A Victor of Salamis

by William Stearns Davis

  CHAPTER XI

  THE PANATHENAEA

  Flowers on every head, flowers festooned about each pillar, and flowersunder foot when one crossed the Agora. Beneath the sheltering porticoslurked bright-faced girls who pelted each passer with violets, narcissus,and hyacinths. For this was the morn of the final crowning day of thePanathenaea, greatest, gladdest of Athenian festivals.

  Athletic contests had preceded it and stately Pyrrhic dances of men infull armour. There had been feasting and merry-making despite thedarkening shadow of the Persian. Athens seemed awakened only to rejoice.To-day was the procession to the Acropolis, the bearing of the sacred robeto Athena, the public sacrifice for all the people. Not even the peril ofXerxes could hinder a gladsome holiday.

  The sun had just risen above Hymettus, the Agora shops were closed, butthe plaza itself and the lesches--the numerous little club houses aboutit--overran with gossipers. On the stone bench before one of these buzzedthe select coterie that of wont assembled in Clearchus's booth; only Polusthe juror now and then nodded and snored. He had sat up all night hearingthe priestesses chant their ceaseless litanies on the Acropolis.

  "Guilty--I vote guilty," the others heard him muttering, as his head sanklower.

  "Wake up, friend," ordered Clearchus; "you're not condemning any poorscoundrel now."

  "_Ai!_ ah!" Polus rubbed his eyes, "I only thought I was dropping theblack bean--"

  "Against whom?" quoth Crito, the fat contractor.

  "Whom? Why that aristocrat Glaucon, surely,--to-night--" Polus suddenlychecked himself and began to roll his eyes.

  "You've a dreadful grievance against him," remarked Clearchus; "the godsknow why."

  "The wise patriot can see many things," observed Polus, complacently,"only I repeat--wait till to-night--and then--"

  "What then?" demanded all the others.

  "Then you shall see," announced the juror, with an oratorical flourish ofhis dirty himation, "and not you only but all of Athens."

  Clearchus grinned.

  "Our dear Polus has a vast sense of his own importance. And who has beenmaking you partner of the state secrets--Themistocles?"

  "A man almost his peer, the noble patriot Democrates. Ask Phormio's wife,Lampaxo; ask--" Once more he broke off to lay a finger on his lips. "Thiswill be a notable day for Athens!"

  "Our good friend surely thinks so!" rejoined the potter, dryly; "but sincehe won't trust us with his precious secret, I think it much moreinteresting to watch the people crossing the square. The procession mustbe gathering outside the Dipylon Gate. Yonder rides Themistocles now totake command."

  The statesman cantered past on a shining white Thessalian. At his heelswere prancing Cimon, Democrates, Glaucon, and many another youth of thenoble houses of Athens. At sight of the son of Conon, Polus had wagged hishead in a manner utterly perplexing to his associates, and they were againperplexed when they saw Democrates wheel back from the side of his chiefand run up for a hurried word with a man in the crowd they recognized asAgis.

  "Agis is a strange fish to have dealings with a 'steward' of theprocession to-day," wondered Crito.

  "You'll be enlightened to-morrow," said Polus, exasperatingly. Then as theband of horsemen cantered down the broad Dromos street, "Ah, me,--I wish Icould afford to serve in the cavalry. It's far safer than tugging a spearon foot. But there's one young man out yonder on whose horse I'd notgladly be sitting."

  "_Phui_," complained Clearchus, "you are anxious to eat Glaucon skin andbones! There goes his wife now, all in white flowers and ribbons, to takeher place in the march with the other young matrons. Zeus! But she is ashandsome as her husband."

  "She needn't 'draw up her eyebrows,' "(6) growled the juror, viciously;"they're marks of disloyalty even in her. Can't you see she wears shoes ofthe Theban model, laced open so as to display her bare feet, thougheverybody knows Thebes is Medizing? She's no better than Glaucon."

  "Hush," ordered Clearchus, rising, "you have spoken folly enough. Thosetrumpets tell us we must hasten if we hope to join in the marchourselves."

  * * * * * * *

  Who can tell the great procession? Not the maker of books,--what words calldown light on the glancing eyes, on the moving lines of colour? Not theartist,--his pencil may not limn ten thousand human beings, beautiful andglad, sweeping in bright array across the welcoming city. Nor can thesculptor's marble shape the marching forms, the rippling draperies, thewarm and buoyant life. The life of Athens was the crown of Greece. Thefestival of the Panathenaea was the crown of Athens.

  Never had Helios looked down on fairer landscape or city. The doors of thepatrician houses were opened; for a day unguarded, unconstrained, thedaughters, wives, and mothers of the nobility of Athens walked forth intheir queenly beauty. One could see that the sculptor's master works werebut rigid counterparts of lovelier flesh and blood. One could seeveterans, stalwart almost as on the day of the old-time battles, butcrowned with the snow of years. One could see youths, and need no longermarvel the young Apollo was accounted fair. Flowers, fluttering mantles,purple, gold, the bravery of armour, rousing music--what was missing? Allconjoined to make a perfect spectacle.

  The sun had chased the last vapours from the sky. The little ravines ondistant Hymettus stood forth sharply as though near at hand. The sun grewhot, but men and women walked with bared heads, and few were the untannedcheeks and shoulders. Children of the South, and lovers of the Sun-King,the Athenians sought no shelter, their own bright humour rejoicing in thelight.

  On the broad parade ground outside the Dipylon, the towering northwesterngate, the procession gathered. Themistocles the Handsome, never moregallant than now upon the white Thessalian, was ordering the array, theten young men, "stewards of the Panathenaea," assisting. He sent his lastglance down the long files, his ivory wand signed to the musicians in thevan.

  "Play! march!"

  Fifty pipers blew, fifty citharas tinkled. The host swept into the city.

  Themistocles led. Under the massy double gate caracoled the charger. Therobe of his rider blew out behind him like purple wings. There was the cryand clang of cymbals and drums. From the gray battlement yellow daisiesrained down like gold. Cantering, halting, advancing, beckoning, the chiefwent forward, and behind swept the "knights," the mounted chivalry ofAthens,--three hundred of the noblest youths of Attica, on beasts sleek andspirited, and in burnished armour, but about every helm a wreath. Behindthe "knights" rode the magistracy, men white-headed and grave, someriding, some in flower-decked cars. After these the victors in the gamesand contests of the preceding day. Next the elders of Athens--men ofblameless life, beautiful in hale and honoured age. Next the _ephebi_,--theyouths close to manhood, whose fair limbs glistened under their sweepingchitons. Behind them, their sisters, unveiled, the maidens of Athens,walking in rhythmic beauty, and with them their attendants, daughters ofresident foreigners. Following upon these was the long line of bleatingvictims, black bulls with gilded horns and ribbon-decked rams withoutblemish. And next--but here the people leaned from parapet, house-roof,portico, and shouted louder than ever:

  "The car and the robe of Athena! Hail, _Io, paean!_ hail!"

  Up the street on a car shaped like a galley moved the peplus, the greatrobe of the sovran goddess. From afar one could see the wide folds spreadon a shipyard and rippling in the breeze. But what a sail! One year longhad the noblest women of Attica wrought on it, and all the love and artthat might breathe through a needle did not fail. It was a sheen ofglowing colour. The strife of Athena with the brutish giants, her contestwith Arachne, the deeds of the heroes of Athens--Erechtheus, Theseus,Codrus: these were some of the pictures. The car moved noiselessly onwheels turned by concealed mechanism. Under the shadow of the sail walkedthe fairest of its makers, eight women, maids and young matrons, clothedin white mantles and wreaths, going with stately tread, unmoved by theshouting as though themselves divine. Seven walked together. But one,t
heir leader, went before,--Hermione, child of Hermippus.

  Many an onlooker remembered this sight of her, the deep spiritual eyes,the symmetry of form and fold, the perfect carriage. Fair wishes flew outto her like doves.

  "May she be blessed forever! May King Helios forever bring her joy!"

  Some cried thus. More thought thus. All seemed more glad for beholdingher.

  Behind the peplus in less careful array went thousands of citizens ofevery age and station, all in festival dress, all crowned with flowers.They followed the car up the Dromos Street, across the cheering Agora, andaround the southern side of the Acropolis, making a full circuit of thecitadel. Those who watched saw Glaucon with Democrates and Cimon givetheir horses to slaves, and mount the bare knoll of Areopagus, lookingdown upon the western face of the Acropolis. As the procession swung aboutto mount the steep, Hermione lifted her glance to Areopagus, saw herhusband gazing down on her, raised her hands in delighted gesture, and heanswered her. It was done in the sight of thousands, and the thousandssmiled with the twain.

  "Justice! The beautiful salutes the beautiful." And who thought the lessof Hermione for betraying the woman beneath the mien of the goddess?

  But now the march drew to an end. The procession halted, reformed,commenced the rugged way upward. Suddenly from the bastion of theAcropolis above wafted new music. Low, melancholy at first, as the pipersand harpers played in the dreamy Lydian mode, till, strengthening into thebolder AEolic, the strains floated down, inviting, "Come up hither," thenstronger still it pealed in the imperious crash of the Doric as theprocession mounted steadily. Now could be seen great Lamprus, Orpheus'speer, the master musician, standing on the balcony above the gate, beatingtime for the loud choral.

  A chorus amongst the marchers and a second chorus in the citadel joinedtogether, till the red crags shook,--singing the old hymn of the Homeridaeto Athena, homely, rude, yet dear with the memory of ages:--

  "Pallas Athena, gray-eyed queen of wisdom, Thy praise I sing! Steadfast, all holy, sure ward of our city, Triton-born rule whom High Zeus doth bring Forth from his forehead. Thou springest forth valiant; The clangour swells far as thy direful arms ring.

  "All the Immortals in awed hush are bending, Beautiful, terrible, thy light thou'rt sending Flashed from thine eyes and thy pitiless spear. Under thy presence Olympus is groaning, Earth heaves in terrors, the blue deeps are moaning; 'Wisdom, the All-Seeing Goddess is here!'

  "Now the sea motionless freezes before thee; Helios, th' Sun-Lord, draws rein to adore thee; Whilst thou, O Queen, puttest on divine might. Zeus, the deep-councillor, gladly greets thee! Hail, Holy Virgin--our loud paean meets thee, PALLAS, CHASTE WISDOM, DISPELLER OF NIGHT!"

  Up the face of the Rock, up the long, statue-lined way, till through thegate the vision burst,--the innumerable fanes and altars, the assembly ofsingers and priests, the great temple in its pride of glittering marble.Clearer, stronger sounded the choral, shot up through the limpid azure;swaying, burning, throbbing, sobs and shouting, tears and transports, somounted new strains of the mighty chorus, lit through with the flames ofHomeric verse. Then stronger yet was the mingling of voices, earth, sky,deep, beasts' cry and gods' cry, all voiced, as chorus answered to chorus.Now the peplus was wafted on a wave of song toward the temple'sdawn-facing portal, when from beneath the columns, as the tall valvesturned and the sun leaped into the cella, hidden voices returned theformer strains--mournful at first. Out of the adytum echoed a cry ofanguish, the lament of the Mother of Wisdom at her children's deathlyignorance, which plucks them down from the Mount of the Beautiful Vision.But as the thousands neared, as its paeans became a prayer, as yearninganswered to yearning, lo! the hidden song swelled and soared,--for thegoddess looked for her own, and her own were come to her. And thus inbeneath the massy pediment, in through the wide-flung doors, floated thepeplus, while under its guardian shadow walked Hermione.

  So they brought the robe to Athena.

  * * * * * * *

  Glaucon and his companions had watched the procession ascend, thenfollowed to see the sacrifice upon the giant altar. The King Archon cutthe throat of the first ox and made public prayer for the people. Woodsoaked in perfumed oil blazed upon the huge stone platform of thesacrifice. Girls flung frankincense upon the roaring flames. The musiccrashed louder. All Athens seemed mounting the citadel. The chiefpriestess came from the holy house, and in a brief hush proclaimed thatthe goddess had received the robe with all favour. After her came themakers of the peplus, and Hermione rejoined her husband.

  "Let us not stay to the public feast," was her wish; "let these huckstersand charcoal-burners who live on beans and porridge scramble for a bit ofburned meat, but we return to Colonus."

  "Good then," answered Glaucon, "and these friends of course go with us."

  Cimon assented readily. Democrates hesitated, and while hesitating wasseized by the cloak by none other than Agis, who gave a hasty whisper andvanished in the swirling multitude before Democrates could do more thannod.

  "He's an uncanny fox," remarked Cimon, mystified; "I suppose you know hisreputation?"

  "The servant of Athens must sometimes himself employ strange servants,"evaded the orator.

  "Yet you might suffer your friends to understand--"

  "Dear son of Miltiades," Democrates's voice shook in the slightest, "themeaning of my dealings with Agis I pray Athena you may never have cause toknow."

  "Which means you will not tell us. Then by Zeus I swear the secret nodoubt is not worth the knowing." Cimon stopped suddenly, as he saw a lookof horror on Hermione's face. "Ah, lady! what's the matter?"

  "Glaucon," she groaned, "frightful omen! I am terrified!"

  Glaucon's hands dropped at her cry. He himself paled slightly. In one ofhis moods of abstraction he had taken the small knife from his belt andbegun to pare his nails,--to do which after a sacrifice was reputed aninfallible means of provoking heaven's anger. The friends were grave andsilent. The athlete gave a forced laugh.

  "The goddess will be merciful to-day. To-morrow I will propitiate her witha goat."

  "Now, now, not to-morrow," urged Hermione, with white lips, but herhusband refused.

  "The goddess is surfeited with sacrifices this morning. She would forgetmine."

  Then he led the rest, elbowing the way through the increasing swarms ofyoung and old, and down into the half-deserted city. Democrates left themin the Agora, professing great stress of duties.

  "Strange man," observed Cimon, as he walked away; "what has he this pastmonth upon his mind? That Persian spy, I warrant. But the morning wanes.It's a long way to Colonus. 'Let us drink, for the sun is in the zenith.'So says Alcaeus--and I love the poet, for he like myself is always thirsty."

  The three went on to the knoll of Colonus where Glaucon dwelt. Cimon wasoverrunning with puns and jests, but the others not very merry. The omenof Glaucon's thoughtlessness, or something else, made husband and wifesilent, yet it was a day when man or maid should have felt their spiritsrise. The sky had never been brighter, not in Athens. Never had themountains and sea spread more gloriously. From the warm olive-grovessounded the blithesome note of the Attic grasshopper. The wind sweepingover the dark cypresses by the house set their dark leaves to talking. Theafternoon passed in pleasure, friends going and coming; there waslaughter, music, and good stories. Hermione at least recovered part of herbrightness, but her husband, contrary to all custom, remained taciturn,even melancholy. At last as the gentle tints of evening began to coverhill and plain and the red-tiled roofs of the ample city, all the friendswere gone, saving only Cimon, and he--reckless fellow--was well able todispense with companionship, being, in the words of Theognis, "notabsolutely drunk, nor sober quite." Thus husband and wife found themselvesalone together on the marble bench beneath the old cypress.

  "Oh, _makaire_! dearest and best," asked Hermione, her hands touching hisface, "is it the omen that makes you grow so sad? For the sun of your lifeis s
o seldom under clouds that when it is clouded at all, it seems as deepdarkness."

  He answered by pressing back her hair, "No, not the omen. I am not a slaveto chance like that. Yet to-day,--the wise God knows wherefore,--there comesa sense of brooding fear. I have been too happy--too blessed withfriendship, triumph, love. It cannot last. Clotho the Spinner will wearyof making my thread of gold and twine in a darker stuff. Everything lovelymust pass. What said Glaucus to Diomedes? 'Even as the race of leaves, solikewise are those of men; the leaves that now are, the wind scattereth,and the forest buddeth forth more again; thus also with the race of men,one putteth forth, another ceaseth.' So even my joy must pass--"

  "Glaucon,--take back the words. You frighten me."

  He felt her in his arms trembling, and cursed himself for what he haduttered.

  "A blight upon my tongue! I have frightened you, and without cause. Surelythe day is bright enough, surely Athena having been thus far good we cantrust her goodness still. Who knows but that it be many a year before oursun comes to his setting!"

  He kissed her many times. She grew comforted, but they had not beentogether long when they were surprised by the approach of Themistocles andHermippus. Hermione ran to her father.

  "Themistocles and I were summoned hither," explained Hermippus, "by amessage from Democrates bidding us come to Colonus at once, on an urgentmatter touching the public weal."

  "He is not here. I cannot understand," marvelled Glaucon; but while hespoke, he was interrupted by the clatter of hoofs from a party of horsemenspurring furiously and heading from the pass of Daphni.