i.

few young men in athens had so many acquaintances as lycon, yet he did not possess a single friend. he was courteous to all, but intimate with no one, had a care-free disposition, liked to try his luck at astragalso or dice, always knew where the best chian wine and the prettiest girls could be found, and was never226 unwilling to lend an acquaintance a few drachmae. so lycon was universally esteemed, nay people even overlooked certain eccentricities which were contradictory to attic custom. for instance, he never visited the gymnasium, and when some one spoke to him about it, he carelessly replied:

o a game like knuckle-bones.

“what should i do there? oratory and subtleties of speech i don’t understand—and why train my body? i’m strong enough as i am, and have better uses for my time.”

as to lycon’s appearance—he had handsome, though rather harsh black hair, manly, somewhat stern features, large heavy eyebrows, a short but thick beard, a broad-shouldered, strongly-built frame, and unusually large hands, from which he received the nickname lycon ho makrocheir, lycon with the big hand.

he was entered on the citizens’ list as lycon, son of megacles. but nobody had known this megacles, and no one could tell where the house of lycon’s parents stood, or had stood. all that was known about him was that, two years before, he had suddenly appeared in athens—as he said, after a long residence in bithynia where his father had died. now and then it was whispered that he was “a spurious citizen,” and at one of the examinations to which these lists were occasionally subjected, he was questioned by the demarchs or district inspectors. to them lycon stated that his father had been a ship’s captain and for many years had been absent from athens; he had himself gone to sea with him, and the rough work on board227 had given him large, hard hands. one of the demarchs, a rich ship-owner, thought he could entrap lycon by questioning him about the names of the various parts of a vessel. but the latter was at no loss for an answer. this resulted greatly to his advantage; the ship-owner declared himself satisfied, and lycon’s name remained on the list.

still, there were many strange things about him. for instance, he knew so little of the poets that, as the jester stephanus said, he might easily have been persuaded that one of pindar’s odes was written by homer. but, if any one laughed at such stupendous ignorance, lycon said:

“you are laughing at my pedagogue, not at me. it is his fault. he was so weak that he submitted to everything, and we played and quarrelled during the time we ought to have learned something useful.”

it was one of lycon’s peculiarities that, though he never refused an invitation to a drinking-bout, he had no inclination to attend any of the great festivals to which strangers flocked from all parts of hellas, the islands, and the new colonies, to see the processions, the performances at the theatre, or the torchlight races. on such days lycon either remained at home in his little house in the ceriadae suburb, or went away for a short journey, remaining absent until the strangers might be supposed to have left athens. this singular conduct was not noticed by many, for on holidays most persons have enough to do to attend to their own affairs. but the few who did remark it marvelled.

228 only one individual knew the cause of lycon’s eccentricities. this was the artist aristeides from thebes, a quiet, thoughtful young man, who never said more than he meant. he enjoyed a high reputation for his powerful picture of the battle between the persians and macedonians, a painting containing hundreds of human figures; but his master-piece was the plundering of a captured city, in which a dying mother holds her delicate babe away from her breast, that it may not drink blood instead of milk.

this aristeides once went on a pleasure excursion with lycon—both on horseback, attended by a single slave—to the beautifully located deceleia at the foot of mt. parnes. wearied by the noon-tide heat, they sought shelter on the way in the wretched log-hut owned by a poor countryman, who received them kindly, gave them a bowl of fresh goat’s-milk, and offered them his rude bed; but it was so dirty that, after exchanging glances, they begged permission to lie on the hay stored in the shed opposite. the man led the way there. lycon stretched himself comfortably upon the fragrant hay, yawned, and fell asleep. aristeides also slept, but was roused soon after by a movement of lycon and, turning over, suddenly felt broad awake.

lycon’s robe had opened at the throat, baring his shoulder. on the sunburned skin appeared a large white scar, consisting of three marks which together formed a kappa.p

229

p kappa, the letter k. this is an abbreviation of the word klemma, theft. slaves were usually branded on the forehead (or on the ears or hands.) the mark seems to have been stamped on the shoulder only by special favor, when the offence was trivial.

“a slave!” cried aristeides, “and branded!”

at first he was almost stupefied; then he moved away from lycon’s side and sat down on a log a short distance off.

“now i understand everything,” he thought, “his fear of undressing in the gymnasium—his unknown origin—his large hands—his ignorance of the poets—and his absence during the great festivals.... so he is a fugitive slave, and has been punished for theft. before his flight he probably robbed his master and of no inconsiderable sum. he was entered in the citizens’ list by bribery, and now the thievish, branded slave lives in athens as a free citizen, and enjoys himself on his defrauded master’s money.”

aristeides rose to go to the city magistrates, but ere he left the shed he started and listened.

lycon was laughing in his sleep.

there was something so joyous and light-hearted in his laughter that aristeides involuntarily paused.

“look!” murmured lycon, stretching out his arm as though pointing, “now fat dryas is jumping!—the leather bottle is bursting—he’ll fall—plump! there he lies on his stomach in the water.”

and lycon laughed again.

“no!” said aristeides, “a man who laughs in his sleep like a child is not wicked.... who knows whether freedom has not made him a different and a better man? certainly nothing dishonorable is known230 about him, and he is universally respected.... perhaps his master has made up his loss long ago. perhaps he has himself repaid the stolen money; he has slaves who work for him. besides, how does the matter concern me?”

the artist went nearer to the sleeper and looked at him.

a pleasant smile was hovering around lycon’s mouth. “take this!” he muttered, and his big hand made a gesture as if he were giving alms.

aristeides felt a sudden inspiration.

“had the gods desired to punish him,” he thought, “they would have made him betray himself to a foe, not to a friend.”

glad to have found such a consolation to his mind, he carefully drew lycon’s robe together and fastened it at the neck. his hand shook a little as he did so. if lycon should suddenly open his eyes, what might he not do in his despair at seeing his secret discovered!

but lycon slept on. without rousing him, aristeides went around into the shade behind the house, where the slaves were waiting with the horses. beckoning to lycon’s servant, he said:

“when your master wakes, tell him that a dream i had in my sleep compels me to return home at once. beg him from me to go on as though i were still in his company.”

with these words he swung himself on the horse and rode away so fast that his slave could scarcely follow him.

231 from that hour aristeides held aloof from lycon, without attracting any special attention from the latter. but whenever, later, conversation turned upon lycon’s eccentricities aristeides found special gratification in going as near the truth as possible. he always said:

“there is a sign that explains them.”

did he make the remark from a vague spite against lycon or a child’s delight in playing with fire? he did not know himself, but he never said more.

ii.

lycon, who suspected no evil, continued his usual mode of life. one noon he went to the house of a freedman named opasion, who usually had gay doings in his home, as he lived by entertaining young men. the little peristyle, scarcely ten feet long, was filled with a noisy, laughing party. half a score of youths in mantles of every hue had formed a circle around two fighting quails.

“i’ll bet fifteen drachmae against you, opasion,” shouted one voice.

“so will i,” added a second.

“hegesias’ quail is braver. see, your bird is giving way, opasion—it yields again. ha! ha! ha! now it’s outside of the circle.”

“conquered, conquered!” shouted the whole party in chorus, joined by the freedman.

“your bird lost, opasion. down with the money.”

232 the freedman, a short, stout fellow, with a foxy face, lifted a rumpled bird in the air and shrieked into its ear, as though trying to drown the shouts of victory. at the same time the other bird was borne away in triumph, and then carefully taken under its owner’s arm as if it were the most costly treasure.

lycon walked carelessly on to the so-called banqueting hall found in every large house, but which usually offered only a very limited space. he cast a hurried glance around the room but saw no strange faces. seven or eight young men whom he met every day were just breakfasting, reclining singly or in pairs upon leather-covered couches, before which stood small tables bearing numerous spots of grease and the marks of wet goblets.

at the back of the room a couple of half naked boys, slaves, were busily washing cups and dishes, and not far from them on a low chair without a back sat two young girls from fifteen to twenty years old. they were whispering eagerly together, and by the way they fixed their eyes on the young men reclining upon the couches, it was easy to guess the subject of the talk. both were pretty, but their bold glances and careless laughter showed that they were women of free lives, accustomed to associate with men.

the older and larger of the two held in her hand a phrygian double flute. her back hair was covered by a blue kerchief and the locks on her brow were adorned with a clasp of polished steel. her whole costume consisted of a saffron-yellow robe, originally233 fine and costly, now somewhat frayed, open at the left side to the hip and fastened up above the knee. the younger and prettier, who was evidently a juggler, as she rested her feet on a box containing short swords, balls, and small bows and arrows, wore on her head a red hood to confine her dark curls, and moreover was wrapped in a faded green mantle, which she drew closely around her. whenever, during the conversation, she moved her hands this loose upper dress parted, showing that she had a totally different under-garment and a pair of short, parti-colored breeches, which surrounded her loins like a wide belt.

the young men paid no attention to the girls. their talk turned upon the best way of getting hold of a father’s money during his life. opinions seemed to vary greatly. the more experienced agreed in holding aloof from the matter themselves and having their fathers deceived by a cunning slave, while those less skilled preferred to beg the money from their mothers, on the threat of going to sea or enlisting in the light-armed troops.

“the old theme again!” said lycon smiling, after having greeted and shaken hands with all present except aristeides, who was busily cleansing his hands after the meal in the dough prepared for the purpose.

“lycon speaks the truth,” cried a pale-faced young man with flabby features, afterwards known as the architect deinocrates. “we must talk about something else. this subject doesn’t suit him.”

lycon, who had neither father nor mother, understood234 the concealed sting, but kept silence in order not to enter deeper into the matter.

the talk ceased for a moment; the god hermes—as the saying went in those days—passed through the room. then a quick step echoed over the flags of the peristyle, and a tall young fellow with a light beard suddenly stood among them. he seemed to have just arrived from a journey, for dust lay thick amid the folds of his brown mantle, and he wore a broad-brimmed felt hat.

“phorion!” cried seven or eight voices in a breath, “we greet you, welcome!”

the new-comer flung his cloak and hat to one of the boys who came hurrying up, pressed aristeides’ hand, and lay down in the vacant place by his side.

“where are you from, phorion?” asked pallid deinocrates.

“from thessaly.”

lycon, who was reclining alone upon a couch at the nearest table, forgot his barley cake and raised his head.

“from what city in thessaly?”

“methone in the province of magnesia, on the pagasaean gulf.”

aristeides’ eyes happened to rest on lycon, who had turned deadly pale and was pressing his hand upon his breast.

“from which of the citizens did you receive hospitality? continued deinocrates.

“from simonides, dealer in grain.”

235 lycon started so that he almost upset the little table in front of the couch.

“how strange!” exclaimed deinocrates eagerly. “simonides was my father’s host, too, and i have often heard him praise his cheerful temper and great fondness for the comic writers. he owns, if i remember rightly, many of old magnes, the icarian’s, comedies in the manuscripts, as the author himself revised them, and—especially in “the harpers” knows the merriest scenes by heart.... you perceive i am acquainted with the man without having seen him.”

“alas! he is no longer the same person!” said phorion gravely. “grief and sickness have prematurely aged him.... all his misery was brought upon him by a dishonest slave.”

again aristeides looked at lycon, but this time not accidentally.

the perspiration stood in big drops on his brow, his cheeks were flushed, and he passed his great hand over his face as he was in the habit of doing when deeply moved.

“made miserable by a dishonest slave!” exclaimed deinocrates, “you must tell us about it.”

“the story is soon told,” replied phorion. “but come here, boy. push the tables aside, brush the bones and fruit-skins away, and bring wine, wine! i am dying of thirst.”

when everything was arranged, the slave brought a silver vessel and poured some wine into it from an ancient silver cup, the show-piece in opasion’s house.

236 phorion took the vessel. the flute-player rose, put her instrument to her lips, and began a subdued, solemn melody.

“let this beaker,” said the young man, “be offered to the gods of my native city, with thanks for their gracious protection on my journey!”

then he poured out some of the contents of the cup.

the notes of the flute sounded louder, but not so loud as to drown the noise of the wine falling on the smooth stones of the floor. then the subdued melody followed. phorion drank a few sips from the beaker and passed it to aristeides, who also took a little, and so it went the round of the party, always accompanied by the music of the flute.

lycon gazed with a strangely vacant glance at the preparations for the drinking-bout, and it was evidently a relief to him when deinocrates asked the new-comer to continue his story.

“about five years ago,” resumed phorion, “simonides bought a young slave called zenon.”

hearing this name so suddenly, lycon turned ghastly pale and, half falling back on his couch, made a groping movement with his hands, as though he had suddenly been plunged into the blackest darkness.

aristeides pitied him, and, to force him to control himself, said:

“are you ill, lycon?”

lycon passed his huge hand over his face; the muscles around his mouth quivered, and it was a moment237 ere he could mutter a few words which sounded as if he had taken too large a mouthful.

“so,” continued phorion, “simonides bought a young slave named zenon. he hadn’t given much for him, because zenon had robbed his former master, a physician in the neighboring city of ormenium; he had been branded and fled to poseidon’s altar in methone. nobody would buy him, but when he fell weeping at simonides’ feet and promised to conquer his evil propensities, the latter was touched and bought him for less than a mina.q for more than a year his conduct obtained his master’s approval and won his favor and confidence. one day simonides was visited by a man from hypata, with whom he had business relations. zenon waited on the table and saw the stranger pay simonides nearly a talent, partly in ready money and partly in drafts on well-known moneylenders in athens, and noticed that this property was placed in a box where many bags of daricsr were already kept. the next morning the chest where the box had been placed was found broken open. the box had gone, and with it zenon. simonides sent mounted messengers to this city, but zenon had already had the drafts cashed, the more easily because his master’s seal ring was in the chest.

“simonides had the great robbery and an exact description of the thief’s personal appearance proclaimed in the market by the public heralds; but all his efforts238 were useless. grief and worry over this great loss broke down his health. he was attacked by paralysis, his right side was benumbed, his mouth drawn awry, and for a time he was almost speechless. the once gay, jovial man is now a mere shadow of his former self. though he is too proud to complain, i think the slaves take advantage of his condition and do what they choose. there is not the least sign of the order that formerly existed in the house. in the vestibule lay fragments of broken wine-jars, fruit-skins, faded garlands, and the handles of burnt torches. yet not even to his best friend, polycles the wine-dealer, has he mentioned their negligence. the only complaint that ever escaped the lips of the sick man, so deserted by his servants, was the wish: ‘if i only had a son! i could depend upon him.’”

q mina = equal to about $20.

r persian gold coin, named for darius, value a little over $5.

“by heracles!” cried one of the reckless young fellows, “he’ll find that wish hard to get—weak as he is.”

“and why not?” replied phorion gravely. “of what consequence here is the mere tie of blood? nothing is needed except a son’s affection. yes,” he added warmly, “among those who have known simonides in his days of happiness, why should there not be one person that would take pleasure in coming to the sick man’s help and making amends for the wrong others have done him?”

opasion thrust his foxy face from behind one of the pillars, and noticing that the conversation had almost ceased, made a sign to the young girls.

239 the flute-player began a lively tune; the juggler threw off her shabby upper-robe and took from the box she used as a foot-stool nine short swords whose handles ended in a sharp point. these swords she stuck firmly into the cracks between the flag-stones, placing them in two rows, all with their keen two-edged blades in the air. then she stepped between them and, after straightening her short breeches a little, walked on her hands, to the music of the flute, between the weapons, then rising turned somersaults over them so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow the movements of her slender, pliant body.

this was the dangerous sword-dance, always greatly admired.

the young men clapped their hands and shouted their plaudits.

“what ought not a man to be able to accomplish,” exclaimed deinocrates, “when a woman can learn to leap so boldly between swords?”

aristeides had not watched this scene; his eyes were fixed on lycon. the latter had risen. he was a little paler than usual and stood gazing into vacancy with a strange look, as if he saw something far, far away. something extraordinary seemed to be occupying his thoughts, and he repeatedly passed his huge hand over his face.

then, apparently by chance, he approached phorion. “i’m going to thessaly in a few days,” he said in a tone which he endeavored to make as careless as possible, “and shall probably visit methone. if you240 wish, phorion i will carry your regards to simonides.”

“do so, and if you can, be his guest for a short time. perhaps there is reason to report the servants’ conduct to the magistrates. his daughter myrtale, according to his own account, is a child of seventeen who cannot rule slaves. but one thing you must know in advance—the door-keeper turns all strangers away; it is not easy to get into the house.”

“i shall get in,” said lycon.

iii.

a few days after lycon might have been seen with a large travelling-hat on his head riding along the road between halus and iton in the province of phthiotis in thessaly. he had sold his house in athens and all his slaves except one, a slender boy named paegnion who, carrying a bundle suspended from a stick over his shoulders, accompanied him. he himself had a similar bundle fastened to his horse; in his hand he held a switch cut from the trunk of a vine and, when his cloak blew aside, the handle of a short sword appeared in his belt. beside paegnion walked a young slave from halus, who was to take the hired horse back.

it was a pleasant summer morning when lycon rode down the stony road over a spur of mt. othrys.

241 before him on his left hand rose huge limestone cliffs, their sides overgrown with poplar, plane, and ash-trees, and their summits covered with thorny tragacanth bushes. far below, one smiling valley lay beside another and through them all the river amphrysus wound in glittering curves. the morning mists still rested on the wide landscape, revealing, ever and anon, a glimpse of distant cities at the foot of the mountains and undulating plains, with yellow grain-fields and luxuriant vineyards, interspersed here and there with clumps of fig-trees and groves of dwarf and stone oaks. far at the right the white marble temples of a city glimmered against the dark-blue waters of a bay in the pagasaean gulf. on the other side of the valley rose lofty hills, and beyond them—at the farthest point of view—the two snow-capped peaks of pelion towered into the air.

lycon let his gaze wander over the broad, sun-steeped landscape, and inhaled with pleasure the pure mountain air. freedom had never seemed to him more alluring. the nearer he approached methone, the more anxiously he asked himself whether he, who for years had lived as a free citizen, must again sink into a wretched, subservient bondman. he fancied he already felt on his neck the pressure of the wooden ring by which sweet-toothed slaves were prevented from raising their hands to their lips; he imagined he had fetters on his limbs and the heavy block dragging after him, and he shuddered at the thought of the smoking iron and its hissing on the skin.

242 who told him he would escape this punishment? had he not stolen a second time?

“by zeus!” he muttered, “i’m afraid i have made the dog’s throw.”s

s the worst throw in a game of dice.

but, remembering how he had altered during the past few years, he suddenly exclaimed: “no, i will not return as zenon, but as lycon.”

he had incautiously uttered the last words aloud and, starting, looked around him. the strange slave had paid no heed; but it was important for him to know whether paegnion had heard them.

he beckoned to the boy, bent down from his horse, and took him by the ear.

“did you hear what i said?” he asked curtly. “tell the truth.”

“i believe so,” stammered paegnion, somewhat bewildered by this sudden attack.

“repeat my words.”

“i will not return as zenon, but as lycon.”

lycon drew his short sword and placed its point against paegnion’s bare breast. the lad uttered a loud shriek.

“did you ever cut yourself with a knife?” asked lycon. “then think what you will feel if i thrust now. well then! if you repeat one word of what i said, i will drive this sword into you, if it were at the altar of the gods. so guard your mouth.”

without listening to paegnion’s assurances, he gave243 the horse a light blow with his whip and continued his way down to the valley.

the next day lycon was riding up the street of the bakers in methone, at whose end was seen the sea with the ships where he had learned the nautical expressions that had proved so useful to him with the district inspector at athens. though no anxiety was apparent in his bearing, his heart beat faster than usual. there was no change in the little city; it seemed as though he had never been away, he recognized every house, every wall, every stone. he was obliged to wait a moment at the laurel-tree and statue of hermes, outside of simonides’ house, ere he could control his voice sufficiently to say to paegnion: “knock!”

paegnion seized the copper ring on the door and rapped loudly. the door-keeper was not at his post. it was a long time before he came and drew the bolt, and he opened the door no wider than was necessary to thrust out his hand. lycon recognized in him an old slave named satyrus, who had a sullen face and lazy bearing.

at sight of the youth in travelling dress, he said harshly: “what do you want? my master is sick and receives no one.” with these words he slammed the door so that the whole house shook. lycon signed to paegnion, who knocked again. “my good fellow,” he called, “announce me to your master. tell him i am lycon the athenian, son of megacles, and that i bring a greeting and message from phorion, who was his guest a short time ago.” the door-keeper went244 grumbling away. at last he returned, opened the door, and said in a milder tone:

“come in, he’ll speak to you.”

sending away the boy with the hired horse, lycon entered the dwelling. anxious as he felt, he noticed that the appearance of the vestibule agreed exactly with phorion’s description. there was dirt and disorder in every corner.

while crossing the peristyle, lycon addressed a few words to paegnion. at the sound of his voice a young girl who was just gliding into the women’s apartment, stopped, turned her head, and fixed upon him a look of wonder and surprise, but ere he had time to notice her she had vanished through the door. he had only caught a glimpse of a blue robe and a pair of questioning dark eyes. was it myrtale, whom he had last seen as a child, and with whom he had often played in the garden and at simonides’ country-seat?

absorbed in these thoughts, lycon had walked so rapidly towards the room usually occupied by the master of the house that old satyrus, the door-keeper, found it hard to keep up with him.

“queer!” he muttered, “though you are a stranger, one would suppose you knew the house.”

lycon saw that he had been on the point of betraying himself, but he was quick-witted.

“of course i know the house, my good fellow,” he replied smiling“—from my friend phorion’s description.”

245

iv.

simonides was just breakfasting. on seeing how weak and feeble he had become, lycon could scarcely control his emotion, and it cut him to the heart when he saw the crooked mouth—the mark paralysis had stamped upon him for life.

“thief!” he thought; “it is your work!” and he passed his big hand over his face to hide his tears. he longed to throw himself at his master’s feet and clasp his knees.

simonides did not rise when lycon entered, but gave him his hand and greeted him kindly.

“welcome!” he said. “you are phorion’s friend, i hear, and bring a greeting and message from him. how is his blind father? does praxagoras, the physician from cos, think he will succeed in restoring his lost sight?”

lycon could not answer; he knew nothing about phorion’s father.

“how is his wife, who was so ill after the birth of her last child?”

lycon knew nothing of phorion’s wife either. he felt extremely uncomfortable, tried to turn the conversation into another channel and, by way of explanation, added carelessly:

“i know phorion only in the market, the arcades, and other places where men daily meet in athens. he has never spoken of his family.”

246 simonides raised his head and looked intently at lycon.

“ah!” he exclaimed, apparently with some little disappointment. “i thought that you and phorion were intimate friends. there is an old acquaintanceship between us, dating from the time when his father and i were both young.”

the conversation now took a different turn, as simonides asked for news from athens. this was a subject on which lycon could talk, and the more freely because relieved from his worst fear. simonides evidently had not recognized him. his long hair and thick beard, especially his heavy eyebrows, which he had had clipped very frequently to make them large and bushy, had entirely changed his appearance.

simonides had offered his guest some refreshments after his journey. in the long time that elapsed before they were brought lycon saw a confirmation of the bad condition of household affairs. he also noticed that two goblets stood on the little table; of course simonides had had a companion at his meal, doubtless his daughter, myrtale, who, according to the universal hellenic custom, had left the room when the door-keeper announced a stranger. she was probably the young girl of whom he had caught a glimpse in the peristyle.

after the meal simonides offered to let a slave called conops show lycon around the city. he called, but no one came. he rapped repeatedly on the floor with his cane: but no one seemed to hear—the247 veins on lycon’s forehead swelled and his heavy eyebrows met in a frown.

“wretches!” he muttered.

“be not angry, simonides,” he added warmly, clasping his hand in both his own, “be not angry if, though a stranger, i speak freely of things which do not concern me. let me, i beg you, talk in your name to these sluggards. imagine that i am your son and have returned from a long journey. come! lean on my arm, let us go about the house and see what the slaves are doing.”

simonides fixed a puzzled glance upon lycon.

“stranger,” he said, “you speak singular words. you have not been half so long under my roof as the water-clock needs to run out, yet you seem to read the wishes of my soul. who are you, young man? your voice is strangely familiar, yet no ... you speak the attic dialect so purely that phorion, who was born in the city, has no better accent.”

with these words he rose slowly, by the help of his cane, and took lycon’s arm.

“another person,” he added, “might perhaps be angry with you or feel offended. i am neither. it is seldom, very seldom, that a careless youth has so much affection for a sick and feeble man. come, my son—let me call you so—try whether you can help me to restore the discipline of the house, but do not suppose that the victory will be an easy one. thistles which have grown all the year are not uprooted by the first jerk. if you could stay with me for a time—yet248 i will not urge you,” he added smiling faintly, “that you may not say you are drubbed into accepting the invitation. a resident of athens will scarcely waste time on our little city.”

“do you think so?” said lycon, smiling. “i will gladly stay, if you believe that i can serve you.”

simonides had difficulty in dragging himself onward. fortunately the distance was not great; in ancient times the houses were small, supplied with numerous corners, it is true, but covering little space. supported by lycon’s arm, simonides walked through the short colonnade outside of the men’s rooms; in the little peristyle of the women’s apartment, where he was forced to stop a moment to rest, no human being appeared and the small chambers occupied by the slaves,—half a score of dungeon-like cells,—all stood empty. the same state of affairs existed in the women’s work-room. in the door leading to the garden sat, or rather lay, one of the youngest slaves of the household, a light-haired boy seven or eight years old. he had leaned his head against the door-post and, overcome by the noonday heat, had fallen asleep.

“look!” whispered lycon, pointing to the boy, “fortune favors us. the sentinel is slumbering at his post. we shall come upon them unawares.”

loud, merry talk reached them from the garden.

“conops has slept on the bench long enough,” said a harsh voice, not without a shade of envy.

“how he snores!” added another.

“only a swine-herd can snore like that.”

249 “pour some wine into his mouth.”

“tickle him on the nose with a straw.”

“put a frog on his neck.”

the last proposal was greeted with shrill laughter.

lycon pushed the sleeping boy away with his foot and, in the midst of the slaves’ noisy mirth, the master of the house and his guest suddenly stood among them.

a strange spectacle was presented to their eyes. on a roughly-made couch, which had been carried into the shade, lay the largest and strongest of the slaves, the swine-herd conops, almost naked, snoring loudly with his mouth wide open. close around him stood those who had proposed to wake him, and behind this group some half nude boys, lying flat on the ground, were playing dice, while a couple of older slaves sitting at a table were quietly drinking a tankard of wine which they had forgotten to mix with water. still farther away some young men were romping on a bench beneath some blossoming agnus-castus trees with two slave-girls who, at the sight of the new-comers, started up with a loud shriek and, covering their faces with their hands, fled around the nearest corner of the house.

lycon did not speak a word to the slaves, but as he turned slowly with simonides to go back to the dwelling by the same path, he said as though continuing an interrupted conversation:

“my advice is this: sell them all to the mines in laurium—they will be cured of laziness there—and buy new ones, even if you have to pay more for them.”

250 he had spoken loud enough for the nearest slaves to hear every word.

work in the mines of laurium was considered the hardest slave-labor in hellas. what terror and consternation therefore seized upon the pampered, idle slaves in simonides’ house at the prospect so suddenly opened before them.

a low, but eager murmur instantly arose behind the retreating figures. many were talking at the same time and in an angry tone.

“do you hear?” said lycon to simonides, “the medicine is beginning to work.”

the old man pressed his hand.

v.

lycon let himself be shown around the city by the boy he had found sleeping with his head against the door-post, and invented errands to many of the citizens but none of them recognized him.

meantime his young slave, paegnion, was sauntering idly about the house. he was tired, so he welcomed the event when some one unexpectedly spoke to him in the peristyle of the women’s apartment.

“what is your name, my lad?” asked a gay, musical voice from one of the little openings in the wall facing the peristyle.

paegnion looked up. all he saw inside the small opening was a delicate white hand, which had drawn251 aside the coan curtain, some shining braids of brown hair, a gold fillet, and a pair of mischievous black eyes, whose sparkle vied with the fillet.

“what is your name, my lad?” the voice repeated.

“paegnion.”

“a pretty name! are many boys in athens called paegnion as well as you?”

“some, but not many.”

“has your master a pretty name too?”

“he is called lycon.”

“has he no other name?”

paegnion was silent.

“well then!” said the gay voice in a strangely contemptuous tone, and the hand moved as though to close the curtain.

paegnion feared the conversation was over.

“what do you mean?” he hastened to ask.

“i thought attic youths were more clever than others—so clever that their masters could never conceal anything from them. now i see that the athenian lads are no brighter than our own.”

paegnion felt a little nettled.

“i could answer you, if i chose,” he muttered roughly.

“and why don’t you choose, paegnion?”

“because i don’t want to be thrust through the breast with a long knife.”

“empty threats! and you care for them? a boy like you isn’t easily killed.... no, say rather that you know nothing.”

252 and again the delicate hand moved as if to drop the curtain.

“but i do know something,” paegnion hastened to reply. “he has, as you say, another name.”

“who told you so?”

“he himself.”

“what did he say?”

“that i won’t tell.”

“are you so timid, paegnion? i thought the attic boys were braver. besides, what do you risk by telling me, a woman? i shall never see your master, never have a chance to speak to him—what do you fear?”

paegnion reflected a moment.

“no!” he cried resolutely, “i dare not! he might find out.”

“that’s a pity! i thought you would earn some money. look!” the young girl continued, holding out a number of small flat silver coins in a box and showing them to paegnion, “here are twelve triobols.”

the lad gazed covetously at the glittering coins.

“twelve triobols,” he repeated with a crafty smile, “and i am fifteen years old.”

“you shall have three more. but make haste, somebody might come. what did your master say?”

paegnion looked around him.

“on the way here,” he whispered, advancing close to the wall, “my master rode for a time absorbed in thought; then he suddenly exclaimed: ‘no, i will not return as zenon, but as lycon.’”

253 “i knew it!” cried the girl and, forgetting the money, she clapped her hands so that the obols fell on the ground and rolled about in every direction.

paegnion was not slow in picking up his treasure.

“the three triobols,” he then said, “the three triobols you promised me.”

the girl disappeared from the opening. a moment after a fold of the curtain was raised and, if paegnion had had eyes for it, he might have seen a beautiful white arm bared to the shoulder, but the lad was more intent upon obols than arms.

at this moment the back door of the garden creaked on its rusty hinges, and paegnion ran with all his might to the little guest-room at the corner of the house, which had been assigned to him and his master.

when lycon—for it was he—was crossing the small courtyard on the way to the guest-room he saw that the household slaves, half a score in all, had assembled there. some were carrying hay from a large cart into a barn, others were pouring water over the rude wheels, consisting of round wooden disks, to cleanse them from lumps of clay, and others were standing idle in the shade. but, whether busy or not, there was an air of malevolence about them and not one uttered a word. the prospect of forced labor in the laurium mines rested like a dark cloud on every face.

the big swine-herd, conops, held in his hand a bunch of dry leaves with which he was wiping the sweat from the heaving flanks of a mule.

254 lycon passed quietly on to the guest-room, where he called to conops in a curt, authoritative tone:

“open the door. you see i am carrying something under my cloak.”

the huge fellow did not stir.

lycon beckoned to the little boy and gave him his bundle.

“don’t you know,” he then said to conops, “that i am your master’s guest, and that you should obey a guest as you would your master himself?”

“perhaps that is the custom in athens,” replied conops impudently, looking at the others. “in methone slaves do what they choose.”

lycon’s great hand suddenly fell upon conops’ cheek. so violent was the blow that the swine-herd reeled several paces aside, struck his head against the stable-wall, and scratched one of his ears. dizzy and confused as he was, he was servile enough to recognize in the hand that struck such a blow a superior power, which it would not do to defy.

“what a cuff!” he muttered, wiping away the blood which streamed from his ear upon his brown shoulder then, glancing at the others again, he added with evident admiration of the blow: “i never had such a knock before.”

“the door!” said lycon curtly.

conops opened it without a word.

lycon now turned to the slaves and informed them that the order of the household must and should be restored. no one would be overburdened with work;255 but, if each did his share, there would seem to be less to be done. then he represented to the slaves who had been born in simonides’ house how shamefully they had behaved in consulting only their own convenience, while their master was ill and helpless, needing more than anything else careful attendance.

he soon succeeded in touching the hearts of the slaves and, when he perceived it, he added that simonides would forgive and forget everything if within three days they would bring him the household instruments of punishment which they had thrown away and broken. if one of the older slaves fulfilled this demand, simonides would make him overseer of the others, but should they persist in their negligence their master, with an attic slave-dealer’s assistance, would sell them to the mines.

vi.

early the next morning, while the dew was still sparkling on the leaves and in the grass, simonides’ daughter, myrtale, a girl of seventeen, came out of the women’s apartment into the garden. she had thrown over her head a red scarf with small white stars, from beneath which fell her thick dark-brown locks. her figure, though not tall, was well developed, and its delicately-rounded outlines were fully displayed by the256 red robe she wore. the little methonian bore no resemblance to the stately marble caryatides which as images of the attic virgins adorned the vestibule of the erechtheum; but her whole figure was so instinct with life and youth that no eye could help lingering on it with pleasure. even the swine-herd, conops, turned his clumsy head to watch her as she passed and among the slaves, who half neglected and half admired her, she was never called anything but hē pais, “the child.”

myrtale, however, was a child who had a will of her own and a very determined one. having early lost her mother, she had had no female companionship except her nurse, who indulged her in everything. she had been educated in a much freer manner than was usually the case with hellenic maidens. she took her meals with her father, even when his friend polycles, the wine-dealer, visited him. when polycles noticed that the young girl did not lack intelligence he often asked her opinion, and this pleased simonides, who spoiled his only child and treated her more like a son and heir than like a daughter.

nay, when simonides, during his days of health, read aloud the plays of magnes, the icarian, myrtale, at that time a girl of thirteen or fourteen, was usually present and stimulated by the unbridled laughter of the two friends, understood much that had been previously incomprehensible, and caught many an allusion which the two men did not suspect that she could comprehend. in this way myrtale had learned to257 know more of the world and life than other young girls who spent their days in a virgin chamber.t

t part of the women’s apartment.

the slaves’ negligence, the only thing that could have shadowed her youth, disturbed her far less than it troubled her father, since she always had her faithful nurse with her and—thanks to the freedom granted her—enjoyed her life like a careless child, to whom the present moment is everything.

when myrtale came out into the garden early that morning, she stood still for a time irresolute but, woman-like, not idle. seeing how dark and wet the ground was and what big drops glittered in the grass, she instantly set to work to fasten up her dress that it might not be soiled by dampness. then she tripped on through maples, ivy, and vines twined around poles which rested on stout posts, towards the most secluded part of the garden. when she reached the bee-hives and heard the buzzing of the insects, she paused a moment, laughed softly, and said to herself with a mischievous little smile:

“now i know what to do—he shall be forced to confess everything.” seeing some superb white lilies, she left her silver-embroidered sandals in the garden-path and skipped on her little bare feet into the wet grass. while gathering the flowers she felt as though ants were crawling on her and, raising her dress a little, looked over her shoulder at her ankles, carefully examining each. the pretty girl thought herself alone and258 unobserved, and there was something so bewitching in her whole appearance that it would have been a pity not to have had a witness.

but there was a witness.

lycon, who had been unable to sleep all night, because each passing day brought the decision of his fate nearer, had gone out into the garden early and seated himself on a bench in the nearest thicket. from his green ambush not one of myrtale’s movements escaped his notice. had he been familiar with homer, he would have thought that she resembled danae, acrisius’ daughter, and deserved the name of callisphyrus, the maid with the beautiful calves. but lycon knew nothing of homer, so he contented himself with muttering:

“is that myrtale? how pretty she has grown.”

yet he did not go to meet her. of course she would have been frightened by the sight of a strange man. and what should he talk about? he had nothing to say to her.

while myrtale was putting on her silver-wrought sandals, a black and white goat, with trailing tether, came running towards her. she glanced at the wet, rough-coated animal, then at her light dress and, drawing back, clapped her hands violently to frighten the creature away. but the goat did not understand. it merely stopped in its run and approached slowly, holding its head very high, evidently supposing the movement of her hands a challenge to play. with the mischievousness natural to this animal it suddenly made a259 couple of short, frolicsome leaps, lowered its head and sharp horns, and darted towards the young girl.

without hesitation myrtale pulled up the nearest flower-stake and defended herself against the goat. but the animal, now it was once in fighting mood, constantly renewed the attack and the young girl found it more and more difficult to keep the creature at bay. she was therefore more pleased than alarmed when the bushes rustled and lycon sprang out and seized the goat’s tether.

myrtale silently put back the flower-stake, and busied herself in tying up the plant.

for some time neither spoke.

“are you myrtale, simonides’ daughter?” asked lycon, as he watched the pretty methonian with a pleasure he had never felt before.

myrtale nodded assent.

“are you lycon, the athenian, my father’s guest?” she inquired, without raising her eyes to the stranger’s face.

lycon had scarcely time to reply, for the goat now renewed its attack upon him. he laughed:

“come, my kid. you shall learn that i am not called lycon with the big hand for nothing.”

seizing one of the goat’s horns with one hand, and its little tail with the other, he lifted the mischievous animal from the ground so that its four legs hung loosely down. when he set it on the earth again the creature was thoroughly cowed. bleating feebly, it260 unresistingly allowed itself to be dragged back to the grass-plot from which it had escaped.

at the beehives myrtale managed to have lycon pass tolerably near them. while the insects were buzzing most thickly around him, she suddenly exclaimed:

“a bee, a bee!” and laying her hand on lycon’s neck added: “don’t you feel any pain? it must have stung you. i saw it creep out from under your robe.”

lycon denied feeling any hurt.

“let me see your shoulder!” continued myrtale. “an old woman from hypata taught me two magic words with which the stings of wasps and bees can be instantly cured.”

“it is unnecessary,” replied lycon curtly.

“do as i beg you,” urged myrtale.

“girl!” cried lycon impatiently, “you ask foolish things.... i will not do it.”

myrtale’s eyes flashed, the color in her cheeks deepened, and she suddenly stopped.

“zenon,” she said, raising her voice, “i, the daughter of your master simonides, command you to do it.”

if the earth had opened at lycon’s feet he could not have been more surprised and horrified than by these words.

“merciful gods!” he exclaimed, turning pale and clasping his hands, “how do you know?—who has told you?”

261 “silence!” said myrtale sternly. “neither my father nor the slaves recognized you, but i knew you at the first sound of your voice, though you now speak the attic dialect. you are zenon, do not deny it. shall i call conops and the others, and have your robe torn off? there is a kappa on your shoulder; i know it.”

“oh, miserable man that i am!” exclaimed lycon, wringing his hands, while his eyes filled with tears. “i have seen you to my destruction.” and falling at myrtale’s feet, he clasped her knees, adding: “how shall i answer? what am i to say?”

“the truth.”

“ah, i will conceal nothing, but tell you a secret which is the key of my soul. know that i am not, as you suppose, slave-born. my parents were free and lived in carystus at eub?a. my father was overseer of the slaves in the marble quarries. during my childhood he lived comfortably; but afterwards he began to drink, became involved in debt, and with his wife and child was sold into slavery. yet, with my free birth, i had obtained a different temper from that of a slave. the scourge humbled far more than it hurt me, and i could not laugh with the rest when the pain was over. day and night i plotted to gain my freedom and, as i could not purchase it, i resolved to steal it. to be free i could have robbed the gods themselves. the first time i failed—i was caught and branded. the next i was more successful.... there—now you know my crime.”

262 and he then told her about his happy life in athens, his deep repentance at phorion’s description of simonides’ illness, and his determination to restore the discipline of the household in order to obtain forgiveness.

myrtale did not lose a single word, but while lycon was kneeling before her she noticed that his tearful eyes were very handsome, and that a delicate odor of ointment rose from his hair. the power of trifles has always been great, especially with women. this perfume made a strange impression upon her. for a moment she forgot that lycon was a slave, and compared him in her mind with the son of their neighbor the baker, who after having spent ten days in athens went as foppishly clad and moved as stiffly as the athenian dandies. she looked at lycon’s broad shoulders and sinewy arms—and whatever the cause, she felt more kindly disposed.

“you are a strange person,” she said, gazing into lycon’s eyes. “who and what are you?... half athenian and half methonian, half citizen and half slave, half lycon and half zenon. i will do as my father once did: i will trust you, though perhaps i am unwise.”

with these words she was hurrying towards the house, but lycon seized a fold of her robe.

“myrtale,” he said, “believe me, a good emotion induced me to return. consider how free from care my life was in athens, and what i have risked. do not make me miserable—do not prematurely reveal263 my secret, so that your father will refuse me his forgiveness! he who has once been free is of no value as a slave.”

myrtale noticed the shudder that ran through his limbs, and felt strangely moved. she read in lycon’s eyes the anguish he was suffering and to console him said:

“have no fear! myrtale does not hate lycon.... i have never forgotten how kind you were to me when i was a child. i still have the little cart you made for me.”

“and i,” said lycon, deeply moved as he seized her arm and kissed it, “i did not suppose that little myrtale would become such a girl—so good and so beautiful!”

myrtale smiled.

“now lycon is forgetting zenon!” she replied, and raising her light dress, ran off towards the house.

but lycon was by no means cheerful. on the contrary he was very anxious at knowing his secret was in a woman’s keeping. “the sooner i speak to simonides the better,” he thought.

vii.

two days after, just as lycon had breakfasted with the master of the house, carion, the old slave, entered. lycon was going to rise and leave the room, but simonides264 took him by the arm and made him keep his place on the edge of the couch.

“master,” said old carion, “i have come to ask for myself and the rest of the slaves that you will forgive and forget. if you only will not sell us to the mines, we will obey you in everything and, as a token of our submission, we bring you the household implements of punishment, all of them, and in good condition.”

simonides could scarcely believe his ears, and turned to his guest in speechless surprise. lycon laughed in his sleeve.

at a sign from carion, two young slaves entered and laid at their master’s feet large and small whips, iron collars, fetters, stocks, branding irons, neck-wheels, and the so-called “tree,” which served as a pillory and at the same time inflicted the torture of sitting in a doubled up position. bringing in all these articles consumed time enough to enable simonides to regain his composure.

without showing his satisfaction in the presence of the slaves, he replied that he would grant their petition and forgive what had happened. no one should suffer oppression, but if any one did wrong he would be punished. carion, the first who had given an example of obedience, would be made overseer of the others, and in token that he himself was ready to forget what had happened, each of them would be received that evening as if he were entering his master’s house for the first time. he should be led to the hearth by the265 overseer and there receive figs, dried grapes, nuts, and small pastry cakes, in token that there was an abundance in the house and he would lack nothing.

simonides then ordered the slaves to carry the instruments of punishment to the room intended for them.

scarcely was he alone with lycon ere, with overflowing affection, he pressed him to his breast.

“by all the gods of friendship!” he exclaimed, “tell me by what magic you have accomplished this?”

lycon now mentioned the chastisement he had given conops, and the demand he had made of the slaves in their master’s name under the penalty of labor in the mines.

simonides grasped lycon’s hand and pressed it in both his own.

“though a stranger,” he said, “you have fulfilled my dearest wish and restored order to my household. may the gods bless you for it! to my dying day i shall remember this time as a happy hour. but tell me, my son, is there nothing you desire, nothing i can do for you?”

lycon averted his face. now, in this decisive moment, which he had anticipated during so many days and nights, he could not force himself to utter a single word.

“my son,” persisted simonides, “there is something that weighs upon your heart. do not deny it. by zeus, i want to see only happy faces to-day. so, tell me what it is.”

266 lycon sprang from the couch and threw himself at simonides’ feet.

“pardon, master!” he faltered, “i am not worthy to be your guest.”

“what fire-brand are you casting into my bosom,” cried simonides, half-raising himself on the couch as, seized by a dark foreboding, he gazed with dilated eyes at the kneeling figure.

lycon turned deadly pale. grasping a fold of simonides’ robe, he said in a voice almost choked with emotion:

“master ... don’t you know me?... i am your slave zenon.”

“wonder-working gods!” exclaimed simonides doubtfully, “what am i compelled to hear!”

“mercy, master, mercy!”

simonides, uttering a fierce cry, kicked lycon away with his foot.

“thief,” he shouted, trembling with rage, “miserable thief, you have stolen my money and my health, what do you seek in my house? have you come here to rob me a second time?... for two years i have not suffered your name to be spoken in my hearing.... begone, begone from my sight, you source of my misery—you destroyer of the happiness of my life!”

and as lycon still lingered, simonides pointed to the door of the peristyle, shouting imperatively: “go, go, i command you!”

lycon left the room with drooping head, without casting a glance behind. he no longer had a hope.

267 at the same moment the curtain at the door of a side-chamber stirred slightly, and soon after myrtale entered and silently seated herself on the edge of the couch at her father’s feet. she was very pale, and through the folds of her thin dress the rapid rising and falling of her bosom showed that she was struggling for breath. simonides scarcely seemed to notice her and, without moving or looking up, she waited patiently for him to speak.

at last he broke the silence.

“do you know who lycon is?” he asked.

“yes, i know.”

“and you did not tell me?”

“it was his business to confess, not mine.”

“what do you advise, myrtale?”

“to wait until to-morrow.”

“why?”

“to let lycon sentence himself.”

“what do you mean?”

“one of two things will happen—either he will run away during the night and then his solicitude for himself will be greater than his repentance, or he will stay, and then his repentance will be deep enough to make him prefer to suffer everything rather than not obtain your forgiveness.”

simonides drew myrtale towards him and stroked her pretty brown hair.

“polycles is right,” he said, “your name ought to have been metisu and not myrtale.... but will not268 lycon take advantage of the night to steal from me again?”

u prudence, ingenuity.

myrtale made no reply, but the lines around her mouth expressed so much wrath and scorn that simonides in surprise looked at her more closely. a glittering streak ran from her eyes down over her cheeks.

“so you trust him?” he asked.

“i do trust him,” replied myrtale so earnestly that her father remained silent a long time.

“was i too severe?” he said at last.

myrtale did not answer.

“remember, child, that the service he has rendered to me is nothing in comparison to the crime he committed. if his own sin had not made me ill, i should never have needed his assistance.”

the next morning, while lycon was uncertain whether he ought to go to simonides or wait for the latter’s orders, a boy entered and said:

“simonides asks lycon to come to him.”

this message showed he was not to be treated as a slave.

“i will come,” lycon hastily replied, and when the lad had gone he fairly leaped into the air in his delight.

before he had left the guest-room he remembered that during his restless sleep he had had a dream. in his childhood he had often seen a little boy, the son of poor parents, known by the name of unlucky knemon, because he looked so doleful that everybody slapped and pushed him because he really seemed to invite269 cuffs. this boy had appeared to him in the dream. lycon tried to push him aside—but at the same moment the lad was transformed and eros himself stood smiling before him, a garland of roses on his hair. gazing intently at lycon he shook his finger at him. lycon thought of myrtale and murmured: “i accept the omen.”

this dream now returned to his mind.

“yes,” he exclaimed, “yesterday i was a doleful, unlucky lycon; i invited a beating—so simonides kicked me.... would a dog get so many blows if it did not crouch before its master? well, i will be braver to-day.”

with these words he took up the two bundles he had brought with him from athens.

“what have you there?” asked simonides, as he saw lycon enter with a package under each arm.

“not my property, but yours,” replied lycon.

simonides understood that the parcels contained the ready money and articles of value lycon had brought with him from athens.

“put them there,” he said, pointing to a small cabinet.

lycon laid the bundles down.

“tell me,” simonides continued, “what did you think about your position in the city?”

“nothing—by zeus!” said lycon, as though amused by his own freedom from anxiety. “i had so much to do in becoming acquainted with people and things in athens, that i forgot both past and future270 and, when i heard phorion speak of your illness and your servants’ laziness and negligence, i was so busy in selling my house and slaves to hasten to your assistance that not until during the journey here did i find an opportunity to think of scourges, fetters, and branding-irons—in short of all that might await me.”

“did it not occur to you to run away during the night?”

“certainly,” replied lycon; “but i said to myself: ‘then it would have been better not to come at all.’ so i stayed.”

“were you not afraid of being enslaved again?”

“no,” said lycon quietly; “you would not do that. you know that a man who has lived for years as a free citizen cannot become a bondsman.”

“well, by hera!” exclaimed simonides laughing, “you are a strange mortal. yesterday you were all humility, and to-day you dictate what i am to do. yet i like lycon better to-day than yesterday! take one of my slaves with you, look about the city and return at dinner time; by that time i shall have considered what will serve you best.”

viii.

accompanied by the gigantic conops, who had volunteered his services, lycon went to the market. it was a little open square, one side occupied by the council-hall, a pretty new pillared building, another by271 an ancient temple of poseidon, one of the noteworthy objects in the city, a third by an arcade used for a shelter in rainy weather, and the fourth by the houses of the citizens.

though it was still early in the day, the place was crowded. lycon found entertainment in looking about him for, although only in miniature, this market-place was an image of the one in athens.

country people, standing in booths made of interwoven green branches, were selling fresh cheese, eggs, honey, oil, fruit, and green vegetables; one or two potters were loudly praising their painted jars; bakers’ wives were half concealed behind huge piles of bread and cakes, and young flower-girls sat among their bright-hued, fragrant wares, busily making wreaths. freemen, as well as male and female slaves, wandered among the booths, bargaining here and there, while youths in light mantles, with embroidered fillets around their hair, jested with the prettiest saleswomen. but the most successful person was a neurospastes, the owner of a puppet-show, who had taken his stand on a spot generally used for a slave-mart. unseen himself, he pulled the hidden strings which set the ugly puppets’ bodies in motion so that, to the delight of the children and their pedagogues, the figures made the most ridiculous gestures.

lycon had stopped a moment to look at the busy puppets and the laughing children, when a strange, deafening noise was suddenly heard.

it seemed as though a countless number of chains272 were falling with a prolonged, rattling clash into a measureless depth, yet it was impossible to tell whence the sound came. it filled the earth and the air, and withal was so mighty, so startling, that all jest, all conversation ceased. even the animals were roused from their usual repose, and the swallows which had been darting and twittering about the market-place and up and down the long street of the bakers, suddenly gathered into flocks and soared screaming into the air as if trying to escape some danger.

no one remembered having heard anything like it; no one knew what it was. but, from the people who came thronging up, it was soon learned that the noise had been just as loud inside the most closely shut rooms in the houses as in the open market-place and just as near and distinct in each remote part of the city, nay even on the ships in the port. the crews of the vessels declared that the sound came from the water.

only one old smith, a man almost a hundred years of age, seemed to suspect the cause. he shook his head anxiously, but would not speak freely. “i may be wrong,” he said, “but take my advice. keep out of the houses—that will perhaps save many a life.”

lycon felt as though some misfortune was impending. accompanied by conops, without knowing where he was going, he had walked down to the harbor, where he had not been since his return to the city. the view here offered to his gaze was so magnificent and beautiful that it made the same impression as if he were beholding it for the first time. ere long he felt273 his mind relieved and his former light-heartedness return.

“what should happen?” he said to himself. “can a summer day be clearer or brighter than this?”

the sun rode high in the heavens. not a cloud was visible far or near, and not a breath of air was stirring. about thirty boats and small vessels were lying at a quay built of large limestone-blocks—the ones whose masts were seen from the street of the bakers. on the right the gaze rested upon the highest part of the city, above which rose the distant mountains of pherae; at the left the smiling, fertile coast extended almost as far as the eye could reach, towering upward into a spur of pelion. over the green water of the bay, that glittered like a mirror, fishing boats and pleasure craft glided past each other and beyond, like a broad dark-blue stripe, appeared the pagasaean gulf, which melted into the open sea, flashing like gold in the sunshine. on the opposite side of the gulf rose the promontory of pyrrha, while through the mists of distance gleamed the coast-cities, and behind them the ridge of the othrys mountains, over which led the road to locris, b?otia, and attica.

lycon stopped at the first of the little vessels, whose owner, an old sailor named dorion, he had formerly known. the sight of this man vividly brought to mind what strangely different fates the same years may bring. while he himself had been in athens, seeing and hearing so many new things that his memory could scarcely retain them, dorion had daily sailed274 to and fro across the same corner of the bay to get and sell sand. yet he seemed content, and when lycon entered into conversation with him he told him with joyous satisfaction that his boat was new, that his sons had built it, and that it was large enough for him to make longer voyages.

“but,” cried dorion, suddenly interrupting himself and springing into the bow, “look, look, how the sea is falling! holy dioscuri! what is happening before our eyes?... i never saw the water run out so fast.”

“it is the second marvel to-day,” said lycon. “what can it mean?”

even while they were speaking the boat and all the other small vessels sank lower and lower, so that the lime-stone quay seemed to tower far above them. confused shouts and shrieks echoed from one craft to another and a moment after the inner bay, except for a few pools of water, lay as dry as a heath. where the glittering surface of the waves had just extended, nothing was now seen save the greyish sand overgrown here and there with large and small patches of sea-weed. the little vessels which a short time before were flitting about far out on the water, now lay on dry ground, keeling over upon one side, and their crews were seen like small black dots standing around them uncertain what to do.

conops, who had watched what was occurring with less indifference and dullness than usual, now made an apt remark.

“if the bay had been a drinking cup,” he said,275 “and there was an invisible mouth reaching from one shore to the other, the water could not have been drained quicker—in five, six long swallows.”

“what!” cried dorion suddenly, “if i see aright, the water is returning.”

lycon shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out towards the bay. the mass of water was moving across the cove like a rampart nine or ten ells high, the crest and bottom white with foam, and at a velocity greater than that of a man running at full speed. he saw the billow roll under the craft resting on the ground, raise them aloft, and sweep them onward in its own mad course.

followed by conops, he leaped into dorion’s boat, shouting at the top of his voice to the people in the other vessels:

“loose the boats from the quay!... or the water will fill them and drown us all.”

these words ran from mouth to mouth.

then a thundering roar echoed from the approaching mass of water, it buried the quay in snowy foam, raised one boat after another,—not without partially filling them—and bore them with furious speed up the street of the bakers, which lay straight before the landing-place.

lycon, dorion, and conops had succeeded, with the help of oars and poles, in keeping their craft clear of trees and houses. as if in a dream they heard wild cries of terror and saw the two buildings nearest the harbor sink under the force of the water, while some of276 the small vessels were stranded on the fallen walls and pillars.

soon after another surge came rolling in and, amid fresh shrieks from drowning men, swept the boats farther on into the middle of the long street. lycon saw with delight that simonides’ house stood uninjured, though the water was more than half way over the door.

almost at the same moment human figures were seen on the roofs of the nearest houses, and they heard the shrieks and wails of women, which reminded lycon of the lamentations daily resounding during the adonis festival in athens. but it was easy to perceive that this was a more serious matter for, with the shrieks mingled the shouts of numerous men calling, each from his own side of the street, to the boats for aid.

lycon’s heart swelled with a humanity as warm as the greatness of the peril surrounding him. springing to the stern he shouted to the men in the nearest boats:

“friends! let us thank the gods for our own deliverance by saving as many of these unfortunates as possible. let nine or ten of the boats row about in the next street. there is enough for us all to do until evening, though there seems to be only one street besides this under water.”

“the athenian is right,” replied a voice from another vessel. “let us do what we can for the city. have we not all acquaintances and friends here?”

lycon and dorion now rowed the boat to simonides’277 house. there was only one person to be seen on the roof—paegnion.

“where are simonides and his daughter?” asked lycon.

“on the roof of the women’s apartment.”

“and where are the slaves?” enquired conops.

“on the stable.”

lycon poled the boat between the buildings. suddenly it was shaken from stem to stern by a strange, mysterious shock, which congealed the blood in lycon’s veins. this shock was repeated, though the boat was floating in water three ells deep and had not run against anything.

at the same moment a cry of horror ran from roof to roof.

“seiei, seiei! the earth is shaking, it’s an earthquake.”

lycon now understood that the day’s prodigies, the noise and the flood, were connected with what was occurring.

though neither of the shocks had lasted longer than the short time required for a man to raise his arms and let them fall again, the result was terrible; two of the houses in the street sank crashing into the water with the hapless people on their roofs. fortunately the ruins formed a heap large enough to enable most of the inmates to keep themselves above the tide until the boats could come to their assistance.

lycon perceived that there was no time to lose. anxiously as his own heart throbbed, he encouraged278 dorion and conops. they took off paegnion, though not without difficulty and, uniting their strength, urged the boat towards the women’s apartment.

but between the buildings the dark, muddy water moved in a powerful stream and, as dorion unluckily broke his oar, the boat was swept with irresistible force past the corner of the women’s apartment out into the garden. here it struck against the tops of some bushes and suddenly struck fast between the trunks of two trees concealed at the bottom by the water and at the top by leaves. it required a long time and much exertion to release it from this position, and the task was not accomplished until after the water had reached a level in the flooded streets, so that the current was less swift. when they at last succeeded in getting back to the women’s apartment, they found it impossible to save simonides and his daughter without the help of a ladder.

lycon was beginning to get impatient over these delays, for the day was waning.

conops knew that there ought to be a ladder in the stable, but when the boat reached the place it had disappeared. after some search it was found where they least expected to discover it. a rude two-wheeled harvest cart had caught on a marble monument by the side of the house, and the pole of this cart had accidentally run between the rounds of the ladder and held it fast.

it was not without fresh difficulties that they succeeded in raising the ladder to the roof of the women’s279 apartment; and it was high time, for the stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky. lycon found simonides and myrtale in a very exhausted condition; the clothing of both was drenched with water, and they had spent the whole afternoon in dread lest the house should yield to the pressure of the flood and sink beneath it. the overseer carion, who had helped myrtale carry her father up the stairs, had vainly sought to obtain dry garments; nothing could be found in the little rooms under the roof.

simonides was shaking so violently with a feverish chill that his teeth chattered; his eyes were closed and he muttered now and then a few unintelligible words; but when lycon carried him down to the boat he pressed his hand. when lycon turned to bring myrtale she was already standing by her father’s side. light and agile as the pretty little creature which shades itself with its tail,v she had sprung into the boat unaided.

v squirrel.

fortunately the craft was a large one, for there were many to save and, much as lycon hastened the work of rescuing the slaves and their children from the stable-roof, by the time all had embarked night had closed in, so that it was difficult to find the way out between the buildings.

280

ix.

it was a strange voyage, which none of the occupants of the boat ever forgot. the street of the bakers, the largest and finest street in the city, usually so full of life, this evening, for the first time within the memory of man, neither resounded with loud conversations from door to door, nor the merry songs of young men echoing from the wine-shops; silence reigned in harmony with the ruin that everywhere met the eye. the rippling and gurgling of the water, as well as the light strokes of the oars and the murmured words of the boatmen when two craft met, were the only sounds that interrupted the gloomy stillness. the houses were outlined in dark masses against the sky; but whenever an opening between them was reached columns of smoke and blazing flames were seen in the distance, which shed a murky light on the angles of the houses, the faces in the boats, and the smallest ripple upon the surface of the water. ever and anon a shower of sparks fell hissing into the waves, and sometimes the cool evening breeze swept a veil of smoke over the street, bringing with it a suffocating smell of fire.

at the edge of the flood the people stood in little groups talking together. from them it was learned that some of the houses in the higher part of the city281 had also fallen. there had been fire on their hearths, the flames had caught the ruins, and it was these buildings which were now burning.

at the house of polycles the wine-dealer, where lycon, by myrtale’s request, took her father, an unusual bustle prevailed. lanterns were hung on slender poles in front of the house, and at a number of small tables sat part of the citizens, discussing over a goblet of wine all that had happened on this eventful day.

at the sight of lycon, who, with the closely-veiled myrtale, was supporting simonides, an eager murmur arose; some rose to get a better view; others pointed to him as though saying: “that’s he!” and from one table to another the question ran in low tones:

“is that the athenian?”

“the one who saved the sailors by unfastening the boats?”

“and who helped the citizens in the flooded streets?”

“who knows him?—who can tell whether it’s he?”

the temptation was too strong for conops; he forgot to ask whether he might speak.

“i can tell you that!” he replied, not without a touch of pride; “he’s my master’s guest, and i’ve been with him all day, first at market and then in the boat—he and no other is lycon the athenian.”

a universal shout of applause rang out; several women of light repute, who were passing, flung him282 kisses, and polycles, the owner of the house, grasped his hand, saying:

“if you are the lycon of whom everybody is talking, you are a man of honor to whom the city owes more than a new robe.”

then, with the most cordial sympathy, polycles welcomed the sick simonides and his daughter, and learning from the latter’s lips that they had spent the afternoon in terror lest the house should fall and bury them in the water, he said:

“i won’t take you to my old stone mansion—there might be another shock of earthquake—but i have in my garden a good new wooden barn, where you can rest in safety and be supplied by my old housekeeper with everything necessary. the slaves shall be cared for as well as possible.” and, as he took simonides’ arm out of lycon’s to guide him and myrtale to their temporary abode, he called to one of the boys who were hurrying about waiting on the guests and ordered him to bring lycon wine, barley bread, cheese, and fruit.

while the latter was hurriedly eating the meal before returning to dorian’s boat, polycles came back from the garden and lycon hastened to say:

“i see that many of the citizens have assembled here. could not some of the younger ones relieve one another in guarding the burned houses, that no one in the absence of the master and the darkness of the night, may get in and take what still remains. a283 watch will be kept from the boats upon the houses in the flooded streets.”

instead of answering, polycles turned to the people seated at the tables and called in a loud voice:

“citizens, this stranger puts us to shame. he seems to think more and take wiser care of our city than we who were born and have spent our lives here. do you know what he proposes?”

polycles had scarcely repeated lycon’s advice ere twelve or fourteen young men came forward, ready for the required service. soon after they were divided into three parties, the first of which, supplied with a sack of chian wine and accompanied by some slaves, went to the scene of the fire.

“my house is yours,” said polycles to lycon, “come here when there is nothing more to be saved. you will need rest and sleep if the night is quiet.”

before lycon, followed by conops, again entered the boat, he lighted with the help of some of the citizens a large pile of wood on the edge of the flood, so that the vessels might be provided with torches whenever they brought anything they had rescued ashore. then an agreement was made between the captains of the boats about sharing the work. half a score of the craft were stationed in each street, five on a side. the rest were to help wherever assistance was most needed and, as ladders had been found necessary in many instances, most of the boats were provided with them.

when everything was arranged in this way, the284 work of rescue progressed more rapidly than lycon had expected, and when at last no voice called for aid, the twenty boats had saved the owners of more than twenty houses, besides a large number of slaves.

lycon, attended by conops, now hurried back to polycles’ house. the wine-dealer came to meet him with a troubled face and told him that simonides was dangerously ill. the cold and fright he had endured had been too severe a trial for him.

as lycon entered the wooden barn where simonides and his daughter were lodged, his first glance sought the sick man. the latter’s eyes were open, but stared fixedly into vacancy, and his thin hands fumbled to and fro over the coverlids with a convulsive twitching. lycon wished to approach, but polycles held him back.

on the opposite side of the couch sat a little man of grave and dignified bearing, dressed in a white robe. lycon instantly saw that this was the physician; for ever and anon he took the sick man’s hand to judge of his condition by the pulse, and on a little table close beside him lay his pouch of medicines and the instruments used in his profession. at the foot of the bed stood the overseer, carion, with clasped hands and eyes fixed on his suffering master.

the preparations hastily made for the latter’s comfort showed that the household was a wealthy one. milesian carpets were hung in a semi-circle around the couch to shut out every draught of air, and beneath its ivory feet babylonian stuffs had been spread to prevent any chill from the stone floor.

285 the twitching of the sick man’s hands gradually ceased. the physician rose softly and went to polycles.

“simonides is better,” he said. “but if you have anything important to discuss with him, do not delay. his voice will soon become thick and unintelligible.”

“do you think his death is near?”

“if it is the will of the gods, he may live a day or more; but he will never rise from this bed.”

soon after, the restless movements of the patient’s hands ceased and they fell feebly on the coverlid. raising his head with difficulty he looked around him.

“where is myrtale?” was his first question.

“she is preparing a decoction the doctor ordered,” replied the wine-dealer.

“and lycon?”

“here,” said polycles, beckoning to lycon to approach the bed.

“is it true,” asked simonides, “that you have saved the citizens in the flooded streets, besides numerous slaves?”

“not my boat only, all the small craft.”

“it’s the same thing,” said simonides with a faint smile, “you will now and in the future be regarded as one of the benefactors of the city, a sort of demi-god—and as it is not seemly for a demi-god to be a bondsman, i shall give you your liberty. polycles, who knows everything that concerns you, has added the necessary codicil to my last will, which he and the physician have signed as witnesses.”

286 lycon knelt beside the couch, clasped simonides’ hand, and covered it with kisses. “i thank you,” he faltered, overwhelmed by emotion. “you have fulfilled my dearest wish. i have obtained my freedom—and this time i did not steal it.”

soon after the curtain at the door was pushed aside and myrtale entered, followed by the old housekeeper. she held a glass cup in her hands and seemed to have eyes only for her sick father. the physician poured a few drops from a little flask into the smoking potion, and simonides drank a few mouthfuls. “how it revives me!” he said, while myrtale was straightening the embroidered pillows under his head and shoulders. “are those lamps which shine so? it seems as though i saw the sun in the midst of the night.”

“do you feel better, old friend?” asked polycles.

a glimmer of his former mirthful spirit sparkled in simonides’ small brown eyes.

“that fellow yonder,” he whispered, pointing to the physician, “has given me too many drops. he didn’t make me well, but drunk.”

then, with an unexpectedly sudden movement, he seized myrtale’s arm. his mouth and chin projected so that he was almost unrecognizable, and a corpse-like hue overspread his face as swiftly as though an unseen hand had caused it by gliding lightly over it.

“he is dying! he is dying!” cried myrtale and, sobbing passionately, she flung herself upon her father’s breast.

287

x.

a large clay jar filled with water, placed outside the door of polycles’ dwelling, announced the next morning, to all who passed, that the mansion was a house of mourning. while the female slaves were perfuming and dressing the dead man, polycles was talking with myrtale about simonides’ last will.

myrtale had no brother, but was a so-called inheriting daughter.w as there was no kinsman whom she could wed and endow with her fortune, simonides had bequeathed his whole property, amounting to twenty talents, to his friend polycles on condition that he should marry myrtale. if polycles was not willing to do this, he was to inherit only two talents and then use his best judgment in choosing a husband for the young girl who, in such a case, was to keep all the rest of the fortune as a dowry.

w in athens, daughters inherited only in default of male heirs.

much as myrtale was absorbed in her grief, she felt the importance of the arrangements which would decide her fate. so it was a great relief to her when polycles said that he was too old to take a young wife and, moreover, had been warned in a dream against marrying again. one night in his sleep he had seen his house decked with garlands as though for a bridal; but when he was leading the bride home the green wreath vanished and, in its place above the door, hung288 an oil-jar, twined with a blue ribbon, as though for an offering at a tomb. the interpreter of dreams being consulted had said that if polycles married he would die on his wedding day.

polycles then asked the young girl to consider him a second father, and added that he would not act against her wishes in the choice of a bridegroom.

during the day another shock of earthquake was felt, and though it did no damage except to open cracks in the ancient walls of the city, universal terror was aroused. some fled to the market-place, and others, fearing another flood, to the nearest heights. this dread, however, proved groundless. on the contrary, the water in the inundated streets began to fall so rapidly that the boats were obliged to follow it in haste, and by noon they were again lying at their usual place, moored to the lime-stone quay, though this quay no longer rose so far above the surface of the tide and the whole of the old shore, with its pebbles, sea-weed, and mussel-shells, remained under the waves.

simonides’ funeral was conducted as beseemed a wealthy family. the corpse, crowned with myrtle and resting on embroidered pillows, was displayed upon a couch, where it was seen during the day by a throng of citizens, old and young, rich and poor, some of the latter clad in grey or black clothes with closely cut hair, asserting by this mourning garb a distant relationship.

on the day of the funeral obsequies hundreds of persons assembled outside the house and, before the sun289 rose, the funeral procession started amid the mournful notes of carian flutes, alternating with a chorus of men’s voices. this choir was followed by the dead man’s friends and acquaintances, numbering more than half the citizens of the place. then came the bier, an ivory bed, borne by friends and freedmen, among them lycon, to whom many hands pointed and many lips mentioned as the “preserver of the city, the quick-witted athenian.” on the ivory couch lay the dead man, robed in white and covered with so many wreaths and blue and red sacrifice ribbons, that the magnificent purple carpet in which he was wrapped could scarcely be seen. by the side of the bier walked slaves bearing oil jars, boxes of ointment, and other articles belonging to the funeral rites. then came a few elderly kinswomen, for myrtale was too young to follow the corpse. the train was closed by a few sacrifice attendants in short parti-colored mantles and light half boots, who bore on their heads small offering-tables covered with offerings of the same kind as those the slaves carried beside the bier.

at the farthest end of polycles’ garden the funeral train stopped on a height which afforded a view of the city, harbor, bay, and country beyond. this had always been simonides’ favorite spot, and he had often expressed a desire to be laid to rest here.

at the foot of the hill was seen the huge funeral pyre, a heap of logs filled with combustible materials. after it had been adorned with the jars, vases, and dishes brought, and the bier lifted upon it, it was290 lighted by torches. amid the sobs and wails of the spectators, the flames flared high into the air and in an instant the smoke and red blaze enveloped the bier, concealing it from every eye. many an oil jar, many a box of ointment was now flung upon the fire as a last token of affection and, when it was once more possible to see the pyre, the bier had crumbled into a dark, shapeless mass, from which rose a column of black smoke.

the majority of the procession returned to polycles’ house and there, as the dead man’s guests, partook of a festal banquet. some few, among them lycon, remained until the ashes were collected and the bones committed to the bosom of the earth.

three days after the first, and nine days after the second offering to the dead was brought to the grave. about a week later a marble column was erected upon it, crowned with a capital made of colored acanthus leaves. the thirtieth day after the funeral obsequies myrtale twined the memorial column with blue and red sacrifice ribbons from which hung small oil jars, after which she poured milk, honey, spring-water, and mixed wine on the ground as a sacrifice to the rich man’s shade, taking careful heed to throw each one of the vessels she had used over her shoulder, so that they were shattered, for none of the articles which had served at a funeral ceremonial could be used by the living.

with this offering the time of mourning ended.

291

xi.

a few days later polycles and myrtale visited simonides’ country-house to look after a vineyard whose fruit, in polycles’ opinion, was the best in thessaly. when they returned home, accompanied by a male and female slave, evening was approaching. the sun was sinking behind some hills, and the atmosphere glowed with orange and crimson hues. the road they were following was only marked by a few deep wheel tracks in the grass; on the right was a clump of gnarled olive trees, whose foliage as usual reflected the color of the sky, so that now in the sunset radiance they seemed covered with a golden veil; on the left a brook flowed between hedges of flowering laurel. a light mist was rising from the meadows, and the whole air was filled with the spicy odor of blossoms. ever and anon a faint twitter echoed from the bushes; sometimes a bee, apparently bewildered and drowsy, buzzed upward from the grass at their feet, and through the profound stillness of the country a dog’s bark was heard in the distance.

there was something in the peacefulness of the evening which invited familiar conversation. polycles took myrtale’s hand.

“dear child,” he said. “it is time to think of your affairs.”

“what do you mean, polycles?”

292 “i am wondering whether among the youths of the city, whom you must have seen on festival days, there is not one you would like for a husband.”

myrtale blushed faintly, but shook her head.

“there is theagenes, the son of straton, the dyer. true, he is rather stout for a young man, but he is clever, talks well, and has a fortune at least as large as your own.”

myrtale made no reply; but struck, with the tassel on the corner of her upper robe, the head of a dandelion growing by the roadside, so that its white down flew in every direction.

polycles understood that the proposed suitor was excluded from the list.

“there is eumolpus, son of socles the rope-maker!” he continued. “he is slender, well-formed, and handsome. true, he is on intimate terms with a hetaira, but after marriage....”

myrtale made no answer in words; but the tassel was put in motion with the same result as before.

“there is also,” added polycles, “young nicias, your neighbor’s son. i don’t deny that since his visit to athens he has become a dandy; but....”

this was too much for myrtale; she forgot the reserve required of a young girl and wrathfully exclaimed:

“the coxcomb!”

“but is there no one?”

myrtale silently lowered her eyes; then, to change the conversation, said:

293 “how is the house in the street of the bakers? has it been much damaged by the flood and the earthquake?”

“only one of the pillars in the peristyle was twisted awry; but the damage has been repaired and, so far as your home is concerned, you can have the wedding there any day.”

as they approached the city myrtale became more and more thoughtful. suddenly she sighed, drew her hand from her companion’s clasp, and remarked:

“it’s a pity that lycon is a slave!” then, as if fearing she had said too much, she hastened to add: “don’t you think so, too?”

polycles looked keenly at her and, in spite of the dusk of evening, he noticed that her cheeks were flushed.

“you are mistaken, child,” he replied. “lycon is no slave. your father freed him on the day of his death.”

“and i knew nothing about it?”

“you were standing at the hearth, preparing the decoction the physician had ordered.”

“my dear father!” exclaimed myrtale, deeply moved, kissing her fingers as if she had seen the dead man alive before her.

“but that doesn’t settle everything,” said polycles gravely. “in athens lycon is a spurious citizen and subject to the penalty of the law. he would be made a slave there.”

myrtale started.

294 “do what you can for him,” she said hurriedly, clasping polycles’ hand in both her own.

“that is no easy matter,” replied polycles, who found a secret satisfaction in being entreated to do what he himself intended. “it’s no easy matter, i tell you.”

“you can free him, if you wish. remember what he has done for the city. besides, did he not save my father’s life and mine?”

“i’ll think of it,” said polycles.

“no, no, you must promise me!” exclaimed myrtale. “save him from the punishment of the law, and i will be a daughter to you!” and raising herself on tiptoe, she flung her arms around polycles’ neck and kissed him on the cheek.

polycles felt the soft pressure of myrtale’s youthful figure and, when he had taken leave of her at the door of the women’s apartment in his house, he stood still, absorbed in thought.

“by aphrodite!” he cried, “the girl is bewitching, and i am not so old....”

but at the same instant he beheld, as he had done in his dream, the oil-jar suspended by a blue ribbon over the door of his house. he pressed his hands upon his eyes and, when he entered his lonely sleeping-room, he said, sighing:

“polycles, you are a greater simpleton than i had supposed.”

295

xii.

the next morning the public criers summoned the citizens to a popular assembly, and soon after the streets were filled with young and old, rich and poor, who, amid hubbub, shrieks, and laughter, flocked towards the theatre, the place where popular assemblies were usually held in the smaller cities.

thessaly, renowned for its beautiful river valley, its fine horses, and its powerful sorceresses, was at that time under the sole rule of alexander of pherae—a man who treated his subjects so harshly that he ordered some to be buried alive and had others dressed in bear-skins and torn to pieces by dogs. like all tyrants, he lived in perpetual fear. he had so little faith in his own body guard that he had himself watched by a dog; he spent the night in the upper loft of his stately palace, that he might be able to draw the ladder up after him. the family to which he belonged had raised themselves from tagoi, chiefs elected by the people, to sovereigns, and he himself, like his predecessor, had paved his way to power by murder.

but heavily as alexander’s yoke rested upon the city of pherae, it was comparatively little felt in methone, though the latter was scarcely a day’s journey away. when the little city had sent its quota of men to the army and paid its taxes, the citizens had full liberty to attend to their own affairs, while the descendants296 of the original inhabitants of the country, as slaves, penestae, performed all the field work and drudgery. whoever did not know better might have easily believed that methone was a free state.

on the way to the place of assembly, polycles followed the least frequented streets. suddenly he signed to the slaves who accompanied him to keep back and, throwing his arm over lycon’s shoulder, he said to him:

“my friend, i have important matters to discuss with you to-day! you know that simonides, in his last will, left me his fortune and his daughter. but, as i am too old to marry a young wife, i want to ask if you are willing to take the girl with a dowry of eighteen talents?”

lycon stopped, but did not utter a word in reply. if the rude statue of poseidon in front of the temple of the god had suddenly descended from its pedestal and come towards him, he could not have been more speechless with bewilderment.

“that this may be done,” polycles continued smiling, “i will adopt you as a son and make you my heir. true, i should have preferred a suitor who was the girl’s equal in birth, but as she seems to incline to you, i will submit to her wish.”

lycon drew a long breath, and passed his huge hand over his face several times.

“i thank you, polycles,” he said at last, “i thank you from my heart! but how is this to be? i am a freedman, it is true; but you forget....”

297 “i forget nothing,” answered polycles. “but one thing you must know—the citizens must hear the whole story ... your condition of slave, your sin, and the punishment whose mark you bear. in a little place like methone nothing can be hidden, so it is better to confess everything yourself rather than have it discovered by others. besides, matters relating to inheritance, marriage, and other kindred affairs are often discussed in our popular assemblies. here, where all the citizens know each other, no distinction is made between public and private business.”

in front of the theatre the city police were busily engaged in urging on the groups of gossiping, laughing citizens by threatening to mark them with ropes covered with red paint. these ropes left ugly stains on mantles, and the people therefore tried to avoid them.

but the largest crowd outside of the theatre was not disturbed by the police. it consisted of slaves waiting for the close of the assembly to attend their masters to the market, baths, or gymnasium. these slaves were no less merry than the citizens. their attention was specially directed to the flat roofs of the nearest houses, where a group of young slave-girls were busily sunning rugs and cushions, to get an opportunity to see the throngs of men and be seen by them. signs, not always the most seemly, were sometimes exchanged between the square before the theatre and the roofs.

at the entrance the recording clerk objected to admitting lycon; but polycles patted him on the shoulder,298 saying: “if this man isn’t a citizen of methone, he will soon become one. let him go in.”

the interior of the theatre presented a deep, semi-circular recess, surrounded by a mound of earth slanting upward, covered with stone benches, and supported by a thick encircling wall. about the center of the place, between the seats rising around, stood the altar, where, at the moment polycles and lycon entered, a priest in a long white robe, with a garland on his hair, was in the act of offering the customary sacrifice of purification. when this short ceremony was over the chief magistrate took his seat and a struggle, half jest, half earnest, followed, for all wanted places in the front row where they could hear best.

the chief magistrate opened the meeting by relating the misfortunes which had recently overwhelmed the place. when he spoke of the efficient service rendered by the boats during the flood, a smith rose in the crowd and in a deep voice shouted:

“let us not forget the brave athenian, lycon. but for him many of us would have perished. it is he who saved us by first unmooring the boats.”

“yes, yes, the smith is right!” responded many voices, with an earnestness which showed that the speakers themselves had been among the number of those rescued.

the dead and missing had not even one word of remembrance. human life was of little value in those days. on the other hand, the magistrate did not forget to mention that the lands of the city had suffered299 very little damage, almost all of them having been too high to be reached by the flood. the shocks of earthquake had caused warm springs, which possibly possessed healing powers, to bubble up in many places, and in that case they might become a source of great wealth to the city and perhaps render it as much frequented as aedepsus in eub?a.

as exaggerated rumors of the injury sustained by the city had been in circulation, this report was received with joy, and the assembly was in the best humor when a tall, thin man, with hollow cheeks and a long beard, stepped forward saying:

“i am a friend of the simple, frugal customs of our ancestors.”

“that’s why you go ragged and shoeless,” shouted a youthful voice from one of the nearest passages between the seats.

the speaker was a little disconcerted, but recovered his composure.

“i do not favor the new custom of bestowing on any one who does the place a trifling service the high-sounding title of benefactor of the city, and overwhelming him with rewards and marks of distinction. if we keep on so there will soon be as many benefactors as citizens; one after another is not only released from paying taxes, but granted money to boot, while the really useful citizens, the instructors of youth and the people....”

“who is that speaking?” asked a white-bearded300 old man on the front row of seats, holding his hand to his ear to catch the answer:

“that is the orator, philopator,” replied the person addressed, with a scornful emphasis on the word “orator.”

“he’s also called the man with the mustard face,” added another.

as these explanations were given to a deaf man, philopator could not avoid hearing them. perceiving that the current of feeling was against him, he continued more rapidly with visible irresolution.

“the gods forbid that i should envy anybody. no one can feel a deeper reverence for actual services, deeds truly great, exploits really noble. but, my friends, is there anything great in saving a few people in a boat? that requires neither the sage’s sagacity, the warrior’s courage, nor the sacrifice of self. it is a thing any one can do, the ignorant as well as the expert.”

“then you ought to have done it, philopator,” shouted the smith’s deep voice, and as there was something in philopator’s appearance that showed he had never handled an oar, the interruption caused immoderate laughter.

philopator wiped the perspiration from his brow.

“i have never boasted of seamanship,” he replied.

the words were received with a fresh outbreak of mirth.

“you have talked enough!” cried a voice.

301 “we know what you want to say!” shouted a second.

“back to your seat!” added a third.

then, as the luckless orator still remained standing, a terrible tumult arose and at the same time deafening shouts burst like a gust of wind or a sudden tempest over the assembly.

the wretched philopator, at whom hundreds of throats were yelling, became fairly frantic. he turned deadly pale, tore his hair, and ran to and fro in the level space as though out of his senses. as his voice would have been lost amid the shouts, he threw himself humbly on his knees and extended his arms towards the benches from which echoed the most furious cries. at last the storm subsided and the smith’s deep voice said:

“go back to your seat, philopator, that’s the best thing to do.”

the orator followed the good advice and, trembling from head to foot, slunk back to his place, where he cowered making himself as small as possible.

polycles signed to lycon to seat himself behind the bema, where he was concealed from every one; then he himself stepped forward, apparently as calm as when moving among the guests in front of his house.

“fellow citizens,” he said, “i am no professional orator like philopator yonder, but perhaps you will listen to me, since i wish to speak to you of a man who came to us in an evil time and who, within a few days, has become dear to the whole city.”

302 “speak, speak!” shouted numerous voices.

“much evil and much good can be told of him. i will begin with the evil.... you think lycon is an athenian—he is not. you think lycon is a citizen—he is not that either. he is a freedman, who a little more than a month ago was a slave.”

this statement was followed by silence so profound that no one would have believed himself to be in the same place and among the same men who a short time before were yelling at philopator. amid the breathless expectation of the throng, external surroundings suddenly seemed like a revelation from another world. the wind was heard sighing through the tree-tops and the swallows twittering in the air. many on the back seats rose and held their hands behind their ears, that they might not lose a single word.

polycles did not spare lycon, but told the people that his dead friend simonides a few years before had bought a young slave named zenon, who, after being branded for theft, had fled to poseidon’s altar. for a long time zenon had served his new master well; but when he saw a man from hypata pay simonides a large sum of money, he ran away with it during the night.

a movement passed through the assembly, one man muttered to another. polycles foresaw a fresh storm.

“friends and fellow citizens,” he said in a jesting tone; “we know each other, so i shall not ask you to keep quiet. on the contrary, i will beg you to chatter303 and yell to your hearts’ content, in order to have it over the sooner.”

some of the men laughed; but most were already too angry to allow themselves to be softened by a jest.

“a branded slave!” cried some.

“and we have been permitted to do him honor!”

“why did no one tell us?”

“let us drive this zenon out of the city!”

“we’ll stone him!”

“truly a fine benefactor to add to the rest of the city’s benefactors!” shouted philopator. but those who sat nearest seized his robe and forced him back into his seat. as he made wild gestures with his arms and assumed the air of a deeply injured man, the smith turned towards him.

“philopator!”

he merely uttered the man’s name, but in precisely the same tone as if he had been a dog. philopator made no reply, but shrunk into as small a space in his corner as possible.

at the sight of this submission, which could only be explained by a thorough respect for the smith’s brawny fists, a noisy expression of mirth ran through the assembly.

polycles continued:

“i will now speak of lycon’s good qualities,” and he related how the latter had been respected as a citizen and popular with all in athens. “we methonians,” he added, “have cause to be proud that an insignificant slave from this city was found worthy to304 associate with the leading men in athens, so that he was daily seen arm in arm with the rich timotheus, son of conon.”

polycles knew his fellow citizens, the methonians. if anything could flatter their pride, it would be to have one of their own number, and a poor slave into the bargain, win favor and affection in athens.

“even if the man did once take what belonged to others,” observed a friendly philosopher, “there may be some good in him.”

“yes, lycon is really a good man,” replied polycles, and now related how the latter, who was living so prosperously in athens, had no sooner heard of simonides’ illness and the slaves’ neglect than he sold everything he possessed and came to methone to restore order in the household and obtain his master’s forgiveness.

“that was a noble act! yes, by zeus, a noble act!” shouted many voices.

polycles then spoke of the flood and, by a clever inspiration, described how philopator, who thought it was so easy to save a few people in a boat, would have behaved. at sight of the gigantic billow that rolled in, threatening to sweep everything away, he would surely have been no less disconcerted than at the storm which had recently burst upon him in the assembly. he would have fled at full speed up the street, but would have been overtaken by the water and met his death with the men in the boats. but how had lycon behaved? instead of flying before the flood, he had305 jumped into the nearest boat and, instead of thinking solely of himself, in the midst of the peril had remembered others and warned the men in the rest of the boats. “had it not been for lycon,” said polycles, raising his voice, “not only would thirty men in the boats have perished, but a number of free citizens, as well as slaves, would have lost their lives in the flooded streets. for, on that day of misfortune, lycon, with perhaps a score of boats, saved from about twenty flooded houses eighty citizens, men, women and children, besides more than two hundred and seventy slaves. so great is the number of those who owe their lives to lycon.”

a deafening tumult of joy arose, a storm of applause, and it was long ere polycles could again be heard.

“i think, therefore,” he added, “that lycon has some claim—even if philopator does not consider it—to deserve the name of benefactor of the city.”

just at that moment a voice from one of the back seats shouted: “where is lycon? we want to see him.”

the cry was instantly taken up by all, and the whole theatre echoed with the call: “where is lycon?”

“it seems to me,” said polycles, smiling, “that the very men who a short time ago wanted to drive lycon out of the city and stone him, are now shouting the loudest.”

these words roused much noisy hilarity. the306 worthy methonians could not help laughing themselves at the ease with which they passed from one extreme to the other.

“as i knew you would want to see lycon,” polycles added, “i have, with the chief magistrate’s permission, brought him with me.” he beckoned to lycon and the latter, pale with emotion but apparently calm, now came forward before the rampart of human faces formed by the seats towering before him.

at the sight of lycon’s frank, good-natured face and powerful form, a new and long continued storm of applause arose.

“dear friends and fellow citizens,” polycles began again, “i will propose to you to reward this man in a way that will bring no great expense upon the city and yet, perhaps, best suit his own wishes. simonides, as you know, bequeathed me his fortune with his daughter. but, as i am too old to take a young wife and the girl has a fancy for lycon, i thought of giving her to him in marriage, by which he will come into possession of the greater part of her property. but, to do this, you must make him a citizen; then i will adopt him as a son and name him my heir, that he may become a proper suitor. but to prevent any one in future from taunting lycon with having been a branded slave, i propose to you that as a public reward, you bestow upon him exemption from taxes and a free maintenance in the prytaneium.

“lastly, let there be hung in the temple of poseidon a tablet bearing a representation of lycon’s deed307 at the time of the flood and a short account of his life, in which it should be stated that he had been a branded slave. coming generations could then read there that the city of methone did her duty even to the most insignificant person. this, dear fellow citizens, is my proposal concerning lycon. if any one has a better plan to suggest, i will gladly recall it.”

the rope-maker, socles, rose. he was a small, stout man, with big, prominent eyes and a wide half open mouth, which gave him an extremely foolish air.

“i can vote for no reward to this lycon,” he said.

“why not?”

“because, by zeus, he seems to me one of the most foolish of men!... if he was living so merrily and contentedly at athens as is said, why doesn’t he stay there? what does he want here of us?”

lycon laughed and asked:

“of what city is this man a native?”

“of ch?roneia.”

“aha!” exclaimed lycon laughing, “i thought the man who reproached me for my return to methone, the only good deed i ever performed, must be a—b?otian!”

socles did not know what to answer and, seeing him stand there with his mouth wide open, an image of b?otian stupidity, the whole assembly burst into a roar of laughter, so scornful, noisy, deafening in its mirth, that it seemed as if every stone in the theatre was laughing.

socles stood for a moment as though paralyzed308 with bewilderment. then, wrapping his mantle around him, he started with crimson face for the nearest entrance, slipping through the crowd, striding over empty places in the stone benches, and forcing his way through the groups in the passages. it was done so quickly that it looked as if the fat little man was blown away over the seats by the unbridled laughter of the throng.

“why, why, how he jumps!” shouted the smith, shaking with glee as, fairly convulsed with merriment, he loudly slapped his thigh.

“lycon has made socles a deer!” cried a second voice.

“he skips like a discus behind the mark!” added a third.

when silence was partially restored, the chief magistrate put polycles’ proposal to vote. all raised their hands except philopator. but when the smith, who still kept an eye on him, cleared his throat loudly and looked askance at him, philopator’s hand also rose, though slowly and reluctantly.

the chief magistrate, a white-haired old man of venerable aspect, embraced lycon in the presence of the whole assembly and said to him in a tone so loud and distinct that amid the deep silence it was heard in the most distant seats:

“you are now a citizen of methone and a guest of the prytaneium. may you have happiness and prosperity.”

309

xiii.

the next day polycles sent by a trustworthy messenger a letter to the ship-owner in athens who had been the demarch of lycon’s district. the wine-dealer knew him, for the latter had visited methone more than once in his ship. ten days after the answer came, stating that if lycon would pay a fine of ten minae his name would be erased from the list of citizens, thereby avoiding any legal prosecution.

at this message lycon drew a deep breath, like a man who has reached dry land after fighting a long time for his life among the waves.

“the gods be praised!” he exclaimed. “now, for the first time, i can use my liberty as a thing which belongs to me, and which no man has a right to take away.”

myrtale embraced polycles, and said with her brightest smile:

“so you, too, are a benefactor! have you not saved the city’s deliverer from becoming a slave in a strange place?”

a few days after lycon, attended by conops, made an excursion to the neighboring city of ormenium, the place where he had been a slave before he fled to poseidon’s310 altar in methone. in ormenium he visited his former master, a physician, and remained a long time with him. on his departure the physician accompanied him part of the way to methone and, as they took leave of each other, he asked lycon if he was serious in the request he had made him. when lycon answered in the affirmative, the doctor laughed and shook his head as though it was very extraordinary. “take it then,” he said, handing him something wrapped in cloth, which lycon carefully concealed in the folds of his robe.

after having been elected a citizen of methone, lycon had gone to live in the house in the street of the bakers. much of the furniture had been ruined by the flood so, with the help of myrtale’s nurse, he was obliged to provide the women’s apartment with many things ere a bride could be received and a new household established.

one day, early in the morning, the old mansion was adorned with garlands and the door, especially, was decked and surrounded with ropes of flowers decorated with tassels of blossoms. polycles’ house, the bride’s present home, was ornamented in the same way.

darkness had scarcely closed in, when the roll of wheels and the hum of many voices were heard outside of the door of the latter dwelling. accompanied by a numerous train, a chariot drawn by white mules stopped before the door, ready to bear the bride home. lycon and his chosen bridesman, polycles, entered the311 house and received from the hand of an elderly female relative the closely-veiled bride to conduct her to the chariot, where each took a seat beside the muffled figure.

the nuptial torches were lighted, and the procession started. the flames cast their red glare over the magnificent holiday robes; the flutes sounded, and the hymeneal hymns echoed far through the stillness of the evening.

the inhabitants had all gathered outside the doors of their houses, and within the dusky vestibules appeared the heads of male and female slaves. all who were passing stopped and greeted the procession with the words: “happiness and prosperity!”

“how peaceful and beautiful it is here,” whispered lycon to his bride. “in athens, on the contrary, on such an evening there is more noise and bustle than usual. every bridal procession is surrounded by beggars, carrying tame crows in their hands.”

“crows?” repeated myrtale in surprise.

“it is really so,” replied lycon, smiling. “among the athenians the crow is the bird sacred to bridals, and when a beggar carries one in his hand no one can forbid him to follow the procession into the house, to sing the ancient vulgar crow-song and then make himself at home.”

on reaching home the wedded pair, according to custom, were overwhelmed with a shower of little cakes, figs, dried grapes, and small coins—emblematical of the prosperity to be expected.

312 the festal hall was lighted by tripods bearing numerous lamps; on one side stood tables for the men, on the other for the women. among the guests were the old chief magistrate who had presided at the popular assembly, the citizens who had been on the most intimate terms with simonides, and some of the female relatives of the bride. young slaves in new garments, with purple fillets around their hair, placed between the couches little tables bearing favorite dishes.

when the wedding cakes were eaten it was nearly midnight. the oldest female relative now led the young couple across the peristyle to the quiet sleeping room. all the guests followed, and the nuptial hymn was sung once more outside of the closed door. but when the last visitor had gone and the porter closed the heavy house-door with a noise that echoed through the peristyle, lycon clasped myrtale’s hand, saying:

“that noise is dearer to me than the notes of the nuptial hymn. now we are alone; now i have you forever.”

he drew her towards him and his lips sought hers, but myrtale, reared in the seclusion of the virgin-chamber, had never been alone with any man, and blushing deeply, averted her face.

lycon took the clay lamp, shaped like a couch on which lay a sleeping eros, and pointing to the little god, said:

“the love that fills my breast will never slumber until my hair is white and my back bowed with age. it would be an evil omen if i let this lamp burn on our313 bridal night. neither now nor in the future shall it shine for us.”

with these words, he flung it down so that it was broken in the fall and lay shattered on the tiled floor.

in the intense darkness which had surrounded them, he drew myrtale to his breast. his heart throbbed as it never had before, and the gloom seemed filled with little dancing flames like those of the broken lamp. with the perfume from myrtale’s hair, he felt as if he were breathing an atmosphere of warm, ardent youth, and in the silence which eros commands his mouth again sought the small, fresh lips.

this time myrtale did not avert her face.

xiv.

time passes swiftly to the happy; ere they realized it a year had gone by.

one day every door in the house was adorned with an olive garland—a son had been born to its owner. lycon said that the child should be reared. the father was at liberty to expose or even kill it.

the infant was carried by the midwife around the blazing household altar. parents, relatives, and even slaves gave it a multitude of presents, principally platagai, children’s rattles.

314 at the great sacrificial banquet on the tenth day after the boy’s birth, lycon, to myrtale’s delight, named the child simonides.

lycon took pride in enlarging his dead master’s business, but never commenced any great enterprise without having consulted the clever and experienced polycles. on the day that the latter completed his sixtieth year, lycon, to his great joy, gave him the vineyard which, in his opinion, produced the best wine in thessaly.

this present had cost lycon more than polycles ever knew. when he first spoke of it to myrtale, she eagerly opposed the plan and made many objections.

“polycles is rich enough,” she said.

“but not too rich to have this gift please him.”

“it is a man’s duty to bequeath what he possesses to his children.”

“it is also a man’s duty to show his gratitude to one who has done him many kindnesses and helped make him prosperous.”

“so you will give polycles the vineyard?”

“i shall.”

“even against my wish?”

“you forget, dear one, that but for polycles i should have had nothing.”

the blood rushed into myrtale’s cheeks and her eyes flashed.

“and you forget,” she said, “that everything you possess is mine.”

315 the words had scarcely escaped her lips ere she regretted them.

lycon passed his huge hand over his face, rose, and left her.

myrtale stole after him. she saw him cross the peristyle and enter a little room where part of the furniture was kept. through the door, which stood ajar, she watched him open a box and take out something wrapped in cloth. but, as she cautiously pushed the door in order to see better, her shadow fell on lycon’s arm and he turned.

“what have you there?” asked myrtale, slightly confused at being discovered.

“what is mine—it belongs to no one else.”

myrtale understood the reproof. her eyes filled with tears as she sank at lycon’s feet and clasped his knees.

“forgive me,” she whispered humbly, “forget my wicked words.”

“forget them—i cannot. but i will treat you as if you had never uttered them.”

myrtale still remained on her knees; lycon raised her and she pressed her lips upon his shoulder.

“what have you there?” she timidly repeated.

“a peacemaker. the image of a good spirit.”

“let me see it.”

“no,” replied lycon, wrapping the cloth closer. “if any one else should look at the image it would lose its power. so promise me that you will never,—either now or in future—ask to see it.”

316 myrtale pointed to an ivory couch which stood in the little room; lycon reclined upon it, and she took her seat on the edge at his side.

“what harm would it do if i, your wife, should see it?” she whispered coaxingly, putting her arm around lycon’s neck.

“i have told you,” replied lycon. “do what i ask.”

“well then,” murmured myrtale sighing, “i promise.”

but at the same moment she turned pale, as if she felt a sudden chill.

“confess!” she cried in a strangely altered tone. “it is the picture of an athenian woman.”

lycon shrank from the fierce expression of her face and, ere he could prevent it, she had seized the little article which he had laid on the edge of the couch in front of her.

she tore off the cloth with her teeth. a clumsy square bit of iron appeared. she turned and twisted it in her hands until, on one end, she discovered the letter k formed of three raised lines.

it was the stamp of the brand lycon bore on his shoulder.

myrtale instantly understood why he kept the rough bit of iron. to him, as he had said, it was the image of a good spirit.

by keeping this sign of his humiliation, he not only crushed all arrogance, but learned to judge mildly, govern himself, and become a better man. by remembering317 that he had been a slave, he made others forget it.

myrtale felt a new emotion. her heart swelled with affection, and throwing herself into her husband’s arms, she covered his face with tears and kisses.

“the gods be praised for what has happened!” she exclaimed. “to-day you have become doubly dear to me! for the first time i know you wholly.”

* * * * *

lycon and myrtale filled the place of children to the lonely polycles, and he was never happier than when they visited him in the quiet evening hours.

the hillock in the garden, which had been simonides’ favorite spot and where his monument stood, was the goal of their walks, and when they had offered their homage to the dead man by adorning his grave with flowers, they sat down on a bench among a group of tall plane-trees to gaze over the city and country.

one evening, when the distant, sun-illumined mountains of pherae were gleaming more brightly than ever through the twilight, lycon exclaimed:

“simonides was right! where is there a spot more beautiful than this?”

myrtale looked him in the face and suddenly asked:

“do you never wish yourself back in athens?”

polycles raised his eyebrows. in his opinion this was evidently a very difficult question. but lycon318 found the answer easy. clasping myrtale’s hand, he said:

“how can you ask? in athens i was gay; here i am happy.”