“Nay;” replied Eudora: “My heart is sad; but not for the perished genii of the flowers.”
Philothea understood the import of her words; and pressing her hand affectionately, said, “Your love has been as balm to my lonely heart; and let that remembrance comfort you, when I go hence. Listen in stillness to the whispered warnings of your attendant spirit, and he will never leave you. I am weary; and would fain repose on your affectionate bosom.”
Eudora gently placed her head as she desired; and carefully supporting the precious burden, she began to sing, in low and soothing tones.
After some time, the quiet and regular respiration of the breath announced that the invalid had fallen into tranquil slumber. Mibra came, to ask if the lamps were wanted; but receiving a silent signal from Eudora, she crept noiselessly away.
For more than an hour, there was perfect stillness, as the shades of evening deepened. All at once, the room was filled with soft, clear light! Eudora turned her head quickly, to discover whence it came; but could perceive no apparent cause for the sudden radiance.
With an undefined feeling of awe, she looked in the countenance of her friend. It was motionless as marble; but never had she seen anything so beautiful, and so unearthly.
As she gazed, doubting whether this could indeed be death, there was a sound of music in the air—distinct, yet blended, like the warbling of birds in the spring-time.
It was the tune Paralus had learned from celestial harps; and even after the last note floated away, Eudora seemed to hear the well-remembered words:
Come hither, kindred spirits, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!
CHAPTER XVIII.
Take courage! no vain dream hast thou beheld,
But in thy sleep a truth.
Homer
At the time of Philothea’s death, Pandænus, the nephew of Phidias, was in Athens, intending soon to return to Elis, in company with an ambassador bound to Lacedæmon; and Eudora resolved to avail herself of this opportunity to follow the farewell advice of her friend. As the time for departure was near at hand, no change was made in household arrangements; and though the desolate maiden at times experienced sensations of extreme loneliness, the near vicinity of Clinias and Phœnarete left her no fears concerning adequate protection.
This confidence seemed well grounded; yet not many days after the funeral solemnities, Eudora suddenly disappeared. She had gone out, as usual, to gather flowers for the tomb of the beloved sleeper; and not finding sufficient variety in the garden, had wandered into a small field adjoining. Mibra was the first to observe that her absence was unusually protracted. She mentioned her anxiety to Geta, who immediately went out in search of his young mistress; but soon returned, saying she was neither in the house of Clinias, nor in the neighboring fields, nor at the Fountain of Callirhöe.
The faithful attendants at once suspected treachery in Alcibiades. “I never rightly understood what was the difficulty, when Eudora was locked up in her chamber, and Lucos chained to the door,” said Geta; “but from what I could hear, I know that Phidias was very angry with Alcibiades. Many a time I’ve heard him say that he would always have his own way, either by a straight course or a crooked one.”
“And my good old master used to say he had changed but little since he was a boy, when he made the wagoner turn back, by lying down in front of his horses,” rejoined Mibra: “I thought of that, when Alcibiades came and drank at the Fountain, while I was filling my urn. You remember I told you that he just tasted of the water, for a pretence, and then began to inquire where Eudora was, and whether she would remain in Athens.”
After some further consultation, it was deemed best for Mibra to request a private interview with Phœnarete, during which she freely expressed her fears. The wife of Clinias, though connected by marriage with the house of Alcibiades, was far from resenting the imputation, or pretending that she considered it groundless. Her feelings were at once excited for the lonely orphan girl, whose beauty, vivacity, and gentleness, had won upon her heart; and she readily promised assistance in any plan for her relief, provided it met the approbation of her husband.
There was in Salamis a large mansion built by Eurysaces, the ancestor of Alcibiades, by whom it had been lately purchased, and repaired for a summer residence. Report said that many a fair maiden had been decoyed within its walls, and retained a prisoner. This place was guarded by several powerful dogs, and vigilant servants were always stationed at the gates. Mibra proposed to disguise herself as much as possible, and, with a basket on her head, go thither to offer fish for sale. Geta, being afraid to accompany her, hired an honest boatman to convey her to the island, and wait till she was ready to return to Athens.
As she approached the walls of the mansion, the dogs began to growl, but were soon silenced by the porters. Without answering the indecent jibes, with which they greeted her ears as she passed along, the little fishwoman balanced her basket on her head, and began carelessly to sing some snatches of a hymn to Amphitrite. It was a tune of which Eudora was particularly fond; and often when Mibra was humming it over her work, her soft and sonorous voice had been heard responding from the inner apartment.
She had scarcely finished the first verse, ere the chorus was repeated by some one within the dwelling; and she recognized the half-suppressed growl of Hylax, as if his barking had been checked by some cautious hand. Afraid to attract attention by a prolonged stay, Mibra passed along and entered the servants’ apartment. Having sold a portion of her fish, and lingered as long as she dared in conversation with the cooks, she returned slowly in the same direction, singing as she went, and carefully observing everything around her. She was just beginning to fear the impossibility of obtaining any solution of her doubts, when she saw a leaf fluttering near the ground, as if its motions were impelled by some other cause than the wind. Approaching nearer, she perceived that it was let down from a grated opening in the wall above, by a small thread, with a little ball of wax attached to it for a weight. She examined the leaf, and discovered certain letters pricked upon it; and when the string was pulled gently, it immediately dropped upon her arm. At the same time, a voice, which she distinctly recognized as Eudora’s, was heard singing:
On a rock, amid the roaring water,
Lies Cassiopea’s gentle daughter.
Mibra had just begun to sing, “Bold Perseus comes,” when she perceived a servant crossing the court, and deemed it prudent to retire in silence. She carefully preserved the leaf, and immediately after her return hastened to the apartment of Phœnarete, to obtain an explanation. That matron, like most Grecian women, was ignorant of her own written language. The leaf was accordingly placed in a vessel of water, to preserve its freshness until Clinias returned from the Prytaneum. He easily distinguished the name of Pandænus joined with his own; and having heard the particulars of the story, had no difficulty in understanding that Mibra was directed to apply to them for assistance. He readily promised to intercede with his profligate kinsman, and immediately sent messengers in search of Pandænus.
Geta awaited intelligence with extreme impatience. He was grateful for many an act of kindness from Eudora; and he could not forget that she had been the cherished favorite of his beloved and generous master.
At night, Clinias returned from a conference with Alcibiades, in which the latter denied all knowledge of Eudora; and it seemed hazardous to institute legal inquiries into the conduct of a man so powerful and so popular, without further evidence than had yet been obtained. Pandænus could not be found. At the house where he usually resided, no information could be obtained , except that he went out the preceding evening, and had not returned as usual.
During that night, and part of the following day, the two faithful attendants remained in a state of melancholy indecision. At last, Geta said, “I will go once more in search of Pandænus; and if he has not yet returned, I have resolved what to do. To-day I saw one of the slaves of Artaphernes buying olives; and he said he must have the
very best, because his master was to give a feast tonight. Among other guests, he spoke of Alcibiades; and he is one that is always sure to stay late at his wine. While he is feasting, I will go to Salamis. His steward often bought anchovies of me at Phalerum. He is a countryman of mine; and I know he is as avaricious as an Odomantian. I think money will bribe him to carry a message to Eudora, and to place a ladder near the outer wall for her escape. He is intrusted with all the keys, and can do it if he will. And if he can get gold enough by it, I believe he will trust Hermes to help him settle with his master, as he has done many a time before this. I will be in readiness at the Triton’s Cove, and bring her back to Athens as fast as oars can fly.”
“Do so, dear Geta,” replied Mibra; “but disguise yourself from the other servants, and take with you the robe and veil that I wear to market. Then if Eudora could only walk a little more like a fishwoman, she might pass very well. But be sure you do not pay the steward till you have her at the boat’s edge; for he, that will play false games with his master, may do the same by you.”
Necessary arrangements were speedily made. Geta resolved to offer the earnings of his whole life as a bribe, rather than intrust the secret of his bold expedition to any of the household of Clinias; and Mibra, fearful that their own store would not prove a sufficient temptation, brought forth a sum of money found in Eudora’s apartment, together with a valuable necklace, which had been a birth-day present from Phidias.
It was past midnight when three figures emerged from the shadow of the high wall surrounding the mansion of Alcibiades, and with cautious haste proceeded toward the cove. Before they could arrive at the beach, a large and gaily-trimmed boat was seen approaching the shore from the direction of the Piræus. It was flaming with torches; and a band of musicians poured out upon the undulating waters a rich flood of melody, rendered more distinct and soft by the liquid element over which it floated. One of the fugitives immediately turned, and disappeared within the walls they had left; the other two concealed themselves in a thick grove, the darkness of which was deepened by the glare of torches along its borders. A man richly dressed, with several fillets on his head, and crowned with a garland of violets, ivy, and myrtle, stepped from the boat, supported by the arm of a slave. His countenance was flushed with wine, and as he reeled along, he sung aloud:
“Have I told you all my flames,
’Mong the amorous Syrian dames?
Have I numbered every one
Glowing under Egypt’s sun?
Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet,
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete—
Where the god, with festal play,
Holds eternal holiday?”
“Castor and Polydeuces!” whispered Geta, “there goes Alcibiades. He has returned from his wine earlier than usual; but so blinded by the merry god, that he would not have known us, if we had faced the glare of his torches.”
“Oh, hasten! hasten!” said Eudora, weeping and trembling, as she spoke. “I beseech you do not let a moment be lost.”
As Alcibiades and his train disappeared, they left the grove, and hurried toward their boat; keeping as much as possible within the shadow of the trees. They reached the cove in safety, and Geta rowed with unwonted energy; but he was single-handed, and Salamis was many stadia from Athens. Long before he arrived at the place where he had been accustomed to land, they discerned the sound of distant oars plied with furious rapidity.
They landed, and with the utmost haste proceeded toward the city. Eudora, fearful of being overtaken, implored Geta to seek refuge behind the pillars of Poseidon’s temple. Carefully concealing themselves in the dense shadow, they remained without speaking, and almost without breathing, until their pursuers had passed by. The moment these were out of hearing, they quitted their hiding-place, and walked swiftly along the Piræus. Intense fear imparted a degree of strength, which the maiden, under other circumstances, would have hardly deemed it possible to exert. She did not for a moment relax her speed, until they came within sight of the Areopagus, and heard noisy shouts, apparently not far distant. Eudora, sinking with fatigue and terror, entreated Geta not to attempt any approach to the house of Clinias, where her enemies would certainly be lying in wait for them. With uncertain steps they proceeded toward the great Gate of the Acropolis, until the helpless maiden, frightened at the approaching noise, stopped suddenly, and burst into a flood of tears.
“There is one place of safety, if you have courage to try it,” said Geta: “We are nearly under the Propylæa; and close beside us is the grotto of Creüsa. Few dare to enter it in the day-time, and no profane steps will venture to pass the threshold after night-fall; for it is said the gods often visit it, and fill it with strange sights and sounds. Shall we enter?”
It was a windy night, and the clouds that occasionally passed over the face of the moon gave the earth a dreary aspect. The high wall under which they stood seemed to frown gloomily upon them, and the long flight of white marble steps, leading from the Propylæa, looked cold and cheerless beneath the fitful gleamings of the moon.
Eudora hesitated, and looked timidly around; but as the sound of riotous voices came nearer, she seized Geta’s arm, and exclaimed, in hurried accents, “The gods protect me! Let us enter.”
Within the grotto, all was total darkness. Having groped their way a short distance from the entrance, they found a large rock, on which they seated themselves. The voices approached nearer and their discordant revelry had an awful sound amid the echos of the grotto. These gradually died away in the distance, and were heard no more.
When all was perfectly still, Eudora, in whispered accents, informed Geta that she had been seized, as she stooped to gather flowers within sight of her own dwelling. Two men suddenly started up from behind a wall, and one covered her mouth, while the other bound her hands. They made a signal to a third, who came with two attendants and a curtained chariot, in which she was immediately conveyed to a solitary place on the seashore and thence to Salamis. Two men sat beside her, and held her fast, so as to prevent any possibility of communication with the few people passing at that early hour.
Arrived at the place of destination, she was shut up in a large apartment luxuriously furnished. Alcibiades soon visited her, with an affectation of the most scrupulous respect, urging the plea of ardent love as an excuse for his proceedings.
Aware that she was completely in his power, she concealed her indignation and contempt, and allowed him to indulge the hope that her affections might be obtained, if she were entirely convinced of his wish to atone for the treachery and violence with which she had been treated.
Mibra’s voice had been recognized the moment she began to sing; and she at once conjectured the object that led her thither. But when hour after hour passed without any tidings from Pandænus or Clinias, she was in a state of anxiety bordering on distraction; for she soon perceived sufficient indication that the smooth hypocrisy of Alcibiades was assumed but for a short period.
She had already determined on an effort to bribe the servants, when the steward came stealthily to her room, and offered to convey her to the Triton’s Cove, provided she would promise to double the sum already offered by Geta. To this she eagerly assented, without even inquiring the amount; and he, fearful of detection, scarcely allowed time to throw Mibra’s robe and veil over her own.
Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was extremely anxious that Pandænus and Clinias should be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the morning dawned. When Geta told her that PandæPandænus had disappeared as suddenly as herself, and no one knew whither, she replied, “This, too, is the work of Alcibiades.”
Their whispered conversation was stopped by the barking of a dog, to which the echos of the cavern gave a frightful appearance of nearness. Each instinctively touched the other’s arm, as a signal for silence. When all was again quiet, Geta whispered, “It is well for us they were not witty enough to bring Hylax with them; for the poor fellow would certainly have betrayed
us.” This circumstance warned them of the danger of listeners, and few more words were spoken.
The maiden, completely exhausted by the exertions she had made, laid her head on the shoulder of her attendant, and slept until the morning twilight became perceptible through the cervices of the rocks.
At the first approach of day, she implored Geta to hasten to the house of Clinias, and ask his protection; for she feared to venture herself abroad, without the presence of some one whose rank and influence would be respected by Alcibiades.
“Before I go,” replied Geta, “let me find a secure hiding-place for you; for though I shall soon return, in the meantime those may enter whose presence may be dangerous.”
“You forget that this is a sacred place,” rejoined Eudora, in tones that betrayed fear struggling with her confidence.
“There are men, with whom nothing is sacred,” answered Geta; “and many such are now in Athens.”
The cavern was deep, and wide. As they passed along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues of Phœbus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble. At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of shields, helmets, and spears, placed there by Miltiades, in commemoration of his victory at Marathon. It was so formed as to be hollow in the centre, and Geta proposed that the timid maiden should creep in at the side and stand upright. She did so, and it proved an effectual screen from head to foot.
Having taken this prudent precaution, the faithful attendant departed, with a promise to return as soon as possible. But hour after hour elapsed, and he came not. As Eudora peeped through the chinks of the trophy, she perceived from the entrance of the cave glowing streaks of light, that indicated approaching noon. Yet all remained still, save the echoed din of noises in the city; and no one came to her relief.
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