saw the stone make a slight movement in the priestess’ hands.

ninus now rocked it more violently and in a strange tone, that sounded like the monotonous buzzing of an egyptian sistrum, chanted the following words:

orites, lend thine ear, stone smooth and splendid, let us the spirit hear within thy heart hid. stone that thyself canst stir, from earth arising, lipless art thou, yet murmur counsel inspiring.

again the stone seemed to make a slight movement.

the priestess of sabazius, bending over it, whispered:

142 “by the two great mysteries, life and death, i conjure thee, orites, raise thy voice and answer. shall this maiden apply to her mother or shall she follow the advice of the slave-girl, doris?”

a whimpering sound like an infant’s cry was heard.

ninus bent lower and kissed the stone three times—a strange, weak voice, which seemed to issue from it with difficulty, said slowly, syllable by syllable, the two words:

“o-bey do-ris!”

hipyllos had been made no wiser by this scene. he did not yet know what terrible thing had happened to clytie or for what reason she sought advice.

the priestess of sabazius wiped the perspiration from her forehead, and in absolute silence washed the baetylus and put on its swaddling clothes.

“see!” she said as she replaced it in the basket, “the spirit is departing again.... but know one thing, girl; you must do what the baetylus advised; the ‘unknown’ do not give their counsel in vain.”

“i will do it,” replied the muffled figure sighing. “but—the other thing of which doris told you?”

ninus smiled.

“you haven’t seen him for ten days,” she murmured. “and you think that he has forgotten you?”

“dear ninus!” cried the girl, pressing her hand upon her bosom. “he is my hope, my only hope. your spells will not harm him?”

there was such tender anxiety in the question, that143 hipyllos felt an almost unconquerable desire to spring forward and clasp the young girl in his arms.

“no,” replied ninus. “these spells will do no harm. but, since i fulfil your wishes in this, give me the ring you showed me just now.”

clytie hastened to comply with the demand.

ninus then drew out an article wrapped in a cloth. “this is one of his sandals,” she whispered. scattering sulphur on the charcoal she held the sandal in the smoke, then flung salt into the flame, saying in a slow, solemn tone:

“hi-pyl-los, cly-ti-e!”

the young man felt a shiver run through his limbs at hearing his name so suddenly.

ninus glanced around. this was the moment when the person summoned, drawn by an invincible power, ought to appear and fall at his loved one’s feet.

the priestess shrugged her shoulders.

“hm!” she muttered, as though baffled. “your fear was not groundless, pretty maid. take this vessel i use in pouring libations and wrap the purple wool around it, put these laurel branches on the flames, hold the wax near them, and set the dish beneath.”

at the same time ninus raised aloft a tri-colored wax image and flung fragrant boughs upon the fire before it.

“hear me, most terrible of goddesses, mysterious hecate!” she cried, “mercifully aid us and make our spells more powerful than those of medea and circe. let his blood burn as these laurel leaves are consumed144 in the flame, and his heart bleed and melt with tenderness for this maiden as this wax melts from the heat.”

ninus started and listened.

the baying of a dog was heard in the stillness of the night.

“hush!” she muttered. “i hear dogs barking. hecate is near—in the cross-road yonder, where her altar stands. strike these metal basins against each other—let the sound tell her that we feel her approach. oh, hecate, stern, exalted goddess, i will pour three libations in thy honor! thrice accursed be each new fancy of the man this maiden loves. let him instantly desert her rivals, as theseus deserted the hapless ariadne.”

then, seizing the wheel, she set it in motion.

“let his footsteps circle around this maiden’s dwelling, as this wheel turns on its axle. direct his steps hither, lofty goddess,” continued ninus, throwing a powder upon the charcoal. “appear, oh hipyllos, appear!” she called loudly. a clear yellow flame shot high into the air and vanished with a faint crackling sound, like a flash of lightning.

by the glow the young girl had seen hipyllos’ face appear and disappear like a vision in a dream—a wall seemed to open and close over it. terror and surprise made her utter a piercing shriek. ninus fancied herself watched and blew out the light.

while hipyllos, dazzled by the blaze, was groping his way around the corner of the wall he heard the dry twigs snapping under hurried footsteps. it was145 the two women, who were stealing away through the other end of the long arbor. he wanted to follow them, but ran into the arms of the armorer’s slave who was looking for him to say that his master had come. almost at the same moment the door of xenocles’ house closed with a bang, rendering farther pursuit useless.

he followed the slave into the shop. sauros deserved credit for his work; the cuirass fitted admirably. but hipyllos did not hear the smith’s long explanations; his sole desire was to be alone with his thoughts. so, when the fitting was over, he hastily took his leave, called his slave, told him to light a torch and set out on his homeward way. his disappointment at pretty clytie’s escape had already vanished; nay even his anxiety about the trouble threatening her was forced to yield to the blissful thought of being beloved by the fairest maiden in athens. he knew that now from her own lips—for it did not occur to him to doubt that the muffled figure was clytie herself.

xiii.

the following day hipyllos returned from the race-course shortly after noon and flung himself upon a couch; but his blood was too keenly stirred for him to find immediate repose. he still saw and heard only the chariot-races. a long, long course, marble benches146 filled with passionately excited spectators, slanting rows of chariot sheds, falling barricades, horses dashing forward four abreast, clouds of dust, clapping of hands, and shouts of: “speude, speude!” (haste) and: “aristeue!” (keep ahead)—all this had gone to his head like intoxication. gradually his excitement died away into a pleasant lassitude, and at the same time his thoughts wandered to the conjuration the day before in sauros’ garden. again he heard the priestess of sabazius say: “you think of him very often, pretty maid?” and recalled the bewitching movement with which the young girl had bent her head and whispered the one word: “always!” that had almost made him betray himself in his delight. he had reached this point in his love-dream, when the door-keeper entered.

“a young slave-girl wants to speak to you,” he said. “she has a letter from her mistress.”

hipyllos started from the couch.

“bring her in—quick.”

he understood two things—that some misfortune must really have befallen clytie, and that what doris had advised and the baetylus confirmed was—to write to him.

a young slave with a bright face entered and, folding her arms across her breast, bowed before him.

hipyllos hastily advanced to meet her.

“in the name of the gods, what has happened?” he asked.

“this letter will tell you,” replied doris—for it147 was she—and handed him two wax-tablets folded together.

hipyllos broke the ribbon that confined them, opened the tablets, and read the lines traced upon the wax. they ran as follows:

“clytie, xenocles’ daughter, greets hipyllos, chaeretades’ son.

“it is necessary, doubly necessary, for me to write, first for the sake of the matter itself and secondly because a higher power has counselled me to do so. but i shall make the message short—for it concerns a misfortune. know that my father, urged by that man, has hastened my marriage, and the wedding will take place in five days. woe is me, funeral flambeaux would be more welcome than those bridal torches. yet how is escape possible? can a daughter contend against her father? can a wife oppose her husband? my mother kisses me and weeps with me, but says she dares not do that. you, oh hipyllos, are the only person with whom i can seek refuge. what you will do, i know not. but i turn to you as an ill-treated slave flies to the altar. your vow that day, in my mother’s hearing, was no promise written in water. i read sincerity and truth in your face, and since that hour i have considered you the master of my life. you will not yield. in the midst of my grief i have but one joy—that you cannot see me. my cheeks are crimson with shame, and my eyes are full of tears. this letter, the first and last, i still write as a maiden.”

148 while reading these lines the most varied feelings assailed hipyllos; he felt both grieved and charmed. he again glanced over the letter, and the superscription awakened a feeling of delight. the young girl, educated under her mother’s eye, was honesty itself—it had not once occurred to her to write anonymously. she did not utter a single unkind word about acestor, the source of her trouble; she merely alluded to him as “that man.” and how touching was her confidence! she did not know what he would do, yet she appealed to him as the only person with whom she could find refuge. and the last warning that there was only a short time for action she expressed in the words “i write this still as a maiden.”

there was something so womanly in the letter that hipyllos felt his heart swell with pride and happiness. it seemed as though some part of the lovely girl’s personality clung to the wax tablets and the delicate lines traced upon them, and again he vowed to win her, cost what it might.

hipyllos glanced from the letter to the slave.

she was a blooming girl, sixteen or seventeen years old, rather tall than short, with a brown skin and curling black hair. her dress was a white linen robe, confined under the youthful bosom by a girdle striped with blue and yellow.

doris smilingly returned the look. she understood the whole matter.

“why is the wedding so hurried?” asked hipyllos. “why does it take place in five days?”

149 “how should i know?” replied doris. “some of the slaves think acestor needs the dowry.”

hipyllos took from a low chest a reed, “the black kind,” and a roll of the papyrus known among dealers by the name of taneotica.

while doris, knowing that on her return she would be obliged to describe every couch, rug, and tripod, was gazing around the room, hipyllos sat down at a small table and wrote as his youth and love dictated:

“i greet you, beautiful clytie, my light, my soul, and my life!

“your letter has been a source of both terror and delight. but the terror is conquered and the delight remains. rely upon me, i shall leave nothing untried. but should i not save you in the five days, my advice is this: feign illness, so that the marriage must be delayed. i shall thus gain more time. and now farewell, dearest treasure of my soul! be of good courage and calm yourself.”

a drachma was slipped with the letter into doris’ hand and, blushing for joy, she left hipyllos with the best wishes for him and clytie.

the young man was scarcely alone ere he became absorbed in thought. “five days!” he murmured, “five days!” he could have killed acestor, but he perceived that violence was no way to win the fair girl. to go to xenocles and tell him everything would certainly be the simplest method, but would the latter150 break his pledged word, especially so short a time before the wedding? it surely was not probable. after long irresolution hipyllos thought of thuphrastos. the old soldier was clever in everything he undertook, experienced in all the relations of life, and renowned for his wise counsel. besides, clytie’s father had the greatest respect for him. perhaps he might help.

xiv.

the next moment hipyllos was on his way to thuphrastos. it was just the hour between the time to go to market and the time of visiting the gymnasia. as the young man expected, he found the old captain at home. the latter received him kindly and listened to him attentively but, when hipyllos mentioned his real errand, thuphrastos frowned and gave him a flat refusal.

“what do you ask?” he said in his rough way. “i am to go to xenocles—and dictate to him to whom he shall marry his daughter? make myself a laughing-stock for him and others? no, young man, you don’t know thuphrastos.”

hipyllos bent his head and fixed his eyes upon the ground. his last hope was destroyed.

there was a moment’s silence, in which the dog was heard rattling his chain outside.

thuphrastos straightened his grey robe, rubbed his151 bald pate, and absently pulled his beard. hipyllos felt ashamed of his request and looked thoroughly disheartened. at last thuphrastos laid his hand on his shoulder and sat down on the couch by his side.

“don’t lower your eyes like a woman,” he said, and then added in a kinder tone: “pluck up your courage! there are other ways and means.”

“what do you mean?” asked hipyllos, raising his head.

“listen—i’m going to give you a piece of advice. the old general stratocles once saw some of his heavy-armed troopers turn pale when about to meet the foe. he instantly shouted: ‘if any of you have forgotten anything in the camp, you can go and get it!’ one man sneaked timidly out of the ranks, followed by five or six others. ‘good!’ cried stratocles, ‘the cowards have gone! now we have only brave men among us.’ then he rushed forward, and the enemy fled.... but, young man, you don’t yet fully understand?”

hipyllos made a gesture of denial.

“well then,” thuphrastos continued with a certain impetuosity, as though he could not utter what he had to say quickly enough, “i think your rival, acestor, is a chatterer and a coward—i mean—that, like those slaves, he must be brought to show himself in his true colors. then xenocles—without asking anybody’s advice—will let him go.”

“splendid! excellent!” cried hipyllos, clapping his hands. “men don’t praise your clever counsel without cause. but how is this to be managed?”

152 “by zeus, there’s no difficulty about that. make yourself small as he makes himself great—feign to be timid, and let him show himself brave. then, when he has puffed himself up well, give him a real fright. pretend that the meetings of the hetaeriae are discovered, that the house is surrounded by bowmen, and when he is trembling with terror and doesn’t know where to hide, do as stratocles did with the cowards—give him an excuse to slip away, and he’ll speedily show the hollows under the soles of his feet.”

hipyllos laughed. the pair talked together some time longer, and when the young man went away all anxiety and doubt had forsaken him.

xv.

hipyllos’ letter was a joy and comfort to clytie, but it did not soothe her. five days was so short a time! amid tears and caresses she confided in her mother, and described hipyllos with such loving eloquence that maira (her mother) was won over to her wishes. though clytie had little faith in her intercession, she went to her and by entreaties and persuasions induced her to promise to tell her story to xenocles. two of the five days had already passed, so there was no time to lose.

the next evening, when the husband and wife were supping together, the husband comfortably extended on a couch and the wife sitting humbly on its outer153 edge, maira—not without a secret tremor—ventured to mention the subject; but the hot-tempered little man scarcely understood what she was talking about, ere he started up and repulsed her in such a way that she dared not revert to the matter again. every hope of maira’s assistance was thus cut off, and to speak to her father herself did not even enter the young girl’s mind. she could do nothing but fix her last faint hope on hipyllos.

yet, when the day before the wedding arrived without any prospect of deliverance, clytie ceased to weep and fell into a state of dull insensibility, like a person who is utterly hopeless. “what is the use of pretending to be ill?” she thought. they will say: “it is nothing—it will pass off! can i oppose them all? can i keep the bridal procession waiting? no, even if i complain of sickness, they will lift me into the chariot and let that man carry me to his house.”

from that moment she felt as though she had no will in anything.

when evening came, the last evening she was to spend under her parents’ roof, her mother and a few female slaves were busied about her in her maiden-bower. it was a small room with reddish-brown walls, lighted by a clay lamp which stood on a brass tripod. clytie sat on a low chair, with her face turned from the lamp, and doris stood behind her in the act of fastening her hair into a knot. at the back of the room maira and a middle-aged slave, who had been clytie’s nurse, were busied in examining robes, kerchiefs, girdles,154 and over-garments, which they spread out on the young girl’s bed, a small maple-wood couch, covered with embroidered pillows and coverlets.

a sorrowful, troubled mood prevailed. even the atmosphere of the little room was heavy, as though saturated with the peculiar damp freshness of women’s clean garments, mingled with a penetrating odor of ointments and median apples, the latter being laid between the stuffs to perfume them. now and then clytie’s mother and the nurse exchanged a few words, but as softly as if they were trying not to disturb some sick person. clytie resigned herself in perfect silence to the care of her favorite attendant, and even the latter’s nimble tongue was still.

suddenly a girl’s merry voice was heard outside. according to ancient custom the bride, on her marriage eve, bathed in water brought from the fountain of enneacrunus.

this water must be brought by a virgin, and a young neighbor, coronis, the daughter of a rich basket-maker, who from childhood had been clytie’s friend and looked up to her with admiration, had gone with her slaves to the fountain to fetch the water.

as she entered, a breath of gayety and life seemed to come into the silent room. coronis was a merry little maid, with a childish face, whose dark eyes, lips, cheeks, dimples—all laughed. she was dressed entirely in white, and carried the laurel branch used for purification. this she instantly put down by the door, as if to say: “stay there, you useless, solemn thing.”

155 she had so much to tell that she scarcely took time to greet clytie and her mother. she had met at the fountain two other bride-maids; they had talked together, and coronis therefore knew all about the weddings which were to take place the next day; she knew the fathers, mothers, brides, and bridegrooms, and had a great deal to say about the marriage garments, bridesmen, and nuptial banquets.

when her story was ended, preparations were made for a ceremony which the art of those days has represented upon many a vase.

doris placed a bath-tub shaped like a mussel-shell in the middle of the floor, and set the full hydria beside it. then, kneeling before her mistress, she loosed her girdle and unfastened the clasps on her shoulders. two slight pulls were sufficient to make the garments fall around the hips, and from a cloud of white folds appeared the whole upper portion of the maiden’s slender form, whose fairness, seen against the brown wall, became doubly dazzling and seemed created to ensnare both eyes and hearts.

now began the familiar talk that always takes place among women on such occasions.

“how beautiful you are, dear!” exclaimed little coronis, pressing a light kiss on her friend’s shoulder. “what a complexion—what is the finest syrian stuff compared with its smoothness!”

“yes,” said the middle-aged nurse, with as much self-satisfaction as though she considered clytie her156 own work, “i know that even leda’s bosom was not more beautiful, ... no breast-band is needed here.”

doris glanced with a smile at coronis and the nurse.

“what you praise deserves the highest compliments,” she said, “but it is not what i value most.” with a look of earnest affection she knelt before clytie, took her hand, and kissed it. “what i value most is my beautiful mistress’ goodness. i have served her daily ever since she was a little child—and never in that long time has she uttered a single unkind word.”

“believe me, my clytie,” the mother added, not without a certain pride, though her eyes were full of tears, “you will be fortunate and happy. what husband can fail to love you—so good and so beautiful!”

coronis now took her friend by the hand. as clytie rose, the garments slipped lower and remained lying around her on the floor like a broad white linen garland. an instant, but only an instant, the young girl, faintly illumined by the lamp, stood in the white beauty of her snowy limbs in the dusky room; then, with a swift movement, she stepped out of the folds of her robes into the bath-tub.

coronis, with a mischievous expression, raised the full hydria.

“prepare to shiver, clytie,” she said laughing. “i’m going to do what is written in lamprus’ bath-song.” and holding it so that the water trickled down over the shining, supple body, she chanted in a low tone:

157

“slowly pour the fountain’s water o’er the white neck of the bride; brow and bosom let it moisten, hand, and foot, and back, and side! soon the fair one will perceive the cooling freshness of the bath, as her fair limbs’ marble whiteness the pink bloom of roses hath.”

while doris was wiping her mistress’ back with a soft woollen cloth, the latter’s eyes followed the quivering drops of water that chased and mingled with each other on her white neck before trickling in waving streams over the smooth skin. clytie was not vain of her beauty; but when, as now, she looked down over the soft slope of her shoulders and the chaste curves of her bosom she could not help receiving an impression of something uncommonly pretty. the water had not only strengthened her body, but given fresh vigor to her mind. a multitude of thoughts darted through her brain. did not homer himself tell the story of a bloody war waged for a fair woman’s sake? so woman’s beauty must be something precious. and for whom was she destined?

she saw in imagination her bridegroom acestor—stately and boastful, but without a trace of attic refinement, heavy and dull. she had only cast one hasty, timid glance at him, but a woman’s glance is like a flash of lightning, and she had caught him fixing his eyes on her with an expression she had never seen. she felt that it was monstrous, a desecration, to be158 given to this man, and secretly vowed to shun no means of escaping so bitter a fate.

this resolve was soon to be tested.

xvi.

scarcely had maira, accompanied by the nurse, left the room to go with coronis to the door and make a final survey of the house, when a noise like a pebble flung against the wall was heard outside. faint as the sound was, doris started and clytie, who was in the act of putting on her tunic, stopped, blushed crimson, and held her breath to listen.

doris ran to the peep-hole and drew the red curtain aside. a voice whispered a few words which sounded like a question.

before doris replied, she turned towards clytie and said: “it is his slave manodoros.... he asks if you are alone.”

then she put her head through the hole and answered in a smothered tone: “yes, entirely alone. but what do you want? speak. my mistress’ mother has just gone out, and will be back directly.”

again there was a whisper outside.

doris stretched her arm through the opening as far as she could. at the same moment her neck and ears grew crimson, and she stamped her foot impatiently. “let go!” she cried, “let go! this is no time for159 trifling.” when she again turned, she held in her hand a letter written on a papyrus-scroll.

“read it, dear mistress,” she said as she took the bath-tub and carried it away. “i’ll keep watch outside.”

clytie seized the letter with a trembling hand and broke the seal. the dull expression of her features had vanished, and her lovely face was radiant with expectation and hope.

the letter contained the following lines, which seemed to have been hastily written, for here and there a word was erased and changed for another.

“dearest clytie!

“you are alone against many; i fear you may let yourself be over-persuaded. you must fly; it is the only way of escape. the priestess of sabazius is willing to receive you. doris must go, too, or she will be tortured and confess everything.

“in the name of all the gods, do what i advise, my beloved. have you not yourself called me the lord of your life? you can easily escape through the garden; keep concealed a few days, and all danger will be over. i shall know how to soothe your father’s wrath. besides, can it be counted against the many happy years awaiting us?”

if this letter had come earlier, clytie would never have decided upon a step so entirely opposed to what was seemly for an attic maiden. the idea of quitting160 her father’s roof would have appeared to her the most impossible of all. yet, now that her aversion to acestor had become as intense as her love for hipyllos, she thought the letter very bold, but at the same time perceived that hipyllos told the truth. the danger was imminent, and there was no escape save flight if they were not to be parted forever.

“he is right,” she thought. “i have called him the lord of my life. should i then fail to fulfil his first command? no—i will do what he directs—happen what may.”

when doris entered to fetch the empty hydria, clytie stood before her with flushed cheeks and a glance which expressed firm resolution.

“when everything is quiet in the house,” she said, “i shall fly through the garden. you will go with me.”

doris stared at her in open-mouthed amazement; the empty hydria she had taken dropped from her hand and broke with a rattling noise on the tiled floor.

“may the gods avert the warning!” she murmured, as she picked up the pieces.

but clytie did not allow herself to be disturbed.

“when father and mother are asleep,” she continued, “you must slip into their chamber and get the key of the garden.”

doris scarcely believed her ears. she no longer recognized clytie. was this the timid young girl who had been afraid to meet ninus and whom she was obliged to lead step by step? now it was clytie who commanded and doris who hesitated.

161 “but, do you think, mistress...?”

clytie raised her hand with a gesture that commanded silence.

at the same moment steps were heard outside. clytie’s mother returned and, sending doris away, seated herself on the edge of the couch and drew the young girl down beside her. this was the last evening the daughter would spend at home. maira tenderly stroked clytie’s hair, clasped her hands in her own, and talked a long time to her in a whisper. when they at last parted it was reluctantly, after many an embrace and caress, and the eyes of both were wet with tears.

clytie felt a twinge of remorse, but it did not change her resolve.

tearing a strip of papyrus from hipyllos’ letter, she wrote the following lines:

“dear mother!

“forgive me, i must fly—i abhor that man. but do not fear! i shall seek a safe place, where no harm will befall me. doris goes with me. in a few days, when the danger is over, i will come back. farewell, dear mother, blessings on you for your love! i leave my father’s house a virgin, and as a virgin i shall return.”

when clytie had fastened the strip of papyrus with a pin to the pillow, she gathered together the few articles of clothing she would need for a short absence.162 doris now came stealing in; she had been listening outside the chamber. xenocles and his wife were not yet asleep, but were talking to each other; she had heard them utter the word “bride-man.”

xvii.

an hour later doris again glided through the open hall of the women’s apartment, called the prostas, to the chamber occupied by clytie’s parents. she listened, but heard nothing; the conversation seemed to have ceased. the room was one of the few apartments in a greek house that could be closed by a door. fortunately this door was ajar, but to slip in doris was obliged to push it farther open. scarcely had she touched it when she was startled by a loud, distinct creaking. she felt her cheeks grow bloodless, but she must go in. with the utmost caution she again took hold of the door, and this time it opened noiselessly. silently as a shadow she stole bare-footed into the room. a sultry, heavy atmosphere greeted her. she heard the breathing of the sleepers, but there was no other sound. from the peristyle the faint light of the night-heavens shone through the open doorway. doris saw the bed indistinctly; something light trailed on the floor beside it—doubtless a woman’s long robes hanging from a chain. she cautiously groped her way forward, fearing to knock against something and make a noise. there was a163 strange feeling of insecurity about her, and her feet seemed as heavy as lead. with dilated eyes she saw, or fancied that she saw, two human figures stretched upon the bed. advancing a few steps nearer she felt paralyzed with terror and on the point of falling. one of the figures sat upright in the bed and turned its face towards her. she could not see the eyes, but was aware that the person saw her distinctly.

“is it you, doris? what do you want?” a voice said, interrupting the silence.

doris knew the tones, though amid the darkness and stillness of the night they seemed to have a ghostly sound. it was maira who spoke.

the mother was so engrossed by the thought of her daughter’s wedding, that she had not been greatly startled by seeing doris glide in. the voice merely sounded a little surprised.

doris could not answer; it was impossible for her to utter a single word.

“what do you want so late?” maira said again, this time with a touch of impatience.

doris forced herself to control her voice.

“the key....” she stammered, “i want to get the key.”

“why?”

“the night-lamp has gone out, and i want to light it at the neighbor’s.”

“simpleton, you can light it from clytie’s. it is shining on the pillars outside.”

this was unanswerable—doris thought her cause164 lost. but the very magnitude of the danger forced her to calm herself. she drew a long breath, and once more felt in possession of her wits. she would have the key. and all the resolution and defiance that exist in a firm determination suddenly filled her soul so completely that, heedless whether she roused xenocles or not, she went straight to her goal.

“but i must have the key,” she replied in a tone that sounded cold and strange in her own ears, “i want to pour out the bath-water.”

“let it stand till morning.”

doris felt with her hand over the wall near the head of the bed and found the nail with the three-toothed key, which she took quietly without any extreme haste.

“i dare not let the water stand,” she said, “my mistress ordered me to pour it out.”

without waiting for a reply, she left the room as lightly as a feather, and breathless with joy and excitement ran back to clytie, before whom she triumphantly held aloft the key.

clytie clasped her in her arms and kissed her tenderly, then, without losing a moment, she gave her the bundle of clothes, threw a blue-striped kerchief over her head, and holding her faithful maid-servant’s hand, glided out of the room.

165

xviii.

clytie’s heart was throbbing with excitement. in passing on she raised the curtain hanging at the door of the apartment in which stood the images of the household gods, and bowing towards the little statues, wholly invisible in the gloom, murmured in a low tone:

“do not be wrathful, protectors of my race! do not desert me because i forsake you.”

then, accompanied by doris, she walked through the open hall into a large work-room set apart for women. the darkness here was so great that nothing was visible save two narrow grey streaks; these were the loop-holes in the wall, through which the room received its light by day. a warm atmosphere, the heat emanating from human bodies, greeted the fugitives, and they heard the heavy breathing of numerous sleepers. most of the female slaves of the household spent the night here on couches made of piles of cushions or felt rugs ranged along the wall. as doris moved towards the garden door she ran against something, probably a tall tripod. she hastily caught at it, but in the darkness missed her aim and it fell with a heavy crash, while a copper lamp which had stood upon it rattled on the stone floor. the slave women started from their sleep; the shrieks of one terrified166 the others till all vied in screaming. hasty footsteps crossed the peristyle, and a man’s voice cried angrily:

“what an ado! why are you yelling so? what is it?”

“hush, you simpletons!” said doris’ well-known tones, “do you take me for a thief who has lifted the door off its hinges or dug his way through under the wall?”

“what are you doing here?” asked the door-keeper of the women’s apartment; for it was he who had hurried in.

meantime doris had found the lock and put the key in it.

“oh, pshaw!” she replied, as though vexed by so much disturbance, “i’m going to pour out the bath-water. in the dark i ran against a tripod—it fell, and so they screamed as if they were possessed by some evil demon.”

with these words she opened the door, pushed clytie out, and followed herself.

the fugitives now found themselves in the garden. here the darkness was not too great to permit them to distinguish without difficulty the paths winding between the black masses of the shrubs and trees. a damp wind blew into their faces and the odor of the flowers was oppressively strong; they heard a rustling among the leaves, like the sound of dice dropping on a copper shield, and big drops fell singly.

after the anxiety she had experienced clytie felt unspeakable relief. it seemed as if she inhaled liberty167 with every breath of the night air, and she thought with a touch of joyful dread of meeting hipyllos. doris was still absorbed by the remembrance of the nocturnal disturbance in the house, but consoled herself by thinking that the door-keeper would explain everything.

outside the garden gate stood two dark figures. one wore his hair cut short—so he was a slave; the other had long locks, and though both appeared like dim black outlines clytie instantly recognized hipyllos by the stately way in which his mantle was draped about him—in itself sufficient to mark the young eupatride.

clytie’s heart beat faster, and she suddenly trembled in every limb as she had done the evening she stole out to meet the priestess of sabazius. she had scarcely stepped outside of the garden, when hipyllos hurried towards her.

“i thank you,” he said, “blessings on you for coming.”

the young girl made no reply; she was far too much agitated and confused to be able to utter a single word.

“you saw the necessity,” hipyllos continued, “and besides....”

he paused and, smiling, gazed into her face; he had never seen her look lovelier. the blue-striped kerchief she had thrown over her head cast a slight shadow upon her features, which lent them a mysterious charm.

168 ... “and besides,” he added, “you wrote that you trusted me.”

clytie raised her dark eyes to him.

hipyllos threw his arm around her waist, and though he felt a slight movement of resistance he led her in this way the short distance to the hired house where the priestess of sabazius lived. it was a dwelling called a tristegos, a three-storied house which belonged to sauros, the armorer, and stood close beside his workshop.

at the first subdued tap of the knocker, ninus was ready and opened the door.

hipyllos clasped both of clytie’s hands.

“we must part,” he said. “but, whatever happens, do not go home until you have received a message from me. and now farewell, you beautiful one, you darling, you light of my life!”

he pressed her to his breast, and ere she could prevent it he had snatched a kiss.

but clytie tore herself from his embrace, gathered the folds of her robe around her, and fled as lightly as a deer up the steps, where her slender figure vanished in the darkness.

hipyllos gazed after her.

“by aphrodite,” he exclaimed, “she is like a butterfly.”

169

xix.

maira did not sleep much that night. the next morning she was surprised not to see doris flitting about the house, and having found clytie’s room empty, she did not doubt that her daughter was in the garden with her favorite attendant. she went there and called repeatedly; but, when silence was the only reply, a presentiment of misfortune darted through her mind. she hurried back to clytie’s chamber, searched it, found the papyrus note on the pillow, and read its contents with breathless haste.

“merciful gods!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “gone—fled in the night!... clytie, clytie, how could you cause me such sorrow? make our house the scorn of envious neighbors—what will your father say? he will rage and curse you....”

suddenly a revulsion of feeling came over her.

“well, let him rage,” she murmured, “let him rage and call down curses.... to drive my clytie to this! how she must have suffered! but, by hera, he shall hear the truth.”

she was already on her way to her chamber, when she paused.

“what am i doing!” she exclaimed. “the first thing is to conceal clytie’s flight. no one must suspect that her room is empty.”

calling eunoa, the oldest female slave in the house,170 she said to her: “clytie is ill. sit down here outside of her door and let no one enter, not even her nurse. do exactly as i tell you.”

eunoa opened her eyes in astonishment; she had never heard her mistress speak in so curt and imperious a tone.

when maira entered her bed-room, there was a certain solemnity in her manner that attracted xenocles’ attention. stretching himself on the couch, he beckoned to her.

but, instead of taking her seat on the edge, maira remained standing before him, gazing steadily into his face. xenocles scarcely believed his eyes. it was the first time during the twenty years of their married life that his wife had not instantly done whatever he requested.

“sit down,” he repeated, again pointing to the seat.

maira did not seem to hear.

“i have evil tidings,” she said coldly. “a misfortune has happened to us during the night.”

“what is it? what is it?” cried the excitable little man, and pointing to the strip of papyrus she held in her hand, he asked: “is this the misfortune?”

“it is from clytie,” replied maira, and read the contents in a tone which seemed to imply that the matter was no concern of hers.

at the words: “forgive me, i must fly,” xenocles started and, with a stiff movement, as though both his limbs had suddenly become one, he swung himself up171 from his reclining posture and put his feet on the floor so that he sat erect on the couch. he seemed to have been struck speechless, and his hands fumbled with his belt, which he had not yet buckled.

he was thinking of clytie’s childhood, of her pretty, gentle face, her innocent caresses. his eyes filled with tears—he could not believe that she had gone.

maira was a good wife and loved her husband tenderly; but she was not more generous than the majority of the female sex. deeply as xenocles was moved, it did not occur to her to spare him. all that she had silently endured for years must be uttered.

“now we have no daughter,” she said, as a sort of preamble.

xenocles was silent, the muscles around his mouth twitched convulsively.

a pause ensued. at that early hour of the morning the house was so still that the flies were heard buzzing in the sunshine on the rush carpet inside the door.

“it would have been better,” maira continued, “if you had not always had your head filled with your plans and measurements for buildings. whole days passed without your saying a word to clytie or me, and if i spoke to you about anything that disturbed you, i was so harshly rebuffed that i often dared not address you. doris the slave-girl knew ten times as much about clytie’s affairs. by adrasteia, it’s an easy matter to be a father, if a man considers it enough to give his daughter home and clothes and food. but, if172 you had had any love for your child, had you suspected what she hoped and longed for, had you known what she feared more than death—this misfortune would not have befallen us.”

xenocles gazed at maira as though she were a stranger. he understood that it was maternal affection which made her so strong, and at the same time dimly felt that perhaps he had some reason to reproach himself.

he bent his head.

“what is to be done?” he murmured. “tell me, maira. you have always been a good wife to me.”

at these simple words all maira’s wrath vanished. she involuntarily sat down beside her husband and, as their eyes met, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“first,” she whispered, “we must conceal clytie’s flight. then you must—better now than later—go to acestor and tell him that clytie is ill and the wedding must be postponed. you can say she is delirious and no one is allowed to see her.”

xenocles rose.

“it will be a hard task,” he said.

fortunately acestor’s house stood in the melitan quarter so xenocles, while on his way to it, had time to clear his brain.

as he had feared, he found the slaves in the act of decorating the building with garlands and green branches.

173 “take all this down!” said the impetuous little man. “the bride is ill. there will be no wedding.”

the door-keeper, who was standing at the half-open door watching the slaves, heard these words and hurrying to his master, repeated them while announcing the visitor.

xenocles was not a man to stand waiting at an open door, especially in the house of his future son-in-law. he followed close behind, but while crossing the peristyle he started at the sound of a blow, and distinctly heard the words:

“take that, bird of misfortune, for your evil tidings.”

acestor received xenocles with a sullen face and frowning brow.

“is what this blockhead says true?” he asked, without letting xenocles have time to speak.

“the gods have given me a bitter cup to drain,” replied the little man with dignity. “my daughter has had a sudden attack of illness. she is delirious, and no one is permitted to see her. the wedding must be deferred.”

acestor made no reply, but stared angrily into vacancy.

“strange!” he muttered, “a bride who falls ill on her wedding day—who ever heard of such a thing? by zeus, this or something else seems to me a bad omen. do not forget that you owe me compensation and, by the gods, a double one. in the first place the girl is beautiful enough for many to desire to wed her,174 even without a dowry, and secondly i had calculated on the amount agreed upon as a sum of which i was sure.”

“i will think of it,” replied xenocles coldly, and went away even more displeased with acestor than with himself.

on the walk home he recalled the events of the morning and, as clytie’s flight, maira’s reproaches, and acestor’s greed passed through his mind, he sighed heavily and exclaimed:

“the gods know where all this will end.”

xx.

two days after the hetaeria assembled at lamon’s home. the house, where for many generations a large bleaching business had been carried on, stood on the side of the museium. all the water used was laboriously drawn up by slaves or beasts of burden; but on the other hand the dust of the city did not rise here, so the cloth could be dried in the open air, and moreover there was no trouble with road-inspectors on account of the waste-water. it ran down the hill-side unheeded.

to reach the door, customers from the lower part of the city were obliged to pass around the longest wing of the house; this inconvenience had been endured for many generations. they followed, as it175 were, the customs of their forefathers and the idea of change did not occur to them.

but lamon had understood how to help himself. by the side of the bleaching-room was one for hanging clothes which looked out upon the lower part of the city and this, for his customers’ convenience, he had transformed into an open shop, by first replacing the outer wall by a few pillars and then having a marble-topped counter built across the stone floor. on this customers laid their bundles and from it was delivered the finished work which, furnished with the owner’s mark, hung on the wall inside. in the evening the place of the outer wall was supplied by a curtain, and at night with a grating reaching from roof to floor.

in this room, next in size to the workshop, the secret society had assembled. it was late in the evening, and at each end of the counter lamps were burning on tall brass tripods. the green curtain between the pillars was drawn, and closed the apartment like a wall.

business discussions had not yet commenced; thuphrastos and hipyllos were talking about armor and weapons. xenocles had several times given signs of impatience, till at last sthenelus laughed, saying:

“let the weapons rest! xenocles has something to tell and, it seems to me, something important.”

“yes, by zeus, i have!” cried the eager little man and, glancing cautiously around him in every direction, he whispered: “i fear we are betrayed.”

176 acestor started from his couch.

“betrayed?” he repeated with evident anxiety.

xenocles looked enquiringly at sthenelus, who nodded assent.

“i was talking with sthenelus this morning at the market,” the little white-haired man continued. “we were standing in front of the arcade of zeus the liberator and, when we parted sthenelus called after me: ‘you know we meet this evening at lamon’s.’ the words were spoken by the statue of zeus the liberator. as i turned to go, sthenelus pointed to the ground. a little round shadow, like a man’s head, appeared in the great one cast by the pedestal. urged by the same fear, we both hurried behind the statue and saw a thin man with tangled hair walking rapidly away. he was scarcely ten paces from us.”

“who was the man?” asked acestor breathlessly.

“cephisodemos.”

“one of the most dangerous informers.”

“it’s all over with us!” murmured lysiteles rising.

drops of perspiration stood on acestor’s brow; nevertheless he strove to appear calm, and proposed that the meeting should break up and each person go to his own home.

thuphrastos took a different view of the matter. he wanted to judge for himself, and therefore asked one question after another. had the market echoed with shouts and cries or was the time for buying and selling over? how far from the statue were the speakers standing? he put these and several more177 questions, then when he had learned what he wished to know he shrugged his shoulders saying:

“no one can judge with certainty whether the spy heard anything or not, but an empty fear ought not to put men to flight. let us go on as though nothing had happened.”

there was such perfect calmness in thuphrastos’ manner that it communicated itself to the others. only acestor and lysiteles seemed undecided for a moment; but, when the others remained, they were ashamed to go and stayed also.

it was easy to see that acestor had had some great plan in view. he was clad in all the splendor with which he appeared in the popular assemblies; his long, carefully arranged hair was perfumed, he had donned a dazzlingly white chiton, adorned around the neck and at the bottom with an embroidered blue border, and on the fore-finger of his right hand he wore a large seal ring.

xxi.

acestor did not instantly commence what he had to say. calmness must first be restored to the minds of the assembly so, glancing with a smile around the circle, he began in a tone intended to command attention.

“is it not true, oh! my friends, that you would be178 greatly amazed if i said: ‘you have never seen athens.’”

“what do you mean?” exclaimed xenocles, who was always too impatient to like riddles.

“you know,” acestor continued, “that some faces, to appear beautiful, should be seen from the front, others from the side. that is the way with cities—some should be seen from the sea, others from the land....”

“and whence shall athens be seen?” asked xenocles, to whom this introduction seemed too long.

“by zeus, from this spot.”

lamon smiled.

“why yes,” he said, “pythocleides from ceos, pericles’ first teacher in the arts of the muses, came here in his old age. he was perfectly bewitched by the view of the city, and used to say afterwards: ‘no one has seen athens save he who has beheld it from lamon’s house on the museium.’”

“well then, show us athens!” cried sthenelus. “by pan, you have made me very curious though, having been born in the street of the sculptors, i thought i knew the city.”

lamon made a sign to acestor and the two men, each from his own side, drew the green curtain apart between the pillars.

the first impression was so overpowering that no one found words to praise it. beyond the dark frame formed by the roof, pillars, and floor of the apartment the whole space was filled with a subdued light, like a179 bluish mist. the moon itself was not visible; it was obliquely behind the house. the transition from the lamp-light had been so sudden that at first the group could see nothing; but scarcely had the tripods with the lamps been moved farther back ere the outlines of stately houses and the dark tops of trees began to appear.

in front of the house, towards the brow of the hill, was a stone balustrade, on which stood vases containing large-leaved plants. behind these, far down in the valley, were seen like a forest the wide-stretching kēpoi or gardens, amid whose dark poplars and cypresses shone here and there a curve of the ilissus, glittering like molten silver. not far from the foot of the hill spread the low limnae with its labyrinth of buildings, and the ancient sanctuary of dionysus, which seemed buried in the shadows of the night. farther away red specks of light gleamed through the dusk; they moved very slowly, meeting, crossing, and moving away from each other—they were the torches carried by pedestrians along the way leading from the citadel to the market. beyond this tract the ground rose in three or four lofty undulations, on whose crests appeared houses and trees, among the latter single palms, but distant and small, like delicately carved toys. between the largest of these hills the flat top and steep sides of the acropolis towered dark and frowning into the air. close against the cliff, as if comparing itself with it, stood the vast theatre of dionysus, over whose encircling wall the eye pierced the dark gulf formed by180 the steeply-rising seats. but on the summit, towering over the low limnae, glimmered the white marble temple, with its delicate, shadowy rows of columns, above which again rose the colossal statue of the patron goddess of athens, visible for miles away, as in motionless grandeur it seemed to both rule and watch.

a strangely sublime impress rested upon this whole landscape, where the gods had once wandered and where, so to speak, each spot was sacred. upon the height pallas athene had planted the olive-tree sacred to her, and yonder, by the shore of the ilissus, almost on the very spot where his altar stood, boreas had borne away the princess oreithyia. sometimes a cool evening breeze, following the course of the stream, swept through the valley. a distant, confused sound, the breathing of the half slumbering city, then reached the ear; but when the wind died away everything was still, and houses, trees, and mountains, steeped in the melancholy lustre of the moonbeams, once more rose before the eyes in majestic silence.

“magnificent! marvellous!” exclaimed little xenocles, extending his arms towards the city as though he would fain embrace it.

“friends,” said acestor, but paused while his glance wandered around the room as though in search of something.

sthenelus’ eyes twinkled; he knew all acestor’s tricks of art.

“why,” he said, “acestor wants the bema.l but181 if you are willing, lamon, surely he can speak from the marble counter.”

l orator’s stage.

lamon, who was again drawing the green curtain between the pillars, made a sign of assent.

sthenelus, spite of his lameness, dragged a bench up to the counter.

“the bema is ready,” he said, offering acestor his hand.

the latter took it, and stepped clumsily upon the bench and from the bench to the counter. he was apparently no adept in physical exercises and, when he visited the gymnasia, doubtless did so only to meet orators and poets in the arcades.

after having thrown back his head and shut his eyes to collect his thoughts, he extended both hands.

“friends,” he said, and his powerful voice filled the room so that it gave back a resonant echo, “what the eye-ball is to the eye, athens is to hellas. as an orator and teacher of the art of oratory, i have travelled through many lands and visited many cities. i don’t say this to pride myself upon it, but to show that i am competent to judge. i have seen what great cities are, and how they are governed. now i say to you: athens is going to her destruction! if i—which perhaps i am not quite unworthy to do—stood at the head of public affairs, i should know well what was needed. then, like a second pericles.”

at this comparison thuphrastos knit his brows; the blood rushed to his brain and, clenching his hands, he rose from the couch. every one was aware that he182 had known pericles and admired him with his whole soul.

there was perfect silence in the room. all eyes rested on thuphrastos, who walked straight to the counter, seized acestor by his bare leg, and shook him, saying:

“come to your senses, sacas! you forget how wide is the gulf between you and a pericles.”

at the slave name of sacas acestor sprung heavily down on the tiled floor. he was deadly pale, his eyes sparkled with a fierce, gloomy light, and he raised his hand to deal a blow.

thuphrastos did not make the slightest movement to parry it; folding his arms across his chest, he held his furious antagonist in check with his cold glance, as though he had been a vicious dog. for a moment the two men stood motionless, gazing into each other’s faces, then they felt a grasp on the arm that seemed like an iron band.

“no quarrelling!” said lamon’s deep voice and, as the simplest way of restoring peace, he seized acestor round the loins and lifted him on the counter as easily as if he had been a child. “talk on!” he added curtly, and returned to his seat without looking at him as though it was a matter of course that he should be obeyed.

acestor passed his hand across his brow several times, and it was long ere he could control his voice.

“if we desire to save athens,” he at last resumed, “we must manage to have the friends of the rulers183 kept away from the popular assemblies. then it will not be difficult to destroy them; for they have many foes.”

lamon and sthenelus uttered a murmur of disapproval.

it was a special agreement that the hetaeria should labor only for the advantage of fellow members, and not meddle in affairs of state. after exchanging glances with hipyllos, thuphrastos, to the surprise of every one, made a gesture as if he were not yet weary of hearing what acestor had to say. still, the latter felt that his listeners were not in harmony with him; he paused abruptly, as if his thoughts were eluding him, and then added, raising his voice louder and louder as though trying to deafen himself with his own words:

“charicles and aristocrates ought to resign their offices, peisandros must be banished and phanos, who has made so many citizens wretched by his pursuit of the hetaeriae, should not only forfeit his position as clerk, but have erected in some conspicuous place a pillar of infamy bearing his name.”

here acestor suddenly stopped and stared with dilated eyes at the curtain between the pillars, as though he had beheld through an opening all the horrors of hades. without adding another word, he jumped down from the counter and pointed with trembling hand to the threshold between the columns.

all followed the direction of his eyes.

under the green curtain was seen on each side a184 pair of feet. the sight of these motionless feet aroused an indescribable excitement among the men. at first no one believed his eyes; then all rose from their couches. it was so still that, for the first time in the course of the evening, the water was heard trickling in the fulling-room adjoining.

“dunces of slaves!” muttered lamon, shaking his clenched hand towards the interior of the house. “you have forgotten the garden. they have come upon us from the hill.”

hipyllos exchanged a significant glance with thuphrastos and, pointing to acestor, said in a very low tone:

“it has turned out differently from what we expected. the jest has become earnest.”

xxii.

scarcely had the sudden silence warned those standing outside that they were discovered, when the curtain was drawn back.

the clerk phanos, the persecutor of the hetaeriae, entered the room, while his companion, a subaltern officer of the city police, remained standing at the entrance.

“the house is surrounded!” cried the latter in a loud voice. “no one can escape.”

with these words he pulled the curtain farther aside185 and beyond it appeared, like a living wall, the dark figures of the toxoternae or bowmen, whose helmets, spears, and shields flashed in the torchlight.

all eyes were fixed on phanos, a small, stout man, with a pale, handsome face. a lock of black hair hung low on his forehead, but the most remarkable thing about him was his eyes—a pair of clear, light-blue eyes, sparkling with intelligence, whose gaze was doubly piercing because he bent his head a little and looked out from under his eye-brows. it was evident that those eyes forgot no one, and that each person on whom they rested might as well have been recorded in a book. he wore a plain white robe, entirely without ornament, and had thrown a brown mantle around him.

at sight of phanos acestor made a movement as though he were about to escape through the peristyle. “where are you going?” whispered thuphrastos. “you will run directly into the arms of the archers. no, hide, hide!—phanos has heard every word.”

“in there!” added xenocles hastily, pointing to the door of the bleaching-room. “he hasn’t seen you yet. perhaps you will be forgotten.”

acestor crept behind the counter and stole like a thief into the bleaching-room, closing the door carefully behind him.

it was quite time. half a score of the slaves of the city police pressed in from the peristyle and watched every exit, among them the door through which acestor had slipped.

186 while this was happening phanos had gazed sternly around him, but at the sight of thuphrastos and xenocles his face brightened. approaching lamon, the owner of the house, he held out his hand.

“lamon,” he said, in so loud a tone that the officer and slaves could hear, “it is fortunate for you that i meet men like thuphrastos and xenocles here. i know them—they are plotting no evil. your hetaeria does not seem to be of the sort we so rigidly pursue. you are office-seekers, not men striving to usurp the government. i have now seen with my own eyes.... yet—did i not hear a chatterer shrieking among you? he has shouted intolerably long; i’ll close his lips.”

“if you heard that,” replied lamon, “you must have heard our disapproval.”

“well then,” continued phanos, “speak frankly. to what places do you want to be elected?”

lamon—and then the others—obeyed the command without hesitation.

“very well!” phanos then continued, “promise to break up the hetaeria, and you shall lose nothing. the places of which we dispose are not dependent upon election, but are appointments. but there must be no more meetings of the hetaeria. if, in spite of your promise, you secretly assemble, woe betide you! no punishment will be too severe for us.”

without bending an inch, or condescending to flattery, thuphrastos thanked the clerk for his consideration and, after having exchanged glances with lamon187 and the others, promised, in the name of himself and his friends, to disband the hetaeria.

phanos now turned towards hipyllos, the youngest of the group.

“bring me that shrieker,” he said to him, “the only one of you who fled.” and, with a smile that showed he had noticed everything, he pointed to the door of the bleaching-room and added, “you’ll find him in there.”

no command could have been more welcome to hipyllos. his heart throbbed with joyous anticipation; he had a presentiment that he was near his aim.

xxiii.

the sentinel at the door made way at a sign from phanos, and hipyllos hurried into the bleaching-room.

a suffocating odor of sulphur, mingled with a horrible smell of urine and soap, greeted him. a copper lamp was burning on a tripod placed near the wall, and he scanned the whole apartment with a single glance. at the back were five recesses in the wall containing reservoirs of water, where lay soaking the material to be stamped by the slaves on the morrow. in the middle of the workshop stood a large stone table, on which lay some batlets. on the left, over a pole under the ceiling, hung a purple robe, in whose lower folded part was flung an iron teasel. behind this article of clothing one could see the drying-room, where hipyllos188 noticed hundreds of garments hanging on long poles. he was going to creep under them, when he heard a smothered sound from the opposite direction. here, ranged along the wall, stood a number of wicker baskets, the height of a man, which resembled hen-coops. clothes were spread over five or six where, as the vapor in the room showed, sulphur had been recently lighted to give them the requisite whiteness. from one of the centre ones issued a strange stifled moaning.

“i have him!” murmured hipyllos smiling, as he took hold of the handle on top shaped like an owl, the sacred bird of athens. when he had removed the basket, acestor sat crouching before him with half-closed eyes, panting and groaning, almost fainting. the sulphur under the clothes had nearly smothered him, and hipyllos found it difficult to lift him upon his legs.

but how entirely transformed was the stately acestor! a couple of small metal jars filled with powdered sulphur had been placed under the basket, ready for the next day’s bleaching. in his confusion and terror acestor had overturned them and, as he had afterwards pressed his hands on his head, he had filled his hair, eye-brows, and beard with sulphur, besides yellow spots on his nose, forehead, and cheeks. he had no sooner taken a few long breaths when he began to sneeze as though his head would burst. he seemed to be completely stupefied; his limbs tottered under him and he allowed himself to be led like a child.

189 without wasting a word upon him, hipyllos brought him before the waiting group.

at sight of this pitiful figure all burst into a shout of laughter; even the slaves mounting guard laughed till the spears shook in their hands.

“why, why,” said phanos, “is this the hero who banishes officials and erects pillars of infamy? who would believe it? does he look like a murderer?”

a fresh burst of laughter greeted the words.

“but—dangerous or not,” phanos continued, “he has committed a crime and deserves punishment.”

“what has he done?” asked xenocles.

“he is a spurious citizen. his father’s name cannot be found in the temple of apollo patrous.”

acestor raised his head and fixed his eyes on phanos with a venomous glance.

“you are mistaken,” he said. “it can be found there.”

“where?”

“by the side of your father’s name.”

phanos recoiled a step as though struck by an invisible shaft; but the next moment the veins in his temples swelled, and his eyes flashed.

“wretch!” he exclaimed, his lips quivering with indignation. “my father’s name is not to be found in the temple—he was, as every one knows, a freedman. nevertheless, my right to citizenship is a legal one, bestowed for services rendered to the state. note this, gobryas, son of tisamenos.”

these words fell upon acestor like a thunder-bolt.190 at hearing his name, his real name, which he had believed concealed from every one, he perceived that all was discovered.

throwing himself at phanos’ feet, he raised his arms submissively.

“mercy!” he murmured, “mercy!”

“do you know the dungeons in the cliff?” asked phanos sternly.

acestor made a sign of assent.

“well! sthenelus can tell you what rumor says of them.”

merry sthenelus limped a few steps nearer, cleared his throat, and answered in a sepulchral voice:

“rumor says that prisoners walk into them, but are carried out, feet foremost.”

acestor kissed the edge of phanos’ robe.

“mercy!” he cried. “mercy! forgive my evil speech.”

“spare him,” said xenocles.

“let him run,” added thuphrastos.

“well then,” replied phanos, “you boasted of your travels, acestor. you must journey farther still. if you don’t want to have your hair clipped and become a slave for having your name spuriously inserted on the citizens’ list, you must leave athens before to-morrow noon.”

acestor bowed his head under phanos’ hand in token of submission.

“milon!” shouted phanos.

191 the officer of the city-watch, who was still mounting guard inside the curtain, came forward.

“follow this man,” said phanos, pointing to acestor, “and don’t lose sight of him. when he has quitted athens, report to me.”

milon grasped acestor’s arm and went away with him.

xenocles gazed after them.

“by zeus!” he exclaimed, “believe me or not as you choose, but i’ve always had a presentiment that the eagle might become a crow.”

“and i,” replied thuphrastos, “have always seen the crow, never the eagle.”

when, soon after, the house was cleared of the city-watch, the friends looked at each other a moment in silence.

“who has done this?” asked lamon.

thuphrastos shrugged his shoulders.

“is there any way of knowing who has denounced an hetaeria?” he muttered.

“it was probably megas,” whispered lysiteles in his faint, cracked voice.

“no,” replied sthenelus positively, “had it been he, by zeus, he would have been with them. megas would have wanted to enjoy the sight of our faces when we were surprised. no, it was not he. i think it was cephidosemos, who watched xenocles and myself from behind the column. as an informer he is afraid of drawing hatred on his head, so he keeps away.”

192 thuphrastos passed his hand thoughtfully over his beard.

“what offices can phanos bestow upon us?” he asked.

“i have heard,” answered lamon, “that a tax-collector is to be sent to some of the rebellious cities. he will have hundreds of soldiers with him. it would not surprise me, thuphrastos, if you should be appointed to that office.”

“well!” exclaimed the old captain, “i shall rely on phanos’ words. he never forgets.”

“we will all trust him!” echoed the group in chorus.

“but,” continued thuphrastos, turning to xenocles, “however we may fare, there is one person who will lose....”

“whom do you mean?”

“by zeus, your daughter! was she not betrothed to acestor, and was not the wedding to have taken place this very day?”

xenocles made a repellent gesture.

“do not speak of it!” he cried.

“well then,” replied thuphrastos, “i’ll give you a son-in-law and, by the gods, a better one than that chatterer.”

xenocles raised his head with a questioning glance.

“the man i shall bring you is not far off,” continued thuphrastos. “here you see hipyllos! he loves the maiden. we know of him—what nobody knew about that shrieker—that he is rich. he showed193 his courage at the battle of antirrhium—he has archons in his family. what more can you desire?”

“nothing, by zeus!” answered xenocles laughing and grasping the young man’s hand, “what objection should i have to a son-in-law who will make me a family connection of lacrateides?”

hipyllos pressed xenocles’ hand in both his own.

“father!” he cried warmly, “give me your daughter clytie! neither you nor she shall repent it—that i swear by all the gods.”

soon after hipyllos stole out into the peristyle and called his slave.

“myrmex,” he whispered, “hurry down to the house of sauros, the armorer. ask for ninus, the priestess of sabazius, and let her see that the young lady and her slave return home at once without being seen. look, here is money.”

when hipyllos returned, the last discussion among the hetaeria took place. it lasted an hour; finally the members of the society released one another from their oaths and divided the money which had been contributed.

as soon as possible hipyllos slipped away, without taking leave of any one except lamon, the owner of the house.

194

xxiv.

hipyllos walked swiftly down the hill. he wanted to be the first to carry the glad tidings to clytie.

about half way he met myrmex, who was apparently returning after having performed his errand. as the way was stony and the moon often concealed behind clouds the old man had lighted a torch, but hipyllos wanted neither him nor his torch—he let the moon light him as best it could and hurried past him, exclaiming:

“follow me, and put out the torch when you enter the street.”

then, leaping rather than walking down the hill, he turned into the dark, shaded limnae, and soon saw the familiar ray of light stream out to meet him from the side-building of xenocles’ house. hurrying towards it, he picked up a pebble from the ground and flung it against the wall.

the red curtain was drawn aside and in the opening appeared the object of his longing—clytie! as the lamp stood back in the room the rays divided and left her almost in darkness, but the youthful figure formed a shadowy outline, which was quite enough to195 make a lover’s heart throb. though hipyllos was unable to distinguish her features, the luxuriant hair, the childish roundness of the cheeks, and the graceful slope of the shoulders possessed bewitching suggestions of youthful beauty, and hipyllos knew that these signs were no delusions.

spite of the darkness outside, clytie recognized him and exclaimed:

“eternal gods! what has happened? good or evil fortune? speak, speak, i implore you.”

hipyllos listened in delight. every word uttered by the young girl’s lips echoed with a silvery cadence upon the silence of the night.

he pushed a log against the wall with his foot, and sprang upon it.

“dear, lovely clytie,” he whispered, “give me your hand! what i have to say is surely worth a clasp of the fingers.”

he now told her in a few words the events of the evening; but he was apparently not satisfied with a mere clasp of the hand.

suddenly the street was illumined by a broad ray of light and, though hipyllos’ shadow, gigantic and strangely distorted, fell on the wall and the loop-hole it was not difficult for the new-comers to see that he was in the act of pressing his lips upon a dazzlingly white arm, which vainly strove to escape the caress.

“aha!” cried an angry voice, “a pretty sight, by heracles....”

196 clytie, with a half-stifled shriek, vanished from the loop-hole and hipyllos, turning, leaped down from the log.

accompanied by a slave bearing a blazing torch xenocles, after following a cross-path over the hill, had just emerged from the shrubbery. hipyllos had not thought that the active little man, spite of his age, was almost as agile in his gait as he himself.

xenocles seemed furiously enraged, and struck fiercely at the youth with his clenched fists.

“begone!” he shouted. “begone from my sight. do you suppose i will give my daughter to a rake who steals to the maiden’s room in the darkness of night. be off from here, i say; clytie shall never be your wife.”

at these words hipyllos turned deadly pale and his head swam. now that all obstacles were removed, now that he believed himself at the goal of his wishes, this had happened so unexpectedly that it seemed as though the earth had yawned under his feet.

throwing himself at xenocles’ feet, he clasped his knees and with tears in his eyes exclaimed in the most imploring accents: “my father, punish me, let me be scourged by your slaves—i will offer my back to them myself, but forgive me! your daughter is dearer to me than the light of my eyes.”

a singular twitching convulsed xenocles’ features; he averted his face, but unable to control himself, burst into a loud laugh.

197 “young man,” he said, when he was once more capable of speech, “confess that i gave you a terrible fright. but,” he added, raising his voice, “you both deserved it—she not less than you. now i understand the whole affair—had she not been accompanied by you, she would never have dared to fly from her father’s house at night.”

hipyllos scarcely knew himself how he took leave of xenocles. now that everything had resulted happily he was fairly intoxicated with joy. attended by myrmex he wandered about, revelling in his delight, through the moon-lit night. what cared he for the rough rioters he met, or the muffled thieves who watched behind the altars on the cross-roads.

did not everything seem to smile upon him? he had come into the “gardens,” the loveliest part of athens. in the centre of the ground sloping towards the river towered a tall plane-tree at whose foot a fountain rippled; around it stretched thickets of agnus castus trees, against whose dark background white statues were clearly relieved. of the nine sanctuaries in this quarter the marble temple of aphrodite gleamed through dark, towering cypresses; below it the waves of the ilissus, consecrated to the muses, sparkled in their deep channel, and from a path along the bank of the stream gay conversation echoed upon the silence of the night. suddenly a youthful voice, which seemed the embodiment of light-heartedness, began the following song:

198

“wherefore, prithee, need i learn justice, law, and oratory? wherefore must i my thoughts turn to things valueless to me? let me rather gaily seek with my friends for mirth and joy, teach me tender words to speak and with fair aphrodite toy.”

hipyllos softly repeated the last words of the song. he felt as though, like the gods themselves, he was walking on the clouds. just at that moment repeated groans happened to attract his attention, and turning he saw that his old slave could scarcely keep up with him.

“what is the matter, myrmex?” he asked good-naturedly. “don’t you see that i am as happy as a god—and here you are growing worse than sisyphus himself.”

“don’t be angry,” whined the old man. “it is growing late. haven’t we walked far enough to-day?”

“well then—home!” replied hipyllos laughing, “but to-morrow....”

“what are you going to do?” asked myrmex rather anxiously.

“to-morrow i shall go to the lyceium to listen to the wise teachings of hippias from elis. he who can boast of being able to answer any question must surely be a man of varied knowledge.”

“and what do you want him to teach you?”

“first to make happiness a household goddess.”

199 “and next?”

“to bind her wings.”

“so that she can always stay with you?”

“even so, wise myrmex.”