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PHILO T HE A:,L  tretcian  tomanae.
BY L. MARIA CHILD.
LUTHIOB OF LETTERS FROM NEW YORK, FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN, ZTO
The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
Tihe fair ihurmanlities of old religion,'lhe Power. the Beauty. and the MajesLy,
That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain.
or forest )v slow strean. or peouIy spritg,
Or clisms and wat'ry depths, all these have vanishedThey live no longer in the faith of Reason!
But still, the heart doth need a language-still
Doth the old inbtinct bring back the old names. COLERIDGIS.
A Spirit hutlg,
Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms,
Statues, and temples, and memorial tombs,
Anti emanations were perceived.                 WORDSWORTH.
A NEW  AND CORRECTED  EDITION.
NEW YORK:
C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 252 BROADWAY.
BOSTON:
J. H. FRANCIS, 128 WASHINGTON  STREET
1851.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by
C. S. FRANCIS & CO.
tu the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York.
PRINTEl BY
MUJvROE &  FRaNCIs
Boto n.




TO
MY BELOVED BROTHER,
3Dr. frantis,
OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY,
To whose Early Influence T owe my Love of Literature
THIS VOLUME
8 BRESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY
INSCRIBED.








PREFACE.
THIS volume is purely romance; and most readers will consider it romance of the wildest kind.
A few kindred spirits, prone to people space "with
life and mystical predominance," wilt perceive a
Light within the Grecian Temple.
For such I have written it. To minds of different mould, who may think an apology necessary
for what they will deem so utterly useless, I have
nothing better to offer than the simple fact that I
found delight in doing it.








PHILOTHEAEA
CHAPTER I.
HERE let us seek Athenae's towers,
The cradle of old Cecrops' race,
The world's chief ornament and grace;
Here mystic fanes and rites divine,
And lamps in sacred splendour shine;
Here the gods dwell in marble domes,
Feasted with costly hecatombs,
That round their votive statues blaze,
Whilst crowded temples ring with praise;
And pompous sacrifices here
Make holidays throughout the year.
ARISTOPHANES.
THE moon was moving through the heavens in
silent  glory;  and  Athens, with  all her  beautiful
variety of villas, altars, statues, and temples, rejoiced
in the hallowed light.
The  white  columns of the lofty  Parthenon stood
in distinct relief against the clear blue sky; the crest
and spear of Pallas Promachos glittered in the refulgent atmosphere, a beacon to the distant mariner;
the line of brazen tripods, leading from the Theatre
of Dionysus, glowed like urns of fire; and the waters
of the Illyssus glanced right joyfully, as they moved
onward to the ocean. The earth was like a slumbering babe, smiling in its sleep, because it dreams of
Heaven.




10               PHILO T H EA.
In the most ancient and quiet part of the city, not
far from the gate Diocharis, was the modest mansion
of Anaxagoras; and at this tranquil hour, the granddaughter of the philosopher, with her beloved companion Eudora, stood on the roof, enjoying the
radiant landscape, and the balmy air.
Philothea's tall figure was a lovely union of majesty and grace. The golden hair, which she inherited from a Laconian mother, was tastefully arranged
on the top of her head, in a braided crown, over the
sides of which the bright curls fell, like tendrils of
grapes from the edge of a basket. The mild brilliancy of her large dark eyes formed a beautiful contrast to a complexion fair even to transparency. Her
expression had the innocence of infancy; but it was
tinged with something elevated and holy, which
made it seem like infancy in Heaven.
Eudora had more sparkling eyes, lips more richly
coloured, and a form more slender and flexile. Her
complexion might have seemed dark, had it not been
relieved by a profusion of glossy black hair, a portion of which was fastened with a silver arrow,
while the remainder shaded her forehead, and fell
over her shoulders.
As they stood side by side, with their arms twined
around each other, they were as lovely a sight as the
moon ever shone upon.  Totally unlike each other,
but both excellent in beauty.  One might have been
a model for the seraphs of Christian faith, the other
an Olympian deity.
For a few moments, Philothea stood in earnest silence, gazing upon the bright planet of evening -
then, in a tone of deep enthusiasm, she exclaimed:




PHILOTHE A.                   11
"It is a night to feel the presence of the gods! Virgin sister of Phoebus, how calm thou art in thy
glorious beauty! Thou art filling the world with
music-silent to the ear, but audible to the heart!
Phidias has embodied the unbreathing harmony in
stone, and we worship the fair proportions, as an
emanation from the gods. The birds feel it-and
wonder at the tune that makes no noise. The whole
earth is lulled by its influence. All is motionless;
save the Naiades of the stream, moving in wreathed
dance to the voiceless melody. See how their shining
hair sparkles on the surface of the waters! Surely
there is music in this light! Eudora, what is it
within us, that listens where there is no sound? Is
it thus we shall hear in Elysium?"
In a subdued and troubled voice, her companion
answered, " Oh, Philothea, when you talk thus, my
spirit is in fear-and now, too, all is so still and
bright, that it seems as if the gods themselves were
listening to our speech."
"The same mysterious influence impresses me
with awe," replied the contemplative maiden: " In
such an hour as this, Plato must have received the
sublime thought,'God is truth-and light is his
shadow.' "
Eudora drew more closely to her friend, and said,
timidly: " Oh, Philothea, do not talk of the gods.
Such discourse has a strange and fearful power, when
the radiant daughter of Zeus is looking down upon
us in all her heavenly majesty. Even the midnight
procession of the Panathenaea affected me less
deeply."
After a few moments of serious silence, she con



12              PHILO THE A.
tinued: "I saw it last night, for the first time since
my childhood; for you know I was very ill when
the festival was last celebrated. It was truly a
beautiful and majestic scene! The virgins all clothed
in white; the heifers decorated with garlands; the
venerable old men bearing branches of olive; the
glittering chariots; the noble white horses, obeying
the curb with such proud impatience; the consecrated
image of Pallas carried aloft on its bed of flowers;
the sacred ship blazing with gems and gold; all
moving in the light of a thousand torches! Then
the music, so loud and harmonious! It seemed as
if all Athens joined in the mighty sound. I distinguished you in the procession; and I almost envied
you the privilege of embroidering the sacred peplus,
and being six long months in the service of Pallas
Athenae. I have had so much to say since you returned, and Phidias has so many guests, that I have
found little time to ask concerning the magnificent
sights you saw within the Acropolis."
"The night would wear away, ere I could describe all I witnessed within the walls of the Parthenon alone," rejoined her companion: "There is the
silver-footed throne, on which Xerxes sat, while he
watched the battle of Salamis; the scimitar of Mardonius, captured at Plataea; a beautiful ivory Persephone, on a pedestal of pure gold; and a Methymnean lyre, said to have belonged to Terpander himself, who you know was the first that used seven
strings. Victorious wreaths, coins, rings, and goblets
of shining gold, are there without number; and Persian couches, and Egyptian sphynxes, and-".
"What do you, find so interesting beyond the




PHIL  T H E A.               13
walls? " asked Eudora, smiling at the earnestness
with which her friend gazed in the distance: " Do
the slaves, bringing water from the Fountain of Callirhoe, look so very beautiful in the moonlight?"
"I marvel that you can speak so lightly," replied
Philothea: "We have as yet heard no tidings concerning the decision in the Court of Cynosarges, on
which the fate of Philaemon depends; and you know
how severely his high spirit will suffer, if an unfavourable sentence is awarded. Neither of us have
alluded to this painful topic. But why have we thus
lingered on the house-top, if it were not to watch for
the group which, if I mistake not, are now approaching, on their return from Cynosarges?"
" Then it is for Philaemou's sake, that you have so
long been looking wistfully toward the Illyssus?"
said Eudora, playfully.
"I will not deny that Paralus has had the largest
share of my thoughts," replied the simple-hearted
maiden; " but for Philaemon, as your betrothed
lover, and the favourite pupil of my grandfather, I
feel an interest strong enough to keep me on the
watch during a less delightful evening than this. I
think it must be Paralus who walls in the centre of
the group; we have been separated many months;
and courtesy to the numerous strangers under his
father's roof has prevented our.having much discourse to-day. For his sake, I am glad once more
to be in my own happy home. He is none the.less
dear to me because I know that he can never be my
husband."
"And why should he not?" exclaimed Eudora:
"The blood of princes flowed in the veins of your




14              P H I L O T H E A.
ancestors. If Anaxagoras is poor, it is because he
has preferred wisdom to gold."
With a faint sigh, Philothea answered, " Had the
good old man preferred gold to wisdom, I should
have loved him less; nor would his instructions have
made me such a wife as Paralus deserves; yet Pericles would have better liked the union.  He has
obtained from his son a solemn promise never to
speak to me of marriage. The precaution was unnecessary; for since this new law has passed, I
would not marry Paralus, even with his father's
consent. I would never be the means of bringing
degradation and losses upon him."
"If you still love Paralus, I wonder you can be so
quiet and cheerful," said Eudora.
"I wished him to make the required promise, because obedience to parents is our first duty," replied
Philothea; " and had I thought otherwise, the laws
compel it. But the liberty of loving Paralus, no
power can take from me; and in that I find sufficient
happiness. I am bound to him by ties stronger than
usually bind the hearts of women. My kind grandfather has given me an education seldom bestowed
on daughters; and from our childhood, Paralus and
I have shared the same books, the same music, and
the same thoughts, until our souls seem to be one.
When I am  very happy, I always see a peculiar
brightness on his countenance; and when I am powerfully impressed by any of the fair sights of this
beautiful world, or by those radiant deities who live
among  the stars, often, before I can speak my
thoughts, he utters my very words. I sometimes
think the gods have united human beings by some




PHILOTHEA.                    15
mysterious principle, like the according notes of
music. Or is it as Plato has supposed, that souls
originally one have been divided, and each seeks the
half it has lost? Eudora, if you consider how generally maidens are bestowed in marriage without
consulting their affections, you must confess that
you have reason to feel deeply grateful for your own
lot."
"Yet this new law against those of foreign parentage, renders marriage with me as dishonourable as
with you," rejoined the maiden:' Nay, it is much
more so; for I am a slave, though, by courtesy, they
do not call me one."
"But Philaemon has no parents to forbid his
choice," said Philothea; "and if the court decide
against him, he will incur no fine by a marriage
with you; for he himself will then be a sojourner in
Athens.  The loss of his paternal estates will indeed
leave him poor; but he has friends to assist his own
energies, and in all probability, your union will not
be long delayed. Ah, now I am certain that Anaxagoras approaches, with Paralus and Philaemon. They
perceive us; but Paralus does not wave his hand, as
he promised to do, if they brought good tidings."
Without appearing to share her anxiety, Eudora
carelessly inquired, " Did you witness the Festival
of Torches, while you were within the Acropolis?
The swiftness of the runners, moving in the light of
their own torches, making statues and temples ruddy
with the glow as they passed, was truly a beautiful
sight. I suppose you heard that Alcibiades gained
the prized  With what graceful celerity he darted
through the course! I was at Aspasia's house that
2




16              PHILOTHEA.
evening. It is so near the goal, that we could plainly
see his countenance flushed with excitement and
exercise, as he stood waving his unextinguished
torch in triumph."
"I am  sorry Phidias considers improvement in
music of sufficient consequence to encourage your
visits to that dangerous woman," answered Philothea: "It was an unpropitious day for Athens when
she came here to invest vice with all the allurements
of beauty and eloquence."
I think women should judge kindly of Aspasia's
faults, and remember that they are greatly exaggerated by her enemies," rejoined Eudora; "for she
proves that they are fit for something better than
mere domestic slaves. Her house is the only one in
all Greece where women are allowed to be present at
entertainments.  What is the use of a beautiful face,
if one must be shut up in her own apartment for
ever'  And what avails skill in music, if there is no
chance to display it? I confess that I like the customs Aspasia is trying to introduce."
" And I should like them, if I believed they would
make the Grecian women something better than mere
domestic slaves," said Philothea; " but such as Aspasia will never raise women out of the bondage in
which they are placed by the impurity and selfishness of man. Your own confessions, Eudora, do not
speak well for her instructions. Why should a truehearted woman wish to display her beautiful face, or
her skill in music, to any but those on whom her
affections are bestowed?"
"It is natural to wish for admiration," replied the
handsome maiden: "Thle goidesses themselves con



P HIL O T HE A.               17
tended for it. You, at least, ought not to judge Aspasia harshly; for she has the idea that you are
some deity inl disguise; and she has the most extravagant desire to see you."
"Flattery.to ourselves does not change the nature
of what is wrong," answered Philothea.  "Pericles
has more than once mentioned Aspasia's wish that I
should visit her; but nothing short of my grand-father's express command will ever induce me to do
it. Our friends are now entering the gate.  Let us
go to welcome them."
Eudora hastily excused herself under the plea of
duties at home; and Philothea, supposing it might
be painful to meet her unfortunate lover in the presence of others, forebore to urge it.
A paternal blessing beamed from the countenance
of Anaxagoras, the moment Philothea appeared. Paralus greeted her as a brother welcomes a cherished
sister; but in the earnest kindness of his glance was
expressed something more deep and heart-stirring
than his words implied.
Philaemon, though more thoughtful than usual, received his own and Eudora's friend, with cheerful
cordiality.  His countenance had the frank and
smiling expression of one who truly wishes well to
all men, and therefore sees everything reflected in
forms of joy. His figure was athletic, while his step
and bearing indicated the promptitude and decision
of a man who acts spontaneously from his own convictions.
Paralus, far from  being effeminate, was distinguished for his dexterity and skill in all the manly
sports of the gymnasium; but the purity of his com



s18             PHI L 0 T H EA.
plexion, and the peculiarly spiritual expression of his
face, would have been deemed beautiful, even in.a
woman.  The first he probably derived from  his
mode of life; for, being a strict Pythagorean, he never
partook of animal food. The last was. the transparent medium of innocence, through which thoughts
and affections continually showed their changing
forms of life.
In answer to her eager questions, Philothea soon
learned that her fears had prophesied aright concerning the decision of the court. Philmemon had been
unsuccessful; but thebuoyant energy of his character
did not yield even to temporary despondency. He
spoke of his enemies without bitterness, and of his
own prospects with confidence and hope.
Philothea would have immediately gone to convey
the tidings to her friend, had not Philramon early
taken his leave, and passed through the garden into
the house of Phidias.
Paralus remained until a late hour, alternately
talking with the venerable philosopher, and playing
upon his flute, while Philothea sung the songs they
had learned together.
In the course of conversation, Anaxagoras informed
his child that Pericles particularly urged her attendance' at Aspasia's next symposium. "I obey my
grandfather, without a question," she replied; "but
I would much rather avoid this visit, if it were
possible."
"Such is likewise my wish," rejoined the philosopher; " but Pericles has plainly implied that he should
be offended by refusal; it is therefore necessary to
comply with his request."




VHILOTHEA.                     19
The maiden looked doubtingly at her lover, as if
she deemed his sanction necessary; and the inquiring
glance was answered by an affectionate smile.  " I
need not repeat my thoughts and feelings with regard
to Aspasia," said Paralus, " for you know them well;
but for many reasons it is not desirable that an estrangement should take place between my father and
Anaxagoras.  Since, therefore, it has pleased Pericles
to insist upon it, I think the visit had better be made.
You need not fear any very alarming innovation
upon the purity of ancient manners. Even Aspasia
will reverence you."
Philothea meekly yielded to the opinion of her
friends; and it was decided that, on the evening
after the morrow, she should accompany her grandfather to Aspasia's dwelling.
Before proceeding farther, it is necessary'to relate
the situation of the several characters introduced in
this chapter.
Anaxagoras had been the tutor of Pericles, and
still retained considerable influence over him; but
there were times when the straightforward sincerity,
and uncompromising integrity of the old man were
somewhat offensive and troublesome to his ambitious
pupil. For the great Athenian statesman, like modern politicians, deemed honesty excellent in theory,
and policy safe in practice.  Thus admitting the
absurd proposition that principles entirely false and
corrupt in the abstract are more salutary, in their
practical manifestation, than principles essentially
good and true.
While Pericles was determined to profit by diseases
of the state, the philosopher was anxious to cure
2*




20              P H I L   T H EA.
them; therefore, independently of personal affection
and gratitude, he was willing to make slight concessions, in order to retain some influence over his
illustrious pupil.
The celebrated Aspasia was an elegant and voluptuous Ionian, who succeeded admirably in pleasing the good taste of the Athenians, while she ministered to their vanity and their vices. The wise and
good lamented the universal depravity of manners,
sanctioned by her influence; but a people so gay, so
ardent, so intensely enamoured of the beautiful,
readily acknowledged the sway of an eloquent and
fascinating woman, who carefully preserved  the
appearance of decorum. Like the Gabrielles and
Pompadours of modern  times, Aspasia obtained
present admiration and future fame, while hundreds
of better women were neglected and forgotten. The
crowds of wealthy and distinguished  men who
gathered around her, were profuse in their flattery,
and munificent in their gifts; and Pericles so far
yielded to her influence, that he divorced his wife
and married her.
Philaemon was at that time on terms of intimacy
with the illustrious orator; and he earnestly remonstrated against this union, as alike disgraceful
to Pericles and injurious to public morals. By this
advice he incurred the inveterate dislike of Aspasia;
who never rested from her efforts until she had persuaded her husband to procure the revival of an ancient
law, by which all citizens who married foreigners,
were subjected to a heavy fine; and all persons,
whose parents were not both Athenians, were declared incapable of voting in the public assemblies,




PHILOTHE A.                  21
or ot inheriting the estates of their fathers. Pericles
the more readily consented to this, because such a
law  at once deprived many political enemies of
power. Philaemon was the son of Choerilaus, a
wealthy Athenian; but his mother had been born in
Corinth, though brought to Athens during childhood.
It was supposed that this latter circumstance, added
to the patriotism of his family and his own moral
excellence, would prevent the application of the law
in his individual case. But Alcibiades, for reasons
unknown to the public, united his influence with
that of Aspasia; and their partizans were active
and powerful.  When the case was tried in the
court of illegitimacy at Cynosarges, Philaernon was
declared a sojourner in Athens, incapable of holding
any office, and dispossessed of his paternal inheritance.
Eudora was a mere infant when Phidias bought
her of a poor goatherd in Phelle. The child was
sitting upon a rock, caressing a kid, when the
sculptor first saw her, and the gracefulness of her
attitude attracted his attention, while her innocent
beauty touched his heart. She and her nurse had
been stolen from the Ionian coast, by Greek pirates.
The nurse was sold into slavery, and the babe
delivered by one of the pirates to the care of his
mother.  The little creature, in her lisping way,
called herself baby Minta; and this appellation she
retained, until Phidias gave her the name of Eudora.
Philothea, the orphan daughter of Alcimenes, son
of Anaxagoras, was a year or two older than
Eudora. She wvas brought to Athens, at about the
same period; and as they resided very near each




22              P H I LO T    H E A.
other, the habitual intercourse of childhood naturally
ripened into mature friendship. No interruption of
this constant intimacy occurred, until Philothea was
appointed one of the Canephore, whose duty it was
to embroider the sacred peplus, and to carry baskets
in the grand procession of the Panathenaea.  Six
months of complete seclusion within the walls of the
Acropolis, were required of the Canephorm. During
this protracted absence, Aspasia persuaded Phidias
to bring Eudora frequently to her house; and her
influence insensibly produced a great change in that
young person, whose character was even more flexile
than her form.




PHILO T HEA.                   23
CHAPTER II.
"WITH grace divine her soul is blest,
And heavenly Pallas breathes within her breast;
In wonderous arts than woman more renowned,
And more than woman with deep wisdom crowned.
HOMER.
IT was the last market hour of Athens, when Anaxagoras, Philothea, and Eudora, accompanied by
Geta, the favourite slave of Phidias, stepped forth
into the street, on their way to Aspasia's residence.
Loud shouts of laughter came from  the agoras,
and the whole air was filled with the hum of a busy
multitude. Groups of citizens lingered about the
porticos; Egyptians, Medians, Sicilians, and strangers from all the neighbouring States of Greece,
thronged the broad avenue of the Piraus; women,
carrying upon their heads olive jars, baskets of
grapes, and vases of water, glided among the crowd,
with that majestic motion so peculiar to the peasantry in countries where this custom prevails.
Philothea drew the folds of her veil more closely,
and clung timidly to her venerable protector. But
neither this, nor increasing twilight, could screen
the graceful maidens from observation. Athenians
looked back as they passed, and foreigners paused to
inquire their name and parentage.
In a few moments they were under the walls of
the Acropolis, walking in the shadow of the olive
groves, among god-like statues, to which the gathering obscurity of evening gave an impressive distinct



24              PHILO T H E A.
ness-as if the light departing from the world, stood
petrified in marble.
Thence they entered the inner Ceramicus, where
Aspasia resided. The building, like all the private
houses of' Athens; had a plain exterior, strongly
contrasted  by  the magnificence  of surrounding
temples, and porticos. At the gate, an image of
Hermes looked toward the harbour, while Phoebus,
leaning on his lyre, appeared to gaze earnestly at the
dwelling.. A slave, stationed near the door, lighted the way
to the apartment where Aspasia was reclining, with
a Doric harp by her side, on which she had just been
playing.  The first emotion she excited was surprise
at the radiant and lucid expression, which mantled
her whole face, and made the very blood seem eloquent. In her large dark eye the proud consciousness of intellect was softened only by melting voluptuousness; but something of sadness about her
beautiful mouth gave indication that the heavenly
part of her nature still struggled with earth-born
passions.
A garland of golden leaves, with large drops of
pearl, was interwoven among the glossy braids of her
hair, and rested on her forehead.
She wore a robe of rich Milesian purple, the folds
of which were confined on one shoulder within a
broad ring of gold, curiously wrought; on the other
they were fastened by a beautiful cameo, representing the head of Pericles. The crimson couch gave a
soft flush to the cheek and snowy arm that rested on
it; and, for a moment, even Philothea yielded to the
enchantment of her beauty.




PHILOT HE A.                  25
Full of smiles, Aspasia rose and greeted Eudora,
with the ease and gracefulness of one long accustomed to homage; but when the venerable philosopher introduced his child, she felt the simple purity
emanating from their characters, and something of
embarrassment mingled with her respectful salutation.
Her own face was uncovered, contrary to the custom of Grecian women; and after a few of those
casual remarks which everywhere serve to fill up
the pauses in conversation, she playfully seized Eudora's veil, and threw it back over her shoulders.
She would have done the same to Philothea; but the
maiden placed her hand on the half transparent covering, and said, "With your leave, lady, I remain
veiled.'
" But I cannot give my leave," rejoined Aspasia,
playfully, still keeping her hold upon the veil: "I
must see this tyrannical custom  done away in the
free commonwealth of Athens.  All the matrons
who visit my house agree with me in this point; all
are willing to renounce the absurd fashion."
"'But in a maiden it would be less seemly,"
answered Philothea.
Thus resisted, Aspasia appealed to Anaxagoras to
exert his authority; adding, in an audible whisper,'Phidias has told me that she is as lovely as the
immortals."
With a quiet smile, the aged philosopher replied,
" My child must be guided by her own heart.  The
gods have there placed an oracle, which never
misleads or perplexes those who listen to it."
Aspasia continued, " From what I had heard of




26              PHILO T H EA.
you, Philothea, I expected to find you above the
narrow prejudices of Grecian women. In you, I was
sure of a mind strong enough to break the fetters of
habit. Tell me, my bashful maiden, why is beauty
given us, unless it be like sunlight to bless and
gladden the world? "
"Lady," replied the gentle recluse, "beauty is
given to remind us that the soul should be kept as
fair and perfect in its proportions, as the temple in
which it dwells."
" You are above ordinary women," said Aspasia;
"for you hear me allude to your beauty without
affecting to contradict me, and apparently without
pleasure."
The sound of voices in earnest conversation
announced the approach of Pericles with visiters.
"Come to my room  for a few moments," said
Aspasia, addressing the maidens: "I have just received a magnificent present, which I am sure Eudora will admire. As she spoke, she led the way to
an upper apartment. When they opened the door, a
soft light shone upon them from a lamp, which a
marble Psyche shaded with her hand, as she bent
over the couch of Eros.
"Now that we are quite sure of being uninterrupted, you cannot refuse to raise your veil," said
Aspasia.
Simply and naturally, the maiden did as she was
desired; without any emotion of displeasure or exultation at the eager curiosity of her hostess.
For an instant, Aspasia stood rebuked and silent,
in the presence of that serene and holy beauty.
With deep feeling she exclaimed, "Maiden, Phid



PHILOTHEA.                   27
las spoke truly. Even thus do we imagine the immortals!"
A faint blush gleamed on Philothea's face; for her
meek spirit was pained by a comparison with things
divine; but it passed rapidly; and her whole soul
became absorbed in the lovely statues before her.
Eudora's speaking glance seemed to say, "I knew
her beauty would surprise you!" and then, with the
eager gayety of a little child, she began to examine
the gorgeous decorations of the room.
The couch rested on two sphinxes of gold and
ivory, over which the purple drapery fell in rich and
massive folds. In one corner, a pedestal of Egyptian
marble supported an alabaster vase, on the edge of
which were two doves, exquisitely carved, one just
raising his head, the other stooping to drink. On a
similar stand, at the other side, stood a peacock,
glittering with many coloured gems.  The head
lowered upon the breast formed the handle; while
here and there, among the brilliant tail feathers, appeared a languid flame slowly burning away the perfumned oil, with which the bird was filled.
Eudora clapped her hands, with an exclamation
of delight. " That is the present of which I spoke,"
said Aspasia, smiling: " It was sent by Artaphernes,
the Persian, who has lately come to Athens to buy
pictures and statues for the great king."
As Philothea turned towards her companion, she
met Aspasia's earnest gaze. " Had you forgotten
where you were?" she asked.
"No, lady, I could not forget that," replied the
maiden. As she spoke, she hastily withdrew her
eyes from an immodest picture, on which they had
3




28               PHILOTH E A.
accidentally rested; and, blushing deeply, she added,
" But there is something so life-like in that slumbering marble, that for a moment I almost feared Eudora would waken it."
"You will not look upon the picture," rejoined
Aspasia; "yet it relates a story of one of the gods
you reverence so highly.  I am  told you are a
devout believer in these fables?"
"When fiction is the robe of truth, I worship it
for what it covers," replied Philothea; "but I love not
the degrading fables which poets have made concerning divine beings. Such were not the gods of
Solon; for such the wise and good can never be, in
this world or another."
" Then you believe in a future existence?" said
Aspasia, with an incredulous smile.
With quiet earnestness, Philothea answered:"Lady, the simple fact that the human soulhas
ever thought of another world, is sufficient proof that
there is one; for how  can an idea be formed by
mortals, unless it has first existed in the divine
mind "' A reader of Plato, I perceive!" exclaimed Aspasia: " They told me I should find you pure and
child-like; with a soul from which poetry sparkled,
like moonlight on the waters. I did not know that
wisdom and philosophy lay concealed in its depths."
" Is there any other wisdom, than true simplicity
and innocence?" asked the maiden.
With a look of delighted interest, Aspasia took her
arm familiarly; saying, " You and I must be friends.
I shall not grow  weary of you, as I do of other
women.  Not of you, dearest," she added in an




P HI LOT I EA.                29
under tone, tapping Eudora's cheek.  "You must
come here constantly, Philothea.  Though I am
aware," continued she, smiling, "that it is bad
policy for me to seek a guest who will be sure to
eclipse me."
" Pardon me, lady," said Philothea, gently disengaging herself: " Friendship cannot be without sympathy."
A sudden flush of anger suffused Aspasia's countenance; and Eudora looked imploringly at her friend,
as she said, "You love me, Philothea; and I am
sure we are very different."
"I crave pardon," interrupted Aspasia, with haughty impatience. "'I should have remembered that the
conversation prized by Pericles and Plato, might appear contemptible, to this youthful Pallas, who so
proudly seeks to conceal her precious wisdom from
ears profane."
"Lady, you mistake me," answered Philothea,
mildly: "Your intellect, your knowledge, are as far
above mine, as the radiant stars are above the flowers
of the field. Besides, I never felt contempt for anything to which the gods had given life. It is impossible for me to despise you; but I pity you."
"Pity!" exclaimed Aspasia, in a piercing tone,
which made both the maidens start.  " Am I not the
wife of Pericles, and the friend of Plato   Has not
Phidias modelled his Aphrodite from my form? Is
there in all Greece a poet who has not sung my
praises? Is there an artist who has not paid me
tribute?  Phcenicia sends me her most splendid
manufactures and her choicest slaves; Egypt brings
her finest linen and her metals of curious workman



30              PHILO T HE A.
ship; while Persia unrolls her silks, and pours out
her gems at my feet. To the remotest period of
time, the world,-aye, the world,-maiden, will hear
of Aspasia, the beautiful and the gifted!"
For a moment, Philothea looked on her, silently
and meekly, as she stood with folded arms, flushed
brow, and proudly arched neck. Then, in a soft,
sad voice, she answered: " Aye, lady-but will your
spirit hear the echo of your fame, as it rolls back
from the now silent shores of distant ages?"
" You utter nonsense!" said Aspasia, abruptly:
" There is no immortality but fame. In history, the
star of my existence will never set-but shine brilliantly and forever in the midst of its most glorious
constellation!"
After a brief pause, Philothea resumed: "But
when men,talk of Aspasia the beautiful and the
gifted, will they add, Aspasia the good-the happythe innocent?"
The last word was spoken in a low, emphatic
tone. A slight quivering about Aspasia's lips betrayed emotion crowded back upon the heart; while
Eudora bowed her head, in silent confusion, at the
bold admonition of her friend.
With impressive kindness, the maiden continued:
"Daughter of Axiochus, do you never suspect that
the homage you receive is half made up of selfishness and impurity 1 This boasted power of intellect
— this giddy triumph of beauty-what do they do
for you? Do they make you happy in the communion of your own heart? Do they bring you nearer
to the gods? Do they make the memory of your
childhood a gladness, or a sorrow 2"




PHI L O T H EA.               31
Aspasia sank on the couch, and bowed her head
upon her hands.  For a few  moments, the tears
might be seen stealing through her fingers; while
Eudora, with the ready sympathy of a warm heart,
sobbed aloud.
Aspasia soon recovered her composure.  "Philothea," she said, "you have spoken to me as no one
ever dared to speak; but my own heart has sometimes uttered the truth less mildly.  Yesterday 1
learned the same lesson from a harsher voice. A
Corinthian sailor pointed at this house, and said,'There dwells Aspasia, the courtezan, who makes
her wealth by the corruption of Athens!' My very
blood boiled in my veins, that such an one as he
could give me pain. It is true the illustrious Pericles has made me his wife; but there are things
which even his power, and my own allurements, fail
to procure. Ambitious women do indeed come here
to learn how to be distinguished; and the vain come
to study the fashion of my garments, and the newest
braid of my hair. But the purest and best matrons
of Greece refuse to be my guests. You, Philothea,
came reluctantly-and because Pericles would have
it so. Yes," she added, the tears again starting to
her eyes-"I know the price at which I purchase
celebrity. Poets will sing of me at feasts, and orators describe me at the games; but what will that
be to me, when I have gone into the silent tomb?
Like the lifeless guest at Egyptian tables, Aspasia
will be all unconscious of the garlands she wears.
"Philothea, you think me vain, and heartless, and
wicked; and so I am.  But there are moments when
I am willing that this tongue, so praised for its elo3*




32              P H I LO T H E A.
quence, should be dumb forever-that this beauty,
which men worship, should be hidden in the deepest
recesses of barbarian forests-so that I might again,
be as I was, when the sky was clothed in perpetual
glory, and the earth wore not so sad a smile as now.
Oh, Philothea! would to the gods, I had your purity
and goodness! But you despise me;-for you are
innocent."
Soothingly, and almost tearfully, the maiden replied: " No, lady; such were not the feelings which
made me say we could not be friends. It is because
we have chosen different paths; and paths that
never approach each other. What to you seem idle
dreams, are to me sublime realities, for which I
would gladly exchange all that you prize in existence.  You live for immortality in this world; I
live for immortality in another. The public voice is
your oracle; I listen to the whisperings of the gods
in the stillness of my own heart; and never yet, dear
lady, have those two oracles spoken the same language."
Then falling on her knees, and looking up earnestly, she exclaimed, "Beautiful and gifted one! Listen to the voice that tries to win you back to innocence and truth! Give your heart up to it, as a little child led by its mother's hand! Then shall the
flowers again breathe poetry, and the stars move in
music."
"It is too late," murmured Aspasia: "The flowers are scorched-the stars are clouded. I cannot
again be as I have been."
"Lady, it is never too late," replied Philothea:
"You have unbounded influence-use it nobly! No




P H I L  T H EA.             33
longer seek popularity by flattering the vanity, or
ministering to the passions of the Athenians. Let
young men hear the praise of virtue from the lips of
beauty. Let them see religion married to immortal
genius. Tell them it is ignoble to barter the heart's
wealth for heaps of coin-that love weaves a simple
wreath of his own bright hopes, stronger than massive chains of gold. Urge Pericles to prize the good
of Athens more than the applause of its populaceto value the permanence of her free institutions more
than the splendour of her edifices. Oh, lady, never,
never, had any mortal such power to do good!"
Aspasia sat gazing intently on the beautiful speaker, whose tones grew more and more earnest as she
proceeded.
"Philothea," she replied, " you have moved me
strangely.  There is about you an influence that
cannot be resisted. It is like what Pindar says of
music; if it does not give delight, it is sure to agitate
and oppress the heart. From the first moment you
spoke, I have felt this mysterious power. It is as if
some superior being led me back, even against my
will, to the days of my childhood, when I gathered
acorns from the ancient oak that shadows the fountain of Byblis, or ran about on the banks of my own
beloved Meander, filling my robe with flowers."
There was silence for a moment. Eudora smiled
through her tears, as she whispered, "Now, Philothea, sing that sweet song Anaxagoras taught you.
He too is of Ionia; and Aspasia will love to hear it."
The maiden answered with a gentle smile, and
began to warble the first notes of a simple bird-like
song.




34              PH ILO T H EA.' Hush!" said Aspasia, putting her hand on Philothea's mouth, and bursting into tears —" It was the
first tune I ever learned; and I have not heard it
since my mother sung it to me."
" Then let me sing it, lady," rejoined Philothea:
"It is good for us to keep near our childhood. In
leaving it, we wander from the gods."'
A slight tap at the door made Aspasia start up
suddenly; and stooping over the alabaster vase of
water, she hastened to remove all traces of her tears.
As Eudora opened the door, a Byzantian slave
bowed low, and waited permission to speak.
"Your message " said Aspasia, with queenly
brevity.
"If it please you, lady, my master bids me say
he desires your presence."
"We come directly," she replied; and with another low bow, the Byzantian closed the door.
Before a mirror of polished steel, supported by
ivory Graces, Aspasia paused to adjust the folds of
her robe, and replace a curl that had strayed from
its golden fillet.
As she passed, she continued to look back at the
reflection of her own fair form, with a proud glance,
which seemed to say, " Aspasia is herself again!"
Philothea took Eudora's arm, and folding her veil
about her, with a deep sigh followed to the room
below.




PHILOTHEA.                        35
CHAPTER III.
ALL is prepared-the table and the feastWith due appurtenance of clothes and cushions.
Chaplets and dainties of all kinds abound:
Here rich perfumes are seen-there cakes and cates
Of every fashion; cakes of honey, cakes
Of sesamum, and cakes of unground corn.
What more? A troop of dancing women fair,
And minstrels who may chaunt us sweet lIarmodius.
ARISTOPHANES.
THE room  in which the guests were assembled,
was furnished with less of Asiatic splendour than
the private apartment of Aspasia; but in its magnificent simplicity there was a more perfect manifestation of ideal beauty. It was divided in the middle
by eight Ionic columns, alternately of Phrygian and
Pentelic marble. Between the central pillars stood a
superb statue from the hand of Phidias, representing
Aphrodite guided by Love, and crowned by Peitho, goddess of Persuasion. Around the walls were Phoebus
and Hermes in Parian marble, and the nine Muses in
ivory. A fountain of perfumed water, from the adjoining room, diffused coolness and fragrance, as it
passed through a number of concealed pipes, and
finally flowed into a magnificent vase, supported by
a troop of Naiades.
In a recess stood the famous lion of Myron, surrounded  by infant Loves, playing with his paws,
climbing his back, and decorating his neck with garlands. This beautiful group seemed actually to live
and move in the clear light and deep shadows derived
from a silver lamp suspended above.




36               P  1  I 1  (  ii E.
The walls were enriched with some of the choicest
paintings of Apollodorus, Zeuxis, and Polygnotus.
Near a fine likeness of Pericles, by Aristolaius, was
Aspasia, represented as Chloris scattering flowers
over the earth, and attended by winged Hours.
It chanced that Pericles himself reclined beneath
his portrait, and though political anxiety had taken
from his countenance something of the cheerful freshness which characterized the picture, he still retained
the same elevated beauty-the same deep, quiet expression of intellectual power.  At a short distance,
with his arm resting on the couch, stood his nephew
Alcibiades, deservedly called the handsomest man in
Athens.  He was laughing with Hermippus, the
comic writer, whose shrewd, sarcastic and mischievous face was expressive of his calling.  Phidias
slowly paced the room, talking of the current news
with the Persian Artaphernes. Anaxagoras reclined
near the statue of Aphrodite, listening and occasionally speaking to Plato, who leaned against one of the
marble pillars, in earnest conversation with a learned
Ethiopian.
The gorgeous apparel of the Asiatic and African
guests, contrasted strongly with the graceful simplicity of Grecian costume. A saffron-coloured mantle and a richly embroidered Median vest glittered
on the person of the venerable Artaphernes.  Tithonus, the Ethiopian, wore a skirt of ample folds,
which scarcely fell below the knee.  It was of the
glorious Tyrian hue, resembling a crimson light
shining through transparent purple.  The edge of
the garment was curiously wrought with golden
palm leaves. It terminated at the waist in a large




PHILO THEA.                   37
roll, twined with massive chains of gold, and fastened by a clasp of the far-famed Ethiopian topaz.
The upper part of his person was uncovered and unornamented, save by broad bracelets of gold, which
formed a magnificent contrast with the sable colour
of his vigorous and finely-proportioned limbs.
As the ladies entered, the various groups came
forward to meet them; and all were welcomed by
Aspasia with earnest cordiality and graceful self-possession. While the brief salutations were passing,
Hipparete, the wife of Alcibiades came from an inner
apartment, where she had been waiting for her
hostess.  She was a fair, amiable young matron,
evidently conscious of her high rank.  The short
blue tunic, which she wore over a lemon-coloured
robe, was embroidered with golden grasshoppers;
and on her forehead sparkled a jewelled insect of the
same species. It was the emblem of unmixed Athenian blood; and Hipparete alone, of all the ladies
present, had a right to wear it. HIer manners were
an elaborate copy of Aspasia; but deprived of the
powerful charm  of unconsciousness, which flowed
like a principle of life into every motion of that
beautiful enchantress.
The momentary silence, so apt to follow introductions, was interrupted by an Ethiopian boy, who, at
a signal from Tithonus, emerged from behind the
columns, and kneeling, presented to Aspasia a beautiful box of ivory, inlaid with gold, filled with the
choicest perfumes.  The lady acknowledged the
costly offering by a gracious smile, and a low bend
of the head toward the giver.
The ivory was wrought with exquisite skill, rep



38              PHILO THE A.
resenting the imaginary forms of the constellations,
studded with golden stars. The whole rested on a
golden image of Atlas, bending beneath the weight.
The box was passed from hand to hand, and excited
universal admiration.
" Were these figures carved by an artist of your
own country?" asked Phidias.
With a smile, Tithonus replied, "You ask the
question because you see a Grecian spirit in those
forms. They were indeed fashioned by an Ethiopian; but one who had long resided in Athens."
"'There is truly a freedom and variety in these
figures, which I have rarely seen even in Greece,"
rejoined Phidias; " and I have never met with those
characteristics in Ethiopian or Egyptian workmanship."
"They belong not to the genius of those countries," answered Tithonus: "Philosophy and the
arts are but a manifestation of the intelligible ideas
that move the public mind; and thus they become
visible images of the nations whence they emanate.
The philosophy of the East is misty and vast-with
a gleam of truth here and there, resting like sunlight
on the edge of a dark and mighty cloud. Hence, our
architecture and statuary is massive and of immense
proportions.  Greece is free-therefore she has a
philosopher, who sees that every idea must have a
form, and in every form discovers its appropriate
life. And because philosophy has perceived that the
principle of vitality and beauty flows from the divine
mind into each and every earthly thing, therefore
Greece has a sculptor, who can mould his thoughts
into marble forms, from which the free grandeur of




PHILOTHE A.                    39
the soul emanates like a perpetual presence." As
he spoke, he bowed low to Plato and Phidias.
"The gigantic statues of Sicily have fair proportions," said Plato; " and they have life; but it is life
in deep repose. There is the vastness of eternity,
without the activity of time."'" The most ancient statuary of all nations is an
image of death; not of sleeping energy," observed
Aspasia. " The arms adhere rigidly to the sides, the
feet form one block; and even in the face, the divine
ideal seems struggling hard to enter the reluctant
form. But thanks to Pygmalion of Cyprus, we now
have the visible impress of every passion carved in
stone. The spirit of beauty now flows freely into
the harmonious proportions, even as the oracle is
filled by the inspiration of the god. Now the foot
bounds from the pedestal, the finger points to the
stars, and life breathes from every limb.  But in
good time the Lybian pipe warns us that the feast is
ready.  We must not soar too far above the earth,
while she offers us the rich treasures of her fruittrees and vines."
" Yet it is ever thus, when Plato is with us," exclaimed Pericles.  " He walks with his head among
the stars-and, by a magic influence, we rise to his
elevation, until we perceive the shadows of majestic
worlds, known in their reality only to the gods. As
the approach of Phoebus fills the priestess with prophecy, so does this son of Phoebus impart something
of his own eloquence to all who come within its
power."
"You speak truly, 0 Pericles," replied Tithonus;
but it is a truth felt only by those who are in some
4




40              PHILOTHEA.
measure worthy to receive it. Aspasia said wisely,
that the spirit of beauty flows in, only where the
proportions are harmonious.  The gods are ever
with us, but few feel the presence of the gods."
Philothea, speaking in a low  tone to Eudora,
added, "And Plato rejoices in their glorious presence, not only because he walks with his head
among the stars, but because he carries in his heart
a blessing for every little child."
These words, though spoken almost in a whisper,
reached the ear of the philosopher himself; and he
turned toward the lovely speaker with a beaming
glance, which distinctly told that his choicest blessings were bestowed upon spirits pure and gentle as
her own.
Thus conversing, the guests passed between the
marble columns, and entered that part of the room
where the banquet was prepared. Aspasia filled a
golden basket with Athenian olives, Phienician dates,
and almonds of Naxos, and whispering a brief invocation, placed it on a small altar, before an ivory
image of Demeter, which stood in the midst of the
table.  Seats covered with crimson cloth were arranged at the end of the couches, for the accommodation of women; but the men reclined in Asiatic
fashion, while beautiful damsels sprinkled perfumes
on their heads, and offered water for their hands in
vases of silver.
In choosing one to preside over the festivities of
the evening, the lot fell upon Tithonus; but he
gracefully declined the office, saying it properly belonged to an Athenian.




P HILOTHEA.                   41
" Then I must insist that you appoint your successor," said Aspasia.
"Your command partakes little of the democracy
of Athenian institutions," answered he, smiling;
"but I obey it cheerfully; and will, as most fitting,
crown the wisest." He arose, as he spoke, and reverently placed the chaplet on the head of Plato.
"I Will transfer it to the most beautiful," rejoined
the philosopher; and he attempted to place the garland on the brow of Alcibiades. But the young man
prevented him, and exclaimed, "Nay-according to
your own doctrines, 0  admirable Plato, wisdom
should wear the crown; since beauty is but its outward form."
Thus urged, Plato accepted the honours of the
banquet; and taking a handful of garlands from the
golden urn on which they were suspended, he proceeded to crown the guests. He first placed upon
Aspasia's head a wreath of bright and variegated
flowers, among which the rose and the myrtle were
most conspicuous.  Upon Hipparete he bestowed a
coronal of violets, regarded by the proud Athenians
as their own peculiar flower. Philothea received a
crown of pure white lilies.
Aspasia, observing this. exclaimed, "Tell me, 0
Plato, how you knew  that wreath, above all the
others, was woven for the grand-daughter of Anaxagoras'"
" When I hear a note of music, can I not at once
strike its chord?" answered the philosopher: " Even
as surely is there an everlasting harmony between
the soul of man and the visible forms of creation. If




42               P H I L O T H EA.
there were no innocent hearts, there would be no
white lilies."
A shadow passed over Aspasia's expressive countenance; for she was aware that her own brilliant
wreath contained not one purely white blossom.
But her features had been well-trained to conceal
her sentiments; and her usual vivacity instantly
returned.
The remainder of the garlands were bestowed so
rapidly, that there seemed scarcely time for deliberate choice; yet Pericles wore the oak leaves sacred
to Zeus; and the laurel and olive of Phmobus rested
on the brow of Phidias.
A half mischievous smile played round Aspasia's
lips, when she saw  the wreath of ivy and grape
leaves placed on the head of Alcibiades. " Son of
Aristo," she exclaimed, " tie Phoenician Magii have
given you good skill in divination. You have bestowed every garland appropriately."
" It needed little magic," replied Plato, "to know
that the oaken leaves belonged to one whose eloquence is so often called Olympian; or that the laurel was due to him who fashioned Pallas Parthenia;
and Alcibiades would no doubt contend boldly with
any man who professed to worship the god of vineyards with more zeal than himself."
The gay Athenian answered this challenge by
singing part of an Anacreontic ode, often repeated
during the festivities of the Dionysia:
"To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine,
As if to-morrow ne'er should shine;
But if to-morrow comes, why then —
I'll haste to quaff my wine again.




P  I L OT H   A.                43
For death may come with brow unpleasantMay come when least we wish him present,
And beckon to the sable shore,
And grimly bid us-drink no more!"
This profane song was sung in a voice so clear and
melodious, that Tithonus exclaimed, "You err, O
Plato, in saying the tuneful soul of Marsyas has
passed into the nightingale; for surely it remains
with this young Athenian.  Son of Clinias, you
must be well skilled in playing upon the flute the
divine airs of Mysian Olympus?"
" Not I, so help me Dionysus! " lisped Alcibiades.
" My music master will tell you that I ever went to
my pipes reluctantly. I make ten sacrifices to equestrian Poseidon, where I offer one gift to the Parnassian chorus."
"Stranger, thou hast not yet learned the fashions
of Athens," said Anaxagoras, gravely.  "Our young
equestrians now busy themselves with carved chariots, and Persian mantles of the newest mode. They
vie with each other in costly  wines; train doves to
shower luxuriant perfumes from  their wings; and
upon the issue of a contest between fighting quails,
they stake sums large enough to endow a princess.
To play upon the silver-voiced flute is Theban-like
and vulgar.  They leave that to their slaves."
"And why not leave laughter to the slaves?"
asked Hermippus; " since anything more than a
graceful smile distorts the beauty of the features? I
suppose bright eyes would weep in Athens, should
the cheeks of Alcibiades be seen puffed out with vulgar wind-instruments."
"And can you. expect the youth of Athens to be
4*




44               P H I L, O T H EA.
wiser than their gods " rejoined Aspasia.  "Pallas
threw away her favourite flute, because Hera and
Aphrodite laughed at her distorted countenance while
she played upon it. It was but a womanly trick in
the virgin daughter of Zeus."
Tithonus looked at the speaker with a slight expression of surprise; which Hermippus perceiving,
he thus addressed him, in a cool, ironical tone: "0
Ethiopian stranger, it is evident you know little of
Athens; or you would have perceived that a belief
in the gods is more vulgar than flute-playing. Such
trash is deemed fit for the imbecility of the aged, and
the ignorance of the populace.  With equestrianS
and philosophers, it is out of date. You must seek
for it among those who sell fish at the gates; or with
the sailors at Piramus and Phalerum."
"I have visited the Temple of Poseidon, in the
Piraeus," observed Aspasia; "and I saw there a
multitude of offerings from those who had escaped
shipwreck." She paused slightly, and added, with
a significant smile, " But I perceived no paintings of
those who had been wrecked, notwithstanding theix
supplications to the god."
As she spoke, she observed that Pericles withdrew
a rose from  the garland wherewith his cup was
crowned; and though the action was so slight as to
pass unobserved by others, she instantly understood
the caution he intended to convey by that emblem
sacred to the god of silence.
At a signal from Plato, slaves filled the goblets
with wine, and he rose to propose the usual libation
to the gods. Every Grecian guest joined in the ceremony, singing in a recitative tone:




PHI L O T H E A.               45
Dionysus, this to thee,
God of warm festivity!
Giver of the fruitful vine,
To thee we pour the rosy wine!
Music, from the adjoining room, struck in with the
chorus, and continued for some moments after it had
ceased.
For a short time, the conversation was confined to
the courtesies of the table, as the guests partook of
the delicious viands before them. Plato ate olives
and bread only; and the water he drank was scarcely
tinged with Lesbian wine.  Alcibiades rallied him
upon this abstemiousness; and Pericles reminded him that even his great pattern, Socrates, gave
Dionysus his dues, while he worshipped the heavenborn Pallas.
The philosopher quietly replied, " I can worship
the fiery God of Vintage only when married with
Nymphs of the Fountain."
" But tell me, 0 Anaxagoras and Plato," exclaimed Tithonus, " if, as Hermippus hath said, the Grecian philosophers discard the theology of the poets?
Do ye not believe in the Gods?"
Plato would have smiled, had he not reverenced
the simplicity that expected a frank and honest answer to a question so dangerous. Anaxagoras briefly
replied, that the mind which did not believe in divine beings, must be cold and dark indeed.
" Even so," replied Artiphernes, devoutly; " blessed be Oromasdes, who sends Mithras to warm and
enlighten the world! But what surprises me most
is, that you Grecians import new divinities from other
countries, as freely as slaves, or papyrus, or marble.




46              P IHI LO THE A.
The sculptor of the gods will scarcely be able to
fashion half their images."
"If the custom continues," rejoined Phidias, "it
will indeed require a life-time as long as that conferred upon the namesake of Tithonus."
" Thanks to the munificence of artists, every deity
has a representative in my dwelling," observed Aspasia.
" I have heard strangers express their surprise that
the Athenians have never erected a statue to the
principle of Modesty," said Hermippus.
"So much the more need that we enshrine her
image in our own hearts," rejoined Plato.
The sarcastic comedian made no reply to this
quiet rebuke. Looking toward Artaphernes, he continued: "Tell me, 0 servant of the great king,
wherein the people of your country are more wise
in worshipping the sun, than we who represent the
same divinity in marble!"
" The principles of the Persian religion are simple,
-steady, and uniform," replied Artaphernes; "but
the Athenian are always changing. You not only
adopt foreign gods, but sometimes create new ones,
and admit them into your theology by solemn act of
the great council.  These circumstances have led
me to suppose that you worship them as mere forms.
The Persian Magii do indeed prostrate themselves
before the rising Sun; but they do it in the name of
Ororasdes, the universal Principle of Good, of whomn
that great luminary is the visible symbol. In our
solemn processions, the chariot sacred to Oromasdes
precedes the horse dedicated to Mithras; and there
is deep meaning in the arrangement. The Sun and




PHILOTHEA.                     47
Zodiac, the Balance and the Rule, are but emblems
of truths, mysterious and eternal.  As the garlands
we throw on the sacred fire feed the flame, rather
than extinguish it, so the sublime symbols of our religion are intended to preserve, not to conceal, the
truths within them."
" Though you disclaim  all images of divinity,"
rejoined Aspasia, "yet we hear of your Mithras
pictured like a Persian King, trampling on a prostrate ox."
With a smile, Artaphernes replied, "I see, lady,
that you would fain gain admittanca to the Mithraic
cave; but its secrets, like those of y Dar own Eleusis,
are concealed from all save the initiated."
" They tell us," said Aspasia,   that those who
are admitted to the Eleusinian mysteries die in
peace, and go directly to the Elysian fields; while
the uninitiated wander about in the infernal abyss."
"Of course," said Anaxagoras, "Alcibiades will
go directly to Elysium, though Solon groped his way
in darkness."
The old philosopher uttered this with imperturbable gravity, as if unconscious of satirical meaning;
but some of the guests could scarcely repress a smile,
as they recollected the dissolute life of the young
Athenian.
"If Alcibiades spoke his real sentiments," said
Aspasia, "I venture to say he would tell us that the
mystic baskets of Demeter, covered with long purple veils, contain nothing half so much worth seeing,
as the beautiful maidens who carry them."
She looked at Pericles, and saw that he again




48              P HI L O T H E A.
cautioned her, by raising the rose toward his face,
as if inhaling its fragrance.
There was a brief pause, which Anaxagoras interrupted; by saying, " The wise can never reverence
images merely as images. There is a mystical meaning in the Athenian manner of supplicating the gods
with garlands on their heads, and bearing in their
hands boughs of olive twined with wool. Pallas, at
whose birth we are told gold rained upon the earth,
was unquestionably a personification of wisdom. It
is not to be supposed that the philosophers of our
country consider the sun itself as anything more than
a huge ball of fire; but the sight of that glorious orb
leads the contemplative soul to the belief in one Pure
Intelligence, one Universal Mind, which in manifesting itself produces order in the material world, and
preserves the unconfused distinction of infinite varieties."
" Such, no doubt, is the tendency of all reflecting
minds," said Phidias; "but in general, the mere
forms are worshipped, apart from the sacred truths
they represent. The gods we have introduced from
Egypt are regarded by the priests of that learned
land as emblems of certain divine truths brought
down from ancient times.  They are like the Hermae
at our doors, which outwardly appear to rest on inexpressive blocks of stone; but when opened, they
are found to contain beautiful statues of the gods
within them. It is not so with the new fables which
the Greeks are continually mixing with their mythology. Pygmalion, as we all know, first departed
from the rigid outline of ancient sculpture, and impressed life and motion upon marble.  The poets, in




PHILOTHEA.                     49
praise of him, have told us that his ardent wishes
warmed a statue into a lovely and breathing woman.
The fable is fanciful and pleasing in itself; but will
it not hereafter be believed as reality?  Might not
the same history be told of much that is believed?
It is true," added he, smiling, " that I might be excused for favouring a belief in images, since mortals
are ever willing to have their own works adored."' What! does Plato respond to the inquiries of
Phidias?" asked Artaphernes.
The philosopher replied: " Within the holy mysteries of our religion is preserved a pure and deep
meaning, as the waters of Arethusa flow uncontaminated beneath the earth and the sea. I do not presume to decide whether all that is believed has the
inward significancy.  I have ever deemed such speculations unwise. If tie chaste daughter of Latona
always appears to my thoughts veiled in heavenly
purity, it is comparatively unimportant whether I
can prove that Acteon was torn by his dogs, for
looking on the goddess with wanton eyes.  Anaxagoras,' said wisely that material forms lead the contemplative mind to the worship of ideal good, which
is in its nature immortal and divine. Homer tells
us that the golden chain resting upon Olympus
reaches even to the earth.  Here we see but a few
of the last links, and those imperfectly.  We are like
men in a subterranean cave, so chained that they
can look only forward to the entrance. Far above
and behind us is a glowing fire: and beautiful
beings, of every form, are moving between the light
and us poor fettered mortals. Some of these bright
beings are speaking, and others are silent. We see




50               PHIL O T H E A.
only the shadows cast on the opposite wall of the
cavern, by the reflection of the fire above; and if we
hear the echo of voices, we suppose it belongs to
those passing shadows. The soul, in its present condition, is an exile from the orb of light; its ignorance
is forgetfulness; and whatever we can perceive of
truth, or imagine of beauty, is but a reminiscence of
our former more glorious state of being. He who
reverences the gods, and subdues his own passions,
returns at last to the'blest condition from which he
fell. But to talk, or think, about these things with
proud impatience, or polluted morals, is like pouring
pure water into a miry trench; he who does it disturbs the mud, and thus causes the clear water to
become defiled. When Odysseus removed his armour from  the walls, and carried it to an inner
apartment, invisible Pallas moved before him with
her golden lamp, and filled the place with radiance
divine. Telemachus, seeing the light, exclaimed,'Surely, my father, some of the celestial gods are
present.' With deep wisdom, the king of Ithaca replied,' Be silent.  Restrain your intellect, and speak
not.' "
" I am  rebuked, 0 Plato," answered Phidias;
" and from henceforth, when my mind is dark and
doubtful, I will remember that transparent drops
may fall into a turbid well. Nor will I forget that
sometimes, when I have worked on my statues by
torch-light, I could not perceive their real expression,
because I was carving in the shadow of my own
hand."
" Little can be learned of the human soul, and its
connection with the Universal Mind," said Anax



P      I L   T H E A.          51
agoras::"These sublime truths seem  vague and
remote, as Phxoacia appeared to Odysseus like a vast
shield floating on the surface of the distant ocean.
" The glimmering uncertainty attending all such
speculations, has led me to attach myself to the Ionic
sect, who devote themselves entirely to the study of
outward nature."
" And this is useful," rejoined Plato: " The man
who is to be led from a cave will more easily see
what the heavens contain by looking to the light of
the moon and the stars, than by gazing on the sun
at noon-day."
Here Hermippus interrupted the  discourse, by
saying, "The son of Clinias does not inform us what
he thinks of the gods. While others have talked, he
has eaten."
" I am a citizen and a soldier-neither priest nor
philosopher," replied Alcibiades: " With a strong
arm and a willing'heart to fight for my country, I
leave others to settle the attributes of her gods.
Enough for me, that I regularly offer sacrifices in
their temples, and pour libations upon their altars.
I care very little whether there be Elysian fields, or
not. I will make an Elysium for nyself, as long as
Aspasia permits me to be surrounded by forms so
beautiful, and gives me nectar like'this to drink."
He replaced the goblet, from which he had drunk
deeply, and exclaimed, "By Dionysus! they quaff
nothing better than this in voluptuous Ionia!"
"Methinks a citizen and a soldier might find a
more worthy model in Spartan, than in Ionian manners," said Anaxagoras; "but the latter truly suits
better with the present condition of Athens."
5




52               PH I LO T'H E A.
"A condition more glorious than that of any other
people upon earth," exclaimed Pericles, somewhat
warmly: "The story of Athens, enthroned in her
beauty and  power, will thrill through generous
hearts, long after other nations are forgotten."
"She is like a torch sending forth its last bright
blaze, before it is extinguished forever," replied Anaxagoras, calmly: " Where idle demagogues control
the revenues of industrious citizens, the government
cannot long stand. It is a pyramid with the base
uppermost."
"You certainly would not blame the wisdom  of
Aristides, in allowing the poor as well as the rich,
the privilege of voting?" said Pericles.
"A moderate supply of wealth is usually the result of virtuous and industrious habits; and it should
be respected merely for what it indicates," rejoined
Anaxagoras.  "Aristides, and other wise men, in
their efforts to satisfy the requirements of a restless
people, have opened a sluice, without calculating
how  it would be enlarged by the rushing waters,
until the very walls of the city are undermined by
its power."
"But can the safety of the state be secured by
merely excluding the vicious poor?" said Plato.
"Are there not among us vicious rich men, who
would rashly vote for measures destructive of public
good, if they could thereby increase their own wealth 
He who exports figs to maintain personal splendour,
when there is famine in Attica, has perhaps less
public virtue than the beggar, who steals them  to
avoid starvation."
" But the vicious rich man will bribe the beggar to




P HILOTHEA.                   53
vote as he dictates," replied Anaxagoras; " and thus
his power of doing evil becomes two fold."
"Your respect for permanent institutions makes
you blind to the love of change, inherent and active
in the human mind," said Pericles.  "If society be
like the heaving ocean, those who would guide their
vessels in safety, must obey the winds and the tides."
"Nay, Pericles," replied the old man, earnestly;
"if society be a tumultuous ocean, government
should be its everlasting shores. If the statesman
watches wind and tide only that his own bark may
ride through the storm in safety, while every fresh
wave sweeps a landmark away, it is evident that,
sooner or later, the deluge must come."
The discourse was growing too serious to be
agreeable to Pericles, who well knew that some of
his best friends deemed he had injured the state, by
availing himself too freely of the democratic tendencies of the people. Plato, perceiving this, said, "If
it please you, Anaxagoras, we will leave these subjects to be discussed in the Prytaneum and the Agoras. Fair and glorious is the violet-crowned city,
and let us trust the gods will long preserve it so."
" Thou hast well spoken, son of Aristo," replied
Artaphernes: " Much as I had heard of the glory
and beauty of Athens, it far surpasses my hopes.
Perhaps I find myself lingering to gaze on the Odeum
more frequently than on any other of your magnificent edifices; not for its more impressive beauty;
but because it is in imitation of our Great King's
Pavilion."
Hermippus looked up, and smiled with ill-natured
significance; for Cratinus, the ribald, had openly




54              P HI L OT H' IA.
declared in the theatre, that Pericles needed only to
look in his mirror, to discover a model for the sloping
roof of the Odeum. Athenian guests were indignant
at being thus reminded of the gross allusion to a deformity conspicuous in the head of their illustrious
statesman; but Artaphernes, quite unconscious of
his meaning, continued: "The noble structure is
worthy of him who planned it. Yet the unpretending beauty of some of your small temples makes me
feel more as if I were in the presence of a god. I
have often marvelled what it is in those fair white
columns, that charms me so much more than the
palaces of the East, refulgent with gems and gold."
" The beauty that lies within has ever a mysterious power," answered Plato.  " An amethyst may
beam in the eye of a statue; but what, save the soul
itself, can give the expression of soul? The very
spirit of harmony is embodied in the proportions of
the Parthenon. It is marble music. I sometimes
think the whole visible beauty of creation is formed
from the music of the Infinite; and that the various
joys we feel are but the union of accordant notes in
the great chorus of the universe. There is music in
the airy dance; music in poetry; music in the glance
of a beautiful woman; music in the involutions and
inflexions of numbers; above all, there is music in
light! And what Light is in this world, Truth is
in that glorious world to which the mind of man returns after its long exile. Yes, there is music in
light! Hence, Phoebus is god of the Sun and of the
Lyre, and Memnon yields sweet sounds to welcome
approaching day. For this reason, the disciples of
Zoroaster and Pythagoras hail the rising sun with




PHILO THEA.                   55
the melody of harps; and the birds pour forth their
love of light in song. Perchance the order of the
universe is revealed in the story of Thebes rising to
the lyre of Amphion; and Ibycus might have spoken
sublime truth, when he told of music in the motion
of the everlasting stars."
Philothea had listened so earnestly, that for a
moment all other thoughts were expelled from her
mind.  She threw  back her veil, and with her
whole soul beaming from her face, she exclaimed,
"0 Plato, I once heard the music of the stars! Ibycus'
The ardent gaze of Alcibiades restored her to painful consciousness; and, blushing deeply, she replaced
her veil. Aspasia smiled; but Plato, with gentle
reverence, asked, " What would Philothea say of the
divine Ibycus?"
The timid maiden gave no reply; and the tears
of innocent shame were seen falling fast upon her
trembling arm.
With that ready skill, which ever knows how to
adapt itself to the circumstances of the moment, Aspasia gave a signal to her attendants, and at once
the mingled melody of voices and instruments burst
upon the ear. It was one of the enchanting strains
of Olympus the Mysian; and every heart yielded to
its influence.  A female slave noiselessly brought
Aspasia's silver harp, and placed before her guests
citharas and lyres, of ivory inlaid with gold. One by
one, new voices and instruments joined in the song;
and when the music ceased, there was a pause of
deep and silent joy.
" Shame to the feast, where the praises of Harmo5%




56                         HI L O THI T H E A.
dius  are  not sung,"  said  Pericles,  smiling,  as he
looked toward Eudora. With rapid fingers the maiden touched her lyre, and sung the patriotic song of
Callistratus:
"I'll wreathe my sword with myrtle, as brave Harmodius did,
And as Aristogeiton his avenging weapon hid;
When they slew the haughty tyrant and regained our liberty,
And, breaking down oppression, made the men of Athens free.
"Thou art not, loved Harmodius, thou art not surely dead,
But to some secluded sanctuary far away art fled;
With the swift-footed Achilleus, unmolested there to rest,
And to rove with Diomedes through the islands of the blest.
" Ill wreathe my sword with myrtle, as Aristogeiton did,
And as the brave Harmodius his avenging weapon hid;
When on Atheem's festival they aimed the glorious blow,
And calling on fair freedom, laid the proud Hipparchus low.
" Thy fame, beloved Harmodius, through ages still shall brighten,
Nor ever shall thy glory fade, beloved Aristogeiton;
Because your country's champions ye nobly dared to be,
And striking down the tyrant, made the men of Athens free."
The exhilarating notes stirred every Grecian heart.
Some waved their garlands in triumph, while others
joined in the music, and kept time with branches of
myrtle.
" By Phoebus! a glorious song and divinely sung,"
exclaimed  Alcibiades:  But  the  lovely  minstrel
brings danger to our hearts in those sweet sounds,
as Harmodius concealed his sword among myrtle
leaves."
Hipparete blushed, and with a quick and nervous
motion  touched  her  cithara.   With  a  nod  and  a
smile, Aspasia said,:'Continue the music, I pray
you."   The  tune  being  left to  her own choice, the
young  matron  sang  Anacreon's  Ode  to  the  Grass



PHIL 0 THE A.                         57
hopper. Her voice was not unpleasing; but it contrasted disadvantageously with the rich intonations
of Eudora; and if the truth must be told, that darkhaired damsel was quite too conscious of the fact.
Tithonus expressed an earnest desire to hear one
of Pindar's odes; and Philothea, urged by Aspasia,
Degan with a quivering hand to accompany herself
on the harp.  Her voice was at first weak and trembling; and Plato, to relieve her timidity, joined in
the music, which soon gushed forth, clear, deep, and
melodious:
" Hail, celestial Poesy!
Fair enchantress of mankind!
Veiled in whose sweet majesty
Fables please the human mind.
But, as year rolls after year,
These fictitious charms decline;
Then, 0 man, with holy fear,
Write and speak of things divine.
Of the heavenly natures say
Nought unseemly,.or profaneHearts that worship and obey,
Are preserved from guilty stain."
Oppressed with the grandeur of the music, and
willing to evade the tacit reproach conveyed in the
words, Aspasia touched her lyre, and, with mournful tenderness, sung Danae's Hymn to her Sleeping
Infant.  Then, suddenly changing to a gayer measure, she sang, with remarkable sweetness and flexibility of voice:
"While our rosy fillets shed
Blushes o'er each fervid head,
With many a cup, and many a smile,
The festal moments we beguile.




58                 PHIL O THE A.
And while the harp impassioned flings
Tuneful rapture from the strings,
Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs,
Through the dance luxuriant swims,
Waving in her snowy hand,
The leafy Dionysian wand,
Which, as the tripping wanton flies.
Shakes its tresses to her sighs.
At these words, a troop of graceful maidens, representing the Zephyrs and the Hours, glided in and
out, between the marble columns, pelting each other
with roses, as they flew through the mazes of the
dance.
Presently, the music, more slow and measured in
its cadence, announced the dance of Ariadne guiding
her lover from  the Labyrinth.  In obedience to a
signal from Aspasia, Eudora sprang forward to hold
the silken cord, and Alcibiades darted forward to perform the part of Theseus. Slowly, but gracefully as
birds balancing themselves on the air, the maidens
went through the difficult involutions of the dance.
They smiled on each other, as they passed and repassed; and though Eudora's veil concealed the expression of her features, Philothea observed, with an
undefined feeling of apprehension, that she showed
no tokens of displeasure at the brief whispers and
frequent glances of Alcibiades.
At last, Pericles bade the attendants bring forth
the goblet of the Good Genius.  A large golden bowl,
around which a silver grape-vine twined its luxuriant clusters, was immediately placed bef;re him,
filled with the rich juices of the Chian grape.  Then
Plato, as king of the feast, exclaimed, "The cup




PHILO TH EA.                  59
of the Good Genius is filled. Pledge him in unmixed
wine."
The massive goblet passed among all the guests;
some taking a deep draught, and others scarcely
moistening their lips with the wine. When the ceremony was finished, Pericles said, " Now, if it pleases
Hermippus, we should like to see him in the comic
dance, for which he is so celebrated."
Philothea looked earnestly at her grandfather. He
instantly understood her wishes, and bade farewell
to Aspasia; urging the plea that his child was unused to late hours, and too timid to be in the streets
of Athens without his protection. Phidias requested
that Eudora might accompany them; and Hipparete
likewise asked leave to depart. Aspasia bestowed
gifts on her visiters, according to the munificent
custom of the country. To Hipparete she gave a
bracelet of pearls; to Philothea, a lyre of ivory and
gold; and to Eudora, a broad clasp for her mantle,
on which the car of Aphrodite, drawn by swans, was
painted in enamel, by Polygnotus, the inventor of
the art.
Alcibiades chose to remain at his wine; but slaves
with torches were in readiness at the gates, and Hipparete lived in the Ceramicus, within sight of Aspasia's dwelling.
A rapid walk soon restored the maidens to their
own peaceful homes. Philothea, with the consent
of Anaxagoras, went to share the apartment of her
friend; which, separated only by a small garden,
was almost within hearing of her own.




60                PHILO T H E 
CHAPTER IV.
MUCH I dislike the beamless mind,
Whose earthly vision, unrefined,
Nature has never formed to see
The beauties of simplicity!
Simplicity, the flower of Heaven,
To souls elect by nature given."
ANACREON.
As the maidens entered their apartment, Eudora
rather abruptly dismissed Dione, the aged nurse,
who had been waiting their arrival. Her favourite
dog was sleeping on the couch; and she gave the
little creature a hasty box on the ear, which made
him spring suddenly to the floor, and look up in her
face, as if astonished at such ungentle treatment.
Philothea stooped down and caressed the animal,
with a slightly reproachful glance at her friend.
" He was sleeping on my mantle," said the petulant damsel.
" His soft, white fur could not have harmed it,"
rejoined her companion;   and you know that Hylax himself, as well as the mantle, was a gift from
Philaemon."
Eudora carelesssly tossed the mantle over her embroidery frame, from which it trailed along the' dusty
floor. Philothea looked earnestly in her face, unable
to comprehend such wayward conduct.  "It is evident you do not want my company to-night," she
said;'I will therefore return to my own apartment."
The peevish maiden slowly untied her sandal,
without making any reply. Philothea's voice trembled slightly, as she added, "Good night, Eudora.




PHIL OTHE A.                 61
To-morrow I hope you will tell me how I have offended you."
" Stay! Stay!" exclaimed the capricious damsel;
and she laid her hand coaxingly on her friend's arm.
Philothea smiled a ready forgiveness.
"I know I am very petulant to-night," said Eudora; "but I do not believe you yourself could listen
to Hipparete without being vexed. She is so stupid,
and so haughty. I don't think she spoke ten words
to-night without having a grasshopper for one of
them. She is so proud of her pure Athenian blood!
Do you know she has resolved to employ a skilful
artificer from Corinth, to make her an ivory box just
like the one Tithonus gave Aspasia; but she took
care to inform me that it should be inlaid with golden grasshoppers, instead of stars. A wise and witty
device, is't not? to put grasshoppers in the paws of
transformed Calisto, and fasten them in the belt of
Orion. The sky will be so purely Athenian, that
Hipparete herself might condescend to be a constellation."
The talkative maiden laughed at her own conceit;
and even her more serious companion could not refrain from a smile, as with untiring volubility she
continued: " Then she told me that she herself embroidered her grasshopper robe, and bade me admire
the excellence of the pattern. She said Plato could
not possibly have mistaken the wreath intended for
her; knowing, as he did, that her father and mother
were both descended from the most ancient families
in Athens; and she repeated a list of ancestors with
names all ending in ippus and ippides. When, in
answer to her question, I acknowledged that the




62              P HILOTH E A.
ornament in her hair was beautiful, she told me she
would gladly give me one like it, if it were proper
for me to wear it. I do so detest the sight of that
Athenian emblem! I would walk to the fields of
Acharnae; on purpose to crush a grasshopper."
" You put yourself in a singular passion for such
a harmless insect," replied -Philothea, smiling.  I
hope there are none of them within hearing. You
know the poets say they rose from the ashes of men,
who, when the Muses first had existence, pined
away for the love of song; and that after death they
go to Parnassus, and inform the most ancient Calliope, the heavenly Urania, and the amorous Erato,
concerning the conversation of their votaries.  If
they are truly the children of song, they will indeed
forget their own resentments; but your conversation
would be so unlikely to make a favourable impression on the tuneful sisters, that it may be well for
you the insects are now sleeping."
"' If the tattling tribe were all awake and listening,"
replied Eudora, " I would freely give them leave to
report all I say against Astronomy, or Poetry, or
Music. If this be the test, I am willing to be tried
with Hipparete at the court of the Muses. If she
were less stupid, I think I could tolerate her pride.
But I thought she would never have done with a
long story about a wine-stain that nearly spoiled
her new dove-coloured robe; the finest from  the
looms of Ecbatana; the pattern not to be matched
in all Greece; and Aspasia half wild to obtain one
like it. She did not fail to inform me that the slave
who had spilled the wine, was tied to the olive-tree
in the garden, and whipped six days in succession.




PHILOTHEA.                   63
I never saw her in my life that she did not remind
me of being a slave."
"Dearest Eudora," said Philothea, " how can you
make yourself so unhappy on this subject?  Has
not Phidias, from  the first hour he bought you,
allowed you all the privileges of a daughter'?"
"Yes," replied Eudora; "but the very circumstance that I was bought with his money embitters
it all. I do not thank him that I have been taught
all which becomes an Athenian maiden; for I can
never be an Athenian. The spirit and the gifts of
freedom ill assort with the condition of a slave. I
wish he had left me to tend goats and bear burdens,
as other slaves do; to be beaten as they are beaten;
starved as they are starved; and die as they die. I
should not then have known my degradation.  I
would have made friends with the birds and the
flowers, and never had a heart-wound from a proud
Athenian fool."
Philothea laid her hand gently on her friend's
arm, and gazing on her excited countenance, she
said, " Eudora, some evil demon vexes you strangely
to-night. Did I not know the whole tenor of your
blameless life, I should fear you were not at peace
with your own conscience."
Eudora blushed deeply, and busily caressed the
dog with her foot.
In a mild, clear voice, Philothea continued: " What
now prevents you from making friendship with the
birds and the flowers! And why do you cherish a
pride so easily wounded? Yes, it is pride, Eudora.
It is useless disguise to call it by another name.
The haughtiness of others can never make us angry,
6




64              PHILOTHEA.
if we ourselves are humble. Besides, it is very possible that you are unjust to Hipparete. She might
very naturally have spoken of her slave's carelessness, without meaning to remind you of bondage."
"She did mean it," replied Eudora, with angry
emphasis.  "She is always describing her pompous
sacrifices to Demeter; because she knows I am excluded from the temple. I hope I shall live to see
her proud heart humbled."
"Nay, Eudora," said Philothea, turning mournfully away: " Your feelings are strangely embittered; the calm light of reason is totally obscured by
the wild torch-dance of your passions. Methinks
hatred itself need wish Hipparete no worse fate than
to be the wife of so bold and bad a man as Alcibiades."
" Oh, Philothea! I wonder you can call him bold,"
rejoined Eudora. " He looks steadily at no one; his
eyelashes ever rest on his face, like those of a modest
maiden."
" Aye, Eudora-but it is not the expression of a
sinless heart, timidly retiring within the shrine of its
own purity; it is the shrinking of a conscience that
has something to conceal. Little as we know about
the evils of the world, we have heard enough of
Alcibiades, to be aware that Hipparete has much
need to seek the protection of her patron goddess."
" She had better worship in the temple of Helen,
at Therapne," answered Eudora, sharply: "The
journey might not prove altogether hopeless; for that
temple is said to confer beauty on the ugliest woman
that ever entered it." As the peevish damsel said




P HIL O T HE A.              65
this, she gave a proud glance at her own lovely person, in the mirror, before which a lamp was burning.
Philothea had often seen her friend in petulant
moods; but she had never before known her to
evince so much bitterness, or so long resist the
soothing influence of kindness. Unwilling to contend with passions she could not subdue, and would
not flatter, she remained for some moments in serious
silence.
The expression of her countenance touched Eudora's quick feelings; and she said, in an humble tone,
" I know I am doing wrong, Philothea, but I cannot
help it."
Her friend calmly replied, "If you believe you
cannot help it, you deceive yourself; and if you do
not believe it, you had better not have said it."
"Now you are angry with me," exclaimed the
sensitive maiden; and she burst into tears.
Philothea passed her arm affectionately round her
waist, saying, "I am not angry with you, Eudora;
but while I love you, I cannot and ought not to love
the bad feelings you cherish. Believe me, my dear
friend, the insults of others can never make us
wretched, or resentful, if all is right within our own
hearts. The viper that stings us is always nourished within us. Moreover, I believe, dearest Eudora,
that half your wrongs are in your own imagination.
I too am a foreigner; but I have been very happy
within the walls of Athens."
"Because you have never been a slave," retorted
her companion; "and you have shared privileges
that strangers are seldom allowed to share. You
have been one of the Canephorse; you have walked




66              PHILOTHEA.
in the grand procession of the Panathensaa; and
your statue in pure Pentelic marble, upholds the
canopy over the sacred olive-tree. I know that your
skilful fingers, and your surpassing beauty have deserved these honours; but you must pardon me, if I
do not like the proud Athenians quite so well as
you do."
"I gratefully acknowledge the part I have been
allowed to take in the sacred service of Pallas," replied the maiden; "but I owe it neither to my
beauty, nor my skill in embroidery. It was a tribute
to that wise and good old man, my grandfather."
"And I," said Eudora, in a tone of deep melancholy, " have neither grandfather, parent, or brother
to care for me."
" Who could have proved a better protector than
Phidias has been?" inquired her gentle friend.
"Philothea, I cannot forget that I am his slave.
What I said just now in anger, I repeat in sober sadness; it would be better for me to have a slave's
mind with a slave's destiny."
"I have no doubt," replied Philothea, "that Phidias continues to be your master merely that he may
retain lawful power to protect you, until you are the
wife of Philaemon."
"Some slaves have been publicly registered as
adopted children," said Eudora.
" But in order to do that," rejoined her friend, " it
is necessary to swear to their parentage; and yours
is unknown. If it were not for this circumstance, I
believe Phidias would be most willing to adopt you."
" No. Philothea-Phidias would do no such thing.
He is good and kind. I know that I have spoken




PHILOT HI EA.                67
of him as I ought not to have spoken. But he is a
proud man. He would not adopt a nameless orphan,
found with a poor goatherd of Phelle. Had I descended from any of the princes conquered by Grecian valour; or were I even remotely allied with any
of the illustrious men that Athens has ostracised,
then indeed I might be the adopted daughter of Phidias."  After a short pause, she added, "If he enfranchised me without adoption, I think I should
have no difficulty in finding a protector;" and again
the maiden gave a triumphant glance at her mirror.
"I am aware that your marriage with Philremon
has only awaited the termination of these unfortunate
law-suits," replied Philothea: "Though he is not
rich, it cannot be very long before he is able to take
you under his protection; and as soon as he has the
power, he will have the disposition."
"Will he, indeed!" exclaimed Eudora; and she
trotted her little foot impatiently.
"You are altogether mysterious to-night," said
Philothea: "Has any disagreement arisen between
you and Philoemon, during my absence?"
" He is proud, and jealous; and wishes me to be
influenced by every whim of his," answered the offended beauty.
"The fetters of love are a flowery bondage," rejoined Philothea: "Blossoms do not more easily
unfold themselves to the sunshine, than woran
obeys the object of her affections. Don't you remember the little boy we found piping so sweetly,
under the great plane-tree by the fountain of Callirh6o'   When my grandfather asked him where he
learned to play so well, he answered, with a look of
6*




68              P H I L O T H E A.
wondering simplicity, that it' piped itself.'  Methinks this would be the reply of a loving woman,
to one who inquired how her heart had learned submission. But what has Philaemon required, that you
consider so unreasonable?"
" He dislikes to have me visit Aspasia; and was
angry because I danced with Alcibiades."
" And did you tell him that you went to Aspasia's
house, in conformity with the express directions of
Phidias?" inquired Philothea.
" Why don't you say of my master?" interrupted
Eudora, contemptuously.
Without noticing the peevishness of this remark,
her friend continued: " Are you quite sure that you
have not been more frequently than you would have
been, if you had acted merely in reluctant obedience
to the will of Phidias. I am not surprised that Philremon is offended at your dancing with Alcibiades;
assuredly a practice, so boldly at variance with the
customs of the country, is somewhat unmaidenly."
" It is enough to be one man's slave," replied Eudora. " I will dance with whom I please. Alcibiades is the handsomest, and the most graceful, and
the most agreeable man in Athens-at least every
body says so. I don't know why I should offend
him to please Philremon."
"I thought there was a very satisfactory reason,"
observed Philothea, quietly: " Alcibiades is the husband of Hipparete, and you are the promised wife of
Philaemon. I would not have believed the person
who told me that Eudora seriously called Alcibiades
the handsomest and most agreeable man in Athens."
"The sculptors think him pre-eminently beauti



P   IL OTH E A.                69
fu,9' answered Eudora; " or they would not so often
copy his statue in the sacred images of Hermes.
Socrates applied Anacreon's eloquent praise of Bathyllus to him, and said he saw in his lips' Persuasion sleeping upon roses.' "
"That must have been in the days of youthful
innocence," replied Philothea: "Surely his countenance has now  nothing divine in its expression;
though I grant the colouring rich, and the features
regular.  He reminds me of the Alexandrian coin;
outwardly pleasing to the eye but inwardly made of
base metal.  Urania alone confers the beauty-giving
zone.  The temple of Aphrodite in the Piraus is a
fitting place for the portrait of Alcibiades; and no
doubt he is well pleased that the people go there in
throngs to see him represented leaning on the shoulder of the shameless Nemea."
"If Aristophon chose to paint him side by side
with the beautiful Nemea, it is no fault of his," said
Eudora.
" The artist would not have dared so to represent
Plato, or Philaemon, or Paralus," rejoined Philothea;
"nor would Alcibiades allow  his picture thus to
minister to the corruption of the Athenians, if he had
any perception of what is really beautiful. I confess, Eudora, it pained me to see you listen to his
idle flattery. He worships every handsome woman,
who will allow herself to be polluted by his incense.
Like Anacreon, his heart is a nest for wanton loves.
He is never without a brood of them-some trying
their wings, some in the egg, and some just breaking
the shell."
With slight resentment in her manner, Eudora




70              P HI L O T   E A.
answered: " Anacreon is the most beautiful of poets;
and I think you speak too harshly of the son of
Clinias."
" I am sorry for you, if you can perceive the beautiful where the pure is wanting," rejoined Philothea;
" You have changed, since my residence in the
Acropolis.  The cherub Innocence, that was once
the ever-present deity in your soul, has already retired deeper within the shrine, and veils his face in
presence of the vain thoughts you have introduced
there. I fear Aspasia has made you believe that a
passion for distinction is but another name for love
of the good, the true, and the beautiful. Eudora, if
this false man has flattered you, believe me, he is
always ready to bestow the same upon others. He
has told me that I was the loveliest of earthly
objects; no doubt he has told you the same; but
both cannot be true."
"You!" exclaimed her companion: "' Where could
he find opportunity to address such language to
you'"
"Where a better man would have had better
thoughts," replied Philothea: "It was during the
sacred festival of the Panathenaea.  A short time
before midnight, it was my duty to receive the
sacred basket from the hands of the priestess, and
deposit it in the cave, beneath the Temple of Urania,
in the gardens. Eucoline, the daughter of Agatho,
attended me, carrying a lighted torch.  Having
entered the cave, I held the torch while she took up
the other sacred basket, which was there in readiness to be conveyed to the Parthenon; and we again
stepped forth into the gardens.  A flood of light




P HI LOTH E A.                71
streamed from the Temple, so clear and strong, that
I could distinctly see the sacred doves, among the
multitude of fragrant roses —some sleeping in the
shaded nooks, others fluttering from bush to bush, or
wheeling round in giddy circles, frightened by the
glare. Near a small lake in the centre of the gardens, stood Myron's statue of the heavenly Urania,
guiding a dove to her temple by a garland,of flowers.
It had the pure and placid expression of the human
soul, when it dwells in love and peace. In this holy
atmosphere we paused for a moment in silent reverence. A smiling band of infant hours came clustering round my memory, and softly folded themselves
about my heart.  I thought of those early days,
when, hand in hand with Paralus, I walked forth in
the spring-time, welcoming the swallows to our
shores, and gathering fragrant thyme to feed my
bees. We did not then know that bees and young
hearts need none to take thought for their joy, but
best gather their own sweet nourishment in sunlight
and freedom. I remembered the helpless kid that
Paralus confided to my care. When we dressed the
little creature in wreaths, we mourned that flowers
would not grow  in garlands; for it grieved our
childish hearts to see them wither. Once we found,
in the crevice of a moss-covered rock, a small nest
with three eggs. Paralus took one of them in his
hand; and when we had admired its beauty, he
kissed it reverently, and returned it to its hidingplace. It was tle natural outpouring of a heart
brimful of love for all things pure and simple.
Paralus ever lived in affectionate communion with
the birds and the flowers. Firm in principle, but




72              PHI LOTH EA.
gentle in affection, he himself is like the rock, in
whose bosom the loving bird found a sheltered nook,
so motherly and safe, where she might brood over
her young hopes in quiet joy."
The maiden's heart had unconsciously followed
her own innocent recollections, like the dove led by
a garland; and for a few moments she remained
silent in thoughtful tenderness.
Eudora's changeful and perturbed spirit had been
soothed by the serene influence of her friend; and
she too was silent for awhile. But the giddy images
that had of late been reeling their wild dance through
her brain, soon came back in glittering fantasy.
Philothea!" she exclaimed, abruptly, "you have
not told me where you met Alcibiades 2"
The maiden looked up suddenly, like an infant
startled from  sweet dreams by some rude noise.
Recovering from her surprise, she smiled, and said,
" Eudora, your question came upon me like his unexpected and unwelcome presence in the sacred gardens. I told you that we stood by that quiet lake
in meek reverence; worshipping,-not the marble
image before us,-but the Spirit of Beauty, that
glides through the universe, breathing the invisible
through visible forms, in such mysterious harmony.
Suddenly Eucoline touched my arm with a quick
and timid motion. I turned and saw a young man
gazing earnestly upon us.  Our veils, which had
been thrown back while we looked at the statue,
were instantly dropped, and we hastily retraced our
steps. The stranger followed us, until we passed
under the shade of the olive grove, within sight of
the Propylcea. He then knelt, and attempting to hold




P HIL O THE A.               73
me by the robe, poured forth the wildest protestations of love. I called aloud for protection; and my
voice was heard by the priests, who were passing in
and out of the Acropolis, in busy preparation for the
festival.  The young man suddenly disappeared;
but lie was one of the equestrians that shared in the
solemnities of the night, and I again saw him as I
took my place in the procession. I had then never
seen Alcibiades; but when I met him to-night, I
immediately recognized the stranger who spoke so
rudely in the olive-grove."
"You must forgive me," said Eudora, "if I am
not much disposed to blame mortal man for wishing
to look upon your face a second time. Even Plato
does homage to woman's beauty."
"True, Eudora; but there is reverence mingled
with his homage.  The very atmosphere around
Alcibiades seemed unholy. I never before met such
a glance; and the gods grant I may never meet such
another. I should not have mentioned the occurrence, even to you, had I not wished to warn you
how lightly this volatile Athenian can make love."
" I heard something of this before," rejoined Eudora; "but I did not know the particulars."
"HIow could you have heard of it?" inquired
Philothea, with an accent of strong surprise.
" Alcibiades had a more eager curiosity than yourself," replied Eudora.  " He soon ascertained the
name of the lovely Canephorme that he saw in the
Gardens of Urania; and he has never ceased importuning Aspasia, until you were persuaded to visit
her house."
The face, neck, and arms of the modest maiden




74               P HI L 0 THE A.
were flushed with indignant crimson.  "Was it for
this purpose," she said, " that I was induced to yield
my own sense of propriety to the solicitations of
Pericles? It is ever thus, when we disobey the
gods, to please mortals. How could I believe that
any motive so harmless as idle curiosity induced
that seductive and dangerous woman to urge me
into her unhallowed presence?"
" I marvelled at your courage in talking to her as
you did," said Eudora.
"Something within impelled me," replied Philothea, reverently;-" I did not speak from myself."
Eudora remained in serious silence for a moment;
and then said, "Can you tell me, Philothea, what
you meant by saying you once heard the stars sing?
Or is that one of those things concerning which you
do not love to have me inquire?"
The maiden replied:'As I sat at my grandfather's feet, near the statue of Phaebus in the portico, at early dawn, I heard music, of soft and various sounds, floating in the air; and I thought perchance it was the farewell hymn of the stars, or the
harps of the Pleiades, mourning for their lost sister.
-I had never spoken of it; but to-night I forgot the
presence of all save Plato, when I heard him discourse so eloquently of music."
" And were you as unhappy as you expected to
be during this visit?" inquired her friend.
Some portions of the evening I enjoyed exceedingly," replied Philothea.  "I could have listened
to Plato and Tithonus, until I grew old in their presence. Their souls seem to move in glowing moonlight, as if surrounded by bright beings from a better world."




P HI L O TH EA.                 75
Eudora looked thoughtfully in her friend's face.
"It is strange," she said, "how closely you associate all earthly objects with things divine. I have
heard Anaxagoras say that when you were a little
child, you chased the fleeting sunshine through the
fields, and called it the glittering wings of Phoebus
Apollo, as he flew over the verdant earth. And
still, dearest Philothea, your heart speaks the same
language.  Wherever you look, you see the shining
of god-like wings. Just so you talked of the moonlight, the other evening. To Hipparete, that solemn
radiance would have suggested no thought except
that lamp-light was more favourable to the complexion; and Hermippus would merely have rejoiced
in it, because it saved him the expense of an attendant and a torch, as he reeled home from his midnight
revels. I seldom think of sacred subjects, except
when I am listening to you; but they then seem so
bright, so golden, so divine, that I marvel they ever
appear to me like cold, dim shadows."' The flowers of the field are unlike, but each has
a beauty of its own; and thus it is with human
souls," replied Philothea.
For a brief space there was silence. But Eudora,
true to the restless vivacity of her character, soon
seized her lyre, and carelessly touching the strings,
she hummed one of Sappho's ardent songs:
"More happy than the gods is he,
Who soft reclining sits by thee;
His ears thy pleasing talk beguiles,
His eyes thy sweetly dimpled smiles.
This, this, alas! alarmed my breast,
And robbed me of my golden rest."
Philothea interrupted her, by saying, "I should
7




76              PHILOTHEA.
much rather hear something from  the pure and
tender-hearted Simonides."
But the giddy damsel, instead of heeding her request, abruptly exclaimed, " Did you observe the
sandals of Artaphernes sparkle as he walked? How
richly Tithonus was dressed! Was it not a magnificent costume 2"
Philothea, smiling at her childish prattle, replied,
"It was gorgeous, and well fancied; but I preferred
Plato's simple robe, distinguished only by the fineness of its materials, and the tasteful adjustment of
its folds."
" I never saw a philosopher that dressed so well
as Plato," said Eudora.
"It is because he loves the beautiful, even in its
minutest forms," rejoined Philothea; "in that respect he is unlike the great master he reverences so
highly."
"Yes-men say it is a rare thing to meet either
Socrates or his robe lately returned from the bath,"
observed Eudora; "yet, in those three beautiful
statues, which Pericles has caused to be placed in
the Propylcea, the philosopher has carved admirable
drapery. He has clothed the Graces, though the
Graces never clothed him. I wonder Aristophanes
never thought of that jest.  Notwithstanding his
willingness to please the populace with the coarse
wit current in the Agoras, I think it gratifies his
equestrian pride to sneer at those who are too frugal
to buy coloured robes, and fill the air with delicious
perfumes as they pass. I know you seldom like the
comic writers. What did you think of Hermippus 2"
" His countenance and his voice troubled me, like




PHIL OTHEA.                   77
the presence of evil," answered Philothea. "I rejoiced that my grandfather withdrew  with us, as
soon as the goblet of the Good Genius passed round,
and before he began to dance the indecent cordax."
" He has a sarcastic, suspicious glance, that might
sour the ripest grapes in Chios," rejoined Eudora.
"The comic writers are over-jealous of Aspasia's
preference to the tragic poets; and I suppose she permitted this visit to bribe his enmity; as ghosts are
said to pacify Cerberus with a cake. But hark! J
hear Geta unlocking the outer gate. Phidias has
returned; and he likes to have no lamp burn later
than his own. We must quickly prepare for rest;
though I am as wakeful as the bird of Pallas."
She began to unclasp her girdle, as she spoke, and
something dropped upon the floor.
Philothea was stooping to unlace her sandal, and
she immediately picked it up.
It was a beautiful cameo of Alcibiades, with the
quiver and bow of Eros.
Eudora took it with a deep blush, saying, " Aspasia gave it to me."
Her friend looked very earnestly in her face for a
moment, and sighed as she turned away. It was
the first time she had ever doubted Eudora's truth.




78                PHILOTH EA.
CHAPTER V.
"Two several gates
Transmit those airy phantoms. One of horn,
And of sawn ivory one. Such dreams as pass
The gate of ivory, prove empty sounds;
While others, through the polished horn effused,
Whose eye soe'er they visit, never fail."
HOMER.
THE dwellings of Anaxagoras and Phidias were
separated by a garden entirely sheltered from public
observation. On three sides it was protected by the
buildings, so as to form a hollow square; the remainder was screened by a high stone wall. This garden was adorned with statues and urns, among
which bloomed many choice shrubs and flowers.
The entire side of Anaxagoras' house was covered
with a luxuriant grape-vine, which stretched itself
out on the roof, as if enjoying the sunshine. The
women's apartments communicated by a private
avenue, which enabled the friends to see each other
as conveniently as if they had formed one household.
The morning after the conversation we have mentioned, Philothea rose early, and returned to her own
dwelling. As she passed through the avenue, she
looked into the garden, and smiled to see, suspended
by a small cord thrown over the wall, a garland,
fastened with a delicately-carved arrow, bearing the
inscription-" To Eudora, the most beautiful, most
beloved."
Glad to assist in the work of reconciliation, she
separated the wreath from the string, and carried it




PHILOTHEA.                   79
to her for whom it was intended. "Behold the
offering of Philaemon!" she exclaimed, joyfully:
" Dearest Eudora, beware how you estrange so true
a heart."
The handsome maiden received her flowers with
evident delight, not unmingled with confusion; for
she suspected that they came from a greater flatterer
than Philremon.
Philothea returned to her usual avocations, with
anxiety somewhat lessened by this trifling incident.
Living in almost complete seclusion, the simplehearted maiden was quite unconscious that the new
customs, introduced by Aspasia, had rendered industry and frugality mere vulgar virtues. But the
restraint of public opinion was unnecessary to keep
her within the privacy of domestic life; for it was
her own chosen home. She loved to prepare her
grandfather's frugal repast of bread and grapes, and
wild honey; to take care of his garments; to copy
his manuscripts; and to direct the operations of
Milza, a little Arcadian peasant girl, who was her
only attendant. These duties, performed with cheerful alacrity, gave a fresh charm to the music and
embroidery with which she employed her leisure
hours.
Anaxagoras was extremely attached to his lovely
grandchild; and her great intellectual gifts, accompanied as they were by uncommon purity of character, had procured from him and his friends a degree
of respect not usually bestowed upon women of that
period. She. was a most welcome auditor to the
philosophers, poets, and artists, who were ever fond
of gathering round the good old man; and when it
7*




80              PHIL O T H EA.
was either necessary or proper to remain in her
own apartment, there was the treasured wisdom
of Thales, Pythagoras, Hesiod, Homer, Simonides,
Ibycus, and Pindar. More than one of these precious volumes were transcribed entirely by her own
hand.
In the midst of such communion, her spirit drank
freely from the fountains of sublime knowledge;
which,   like the purest waters of the earth, can be
obtained only by digging deep,-but when they are
found, they rise up to meet us."
The intense love of the beautiful, thus acquired,
far from making the common occupations of life distasteful, threw over them a sort of poetic interest, as
a richly painted window casts its own glowing colours on mere boards and stones. The higher regions
of her mind were never obscured by the clouds of
daily care; but thence descended perpetual sunshine,
to gild the vapour.
On this day, however, Philothea's mind was less
serene than usual.  The unaccountable change in
Eudora's character perplexed and  troubled  her.
When she parted from her to go into the Acropolis,
she had left her as innocent and contented as a little
child; and so proud and satisfied in Philwemon's
love, that she deemed herself the happiest of all
happy beings: at the close of six short months, she
found her transformed into a vain, restless, ambitious woman, wild for distinction, and impatient
of restraint.
All this Philothea was disposed to pity and forgive;
for she felt that frequent intercourse with Aspasia
might have dazzled even a stronger mind, and changed




PI LOT HE A.                 81
a less susceptible heart. Her own diminished influence, she regarded as the inevitable result of her
friend's present views and feelings; and she only
regretted it because it lessened her power of doing
good where she was most desirous to be useful.
Several times, in the course of the day, her heart
yearned toward the favourite of her childhood; and
she was strongly impelled to go to her and confess
all her anxieties. But Eudora came not, as she had
ever been wont to do, in the intervals of household
occupation; and this obvious neglect drove Philothea's kind impulses back upon her heart.
Hylax, as he ran round the garden, barking and
jumping at the birds in the air, instantly knew her
voice, and came capering in, bounding up at her
side, and licking her hand.  The tears came to
Philothea's eyes, as she stooped to caress the affectionate animal: " Poor Hylax," said she, "you have
not changed."  She gathered some flowers, and
twined them  round the dog's neck, thinking this
simple artifice might bring a visit from her friend.
But the sun went down, and still she had not
caught a glimpse of Eudora, even in the garden.
Her affectionate anxiety was almost deepening into
sadness, when Anaxagoras returned, accompanied by
the Ethiopian boy.
" I bring an offering from the munificent Tithonus," said the philosopher: " He came with my disciples to-day, and we have had much discourse
together. To-morrow he departs from Athens; and
lhe bade me say that he hoped his farewell gift
would not be unacceptable to her whose voice made
even Pindar's strains more majestic and divine."




82              P HI L OT   EA.
The boy uncovered an image he carried in his
arms, and with low obeisance presented it to Philothea. It was a small statue of Urania, wrought in
ivory and gold.  The beautiful face was turned
upward, as if regarding the heavens with quiet
contemplation. A crown of golden planets encircled
the head, and the scarf, enamelled with deep and
vivid azure, likewise glowed with stars.
Philothea smiled, as she glanced round the apartment, and said, "It is a humble shrine for a Muse so
heavenly."
" Honesty and innocence are fitter companions for
the gods, than mere marble and gold," replied the
philosopher.
As a small indication of respect and gratitude, the
maiden sent Tithonus a roll of papyrus, on which
she had neatly copied Pindar's Odes; and the boy,
having received a few oboli for his trouble, returned
charged with thanks and good wishes for his master.
Philothea, spontaneously yielding to the old habit
of enjoying everything with her friend, took the
statue in her arms, and went directly to her room.
Eudora was kind and cheerful, but strangely fluttered. She praised the beautiful image in the excessive terms of one who feels little, and is therefore
afraid of not saying enough. Her mind was evidently disturbed with thoughts quite foreign to the
subject of her conversation; but, making an effort at
self-possession, she said, "I too have had a present:
Artaphernes sent it because my voice reminded him
of one he loved in his youth." She unfolded a roll
of perfumed papyrus, and displayed a Persian veil
of gold and silver tissue. Philothea pronounced it




P H ILOT HE A.                83
fit for the toilette of a queen; but frankly confessed
that it was too gorgeous to suit her taste.
At parting, she urged Eudora to share her apartment for the night. The maiden refused, under the
pretext of illness; but when her friend offered to
remain with her, she hastily replied that she should
be much better alone.
As Philothea passed through the sheltered avenue,
she saw Milza apparently assisting Geta in cleansing
some marbles; and thinking Phidias would be pleased
with the statue, she asked Geta to convey it to his
room. He replied, " My master has gone to.visit a
friend at Salamis, and will not return until morning."
The maiden was much surprised that her friend had
made no allusion to this circumstance; but she
forbore to return and ask an explanation.
Another subject attracted her attention and occupied some share of her thoughts. She had observed
that Geta and Milza appeared much confused when
she spoke to them. When she inquired what Geta
had been saying, the pretty Arcadian, with an averted face, replied, " He called me to see a marble dog,
barking as if he had life in him; only he did not
make any noise."
" Was that all Geta talked of?" said Philothea.
"He asked me if I liked white kids," answered
the blushing peasant.
"'And what did you tell him? " inquired  the
maiden.
With a bashful mixture of simplicity and archness, the young damsel answered, "I told him I
liked white kids very much."
Philothea smiled, and asked no more questions




84              P HILO  T H E A.
When she repeated this brief conversation to Anaxagoras, he heard it with affectionate interest in
Milza's welfare, and promised to have a friendly
talk with honest-hearted Geta.
The wakefulness and excitement of the preceding
night had been quite at variance with the tranquil
regularity of Philothea's habits; and the slight repose, which she usually enjoyed in the afternoon,
had been disturbed by her grandfather, who came to
say that Paralus was with him, and wished to see
her a few moments, before they went out to the
Piraeus together. Being therefore unusually weary,
both in body and mind, the maiden early retired to
her couch; and with mingled thoughts of her lover
and her friend, she soon fell into a profound sleep.
She dreamed of being with Paralus in an olive
grove, over the deep verdure of which shining white
blossoms were spread, like a silver veil. Her lover
played upon his flute, while she leaned against a
tree and listened. Soon, the air was filled with a
multitude of doves, flocking from every side; and
the flapping of their wings kept time to the music.
Then, suddenly, the scene changed to the garden
of Phidias. The statues seemed to smile upon her,
and the flowers looked up bright and cheerful, in an
atmosphere more mild than the day, but warmer
than the moon. Presently, one of the smiling statues
became a living likeness of Eudora, and with delighted expression gazed earnestly on the ground.
Philothea looked to see what excited her admiration
-and lo! a large serpent, shining with green and
gold, twisted itself among the flowers in manifold
involutions; and wheresoever the beautiful viper




P H I LOTH EA.               85
glided, the blossoms became crisped and blackened,
as if fire had passed over them. With a sudden
spring the venomous creature coiled itself about
Eudora's form, and its poisoned tongue seemed just
ready to glance into her heart; yet still the maiden
laughed merrily, heedless of her danger.
Philothea awoke with a thrill of anguish; but
thankful to realize that it was all a dream, she murmured a brief prayer, turned upon her couch, and
soon yielded to the influence of extreme drowsiness.
In her sleep, she seemed to be working at her embroidery; and Hylax came and tugged at her robe,
until she followed him  into the garden.  There
Eudora stood smiling, and the glittering serpent was
again dancing before her.
Disturbed by the recurrence of this unpleasant
dream, the maiden remained awake for a considerable time, listening to the voices of her grandfather
and his guests, which still came up with a murmuripg sound from the room  below.  Gradually her
senses were lulled into slumber; and again the same
dream recurred to distress and waken her.
Unable longer to resist the strength of her impressions, Philothea arose, and descending a few of the
steps, which led to the lower part of the house, she
looked into the garden, through one of the apertures
that had been left in the wall for the admission of
light. Behind a statue of Erato, she was sure that
she saw coloured drapery floating in the moonlight.
Moving on to the next aperture, she distinctly perceived Eudora standing by the statue; and instead
of the graceful serpent, Alcibiades knelt before her.
His attitude and gesture were impassioned; and




86              P HI L   T H E A.
though the expression of Eudora's countenance could
not be seen, she was evidently giving him no ungracious audience.
Philothea put her hand to her heart, which throbbed violently with painful emotion. Her first thought
was to end this interview at all hazards; but she
was of a timid nature; and when she had folded
her robe and veil about her, her courage failed.
Again she looked through the aperture and saw that
the arm of Alcibiades rested on the shoulder of her
misguided friend.
Without taking time for a second thought, she
sprang down the remaining steps, darted through the
private avenue into the garden, and standing directly
before the deluded girl, she exclaimed, in a tone of
earnest expostulation, " Eudora!"
With a half-suppressed scream, the maiden disappeared.  Alcibiades, with characteristic boldness,
seized Philothea's robe, exclaiming, " What have
we here  So help me Aphrodite! it is the lovely
Canephora of the gardens! Now Eros forsake me
if I lose this chance to look on her heavenly face
again."
He attempted to raise the veil, which the terrified
maiden grasped convulsively, as she tried to extricate
herself from his hold.
At that instant, a stern voice sounded from the
opposite wall; and Philothea, profiting by the sudden surprise into which Alcibiades was thrown,
darted through the avenue, bolted the door, and in
an instant after was within the sanctuary of her own
chamber.
Here the tumult of mingled emotion subsided in a




PHIL  T H EA.               87
flood of tears.  She mourned over the shameful
infatuation of Eudora, and she acutely felt the degradation attached to her own accidental share in the
scene. With these thoughts was mingled deep pity
for the pure-minded and excellent Philamion. She
was sure that it was his voice she had heard from
the wall; and she rightly conjectured that, after his
prolonged interview with Anaxagoras, he had partly
ascended the ladder leading to the house-top, and
looked through the fluttering grape-leaves at the
dwelling of his beloved.
The agitation of her mind prevented all thoughts
of sleep. Again and again she looked out anxiously.
All was hushed and motionless, The garden reposed in the moonbeams, like truths, which receive
no warmth from the heart-seen only in the clear.
cold light of reason. The plants were visible, but
colourless; and the statues stood immovable in their
silent, lifeless beauty.
8




88              P H  LO T H EA.
CHAPTER VI.
Persuasive is the voice of Vice,
That spreads the insidious snare.
ZESCHYLUS.
EARLY the next morning, painful as the task was,
Philothea went to Eudora's room; for she felt that
if she ever hoped to save her, she must gain influence now.
The maiden had risen from her couch, and was
leaning her head on her hand, in an attitude of deep
thought. She raised her eyes as Philothea entered,
and her face was instantly suffused with the crimson
flush of shame. She made no reply to the usual
salutations of the morning, but with evident agitation twisted and untwisted some shreds that had
fallen from her embroidery.
For a moment her friend stood irresolute.  She
felt a strong impulse to put her arm around Eudora's
neck and conjure her, even for her own sake, to be
frank and confiding; but the scene in the garden
returned to her memory, and she recoiled from her
beloved companion, as from something polluted.
Still ignorant how far the deluded girl was involved, she felt that the manner in which she deported
herself toward her, might perhaps fix her destiny for
good or evil.  With a kind, but trembling voice, she
said, " Eudora, will you tell me whether the interview I witnessed last night was an appointed one."
Eudora persevered in silence, but her agitation
obviously increased.




PHILOTHEA.                    89
Her friend looked earnestly in her excited countenance for a moment, and then said, " Eudora, I do
entreat you to tell me the whole truth in this matter."
"I have not yet learned what right you have to
inquire," replied the misguided maiden.
Philothea's eyes were filled with tears, as she said,
" Does the love we have felt for each other from our
earliest childhood, give me no claim to your confidence?  Had we ever a cake, or a bunch of grapes,
of which one did not reserve for the other the largest
and best portion? I well remember the day when
you broke the little marble kid Phidias had given
you.  You fairly sobbed yourself to sleep in my
lap, while I smoothed back the silky curls all wet
with your tears, and sung my childish songs to please
you. You came to me with all your infant troubles
— and in our maturer years, have we not shared all
our thoughts? Oh, still trust to the affection that
never deceived you. Believe me, dear Eudora, you
would not wish to conceal your purposes and actions
from your earliest and best friend, unless you had
an inward consciousness of something wrong. Every
human being has, like Socrates, an attendant spirit;
and wise are they who obey its signals. If it does
not always tell us what to do, it always cautions us
what not to do. Have you not of late struggled
against the warnings of this friendly spirit? Is it
safe to contend with him, till his voice recedes, like
music in the distance, and is heard no more 3"
She looked earnestly in Eudora's face for a moment, and perceiving that her feelings were somewhat softened, she added, "I will not again ask




90              PHILOTHEA.
whether the meeting of last night was an appointed
one; for you surely would repel the suspicion, if you
could do so with truth. It is too evident that this
insinuating man has fascinated you, as he already
has done hundreds of others; and for the sake of his
transient flattery, you have thrown away Philemon's
pure and constant love. Yet the passing notice of
Alcibiades is a distinction you will share with half
the maidens of Athens.  When another new face
attracts his fancy, you will be forgotten; but you
cannot so easily forget your own folly. The friends
you cast from you can never be regained; tranquillity
of mind will return no more; conscious innocence,
which makes the human countenance a tablet for the
gods to write upon, can never be restored. And for
what will you lose all this? Think for a moment
what is the destiny of those women, who, following
the steps of Aspasia, seek happiness in the homage
paid to triumphant beauty-youth wasted in restless
excitement, and old age embittered by the consciousness of deserved contempt. For this, are you willing to relinquish the happiness that attends a quiet
discharge of duty, and the cheerful intercourse of
true affection "
In a tone of offended pride, Eudora answered:
" Philothea, if I were what you seem to believe me,
your words would be appropriate; but I have never
had any other thought than that of being the acknowledged wife of Alcibiades."
"Has he then made you believe that he would
divorce Hipparete?'
" Yes-he has solemnly sworn it. Such a transaction would have nothing remarkable in it. Each




P   ILOTHE  A.               91
revolving moon sees similar events occur in Athens.
The wife of Pericles had a destiny like that of her
namesake; of whom the poets write that she was
beloved for awhile by Olympian Zeus, aid afterward
changed into a quail. Pericles promised Aspasia that
he would divorce Asteria and marry her; and he
has kept his word. Hipparete is not so very beautiful or gifted, as to make it improbable that Alcibiades might follow his example."
l It is a relief to my heart," said Philothea, "to
find that you have been deluded with hopes, which,
however deceitful, render you comparatively innocent. But believe me, Eudora, Alcibiades will never
divorce Hipparete.  If he should do so, the law
would compel him to return her magnificent dowry.
Her connections have wealth and influence; and her
brother Callias has promised that she shall be his
heir. The paternal fortune of Alcibiades has all
been expended, except his estate near Erchia; and
this he knows full well is quite insufficient to support his luxury and pride."
Eudora answered warmly, " If you knew Alcibiades, you would not suspect him  of such sordid
motives. He would throw money into the sea like
dust, if it stood in the way of his affections."
"I am well aware of his pompous wastefulness,
when he wishes to purchase popularity by lavish
expenditure," replied Philothea.  " But Alcibiades
has found hearts a cheap commodity, and he will
not buy with drachmae, what he can so easily obtain
by flattery. Your own heart, I believe, is not really
touched.  Your imagination is dazzled with his
splendid chariots of ivory inlaid with silver; his
8*




92              PHILO T HEA.
unrivalled stud of Phasian horses; his harnesses of
glittering brass; the golden armour which he loves
to display at festivals; his richly-coloured garments,
fresh from the looms of Sardis, and redolent with
the perfumes of the East. You are proud of his
notice, because you see that other maidens are flattered by it; because his statue stands among the
Olympionicae, in the sacred groves of Zeus, and
because all Athens rings with the praises of his
beauty, his gracefulness, his magnificence, and his
generosity."
"I am not so weak as your words imply," rejoined
Eudora.  "I believe that I love Alcibiades better
than I ever loved Philemon; and if the consent of
Phidias can be obtained, I cannot see why you
should object to our marriage."
For a few moments, Philothea remained in hopeless silence; then, in a tone of tender expostulation,
she continued: "Eudora, I would the power were
given me to open your eyes before it is too late! If
Hipparete be rnot beautiful, she certainly is not unpleasing; her connections have high rank and great
wealth; she is virtuous and affectionate, and the
mother of his children. If, with all these claims,
she can be so lightly turned away for the sake of a
lovelier face, what can you expect, when your beauty
no longer has the charm of novelty? You, who
have neither wealth nor powerful connections, to
serve the purposes of that ambitious man? And
think for yourself, Eudora, if Alcibiades means as
he says, why does he seek stolen interviews at midnight, in the absence of Phidias?"
" It is because he knows that Phidias has an un



PHILO T H EA.                  93
common regard  for Philaemon," replied Eudora;
"but he thinks he can, in time, persuade him  to
consult our wishes. I know, better than you possibly can, what reasons I have to trust the strength of
his affection. Aspasia says she has never seen him
so deeply in love as he is now."
"It is as I-feared," said Philothea; "the voice of
that siren is luring you to destruction."
Eudora answered, in an angry tone, " I love Aspasia; and it offends me to hear her spoken of in this
manner. If you are content to be a slave, like the
other Grecian women, who bring water and grind
corn for their masters, I have no objection. I have
a spirit within me that demands a wider field of
action, and I enjoy the freedom that reigns in Aspasia's house.  Alcibiades says he does not blame
women for not liking to be shut up within four
walls all their life-time, ashamed to show their faces
like other mortals."
Quietly, but sadly, Philothea replied: " Farewell,
Eudora.  May the powers that guide our destiny,
preserve you from any real cause for shame. You
are now  living in Calypso's island; and divine
beings alone can save you from the power of her enchantments."
Eudora made no response, and did not even raise
her eyes, as her companion left the apartment.
As Philothea passed through the garden, she saw
Milza standing in the shadow of the vines, feeding a
kid with some flowers she held in her hand, while
Geta was fastening a crimson cord about its neck.
A glad influence passed from this innocent group




94              PHILO T HEA.
into the maiden's heart, like the glance of a sunbeam
over a dreary landscape.
"Is the kid yours, Milza " she asked, with an
affectionate smile.
The happy little peasant raised her eyes with an
arch expression, but instantly lowered them again,
covered with blushes. It was a look that told all
the secrets of her young heart more eloquently than
language.
Philothea had drank freely from those abundant
fountains of joy in the human soul, which remain
hidden till love reveals their existence, as secret
springs are said to be discovered by a magic wand.
With affectionate sympathy she placed her hand
gently on Milza's head, and said, "Be good-and
the gods will ever provide friends for you."
The humble lovers gazed after her with a blessing
in their eyes; and in the consciousness of this, her
meek spirit found a solace for the wounds Eudora
had given.




PHILO THEA.                    95
CHAPTER VII.
0 Zeus I why hast thou given us certain proof
To know adulterate gold, but stamped no mark,
Where it is needed most, on man's base metal I
EURIPIDES.
WHEN Philothea returned to  her grandfather's
apartment, she found the good old man with an
open tablet before him, and the remainder of a rich
cluster of grapes lying on a shell by his side.
" I have wanted you, my child," said he,  " Have
you heard the news all Athens is talking of, that you
sought your friend so early in the day 3  You are not
wont to be so eager to carry tidings."
"I have not heard the rumours whereof you
speak," replied Philothea.  "What is it, my father 2"
" Hipparete went from  Aspasia's house to her
brother Callias, instead of the dwelling of her husband," rejoined Anaxagoras: "by his advice she refused to return; and she yesterday appealed to the
archons for a divorce from Alcibiades, on the plea of
his notorious profligacy. Alcibiades, hearing of this,
rushed into the assembly, with his usual boldness,
seized his wife in his arms, carried her through the
crowd, and locked her up in her own apartment.
No man ventured to interfere with this lawful exercise of his authority. It is rumoured that Hipparete
particularly accused him of promising marriage to
Electra the Corinthian, and Eudora, of the household of Phidias."
For the first time in her life, Philothea turned
away her face, to conceal its expression, while she




96              PHILOTHEA.
inquirea in a trem-ulous tone whether these facts had
been told to Philaemon, the preceding evening.
" Some of the guests were speaking of it when he
entered," replied Anaxagoras; "but no one alluded
to it in his presence. Perhaps he had heard the
rumour, for he seemed sad and disquieted, and
joined little in the conversation."
Embarrassed by the questions which her grand
father was naturally disposed to ask, Philothea briefl)
confessed that a singular change had taken place it,
Eudora's character, and begged permission to be.
silent on a subject so painful to her feelings. Sh,
felt strongly inclined to return immediately to her
deluded friend; but the hopelessness induced by her
recent conversation, combined with the necessity of
superintending Milza in some of her household occupations, occasioned a few hours' delay.
As she attempted to cross the garden for that purpose, she saw Eudora enter hastily by the private
gate, and pass to her own apartment. Philothea instantly followed her, and found that she had thrown
herself on the couch, sobbing violently. She put her
arms about her neck, and affectionately inquired the
cause of her distress.
For a long time the poor girl resisted every soothing effort, and continued to weep bitterly. At last,
in a voice stifled with sobs, she said, "I was indeed
deceived; and you, Philothea, was my truest friend;
as you have always been."
The tender-hearted maiden imprinted a kiss upon
her hand, and asked whether it was Hipparete's appeal to the archons, that had so suddenly convinced
her of the falsehood of Alcibiades.




PHIL   TH EA.                 97
"I have heard it all," replied Eudora, with a
deep blush; "and I have heard my name coupled
with epithets never to be repeated to your pure ears.
I was so infatuated that, after you left me this morning, I sought the counsels of Aspasia, to strengthen
me in the course I had determined to pursue. As I
approached her apartment, the voice of Alcibiades
met my ear. I stopped and listened. I heard him
exult in his triumph over Hipparete; I heard my
name joined with Electra, the wanton Corinthian.
I heard him boast how easily our affections had
been won; I heard       "
She paused for a few moments, with a look of
intense shame, and the tears fell fast upon her robe.
In gentle tones Philothea said, "These are precious tears, Eudora. They will prove like springshowers, bringing forth fragrant blossoms."
With sudden impulse, the contrite maiden threw
her arms around her neck, saying, in a subdued
voice, " You must not be so kind to me-it will
break my heart."
By degrees the placid influence of her friend
calmed her perturbed spirit.  "Philothea," she said,
"I promise with solemn earnestness to tell you every
action of my life, and every thought of my soul; but
never ask me to repeat all I heard at Aspasia's
dwelling. The words went through my heart like
poisoned arrows."
"Nay," replied Philothea, smiling; "they have
healed, not poisoned."
Eudora sighed, as she added, " When I came
away, in anger and in shame, I heard that false
man singing in mockery:




98                PHIL O T H EA.
"Count me on the summer trees
Every leaf that courts the breeze;
Count me on the foamy deep
Every wave that sinks to sleep;
Then when you have numbered these,
Billowy tides and leafy trees,
Count me all the flames I prove,
All the gentle nymphs I love."
Philothea, how could you, who are so pure yourself, see so much clearer than I did the treachery of
that bad man?'
The maiden replied, "Mortals, without the aid of
experience, would always be aware of the presence
of evil, if they sought to put away the love of it in
their own hearts, and in silent obedience listened to
the voice of their guiding spirit.  Flowers feel the
approach of storms, and birds need none to teach
them  the enmity of serpents.  This knowledge is
given to them  as perpetually as the sunshine; and
they receive it fully, because their little lives are all
obedience and love."
"Then, dearest Philothea, you may well know
when evil approaches.  By some mysterious power
you have ever known my heart better than I myself
have known it.  I now perceive that you told me
the truth when you said I was not blinded by love,
but by foolish pride. If it were not so, my feelings
could not so easily have turned to hatred. I have
more than once tried to deceive you, but you will
feel that I am not now speaking falsely. The interview you witnessed was the first and only one I ever
granted to Alcibiades."
Philothea freely expressed her belief in this assertion, and her joy that the real character of the grace



PHILO T H EA.                99
ful hypocrite had so soon been made manifest. Her
thoughts turned towards Philaemon; but certain recollections restrained the utterance of his name.
They were both silent for a few moments; and Eudora's countenance was troubled.  She looked up
earnestly in her friend's face, but instantly turned
away her eyes, and fixing them on the ground, said,
in a low and timid voice, "Do you think Philaemon
can ever love me again?"
Philothea felt painfully embarrassed; for when
she recollected how deeply Philaemon was enamoured of purity in women, she dared not answer in the
language of hope.
While she yet hesitated, Dione came to say that
her master required the attendance of Eudora alone
in his apartment.
Phidias had always exacted implicit obedience
from his household, and Eudora's gratitude towards
him had ever been mingled with fear. The consciousness of recent misconduct filled her with extreme dread. Her countenance became deadly pale,
as she turned toward her friend, and said, "Oh,
Philothea, go with me."
The firm-hearted maiden took her arm  gently
within her own, and whispered, " Speak the truth,
and trust in the Divine Powers."
9




100              P H I LOT HE A.
CHAPTER  VIII.
Thus it is; I have made those
Averse to me whom nature formed my friends;
Those, who from me deserved no ill, to win
Thy grace, I gave just cause to be my foes;
And thou, most vile of men, thou hast betrayed me.
EURIPIDES.
PHIDIAS was alone, with a large unfinished drawing before him, on a waxen tablet. Various groups
of statues were about the room; among which was
conspicuous the beautiful workmanship of Myron,
representing a kneeling Paris offering the golden
apple to Aphrodite; and by a mode of flattery common with Athenian artists, the graceful youth bore
the features of Alcibiades.  Near this group was
Hera and Pallas, from the hand of Phidias; characterized by a severe majesty of expression, as they
looked toward Paris and his voluptuous goddess in
quiet scorn.
Stern displeasure was visible in the countenance
of the great sculptor. As the maidens entered, with
their faces covered, he looked up, and said coldly,
"I bade that daughter of unknown parents come
into my presence unattended."
Eudora keenly felt the reproach implied by the
suppression of her name, which Phidias deemed she
had dishonoured; and the tremulous motion of her
veil betrayed her agitation.
Philothea spoke in a mild, but firm voice: "Son
of Charmides, by the friendship of my father, I conjure you do not require me to forsake Eudora in this
hour of great distress."




P H I LO T      A.           101
In a softened tone, Phidias replied: -  The daughter of Alcimenes knows that for his sake, and for
the sake of her own gentle nature, I can refuse her
nothing."
"I give thee thanks," rejoined the maiden, " and
relying on this assurance, I will venture to plead for
this helpless orphan, whom the gods committed to
thy charge. The counsels of Aspasia have led her
into error; and is the son of Charmides blameless,
for bringing one so young within the influence of
that seductive woman?"
After a short pause, Phidias auswered: "Philothea, it is true that my pride in her gift of sweet
sounds first brought her into the presence of that bad
and dangerous man; it was contrary to Philamon's
wishes, too; and in this I have erred.  If that
giddy damsel can tell me the meeting in the garden
was not by her own consent, I will again restore her
to my confidence. Eudora, can you with truth give
me this assurance'"
Eudora made no reply; but she trembled so violently, that she would have sunk, had she not leaned on the arm of her friend.
Philothea, pitying her distress, said, " Son of Charmides, I do not believe Eudora can truly give the
answer you wish to receive; but remember in her
favour that she does not seek to excuse herself by
falsehood. Alcibiades has had no other interview
than that one, of which the divine Phoebus sent a
messenger to warn me in my sleep. For that fault,
the deluded maiden has already suffered a bitter portion of shame and grief."
After a short silence, Phidias spoke: "Eudora,




102             PHILOTHEA.
when I called you hither, it was with the determination of sending you to the temple of Castor and
Polydeuces, there to be offered for sale to your paramour, who has already tried, in a secret way, to
purchase you, by the negociation of powerful friends;
but Philothea has not pleaded for you in vain. I
will not punish your fault so severely as Alcibiades
ventured to hope. You shall remain under my protection. But from henceforth you must never leave
your own apartment, without my express permission, which will not soon be granted. I dare not
trust your sudden repentance; and shall therefore
order a mastiff to be chained to your door. Dione
will bring you bread and water only. If you fail in
obedience, the fate I first intended will assuredly be
yours, without time given for expostulation. Now
go to the room that opens into the garden; and there
remain, till I send Dione to conduct you to your own
apartment."
Eudora was so completely humbled, that these
harsh words aroused no feeling of offended pride.
Her heart was too full for utterance; and her eyes
so blinded with tears, that, as she turned to leave
the apartment, she frequently stumbled over the scattered fragments of marble.
It was a day of severe trials for the poor maiden.
They had remained but a short time waiting for
Dione, when Philaemon entered, conducted by Phidias, who immediately left the apartment. Eudora
instantly bowed her head upon the couch, and covered her face with her hands.
In a voice tremulous with emotion, the young
man said, " Eudora, notwithstanding the bitter re



PHILOT HE A.                103
collection of where I last saw you, I have earnestly
wished to see you once more-to hear from your
own lips whether the interview I witnessed in the
garden was by your own appointment.  Although
many things in your late conduct have surprised and
grieved me, I am slow  to believe that you could
have taken a step so unmaidenly; particularly at
this time, when it has pleased the gods to load me
with misfortunes. By the affection I once cherished, I entreat you to tell me whether that meeting
was unexpected."
He waited in vain for any other answer than audible sobs. After a slight pause, he continued: " Eudora, I wait for a reply more positive than silence.
Let me hear from your own lips the words that must
decide my destiny. Perchance it is the last favour
I shall ever ask."
The repentant maiden, without looking up, answered, in broken accents, " Philemon, I will not
add deceit to other wrongs. I must speak the truth,
if my heart is broken. I did consent to that interview."
The young man bowed his head in silent anguish
against one of the pillars-his breast heaved, and his
lips quivered. After a hard struggle with himself,
he said, "Farewell, Eudora. I shall never again
intrude upon your presence. Many will flatter you;
but none will love you as I have loved."
With a faint shriek, Eudora sprung forward, and
threw herself at his feet. She would have clasped
his knees, but he involuntarily recoiled from her
touch, and gathered the folds of his robe about him.
Then the arrow entered deeply into her heart.
9*




104             P HIL OTH EA.
She rested her burning forehead against the marble
pillar, and said, in tones of agonized entreaty, "I
never met him but once."
Philothea, who during this scene had wept like an
infant, laid her hand beseechingly on his arm, and
added,   Son of Choerilaus, remember that was the
only interview."
Philaemon shook his head mournfully, as he replied, "But I cannot forget that it was an appointed
one.-We can never meet again."
He turned hastily to leave the room; but lingered
on the threshold, and looked back upon Eudora with
an expression of unutterable sadness.
Philothea perceived the countenance of her unhappy friend grow rigid beneath his gaze. She hastened to raise her from the ground whereon she knelt,
and received her senseless in her arms.




PHIL  T H EA.                   105
CHAPTER IX.
Fare thee well, perfidious maid I
My soul,-its fondest hopes betrayed,
Betrayed, perfidious girl, by thee,Is now on wing for liberty.
I fly to seek a kindlier sphere,
Since thou hast ceased to love me here.
ANACREON.
NOT long after the parting interview with Eudora,
Philaemon, sad and solitary, slowly wended his way
from  Athens.  As he passed along the banks of the
Illyssus, he paused for a moment, and stood with
folded arms, before the chaste and beautiful little
temple of Agrotera, the huntress with the unerring
bow.
The temple was shaded by lofty plane trees, and
thickly intertwined willows, among which transparent rivulets glided in quiet beauty; while the
marble nymphs, with which the grove was adorned,
looked modestly down upon the sparkling waters,
as if awe-stricken by the presence of their sylvan
goddess.
A well-known voice said, " Enter Philremon. It
is a beautiful retreat. The soft verdant grass tempts
to repose; a gentle breeze brings fragrance from the
blossoms; and the grasshoppers are chirping with a
summer-like and sonorous sound. Enter, my son."
"Thanks, Anaxagoras," replied Philemon, as he
moved forward to give and receive the cordial salutation of his friend: " I have scarcely travelled far
enough to need repose; but the day is sultry, and
this balmy air is indeed refreshing."




106             P H I L o  H  kA.
" Whither leads your path, my son." inquired the
good old man. "I perceive that no servant follows
you with a seat whereon to rest, when you wish to
enjoy the prospect, and your garments are girded
about you, like one who travels afar."
"I seek Mount Hymettus, my father," replied
Philaemon: " There I shall stop to-night, to take my
last look of Athens. To-morrow, I join a company
on their way to Persia; where they say Athenian
learning is eagerly sought by the Great King and
his nobles."
"And would you have left Athens without my
blessing " inquired Anaxagoras.
" In truth, my father, I wished to avoid the pain
of parting," rejoined Philaemon. " Not even my beloved Paralus is aware that the homeless outcast of
ungrateful Athens'has left her walls forever."
The aged philosopher endeavoured to speak, but
his voice was tremulous with emotion.  After a
short pause, he put his arm within Philaemon's, and
said, "My son, we will journey together. I shall
easily find my way back to Athens before the lamps
of evening are lighted."
The young man spoke of the wearisome walk;
and reminded him that Ibycus, the beloved of the
gods, was murdered while returning to the city after
twilight.  But the philosopher replied, "My old
limbs are used to fatigue, and everybody knows that
the plain robe of Anaxagoras conceals no gold."
As they passed along through the smiling fields of
Agra, the cheerfulness of the scene redoubled the
despondency of the exile. Troops of laughing girls
were returning from the vineyards with baskets full




P HIL   T HE A.              107
of grapes; women were grinding corn, singing merrily, as they toiled; groups of boys were throwing
quoits, or seated on the grass eagerly playing at dice,
and anon filling the air with their shouts; in one
place was a rural procession in honour of Dionysus;
in another, loads of pure Pentelic marble were on
their way from the quarry, to increase the architectural glory of Athens.
"I could almost envy that senseless stone!" exclaimed Philaemon.  "It goes where I have spent
many a happy hour, and where I shall never enter
more. It is destined for the Temple of the Muses,
which Plato is causing to be built among the olivegroves of Academus.  The model is more beautifully simple than anything I have ever seen."
"The grove of Academus is one of the few places
now remaining where virtue is really taught and encouraged," rejoined Anaxagoras.  "As for these
new teachers, misnamed philosophers, they are rapidly hastening the decay of a state whose diseases
produced them."
"A few days since, I heard one of the sophists
talking to crowds of people in the old Agora," said
Philamon; " and truly his doctrines formed a strange
contrast with the severe simplicity of virtue expressed in the countenances of Solon, Aristides, and
the other godlike statues that stood around him.
He told the populace that it was unquestionably a
great blessing to commit an injury with impunity;
but as there was more evil in suffering an injury
than there was good in committing one, it was
necessary to have the subject regulated by laws:
that justice, correctly defined, meant nothing more




108             PHILOTHEA.
than the interest of the strongest; that a just man
always fared worse than the unjust, because he
neglected to aggrandize himself by dishonest actions,
and thus became unpopular among his acquaintances; while those who were less scrupulous, grew
rich and were flattered. He said the weak very
naturally considered justice as a common right; but
he who had power, if he had likewise courage, would
never submit to any such agreement: that they who
praised virtue, did it because they had some object
to gain from those who had less philosophy than
themselves; and these pretended worthies, if they
could act invisibly, would soon be found in the same
path with the villain. He called rhetoric the noblest
of the arts, because it enabled an ignorant man to
appear to know as much as one who was thoroughly
master of his subiect. Some of the people demanded
what he had to say of the gods, since he had spoken
so ably of men. With an unpleasant mixture of derision and feigned humility, the sophist replied, that
he left such vast subjects to be discussed by the immortal Socrates. He forthwith left the Agora, and
many a loud laugh and profane jest followed his
departure.  When such doctrines can be uttered
without exciting indignation, it is easy to foresee
the destinies of the state."
"Thucydides speaks truly," rejoined Anaxagoras:
" In the history he is writing, he says,-The Athenian
people are beginning to be more fond of calling dishonest men able, than simple men honest; and that
statesmen begin to be ashamed of the more worthy
title, while they take pride in the other: thus sinceritv. of which there is much in generous natures,




PRIL O T   EA.              109
will be laughed down; while wickedness and hypocrisy are everywhere triumphant."
" But evil grows weary of wearing a mask in reluctant homage to good," replied Philaemon; " she
is ever seeking to push it aside, with the hope that
men may become accustomed to her face, and find
more beauty therein, than in the disguise she wears.
The hidden thought at last struggles forth into expression, and cherished passions assume a form in
action. One of the sophists has already given notice
that he can teach any young man how to prove that
right is wrong, or wrong is right. It is said that
Xanthippus has sent his son to benefit by these instructions, with a request that he may learn the art
thoroughly, but be taught to use it only in the right
way."
" Your words are truth, my son," answered the
philosopher; "and the blame should rest on those
who taint the stream at its source, rather than with
them who thoughtlessly drink of it in its wanderings.
The great and the gifted of Athens, instead of yielding reverent obedience to the unchangeable principle
of truth, have sought to make it the servant of their
own purposes. Forgetful of its eternal nature, they
strive to change it into arbitrary forms of their own
creating; and then marvel because other minds present it in forms more gross and disgusting than their
own. They do not ask what is just or unjust, true
or untrue, but content themselves with recommending
virtue, as far as it advances interest, or contributes
to popularity; and when virtue ceases to be fashionable, the multitude can no longer find a satisfactory reason for adhering to it. But when the teach



110             PHILOTHE A.
ers of the populace hear their vulgar pupils boldly
declare that vice is as good as virtue, provided a man
can follow it with success, pride prevents them
from seeing that this maxim is one of their own doctrines stripped of its equestrian robes, and shown in
democratic plainness. They did not venture to deride the gods, or even to assert that they took no
cognizance of human affairs;'but they declared
that offences against divine beings might be easily
atoned for by a trifling portion of their own gifts-a
sheep, a basket of fruit, or a few grains of salt, offered at stated seasons, with becoming decorum; and
then when alone together, they smiled that such concessions were necessary to satisfy the superstitions
of the vulgar. But disbelief in divine beings, and
the eternal nature of truth, cannot long be concealed
by pouring the ulal libations, or maintaining a cautious reserve. The whispered opinions of false philosophers will soon be loudly echoed by the popular
voice, which is less timid, because it is more honest.
Even thus did Midas laboriously conceal the deformity of his head; but his barber, who saw him
without disguise, whispered his secret in the earth,
and when the winds arose, the voices of a thousand
reeds proclaimed to the world,'King Midas hath
ass's ears. "'
"The secret has already been whispered to the
ground," answered Philaemon, smiling: " If it were
not so, the comic writers would not be able to give
with impunity such grotesque and disgusting representations of the gods."
"And yet," rejoined the old man, "I hear that
Hermippus, who has himself personified Hera on the




PHILOTHEA.                   111
stage, as an angry woman attempting to strike infuriated Zeus, is about to arraign me before the public tribunal, because I said the sun was merely a
great ball of fire. This he construes into blasphemy
against the life-giving Phaebus."
" The accusation may be thus worded," said Philaemon; " but your real crime is that you stay away
from political assemblies, and are therefore suspected
of being unfriendly to democratic institutions. Demos reluctantly admits that the right to hold such
opinions is an inherent part of liberty. Soothe the
vanity of the dicasts by humble acknowledgments,
and gratify their avarice by a plentiful distribution
of drachmae; flatter the self-conceit of the Athenians,
by assurances that they are the greatest, most glorious, and most consistent people upon earth; be careful that Cleon the tanner, and Thearion the baker,
and Theophrastus the maker of lyres, are supplicated and praised in due form-and, take my word
for it, the gods will be left to punish you for whatever offences you commit against them. They will
receive no assistance from the violet-crowned city."
"And you, my son," replied the philosopher,
" would never have been exiled from Athens, if you
had debated in the porticos with young citizens, who
love to exhibit their own skill in deciding whether
the true cause of the Trojan war were Helen, or the
ship that carried her away, or the man that built the
ship, or the wood whereof it was made; if in your
style you had imitated the swelling pomp of Isagoras, where one solitary idea is rolled over and over
in an ocean of words, like a small pearl tossed about
in the JEgean; if you had supped with Hyperbolus,
10




112             PHILO THEA.
or been seen in the agoras, walking arm in arm with
Cleon. With such a man as you to head their party,
Pericles could not always retain the ascendancy, by
a more adroit use of their own weapons."
" As soon would I league myself with the Odomantians of Thrace!" exclaimed Philaemon, with
an expression of strong disgust. "It is such men
who destroy the innocence of a republic, and cause
that sacred name to become a mockery among tyrants. The mean-souled wretches! Men who take
from the poor daily interest for a drachma, and
spend it in debauchery. Citizens who applauded Pericles because he gave them an obolus for a vote, and
are now willing to see him superseded by any man
that will give two oboli instead of one! No, my
father-I could unite with none but an honest party
-men who love the state and forget themselves;
and such are not now found in Athens. The few
that exist dare not form a barrier against the powerful current that would inevitably drive them to destruction."
"You speak truth, Philaemon," rejoined Anaxagoras: "Pallas Athenae seems to have deserted her
chosen people. The proud Spartans openly laugh
at our approaching downfall, while the smooth Persians watch for a favourable moment to destroy the
freedom already rendered so weak by its own insanity."
" The fault will be attributed to democratic principles," said Philaemon; " but the real difficulty exists
in that love of power which hides itself beneath the
mask of Democracy, until a corrupted public can
endure its undisguised features without execration.




P   I L   T H  A.           113
No one can believe that Pericles lessened the power
of the Areopagus from a sincere conviction that it
was for the good of the people. It was done to obtain personal influence, by purchasing the favour of
those who had sufficient reasons for desiring a less
equitable tribunal. Nor could he have ever supposed that the interests of the republic would be advanced by men whom the gift of an obolus could
induce to vote. The Athenians have been spoiled
by ambitious demagogues, who now try to surfeit
them with flattery, as nurses seek to pacify noisy
children with sponges dipped in honey. They strive
to drown the din of domestic discord in boasts of
foreign conquests; and seek to hide corruption in a
blaze of glory, as they concealed their frauds amid
the flames of the treasury."
"Pericles no doubt owes his great popularity to
skill in availing himself of existing circumstances,"
replied Anaxagoras; " and I am afraid that the same
motives for corrupting, and the same willingness
to be corrupted, will always be found in democratic
institutions."
"It has always been matter of surprise to me,"
said Philaemon, "that one so humble and frugal as
yourself, and so zealous for the equal rights of all
men, even the meanest citizens, should yet be so little friendly to that popular idol which the Athenians
call Demos."
The philosopher rejoined: "When I was young,
I heard it said of Lycurgus, that being asked why
he, who was such a friend to equality, did not bestow a democratic government upon Sparta, he answered:'Go and try a democracy in your own




114             P I I L O T -1 Hi  A
house."  The reply pleased me; and a long residence in Athens has not yet taught me to believe
that a man who is governed by ten thousand masters has more freedom than he who is governed by
one."
"If kings had the same natural affection for their
subjects that parents have for their children, the conparison of Lycurgus would be just," answered Philaemon.
" And what think you of the paternal kindness of
this republican decree whereby five thousand citizens have been sold into slavery, because the unjust
confiscation of their estates rendered them unable to
pay their debts?" said Anaxagoras.
" Such an edict was passed because Athens is not
a republic," replied Philaemon. " All things are under the control of Pericles; and Aspasia rules him.
When she heard that I remonstrated against his
shameful marriage, she said she would sooner or
later bring a Trojan horse into my house. She has
fulfilled her threat by the same means that enabled
Pericles to destroy the political power of some of his
most influential enemies."
"Pericles has indeed obtained unbounded influence," rejoined Anaxagoras; " but he did it by counterfeiting the very principle that needed to be checked; and this is so easily counterfeited, that democracy is always in danger of becoming tyranny in
disguise.  The Athenians are as servile to their
popular idol, as the Persians to their hereditary one;
but the popular idol seeks to sustain his power by
ministering to that love of change, which allows nothing to remain sacred and established. Hence, two




P H I L 0 T II E A.          115
opposite evils are combined in action-the reality of
despotism with the form of democracy; the power
of a tyrant with the irresponsibility of a multitude.
But, in judging of Pericles, you, my son, should strive
to guard against political enmity, as I do against
personal affection. It cannot be denied that he has
often made good use of his influence. When Cimon
brought the remains of Theseus to Athens, and a
temple was erected over them in obedience to the
oracle, it was he who suggested to the people that a
hero celebrated for relieving the oppressed could not
be honoured more appropriately than by making his
temple a refuge for abused slaves."
" Friendly as I am to a government truly republican," answered Philaemon,   it is indeed difficult to
forgive the man who seduces a democracy to the
commission of suicide, for his own advancement.
His great abilities would receive my admiration, if
they were not employed in the service of ambition.
As for this new edict, it will prove a rebounding
arrow, striking him who sent it. He will find ten
enemies for one in the kindred of the banished."
" While we have been talking thus sadly," said
the old philosopher, " the fragrant thyme and murmuring bees give cheerful notice that we are approaching Mount Hymettus.  I see the worthy peasant, Tellus, from whom I have often received refreshment of bread and grapes; and if it please you
we will share his bounty now."
The peasant respectfully returned their friendly
greeting, and readily furnished clusters from his luxuriant vineyard, As the travellers seated themselves
10*




116             P HI L O T HE A.
beneath the shelter of the vines, Tellus asked, "What
news from Athens?"' None of importance," replied Anaxagoras, " excepting rumours of approaching war, and this new
edict, by which so many citizens are suddenly reduced to poverty."
" There are always those in Athens who are like
the eel-catchers, that choose to have the waters troubled," observed the peasant.  "When the lake is
still, they lose their labour; but when the mud is
well stirred, they take eels in plenty. My son says
he gets twelve oboli for a conger-eel, in the Athenian
markets; and that is a goodly price."
The travellers smiled, and contented themselves
with praising his grapes, without further allusion to
the politics of Athens. But Tellus resumed the discourse, by saying, " So, I hear my old neighbour,
Philargus, has been tried for idleness."
"Even so," rejoined Anaxagoras.; " and his condemnation has proved the best luck he ever had.
The severe sentence of death was changed into a
heavy fine; and Lysidas, the Spartan, immediately
begged to be introduced to him, as the only gentleman he had seen or heard of in Athens.  He has
paid the fine for him, and invited him to Lacedaemon; that he may show  his proud countrymen
one Athenian who does not disgrace himself by industry."
"That comes of having the Helots among them,"
said Tellus.  " My boy married a Spartan wife, and
I can assure you she is a woman that looks lightning, and speaks mustard. When my son first told




P H I L 0 T H EA.            117
her to take the fish from his basket, she answered
angrily, that she was no Helot."
"I heard this same Lysidas, the other day," said
Philaemon, "boasting that the Spartans were the
only real freemen; and Lacedaemon the only place
where courage and virtue always found a sure reward.
I asked him what reward the Helots had for bravery
or virtue.'They are not scourged; and that is sufficient reward for the base hounds,' was his contemptuous reply. He approves the law forbidding masters
to bestow freedom on their slaves; and likes the custom which permits boys to whip them, merely to remind them of their bondage. He ridicules the idea
that injustice will weaken the strength of Sparta,
because the gods are enemies to injustice. He says
the sun of liberty shines brighter with the dark atmosphere of slavery around it; as temperance seems
more lovely to the Spartan youth, after they have
seen the Helots made beastly drunk for their amusement. He seems to forget that the passions are the
same in every human breast; and that it is never
wise in any state to create natural enemies at her
own doors.  But the Lacedemonians make it a rule
never to speak of danger from their slaves. They
remind me of the citizens of Amyclm, who, having
been called from their occupations by frequent rumours of war, passed a vote that no man should be
allowed, under heavy penalties, to believe any report
of intended invasion.  When the enemy really came,
no man dared to speak of their approach, and Amyclae was easily conquered. Lysidas boasted of salutary cruelty; and in the same breath t)ld me the
Helots loved their masters."




11s8            P  I L OT H E A.
"As the Spartan boys love Orthia, at whose altar
they yearly receive a bloody whipping," said Tellus,
laughing.
"There is one great mistake in Lacedamonian
institutions," observed Anaxagoras: " They seek to
avoid the degrading love of money, by placing every
citizen above the necessity of laborious occupation;
but they forget that the love of tyranny may prove
an evil still more dangerous to the state."
"You speak justly, my father," answered Philemon: "The Athenian law, which condemns any
man for speaking disrespectfully of his neighbour's
trade, is most wise; and it augurs ill for Athens that
some of her young equestrians begin to think it unbecoming to bring home provisions for their own dinner from the agoras."
"Alcibiades, for instance!" exclaimed the philosopher: " He would consider himself disgraced by
any other burthen than his fighting quails, which ke
carries out to take the air."
Philaemon started up suddenly-for the name of
Alcibiades stung him like a serpent. Immediately
recovering his composure, he turned to recompense
the hospitality of the honest peasant, and to bid him
a friendly farewell.
But Tellus answered bluntly; " No, young Athenian; I like your sentiments, and will not touch
your coin. The gods bless you."
The travellers having heartily returned his parting benediction, slowly ascended Mount' Hymettus.
When they paused to rest upon its summit, a glorious prospect lay stretched out before them. On the
north, were Megara, Eleusis, and the cynosure of




PHILO T HEA.                119
Marathon; in the south, numerous islands, like a
flock of birds, reposed on the bright bosom of the
rEgean; to the west, was the broad Piraeus with its
thousand ships, and Athens in all her magnificence
of beauty; while the stately buildings of distant
Corinth mingled with the cloudless sky. The declining sun threw his refulgent mantle over the lovely
scene, and temples, towers, and villas glowed in the
purple light.
The travellers stood for a few moments in perfect
silence-Philaemon with folded arms, and Anaxagoras leaning on his staff. At length, in tones of
deep emotion, the young man exclaimed, "Oh,
Athens, how I have loved thee! Thy glorious existence has been a part of my own being! For thy
prosperity how freely would I have poured out my
blood!  The gods bless thee, and save thee from
thyself!"'"Who could look upon her and not bless her in
his heart?" said the old philosopher: "There she
stands, fair as the heaven-born Pallas, in all her virgin majesty! But alas for Athens, when every man
boasts of his own freedom, and no man respects the
freedom of his neighbour. Peaceful, she seems, in
her glorious beauty; but the volcano is heaving
within, and already begins to throw forth its showers
of smoke and stones."
" Would that the gods had permitted me to share
her dangers-to die and mingle with her beloved
soil!" exclaimed Philemon.
The venerable philosopher looked up, and saw
intense wretchedness in the countenance of his
youthful friend.  He laid his hand kindly upon




120             P H IL  T H E A.
Phileemon's arm; "Nay, my son," said he, " You
must not take this unjust decree so much to heart.
Of Athens nothing can be so certainly predicted as
change. Things as trifling as the turning of a shell
may restore you to your rights. You can even now
return, if you will submit to be a mere sojourner in
Athens. After all, what vast privileges do you lose
with your citizenship. You must indeed wrestle at
Cynosarges, instead of the Lyceum or the Academia;
but in this, the great Themistocles has given you
honourable example.  You will not be allowed to
enter the theatre while the Athenians keep the second day of their festival Anthesteria; but to balance
this privation, you are forbidden to vote, and are thus
freed from all blame belonging to unjust and capricious laws."
" My father, playful words cannot cure the wound,"
replied the exile, seriously: "The cherished recollections of years cannot be so easily torn from the
heart.  Athens, with all her faults, is still my own,
my beautiful, my beloved land.  They might have
killed me, if they would, if I had but died an Athenian citizen."
He spoke with a voice deeply agitated; but after
a few moments of forced composure, he continued
more cheerfully: "Let us speak of other subjects.
We are standing here, on the self-same spot where
Aristo and Perictione laid the infant Plato, while
they sacrificed to the life-giving Phoebus. It was
here the bees clustered about his infant mouth, and
his mother hailed the omen of his future eloquence.
Commend me to that admirable man, and tell him I




PHILO THEA.                  121
shall vainly seek throughout the world to find another Plato.
" Commend me likewise to the Persian Artaphernes. To his bounty I am much indebted. Lest he
should hope that I carry away feelings hostile to
Athens, and favourable to her enemies, say to the
kind old man, that Philremon will never forget his
country or his friends. I have left a long letter to
Paralus, in which my full heart has but feebly expressed its long-cherished friendship.  When you
return, you will find a trifling token of remembrance
for yourself and Philothea. May Pallas shower her
richest blessings upon that pure and gifted maiden."
With some hesitation, Anaxagoras said, "You
make no mention of Eudora; and I perceive that
both you and Philothea are reserved when her name
is mentioned. Do not believe every idle rumour,
my son. The gayety of a light-hearted maiden is
often unmixed with boldness, or crime. Do not cast
her from you too lightly."
Philremon averted his face for a moment, and
struggled hard with his feelings. Then turning abruptly, he pressed the old man's hand, and said, "Bid
Philothea, guide and cherish her deluded friend, for
my sake. And now, farewell, Anaxagoras! Farewell, forever! amy kind, my good old master. May
the gods bless the wise counsels and virtuous example you have given me."
The venerable philosopher stretched forth his arms
to embrace him. The young man threw himself
upon that friendly bosom, and overcome by a variety
of conflicting emotions, sobbed aloud.




122             PHI LO T H E A.
As they parted, Anaxagoras again pressed Philaemon to his heart, and said, " May that God, whose
numerous attributes the Grecians worship, forever
bless thee, my dear son."




PHIL OTHE A.                 123
CHAPTER X.
Courage, Orestes! if the lots hit right,
If the black pebbles don't exceed the white,
You're safe.
EURIPIDES.
PERICLES sought to please the populace by openly
using his influence to diminish the power of the
Areopagus; and a decree had been passed that those
who denied the existence of the gods, or introduced
new opinions about celestial things, should be tried
by the people. This event proved fortunate for some
of his personal friends; for Hermippus soon laid
before the Thesmothetam Archons an accusation of
blasphemy against Anaxagoras, Phidias, and Aspasia. The case was tried before the fourth Assembly
of the people; and the fame of the accused, together
with the well-known friendship of Pericles, attracted
an immense crowd; insomuch that the Prytaneum
was crowded to overflowing.  The prisoners came
in, attended  by  the Phylarchi of their different
wards.  Anaxagoras retained his usual bland expression and meek dignity. Phidias walked with a
haughtier tread, and carried his head more proudly.
Aspasia was veiled; but as she glided along, gracefully as a swan on the bosom of still waters, loud
murmurs of approbation were heard from the crowd.
Pericles seated himself near them, with deep sadness
on his brow. The moon had not completed its revolution since he had seen Phidias arraigned before the
Second Assembly of the people, charged by Menon,
one of his own pupils, with having defrauded the
11




124             PHI LO T H E A.
state of gold appropriated to the statue of Pallas.
Fortunately, the sculptor had arranged the precious
metal so that it could be taken off and weighed; and
thus his innocence was easily made manifest. But
the great statesman had seen, by many indications,
that the blow was in part aimed at himself through
his friends; and that his enemies were thus trying to
ascertain how far the people could be induced to act
in opposition to his well-known wishes. The cause
had been hurried before the assembly, and he perceived that his opponents were there in great numbers. As soon as the Epistates began to read the
accusation, Pericles leaned forward, and burying his
face in his robe, remained motionless.
Anaxagoras was charged with not having offered
victims to the gods; and with having blasphemed
the divine Phcebus, by saying the sun was only a
huge ball of fire.  Being called upon to answer
whether he were guilty of this offence, he replied:
" Living victims I have never sacrificed to the gods;
because, like the Pythagoreans, I object to the shedding of blood; but, like the disciples of their sublime
philosopher, I have duly offered on their altars small
goats and rams made of wax. I did say I believed
the sun to be a great ball of fire; and deemed not
that in so doing I had blasphemed the divine
Phoebus.'
When he had finished, it was proclaimed aloud
that any Athenian, not disqualified by law, might
speak. Cleon arose, and said it was well known to
the disciples of Anaxagoras, that he taught the existence of but one God.  Euripides, Pericles, and
others who had been his pupils, were separately




PHI LOT HE A.                 125
called to bear testimony; and all said he taught One
Universal Mind, of which all other divinities were
the attributes; even as Homer represented the inferior deities subordinate to Zeus.
When the philosopher was asked whether he believed in the gods, he answered, " I do: but I believe
in them as the representatives of various attributes in
One Universal Mind."  He was then required to
swear by all the gods, and by the dreaded Erinnys,
that he had spoken truly.
The Prytanes informed the assembly that their
vote must decide whether this avowed doctrine rendered Anaxagoras of Clazomence worthy of death.
A brazen urn was carried round, in which every
citizen deposited a pebble. When counted, the black
pebbles predominated over the white, and Anaxagoras was condemned to die.
The old man heard it very calmly, and replied:
"Nature pronounced that sentence upon me before I
was born. Do what you will, Athenians, ye can only
injure the outward case of Anaxagoras; the real, immortal Anaxagoras is beyond your power."
Phidias was next arraigned, and accused of blasphemy, in having carved the likeness of himself and
Pericles on the shield of heaven-born Pallas; and of
having said that he approved the worship of the
gods, merely because he wished to have his own
works adored. The sculptor proudly replied, "I
never declared that my own likeness, or that of
Pericles, was on the shield of heaven-born Pallas;
nor can any Athenian prove that I ever intended to
place them there. I am not answerable for offences
which have their origin in the eyes of the multitude.




126             PHILO TH EA.
If their quick discernment be the test, crimes may be
found written even on the glowing embers of our
household altars. I never said I approved the worship of the gods because I wished to have my own
works adored; for I should have deemed it irreverent thus to speak of divine beings. Some learned
and illustrious guests, who were at the symposium
in Aspasia's house, discoursed concerning the worship of images, apart from the idea of any divine
attributes, which they represented. I said I approved
not of this; and playfully added, that if it were otherwise, I might perchance be excused for sanctioning
the worship of mere images, since mortals were ever
willing to have their own works adored."  The testimony of Pericles, Alcibiades, and Plato, confirmed
the truth of his words.
Cleon declared it was commonly believed that
Phidias decoyed the maids and matrons of Athens to
his house, under the pretence of seeing sculpture;
but in reality to minister to the profligacy of Pericles.
The sculptor denied the charge; and required that
proof should be given of one Athenian woman, who
had visited his house, unattended by her husband or
her father.  The enemies of Pericles could easily
have procured such evidence with gold; but when
Cleon sought again to speak, the Prytanes commanded silence; and briefly reminded the people
that the Fourth Assembly had power to decide concerning religious matters only. Hermippus, in a
speech of considerable length, urged that Phidias
seldom sacrificed to the gods; and that he must have
intended likenesses on the shield of Pallas, because
even Athenian children recognized them.




P H I L   T H EA.            127
The brazen urn was again passed round, and the
black pebbles were more numerous than they had
been when the fate of Anaxagoras was decided.
When Phidias heard the sentence, he raised himself
to his full stature, and waving his right arm over the
crowd, said, in a loud voice: "Phidias can never
die! Athens herself will live in the fame of Charmides' son."  His majestic figure and haughty bearing awed the multitude; and some, repenting of the
vote they had given, said,'Surely, invisible Phoebus
is with him!"
Aspasia was next called to answer the charges
brought against her.  She had dressed herself in
deep mourning, as if appealing to the compassion of
the citizens; and her veil was artfully arranged to
display an arm and shoulder of exquisite whiteness
and beauty, contrasted with glossy ringlets of dark
hair, that carelessly rested on it. She was accused
of saying that the sacred baskets of Demeter contained nothing of so much importance as the beautiful maidens who carried them; and that the temple
of Poseidon was enriched with no offerings from
those who had been wrecked, notwithstanding their
supplications-thereby implying irreverent doubts of
the power of Ocean's god. To this, Aspasia, in clear
and musical tones, replied: "I said not that the
sacred baskets of Demeter contained nothing of so
much importance as the beautiful maidens who carried them.  But, in playful allusion to the love of
beauty, so conspicuous in Alcibiades, I said that he,
wrho was initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis,
might think the baskets less attractive than the
lovely maidens who carried them. Irreverence was
11*




128             P H I L o T H   A.
not in my thoughts; but inasmuch as. my careless
words implied it, I have offered atoning sacrifices to
the mother of Persephone, during which I abstained
from  all amusements.  When I declared that the
temple of Poseidon contained no offerings in commemoration of men that had been wrecked, I said it
in reproof of those who fail to supplicate the gods
for the manes of the departed. They who perish on
the ocean, may have offended Poseidon, or the Virgin
Sisters of the Deep; and on their altars should offerings be laid by surviving friends.
"No man can justly accuse me of disbelief in the
gods; for it is well known that with every changing
moon I offer on the altars of Aphrodite, doves and
sparrows, with baskets of apples, roses and myrtles:
and who in Athens has not seen the ivory car drawn
by golden swans, which the grateful Aspasia placed
in the temple of that love-inspiring deity?"
Phidias could scarcely restrain a smile, as he listened to this defence; and when the fair casuist
swore by all the gods, and by the Erinnys, that she
had spoken truly, Anaxagoras looked up involuntarily, with an expression of child-like astonishment.
Alcibiades promptly  corroborated  her statement.
Plato, being called to testify, gravely remarked that
she had uttered those words, and she alone could
explain her motives.  The populace seemed impressed in her favour; and when it was put to vote
whether sentence of death should be passed, an universal murmur arose, of " Exile! Exile!"'The Epistates requested that all who wished to
consider it a question of exile, rather than of death,
would signify the same by holding up their hands




PHIL  TH EA.                129
With very few exceptions, the crowd were inclined
to mercy. Hermippus gave tokens of displeasure,
and hastily rose to accuse Aspasia of corrupting the
youth of Athens, by the introduction of singing and
dancing women, and by encouraging the matrons of
Greece to appear unveiled.
A loud laugh followed his remarks; for the comic
actor was himself far from aiding public morals by
an immaculate example.
The Prytanes again reminded him that charges of
this nature must be decided by the First Assembly
of the people; and, whether true or untrue, ought
to have no influence on religious questions brought
before the Fourth Assembly.
Hermippus was perfectly aware of this; but he
deemed that the vote might be affected by his artful
suggestion.
The brazen urn was again carried round; and
fifty-one pebbles only appeared in disapprobation of
exile.
Then Pericles arose, and looked around him with
calm dignity. He was seldom seen in public, even
at entertainments; hence, something of sacredness
was attached to his person, like the Salaminian galley reserved for great occasions. A murmur like the
listant ocean was heard, as men whispered to each
other, " Lo, Pericles is about to speak!"  When the
tumult subsided, he said, in a loud voice, "If any
here can accuse Pericles of having enriched himaself
at the expense of the state, let him hold up his right
hand!"
Not a hand was raised-for his worst enemies
could not deny that he was temperate and frugal.




130             P HILOTHEA.
After a slight pause, he again resumed:   If any
man can show that Pericles ever asked a public
favour for himself or his friends, let him speak!"
No words were uttered; but a murmur of discontent was heard in the vicinity of Cleon and Hermippus.
The illustrious statesman folded his arms, and
waited in quiet majesty for the murmur to assume a
distinct form.  When all was hashed, he continued:
" If any man believes that Athens has declined in
beauty, wealth, or power, since the administration
of Pericles, let him give his opinion freely!"
National enthusiasm was kindled; and many voices
exclaimed, " Hail Pericles! All hail to Athens in her
glory!"
The statesman gracefully waved his hand toward
the multitude, as he replied, " Thanks, friends and
brother-citizens.  Who among you is disposed to
grant to Pericles one favour, not inconsistent with
your laws, or in opposition to the decrees of this
assembly 7"
A thousand hands were instantly raised.  Pericles
again expressed his thanks, and said, " The favour
I have to ask is, that the execution of these decrees
be suspended, until the oracle of Amphiaraus can be
consulted. If it please you, let a vote be taken who
shall be the messenger."
The proposal was accepted; and Antiphon, a celebrated diviner, appointed to consult the oracle.
As the crowd dispersed, Cleon muttered to Hermippus, " By Circe! I believe he has given the
Athenians philtres to make them love him.  No wonder Archidamus of Sparta said, that wrhen he threw




P H I L O T H E A.          131
Pericles in wrestling, he insisted he was never down,
and persuaded the very spectators to believe him."
Anaxagoras and Phidias, being under sentence of
death, were placed in prison, until the people should
finally decide upon their fate. The old philosopher
cheerfully employed his hours in attempts to square
the circle. The sculptor carved a wooden image,
with many hands and feet, and without a head;
upon the pedestal of which he inscribed Demos, and
secretly reserved it as a parting gift to the Athenian
people.
Before another moon had waned, Antiphon returned from Oropus, whither he had been sent to consult
the oracle. Being called before the people, he gave
the following account of his mission: "I abstained
from food until Phoebus had twice appeared above
the hills, in his golden chariot; and for three days
and three nights, I tasted no wine. When I had
thus purified myself, I offered a white ram to Amphiaraus; and spreading the skin on the ground, I invoked the blessing of Phoebus and his prophetic son,
and laid me down to sleep. Methought I walked in
the streets of Athens. A lurid light shone on the
walls of the Piraeus, and spread into the city, until
all the Acropolis seemed glowing beneath a fiery
sky. I looked up-and lo! the heavens were in a
blaze! Huge masses of flame were thrown backward
and forward, as if Pandamator and the Cyclops were
hurling their forges at each other's heads. Amazed,
I turned to ask the meaning of these phenomena;
and I saw that all the citizens were clothed in black;
and wherever two were walking together, one fell
dead by his side. Then I heard a mighty voice,




132             P HILOTH EA.
that seemed to proceed from within the Parthenon,
Three times it pronounced distinctly,' Wo! wo!
wo unto Athens!
" I awoke, and after a time slept again. I heard a
rumbling noise, like thunder; and from the statue
of Amphiaraus came a voice, saying,' Life is given
by the gods.'
" Then all was still. Presently I again heard a
sound like the multitudinous waves of ocean, when
it rises in a storm-and Amphiaraus said, slowly,'Count the pebbles on the sea-shore-yea, count
them twice.' Then I awoke; and having bathed in
the fountain, I threw therein three pieces of gold and
silver, and departed."
The people demanded of Antiphon the meaning
of these visions. He replied: " The first portends
calamity to Athens, either of war or pestilence. By
the response of the oracle, I understand that the citizens are commanded to vote twice, before they take
away life given by the gods."
The wish to gain time had chiefly induced Pericles to request that Amphiaraus might be consulted.
In the interval, his emissaries had been busy in softening the minds of the people; and it became universally known that in case Aspasia's sentence were
reversed, she intended to offer sacrifices to Aphrodite, Poseidon, and Demeter; during the continuance of which, the citizens would be publicly feasted
at her expense.
In these exertions, Pericles was zealously assisted
by Clinias, a noble and wealthy Athenian, the friend
of Anaxagoras and Phidias, and a munificent patron
of the arts. He openly promised, if the lives of his




PHILOTHE A.                  133
friends were spared, to evince his gratitude to the
gods, by offering a golden lamp to Pallas Parthenia,
and placing in each of the agoras any statue or painting the people thought fit to propose.
Stilt, Pericles, aware of the bitterness of his enemies, increased by the late severe edict against those
of foreign parentage, felt exceedingly fearful of the
result of a second vote. A petition, signed by Pericles, Clinias, Ephialtes, Euripides, Socrates, Plato,
Alcibiades, Paralus, and many other distinguished
citizens, was sent into the Second Assembly of the
people, begging that the accused might have another
trial; and this petition was granted.
When the Fourth Assembly again met, strong
efforts were made to fill the Prytaneum at a very
early hour with the friends of Pericles.
The great orator secluded himself for three preceding days, and refrained from  wine.  During this
time, he poured plentiful libations of milk and honey
to Hermes, god of Eloquence, and sacrificed the
tongues of nightingales to Peitho, goddess of Persuasion.
When he entered the Prytaneum, it was remarked
that he had never before been seen to look so pale;
and this circumstance, trifling as it was, excited the
ready sympathies of the people. When the Epistates
read the accusation against Anaxagoras, and proclaimed that any Athenian, not disqualified by law,
might speak, Pericles arose. For a moment he looked on the venerable countenance of the old philosopher, and seemed to struggle with his emotions.
Then, with sudden impulse, he exclaimed, "Look
on him, Athenians! and judge ye if he be one ac



134             PHILOTHEA.
cursed of the gods! —He is charged with having said
that the sun is a great ball of fire; and therein ye
deem that the abstractions of philosophy have led
him to profane the sacred name of Plhebus. We are
told that Zeus assumed the form of an eagle, a serpent, and a golden shower; yet these forms do not
affect our belief in the invisible god. If Phoebus
appeared on earth in the disguise of a woman and a
shepherd, is it unpardonable for a philosopher to suppose that the same deity may choose to reside within
a ball of fire? In the garden of Anaxagoras, you
will find a statue of Pallas, carved from an olive-tree.
He brought it with him from Ionia; and those discipies who most frequent his house, can testify that
sacrifices were ever duly offered upon her altar. Who
among you ever received an injury from that kind
old man? He was the descendant of princes,-yet
gave up gold for philosophy, and forbore to govern
mankind, that he might love them more perfectly.
Ask the young noble, who has been to him as a
father; and his response will be'Anaxagoras.' Ask
the poor fisherman at the gates, who has been to him
as a brother; and he will answer'Anaxagoras.'
When the merry-hearted boys throng your doors to
sing their welcome to Ornithae, inquire from whom
they receive the kindest word and the readiest gift;
and they will tell you,' Anaxagoras.' The Amphiaraus of Eschylus, says,'I do not wish to appear
to be a good man, but I wish to be one.' Ask any of
the poets, what living man most resembles Amphiaraus in this sentiment; and his reply will surely be,' It is Anaxagoras.'




PHIL OTH EA.                 135
" Again I say, Athenians, look upon his face, and
judge ye if he be one accursed of the gods!"
The philosopher had leaned on his staff, and
looked downward, while his illustrious pupil made
this defence; and when he had concluded, a tear
was seen slowly trickling down his aged cheek.
His accusers again urged that he had taught the
doctrine of one god, under the name of One Universal Mind; but the melodious voice and fluent tongue
of Pericles had so wrought upon the citizens, that
when the question was proposed, whether the old
man were worthy of death, there arose a clamourous cry of" Exile! Exile!"
The successful orator did not venture to urge the
plea of entire innocence; for he felt that he still had
too much depending on the capricious favour of the
populace.
The aged philosopher received his sentence with
thanks; and calmly added, " Anaxagoras is not
exiled from Athens; but Athens from Anaxagoras.
Evil days are coming on this city; and those who
are too distant to perceive the trophy at Salamis
will deem  themselves most blessed.  Pythagoras
said,' When the tempest is rising,'tis wise to worship the echo.'"
After the accusation against Phidias had been
read, Pericles again rose and said, "Athenians! I
shall speak briefly; for I appeal to what every citizen values more than his fortune or his name. I
plead for the glory of Athens. When strangers from
Ethiopia, Egypt, Phoenicia, and distant Taprobane,
come to witness the far-famed beauty of the violetcrowned city, they will stand in mute worship before
12




136             PHI L OTHE A.
the Parthenon; and when their wonder finds utterance, they will ask what the Athenians bestowed
on an artist so divine. Who among you could look
upon the image of Virgin Pallas, resplendent in her
heavenly majesty, and not blush to tell the barbarian
stranger that death was the boon you bestowed on
Pliidias?
"Go, gaze on the winged statue of Rhamnusia,
where vengeance seems to breathe from the marble
sent by Darius to erect his trophy on the plains of
Marathon! Then turn and tell the proud Persian
that the hand which wrought those fair proportions,
lies cold and powerless, by vote of the Athenian
people. No-ye could not say it: your hearts would
choke your voices. Ye could not tell the barbarian
that Athens thus destroyed one of the most gifted of
her sons."
The crowd answered in a thunder of applause;
mingled with the cry of "Exile! Exile!"  A few
voices shouted, "A fine! A fine!"  Then Cleon
arose and said: "Miltiades asked for an olive
crown; and a citizen answered,' When Miltiades
conquers alone, let him be crowned alone.' When
Phidias can show  that he built the Parthenon
without the assistance of Ictinus, Myron, Callicrates, and others, then let him have the whole credit
of the Parthenon."
To this, Pericles replied, " We are certainly much
indebted to those artists for many of the beautiful
and graceful details of that sublime composition;
but with regard to the majestic design of the Parthenon, Phidias conquered alone, and may therefore
justly be crowned alone."




H I LOTH E A.              137
A vote was taken on the question of exile, and the
black pebbles predominated. The sculptor heard
his sentence with a proud gesture, not unmingled
with scorn; and calmly replied, " They can banish
Phidias from Athens, more easily than I can take
from them the fame of Phidias."
When Pericles replied to the charges against Aspasia, his countenance became more pale, and his
voice was agitated: "You all know," said he,
"That Aspasia is of Miletus.  That city which
poets call the laughing daughter of Earth and Heaven: where even the river smiles, as it winds along
in graceful wanderings, eager to kiss every new
blossom, and court the dalliance of every breeze.
Do ye not find it easy to forgive a woman, born
under those joyful skies, where beauty rests on the
earth in a robe of sunbeams, and inspires the gayety
which pours itself forth in playful words? Can ye
judge harshly of one, who from her very childhood
has received willing homage, as the favourite of
Aphrodite, Phoebus, and the Muses? If she spoke
irreverently, it was done in thoughtless mirth; and
she has sought to atone for it by sacrifices and tears.
"Athenians! I have never boasted; and if I seem
to do it now, it is humbly,-as befits one who seeks
a precious boon. In your service I have spent many
toilsome days and sleepless nights. That I have not
enriched myself by it, is proved by the well-known
fact that my own son blames my frugality, and
reproachfully calls me the slave of the Athenian
people."
He paused for a moment, and held his hand over
Aspasia's head. as he continued: "In the midst of




138             PHIL OTHEA.
perplexities and cares, here I have ever found a
solace and a guide. Here are treasured up the affections of my heart.  It is not for Aspasia, the
gifted daughter of Axiochus, that I plead. It is for
Aspasia, the beloved wife of Pericles."
Tears choked his utterance; but stifling his emotion, he exclaimed, "Athenians! if ye would know
what it is that thus unmans a soul capable of meeting death with calmness, behold, and judge for
yourselves!"
As he spoke, he raised Aspasia's veil. Her drapery
had been studiously arranged to display her loveliness to the utmost advantage; and as she stood
forth radiant in beauty, the building rung with the
acclamations that were sent forth, peal after peal,
by the multitude.
Pericles had not in vain calculated on the sympathies of a volatile and ardent people, passionately
fond of the beautiful, in all its forms. Aspasia remained in Athens, triumphant over the laws of
religion and morality.
Clinias desired leave to speak in behalf of Philothea, grandchild of Anaxagoras; and the populace,
made good-humoured by their own clemency, expressed a wish to hear. He proceeded as follows:' Philothea,-whom you all know was, not long since,
one of the Canephoree, and embroidered the splendid
peplus exhibited at the last Panathenea —humbly
begs of the Athenians, that Eudora, Dione, and
Geta, slaves of Phidias, may remain under his protection, and not be confiscated with his household
goods. A contribution would have been raised, to
buy these individuals of the state, were it not deemed




P H I L O T H E A.          139
an insult to that proud and generous people, who
filed a citizen for proposing marble as a cheaper
material than ivory for the statue of Pallas Parthenia."
The request, thus aided by flattery, was almost
unanimously granted. One black pebble alone appeared in the urn; and that was from the hand of
Alcibiades.
Clinias expressed his thanks, and holding up the
statue of Urania, he added: " In token of gratitude
for this boon, and for the life of a beloved grandfather, Philothea consecrates to Pallas Athenae this
image of the star-worshipping muse; the gift of a
munificent Ethiopian."
The populace, being in gracious mood, forthwith
voted that the exiles had permission to carry with
them any articles valued as the gift of friendship.
The Prytanes dismissed the assembly; and as they
dispersed, Alcibiades scattered small coins among
them. Aspasia immediately sent to the Prytaneum
an ivory statue of Mnemosyne, smiling as she looked
back on a group of Hours; a magnificent token that
she would never forget the clemency of the Athenian
people.
Hermippus took an early opportunity to proclaim the exhibition of a new comedy called Hercules and Omphale; and the volatile citizens thronged
the theatre, to laugh at that infatuated tenderness,
which in the Prytaneum had well nigh moved them
to tears. The actor openly ridiculed them for having been so much influenced by their orator's leastsuccessful attempt at eloquence; but in the course
of the same play, Cratinus raised a laugh at his ex12*




140              P H ILOTHE A.
pense, by saying facetiously:  "Lo! Hermippus
would speak like Pericles! Hear him, Athenians!
Is he not as successful as Salmoneus, when he rolled
his chariot over a brazen bridge, and hurled torches
to imitate the thunder and lightning of Zeus 3"
When the day of trial had passed, Pericles slept
soundly; for his heart was relieved from a heavy
pressure. But personal enemies and envious artists
were still active; and it was soon buzzed abroad
that the people repented of the vote they had given.
The exiles had been allowed ten days to sacrifice to
the gods, bid farewell to friends, and prepare for'departure; but on the third day, at evening twilight,
Pericles entered the dwelling of his revered old master.  " My father," said he, " I am troubled in spirit.
I have just now returned from the Piraeus, where I
sought an interview with Clinias, who daily visits
the Deigna, and has a better opportunity than I can
have to hear the news of Athens.  I found him
crowned with garlands; for he had been offering
sacrifices in the hall.  He told me he had thus
sought to allay the anxiety of his mind with regard
to yourself and Phidias.  He fears the capricious
Athenians will reverse their decree."
"Alas, Pericles," replied the old man, " what can
you expect of a people, when statesmen condescend
to buy justice at their hands, by promised feasts, and
scattered coin?"
"' Nay, blame me not, Anaxagoras," rejoined Pericles; "I cannot govern as I would.  I found the
people corrupted; and I must humour their disease.
Your life must be saved; even if you reprove me for
the means. At midnight, a boat will be in readiness




P H I L 0 T AT EA. A           i
to conduct you to Salamis, where lies a galley bound
for Ionia. I hasten to warn Phidias to depart speedily for Elis."
The parting interview between Philothea and her
repentant friend was almost too painful for endurance. Poor Eudora felt that she was indeed called
to drink the cup of affliction, to its last bitter drop.
Her heart yearned to follow the household of Anaxagoras; but Philothea strengthened her own conviction that duty and gratitude both demanded she
should remain with Phidias.
Geta and Milza likewise had their sorrows-the
harder to endure, because they were the first they
had ever encountered.  The little peasant was so
young, and her lover so poor, that their friends
thought a union had better be deferred.  But Milza
was free; and Anaxagoras told her it depended on
her own choice, to go with them, or follow Geta.
The grateful Arcadian dropped on one knee, and
kissing Philothea's hand, while the tears flowed down
her cheeks, said: " She has been a mother to orphan
Milza, and I will not leave her now. Geta says it
would be wrong to leave her when she is in affliction."
Philothea, with a gentle smile, put back the ringlets from her tearful eyes, and told her not to weep
for her sake; for she should be resigned and cheerful, wheresover the gods might place her; but Milza
saw that her smiles were sad.
At midnight, Pericles came, to accompany Anaxagoras to Salamis.  Paralus and Philothea had been
conversing much; and singing their favourite songs
together, for the last time. The brow of the ambi



142             PHILOTHEA.
tious statesman became clouded, when he observed
that his son had been in tears; he begged that
preparations for departure might be hastened. The
young man followed them to the Piraeus; but Pericles requested him to go no further. The restraint
of his presence prevented any parting less.formal
than that of friendship. But he stood watching the
boat that conveyed them over the waters; and when
the last ripple left in its wake had disappeared, he
slowly returned to Athens.
The beautiful city stoood before him, mantled in
moonlight's silvery veil. Yet all seemed cheerless;
for the heart of Paralus was desolate.  He looked
toward the beloved mansion near the gate Diocharis;
drew from his bosom a long lock of golden hair; and
leaning against the statue of Hermes, bowed down
his head and wept.




PHILOTHEA.                     143
CHAPTER XI.
"How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age I
Age is on his temples hung,
But his heart-his heart is young I"
ANACREON.
A FEW  years passed away, and saw Anaxagoras
the contented resident of a small village near Lampsacus, in Ionia.  That he still fondly cherished
Athens in his heart was betrayed only by the frequent walks he took to a neighbouring eminence,
where he loved to sit and look toward the IEgean;
but the feebleness of age gradually increased, until he
could no longer take his customary exercise. Philothea watched over him  with renewed tenderness;
and the bright tranquillity he received from the world
he was fast approaching, shone with reflected light
upon her innocent soul. At times, the maiden was
so conscious of this holy influence, that all the earthly objects around her seemed like dreams of some
strange foreign land.
One morning, after they had partaken their frugal
repast, she said, in a cheerful tone, "Dear grandfather, I had last night a pleasant dream; and Milza
says it is prophetic, because she had filled my pillow
with fresh laurel leaves. I dreamed that a galley,
with three banks of oars, and adorned with fillets,
came to carry us back to Athens."
With a faint smile, Anaxagoras replied,: Alas for
unhappy Athens! If half we hear be true, her exiled children can hardly wish to be restored to her




144              P mu I L O'T 1 E A.
bosom. Atropos has decreed that I at least shall
never again enter her walls. I am not disposed to
murmur.  Yet the voice of Plato would be pleasant
to my ears, as music on the waters in the night-time.
I pray you bring forth the writings of Pythagoras,
and read me something that sublime philosopher has
said concerning the nature of the soul, and the eternal principle of life. As my frail body approaches
the Place of Sleep, I feel less and less inclined to
study the outward images of things, the forms
whereof perish; and my spirit thirsteth more and
more to know  its origin and its destiny.  I have
thought much of Plato's mysterious ideas of light.
Those ideas were doubtless brought from the East;
for as that is the quarter where the sun rises, so we
have thence derived many vital truths, which have
kept a spark of life within the beautiful pageantry
of Grecian mythology."
"Paralus often said that the Persian Magii, the
Egyptian priests, and the Pythagoreans imbibed
their reverence for light from one common source,"
rejoined Philothea.
Anaxagoras was about to speak, when a deep but
gentle voice, from some invisible person near them,
said:
" The unchangeable principles of Truth act upon
the soul like the sun upon the eye, when it turneth
to him. But the one principle, better than intellect,
from which all things flow, and to which all things
tend, is Good. As the sun not only makes objects
visible, but is the cause of their generation, nourishment, and increase, so the Good, through Truth,
imparts being, and the power of being known, to




PHILOTH EA.                   145
every object of knowledge.  For this cause, the
Pythagoreans greet the sun with music and with
reverence."
The listeners looked at each other in surprise, and
Philothea was the first to say, " It is the voice of
Plato!"
"Even so, my friends," replied the philosopher,
smiling, as he stood before them.
The old man, in the sudden joy of his heart, attempted to rise and embrace him; but weakness
prevented. The tears started to his eyes, as lie said,
"Welcome, most welcome, son of Aristo.  You see
that I am fast going where we hope the spirit is to
learn its own mysteries."
Plato, affected at the obvious change in his aged
friend, silently grasped his hand, and turned to
answer the salutation of Philothea. She too had
changed; but she had never been more lovely. The
colour on her cheek, which had always been delicate
as the reflected hue of a rose, had become paler by
frequent watchings; but her large dark eyes were
more soft and serious, and her whole countenance
beamed with the bright stillness of a spirit receiving
the gift of prophecy.
The skies were serene; the music of reeds came
upon the ear, softened by distance; while the snowy
fleece of sheep and lambs formed a beautiful contrast
with the rich verdure of the landscape.
"All things around you are tranquil," said Plato;' and thus I ever found it, even in corrupted Athens.
Not the stillness of souls that sleep, but the quiet of
life drawn from deep fountains."




146             PHILO T H E A.
" How did you find our peaceful retreat?" inquired
Philothea.  "Did none guide you 3"
" Euago of Lampsacus told me what course to
pursue," he replied; " and not far distant I again
asked of a shepherd boy-well knowing that all the
children would find out Anaxagoras as readily as
bees are guided to the flowers. As I approached
nearer, I saw  at every step new  tokens of my
friends. The clepsydra, in the little brook, dropping its pebbles to mark the hours; the arytsna
placed on the rock for thirsty travellers; the door
loaded with garlands, placed there by glad-hearted
boys; the tablet covered with mathematical lines,
lying on the wooden bench, sheltered by grape-vines
trained  in the Athenian fashion, with a distaff
among the foliage; all these spoke to me of souls
that unite the wisdom of age with the innocence of
childhood."
"Though we live in indolent Ionia, we still believe Hesiod's maxim, that industry is the guardian
of virtue," rejoined Anaxagoras.  "Philothea plies
her distaff as busily as Lachesis spinning the thread
of mortal life." He looked upon his beautiful grandchild, with an expression full of tenderness, as he
added, "And she does indeed spin the thread of the
old man's life; for her diligent fingers gain my bread.
But what news bring you from unhappy Athens?
Is Pericles yet alive?"
" She is indeed unhappy Athens," answered Plato.
"The pestilence is still raging; a manifested form
of that inward corruption, which, finding a home in
the will of man, clothed itself in thought, and now
completes its circle in his corporeal nature. The




PHILOTHEA.                   147
dream at the cave of Amphiaraus is literally fulfilled.
Men fall down senseless in the street, and the Piraeus
has been heaped with unburied dead. All the children of Clinias are in the Place of Sleep. Hipparete
is dead, with two of her little ones. Pericles himself was one of the first sufferers; but he was recovered by the skill of Hippocrates, the learned physician from Cos. His former wife is dead, and so is
Xanthippus his son.  You know  that that proud
young man and his extravagant wife could never
forgive the frugality of Pericles. Even in hi5 dying
moments he refused to call him father, and made no
answer to his affectionate inquiries. Pericles has
borne all his misfortunes with the dignity of an immortal. No one has seen him shed a tear, or heard
him utter a complaint. The ungrateful people blame
him for all their troubles, as if he had omnipotent
power to avert evils. Cleon and Tolmides are triumphant. Pericles is deprived of office, and fined
fifty drachma.."
He looked at Philothea, and seeing her eyes fixed
earnestly upon him, her lips parted, and an eager
flush spread over her whole countenance, he said, in
a tone of tender solemnity, " Daughter of Alcimenes,
your heart reproaches me, that I forbear to speak of
Paralus.  That I have done so has not been from
forgetfulness, but because I have, with vain and selfdefeating prudence, sought for cheerful words to convey sad thoughts. Paralus breathes and moves, but
is apparently unconscious of existence in this world.
He is silent and abstracted, like one just returned
from -the cave of Trophonius. Yet, beautiful forms
are ever with him, in infinite variety; for his qui13




148            PHILOTHEA.
escent soul has now undisturbed recollection of the
divine archetypes in the ideal world, of which all
earthly beauty is the shadow."
" He is happy, then, though living in the midst of
death," answered Philothea: " But does his memory
retain no traces of his friends?"
" One-and one only," he replied. "The name
of Philothea was too deeply engraven to be washed
away by the waters of oblivion. He seldom speaks;
but when he does, you are ever in his visions. The
sound of a female voice accompanying the lyre is the
only thing that makes him smile; and nothing moves
him to tears save the farewell song of Orpheus to
Eurydice. In his drawings there is more of majesty
and beauty than Phidias or Myron ever conceived;
and one figure is always there-the Pythia, the
Muse, the Grace, or something combining all these,
more spiritual than either."
As the maiden listened, tears started from fountains long sealed, and rested like dew-drops on her
dark eye-lashes.
Farewell to Eurydice! Oh, how many thoughts
were wakened by those words! They were the last
she heard sung by Paralus, the night Anaxagoras
departed from Athens. Often had the shepherds of
Ionia heard the melancholy notes float on the evening breeze; and as the sounds died away, they
spoke to each other in whispers, and said, "They
cdme from the dwelling of the divinely-inspired
one!
Plato perceived that the contemplative maiden
was busy with memories of the past. In a tone of
gentle reverence, he added, "What I have told you




PHILOTHEA.                  149
proves that your souls were one, before it wandered
from the divine home; and it gives hope that they
will be re-united, when they return thither after
their weary exile in the world of shadows."
" And has this strange pestilence produced such
an effect on Paralus only?" inquired Anaxagoras.
" Many in Athens have recovered health without
any memory of the images of things," replied Plato;
"but I have known no other instance where recollections of the ideal world remained more bright and
unimpaired, than they possibly can be while disturbed by the presence of the visible.  Tithonus
formerly told me of similar cases that occurred when
the plague raged in Ethiopia and Egypt; and Artaphernes says he has seen a learned Magus, residing
among the mountains that overlook Taoces, who recovered from the plague with a perpetual oblivion
of all outward forms, while he often had knowledge
of the thoughts passing in the minds of those around
him. If an unknown scroll were placed before him,
he would read it, though a brazen shield were interposed between him and the parchment; and if figures were drawn on the water, he at once recognized
the forms, of which no visible trace remained."
" Marvellous, indeed, is the mystery of our being,"
exclaimed Anaxagoras.
" It involves the highest of all mysteries," rejoined
Plato; " for if man did not contain within himself a
type of all that is,-from the highest to the lowest
plane of existence,-he could not enter the human
form. At times, I have thought glimpses of these
eternal truths were revealed to me; but I lost them
almost as soon as they were perceived, because my




150             PH IL 0THE A.
soul dwelt so much with the images of things. Thus
have I stood before the thick veil which conceals the
shrine of Isis, while the narrow streak of brilliant
light around its edges gave indication of unrevealed
glories, and inspired the eager but fruitless hope that
the massive folds would float away, like a cloud before the sun.  There are indeed times when I lose
the light entirely, and cannot even perceive the veil
that hides it from me. This is because my soul,
like Psyche bending over the sleeping Eros, is too
curious to examine, by its own feeble taper, the
lineaments of the divinity whereby it hath been
blessed."
" How is Pericles affected by this visitation of the
gods upon the best beloved of his children?" inquired
Anaxagoras.
" It has softened and subdued his ambitious soul,"
answered Plato; " and has probably helped him  to
endure tile loss of political honours with composure.
I have often observed that affliction renders the heart
of man like the heart of a little child; and of this I
was reminded when I parted from Pericles at Salamis, whence the galley sailed for Ionia. You doubtless remember the little mound, called Cynos-sema 
There lies the faithful dog, that died in consequence
of swimming after the ship which carried the father
of Pericles, when the Athenians were all leaving
the'r beloved city by advice of Themistocles. The
illustrious statesman has not been known to shed a
tear amid the universal wreck of his popularity, his
family, and his friends; but standing by this little
mound, the recollections of childhood came over




P HIL O T H E A              151
him, and he wept as an infant weeps for its lost
mother."
There was a tremulous motion about the lips of
the old man, as he replied, " Perchance he was coinparing the constancy of that affectionate animal with
the friendship of men, and the happy unconsciousness of his boyhood with the anxious cares that
wait on greatness. Pericles had a soft heart in his
youth; and none knew this better than the forgotten
old man, whom he once called his friend."
Plato perceived his emotion, and answered, in a
soothing voice, " He has since been wedded to political ambition, which never brought any man nearer
to his divine home; but Anaxagoras is not forgotten.
Pericles has of late often visited the shades of Academus, where he has talked much of you and Philothea, and expressed earnest hopes that the gods
would again restore you to Athens, to bless him with
your wise counsels."
The aged philosopher shook his head, as he replied,
"They who would have a lamp should take care to
supply it with oil. Had Philothea's affection been
like that of Pericles, this old frame would have
perished for want of food."
"Nay, Anaxagoras," rejoined Plato, "you must
not forget that this Peloponessian war, the noisy
feuds in Athens, and afflictions in his own family,
have involved him in continual distractions.  He
who gives his mind to politics, sails on a stormy sea,
with a giddy pilot. Pericles has now sent you substantial proofs of his gratitude; and if his power
equalled his wishes, I have no doubt he would make
13*




152             PHIL O T HEA.
use of the alarmed state of public feeling to procure
your recall."
"You have as yet given us no tidings of Phidias
and his household," said Philothea.
C The form of Phidias sleeps," replied Plato: " His
soul has returned to those sacred mysteries, once
familiar to him; the recollection of which enabled
him while on earth to mould magnificent images of supernal forms-images that awakened in all who gazed
upon them some slumbering memory of ideal worlds;
though few knew  whence it came, or why their
souls were stirred. The best of his works is the
Olympian Zeus, made at Elis after his exile. It is
far more sublime than the Pallas Parthenia. The
Eleans consider the possession of it as a great
triumph over ungrateful Athens."
"Under whose protection is Eudora placed'? inquired Philothea.
"I have heard that she remains at the house where
Phidias died," rejoined Plato. " The Eleans have
given her the yearly revenues of a farm, in consideration of the affectionate care bestowed on her illustrious benefactor..Report says that Phidias wished
to see her united to his nephew Pandanus; but I
have never heard of the marriage. Philerrmon is supposed to be in Persia, instructing the sons of the
wealthy satrap Megabyzus."
"And where is the faithful Geta " inquired Anaxagoras.
"Geta is at Lampsacus; and I doubt not will
hasten hither, as soon as he has taken care of certain
small articles of merchandize that he brought with
him. Phidias gave him his freedom the day they




PHIL OTHE A.                153
left Athens; and after his death, the people of Elis
bestowed upon him fifty drachmae. He has established himself at Phalerum, where he tells me he
has doubled this sum by the sale of anchovies. He
was eager to attend upon me for the sake, as he said,
of once more seeing his good old master Anaxagoras,
and that maiden with mild eyes, who always spoke
kind words to the poor; but I soon discovered there
was a stronger reason for his desire to visit Lampsacus. From what we had heard, we expected to
find you in the city. Geta looked very sorrowful,
when told that you were fifty stadia farther from the
sea."
" When we first landed on the Ionian shore," replied Anaxagoras, "I took up my abode two stadia
from Lampsacus, and sometimes went thither to lecture in the porticos. But when I did this, I seemed
to breathe an impure air; and idle young men so
often followed me home, that the maidens were deprived of the innocent freedom I wished them  to
enjoy. Here I feel, more than I have ever felt, the
immediate presence of divinity."
"I know not whether it be good or bad," said
Plato; "but philosophy has wrought in me a dislike
of conversing with many persons..I do not imitate
the Pythagoreans, who close their gates; for I perceive that truth never ought to be a sealed fountain;
but I cannot go into the Prytanueum, the agoras, and
the workshops, and jest, like Socrates, to captivate
the attention of young men. When I thus seek to
impart hidden treasures, I lose without receiving;
and few perceive the value of what is offered. I feel
the breath of life taken away from me by the multi



154              P H I L 0 T H E A.
tude. Their praises cause me to fear, lest, accord.
ing to Ibycus, I should offend the gods, but acquire
glory among men.  For these reasons, I have resolved never to abide in cities."' "The name of Socrates recalls Alcibiades to my
mind," rejoined Anaxagoras.  "Is he still popular
with the Athenians?"
" He is; and will remain so," replied Plato, " so
long as he feasts them  at his own expense, and
drinks three cotylae of wine at a draught. I know
not of what materials he is made; unless it be of
Carpasian flax, which above all things burns and
consumes not."
" Has this fearful pestilence no power to restrain
the appetites and passions of the people?" inquired
the old man.
" It has but given them more unbridled license,'
rejoined Plato. " Even when the unburied dead lay
heaped in piles, and the best of our equestrians were
gasping in the streets, robbers took possession of
their dwellings, drinking wine from their golden vessels, and singing impure songs in the presence of
their household gods. Men seek to obtain oblivion
of danger by reducing themselves to the condition of
beasts, which have no perception above the immediate wants of the senses. All pursuits that serve to
connect the soul with the world whence it came are
rejected.  The Odeum is shut; there is no more lectuling in the porticos; the temples are entirely forsaken, and even the Diasia are no longer observed.
Some of the better sort of citizens, weary of fruitless
prayers and sacrifices to Phebus, Phoebe, Pallas,
and the Erinnys, have erected an altar to the Un



PHILOT HE A.                155
known God; and this altar only is heaped with garlands, and branches of olive twined with wool."
"A short time ago, he who had dared to propose
the erection of such an altar would have been put to
death," said Anaxagoras.  " The pestilence has not
been sent in vain, if the faith in images is shaken,
and the Athenians have been led to reverence One
great Principle of Order, even though they call it
unknown."
" It is fear, unmingled with reverence, in the minds
of many," replied the philosopher of Academus. " As
for the multitude, they consider all principles of right
and wrong as things that may exist, or not exist,
according to the vote of the Athenian people. Of
ideas eternal in their nature, and therefore incapable
of being created or changed by the will of a majority,
they cannot conceive. When health is restored, they
will return to the old worship of forms, as readily as
they changed from Pericles to Cleon, and will again
change from him to Pericles."
The aged philosopher shook his head and smiled,
as he said:   Ah, Plato! Plato! where will you find
materials for your ideal republic?"
" In an ideal Atlantis," replied the Athenian, smiling in return; " or perchance in the fabled groves of
Argive Hera, where the wild beasts are tamed-the
deer and the wolf lie down together-and the weak
animal finds refuge from his powerful pursuer. But
the principle of a republic is none the less true, because mortals make themselves unworthy to receive
it. The best doctrines become the worst, when they
are used for evil purposes. Where a love of power
is the ruling object, the tendency is corruption; and




156              P I I LOT HE A.
the only difference between Persia and Athens is,
that in one place power is received by birth, in the
other obtained by cunning.
"Thus it will ever be, while men grope in the
darkness of their outward nature; which receives no
light from  the inward, because they will not open
the doors of the temple, where a shrine is placed,
from which it ever beams forth with occult and venerable splendour.
" Philosophers would do well if they ceased to disturb themselves with the meaning of mythologic
fables, and considered whether they have not within
themselves a serpent possessing more folds than
Typhon, and far more raging and fierce. When the
wild beasts within the soul are destroyed, men will
no longer have to contend against their visible forms."
" But tell me, 0 admirable Plato!" said Anaxagoras, " what connection' can there be between the
inward allegorical serpent, and the created form
thereof T"
"One could not exist without the other," answered
Plato, " because where there is no ideal, there can be
no image.  There are doubtless men in other parts
of the universe better than we are, because they
stand on a higher plane of existence, and approach
nearer to the idea of man. The celestial lion is intellectual, but the sublunary irrational; for the former is nearer the idea of a lion.  The lower planes
of existence receive the influences of the higher, according to the purity and stillness of the will. If
this be restless and turbid, the waters from a pure
fountain become corrupted, and the corruption flows
down to lower planes of existence, until it at last




PHILOTHE A                   157
manifests itself in corporeal forms. The sympathy
thus produced between things earthly and celestial
is the origin of imagination; by which men have
power to trace the images of supernal forms, invisible to mortal eyes. Every man can be elevated to a
higher plane by quiescence of the will; and thus
may become a prophet.  But none are perfect ones;
because all have a tendency to look downward to
the opinions of men in the same existence with themselves; and this brings them upon a lower plane,
where the prophetic light glimmers and dies. The
Pythia at Delphi, and the priestess in Dodona, have
been the cause of very trifling benefits, when in a
cautious, prudent state; but when agitated by a divine mania, they have produced many advantages,
both public and private, to the Greeks."
The conversation was interrupted by the merry
shouts of children; and presently a troop of boys
and girls appeared, leading two lambs decked with
garlands.  They were twin lambs of a ewe that had
died; and they had been trained to suck from a pipe
placed in a vessel of-milk. This day, for the first
time, the young ram had placed his budding horns
under the throat of his sister lamb, and pushed away
her head that he might take possession of the pipe
himself. The children were greatly delighted with
this exploit, and hastened to exhibit it before their
old friend Anaxagoras, who always entered into their
sports with a cheerful heart. Philothea replenished
the vessel of milk; and the gambols of the young
lambs, with the joyful laughter of the children, diffused a universal spirit of gladness. One little girl
filled the hands of the old philosopher with tender




158             P H I LO T HE A.
leaves, that the beautiful animals might come and
eat; while another climbed his knees, and put her
little fingers on his venerable head, saying, "Your
hair is as white as the lamb's; will Philothea spin
it, father T"
The maiden, who had been gazing at the little
group with looks full of tenderness, timidly raised
her eyes to Plato, and said, "Son of Aristo, these
have not wandered so far from their divine home as
we have!"
The philosopher had before observed the peculiar
radiance of Philothea's expression, when she raised
her downcast eyes; but it never before appeared to
him so much like light suddenly revealed from the
inner shrine of a temple.
With a feeling approaching to worship, he replied,
" Maiden, your own spirit has always remained near
its early glories."
When the glad troop of children departed, Plato
followed them to see their father's flocks, and play
quoits with the larger boys.  Anaxagoras looked
after him with a pleased expression, as he said, " He
will delight their minds, as he has elevated ours.
Assuredly, his soul is like the Homeric, chain of gold,
one end of which rests on earth, and the other terminates in Heaven."
Milza was daily employed in fields not far distant,
to tend a neighbour's goats, and Philothea, wishing
to impart the welcome tidings, took up the shell with
which she was accustomed to summon her to her
evening labours. She was about to apply the shell
to her lips, when she perceived the young Arcadian
standing in the vine-covered arbour, with Geta, who




PHILO T HE A.                159
had seized her by oach cheek, and was kissing her
after the fashion of the Grecian peasantry. With a
smile and a blush, the maiden turned away hastily,
lest the humble lovers should perceive they were discovered.
The frugal supper waited long on the table before
Plato returned.  As he entered, Anaxagoras pointed
to the board, which rested on rlde sticks cut from
the trees, and said, " Son of Aristo, all I have to offer
you are dried grapes, bread, wild honey, and water
from the brook."
"More I should not taste if I were at the table
of Alcibiades," replied the philosopher of Athens.
"When I see men bestow much thought on eating
and drinking, I marvel that they will labour so diligently in building their own prisons.  Here, at least,
we can restore the Age of Innocence, when no life
was taken to gratify the appetite of man, and the
altars of the gods were unstained with blood."
Philothea, contrary to the usual custom of Grecian
women, remained with her grandfather and his
guest during their simple repast, and soon after retired to her own apartment.
When they were alone, Plato informed his aged
friend that his visit to Lampsacus was at the request
of Pericles. Hippocrates had expressed a hope that
the presence of Philothea might, at least in some degree, restore the health of Paralus; and the heartstricken father had sent to intreat her consent to a
union with his son.
"Philothea would not leave me, even if I urged it
with tears," replied Anaxagoras; "and I am forbidden to return to Athens."
14




160              PHILOTHEA.
"Pericles has provided an asylum for you, on the
borders of Attica," answered Plato; "and the young
people would soon join you, after their marriage.
He did not suppose that his former proud opposition
to their loves would be forgotten; but he said hearts
like yours would forgive it all, the more readily because he was now a man deprived of power, and his
son suffering under a visitation of the gods. Alcibiades laughed aloud when he heard of this proposition; and said his uncle would never think of making it to any but a maiden who sees the zephyrs run
and hears the stars sing. He spoke truth in his profane merriment.  Pericles knows that she who obediently listens to the inward voice will be most likely to seek the happiness of others, forgetful of her
own wrongs."
"I do not believe the tender-hearted maiden ever
cherished resentment against any living thing," replied Anaxagoras.  "She often reminds me of Hesiod's description of Leto:'Placid to men and to immortal gods;
Mild from the first beginning of her days;
Gentlest of all in Heaven.'
She has indeed been a precious gift.to my old age.
Simple and loving as she is, there are times when
her looks and words fill me with awe, as if I stood in
the presence of divinity."
"It is a most lovely union when the Muses and
the Charities inhabit the same temple," said Plato.
"I think she learned of you to be a constant worshipper of the innocent and graceful nymphs, who
preside over kind and gentle actions. But tell me,'
Anaxagoras, if this marriage is declined, who will




P H  L   T H E A.            161
protect the daughter of Alcimenes when you are
gone?"
The philosopher replied, "I have a sister Heliodora,
the youngest of my father's flock, who is Priestess of
the Sun, at Ephesus. Of all my family, she has
least despised me for preferring philosophy to gold;
and report bespeaks her wise and virtuous. I have
asked and obtained from her a promise to protect
Philothea when I am gone; but I will tell my child
the wishes of Pericles, and leave her to the guidance
of her own heart. If she enters the home of Paralus,
she will be to him, as she has been to me, a blessing
like the sunshine."




162              PHILOT HE A.
CHAPTER XII.
Adieu, thou sun, and fields of golden light;
For the last time I drink thy radiance bright,
And sink to sleep.
ARISTOPHANES.
THE galley that brought Plato from Athens was
sent on a secret political mission, and was not expected to revisit Lampsacus until the return of another moon.  Anaxagoras, always mindful of the
happiness of those around him, proposed that the
constancy of faithful Geta should be rewarded by an
union with Milza. The tidings were hailed with
joy; not only by the young couple, but by all the
villagers. The superstition of the little damsel did
indeed suggest numerous obstacles. The sixteenth
of the month must on no account be chosen; one
day was unlucky for a wedding, because as she returned from the fields, an old woman busy at the
distaff had directly crossed her path; and another
was equally so, because she had seen a weasel,
without remembering to throw  three stones as it
passed. But at last there came a day against which
no objections could be raised. The sky was cloudless, and the moon at its full; both deemed propitious
omens. A white kid had been sacrificed to Artemis,
and baskets of fruit and poppies been duly placed
upon her altar. The long white veil woven by Milza
and laid by for this occasion, was taken out to be
bleached in the sunshine and dew. Philothea presented a zone, embroidered by her own skilful hands;
Anaxagoras bestowed a pair of sandals laced with




PHILO T H EA.               163
crimson; and Geta purchased a bridal robe of flaming
colours.
Plato promised to supply the feast with almonds
and figs. The peasant, whose goats Milza had
tended, sent six large vases of milk, borne by boys
crowned with garlands. And the matrons of the village, with whom the kind little Arcadian had ever
been a favourite, presented a huge cake, carried aloft
on a bed of flowers, by twelve girls clothed in white.
The humble residence of the old philosopher was
almost covered with the abundant blossoms brought
by joyful children. The door posts were crowned
with garlands anointed with oil, and bound with
fillets of wool. The bride and bridegroom were carried in procession, on a litter made of the boughs of
trees, plentifully adorned with garlands and flags of
various colours; preceded by young men playing on
reeds and flutes, and followed by maidens bearing
a pestle and sieve. The priest performed the customary sacrifices at the altar of Hera; the omens
were propitious; libations were poured; and Milza
returned to her happy home, the wife of her faithful
Geta. Feasting continued till late in the evening,
and the voice of music was not hushed until past the
hour of midnight.
The old philosopher joined in the festivity, and in
the cheerfulness of his heart exerted himself beyond
his strength. Each succeeding day found him more
feeble; and Philothea soon perceived that the staff on
which she had leaned from her childhood was about
to be removed forever. On the twelfth day after
Milza's wedding, he asked to be led into the open
portico, that he might enjoy the genial warmth. He
14




164             P H I L 0 TH E A.
gazed on the bright landscape, as if it had been the
countenance of a friend. Then looking upward,
with a placid smile, he said to Plato, "You tell me
that Truth acts upon the soul, like the Sun upon the
eye, when it turneth to him. Would that I could be
as easily and certainly placed in the light of truth, as
I have been in this blessed sunshine! But in vain
I seek to comprehend the mystery of my being. All
my thoughts on this subject are dim and shadowy,
as the ghosts seen by Odysseus on the Stygian
shore."
Plato answered: "Thus it must ever be, while the
outward world lies so near us, and the images of
things crowd perpetually on the mind. An obolus
held close to the eye may prevent our seeing the
moon and the stars; and thus does the ever-present
earth exclude the glories of Heaven. But in the
midst of uncertainty and fears, one feeling alone remains; and that is hope, strong as belief, that virtue
can never die. In pity to the cravings of the soul,
something will surely be given in future time more
bright and fixed than the glimmering truths preserved in poetic fable; even as radiant stars arose
from the ashes of Orion's daughters, to shine in the
heavens an eternal crown."
The old man replied, "I have, as you well know,
been afraid to indulge in your speculations concerning the soul, lest I should spend my life in unsatisfied attempts to embrace beautiful shadows."
"To me likewise they have sometimes appeared
doctrines too high and solemn to be taught," rejoined
Plato: "Often when I have attempted to clothe
them in language, the airy forms have glided from




PHILOTHEA.                  165
me, mocking me with their distant beauty. We are
told of Tantalus surrounded by water that flows
away when he attempts to taste it, and with delicious
fruits above his head, carried off by a sudden wind
whenever he tries to seize them. It was his crime
that, being admitted to the assemblies of Olympus,
he brought away the nectar and ambrosia of the
gods, and gave them  unto mortals.  Sometimes,
when I have been led to discourse of ideal beauty,
with those who perceive only the images of things,
the remembrance of that unhappy son of Zeus has
awed me into silence."
While they were yet speaking, the noise of approaching wheels was heard, and presently a splendid chariot, with four white horses, stopped before
the humble dwelling.
A stranger, in purple robes, descended from the
chariot, followed by servants carrying a seat of ivory
inlaid with silver, a tuft of peacock feathers to brush
away the insects, and a golden box filled with perfumes. It was Chrysippus, prince of Clazomenge,
the nephew of Anaxagoras. He had neglected and
despised the old man in his poverty, but had now
come to congratulate him on the rumour of Philothea's approaching marriage with the son of Pericles.
The aged philosopher received him  with friendly
greeting, and made him known to Plato. Chrysippus gave a glance at the rude furniture of the portico,
and gathered his perfumed robes carefully about
him.
" Son of Basileon, it is the dwelling of cleanliness,
though it be the abode of poverty," said the old man,
in a tone of mild reproof.




166             PHI L OTH E A.
Geta had officiously brought a wooden bench for
the high-born guest; but he waited till his attendants had opened the ivory seat, and covered it with
crimson cloth, before he seated himself, and replied:
" Truly, I had not expected to find the son of Hegesibulus in so mean a habitation. No man would
conjecture that you were the descendant of princes."
With a quiet smile, the old man answered,-' Princes have not wished to proclaim kindred with
Anaxagoras; and why should he desire to perpetuate the remembrance of what they have forgotten?"
Chrysippus looked toward Plato, and with some
degree of embarrassment sought to excuse himself,
by saying, " My father often told me that it was
your own choice to withdraw from your family; and
if they have not since offered to share their wealth
with you, it is because you have ever been improvident of your estates."
"What! Do you not take charge of them?' inquired Anaxagoras.  "I gave my estates to your
father, from the conviction that he would take better
care of them  than I could do; and in this I deemed
myself most provident."
" But you went to Athens, and took no care for
your country," rejoined the prince.
The venerable philosopher pointed to the heavens,
that smiled serenely above them; and said, "Nay,
young man, my greatest care has ever been for my
country."
In a more respectful tone, Chrysippus rejoined:
" Anaxagoras, all men speak of your wisdom; but
does this fame so far satisfy you, that you never
regret you sacrificed riches to philosophy?'"




PHILOTHEA.                  167
"I am satisfied with the pursuit of wisdom, not
with the fame of it," replied the sage.  "In my
youth, I greatly preferred wisdom to gold; and as I
approach the Stygian shore, gold has less and less
value in my eyes. Charon will charge my disembodied spirit but a single obolus for crossing his dark
ferry. Living mortals only need a golden bough to
enter the regions of the dead."
The prince seemed thoughtful for a moment, as he
gazed on the benevolent countenance of his aged
relative.
"If it be as you have said, Anaxagoras is indeed
happier than princes," he replied. "But I came to
speak of the daughter of Alcimenes. I have heard
that she is beautiful, and the destined wife of Paralus
of Athens."
"It is even so," said the philosopher; " and it
would gladden my heart, if I might be permitted to
see her placed under the protection of Pericles, before
I die."
" Has a sufficient dowry been provided?" inquired
Chrysippus. "No one of tour kindred must enter
the family of Pericles as a slave."
A slight colour mantled in the old man's cheeks,
as he answered, "I have friends in Athens, who will
not see my precious child suffer shame for want of a
few drachmae."
"I have brought with me a gift, which I deemed
in some degree suited to the dignity of our ancestors," rejoined the prince; C" and I indulged the hope
of giving it into the hands of the maiden."
As he spoke, he made a signal to his attendants,
who straightway brought from the chariot a silver




168            P   I LO THEA.
tripod lined with gold, and a bag containing a hundred golden staters. At the same moment, Milza
entered, and in a low voice informed Anaxagoras
that Philothea deemed this prolonged interview with
the stranger dangerous to his feeble health; and
begged that he would suffer himself to be placed on
the couch. The invalid replied by a message desiring her presence. As she entered, he said to her,
"Philothea, behold your kinsman Chrysippus, son
of Basileon."
The illustrious guest was received with the same
modest and friendly greeting, that would have been
bestowed on the son of a worthy peasant. The
prince felt slightly offended thathis splendid dress
and magnificent equipage produced so little effect on
the family of the philosopher; but as the fame of
Philothea's beauty had largely mingled with other
inducements to make the visit, he endeavoured to
conceal his pride, and as he offered the rich gifts,
said in a respectful tone, " Daughter of Alcimenes,
the tripod is from Heliodora, Priestess at Ephesus.
The golden coin is from my own coffers.  Accept
them for a dowry; and allow me to claim one privilege in return. As I cannot be at the marriage feast,
to share the pleasures of other kinsmen, permit the
son of Basileon to see you now one moment without
your veil."
He waved his hand for his attendants to withdraw; but the maiden hesitated, until Anaxagoras
said mildly, " Chrysippus is of your father's kindred;
and it is discreet that his request be granted."
Philothea timidly removed her veil, and a moaest
blush suffused her lovely countenance, as she said,




PHIL OTHEA.                  169' Thanks, Prince of Clazomenae, for these munificent
gifts. May the gods long preserve you a blessing to
your family and people."
" The gifts are all unworthy of her who receives
them," replied Chrysippus, gazing so intently that
the maiden, with rosy confusion, replaced her veil.
Anaxagoras invited his royal guest to share a
philosopher's repast, to which he promised should
be added a goblet of wine, lately sent from Lampsacus. The prince courteously accepted his invitation; and the kind old man, wearied with the exertions he had made, was borne to his couch in an
inner apartment.  When Plato had assisted Philothea and Milza in arranging his pillows, and folding
the robe about his feet, he returned to the portico.
Philothea supposed the stranger was about to follow
him; and without raising her head, as she bent over
her grandfather's couch, she said: "He is feeble,
and needs repose. In the days of his, strength, he
would not have thus left you to the courtesy of our
Athenian guest."
"Would to the gods that I had sought him sooner!
rejoined Chrysippus.  "While I have gathered foreign jewels, I have been ignorant of the gems in my
own family."
Then stooping down, he took Anaxagoras by the
hand, and said affectionately, " Have you nothing to
ask of your brother's son?"
"Nothing but your prayers for us, and a gentle
government for your people," answered the old man.
"I thank you for your kindness to this precious
orphan. For myself, I am fast going where I shall
need less than ever the gifts of princes."




170            P H I L O T HE A.
"Would you not like to be buried with regal
honour, in your native Clazomenas?" inquired the
prince.
The philosopher again pointed upward as he replied, "Nay. The road to heaven would be no
shorter from Clazomenme."
"And what monument would you have reared to
mark the spot where Anaxagoras sleeps?" said
Chrysippus.
"I wish to be buried after the ancient manner,
with the least possible trouble and expense," rejoined
the invalid. " The money you would expend for a
monument may be given to some captive sighing in
bondage. Let an almond tree be planted near my
grave, that the boys may love to come there, as to a
pleasant home."
"The citizens of Lampsacus, hearing of your illness, requested me to ask what they should do in
honour of your memory, when it pleased the gods to
call you hence. What response do you give to this
message?" inquired the prince.
The philosopher answered, "Say to them that I
desire all the children may have a holiday on the
anniversary of my death."
Chryisppus remained silent for a few moments;
and then continued: "Anaxagoras, I perceive that
you are strangely unlike other mortals; and I know
not how you will receive the proposal I am about to
make. Philothea has glided from  the apartment,
as if afraid to remain in my presence. That graceftil maiden is too lovely for any destiny meaner than
a royal marriage. As a kinsman, I have the best
claim to her; and if it be your will, I will divorce my




PH  LO T H EA.               171
Phoenician Astarte, and make Philothea princess of
Clazomenae."
"Thanks, son of Basileon," replied the old man;
but I love the innocent orphan too well to bestow
upon her the burden and the dangers of royalty."
" None could dispute your own right to exchange
power and wealth for philosophy and poverty," said
Chrysippus; "but though you are the lawful guardian
of this maiden, I deem it unjust to reject a splendid
alliance without her knowledge."
" Philothea gave her affections to Paralus, even in
the days of their childhood," replied Anaxagoras;
"and she is of a nature too divine to place much
value on the splendour that passes away."
The prince seemed disturbed and chagrined by
this imperturbable spirit of philosophy; and after a
few,brief remarks retreated to the portico.
Here he entered into conversation with Plato; and
after some general discourse, spoke of his wishes
with regard to Philothea.    Anaxagoras rejects the
alliance," said he, smiling; "but take my word for
it, the maiden would not dismiss the matter thus
lightly. I have never yet seen awoman wfo preferred philosophy to princes."
" Kings are less fortunate than philosophers," responded Plato; " I have known several women, who
preferred wisdom to gold. Could Chrysippus look
into those divine eyes, and yet believe that Philothea's soul would rejoice in the pomp of princes?"
The wealthy son of Basileon still remained incredulous of any exceptions to woman's vanity; and finally obtained a promise from Plato, that he would use
15




172             P HILO T U EA.
his influence with his friend to have the matter left
entirely to Philothea's decision.
When the maiden was asked by her grandfather,
whether she would be the wife of Paralus, smitten
by the hand of disease, or princess of Clazomenae,
surrounded by more grandeur than Penelope could
boast in her proudest days-her innocent countenance expressed surprise, not unmingled with fear,
that the mind of Anaxagoras was wandering. But
when assured that Chrysippus seriously proposed to
divorce his wife and marry her, a feeling of humiliation came over her, that a man, ignorant of the qualities of her soul, should be thus captivated by her
outward beauty, and regard it as a thing to be
bought with gold. But the crimson tint soon subsided from her transparent cheek, and she quietly replied, "Tell the prince of Clazomenae that I have
never learned to value riches; nor could I do so,
without danger of being exiled far from my divine
home."
When these words were repeated to Chrysippus;
he exclaimed impatiently, " Curse on the folly which
philosophers dignify with the name of wisdom!"
After this, nothing could restore the courtesy he
had previously assumed. He scarcely tasted the
offered fruit and wine; bade a cold farewell, and
soon rolled away in his splendid chariot, followed by
his train of attendants.
This unexpected interview produced a singular
excitement in the mind of Anaxagoras. All the occurrences of his youth passed vividly before him;
and things forgotten for years were remembered like
events of the past hour. Plato sat by his side till the




PHILOTH EA.                 173
evening twilight deepened, listening as he recounted
scenes long since witnessed in Athens. When they
entreated him to seek repose, he reluctantly assented,
and said to his friend, with a gentle pressure of the
hand, " Farewell, son of Aristo. Pray for me before
you retire to your couch."
Plato parted the silver hairs, and imprinted a kiss
on his forehead; then crowning himself with a garland, he knelt before an altar that stood in the apartment, and prayed aloud: " 0 thou, who art King of
Heaven, life and death are in thy hand! Grant
what is good for us, whether we ask it, or ask it
not; and refuse that which would be hurtful, even
when we ask it most earnestly."
"T That contains the spirit of all prayer," said the
old philosopher.  "And now, Plato, go to thy rest;
and I will go to mine. Very pleasant have thy
words been to me. Even like the murmuring of
fountains in a parched and sandy desert."
When left alone with his grandchild and Milza,
the invalid still seemed unusually excited, and his
eyes shone with unwonted brightness.  Again he
recurred to his early years, and talked fondly of his
wife and children. He dwelt on the childhood of
Philothea with peculiar pleasure.  " Often, very
often," said he, " thy infant smiles and artless speech
led my soul to divine things; when, without thee,
the link would have been broken, and the communication lost."
He held her hand affectionately in his, and often
drew her toward him, that he might kiss her cheek.
Late in the night, sleep began to steal over him with




174             PHILOTHE A.
gentle influence; and Philothea was afraid to move,
lest she should disturb his slumbers.
Milza reposed on a couch close by her side, ready
to obey the slightest summons; the small earthen
lamp that stood on the floor, shaded by an open
tablet, burned dim; and the footsteps of Plato were
faintly heard in the stillness of the night, as he softly
paced to and fro in the open portico.
Philothea leaned her head upon the couch, and
gradually yielded to the drowsy influence.
When she awoke, various objects in the apartment
were indistinctly revealed by the dawning light.
All was deeply quiet. She remained kneeling by
her grandfather's side, and her hand was still clasped
in his; but it was chilled beneath his touch. She
arose, gently placed his arm  on the couch, and
looked upon his face. A placid smile rested on his
features; and she saw that his spirit had passed in
peace.
She awoke Milza, and desired that the household
might be summoned. As they stood around the
couch of that venerable man, Geta and Milza wept
bitterly; but Philothea calmly kissed his cold cheek;
and Plato looked on him with serene affection, as he
said, "So sleep the good."
A lock of grey hair suspended on the door, and a
large vase of water at the threshold, early announced
to the villagers that the soul of Anaxagoras had
passed from its earthly tenement. The boys came
with garlands to decorate the funeral couch of the
beloved old man; and no tribute of respect was
wanting; for all that knew him blessed his memory.
He was buried, as he had desired, near the clepsy



PHILOTHEA.                   175
dra in the little brook; a young almond tree was
planted on his grave; and for years after, all the
children commemorated the anniversary of his death,
by a festival called Anaxagoreia.
Pericles had sent two discreet matrons, and four
more youthful attendants, to accompany Plilothea
to Athens, in case she consented to become the wife
of Paralus.  The morning after the decease of Anaxagoras, Plato sent a messenger to Lampsacus, desiring the presence of these women, accompanied by
Euago and his household.  As soon as the funeral
rites were passed, he entreated Philothea to accept
the offered protection of Euago, the friend of his
youth, and connected by marriage with the house of
Pericles.  "I urge it the more earnestly," said he,
" because I think you have reason to fear the power
and resentment of Chrysippus. Princes do not willingly relinquish a pursuit; and his train could
easily seize you and your attendants, without resistance from these simple villagers."
Aglaonice, wife of Euago, likewise urged the orphan, in the most affectionate manner, to return with
them to Lampsacus, and there await the departure
of the galley.  Philothea acknowledged the propriety
of removal, and felt deeply thankful for the protecting
influence of her friends. The simple household furniture was given to Milza; her own wardrobe, with
many little things that had become dear to her, were
deposited in the chariot of Euago; the weeping villagers had taken an affectionate farewell; and sacrifices to the gods had been offered on the altar in
front of the dwelling.
15*




176              PH ILOTHEA.
Still Philothea lingered and gazed on the beautiful
scenes where she had passed so many tranquil hours.
Tears mingled with her smiles, as she said, "0,
how hard it is to believe the spirit of Anaxagoras
will be as near me in Athens, as it is here, where his
bones lie buried!"




P HL OT HEA.                  177
CHAPTER XIII.
One day, the muses twined the hands
Of infant love with flowery bands,
And gave the smiling captive boy
To be Celestial Beauty's joy.
ANACREON.
WHILE Philothea remained at Lampsacus, awaiting the arrival of the galley, news came that Chrysippus, with a company of horsemen, had been to her
former residence, under the pretext of paying funeral
rites to his deceased relative. At the same time, several robes, mantles, and veils, were brought from
Heliodora at Ephesus, with the request that they,
as well as the silver tripod, should be considered, not
as a dowry, but as gifts to be disposed of as she
pleased. The priestess mentioned feeble health as a
reason for not coming in person to bid the orphan
farewell; and promised that sacrifices and prayers
for her happines should be duly offered at the shrine
of radiant Phebus.
Philothea smiled to remember how long she had
lived in Ionia without attracting the notice of her
princely relatives, until her name became connected
with the illustrious house of Pericles; but she meekly returned thanks and friendly wishes, together
with the writings of Simonides, beautifully copied
by her own hand.
The day of departure at length arrived. All along
the shore might be seen smoke rising from the altars
of Poseidon, JEolus, Castor and Polydeuces, and the
sea-green Sisters of the Deep. To the usual danger
of winds and storms was added the fear of encounter



178             PHIL 0 T H EA.
ing hostile fleets; and every power that presided
over the destinies of sailors was invoked by the anxious mariners. But their course seemed more like
an excursion in a pleasure barge, than a voyage on
the ocean. They rowed along beneath a calm and
sunny sky, keeping close to the verdant shores,
where, ever and anon, temples, altars, and statues,
peeped forth amid groves of cypress and cedar; under
the shadow of which many a festive train hailed
the soft approach of spring, with pipe, and song,
and choral dance.
The tenth day saw the good ship Halcyone safely
moored in the harbour of Phalerum, chosen in preference to the more crowded and diseased port of the
Piraeus. The galley having been perceived at a distance, Pericles and Clinias were waiting, with chariots, in readiness to convey Philothea and her attendants. The first inquiries of Pericles were concerning the health of Anaxagoras; and he seemed deeply
affected, when informed that he would behold his
face no more. Philothea's heart was touched by the
tender solemnity of his manner when he bade her
welcome to Athens. Plato anticipated the anxious
question that trembled on her tongue; and a brief
answer indicated *that no important change had
taken place in Paralus. Clinias kindly urged the
claims of himself and wife to be considered the
parents of the orphan; and they all accompanied
her to his house, attended by boys burning incense,
as a protection against the pestilential atmosphere of
the marshy grounds.
When they alighted, Philothea timidly, but earnestly, asked to see Paralus without delay. Their




PHIL OTH EA.                179
long-cherished affection, the full communion of soul
they had enjoyed together, and the peculiar visitation
which now rested on him, all combined to make her
forgetful of ceremony.
Pericles went to seek his son, and found him reclining on the couch where he had left him. The
invalid seemed to be in a state of deep abstraction,
and offered no resistance as they led him to the
chariot. When they entered the house of Clinias, he
looked around with a painful expression of weariness, until they tenderly placed him on a couch. He
was evidently disturbed by the presence of those
about him, but unmindful of any familiar faces, until
Philothea suddenly knelt by his side, and throwing
back her veil, said, " Paralus! dear Paralus! Do
you not know me?"  Then his whole face kindled
with an expression of joy, so intense that Pericles for
a moment thought the faculties of his soul were
completely restored.
But the first words he uttered showed a total unconsciousness of past events. "Oh, Philothea!" he
exclaimed, "I have not heard your voice since last
night, when you came to me and sung that beautiful
welcome to the swallows, which all the little children like so well."
On the preceding evening, Philothea, being urged
by her maidens to sing, had actually warbled that
little song; thinking all the while of the days of
childhood, when she and Paralus used to sing it, to
please their young companions. When she heard
this mysterious allusion to the music, she looked at
Plato with an expression of surprise; while Milza




180            PHILOTHEA.
and the other attendants seemed afraid in the presence of one thus visited by the gods.
With looks full of beaming affection, the invalid
continued: "And now, Philothea, we will again
walk to that pleasant place, where we went when
you finished the song."
In low and soothing tones, the maiden inquired,
"Where did we go, Paralus "
"Have you forgotten?" he replied. "We went
hand in hand up a high mountain. A path wound
round it in spiral flexures, ever ascending, and communicating with all above and all below. A stream
of water, pure as crystal, flowed along the path, from
the summit to the base.  Where we stood to rest
awhile, the skies were of transparent blue; but
higher up, the light was purple and the trees full of
doves.  We saw little children leading lambs to
drink at the stream, and they raised their voices in
glad shouts, to see the bright waters go glancing and
glittering down the sides of the mountain."
He remained silent and motionless for several
minutes; and then continued: "But this path is
dreary. I do not like this wide marsh, and these
ruined temples. Who spoke then and told me it was
Athens? But now I see the groves of Academus.
There is a green meadow in the midst, on which
rests a broad belt of sunshine. Above it, are floating little children with wings; and they throw down
garlands to little children without wings, who are
looking upward with joyful faces. Oh, how beautiful they are! Come, Philothea, let us join them."
The philosopher smiled, and inwardly hailed the
words as an omen auspicious to his doctrines. All




PHILOT HEA.                  181
who listened were deeply impressed by language so
mysterious.
The silence remained unbroken, until Paralus
asked for music. A cithara being brought, Philothea played one of his favourite songs; accompanied
by her voice. The well-remembered sounds seemed
to fill him with joy beyond his power to express; and
again his anxious parent cherished the hope that
reason would be fully restored.
He put his hand affectionately on Philothea's
head, as he said, "Your presence evidently has a
blessed influence; but oh, my daughter, what a
sacrifice you are making —young and beautiful as
you are!
" Nay, Pericles," she replied, " I deem it a privilege once more to hear the sound of his voice; though
it speaks a strange, unearthly language."
When they attempted to lead the invalid from the
apartment, and Philothea, with a tremulous voice,
said, " Farewell, Paralus,"-an expression of intense
gloom came over his countenance, suddenly as a
sunny field is obscured by passing clouds.  "Not
farewell to Eurydice!" he said: "It is sad musicsad music."
The tender-hearted maiden was affected even to
tears, and found it hard to submit to a temporary
separation. But Pericles assured her that his son
would probably soon fall asleep, and awake without
any recollection of recent events. Before she retired
to her couch, a messenger was sent to inform her
that Paralus was in deep repose.
Clinias having removed from the unhealthy Piraeus, in search of purer atmosphere, Philothea found




182             PHILOTHEA.
him in the house once occupied by Phidias; and the
hope that scenes of past happiness might prove salutary to the mind of Paralus, induced Pericles to
prepare the former dwelling of Anaxagoras for his
bridal home. The friends and relations of the invalid
were extremely desirous to have Philothea's soothing
influence continually exerted upon him; and the
disinterested maiden earnestly wished to devote every
moment of her life to the restoration of his precious
health.  Under these circumstances, it was deemed
best that the marriage should take place immediately.
The mother of Paralus had died; and Aspasia,
with cautious delicacy, declined being present at the
ceremony, under the pretext of ill health; but Phoenarete, the wife of Clinias, gladly consented to act as
mother of the orphan bride.
Propitiatory sacrifices were duly offered to Artemis,
Hera, Pallas, Aphrodite, the Fates, and the Graces.
On the appointed day, Philothea appeared in bridal
garments, prepared by Phcenarete. The robe of fine
Milesian texture, was saffron-coloured, with a purple
edge. Over this, was a short tunic of brilliant crimson, confined at the waist by an embroidered zone,
fastened with a broad clasp of gold. Glossy braids
of hair were intertwined with the folds of her rosecoloured veil; and both bride and bridegroom were
crowned with garlands of roses and myrtle. The
chariot, in which they were seated, was followed by
musicians, and a long train of friends and relatives.
Arrived at the temple of Hera, the priest presented a
branch, which they held between them as a symbol
of the ties about to unite them. Victims were sacrificed, and the omens declared not unpropitious. When




P I I LO T HE A.            183
the gall had been cast behind the altar, Clinias placed
Philothea's hand within the hand of Paralus; the
bride dedicated a ringlet of her hair to Hera; the
customary vows were pronounced by the priest; and
the young couple were presented with golden cups of
wine, from which they poured libations. The invalid
was apparently happy; but so unconscious of the
scene he was acting, that his father was obliged to
raise his hand and pour forth the wine.
The ceremonies being finished, the priest reminded
Philothea that when a good wife died, Persephone
formed a procession of the best women to scatter
flowers in her path, and lead her spirit to Elysium.
As he spoke, two doves alighted on the altar; but
one immediately rose, and floated above the other,
with a tender cooing sound. Its mate looked upward
for a moment; and then both of them rose high in
the air, and disappeared. The spectators hailed this
as an auspicious omen; but Philothea pondered it in
her heart, and thought she perceived a deeper meaning than was visible to them.
As the company returned, with the joyful sound
of music, many a friendly hand threw garlands from
the housetops, and many voices pronounced a blessing.
In consideration of the health of Paralus, the
customary evening procession was dispensed with.
An abundant feast was prepared at the house of
Clinias. The gentle and serious bride joined with
her female friends in the apartments of the women;
but no bridegroom appeared at the banquet of the
men.
As the guests seated themselves at table, a boy
16




184             PHILOTHEA.
came in covered with thorn-boughs and acorns,
bearing a golden basket filled with bread, and singing, "I have left the worse and found the better."
As he passed through the rooms, musicians began to
play on various instruments, and troops of young
dancers moved in airy circles to the sound.
At an early hour, Philothea went to the apartment prepared for her in the home of her childhood.
Phcenarete preceded her with a lighted torch, and
her female attendants followed, accompanied by
young Pericles, bearing on his head a vase of water
from the Fountain of Callirhoe, with which custom
required that the bride's feet should be bathed.
Music was heard until a late hour, and epithalamia
were again resumed with the morning light.
The next day, a procession of women brought the
bridal gifts of friends and relatives, preceded by a
boy clothed in white, carrying a torch in one hand,
and a basket of flowers in the other. Philothea,
desirous to please the father of her husband, had
particularly requested that this office might be performed by the youthful Pericles-a beautiful boy, the
only son of Aspasia. The gifts were numerous;
consisting of embroidered sandals, perfume boxes of
ivory inlaid with gold, and various other articles, for
use or ornament. Pericles sent a small ivory statue
of Persephone gathering flowers in the vale of Enna;
and Aspasia a clasp, representing the Naiades floating
with the infant Eros, bound in garlands.  The
figures were intaglio, in a gem of transparent cerulean
hue, and delicately painted. When viewed from the
opposite side, the effect was extremely beautiful; for
the graceful nymphs seemed actually moving in




P HILO  H E A.               185
thir native element. Alcibiades presented a Sidonian
veil, of roseate hue and glossy texture. Phcenarete
bestowed a ring, on which was carved a dancing
Oread; and Plato a cameo clasp, representing the
infant Eros crowning a lamb with a garland of lilies.
On the third day, custom allowed every relative to
see the bride with her face unveiled; and the fame
of her surpassing beauty induced the remotest connections of the family to avail themselves of the
privilege.  Philothea meekly complied with these
troublesome requisitions; but her heart was weary for
quiet hours, that she might hold free communion with
Paralus, in that beautiful spirit-land, where his soul
was wandering before its time.
Music, and the sound of Philothea's voice, seemed
the only links that connected him with a world of
shadows; but his visions were so blissful, and his
repose so full of peace, that restless and ambitious
men might well have envied a state thus singularly
combining the innocence of childhood with the rich
imagination of maturer years.
Many weeks passed away in bright tranquillity;
and the watchful wife thought she at times perceived
faint indication of returning health'. Geta and Milza,
in compliance with their own urgent entreaties, were
her constant assistants in nursing the invalid; and
more than once she imagined that he looked at them
with an earnest expression, as if his soul were
returning to the recollections of former years.
Spring ripened into summer.  The olive-garlands
twined with wool, suspended on the doors during
the festival of Thargelia, had withered and fallen;




186              P H I L, 0 T I E A.
and all men talked of the approaching commemoration of the Olympic games.
Hippocrates had been informed that Tithonus, the
Ethiopian, possessed the singular power of leading
the soul fiom the body, and again restoring it to its
functions, by means of a soul-directing wand; and
the idea arose in his mind, that this process might
produce a salutary effect on Paralus.
The hopes of the anxious father were easily kindled;
and he at once became desirous that his son should
be conveyed to Olympia; for it was reported that
Tithonus would be present at the games.
Philothea sighed deeply, as she listened to the
proposition; for she had faith only in the healing
power of perfect quiet, and the free communion of
congenial souls. She yielded to the opinion of Pericles with characteristic humility; but the despondency of her tones did not pass unobserved.
"It is partly for your sake that I wish it, my poor
child," said he. "If it may be avoided, I will not
see the whole of your youth consumed in anxious
watchings."
The young wife looked up with a. serene and
bright expression, as she replied, "Nay, my father,
you have never seen me anxious, or troubled. I have
known most perfect contentment since my union
with your son."
Pericles answered affectionately, "I believe it, my
daughter; and I have marvelled at your cheerfulness.
Assuredly, with more than Helen's beauty, you have
inherited the magical Egyptian powder, whereby
she drove away all care and melancholy."




PHILOT H EA.                  187
CHAPTER XIV.
Iphegenia-Absent so long, with joy I look on thee.
Agamemno —And I on thee; so this is mutual joy.
EURIPIDEB.
IN accordance with the advice of Hippocrates, the
journey to Olympia was undertaken.  Some time
before the commencement of the games, a party,
consisting of Pericles, Plato, Paralus, Philothea, and
their attendants, made preparations for departure.
Having kissed the earth of Athens, and sacrificed
to Hermes and Hecate, the protectors of travellers,
they left the city at the Dipylon Gate, and entered
the road leading to Eleusis. The country presented
a cheerless aspect; for fields and vineyards once
fruitful were desolated by ferocious war. But religious veneration had protected the altars, and their
chaste simplicity breathed the spirit of peace; while
the beautiful little rustic temples of Demeter, in commemoration of her wanderings in search of the lost
Persephone, spoke an ideal language, soothing to
the heart amid the visible traces of man's destructive
passions.
During the solemnization of the Olympic Games,
the bitterest animosities were laid aside. The inhabitants of states carrying on a deadly war with
each other, met in peace and friendship.  Even
Megara, with all her hatred to Athens, gave the
travellers a cordial welcome. In every house they
entered, bread, wine, and salt, were offered to Zeus
Xinias, the patron of hospitality.
16*




188             PHILOTHEA.
A pleasant grove of cypress trees announced the
vicinity of Corinth, famed for its magnificence and
beauty. A foot-path from the grove led to a secluded
spot, where water was spouted forth by a marble
dolphin, at the foot of a brazen statue of Poseidon.
The travellers descended from their chariots to
rest under the shadow of the lofty plane trees, and
refresh themselves with a draught from the fountain.
The public road was thronged with people on their
way to Olympia. Most of them drove with renewed
eagerness to enter Corinth before the evening tvilight; for nearly all travellers made it a point to visit
the remarkable scenes in this splendid and voluptuous city, the Paris of the ancient world. A few were
attracted by the cool murmuring of the waters, and
turned aside to the fountain of Poseidon. Among
these was Artaphernes the Persian, who greeted
Pericles, and made known his friend Orsames, lately
arrived from Ecbatana. The stranger said he had
with him  a parcel for Anaxagoras; and inquired
whether any tidings of that philosopher had been
lately received in Athens. Pericles informed them
of the death of the good old man, and mentioned
that his grand-daughter, accompanied by her husband and attendants, was then in a retired part of
the grove. The Persian took from his chariot a roll
of parchment and a small box, and placed them in
the hands of Geta, to be conveyed to Philothea. The
tears came to her eyes, when she discovered that it
was a friendly epistle from PhilTemon to his beloved
old master. It appeared to have been written soon
after he heard of his exile, and was accompanied by
a gift of four minat. His own situation was de



PHILOTHEA.                  189
scribed as happy as it could be in a foreign land.
His time was principally employed in instructing
the sons of the wealthy satrap, Megabyzus; a situation which he owed to the friendly recommendation
of Artaphernes. At the close, after many remarks
concerning the politics of Athens, lie expressed a
wish to be informed of Eudora's fate, and an earnest
hope that she was not beyond the reach of Philothea's influence.
This letter awakened busy thoughts. The happy
past and a cheerful future were opened to her mind,
in all the distinctness of memory and the brightness
of hope. At such moments, her heart yearned for
the ready sympathy she had been wont to receive
from Paralus. As she drew aside the curtains of
the litter, and looked upon him in tranquil slumber,
she thought of the wonderful gift of Tithonus, with
an intense anxiety, to which her quiet spirit was
usually a stranger. Affectionate recollections of Eudora, and the anticipated joy of meeting, mingled
with this deeper tide of feeling, and increased her
desire to arrive at the end of their journey. Pericles
shared her anxiety, and admitted no delays but such
as were necessary for the health of the invalid.
From Corinth they passed into the pleasant valleys of Arcadia, encircled with verdant hills. Here
nature reigned in simple beauty, unadorned by the
magnificence of art. The rustic temples were geneally composed of intertwined trees, in the recesses of
which were placed wooden images of Pan, "the
simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god."  Here and
there an aged man- reposed in the shadow of some
venerable oak; and the shepherds, as they tended




190             PHILOTHEA.
their flocks, welcomed this brief interval of peace
with the mingled music of reeds and flutes.
Thence the travellers passed into the broad and
goodly plains of Elis; protected from the spoiler by
its sacred character, as the seat of the Olympic
Games. In some places, troops of women might be
seen in the distance, washing garments in the river
Alpheus, and spreading them out to whiten in the
sun. Fertility rewarded the labours of the husbandmen, and the smiling fields yielded pasturage to
numerous horses, which Phoebus himself might have
prized for strength, fleetness, and majestic beauty.
Paralus passed through all these scenes entirely
unconscious whether they were sad or cheerful.
When he spoke, it was of things unrecognized by
those of earthly mould; yet those who heard him
found therein a strange and marvellous beauty, that
seemed not altogether new to the soul, but was seen
in a dim and pleasing light, like the recollections of
infant years.
The travellers stopped at a small town in the
neighbourhood of Olympia, where Paralus, Philothea, and their attendants were to remain during the
solemnization of the games. The place chosen for
their retreat was the residence of Proclus and his
wife Melissa; worthy, simple-hearted  people, at
whose house Phidias had died, and under whose protection he had placed Eudora.
As the chariots approached the house, the loud
barking of Hylax attracted the attention of Zoila,
the merry little daughter of Proclus, who was playing in the fields with her brother Pterilaus. The
moment the children espied a sight so unusual in




PHIL O T H E A.             191
that secluded place, they ran with all speed to carry
tidings to the household. Eudora was busy at the
loom; but she went out to look upon the strangers,
saying, as she did so, that they were doubtless
travellers, who, in passing to the Olympic Games,
had missed their way.
1Her heart beat tumultuously when she saw Hylax
capering and fawning about a man who bore a strong
resemblance to Geta. The next moment, she recognized Pericles and Plato speaking with a tall, majestic
looking woman, closely veiled. She darted forward
a few paces, in the eagerness of her joy; but checked
herself when she perceived that the stranger lingered;
for she said, in her heart, "If it were Philothea, she
could not be so slow in coming to meet me."
Thus she reasoned, not knowing that Philothea
was the wife of Paralus, and that his enfeebled
health required watchful care. In a few moments
her doubts were dispelled, and the friends were
locked in each others' arms.
Proclus gave the travellers a hospitable reception,
and cheerfully consented that Paralus and his attendants should remain with them.  Pericles, having
made all necessary arrangements for the beloved invalid, bade an early farewell, and proceeded with
Plato to Olympia.
When Geta and Milza had received a cordial welcome; and Hylax had somewhat abated his boisterous joy; and old Dione, with the tears in her eyes,
had brought forward treasures of grapes and wineEudora eagerly sought a private interview with the
friend of her childhood.
Dearest Philothea!" she exclaimed, "I thought




192             PHILOTHEA.
you were still in Ionia; and I never expected to see
you again; and now you have come, my heart is so
full "
Unable to finish the sentence, she threw herself on
that bosom where she had ever found sympathy in
all her trials, and sobbed like a child.
" My beloved Eudora," said Philothea, " you still
carry with you a heart easily kindled; affections
that heave and blaze like a volcano."
The maiden looked up affectionately, and smiled
through her tears, as she said, " The love you
kindled in infancy has burned none the less strongly
because there was no one to cherish it. If the volcano
now blazes, it only proves how faithfully it has carried the hidden fire in its bosom."
She paused, and spoke more sadly, as she added,
" There was, indeed, one brief period, when it was
well-nigh smothered. Would to the gods, that might
pass into oblivion! But it will not. After Phidias
came to Elis, he made for Plato a small statue of
Mnemosyne, that turned  and looked upward to
Heaven, while she held a half-opened scroll toward
the earth. It was beautiful beyond description; but
there was bitterness in my heart when I looked upon
it; I thought Memory should be represented armed
with the scourge of the Furies."
"And did you not perceive," said Philothea, "that
yourself had armed the benignant goddess with a
scourge? Thus do the best gifts from the Divine
Fountain become changed by the will of those who
receive them. But, dearest Eudora, though your
heart retains its fire, a change has passed over your
countenance. The cares of this world have driven




PHILOTH EA.                  193
away the spirit of gladness, that came with you from
your divine home.  That smiling twin of Innocence
is ever present and visible while we are unconscious
of its existence; but when in darkness and sorrow
the soul asks where it has gone, a hollow voice, like
the sound of autumn winds, echoes,'Gone!"'
Eudora sighed, as she answered, "It is even so.
But I know not where you could have learned it;
for you have ever seemed to live in a region above
darkness and storms. Earth has left no shadow on
your countenance. It expresses the same transparent innocence, the same mild love. A light not of
this world is gleaming there; and it has grown
brighter and clearer since we parted. I could almost
believe that you accompany Hera to the Fountain of
Canathus, where it is said she every year bathes to
restore her infant purity."
Philothea smiled, as she playfully laid her hand
on Eudora's mouth, and said, "Nay, Eudora, you
forget that flattery produces effects very unlike the
Fountain of Canathus. We have been gazing in
each other's faces, as if we fondly hoped there to
read the record of all that has passed since we were
separated. Yet, very little of all that we have known
and felt-of all that has gradually become a portion
of our life-is inscribed there. Perhaps you already
know that Anaxagoras fell asleep in Ionia. The
good old man died in peace, as he had lived in love.
If I mistake not, while I talked with Pericles, Milza
informed you that I was the wife of Paralus?"
" Yes, dearest Philothea; but not till she had first
told me of her own marriage with Geta."
Philothea smiled, as she replied, "I believe it is




194             PH1LOTHEA.
the only case in which that affectionate creature
thinks of herself, before she thinks of me; but Geta
is to her an object of more importance than all the
world beside.  When we were in Ionia, I often found
her whispering magical words, while she turned the
sieve and shears, to ascertain whether her lover were
faithful to his vows. I could not find it in my heart
to reprove her fond credulity;-for I believe this
proneness to wander beyond the narrow limits of the
visible world is a glimmering reminiscence of parentage divine; and though in Milza's untutored mind
the mysterious impulse takes an inglorious form, I
dare not deride what the wisest soul can neither
banish nor comprehend."
As she finished speaking, she glanced toward the
curtain, which separated them from the room where
Paralus reposed, watched by the faithful Geta. There
was a tender solemnity in the expression of her countenance, whereby Eudora conjectured the nature of
her thoughts.  Speaking in a subdued voice, she
asked whether Paralus would inquire for her, when
he awoke.
" He will look for me, and seem bewildered, as if
something were lost," replied Philothea. "Since I
perceived this, I have been careful not to excite painful sensations by my absence.  Geta will give me
notice when slumber seems to be passing away."
"And do you think Tithonus can restore him?"
inquired Eudora.
Philothea answered, "Fear is stronger than hope.
I thought I perceived a healing influence in the perfect quiet and watchful love that surrounded him in
Athens; and to these I would fain have trusted, had




PHIL OTH E A.                195
it been the will of Pericles.  But, dearest Eudora, let
us not speak on this subject. It seems to me like
the sacred groves, into which nothing unconsecrated
may enter."
After a short pause, Eudora said; "Then I will tell
you my own history.  After we came to Elis, Phidias
treated me with more tenderness and confidence than
he had ever done. Perhaps he observed that my
proud, impetuous character was chastened and subdued by affliction and repentance. Though we were
in the habit of talking unreservedly, he never alluded
to the foolish conduct that offended him so seriously.
I felt grateful for this generous forbearance; and by
degress I learned to fear him less and love him
deeply."
" We received some tidings of him  when Plato
came into Ionia," rejoined Philothea; "and we rejoiced to learn that he found in Elis a rich recompense for the shameful ingratitude of Athens."
"It was a rich recompense, indeed," replied Eudora.  "The people reverenced him as if he wore
something more than mortal. His statue stands in
the sacred grove at Olympia, bearing the simple inscription;'Phidias, Son of Charmides, sculptor of the
Gods.' At his death, the Elians bestowed gifts on
all his servants; endowed me with the yearly revenues of a farm; and appointed his nephew Pandamnus
to the honourable office of preserving the statue of
Olympian Zeus."
"Did Phidias express no anxiety concerning your
unprotected situation?" inquired Philothea.
" It was his wish that I should marry Pandaenus,"
answered Eudora; "but he urged the subject no
17




196             PHILOTHE A.
farther, when he found that I regarded the marriage
with aversion.  On his death-bed he charged his
nephew to protect and cherish me as a sister. He
left me under the guardianship of Proclus, with
strict injunctions that I should have perfect freedom
in the choice of a husband. He felt no anxiety concerning my maintenance; for the Elians had promised that all persons connected with him should be
liberally provided at the public expense; and I was
universally considered as the adopted daughter of
Phidias."
" And what did Pandaenus say to the wishes of his
uncle?" asked Philothea.
Eudora blushed slightly as she answered, " He
tried to convince me that we should all be happier,
if I would consent to the arrangement. I could not
believe this; and Pandanus was too proud to repeat
his solicitations to a reluctant listener.  I seldom see
him; but when there is opportunity to do me service,
he is very kind."
Her friend looked earnestly upon her, as if seeking to read her heart; and inquired, "Has no other
one gained your affections? I had some fears that
I should find you married."
"And why did you fear?" said Eudora: "Other
friends would consider it a joyful occasion."
" But I feared, because I have ever cherished the
hope that you would be the wife of Philuemon," rejoined her companion.
The sensitive maiden sighed deeply, and turned
away her head, as she said, with a tremulous voice,
"I have little doubt that Philaemon has taken a Persian wife, before this time."




P H I LO TH E A.             197
Philothea made no reply; but searched for the
epistle she had received at Corinth, and placed it in
the hands of her friend. Eudora started, when she
saw  the well-known writing of Philaemon.  But
when she read the sentence wherein he expressed affectionate solicitude for her welfare, she threw her
arms convulsively about Philothea's neck, exclaiming, " Oh, my beloved friend, what a blessed messenger you have ever been to this poor heart!"
For some moments, her agitation was extreme;
but that gentle influence, which had so often soothed
her, gradually calmed her perturbed feelings; and
they talked freely of the possibility of regaining
Philasmon's love.
As Eudora stood leaning on her shoulder, Philothea, struck with the contrast in their figures, said:
" When you were in Athens, we called you the
Zephyr; and surely you are thinner now than you
were then. I fear your health suffers from the anxiety of your mind.  " See!" continued she, turning
towards the mirror-" See what a contrast there is
between us!"
"There should be a contrast," rejoined Eudora,
smiling: " The pillars of agoras are always of lighter
and less majestic proportions than the pillars of temples."
As she spoke, Geta lifted the curtain, and Philothea instantly obeyed the signal. For a few moments after her departure, Eudora heard the low
murmuring of voices, and then the sound of a cithara,
whose tones she well remembered.  The tune was
familiar to her in happier days, and she listened to it
with tears.




198             PHILOTHEA.
Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by little
Zoila, who came in with a jump and a bound, to
show a robe full of flowers she had gathered for the
beautiful Athenian lady. When she perceived that
tears had fallen on the blossoms, she suddenly
changed her merry tones, and with artless affection
inquired, "What makes Dora cry?7
"I wept for the husband of that beautiful Athenian lady, because he is very ill," replied the maiden.
"See the flowers!' exclaimed Zoila.  "It looks
as if the dew was on it; but the tears will not make
it grow again-will they "
Eudora involuntarily shuddered at the omen conveyed in her childish words; but gave permission to
carry her offering to the Athenian lady, if she would
promise to step very softly, and speak in whispers.
Philothea received the flowers thankfully, and
placed them in vases near her husband's couch; for
she still fondly hoped to win back the wandering
soul by the presence of things peaceful, pure, and
beautiful. She caressed the innocent little one, and
tried to induce her to remain a few minutes; but the
child seemed uneasy, as if in the presence of something that inspired fear. She returned to Eudora
with a very thoughtful countenance; and though
she often gathered flowers for " the tall infant," as she
called Paralus, she could never after be persuaded to
enter his apartment.




PHILOTH EA.                     199
CHAPTER XV.
They in me breathed a voice
Divine; that I might know, with listening ears,
Things past and future; and enjoined me praise
The race of blessed ones, that live for aye.
HESIOD.'PH1LOTHEA to PHIL.EMON, greeting:
THE body of Anaxagoras has gone to the Place of
Sleep.  If it were not so, his hand  would have
written in reply to thy kind epistle. I was with
him when he died, but knew not the hour he departed, for he sunk to rest like an infant.
We lived in peaceful poverty in Ionia; sometimes
straitened for the means whereby this poor existence is preserved, but ever cheerful in spirit.
I drank daily from the ivory cup thou didst leave
for me, with thy farewell to Athens; and the last
lines traced by my grandfather's hand still remain on
the tablet thou didst give him.  They are preserved
for thee, to be sent into Persia, if thou dost not return
to Greece, as I hope thou wilt.
I am now the wife of Paralus; and Pericles has
brought us into the neighbourhood of Olympia, seeking medical aid for my husband, not yet recovered
from the effects of the plague. Pure and blameless,
Paralus has ever been-with a mind richly endowed
by the gods; and all this thou well knowest. Yet
he is as one that dies while he lives; though not altogether as one unbeloved by divine beings. Wonderful are the accounts he brings of that far-off world,
where his spirit wanders. Sometimes I listen with
17*




200             PHILO THE A
fear, till all philosophy seems dim, and I shrink from
the mystery of our being. When they do not disturb
him with earthly medicines, he is quiet and happy.
Waking, he speaks of things clothed in heavenly
splendour; and in his sleep, he smiles like a child
whose dreams are pleasant.  I think this blessing
comes from the Divine, by reason of the innocence of
his life.
We abide at the house of Proclus, a kind, truthtelling man, whose wife,'Melissa, is at once diligent
and quiet-a rare combination of goodly virtues.
These worthy people have been guardians of Eudora,
since the death of Phidias; and with much affection,
they speak of her gentleness, patience, and modest
retirement. Melissa told me Aspasia had urgently
invited her to Athens, but she refused, without even
asking the advice of her guardian. Thou knowest
her great gifts would have been worshipped by the
Athenians, and that Eudora herself could not be ignorant of this.
Sometimes a stream is polluted in the fountain,
and its waters are tainted through all its wanderings;
and sometimes the traveller throws into a pure rivulet
some unclean thing, which floats awhile, and is then
rejected from its bosom. Eudora is the pure rivulet.
A foreign stain floated on the surface, but never
mingled with its waters.
Phidias wished her to marry his nephew; and PandEenus would fain have persuaded her to consent;
but they forebore to urge it, when they saw it gave
her pain. She is deeply thankful to her benefactor
for allowing her a degree of freedom so seldom granted to Grecian maidens.




PHILOTH E A.                 201
The Elians, proud of their magnificent statue of
Olympian Zeus, have paid extraordinary honours to
the memory of the great sculptor, and provided amply
for every member of his household.  Eudora is industrious from choice, and gives liberally to the poor;
particularly to orphans, who, like herself, have been
brought into bondage by the violence of wicked men,
or the chances of war. For some time past, she has
felt all alone in the world;-a condition that marvellously helps to bring us into meekness and tenderness
of spirit. When she read what thou didst write of
her in thy epistle, she fell upon my neck and wept.
I return to thee the four minae. He to whose necessities thou wouldst have kindly administered, hath
gone where gold and  silver avail not.  Many
believe that they who die sleep forever; but this
they could not, if they had listened to words I have
heard from Paralus.
Son of Chaerilaus, farewell.  May blessings be
around thee, wheresoever thou goest, and no evil
shadow cross thy threshold.
Written in Elis, this thirteenth day of the increasing moon, in the month Hecatombaon, and the close
of the eiglty-seventh Olympiad."
Without naming her intention to Eudora, Philothea
laid aside the scroll she had prepared, resolved to
place it in the hands of Pericles, to be entrusted to
the care of some Persian present at the games, which
were to commence on the morrow.
Before the hour of noon, Hylax gave notice of approaching strangers, who proved to be Pericles and
Plato, attended by Tithonus.  The young wife received them courteously, though a sudden sensation




202             PHIL OTHEA.
of dread ran through her veins with icy coldness. It
was agreed that none but herself, Pericles, and Plato,
should be present with Tithonus; and that profound
silence should be observed. Preparation was made
by offering solemn sacrifices to Phoebus, Hermes,
Hecate, and Persephone; and Philothea inwardly
prayed to that Divine Principle, revealed to her only
by the monitions of his spirit in the stillness of her
will.
Tithonus stood behind the invalid, and remained
perfectly quiet for many minutes. He then gently
touched the back part of his head with a small wand,
and leaning over him, whispered in his ear. An unpleasant change immediately passed over the countenance of Paralus; he endeavoured to place his hand
on his head, and a cold shivering seized him. Philothea shuddered, and Pericles grew pale, as they
watched these symptoms; but the silence remained
unbroken. A second and a third time the Ethiopian
touched him with his wand, and spoke in whispers.
The expression of pain deepened; insomuch that his
friends could not look upon him without anguish of
heart. Finally his limbs straightened, and became
perfectly rigid and motionless.
Tithonus, perceiving the terror he had excited, said
soothingly, "Oh, Athenians, be not afraid.. I have
never seen the soul withdrawn without a struggle
with the body. Believe me, it will return. The
words I whispered, were those I once heard from the
lips of Plato:'The human soul is guided by two
horses; one white, with a flowing mane, earnest eyes,
and wings like a swan, whereby he seeks to fly; but




PH ILO T H EA.               203
the other is black, heayy and sleepy-eyed-ever
prone to lie down upon the earth.'' The second time, I whispered,' Lo, the soul seeketh to ascend!' And the third time I said,' Behold
the winged separates from that which hath no wings.'
When life returns, Paralus will have remembrance
of these words."
" Oh, restore him! Restore him!" exclaimed Philothea, in tones of agonized entreaty.
Tithonus answered with respectful tenderness, and
again stood in profound silence several minutes, before he raised the wand. At the first touch, a feeble
shivering gave indication of returning life.  As it
was repeated a second and a third time, with a brief
interval between each movement, the countenance
of the sufferer grew more dark and troubled, until it
became fearful to look upon. But the heavy shadow
gradually passed away, and a dreamy smile returned, like a gleam of sunshine after storms. The moment Philothea perceived an expression familiar to
her heart, she knelt by the couch, seized the hand of
Paralus, and bathed it with her tears.
When the first gush of emotion had subsided, she
said, in a soft, low voice, "Where have you been,
dear Paralus'"  The invalid answered: "A thick
vapour enveloped me, as with a dark cloud; and a
stunning noise pained my head with its violence. A
voice said to me,' The human soul is guided by two
horses; one white, with a flowing mane, earnest
eyes, and wings like a swan, whereby he seeks to
fly; but the other is black, heavy, and sleepy-eyedever prone to lie down upon the earth.' Then the
darkness began to clear away. But there was strange




J4i             PHILO  TH 1 A 
confusion. All things seemed rapidly to interchange
their colours and their forms —the sound of a storm
was in mine ears-the elements and the stars seemed
to crowd upon me-and my breath was taken away.
Then I heard a voice, saying,' Lo, the soul seeketh
to ascend!' And I looked and saw the chariot and
horses, of which the voice had spoken. The beautiful white horse gazed upward, and tossed his mane,
and spread his wings impatiently; but the black
horse slept upon the ground. The voice again said,'Behold the winged separates from that which hath
no wings!' And suddenly the chariot ascended, and
I saw the white horse on light fleecy clouds, in a far
blue sky. Then I heard a pleasing, silent soundas if dew-drops made music as they fell. I breathed
freely, and my form seemed to expand itself with
buoyant life. All at once, I was floating in the air,
above a quiet lake, where reposed seven beautiful
islands, full of the sound of harps; and Philothea
slept at my side, with a garland on her head. I
asked,'Is this the divine home, whence I departed
into the body' And a voice above my head answered' It is the divine home. Man never leaves it.
He ceases to perceive.' Afterward, I looked downward, and saw my dead body lying on a couch.
Then again there came strange confusion-and a
painful clashing of sounds-and all things rushing
together. But Philothea took my hand, and spoke
to me in gentle tones, and the discord ceased."
Plato had listened with intense interest. He stood
apart with Tithonus, and they spoke together in low
tones, for several minutes before they left the apartment. The philosopher was too deeply impressed to




PH IL OTH EA.               205
return to the festivities of Olympia.  He hired an
apartment at the dwelling of a poor shepherd, and
during the following day remained in complete seclusion, without partaking of food.
While Paralus revealed his vision, his father's soul
was filled with reverence and fear, and he breathed
with a continual consciousness of supernatural presence. When his feelings became somewhat composed, he leaned over the couch, and spoke a few affectionate words to his son; but the invalid turned
away his head, as if disturbed by the presence of a
stranger. The spirit of the strong man was moved,
and he trembled like a leaf shaken by the wind.
Unable to endure this disappointment of his excited
hopes, he turned away hastily, and sought to conceal
his grief in solitude.
During the whole of the ensuing day, Paralus
continued in a deep sleep. This was followed by
silent cheerfulness, which, flowing as it did from a
hidden source, had something solemn and impressive in its character. It was sad, yet pleasant, to see
his look of utter desolation whenever he lost sight
of Philothea; and the sudden gleam  of joy that
illumined his whole face the moment she re-appeared.
The young wife sat by his side, hour after hour,
with patient love; often cheering him with her soft,
rich voice, or playing upon the lyre he had fashioned
for her in happier days. She found a sweet reward
in the assurance given by all his friends, that her
presence had a healing power they had elsewhere
sought in vain. She endeavoured to pour balm into
the wounded heart of Pericles, and could she have
seen him willing to wait the event with perfect re



206             P H 1 L O T H E A.
signation, her contentment would have been not unmingled with joy.
She wept in secret when she heard him express a
wish to have Paralus carried to the games, to try the
effect of a sudden excitement; for there seemed to
her something of cruelty in thus disturbing the tranquillity of one so gentle and so helpless. But the
idea had been suggested by a learned physician of
Chios, and Pericles seemed reluctant to return to
Athens without trying this experiment also. Philothea found it more difficult to consent to the required
sacrifice, because the laws of the country made it
impossible to accompany her beloved husband to
Olympia; but she suppressed her feelings; and the
painfulness of the struggle was never fully confessed,
even to Eudora.
While the invalid slept, he was carefully conveyed
in a litter, and placed in the vicinity of the Hippodrome.  He awoke in the midst of a gorgeous spectacle. Long lines of splendid chariots were ranged
on either side of the barrier; the horses proudly
pawed the ground, and neighed impatiently; the
bright sun glanced on glittering armour; and the
shouts of the charioteers were heard high above the
busy hum of that vast multitude.
Paralus instantly closed his eyes, as if dazzled by
the glare; and an expression of painful bewilderment
rested on his countenance.
In the midst of the barrier stood an altar, on the
top of which was a brazen eagle. When the lists
were in readiness, the majestic bird arose and spread
its wings, with a whirring noise, as a signal for the
racers to begin. Then was heard the clattering of




P HILO T H E A.              207
hoofs, and the rushing of wheels, as when armies
meet in battle.  A young Messenian was, for a time,
foremost in the race; but his horse took fright at the
altar of Taraxippus-his chariot was overthrownand Alcibiades gained the prize. The vanquished
youth uttered a loud and piercing shriek, as the
horses passed over him; and Paralus fell senseless in
his father's arms.
It was never known whether this effect was produced by the presence of a multitude, by shrill and
discordant sounds, or by returning recollection, too
powerful for his enfeebled frame. He was tenderly
carried from the crowd, and restoratives having been
applied, in vain, the melancholy burden was slowly
and carefully conveyed to her who so anxiously
awaited his arrival.
During his absence, Philothea had earnestly prayed
for the preservation of a life so precious to her; and
as the time of return drew near, she walked in the
fields, accompanied by Eudora and Milza, eager to
catch the first glimpse of his father's chariot.
She read sad tidings in the gloomy countenance of
Pericles, before she beheld the lifeless form of her
husband.
Cautiously and tenderly as the truth was revealed
to her, she became dizzy and pale, with the suddenness of the shock. Pericles endeavoured tp soothe
her with all the sympathy of a parental love, mingled
with deep feelings of contrition, that his restless anxiety had thus brought ruin into her paradise of peace:
and Plato spoke gentle words of consolation; reminding her that every soul, which philosophized sincerely
and loved beautiful forms, was restored to the full
18




208             PHIL O THE A.
vigour of its wings, and soared to the blest condition
from which it fell.
They laid Paralus upon a couch, with the belief
that he slept to wake no more. But as Philothea
bent over him, she perceived a faint pulsation of the
heart. Her pale features were flushed with joy, as
she exclaimed, "He lives! He will speak to me
again! Oh, I could die in peace, if I might once
more hear his voice, as I heard it in former years."
She bathed his head with cool perfumed waters,
and watched him with love that knew no weariness.
Proclus and Telissa deemed he had fallen by the
dart of Phaebus Apollo; and fearing the god was
angry for some unknown cause, they suspended
branches of rhamn and laurel on the doors, to keep
off evil demons.
For three days and three nights, Paralus remained
in complete oblivion. On the morning of the fourth,
a pleasant change was observed in his countenance;
and he sometimes smiled so sweetly, and so rationally,
that his friends still dared to hope his health might
be fully restored.
At noon, he awoke; and looking at his wife with
an expression full of tenderness, said:   Dearest Philothea, you are with me. I saw you no more, after
the gate had closed. I believe it must have been a
dream; but it was very distinct." He glanced around
the room, as if his recollections were confused; but
his eyes no longer retained the fixed and awful
expression of one who walked in his sleep.
Speaking slowly and thoughtfully, he continued:
"It could not be a dream. I was in the temple of
the most ancient god.  The roof was of heaven's




P HI IL 0 T H E A.             209
pure gold, which seemed to have a ligat within it,
like the splendour of the sun. All around the temple
were gardens full of bloom.  I heard soft, mumuring
sounds, like the cooing of doves; and I saw the immortal Oreades and the Naiades pouring water from
golden urns.  Anaxagoras stood beside me; and he
said we were living in the age of innocence, when
mortals could gaze on divine beings unveiled, and
yet preserve their reason. They spoke another language than the Greeks; but we had no need to learn
it; we seemed to breathe it in the air. The Oreades
had music written on scrolls, in all the colours of the
rainbow.  When I asked the meaning of this, they
showed me a triangle. At the top was crimson, at
the right hand blue, and at the left hand yellow.
And they said,'Know ye not that all life is threefold!' It was a dark saying; but I then thought I
faintly comprehended what Pythagoras has written
concerning the mysterious signification of One and
Three.  Many other things I saw  and heard, but
was forbidden to relate. The gate of the temple was
an arch, supported by two figures with heavy drapery,
eyes closed, and arms folded. They told me these
were Sleep and Death. Over the gate was written
in large letters,'The Entrance of Mortals.' Beyond
it, I saw you standing with outstretched arms, as if
you sought to come to me, but could not. The air
was filled with voices, that sung:
Come! join thy kindred spirit, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!
When Sleep hath passed, thy dreams remainWhat he hath brought, Death brings again.
Come hither, kindred spirits, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!




210             PHI LOT HE A.
I tried to meet you; but as I passed through the
gate, a cold air blew upon me, and all beyond was
in the glimmering darkness of twilight. I would
have returned, but the gate had closed; and I heard
behind me the sound of harps and of voices, singing:
Come hither, kindred spirits, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!"
Philothea kissed his hand, and her face beamed
with joy. She had earnestly desired some promise
of their future union; and now she felt the prayer
was answered.
"Could it be a dream?" said Paralus: " Methinks
I hear the music now."
Philothea smiled affectionately, as she replied:
"When sleep hath passed, thy dreams remain."
As she gazed upon him, she observed that the
supernatural expression of his eyes had changed;
and that his countenence now wore its familiar,
household smile. Still she feared to cherish the hope
springing in her heart, until he looked toward the
place where her attendant sat, motionless and silent,
and said, " Milza, will you bring me the lyre?"
The affectionate peasant looked earnestly at Philothea, and wept as she placed it in his hand.
Making an effort to rise, he seemed surprised at his
own weakness.  They gently raised him, bolstered
him with pillows, and told him he had long been ill.
"I have not known it," he replied.  "It seems to
me I have returned from a far country."
He touched the lyre, and easily recalled the tune
which he said he had learned in the Land of Dreams.




P HILO T H EA.              211
It was a wild, unearthly strain, with sounds of solemn
gladness, that deeply affected Philothea's soul.
Pericles had not visited his son since his return to
perfect consciousness. When he came, Paralus looked
upon him with a smile of recognition, and said, "My
father!"
Milza had been sent to call the heart-stricken parent,
and prepare him for some favourable change; but
when he heard those welcome words, he dropped
suddenly upon his knees, buried his face in the drapery of the couch, and his whole frame shook with
emotion.
The invalid continued: "They tell me I have been
very ill, dear father; but it appears to me that I have
only travelled. I have seen Anaxagoras often-Plato
sometimes-and Philothea almost constantly; but 1
have never seen you, since I thought you were dying
of the plague at Athens."
Pericles replied, "You have indeed been ill, my
son. You are to me as the dead restored to life.
But you must be quiet now, and seek repose."
For some time after the interview with his father,
Paralus remained very wakeful. His eyes sparkled,
and a feverish flush was on his cheek. Philothea
took her cithara, and played his favourite tunes.
This seemed to tranquilize him; and as the music
grew more slow and plaintive, he became drowsy,
and at length sunk into a gentle slumber.
After more than two hours of deep repose, he was
awakened by the merry shouts of little Zoila, who
had run out to meet Plato, as he came from Olympia.
Philothea feared, lest the shrill noise had given him
18*




212             PHILOTH EA.
pain; but he smiled, and said, "The voice of childhood is pleasant."
He expressed a wish to see his favourite philosopher; and their kindred souls held long and sweet
communion together. When Plato retired from the
couch, he said to Philothea, "I have learned more
from this dear wanderer, than philosophers or poets
have ever written. I am confirmed in my belief that
no impelling truth is ever learned in this world; but
that all is received directly from the Divine Ideal,
flowing into the soul of man when his reason is obedient and still."
A basket of grapes, tastefully ornamented with
flowers, was presented to the invalid; and in answer
to his inquiries, he was informed that they were prepared by Eudora.  He immediately desired that she
might be called; and when she came, he received
her with the most cordial affection. He alluded to
past events with great clearness of memory, and
asked his father several questions concerning the
condition of Athens. When Philothea arranged his
pillows and bathed his head, he pressed her hand affectionately, and said, "It almost seems as if you
were my wife."
Pericles, deeply affected, replied, " My dear son,
she is your wife. She forgot all my pride, and consented to marry you, that she might become your
nurse, when we all feared that you would be restored
to us no more."
Paralus looked up with a bright expression of
gratitude, and said, "I thank you, father.  This
was very kind. Now you will be her father, when
I am gone."




PH ILOTHEA.                 213
Perceiving that Pericles and Eudora wept, he
added: "Do not mourn because I am soon to depart. Why would ye detain my soul in this world 
Its best pleasures are like the shallow gardens of
Adonis, fresh and fair in the morning, and perishing
at noon."
He then repeated his last vision, and asked for the
lyre, that they might hear the music he had learned
from immortal voices.
There was melancholy beauty in the sight of one
so pale and thin, touching the lyre with an inspired
countenance, and thus revealing to mortal ears the
melodies of Heaven.
One by one his friends withdrew; being tenderly
solicitous that he should not become exhausted by
interviews prolonged beyond his strength. He was
left alone with Philothea; and many precious words
were spoken, that sunk deep into her heart, never to
be forgotten.
But sleep departed from his eyes; and it soon became evident that the soul, in returning to its union
with the body, brought with it a consciousness of
corporeal suffering. This became more and more
intense; and though he uttered no complaint, he
said to those who asked him, that bodily pain seemed
at times too powerful for endurance.
Pericles had for several days remained under the
same roof, to watch the progress of recovery; but at
midnight, he was called to witness convulsive struggles, that indicated approaching death.
During intervals of comparative ease, Paralus recognized his afflicted parent, and conjured him to
think less of the fleeting honours of this world,




214               PHILOTHEA.
which  often eluded  the grasp, and were always
worthless in the possession.
He held Philothea's hand continually, and often
spoke to her in words of consolation. Immediately
after an acute spasm of pain had subsided, he asked
to be turned upon his right side, that he might see
her face more distinctly. As she leaned over him, he
smiled faintly, and imprinted a kiss upon her lips.
He remained tranquil, with his eyes fixed upon hers;
and a voice within impelled her to sing:
Come hither, kindred spirits, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!
He looked upward with a radiant expression, and
feebly pressed her hand. Not long after, his eyelids
closed, and sleep seemed to cover his features with
her heavy veil.
Suddenly his countenance shone with a strange
and impressive beauty.  The soul had departed to
return to earth no more.
In all his troubles, Pericles had never shed a tear;
but now he rent the air with his groans, and sobbed,
like a mother bereft of her child.
Philothea, though deeply bowed down in spirit,
was more composed: for she heard angelic voices
singing:
When sleep hath passed, thy dreams remainWhat he hath brought, Death brings again.
Come hither, kindred spirits, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!




PHIL O T IHE A.                215
CHAPTER XVI.
Thus a poor father, helpless and undone,
Mourns o'er the ashes of an only son;
Takes a sad pleasure the last bones to burn,
And pour in tears, ere yet they close the urn.
HOMER.
OF the immense concourse collected together at
Olympia, each one pursued his pleasure, or his interest, in the way best suited to his taste. Alcibiades
was proud of giving a feast corresponding in magnificence to the chariots he had brought into the course.
Crowds of parasites flattered him  and the other
victors, to receive invitations in return; while a generous few sympathized with the vanquished. Merchants
were busy forming plans for profitable negociation,
and statesmen were eagerly watching every symptom of jealousy between rival states and contending
parties.
One, amid that mass of human hearts, felt so little
interest in all the world could offer, that she seemed
already removed beyond its influence.  Philothea
had herself closed the eyes of her husband, and
imprinted her last kiss upon his lips. Bathed in
pure water, and perfumed with ointment, the lifeless
form of Paralus lay wrapped in the robe he had been
accustomed to wear.  A wreath of parsley encircled
his head, and flowers were strewn around him  in
profusion.
In one hand was placed an obolus, to pay the ferryman that rowed him across the river of death; and
in the other, a cake made of honey and flour, to




216             PHI L O T H  A.
appease the triple-headed dog, which guarded the
entrance to the world of souls.
The bereaved wife sat by his side, and occasionally
renewed the garlands, with a quiet and serene expression, as if she still found happiness in being
occupied for him who had given her his heart in the
innocence and freshness of its childhood.
The food prepared by Milza's active kindness was
scarcely tasted; except when she observed the tears
of her faithful attendant, and sought to soothe her
feelings with characterestic tenderness.
The event soon became universally known; for
the hair of the deceased, consecrated to Persephone,
and a vase of water at the threshold, proclaimed
tidings of death within the dwelling.
Many of the assembled multitude chose to remain
until the funeral solemnities were past; some from
personal affection for Paralus, others from respect to
the son of Pericles.
Plato sent two large vases, filled with wine and
honey; Eudora provided ointments and perfumes;
Alcibiades presented a white cloak, richly embroidered with silver; and the young men of Athens,
present at the games, gave a silver urn, on which
were sculptured weeping genii, with their torches
turned downward.
Enveloped in his glittering mantle, and covered
with flowers, the form of Paralus remained until the
third day. The procession, which was to attend the
body to the funeral pile, formed at morning twilight;
for such was the custom with regard to those who
died in their youth.  Philothea followed the bier,
dressed in white, with a wreath of roses and myrtle




P H I L O T H E A.          217
around her head, and a garland about the waist.
She chose this beautiful manner to express her joy
that his pure spirit.had passed into Elysium.
At the door of the house, the nearest relatives
addressed the inanimate form, so soon to be removed
from the sight of mortals. In tones of anguish, almost
amounting to despair, Pericles exclaimed: "Oh, my
son! my son! Why didst thou leave us? Why wast
thou, so richly gifted of the gods, to be taken from
us in thy youth? Oh, my son, why was I left to
mourn for thee "
Instead of the usual shrieks and lamentations of
Grecian women, Philothea said, in sad, heart-moving
accents: "Paralus, farewell! Husband of my youth,
beloved of my heart, farewell!"
Then the dead was carried out; and the procession
moved forward, to the sound of many voices and
many instruments, mingled in a loud and solemn
dirge.  The body of Paralus was reverently laid
upon the funeral pile, with the garments he had been
accustomed to wear; his lyre and Phrygian flute;
and vases filled with oil and perfumes.
Plentiful libations of wine, honey, and milk were
poured upon the ground, and the mourners smote
the earth with their feet, while they uttered supplications to Hermes, Hecate, and Pluto. Pericles applied
the torch to the pile, first invoking the aid of Boreas
and Zephyrus, that it might consume quickly. As
the flames rose, the procession walked slowly three
times around the pile, moving toward the left hand.
Tha solemn dirge was resumed, and continued until
the last flickering tongue of fire was extinguished
with wine. Then those who had borne the silver




218              PHIL   T H EA.
urn in front of the hearse, approached. Pericles,
with tender reverence, gathered the whitened bones,
sprinkled them with wine and perfumes, placed them
within the urn, and covered it with a purple pall,
inwrought with gold; which Philothea's prophetic
love had prepared for the occasion.
The procession again moved forward, with torches
turned downward; and the remains of Paralus were
deposited in the Temple of Persephone, until his
friends returned to Athens.
In token of gratitude for kind attentions bestowed
by the household of Proclus, Pericles invited his
family to visit the far-famed wonders of the violetcrowned city; and the eager solicitations of young
Pterilaiis induced the father to accept this invitation
for himself and son. As an inhabitant of consecrated
Elis, without wealth, and unknown to fame, it was
deemed that he might return in safety, even after
hostilities were renewed between the Peloponessian states. Eudora likewise obtained permission
to accompany her friend; and her sad farewell was
cheered by an indefinite hope that future times would
restore her to that quiet home. The virtuous Melissa
parted from them with many blessings and tears.
Zoila was in an agony of childish sorrow; but she
wiped her eyes with the corner of her robe, and listened, well pleased, to Eudora's parting promise of
sending her a flock of marble sheep, with a painted
wooden shepherd.
The women travelled together in a chariot, in
front of which reposed the silver urn, covered with
its purple pall.  Thus sadly did Philothea return
through the same scenes she had lately traversed




PHILO THE A.                219
with hopes, which, in the light of memory, now
seemed like positive enjoyment.  Pericles indeed
treated her with truly parental tenderness; and no
soothing attention, that respect or affection could
suggest, was omitted by her friends. But he, of
whose mysterious existence her own seemed a necessary portion, had gone to return no more; and had
it not been for the presence of Eudora, she would
have felt that every bond of sympathy with this
world of forms had ceased forever.
At Corinth, the travellers again turned aside to
the Fountain of Poseidon, that the curiosity of Pterilaus might be satisfied with a view of the statues by
which it was surrounded.
" When we are in Athens, I will show you something more beautiful than  these," said Pericles.
" You shall see the Pallas Athenae, carved by Phidias."
" Men say it is not so grand as the statue of Zeus,
that we have at Olympia," replied the boy.
" Had you rather witness the sports of the gymnasia than the works of artists' inquired Plato.
The youth answered very promptly, "Ah, no indeed. I would rather gain one prize from the Choragus, than ten from the Gymnasiarch. Anniceris,
the Cyrenaean, proudly displayed his skill in chariotdriving, by riding several times around the Academia, each time preserving the exact orbit of his
wheels.  The spectators applauded  loudly; but
Plato said,' He who has bestowed such diligence to
acquire trifling and useless things, must have neglected those that are truly admirable.' Of all sights
19




220             PHI L   THEA.
in Athens, I most wish to see the philosophers; and
none so much as Plato."
The company smiled, and the philosopher answered, "I am Plato."
"You told us that your name was Aristocles," returned Pterilais; "and we always called you so.
Once I heard that Athenian lady call you Plato; and
I could not understand why she did so."
" I was named Aristocles for my grandfather," answered the philosopher; "and when I grew older,
men called me Plato."
" But you cannot be the Plato that I mean," said
Pterilais; "for you carried my little sister Zoila on
your shoulders-and played peep with her among
the vines; and when I chased you through the
fields, you ran so fast that I could not catch you."
The philosopher smiled, as he replied, "Nevertheless, I am Plato; and they call me by that name,
bmaxie my shoulders art bload enough to tatty
little children."
The boy still insisted that he alluded to another
Plato.  "I mean the philosopher, who teaches in
the groves of Academus," continued he. " I knew a
freedman of his, who said he never allowed himself
to be angry, or to speak in a loud voice. He never
but once raised his hand to strike him; and that was
because he had mischievously upset a poor old woman's basket of figs; feeling that he was in a passion, he suddenly checked himself, and stood perfectly still. A friend coming in asked him what he was
doing; and the philosopher replied,'I am punishing
an angry man.'
"Speusippus, his sister's son, was such a careless,




PHILOTHEA.                   221
indecent; and boisterous youth, that his parents could
not control him. They sent him to his uncle Plato,
who received him in a friendly manner, and forbore
to reproach him. Only in his own example he was
always modest and placid. This so excited the admiration of Speusippus, that a love of philosophy
was kindled within him.  Some of his relatives
blamed Plato, because he did not chastise the impertinent youth; but he replied,' There is no reproof so
severe as to show him, by the manner of my own
life, the contrast between virtue and baseness.'That is the Plato I want you to show me, when we
are in Athens."
Proclus, perceiving a universal smile, modestly
added, by way of explanation: " My son means him
whom men call the divine Plato. He greatly desires
to see that philosopher, of whom it is said Socrates
dreamed, when he first received him as his pupil.
In his dream he saw a swan without wings, that
came and sat upon his bosom; and soon after, its
wings grew, and it flew high up in the air, with melodious notes, alluring all who heard it."
Pericles laid his hand on the philosopher's shoulder,
and smiling, answered, " My unbelieving friend, this
is the teacher of Academus; this is the divine Plato;
this is the soaring swan, whose melodious notes allure
all that hear him."
Proclus was covered with confusion, but still seemed half incredulous.  "What would Melissa say,"
exclaimed he, " if she knew that her frolicsome little
plaything, Zoila, had been rude enough to throw
flowers at the divine Plato."
" Nay, my friend," replied the disciple of Socrates,




222             P H I L O T H E A.
-what better could a philosopher desire, than to be
pelted with roses by childhood?"
Eudora looked up with an arch expression; and
Philothea smiled as she said,  r This is a new version
of unknown Phcebus tending the flocks of Admetus."
Pterilaiis seemed utterly confounded by a discovery so unexpected. It was long before he regained
his usual freedom; and from time to time he was
observed to fix a scrutinizing gaze on the countenance of Plato, as if seeking to read the mystery of
his hidden greatness.
As the travellers approached Athens, they were
met by a numerous procession of magistrates, citizens, and young men bearing garlands, which they
heaped on the urn in such profusion that it resembled
a pyramid of flowers.  They passed the chariots
with their arms and ensigns of office all reversed;
then turned and followed to the abode of Pericles,
singing dirges as they went, and filling the air with
the melancholy music of the Mysian flute.
The amiable character of the deceased, his genius,
the peculiar circumstances attending his death, and
the accumulated afflictions of his illustrious parent,
all combined to render it an impressive scene. Even
the gay selfishness of Alcibiades was subdued into
reverence, as he carefully took the urn from the
chariot, and gave it to attendants, who placed it
beside the household altar.
Early the next morning, a procession again formed
to convey the ashes of Paralus to the sepulchre of
his fathers; called, in the beautiful language of the
Greeks, a Place of Sleep.
When the urn was again brought forth, Philothea's




P H I L O T H E A.          2,3
long golden hair covered it, like a mantle of sunbeams.  During his life-time, these shining tresses
had been peculiarly dear to him; and in token of her
love, she placed them on his grave. Her white robe
was changed for coarse black garments; and instead
of flowery wreaths, a long black veil covered the
beautiful head, from which its richest ornament had
just been severed. She had rejoiced for his happy
spirit, and now she mourned her own widowed lot.
At the sepulchre, Pericles pronounced a funeral
oration on the most gifted, and best-beloved of his
children. In the evening, kindred and friends met
at his house to partake a feast prepared for the occasion; and every guest had something to relate concerning the genius and the virtues of him who slept.
A similar feast was prepared in the apartments of
the women, where Philothea remained silent and
composed; a circumstance that excited no small degree of wonder and remark, among those who measured affection by the vehemence of grief.
As soon as all ceremonies were completed, she obtained leave to return to her early home, endeared
by many happy scenes; and there, in the stillness
of her own heart, she held communion with the
dear departed.
19*




224              P H I L OT H E A.
CHAPTER XVII.
There await me till I die; prepare
A mansion for me, as again with me
To dwell; for in thy tomb will I be laid,
In the same cedar, by thy side composed:
For e'en in death I will not be disjoined.
EURIPIDES.
IT soon became evident that a great change had
taken place in Philothea's health. Some attributed
it to the atmosphere of Athens, still infected with the
plague; others supposed it had its origin in the death
of Paralus.  The widowed one, far from cherishing
her grief, made a strong effort to be cheerful; but
her gentle smile, like moonlight in a painting, retained its sweetness when the life was gone. There
was something in this perfect stillness of resignation
more affecting than the utmost agony of sorrow. She
complained of no illness, but grew thinner and thinner, like a cloud gradually floating away, and retaining its transparent beauty to the last.  Eudora
lavished the most affectionate attentions upon her
friend, conscious that she was merely strewing flowers in her pathway to the tomb.
A few weeks after their return to Athens, she said,
" Dearest Eudora, do you remember the story of the
nymph Erato, who implored the assistance of Arcas,
when the swelling torrent threatened to carry away
the tree over which she presided, and on whose preservation her life depended?"
"I remember it well," replied Eudora: " Dione
told it to me when I was quite a child; and I could
never after see a tree torn by the lightning, or car



P H I L 0 T H EA.               225
tied away by the flood, or felled by the woodman,
without a shrinking and shivering feeling, lest some
gentle, fair-haired Dryad had perished with it."
Philothea answered, " Thus was I affected, when
my grandfather first read to me Hesiod's account
of the Muses:
Far round, the dusky earth
Rings with their hymning voices; and beneath
Their many-rustling feet a pleasant sound
Ariseth, as they take their onward way
To their own father's presence.'
" I never after could hear the quivering of summer
leaves, or the busy hum of insects, without thinking
it was the echoed voices of those'Thrice three sacred maids, whose minds are knit
In harmony; whose only thought is song.'
" There is a deep and hidden reason why the heart
loves to invest every hill, and stream, and tree, with
a mysterious principle of life.  All earthly forms
are but the clothing of some divine ideal; and this
truth we feel, though we know it not. But when I
spoke of Arcus and the Wood Nymph, I was thinking that Paralus had been the tree, on whose existence
my own depended; and that now he was removed,
I should not long remain."
Eudora burst into a passionate flood of tears. "Oh,
dearest Philothea, do not speak thus," she said. " I
shall indeed be left alone in the world.  Who will
guide me, who will protect me, who will love me
when you are gone?"
Her friend endeavoured to calm  these agitated
feelings, by every soothing art her kindness could
suggest.




226              P H I L O T H E A.
"I would rather suffer much in silence, than to
give you unnecessary pain," she replied, affectionately: "but I ought not to conceal from you that I
am about to follow my beloved husband.  In a short
time, I shall not have sufficient strength to impart
all I have to say.  You will find my clothing and
jewels done up in parcels, bearing the names of those
for whom they are intended.  My dowry returns to
Chrysippus, who gave it; but Pericles has kindly
given permission that everything else should be disposed of according to my own wishes. Several of my
grandfather's manuscripts, and a copy of Herodotus,
which I transcribed while I was in Ionia, are my
farewell gifts to him. When the silver tripod, which
Paralus gained as a prize for the best tragedy exhibited during the Dionysia, is returned to his father's
house, let them be placed within it.  The statue of
Persephone, (that ominous bridal gift,) and the ivory
lyre bestowed by Aspasia, are placed in his trust for
the youthful Pericles; together with all the books
and garments that belonged to his departed brother.
In token of gratitude for the parental care of Clinias
and his wife, I have bestowed on them the rich tripod
received from Heliodora. In addition to the trifling
memorials I have already sent to Melissa, and her
artless little Zoila, you will find others prepared for
you to deliver, when restored to your peaceful home
in Elis. To my faithful Milza I have given all the
garments and household goods suited toher condition.
My grandfather's books have been divided, as he requested, between Plato and Philaemon; the silver
harp and the ivory tablet are likewise designed for
them.  Everything else belongs to you, dearest




PH I LO T H EA.             227
Eudora. Among many tokens of my affection, you
will not value least the ivory cup lined with silver,
which Philaemon gave me when he departed from
Athens. The clasp, representing the Naiades binding Eros in garlands, will, I trust, be worn at your
marriage with Philaemon."
With tearfil eyes, Eudora answered, "Oh, Philothea! in the days of my pride and gayety, I little
knew what a treasure I threw from me, when I lost
Philaemon's love. Had it not been for my own perverse folly, I should at this moment be his happy,
honoured wife. The hope of his forgiveness is now
the only gleam of sunshine in a world of gloom; but
I hardly dare to cherish it."
Philothea kissed her affectionately, and said, " Believe me, you will yet be united. Of this, there is an
impression on my mind too strong to admit of doubt.
If at times you are tempted to despond, remember
these words were uttered by your friend, when she
drew near the confines of another world: you will
be united to Philaemon."
As she spoke, Milza, who was occupied in the
next apartment, sneezed aloud. The sound was at
Eudora's right hand, and she received the auspicious
omen with a sudden thrill of joy.
Philothea observed her emotion with a gentle
smile, and added: " When we were at Elis, I wrote
an epistle to Philaemon, in which I spoke of you as
my heart dictated; and Artaphernes found opportunity to send it directly into Persia."
The maiden blushed deeply and painfully, as she
replied, " Nay, my dearest friend-you know that I
must appear contemptible in his eyes; and I would




228             P II I L 0 T  E  A.
not have insulted him with the offer of a heart, which
he has reason to believe is so capricious and ungrateful."
" Trust me, I said nothing whereby your modesty
might be wounded," answered Philothea: " I wrote,
as I was moved; and I felt strong assurance that my
words would waken a response in Philaemon's heart.
But there is one subject, on which my mind is filled
with foreboding. I hope you will leave Athens as
soon as it is safe to return to Elis."
"Do you then fear that I would again dance over a
pit, because it was artfully covered with garlands?"
said Eudora.  " Believe me, I have been tried with
too many sorrows, and too long been bowed under a
load of shame, to be again endangered by such
treacherous snares."
Philothea looked upon her affectionately, as she
replied: "You are good and pure; but you have
ever been like a loving and graceful vine, ready to
cling to its nearest support."
"'Tis you have made me so," rejoined Eudora,
kissing her pale cheek: " To you I have always applied for advice and instruction; and when you gave
it, I felt confident and happy, as if led by the gods."' Then so much the more need that I should caution the weakness I have produced," responded Philothea.  "Should Aspasia gain access to you, when
I am gone, she will try to convince you that happiness consists not in the duties we perform, but in the
distinction we acquire; that my hopes of Elysium
are all founded on fable; that my beloved Paralus
has returned to the elements of which he was composed; that he nourishes the plants, and forms some




P 1l i L O T i E A.          229
of the innumerable particles of the atmosphere.  I
have seen him in my dreams, as distinctly, as I
ever saw him; and I believe the same power that
enabled me to see him when these poor eyes were
veiled in slumber, will restore him to my vision
when they are closed in eternal sleep. Aspasia will
tell you I have been a beautiful but idle dreamer all
my life. If you listen to her syren tongue, the secret
guiding voice will be heard no more. She will make
evil appear good, and good evil, until your soul will
walk in perpetual twilight, unable to perceive the
real size and character of any object."
Never," exclaimed Eudora.  "Never could she
induce me to believe you an idle dreamer.  Moreover, she will never again have opportunity to exert
influence over me. The conversation I heard between her and Alcibiades is too well impressed upon
my memory; and while that remains ulforgotten, I
shall shun them both, as I would shun a pestilence."
Philothea answered: " I do indeed believe that no
blandishments will now make you a willing victim.
But I have a secret dread of the character and power
of Alcibiades. It is his boast that he never relinquishes a pursuit. I have often heard Pericles speak
of his childish obstinacy and perseverance. He was
one day playing at dice with other boys, when a
loaded wagon came near.  In a commanding tone,
he ordered the driver to stop; and finding his injunctions disregarded, he laid down before the horses'
feet, and told him to go on if he dared. The same
character remains with him now. He will incur any
hazard for the triumph of his own will. From his
youth, he has been a popular idol; a circumstance




230              P H ILOT H E A.
which has doubtless increased the requirements of
his passions, without diminishing the stubbornness
of his temper.  Milza tells me he has already inquired of her concerning your present residence and
future intentions. Obstacles will only increase his
eagerness and multiply his artifices.
" I have asked Clinias, whose dwelling is so closely
connected with our own, to supply the place of your
distant guardian, while you remain in Athens.  In
Pericles you might likewise trust, if he were not so
fatally under the influence of Aspasia. Men think
so lightly of these matters, I sometimes fear they
might both regard the persecutions of Alcibiades too
trivial for their interference. For these reasons I
wish you to return to Elis as soon as possible when
I am gone."
Eudora's countenance kindled with indignation, as
she listened to what Milza had told. In broken and
contrite tones, she answered; " Philothea, whatever
trials I may suffer, my former folly deserves them all.
But rest assured, whenever it pleases the gods to remove your counsel and protection, I will not abide in
Athens a single hour after it is possible to leave with
safety."
" I find consolation in that assurance," replied Philothea; "and I have strong belief that a divine shield
will guard you from  impending evil. And now I
will go to my couch; for I am weary, and would
fain be lulled with music."
Eudora tenderly arranged the pillows, and played
a succession of sweet and plaintive tunes, familiar to
their childhood. Her friend listened with an expression of tranquil pleasure, slowly keeping time by the




PHILOTHEA.                    231
motion of her fingers, until she sunk into a peaceful
sleep.
After long and sweet repose, she awoke suddenly,
and looking up with a beaming glance, exclaimed,
"I shall follow him soon!"
Eudora leaned over the couch, to inquire why she
had spoken in such delighted accents.
Philothea answered: " I dreamed that I sat upon
a bank of violets, with Paralus by my side; and he
wove a garland and placed it on my head. Suddenly, golden sounds seemed floating in the air, melting
into each other with liquid melody. It was such a
scene as Paralus often described, when his soul lived
apart from the body, and only returned at intervals,
to bring strange tidings of its wanderings. I turned
to tell him so; and I saw that we were both clothed
in garments that shone like woven sunbeams. Then
voices above us began to sing:
Come hither, kindred spirits, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one!'
"Even after I awoke, I seemed to hear the chorus
distinctly. It sounded like the voice of Paralus in
his youth, when we used to sing together, to please
my grandfather, as he sat by the side of that little
sheltered brook, over whose bright waters the trees
embrace each other in silent love.  Dearest Eudora,
I shall soon follow him."
The maiden turned away to conceal her tears; for
resignation to this bereavement seemed too hard a
lesson for her suffering heart.
For several weeks, there was no apparent change
in Philothea's health or spirits. The same sad se20




232              PHILOTHEA.
renity remained-perpetually exciting the compassion it never seemed to ask. Each day the children
of the neighbourhood brought their simple offering
of flowers, with which she wove fresh garlands for
the tomb of Paralus.  When no longer able to visit
the sepulchre herself, she intrusted them to the youthful Pericles, who reverently placed them  on his
brother's urn.
The elder Pericles seemed to find peculiar solace
in the conversation of his widowed daughter. Scarcely a day passed without an interview between them,
and renewed indications of his affectionate solicitude.
He came one day, attended by his son, on whom
his desolated heart now bestowed a double portion
of paternal love.  They remained a long time, in
earnest discourse; and when they departed, the boy
was in tears.
Philothea, with feeble steps, followed them to the
portico, and gazed after them, as long as she could
see a fold of their garments. As she turned to lean
on Eudora's arm, she said, " It is the last time I shall
ever see them. It is the last. I have felt a sister's
love for that dear boy.  His heart is young and innocent."
For a few hours after, she continued to talk with
unusual animation, and her eyes beamed with an
expression of inspired earnestness. At her request,
Geta and Milza were called; and the faithful servants
listened with mournful gratitude to her parting words
of advice and consolation.
At evening twilight, Eudora gave her a bunch of
flowers, sent by the youthful Pericles.  She took
them with a smile, and said, " How fragrant is their




PHIL OTH EA.                 233
breath, and how beautiful their colours! I have heard
that the Persians write their music in colours; and
Paralus spoke the same concerning music in the
spirit-world. Perchance there was heavenly melody
written on this fair earth in the age of innocence;
but mortals have now forgotten its language." Perceiving Eudora's thoughtful countenance, she said:
lIs my gentle friend disturbed, lest infant nymphs
closed their brief existence when these stems were
broken T"
"Nay;" replied Eudora: "My heart is sad; but
not for the perished genii of the flowers."
Philothea understood the import of her words; and
pressing her hand affectionately, said, "Your love
has been as balm to my lonely heart; and let that
remembrance comfort you, when I go hence. Listen
in stillness to the whispered warnings of your attendant spirit, and he will never leave you. I am weary;
and would fain repose on your affectionate bosom."
Eudora gently placed her head as she desired; and
carefully supporting the precious burden, she began
to sing, in low and soothing tones.
After some time, the quiet and regular respiration
of the breath announced that the invalid had fallen
into tranquil slumber.  Milza came, to ask if the
lamps were wanted; but receiving a silent signal
from Eudora, she crept noiselessly away.
For more than an hour, there was perfect stillness,
as the shades of evening deepened. All at once, the
room was filled with soft, clear light! Eudora turned
her head quickly, to discover whence it came; but
could perceive no apparent cause for the sudden
radiance.




234               PHILO TH E A.
With an undefined feeling of awe, she looked in
the countenance of her friend. It was motionless as
marble; but never had she seen anything so beautiful, and so unearthly.
As she gazed, doubting whether this could indeed
be death, there was a sound of music in the airdistinct, yet blended, like the warbling of birds in the
spring-time.
It was the tune Paralus had learned from celestial
harps; and even after the last note floated away,
Eudora seemed to hear the well-remembered words:
Come hither, kindred spirit, come!
Hail to the mystic two in one*




PH I LO T H EA.              235
CHAPTER XVIII.
Take courage I no vain dream hast thou beheld,
But in thy sleep a truth.
HOMER.
AT the time of Philothea's death, Pandaenus, the
nephew of Phidias, was in Athens, intending soon to
return to Elis, in company with an ambassador bound
to Lacedaemron; and Eudora resolved to avail herself of this opportunity to follow the farewell advice
of her friend. As the time for departure was near at
hand, no change was made in household arrangements; and though the desolate maiden at times experienced sensations of extreme loneliness, the near
vicinity of Clinias and Phoenarete left her no fears
concerning adequate protection.
This confidence seemed well grounded; yet not
many days after the funeral solemnities, Eudora
suddenly disappeared.  She had gone out, as usual,
to gather flowers for the tomb of the beloved sleeper;
and not finding sufficient variety in the garden, had
wandered into a small field adjoining. Milza was
the first to observe that her absence was unusually
protracted.  She mentioned her anxiety to Geta,
who immediately went out in search of his yo.ng
mistress; but soon returned, saying she was neither
in the house of Clinias, nor in the neighbouring
fields, nor at the Fountain of Callirhoe.
The faithful attendants at once suspected treachery in Alcibiades.  " I never rightly understood what
was the difficulty, when Eudora was locked up in
her chamber, and Lucos chained to the door," said
20*




236             PH ILO THEA.
Geta; "but from what I could hear, I know that
Phidias was very angry with Alcibiades. Many a
time I've heard him say that he would always have
his own way, either by a straight course or a crooked one."
"And my good old master used to say he had
changed but little since he was a boy, when he made
the wagoner turn back, by lying down in front of his
horses," rejoined Milza: "I thought of that, when
Alcibiades came and drank at the Fountain, while I
was filling my urn. You remember I told you that
he just tasted of the water, for a pretence, and then
began to inquire where Eudora was, and whether
she would remain in Athens."
After some further consultation, it was deemed
best for Milza to request a private interview with
Phcenarete, during which she freely expressed her
fears. The wife of Clinias, though connected by
marriage with the house of Alcibiades, was far from
resenting the imputation, or pretending that she considered it groundless. Her feelings were at once excited for the lonely orphan girl, whose beauty, vivacity, and gentleness, had won upon her heart;
and she readily promised assistance in any plan for
her relief, provided it met the approbation of her
husband.
There was in Salamis a large mansion built by
Eurysaces, the ancestor of Alcibiades, by whom it
had been lately purchased, and repaired for a summer residence. Report said that many a fair maiden
had been decoyed within its walls, and retained a
prisoner. This place was guarded by several powerful dogs, and vigilant servants were always sta



P H I L O T HE A.            237
tioned at the gates. Milza proposed to disguise herself as much as possible, and, with a basket on her
head, go thither to offer fish for sale. Geta, being
afraid to accompany her, hired an honest boatman
to convey her to the island, and wait till she was
ready to return to Athens.
As she approached the walls of the mansion, the
dogs began to growl, but were soon silenced by the
porters. Without answering the indecent jibes, with
which they greeted her ears as she passed along, the
little fish-woman balanced her basket on her head,
and began carelessly to sing some snatches of a
hymn to Amphitrite.  It was a tune of which Eudora was particularly fond; and often when Milza
was humming it over her work, her soft and sonorous voice had been heard responding from the inner
apartment.
She had scarcely finished the first verse, ere the
chorus was repeated by some one within the dwelling; and she recognized the half-suppressed growl
of Hylax, as if his barking had been checked by
some cautious hand.  Afraid to attract attention by
a prolonged stay, Milza passed along and entered the
servants' apartment.  Having sold a portion of her
fish, and lingered as long as she dared in conversation with the cooks, she returned slowly in the same
direction, singing as she went, and carefully observing everything around her. She was just beginning
to fear the impossibility of obtaining any solution of
her doubts, when she saw a leaf fluttering near the
ground, as if its motions were impelled by some
other cause than the wind. Approaching nearer, she
perceived that it was let down from a grated open



238              PHI L   T H E A.
ing in the wall t.bove, by a small thread, with a little ball of wax attached to it for a weight.  She examined the leaf, and discovered certain letters pricked
upon it; and when the string was pulled gently, it
immediately dropped upon her arm.  At the same
time, a voice, which she distinctly recognized as
Eudora's, was heard singing:
On a rock, amid the roaring water,
Lies Cassiopea's gentle daughter.
Milza had just begun to sing, "Bold Perseus
comes," when she perceived a servant crossing the
court, and deemed it prudent to retire in silence.
She carefully preserved the leaf, and immediately
after her return hastened to the apartment of Phcenarete, to obtain an explanation. That matron, like
most Grecian women, was ignorant of her own written language.  The leaf was accordingly placed in a
vessel of water, to preserve its freshness until Clinias
returned from  the Prytaneum.  He easily distinguished the name of Pandanus joined with his own;
and having heard the particulars of the story, had no
difficulty in understanding that Milza was directed
to apply to them for assistance. He readily promised
to intercede with his profligate kinsman, and immediately sent messengers in search of Pandaenus.
Geta awaited intelligence with  extreme  impatience.  He was grateful for many an act of kindness from Eudora; and he could not forget that she
had been the cherished favourite of his beloved and
generous master.
At night, Clinias returned from a conference with
Alcibiades, in which the latter denied all knowledge
of Eudora; and it seemed hazardous to institute




P H I LO T H E A.           239
legal inquiries into the conduct of a man so powerful
and so popular, without further evidence than had
yet been obtained. Pandaenus could not be found.
At the house where he usually resided, no information could be obtained, except that he went out on
the preceding evening, and had not returned as
usual.
During that night, and part of the following day,
the two faithful attendants remained in a state of
melancholy indecision. At last, Geta said, "I will
go once more in search of Pandaenus; and if he has
not yet returned, I have resolved what to do. Today I saw one of the slaves of Artaphernes buying
olives; and he said he must have the very best,
because his master was to give a feast to-night.
Among other guests, he spoke of Alcibiades; and he
is one that is always sure to stay late at his wine.
While he is feasting, I will go to Salamis. His
steward often bought anchovies of me at Phalerum.
He is a countryman of mine; and I know he is as
avaricious as an Odomantian. I think money will
bribe him to carry a message to Eudora, and to place
a ladder near the outer wall for her escape. He is
intrusted with all the keys, and can do it if he will.
And if he can get gold enough by it, I believe he will
trust Hermes to help him settle with his master, as
he has done many a time before this. I will be in
readiness at the Triton's Cove, and bring her back to
Athens as fast as oars can fly."
"Do so, dear Geta," replied Milza; "but disguise
yourself from the other servants, and take with you
the robe and veil that I wear to market. Then if
Eudora could only walk a little more like a fish



240             P II I LOT HE A.
woman, she might pass very well. But be sure you
do not pay the steward till you have her at the boat's
edge; for he that will play false games with his
master, may do the same by you."
Necessary arrangements were speedily made. Geta
resolved to offer the earnings of his whole life as a
bribe, rather than intrust the secret of his bold expedition to any of the household of Clinias; and Milza,
fearful that their own store would not prove a sufficient temptation, brought forth a sum of money found
in Eudora's apartment, together with a valuable
necklace, which had been a birth-day present from
Phidias.
It was past midnight when three figures emerged
from the shadow of the high wall surrounding the
mansion of Alcibiades, and with cautious haste proceeded toward the cove. Before they could arrive
at the beach, a large and gaily-trimmed boat was
seen approaching the shore, from the direction of the
Pirmeus. It was flaming with torches; and a band
of musicians poured out upon the undulating waters
a rich flood of melody, rendered more distinct and
soft by the liquid element over which it floated. One
of the fugitives immediately turned, and disappeared
within the walls they had left; the other two concealed themselves in a thick grove, the darkness of which
was deepened by the glare of torches along its borders. A man richly dressed, with several fillets oni
his head, and crowned with a garland of violets, ivy,
and myrtle, stepped from the boat, supported by the
arm of a slave. His countenance was flushed with
wine, and as he reeled along, he sung aloud:




P H i L 0 T H E A.              241' Have I told you all my flames,'Mong the amorous Syrian dames?
Have I numbered every one
Glowing under Egypt's sun?
Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet,
Deck the shrine of Love in CreteWhere the God, with festal play,
Holds eternal holiday?"
(Castor and Polydeuces!" whispered Geta, "there
goes Alcibiades.  He has returned from  his wine
earlier than usual; but so blinded by the merry god,
that he would not have known us, if we had faced
the glare of his torches."
"Oh, hasten! hasten!" said Eudora, weeping and
trembling, as she spoke.  "I beseech you do not let
a moment be lost."
As Alcibiades and his train disappeared, they left
the grove, and hurried toward their boat; keeping
as much as possible within the shadow of the trees.
They reached the cove in safety, and Geta rowed
with unwonted energy; but he was single-handed,
and Salamis was many stadia from  Athens.  Long
before he arrived at the place were he had been accustomed to land, they heard the sound of distant oars
plied with furious rapidity.
They landed, and with the utmost haste proceeded
toward the city. Eudora, fearful of being overtaken,
implored Geta to seek refuge behind the pillars of
Poseidon's temple.  Carefully concealing themselves
in the dense shadow, they remained without speaking, and almost without breathing, until their pursuers had passed by.  The moment these were out of
hearing, they quitted their hiding-place, and walked
swiftly along the Piroeus. Intense fear imparted a




242             P HILO T H EA.
degree of strength, which the maiden, under other
circumstances, would have hardly deemed it possible
to exert. She did not for a moment relax her speed,
until they came within sight of the Areopagus, and
heard noisy shouts, apparently not far distant. Eudora, sinking with fatigue and terror, entreated Geta
not to attempt any approach to the house of Clinias,
where her enemies would certainly be lying in wait
for them. With uncertain steps they proceeded toward the great Gate of the Acropolis, until the
helpless maiden, frightened at the approaching noise,
stopped suddenly, and burst into a flood of tears.
" There is one place of safety, if you have courage
to try it," said Geta: "We are nearly under the
Propylaea; and close beside us is the grotto of
Creiisa. Few dare to enter it in the day-time, and
no profane steps will venture to pass the threshold
after nightfall; for it is said the gods often visit it,
and fill it with strange sights and sounds. Shall we
enter 3"
It was a windy night, and the clouds that occasionally passed over the face of the moon gave the
earth a dreary aspect. The high wall under which
they stood seemed to frown gloomily upon them, and
the long flight of white marble steps, leading from
the Propylaea, looked cold and cheerless beneath the
fitful gleamings of the moon.
Eudora hesitated, and looked timidly around; but
as the sound of riotous voices came nearer, she
seized Geta's arm, and exclaimed, in hurried accents,' The gods protect me! Let us enter."
Within the grotto, all was total darkness. Having
groped their way a short distance from the entrance,




PHILOTHEA.                   243
they found a large rock, on which they seated themselves. The voices approached nearer, and their discordant revelry had an awful sound amid the echoes
of the grotto.  These gradually died away in the
distance, and were heard no more.When all was perfectly still, Eudora, in whispered
accents, informed Geta that she had been seized, as
she stooped to gather flowers within sight of her own
dwelling.  Two men suddenly started up from behind a wall, and one covered her mouth, while the
other bound her hands.  They made a signal to a
third, who came with two attendants and a curtained
chariot, in which she was immediately conveyed to a
solitary place on the seashore, and thence to Salamis.
Two men sat beside her, and held her fast, so as to
prevent any possibility of communication with the
few people passing at that early hour.
Arrived at the place of destination, she was shut
up in a large apartment, luxuriously furnished.  Alcibiades soon visited her, with an affectation of the
most scrupulous respect, urging the plea of ardent
love as an excuse for his proceedings.
Aware that she was completely in his power, she
concealed her indignation and contempt, and allowed
him to indulge the hope that her affections might be
obtained, if she were entirely convinced of his wish
to atone for the treachery and violence with which
she had been treated.
Milza's voice had been recognized the moment she
began to sing; and she at once conjectured the object
that led her thither.  But when hour after hour
passed without any tidings from Pandasnus or Clinias,
she was in a state of anxiety bordering on distrac21




244              PHILO TH EA.
tion; for she soon perceived sufficient indication that
the smooth hypocrisy of Alcibiades was assumed but
for a short period.
She had already determined on an effort to bribe
the servants, when the steward came stealthily to
her room, and offered to convey her to the Triton's
Cove, provided she would promise to double the sum
already offered by Geta. To this she eagerly assented, without even inquiring the amount; and he,
fearful of detection, scarcely allowed time-to throw
Milza's robe and veil over her own.
Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was
extremely anxious that Pandenus and Clinias should
be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the
morning dawned.  When Geta told her that Pandaenus had disappeared as suddenly as herself, and no
one knew whither, she replied, " This, too, is the
work of Alcibiades."
Their whispered conversation was stopped by the
barking of a dog, to which the echoes of the cavern
gave a frightful appearance of nearness.  Each instinctively touched the other's arm, as a signal for
silence. When all was again quiet, Geta whispered,
"It is well for us they were not witty enough to
bring Hylax with them; for the poor fellow would
certainly have betrayed us."   This circumstance
warned them of the danger of listeners, and few more
words were spoken.
The maiden, completely exhausted by the exertions she had made, laid her head on the shoulder of
her attendant, and slept until the morning twilight
became perceptible through the crevices of the rocks.
At the first approach of day, she implored Geta




PHIL OTHEA.                   245
to hasten to the house of Clinias, and ask his protection: for she feared to venture herself abroad, without the presence of some one whose rank and influetce would be respected by Alcibiades.
" Before I go," replied Geta, " let me find a secure
hiding-place for you; for though I shall soon return,
in the meantime those may enter whose presence
may be dangerous."
"You forget that this is a sacred place," rejoined
Eudora, in tones that betrayed fear struggling with
her confidence.
" There are men, with whom nothing is sacred,"
answered Geta; " and many such are now in Athens."
The cavern was deep, and wide. As they passed
along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues
of Phoebus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble.
At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of shields,
helmets, and spears, placed there by Miltiades, in
commemoration of his victory at Marathon.  It was
so formed as to be hollow in the centre, and Geta
proposed that the timid maiden should creep in at
the side, and stand upright.  She did so, and it
proved an effectual screen from head to foot.
Having taken this prudent precaution, the faithful
attendant departed, with a promise to return as soon
as possible. But hour after hour elapsed, and he
came not. As Eudora peeped through the chinks of
the trophy, she perceived from the entrance of the
cave glowing streaks of light, that indicated approaching noon.  Yet all remained still, save the
echoed din of noises in the city; and no one came to
her relief.
Not long after the sun had begun to decline from




246             PH I L  T H E A.
its meridian, two men entered, whom she recognized
as among the individuals that had seized and conveyed her to Salamis. As they looked carefully all
around the cave, Eudora held her breath, and her
heart throbbed violently. Perceiving no one, they
knelt for a moment before the altars, and hastily retreated, with indications of fear; for the accusations
of guilty minds were added to the usual terrors of
this subterranean abode of the gods.
The day was fading into twilight, when a feeble old
man came, with a garland on his head, and invoked
the blessing of Phoebus. He was accompanied by a
boy, who laid his offering of flowers and fruit on the
altar of Pan, with an expression of countenance that
showed how much he was alarmed by the presence
of that fear-inspiring deity.
After they had withdrawn, no other footsteps approached the sacred place. Anxiety of mind, and
bodily weariness, more than once tempted Eudora to
go out and mingle with the throng continually passing through the city. But the idea that Geta might
arrive, and be perplexed by her absence, combined
with the fear of lurking spies, kept her motionless,
until the obscurity of the grotto gave indication that
the shadows of twilight were deepening.
During the day, she had observed near the trophy
a heap of withered laurel branches and wreaths, with
which the altar and statue of Phoebus had been at
various times adorned. Overcome with fatigue, and
desirous to change a position, which from its uniformity had become extremely painful, she resolved to
lie down upon the rugged rock, with the sacred garlands for a pillow. She shuddered to remember the




P H IL o Tr  E A.            247
lizards and other reptiles she had seen crawling,
through the day; but the universal fear of entering
Creusa's grotto after nightfall, promised safety from
human intrusion; and the desolate maiden laid herself down to repose, in such a state of mind that she
would have welcomed a poisonous reptile, if it
brought the slumbers of death. It seemed to her
that she was utterly solitary and friendless; persecuted by men, and forsaken by the gods.
By degrees, all sounds died away, save the melancholy hooting of owls, mingled occasionally with the
distant barking and howling of dogs.  Alone, in stillness and total darkness, memory revealed herself
with wonderful power. The scenes of her childhood;
the chamber in which she had slept; figures she had
embroidered and forgotten; tunes that had been silent for years; thoughts and feelings long buried;
Philemon's smile; the serene countenance of Philothea; the death-bed of Phidias; and a thousand
other images of the past, came before her with all
the vividness of present reality. Exhausted in mind
and body, she could not long endure this tide of recollection. Covering her face with her hands, she
sobbed convulsively, as she murmured, " Oh, Philothea! why didst thou leave me?  My guide, my only
friend!'oh, where art thou!"
A gentle strain of music, scarcely audible, seemed
to make reply.  Eudora raised her head to listenand lo! the whole grotto was filled with light; so
brilliant that every feather in the arrow of Phoebus
might be counted, and the gilded horns and star of
Pan were radiant as the sun.
Her first thought was that she had slept until noon.
21*




248              PHILOTH EA.
She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the pedestal of
a statue, on which she distinctly read the inscription:
"Here Miltiades placed me, Pan, the goat-footed god
of Arcadia, who warred with the Athenians against
the Medes."
Frightened at the possibility of having overslept
herself, she started up, and was about to seek the
shelter of the trophy, when Paralus and Philothea
stood before her! They were clothed in bright garments, with garlands on their heads.  His arm was
about her waist, and hers rested on his shoulder.
There was a holy beauty in their smile, from which
a protecting influence seemed to emanate, that banished mortal fear.
In sweet, low tones, they both said, as if with one
voice, "Seek Artaphernes, the Persian."
" Dearest Philothea, I scarcely know his countenance," replied the maiden.
Again the bright vision repeated, " Seek Artaphernes, nothing doubting."
The sounds ceased; the light began to fade; it
grew more and more dim, till all was total darkness.
For a long time, Eudora remained intensely wakeful, but inspired with a new feeling of confidence
and hope, that rendered her oblivious of all earthly
cares. Whence it came, she neither knew nor asked;
for such states preclude all inquiry concerning their
own nature and origin.
After awhile, she fell into a tranquil slumber, in
which she dreamed of torrents crossed in safety, and
of rugged, thorny paths, that ended in blooming gardens. She was awakened by the sound of a troubled,
timid voice, saying, " Eudora! Eudora!"




P H I L OT H E A.            219
She listened a moment, and answered,   Is it you,
Milza?"' Oh, blessed be the sound of your voice," replied
the peasant.  " Where are you? Let me take your
hand; for I am afraid in this awful place."
" Don't be frightened, my good Milza. I have
had joyful visions here," rejoined the maiden. She
reached out her arms as she spoke, and perceived
that her companion trembled exceedingly.  " May
the gods protect us!" whispered she.; " but it is a
fearful thing to come here in the night-time. All the
gold of Crcesus would not have tempted me, if Geta
had not charged me to do it, to save you from
starving."
"You are indeed kind friends," said Eudora; " and
the only ones I have left in this world. If ever I get
safely back to Elis, you shall be to me as brother and
sister."
" Ah, dear lady," replied the peasant, " you have
ever been a good friend to us; —and there is one that
sleeps, who never spoke an ungentle word to any of
us. When her strength was almost gone, she bade
me love Eudora, even as I had loved her; an4 the
gods know that for her sake Milza would have died.
Phcebus protect me, but this is an awful place to
speak of those who sleep.  It must be near the
dawn; but it is fearfully dark here. Where is your
hand? I have brought some bread and figs, and
this little arabyllus of water mixed with Lesbian
wine. Eat; for you must be almost famished."
Eudora took the refreshment, but ere she tasted it,
inquired, " Why did not Geta come, as he promised?"
Milza began to weep.




250              P H I L o T H EA.
"Has evil befallen him?" said Eudora, in tones
of alarm.
The afflicted wife sobbed out, " Poor Geta! Poor,
dear Geta! I dreaded to come into this cavern; but
then I thought if I died, it would be well, if we could
but die together."
" Do tell me what has happened," said Eudora:
"Am I doomed to bring trouble upon all who love
me?  Tell re, I entreat you."
Milza, weeping as she spoke, then proceeded to
say that Alcibiades had discovered Eudora's escape
immediately after his return from the feast of Artaphernes.  He was in a perfect storm of passion, and
threatened every one of the servants with severe
punishment, to extort confession. The steward received a few keen lashes, notwithstanding his protestations of innocence. But he threatened to appeal to
the magistrates for another master; and Alcibiades,
unwiillng to lose the services of this bold and artful
slave, restrained his anger, even when it was at its
greatest height.
To appease his master's displeasure, the treacherous. fellow acknowledged that Geta had been seen
near the walls, and that his boat had been lying at
the Triton's Cove.
In consequence of this information, men were instantly ordered in pursuit, with orders to lie in wait
for the fugitives, if they could not be overtaken before
morning.  When Geta left Crciisa's Grotto, he was
seized before he reached the house of Clinias.
Milza knew nothing of these proceedings, but had
remained anxiously waiting till the day was half
spent. Then she learned that Alcibiades had claimed




P H IL  T H EA.              251
Eudora and Geta as his slaves, by virtue of a debt due
to him from Phidias, for a large quantity of ivory;
and notwithstanding the efforts of Clinias in their
favour, the Court of Forty Four, in the borough of
Alcibiades, decided that he had a right to retain
them, until the debt was paid, or until the heir appeared to show cause why it should not be paid.
"The gods have blessed Clinias with abundant
wealth," said Eudora; "Did he offer nothing to
save the innocent?"
"Dear lady," replied Milza, "Alcibiades demands
such an immense sum for the ivory, that he says he
might as well undertake to build the wall of Hipparchus, as to pay it. But I have not told you the
most cruel part of the story. Geta has been tied to
a ladder, and shockingly whipped, to make him tell
where you were concealed. He said he would not
do it, if he died. I believe they had the will to kill
him; but one of the young slaves, whose modesty
Alcibiades had insulted, was resolved to make complaint to the magistrates, and demand another master.  She helped Geta to escape: they have both
taken refuge in the Temple of Theseus. Geta dared
trust no one but me to carry a message to Clinias.
I told him he supped with Pericles to-night; and he
would not suffer me to go there, lest Alcibiades
should be among the guests."
"I am glad he gave you that advice," said Eudora; "for though Pericles might be willing to serve
me, for Philothea's sake, I fear if he once learned
the secret, it would soon be in Aspasia's keeping."
" And that would be all the same as telling Alcibiades himself," rejoined Milza. " But I must tell you




252             P H  I L0 o  rf: A.
that I did not know of poor Geta's sufferings until
many hours after they happened: Since he went to
Salamis in search of you, I have not seen him until
late this evening.  He is afraid to leave the altar,
lest'he should fall into the hands of his enemies; and
that is the reason he sent me to bring you food. He
expects to be a slave again; but having been abused
by Alcibiades, he claims the privilege of the law to
be transferred to another master."
Eudora wept bitterly, to think she had no power
to rescue her faithful attendant from  a condition he
dreaded worse than death.
Milza endeavoured, in her own artless way, to
soothe the distress her words had excited.  "In all
Geta's troubles, he thinks more of you than he does
of himself," said she.  "He bade me convey you to
the house of a wise woman from  Thessalia, who
lives near the Sacred Gate; for he says she can tell
us what it is best to do. She has learned of magicians in foreign lands. They say she can compound
potions that will turn hatred into love; and that the
power of her enchantments is so great, she can draw
the moon down from the sky."
"Nevertheless, I shall not seek her counsel," replied the maiden; " for I have heard a. better oracle."
When she had given an account of the vision in
the cave, the peasent asked, in a low and trembling
voice, "Did it not make you afraid?"
"Not in the least," answered Eudora; " and therefore I am doubtful whether it were a vision or a
dream. I spoke to Philothea just as I used to do;
without remembering that she had died.  She left
me more composed and happy than I have been for




P H I L O T H E A.           253
many days.  Even if it were a vision, I do not marvel that the spirit of one so pure and peacful should
be less terrific than the ghost of Medea or Clytemnestra."
"And the light shone all at once!" exclaimed
Milza, eagerly. " Trust to it, dear lady-trust to it.
A sudden brightness hath ever been a happy omen."
Two baskets, filled with Copaic eels and anchovies, had been deposited near the mouth of the cavern;
and with the first blush of morning, the fugitives offered prayers to Phoebus and Pan, and went forth
with the baskets on their heads, as if they sought the
market. Eudora, in her haste, would have stepped
across the springs that bubbled from the rocks; but
Milza held her back, saying, "Did you never hear
that these brooks are Creiisa's tears? When the unhappy daughter of Erectheus left her infant in this
cave to perish, she wept as she departed; and Phmebus, her immortal lover, changed her tears to rills.
For this reason, the water has ever been salt to
the taste. It is a bad omen to wet the foot in these
springs."
Thus warned, Eudora turned aside, and took a
more circuitous path.
It happened, fortunately, that the residence of Artaphernes stood behind the temple of Asclepius, at a
short distance from Creusa's Grotto; and they felt
assured that no one would think of searching for
them within the dwelling of the Persian stranger.
They arrived at the gate without question or hindrance; but found it fastened.  To their anxious
minds, the time they were obliged to wait seemed
like an age; but at last the gate was opened, and




254              P H I LO T I E A.
they preferred a humble request to see Artaphernes.
Eudora, being weary of her load, stooped to place
the basket of fish on a bench, and her veil accidentally dropped. The porter touched her under the
chin, and said, with a rude laugh, " Do you suppose,
my pretty dolphin, that Artaphernes buys his own
dinner?"
Eudora's eyes flashed fire at this familiarity; but
checking her natural impetuosity, she replied,'It
was not concerning the fish that I wished to speak to
your master. We have business of importance."
The servant gave a significant glance, more insulting than his former freedom.    Oh, yes, business of
importance, no doubt," said he; " but do you suppose, my little Nereid, that the servant of the Great
King is himself a vender of fish, that he should leave
his couch at an hour so early as this?"
Eudora slipped a ring from her finger, and putting
it in his hand, said, in a confidential tone, " I am not
a fishwoman.  I am here in disguise.  Go to your
master, and conjure him, if lie ever had a daughter
that he loved, to hear the petition of an orphan, who
is in great distress."
The man's deportment immediately changed; and
as he walked away, he muttered to himself, " She
don't look nor speak like one brought up at the
gates; that's certain."
Eudora and Milza remained in the court for a long
time, but with far less impatience than they had
waited at the gate. At length the servant returned,
saying his master was now ready to see them. Eudora followed, in extreme agitation, with her veil
folded closely about her; and when they were ush



PHILO T HE A.                255
ered into the presence of Artaphernes, the embarrassment of her situation deprived her of the power of
utterance. With much kindness of voice and manner, the venerable stranger said: " My servant told
me that one of you was an orphan, and had somewhat to ask of me."
Eudora replied:  "0 Persian stranger, I am indeed
a lonely orphan, in the power of mine enemies; and
I have been warned by a vision to come hither for
assistance."
Something in her words, or voice, seemed to excite
surprise, mingled with deeper feelings; and the old
man's countenance grew more troubled, as she continued: " Perhaps you may recollect a maiden that
sung at Aspasia's house, to whom you afterwards
sent a veil of shining texture?"
"Ah, yes," he replied, with a deep sigh: "I do
recollect it. They told me she was Eudora, the
daughter of Phidias."
"I am Eudora, the adopted daughter of Phidias,"
rejoined the maiden.  "My benefactor is dead, and
I am friendless."
"Who were your parents 3" inquired the Persian.
" I never knew them," she replied.' I was stolen
from the Ionian coast by Greek pirates. I was a mere
infant when Phidias bought me."
In a voice almost suffocated with emotion, Artaphernes asked, " Were you then named Eudora?"
The maiden's heart began to flutter with a new
and strange hope, as she replied, " No one knew my
name. In my childish prattle, I called myself Baby
Minta."
The old man started from his seat-his colour went
22




256             PHILO THE A.
and came-and every joint trembled.  He seemed to
make a strong effort to check some sudden impulse.
After collecting himself for a moment he said, " Maiden, you have the voice of one I dearly loved; and
it has stirred the deepest fountains of my heart. I
pray you, let me see your countenance."
As Eudora threw off the veil, her long glossy hair
fell profusely over her neck and shoulders, and her
beautiful face was flushed with eager expectation.
The venerable Persian gazed at her for an instant,
and then clasped her to his bosom. The tears fell
fast, as he exclaimed, " Artaminta! My daughter!
My daughter! Image of thy blessed mother!  I
have sought for thee throughout the world, and at
last I believed thee dead.  My only child!  My
long-lost, my precious one! May the blessing of
Oromasdes be upon thee."




PH ILOTHEA.                  257
CHAPTER XIX.
Whate'er thou givest, generous let it be.
EURIPIDES.
WHEN it was rumoured that Artaphernes had ransomed Eudora and Geta, by offering the entire sum
demanded for the ivory, many a jest circulated in the
agoras, at the expense of the old man who had given
such an enormous price for a handsome slave; but
when it became known, that he had, in some wonderful and mysterious manner, discovered a long-lost
daughter, the tide of public feeling was changed.
Alcibiades at once remitted his claim, which in
fact never had any foundation in justice; he having
accepted two statues in payment for the ivory, previous to the death of Phidias. He likewise formally
asked Eudora in marriage; humbly apologizing for
the outrage he had committed, and urging the vehemence of his love as an extenuation of the fault.
Artaphernes had power to dispose of his daughter
without even making any inquiry concerning the
state of her affections; but the circumstances of his
past life induced him to forbear the exercise of his
power.
"My dear child," said he, "it was my own misfortune to suffer by an ill-assorted marriage.  In
early youth, my parents united me with Artaynta, a
Persian lady, whose affections had been secretly bestowed upon a near kinsman. Her parents knew of
this fact, but mine were ignorant of it. It ended in
wretchedness and disgrace.  To avoid the awful




258             PHILOTHEA.
consequences of guilt, she and her lover eloped to
some distant land, where I never attempted to follow
them.
Some time after, the Great King was graciously
pleased to appoint me Governor of the sea-coast in
Asia Minor. I removed to Ephesus, where I saw
and loved your blessed mother, the beautiful Antiope, daughter of Diophanes, priest of Zeus. I saw
her accidentally at a fountain, and watched her
unobserved, while she bathed the feet of her little
sister. Though younger than myself, she reciprocated the love she had inspired. Her father consented to our union; and for a few years I enjoyed
as great happiness as Oromasdes ever bestows on
mortals. You were our only child; named Artaminta, in remembrance of my mother. You were
scarcely two years old, when you and your nurse
suddenly disappeared. As several other women and
children were lost at the same time, we supposed
that you were stolen by pirates. All efforts to ascertain your fate proved utterly fruitless. As moon after
moon passed away, bringing no tidings of our lost
treasure, Antiope grew  more and more hopeless.
She was a gentle, tender-hearted being, that complained little and suffered much. At last, she died
broken-hearted."
After remaining in silent thoughtfulness for a few
moments, he added: " Of my two sons by Artaynta,
one died in childhood; the other was killed in battle,
before I came to Athens. I had never ceased my
exertions to discover you; but after I became childless, it was the cherished object of existence. Some
information received from Phoenician sailors led to




PHILOTHEA.                  259
the conclusion that I owed my misfortune to Greek
pirates; and when the Great King informed me that
he had need of services in Athens, I cherfully undertook the mission."
"Having suffered severely in my own marriage,
I would not willingly endanger your happiness by
any unreasonable exercise of parental anthority.
Alcibiades is handsome, rich, and of high rank.
How do you regard his proposal of marriage?"
The colour mounted high in Eudora's cheek, and
she answered hastily, " As easily could I consent to
be the wife of Tereus, after his brutal outrage on the
helpless Philomela. I have nothing but contempt to
bestow on the man who persecuted me when I was
fiiendless, and flatters me when I have wealthy
friends."
Artaphernes replied, "I knew not how far you
might consider violent love an excuse for base proceedings; but I rejoice to see that you have pride
becoming your noble birth. For another reason. it
gives me happiness to find you ill-disposed toward
this match; for duty will soon call me to Persia, and
having just recovered you in a manner so miraculous,
it would.be a grievous sacrifice to relinquish you so
soon. But am I so fortunate as to find you willing
to return with me? Are there no strong ties that
bind your heart to Athens't"
Perceiving that Eudora blushed deeply, he added,
in an inquiring tone, "Clinias told me to-day, that
Phidias wished to unite you with that gifted artist,
his nephew Pandaenusl?"
The maiden replied, "I have many reasons to be
grateful to Pandanus; aud it was painful to refuse
22*




260             PH I LOTHE A.
compliance with the wishes of my benefactor; but if
Phidias had commanded me to obey him in this instance, my happiness would have been sacrificed.
Of all countries in the world, there is none I so much
wish to visit as Persia. Of that you may rest assured, my father."
The old man looked upon her affectionately, and
his eyes filled with tears, as he exclaimed, "Oromasdes be praised, that I am once more permitted to hear
that welcome sound! No music is so pleasant to
my ears as that word-father.  Zoroaster tells us
that children are a bridge joining this earth to a
heavenly paradise, filled with fresh springs and
blooming gardens. Blessed indeed is the man who
hears many gentle voices call him father! But, my
daughter, why is it that the commands of Phidias
would have made you unhappy! Speak frankly,
Artaminta; lest hereafter there should be occasion to
mourn that we misunderstood each other."
Eudora then told all the particulars of her attachment to Philemon, and her brief infatuation with
regard to Alcibiades. Artaphernes evinced no displeasure at the disclosure; but spoke of Philemon
with great respect and affection. He dwelt earnestly
upon the mischievous effects of such free customs as
Aspasia sought to introduce, and warmly eulogized
the strictness and complete seclusion of Persian education.  When Eudora expressed fears that she
might never be able to regain Philremon's love, he
gazed on her beautiful countenance with fond admiration, and smiled incredulously as he turned away.
The proposal of Alcibiades was civilly declined;




PHILOTHEA.                   261
the promised sum paid to his faithless steward, and
the necklace, given by Phidias, redeemed.
Hylax had been forcibly carried to Salamis with
his young mistress, lest his sagacity should lead to
a discovery of her prison.  When Eudora escaped
from the island, she had reluctantly left him in her
apartment, in order to avoid the danger that might
arise from any untimely noise; but as soon as her
own safety was secured, her first thoughts were for
the recovery of this favourite animal, the early gift
of Philaemon.  The little captive had pined and
moaned continually, during their brief separation;
and when he returned, it seemed as if his boisterous
joy could not sufficiently manifest itself in gambols
and caresses.
When Artaphernes was convinced that he had
really found his long-lost child, the impulse of gratitude led to very early inquiries for Pandaenus.  The
artist had not yet re-appeared; and all Athens was
filled with conjectures concerning his fate. Eudora
still suspected that Alcibiades had secreted him, for
the same reason that he had claimed Geta as a slave;
for it was sufficiently obvious that he had desired,
as far as possible, to deprive her of all assistance and
protection.
The event proved her suspicions well founded.
On the fourth day after her escape from Salamis,
Pandenus came to congratulate Artaphernes, and
half in anger, half in laughter, told the particulars of his story. tHe had been seized as he returned
homne at night, and had been forcibly conveyed to
tle mansion of Eurysaces, where he was kept a
close prisoner, with the promise of being released




262              PHILO T HEA.
whenever he finished a picture, which Alcibiades
had long desired to obtain. This was a representation of Europa, just entering the ocean on the back
of the beautifil bull, which she and her unsuspecting companions had crowned with garlands.
At first, the artist resisted, and swore by Phcebus
Apollo that he would not be thus forced into the
service of any man; but an unexpected circumstance
changed his resolution.
There was a long, airy gallery, in which he was
allowed to take exercise any hour of the day.  In
some places, an open-work partition, richly and curiously wrought by the skilful hand of Callicrates,
separated this gallery from the outer balustrade of
the building.  During his walks, Pandaenus often
heard sounds of violent grief from the other side of
the screen. Curiosity induced him to listen, and inquire the cause. A sad, sweet voice answered, " I
am Cleonica, daughter of a noble Spartan.  Taken
captive in war, and sold to Alcibiades, I weep for
my dishonoured lot; for much I fear it will bring the
gray hairs of my mother to an untimely grave."
This interview led to another, and another; and
though the mode of communication was imperfect,
the artist was enabled to perceive that the captive
maiden was a tall, queenly figure, with a rich profusion of sunny hair, indicating a fair and fresh complexion.  The result was a promise to paint the
desired picture, provided he might have the Spartan
slave as a recompense.
Alcibiades, equally solicitous to obtain the painting, and to prolong the seclusion of Pandaenus, and
being then eager in another pursuit, readily consented




PHILO T HE A.               263
to the terms proposed. After Eudora's sudden change
of fortune, being somewhat ashamed of the publicity
of his conduct, and desirous not to lose entirely
the good opinion of Artaphernes, he gave the artist
his liberty, simply requiring the fulfilment of his
promise.
"And what are your intentions with regard to
this fair captive?" inquired the Persian, with a significant smile.
With some degree of embarrassment, Pandeenus
answered, " I came to ask your protection; and that
Eudora might for the present consider her as a sister,
until I can restore her to her family."
"It shall be so," replied Artaphernes; "but this
is a very small part of the debt I owe the nephew of
Phidias. Should you hereafter have a favour to ask
of Cleonica's noble family, poverty shall be no obstruction to your wishes. I have already taken
measures to purchase for you a large estate in Elis,
and to remit yearly revenues, which will I trust be
equal to your wishes. I have another favour to ask,
in addition to the many claims you already have
upon me.  Among the magnificent pictures that
adorn the Pcecile, I have not observed the sculptor
of your gods. I pray you exert your utmost skill in
a painting of Phidias crowned by the Muses; that
I may place it on those walls, a public monument of
my gratitude to that illustrious man."
"Of his statues and drawings I have purchased
all that can be bought in Athens. The weeping
Panthea, covering the body of Abradates with her
mantle, is destined for my royal and munificent
master. By the kindness of Pericles, I have obtained




264             P HILO T HEA.
for myself the beautiful group, representing my precious little Artaminta caressing the kid, in that graceful attitude which first attracted the attention of her
benefactor. For the munificent Eleans, I have reserved the Graceful Three, which your countrymen
have named the presiding deities over benevolent
actions. All the other statues and drawings of your
illustrious kinsman are at your disposal. Nay, do
not thank me, young man. Mine is still the debt,
and my heart will be ever grateful."
The exertions of Clinias, although they proved
unavailing, were gratefully acknowledged by the
present of a large silver bowl, on which the skilful
artificer, Mys, had represented, with exquisite delicacy, the infant Dionysus watched by the nymphs
of Naxos.
In the midst of this generosity, the services of
Geta and Milza were not forgotten. The bribe given
to the steward was doubled in the payment, and an
offer made to establish them in any part of Greece
or Persia, where they wished to reside.
A decided preference was given to Elis, as the
only place where they could be secure from  the
ravages of war. A noble farm, in the neighbourhood
of Proclus, was accordingly purchased for them, well
stocked with herds and furnished with all agricultural and household conveniences.  Geta, having
thus become an owner of thb soil, dropped the brief
name by which he had been known in slavery, and
assumed the more sonorous appellation of Philophidias.
Dione, old as she was, overcame her fear of perils




P H I I,  TH E A.           265
by land and sea, and resolved to follow her young
mistress into Persia.
Before a new moon had begun its course, Pandenus
fulfilled his intention of returning to Olympia, in
company with the Lacedaemonian ambassador and
his train. Cleonica, attended by Geta and Milza,
travelled under the same protection. Artaphernessent
to Proclus four noble horses and a Bactrian camel,
together with seven minae as a portion for Zoila.
For Pterilaiis, likewise, was a sum of money sufficient to maintain him ten years in Athens, that he
might gratify his ardent desire to become the disciple
of Plato. Eudora sent her little playmate a living
peacock, which proved even more acceptable than
her flock of marble sheep with their painted shepherd.
To Melissa was sent a long affectionate epistle, with
the dying bequest of Philothea, and many a valuable
token of Eudora's gratitude.
Although a brilliant future was opening before her,
the maiden's heart was very sad, when she bade a
last farewell to the honest and faithful attendants,
who had been with her through so many changing
scenes, and aided her in the hour of her utmost need.
The next day after their departure was spent by
the Persian in the worship of Mithras, and prayers to
Oromasdes. Eudora, in remembrance of her vision,
offered thanksgiving and sacrifice to Phoebus and
Pan; and implored the deities of ocean to protect the
Phoenician galley, in which they were about to depart
from Athens.
These ceremonies being performed, Artaphernes
and his weeping daughter visited  the studio of
Myron, who, in compliance with their orders, had




266             P H I L O T H E A.
just finished the design of a beautiful monument to
Paralus and Philothea, on which were represented
two doves sleeping upon garlands.
For the last time, Eudora poured oblations of milk
and honey, and placed fragrant flowers, with ringlets
of her hair, upon the sepulchre of her gentle friend;
then, with many tears, she bade a long farewell to
scenes rendered sacred by the remembrance of their
mutual love.




PHIL   THEA.                    267
CHAPTER XX.
Next arose
A well-towered city, by seven golden gates
Inclosed, that fitted to their lintels hung.
Then burst forth
Aloud the marriage song; and far and wide
Long splendors flashed from many a quivering torch.
HESIOD.
WHEN the galley arrived at the opulent city of
Tyre, the noble Persian and his retinue joined a caravan of Phoenician merchants bound to Ecbatana,
honoured at that season of the year with the residence
of the royal family.  Eudora travelled in a cedar
carriage drawn by camels.  The latticed windows
were richly gilded, and hung with crimson curtains,
which her father ordered to be closed at the slightest
indication of approaching travellers.  Dione, with
six more youthful attendants, accompanied her, and
exerted all their powers to make the time pass pleasantly; but all their stories of romantic love, of heroes
mortal and immortal, combined with the charms of
music, could not prevent her from feeling that the
journey was exceedingly long and wearisome.
She recollected how her lively spirit had sometimes
rebelled against the restraints imposed on Grecian
women, and sighed to think of all she had heard
concerning the far more rigid customs of Persia. Expressions of fatigue sometimes escaped her; and her
indulgent parent consented that she should ride in
the chariot with him, enveloped in a long, thick
veil, that descended to her feet, with two small openings of net-work for the eyes.
23




268             P H IL O T H   A.
As they passed through Persia, he pointed out to
her the sacred groves, inhabited by the Magii: the
entrance of the cave where Zoroaster penned his
divine precepts; and the mountain on whose summit
he was wont to hold midnight communication with
the heavenly bodies.
Eudora remarked that she nowhere observed temples or altars; objects to which her eye had always
been accustomed, and which imparted such a sacred
and peculiar beauty to Grecian scenery.
Artaphernes replied, "It is because these things
are contrary to the spirit of Persian theology. Zoroaster taught us that the temple of Oromasdes was infinite space-his altar, the air, the earth, and the
heavens."
When the travellers arrived within sight of Ecbatana, the setting sun poured upon the noble city a
flood of dazzling light. It was girdled by seven walls
of seven different colours; one rising above the other,
in all the hues of the rainbow. From the centre of
the innermost, arose the light, graceful towers of the
royal palace, glittering with gold.  The city was
surrounded by fertile, spacious plains, bounded on
one side by Mount Orontes, and on the other by a
stately forest, amid whose lofty trees might here and
there be seen the magnificent villas of Persian nobles.
Eudora's heart beat violontly, when her father
pointed to the residence of Megabyzus, and told her
that the gilded balls on its pinnacles could be discovered from their own dwelling; but maiden shame
prevented her from  inquiring whether Philoemon
was still the instructor of his sons.
The morning after his arrival, Artaphernes had a




PHILO T H EA.                 269
private audience with his royal master. This conference lasted so long, that many of the courtiers supposed his mission in Greece related to matters of more
political importance than the purchase of pictures and
statues; and this conjecture was afterward confirmed
by the favours lavished upon him.
It was soon known throughout the precincts of the
court that the favourite noble had returned from
Athens, bringing with him his long-lost daughter.
The very next day, as Eudora walked round the terraces of her father's princely mansion, she saw the
royal carriages approach, followed by a long train
of attendants, remarkable for age and ugliness, and
preceded by an armed guard, calling aloud to all men
to retire before their presence, on pain of death. In
obedience to these commands, Artaphernes immediately withdrew  to his own apartment, closed the
shutters, and there remained till the royal retinue
departed.
The visiters consisted of Amestris, the mother of
Artaxerxes; Arsinoe of Damascus, his favourite mistress; and Parysatis, his daughter; with their innumerable slaves.  They examined Eudora with more
than childish curiosity; pulled every article of her
dress, to ascertain its colour and its texture; teased
to see all her jewels; wanted to know the name of
everything in Greek; requested her to sing Greek
songs; were impatient to learn Ionian dances; conjured her to paint a black streak from the eyes to
the ears; and were particularly anxious to ascertain
what cosmetic the Grecian ladies used to stain the
tips of their fingers.
When all these important matters were settled, by




270             PHI LO T H EA.
means of an interpreter, they began to discuss the
merits of Grecian ladies; and loudly expressed their
horror at the idea of appearing before brothers unveiled, and at the still grosser indelicacy of sometimes
allowing the face to be seen by a betrothed lover.
Then followed a repetition of all the gossip of the
harem; particularly, a fresh piece of scandal concerning Apollonides of Cos, and their royal kinswoman, Amytis, the wife of Megabyzus.  Eudora
turned away to conceal her blushes; for the indelicacy of their language was such as seldom met the
ear of a Grecian maiden.
The Queen mother was eloquent in praise of a
young Lesbian girl, whom Artaphernes had bought
to attend upon his daughter. This was equivalent
to asking for the slave; and the captive herself
evinced no unwillingness to join the royal household; it having been foretold by an oracle that she
would one day be the mother of kings.  Amestris
accepted the beautiful Greek, with many thanks,
casting a triumphant glance at Arsinoe and Parysatis, who lowered their brows, as if each had reasons
of her own for being displeased with the arrangement.
The royal guests gave and received a variety of
gifts; consisting principally of jewels, embroidered
mantles, veils, tufts of peacock feathers with ivory
handles, parrots, and golden boxes filled with roseate
powder for the fingers, and black paint for the eyebrows. At length they departed, and Eudora's attendants showered perfumes on them as they went.
Eudora recalled to mind the pure and sublime discourse she had so often enjoyed with Philothea, and




PHI LOT 1 EA.                271
sighed as she compared it with this specimen of intercourse with high-born Persian ladies.
When the sun was setting, she again walked upon
the terrace; and, forgetful of the customs of the
country, threw back her veil, that she might enjoy
more perfectly the beauty of the landscape.  She
stood thoughtfully gazing at the distant pinnacles,
which marked the residence of Megabyzus, when the
barking of Hylax attracted her attention, and looking into the garden, she perceived a richly dressed
young man, with his eyes fixed earnestly upon her.
She drew her veil hastily, and retired within the
dwelling, indulging the secret hope that none of her
attendants had witnessed an action, which Artaphernes would deem so imprudent.
On the following morning commenced the celebrated festival called,'The Salutation of Mithras;'
during which, forty days were set apart for thanksgiving and sacrifice.  The procession formed long
before the rising of the sun. First appeared a long
train of the most distinguished Magii from all parts
of the empire, led by their chief in scarlet robes, carrying the sacred fire upon a silver furnace.  Next
appeared an empty chariot consecrated to Oromasdes,
decorated with garlands, and drawn by white steeds
harnessed with gold.  This was followed by a magnificent large horse, his forehead flaming with gems,
in honour of Mithras. Then came the Band of Immortals, and the royal kindred, their Median vests
blazing with embroidery and gold. Artaxerxes rode
in an ivory chariot, richly inlaid with precious stones.
He was followed by a long line of nobles, riding on
camels splendidly caparisoned; and their countless
23*




272            P H  LO T H EA.
attendants closed the train. This gorgeous retinu
slowly ascended Mount Orontes. When they arrived
upon its summit, the chief of the Magii assumed his
tiara interwoven with myrtle, and hailed the first
beams of the rising sun with sacrifice. Then each
of the Magii in turns sung orisons to Oromasdes, by
whose eternal power the radiant Mithras had been
sent to gladden the earth, and preserve the principle
of life. Finally, they all joined in one universal
chorus, while king, princes, and nobles, prostrated
themselves, and adored the Fountain of Light.
At that solemn moment, a tiger leaped from an adjoining thicket, and sprung toward the king. But
ere the astonished courtiers had time to breathe, a
javelin from some unknown hand passed through the
ferocious animal, and laid him lifeless in the dust.
Eudora had watched the procession from  the
house-top; and at this moment she thought she perceived hurried and confused movements, of which
her attendants could give no explanation.
The splendid concourse returned toward the palace
in the same order that it had ascended the mountain.
But next to the royal chariot there now appeared a
young man on a noble steed, with a golden chain
about his neck, and two heralds by his side, who
ever and anon blew their trumpets, and proclaimed,
"This is Philaemon of Athens, whom the king delighteth to honour?"
Eudora understood the proclamation imperfectly;
but afar off, she recognized the person of her lover.
As they passed the house, she saw Hylax running
to and fro on the top of the wall, barking, and jumping, and wagging his tail, as if he too were conscious




P H IL O T HE A.            273
of the vicinity of some familiar friend.  The dog
evidently arrested Philamon's attention; for he observed him closely, and long continued to look back
and watch his movements.
A tide of sweet and bitter recollections oppressed
the maiden's heart; a deadly paleness overspread
her cheeks; a suffocating feeling choked her voice;
and had it not been for a sudden gush of tears, she
would have fallen.
When her father returned, he informed her that
the life of Artaxerxes had been saved by the promptitude and boldness of Philaemon, who happened to
perceive the tiger sooner than any other person at
the festival. He added, "I saw Philemon after the
rescue, but we had brief opportunity to discourse
together. I think his secluded habits have prevented
him from hearing that I found a daughter in Athens.
He told me he intended soon to return to his native
country, and promised to be my guest for a few days
before he departed.  Furthermore, my child, the
Great King, in the fulness of his regal bounty, last
night sent a messenger to demand you in marriage
for his son Xerxes."
He watched her countenance, as he spoke; but
seemed doubtful how to understand the fluctuating
colour. Still keeping his scrutinizing gaze fixed upon
her, he continued, " Artaminta, this is an honour not
to be lightly rejected; to be princess of Persia now,
and hereafter perhaps its queen."
In some confusion, the maiden answered, " Perhaps
the prince may not approve his father's choice."
"No, Artaminta; the prince has chosen for himself. He sent his sister to obtain a view of my




274             P HI LO T H E A.
newly discovered daughter; and he himself saw you,
as you stood on the terrace unveiled."
In an agitated voice, Eudora asked, "And must I
be compelled to obey the commands of the king?"
" Unless it should be his gracious pleasure to dispense with obedience," replied Artaphernes.  "I and
all my household are his servants. I pray Oromasdes that you may never have greater troubles than
the fear of becoming a princess."
"But you forget, my dear father, that Parysatis
told me her brother Xerxes was effeminate and capricious, and had a new idol with every change of the
moon. Some fairer face would soon find favour in
his sight; and I should perhaps be shut up with
hundreds of forgotten favourites, in the old harem,
among silly women and ugly slaves."
Her father answered, in an excited tone, 1 Artaminta, if you had been brought up with more becoming seclusion, like those silly Persian women,
you would perhaps have known, better than you
now seem to do, that a woman's whole duty is submission."
Eudora had never heard him speak so harshly.
She perceived that his parental ambition was roused,
and that her indifference to the royal proposal displeased him.  The tears fell fast, as she replied,
" Dear father, I will obey you, even if you ask me
to sacrifice my life, at the command of the king."
Her tears touched the feelings of the kind old
man. He embraced her affectionately, saying, " Do
not weep, daughter of my beloved Antiope.  It
would indeed gratify my heart to see you Queen of
Persia; but you shall not be made wretched, if my




P HIL OT HEA.               275
interest with the Great King can prevent it. All
men praise his justice and moderation; and he has
pledged his royal word to grant anything I ask, in
recompense for services rendered in Greece.  The
man who has just saved his life can no doubt obtain
any favour. But reflect upon it well, my daughter.
Xerxes has no son; and should you give birth to a
boy, no new favourite could exclude you from the
throne.  Perhaps Philaemon was silent from other
causes than ignorance of your arrival in Persia; and
if this be the case, you may repent a too hasty
rejection of princely love."
Eudora blushed like crimson, and appeared deeply
pained by this suggestion; but she made no answer.
Artaphernes departed, promising to seek a private
audience with the king; and she saw him no more
that night. When she laid her head upon the pillow, a mind troubled with many anxious thoughts
for a long time prevented repose; and when she did
sink to sleep, it was with a confused medley of ideas,
in which the remembrance of Philaemon's love was
mixed up with floating visions of regal grandeur, and
proud thoughts of a triumphant marriage, now
placed within her power, should he indeed prove as
unforgiving and indifferent, as her father had suggested.
In her sleep, she saw Philothea; but a swift and
turbid stream appeared to roll between them; and
her friend said, in melancholy tones, "You have
left me, Eudora; and I cannot come to you, now.
Whence are these dark and restless waters, which
separate our souls?"
Then a variety of strange scenes rapidly succeeded




276             PHILOTHEA.
each other-all cheerless, perturbed, and chaotic.
At last, she seemed to be standing under the old
grape-vine, that shaded the dwelling of Anaxagoras,
and Philaemon crowned her with a wreath of myrtle.
In the morning, soon after she had risen from her
couch, Artaphernes came to her apartment, and mildly asked if she still wished to decline the royal alliance. He evinced no displeasure when she answered
in the affirmative; but quietly replied, "It may be
that you have chosen a wise part, my child; for true
it is, that safety and contentment rarely take up their
abode with princes. But now go and adorn yourself
with your richest apparel; for the Great King requires me to present you at the palace, before the
hour of noon. Let your Greek costume be laid aside;
for I would not have my daughter appear like a foreigner, in the presence of her king."
With a palpitating heart, Eudora resigned herself
into the hands of her Persian tire-women, who so
loaded her with embroidery and gems, that she could
scarcely support their weight.
She was conveyed to the palace in a cedar carriage,
carefully screened from observation. Her father rode
by her side, and a numerous train of attendants followed. Through gates of burnished brass, they entered a small court with a tesselated pavement of
black and white marble. Thence they passed into a
long apartment, with walls of black marble, and cornices heavily gilded.  The marble was so highly
polished, that Eudora saw the light of her jewels
everywhere reflected like sunbeams. Surprised by
the multiplied images of herself and attendants, she
did not at first perceive, through the net-work of




PHILOTHEA.                   277
her veil, that a young man stood leaning against the
wall, with his arms folded. This well-remembered
attitude attracted her attention, and she scarcely
needed a glance to assure her it was Philaemon.
It being contrary to Persian etiquette to speak
without license within hearing of the royal apartments, the Athenian merely smiled, and bowed gracefully to Artaphernes; but an audible sigh escaped
him, as he glanced at the Greek attendants. Eudora
hastily turned away her head, when he looked toward her; but her heart throbbed so violently that
every fold of her veil trembled.  They continued
thus in each other's presence many minutes; one in
a state of perfect unconsciousness, the other suffering
an intensity of feeling, that seemed like the condensed excitement of years. At last a herald came
to say it was now the pleasure of the Great King to
receive them in the private court, opening into the
royal gardens.
The pavement of this court was of porphyry inlaid with costly marbles, in various hieroglyphics.
The side connected with the palace was adorned
with carved open-work, richly painted and gilded,
and with jasper tablets, alternately surmounted by a
golden ram and a winged lion; one the royal ensign
of Persia, the other emblematic of the Assyrian empire conquered by Cyrus. The throne was placed
in the centre, under a canopy of crimson, yellow, and
blue silk, tastefully intermingled and embroidered
with silver and gold. Above this was an image of
the sun, with rays so brilliant, that it dazzled the
eyes of those who looked upon it.
The monarch seemed scarcely beyond the middle




278               PH IL O T H E A.
age, with long flowing hair, and a countenance mild
and dignified. On his right hand stood Xerxes —on
his left, Darius and Sogdianus; and around him
were a numerous band of younger sons; all wearing
white robes, with jewelled vests of Tyrian purple.
As they entered, the active buzzing of female voices
was heard behind the gilded open-work of the wall;
but this was speedily silenced by a signal from the
herald. Artaphernes prostrated himself, till his forehead touched the pavement; Eudora copied his example; but Philsemon merely bowed low, after the
manner of the Athenians.  Artaxerxes bade them
arise, and said, in a stern tone, " Artaphernes, has
thy daughter prepared herself to obey our royal
mandate? Or is she still contemptuous of our
kingly bounty V"
Eudora trembled; and her father again prostrated himself, as he replied: "0 great and benignant
king! mayest thou live forever. May Oromandes
bless thee with a prosperous reign, and forever avert
from thee the malignant influence of Arimanius. I
and my household are among the least of thy servants. May the hand that offends thee be cut off,
and cast to unclean dogs."
" Arise, Artaphernes!" said the monarch: " Thy
daughter has permission to speak."
Eudora, awed by the despotic power and august
presence of Artaxerxes, spoke to her father, in a low
and tremulous voice, and reminded him of the royal
promise to grant whatever he might ask."
Philaemon turned eagerly, and a sudden flush mantled his cheeks, when he heard the pureAttic dialect,
" with its lovely marriage of sweet sounds."




PHILOTHEA.                  279
"What does the maiden say?" inquired the king.
Artaphernes again paid homage, and answered;
"cO Light of the World! Look in mercy upon the
daughter of thy servant, and grant that her petition
may find favour in thy sight. As yet, she hath not
gained a ready utterance of the Persian languagehonoured and blessed above all languages, in being
the messenger of thy thoughts, O king. Therefore
she spoke in the Greek tongue, concerning thy gracious promise to grant unto the humblest of thy servants whatsoever he might ask at thy hands."
Then the monarch held forth his golden sceptre,
and replied, " Be it unto thee, as I have said. I have
sought thy daughter in marriage for Xerxes, prince
of the empire. What other boon does Artaphernes
ask of the king?"
The Persian approached, and reverently touching
the point of the sceptre, answered:   0 King of kings I
before whom  the nations of the earth do tremble.
Thy bounty is like the overflowing Nilus, and thy
mercy refreshing as dew upon the parched earth. If
it be thy pleasure, 0 King, forgive Artaminta, my
daughter, if she begs that the favour of the prince,
like the blessed rays of Mithras, may fall upon some
fairer damsel. I pray thee have her excused."
Xerxes looked up with an angry frown; but his
royal father replied, " The word of the king is sacred;
and his decree changeth not. Be it unto thee even
as thou wilt."
Then turning to Philremon, he said: "Athenian
stranger, our royal life preserved by thy hand deserves a kingly boon. Since our well beloved son
cannot find favour in the eyes of this damsel, we
24




280            PHILO THE A.
bestow her upon thee. Her father is one of the
illustrious Pasargadae, and her ancestors were not
unremotely connected with the princes of Media.
We have never looked upon her countenancedeeming it wise to copy the prudent example of our
cousin Cyrus; but report describes her beautiful as
Panthea. "
Eudora shrunk from being thus bestowed upon
Philaemon; and she would have said this to her
father, had he not checked the first half-uttered
word by a private signal.
With extreme confusion, the Athenian bowed low,
and answered, "Pardon me, 0 King, and deem me
not insensible of thy royal munificence. I pray thee
bestow the daughter of the princely Artaphernes upon
one more worthy than thy servant."
"Now, by the memory of Cyrus!"exclaimed Artaxerxes, "'The king's favours shall this day be likened
unto a beggar, whose petitions are rejected at every
gate."
Then, turning to his courtiers, he added: "A
proud nation are these Greeks! When the plague
ravaged all Persia and Media, Hippocrates of Cos refused our entreaties, and scorned our royal bounty;
saying he was born to serve his own countrymen,
and not foreigners.  Themistocles, on whom our
mighty father bestowed the revenues of cities, died,
rather than fight for him against Athens; and lo!
here is a young Athenian, who refuses a maiden
sought by the Persian prince, with a dowry richer
than Pactolus.
Philaemon bowed himself reverently, and replied:
"Deem not, 0 king, that I am moved by Grecian




P H I L 0 T H E A.           281
pride; for well I know that I am all unworthy of
this princely alliance.  An epistle lately received
from Olympia makes it necessary for me to return to
Greece; where, O king, I seek a beloved maiden, to
whom I was betrothed before my exile."
Eudora had trembled violently, and her convulsive
breathing was audible, while Philramon spoke; but
when he uttered the last words, forgetful of the reverence required of those who stood in the presence of
majesty, she murmured, "Oh, Philothea!" and sunk
into the arms of her father.
The young man started; for now, not only the
language, but the tones were familiar to his heart.
As the senseless form was carried into the garden, he
gazed upon it with an excited and bewildered expression.
Artaxerxes smiled, as he said: " Athenian stranger, the daughter of Artaphernes, lost on the coast of
Ionia, was discovered in the household of Phidias,
and the Greeks called her Eudora."
Philaemon instantly knelt at the monarch's feet,
and said, " Pardon me, 0 king. I was ignorant of
all this. I  ~"
He would have explained more fully; but Artaxerxes interrupted him; "We know it all, Athenian
stranger-we know it all. You have refused Artaminta, and now we bestow upon you Eudora, with
the revenues of Magnesia and Lampsacus for her
dowry."
Before the next moon had waned, a magnificent
marriage was celebrated in the court of audience,
opening into the royal gardens. On a shining throne,
in the midst of a stately pavilion, was seated Arta



282             PHILO T H EA.
xerxes, surrounded by the princes of the empire.
Near the throne stood Philaemon and Eudora. Artaphernes placed the right hand of the bride within
the right hand of the bridegroom, saying, " Philaemon of Athens, I bestow upon thee, Artaminta, my
daughter, with my estates in Pasagarda, and five
thousand darics as her dowry."
The chief of the Magii bore sacred fire on a silver
censer, and the bridal couple passed slowly around
it three times, bowing reverently to the sacred emblem of Mithras. Then the bridegroom fastened a
golden jewel about the bride's neck, and they repeated certain words, promising fidelity to each other.
The nuptial hymn was sung by six handsome youths,
and as many maidens, clothed in white garments,
with a purple edge.
Numerous lamps were lighted in the trees, making
the gardens bright as noon. Women belonging to
the royal household, and to the most favoured of the
nobility, rode through the groves and lawns, in rich
pavilions, on the backs of camels and white elephants. As the huge animals were led along, fireworks burst from under their feet, and playing for a
moment in the air, with undulating movements, fell
in a sparkling shower.
Artaxerxes gave a luxurious feast, which lasted
seven days; during which time the Queen entertained
her guests with equal splendour, in the apartments
of the women.
The Athenian decree against those of foreign
parentage had been repealed in favour of young
Pericles; but in that country everything was in a




P H I L   T H E A.             3
troubled and unsettled state; and Artaphernes pleaded hard to have his daughter remain in Persia.
It was therefore decided that the young couple
should reside at Pasagarda, situated in a fertile valley, called the Queen's Girdle, because its revenues
were appropriated to that costly article of the royal
wardrobe.  This pleasant city had once been the
favourite residence of Cyrus the Great, and a plain
obelisk in the royal gardens marked his burial-place.
The adjacent promontory of Taoces afforded a convenient harbour for Tyrian merchants, and thus
brought in the luxuries of Phoenicia, while it afforded opportunities for literary communication between
the East and  the West.  Here were celebrated
schools under the direction of the Magii, frequently
visited by learned men from Greece, Ethiopia, and
Egypt.
Philaemon devoted himself to the quiet pursuits of
literature; and Eudora, happy in her father, husband and children, thankfully acknowledged the
blessings of her lot.
Her only daughter, a gentle maiden, with plaintive voice and earnest eyes, bore the beloved name of
Philothea.
24*




APPENDIX.
Zeus-The Jupiter of the Romans.
Zeus Xenius-Jupiter the Hospitable.
Hera-Juno.
Pallas-Minerva.
Pallas Athene —An ancient appellation of Minerva, from which Athens
took its name.
Pallas Parthenia-Pallas the Virgin.
Pallas Promachos-Pallas the Defender.
Phoebus-The Apollo of the Romans; the Sun.
Phoebus Apollo —Phoebus the Destroyer, or the Purifier.
Pheabe-Diana; the Moon.
Artemis-Diana.
Agrotera-Diana the Huntress.
Orthia —Name of Diana among the Spartans.
Poseidon-Neptune.
Aphrodite-Venus.
Urania-The Heavenly Venus. The same name was applied to the
Muse of Astronomy.
Eros-Cupid.
Hermes-Mercury.
Demeter-Ceres.
Persephone-Proserpine.
Dionysus-Bacchus.
Pandamator-A name of Vulcan, signifying the All-subduing.
Mnemosyne-Goddess of Memory.
Chloris-Flora.
Asclepius —Esculapius.
Rhamnusia-Name of a statue of Nemesis, goddess of Vengeance  so
called because it was in the town of Rhamnus.
Polydeuces-Pollux.
Leto-Latona.
Taraxippus-A deity whose protection was implored at Elis, that no
harm might happen to the horses.
Erinnys-The Eumenides, or Furies.
Naiades-Nymphs of Rivers, Springs, and Fountains.
Nereides-Nymphs of the Sea.
Oreades-Nymphs of the Mountains.
Dryades-Nymphs of the Woods.
Oromasdes-Persian name for the Principle of Good.
Mithras-Persian name for the Sun.
Arimanius-Persian name for the Principle of Evil.
Odysseus-Ulysses.
Achilleus-Achilles.
Cordax-An immodest comic dance.
Agora-A Market House.
Prytaneum-The Town House.




APPENDIX.                               285
Deigmat-A place in the Pireus, corresponding to the modern Exchange.
Clepsydra-A  Water-dial.
Cotylce-A  measure.  Some writers say one third of a quart; others
much less.
Aryt&,na-A small cup.
Arabyllus-A vase, wide at bottom and narrow at top.
Archons-Chief Magistrates of Athens.
Prytanes-Magistrates who presided over the Senate.
Phylarchi-Sheriffs.
Epistates-Chairman, or speaker.
Hippodrome-The Horse-course.
Stadium-Thirty-six and a half rods.
Obulus, (plural Oboli)-A small coin, about the value of a penny.
Drachma, (plural Drachmce)-About ten-pence sterling.
Mina, (plural Mince)-Four pounds, three shillings, four pence.
Stater-A gold coin; estimated at about twelve shillings, three pence.
Daric-A Persian gold coin, valued one pound, twelve shillings, three
pence.
(All the above coins are estimated very differently by different writers.)
" The midnight procession of the Panathenaea." p. 11.
This festival in honour of Pallas was observed early in the summer, every
fifth year, with great pomp.
"The Sacred Peplus." p. 12.
This was a white garment consecrated to Pallas, on which the actions
of illustrious men were represented in golden embroidery.
"Festival of Torches." p. 15.
In honour of Prometheus. The prize was bestowed on him who ran the
course without extinguishing his torch.
"Six months of seclusion within the walls of the Acropolis, were required of the
Canephorae." p. 22.
Maidens of the first families were selected to embroider the sacred peplus.
The two principal ones were called Canephorae, because they carried baskets in the Panathenaic procession.
" Fountain of Byblis." p. 33.
This name was derived from a young Ionian, passionately fond of her
brother Caunus, for whom she wept till she was changed into a fountain,
near Miletus.
"During the festivities of the Dionysia." p. 42.
This festival, in honour of Dionysus, was observed with great splendour.
Chorhgic games are supposed to have been celebrated; in which prizes
were given to the successful competitors in music, and the drama.
"The tuneful soul of Marsyas." p. 43.
Marsyas was a celebrated musician of Phrygia, generally considered the
inventor of the flute.




286                        AP PEND IX.
"Contest between fighting quails." p. 43.
In Athens, quails were pitched against each other, in the same manner
as game-cocks among the moderns.
"Pericles withdrew a rose from the garland." p. 44.
This flower was sacred to Silence.  The ancients often suspended it
above the table at feasts, to signify that what was said sub rosa was not
to be repeated.
"A life-time as long as that conferred upon the namesake of Tithonus." p. 46.
It is related of him, that he asked and obtained the gift of immortality
in this world; but unfortunately forgot to ask for youth and vigour.
" Eleusinian Mysteries." p. 47.
Ceremonies at Eleusis, in honour of Demeter, observed with great secresy.  Those who were initiated were supposed to be peculiarly under the
protection of the gods.
" Model for the sloping roof of the Odeum." p. 54.
Pericles was usually represented with a helmet, to cover the deformity
in his skull. It was jestingly said that the model for the Odeum was from
his own head.
" Patriotic song of Callistratus." p. 56.
Translated from  the Greek, by the Rt. Rev. G. W. Doane, Bishop of
New Jersey.
"While our rosy fillets shed," &c. p. 57.
The 43d Ode of Anacreon.  This and other extracts from  the same
poet are translated by Thomas Moore, Esq.
"All ending in ippus and ippides." p. 61.
Ippus is the Greek for horse. Wealthy Athenians generally belonged
to the equestrian order; to which the same ideas of honour were attached
as to the knights, or cavaliers, of modern times. Their names often signified some quality of a horse; as Leucippus, a white horse, &c.
"Describing her pompous sacrifices to Demeter." p. 64.
None but Greeks were allowed to enter the temples of this goddess.
" Urania alone confers the beauty-giving zone." p. 69.
Urania was the Heavenly Venus, who presided over the pure sentiment
of love, in distinction from Aphrodite, who presided over the sensual passion.
"The Pleiades mourning for their lost sister." p. 74.
One of the stars in the constellation of the Pleiades is said to have disappeared.  They were fabled as seven sisters, and one lost her place in the
sky by marrying a mortal.
"More happy than the gods is he." p. 75.
Second Ode of Sappho, translated by F. Fawkes, Esq.
" He has clothed the Graces." p. 76.
Socrates was originally a sculptor. He carved a beautiful group of the
Graces; said to have been the first that were represented with clothing.




AP P   N D I X.                         287
" Too frugal to buy coloured robes." p. 76.
The common people in Athens generally bought white garments, for the
economy of having them dyed when they were defaced.
" Every human being has, like Socrates, an attendant spirit." p. 89.
In the Phedrus of Plato, Socrates is represented as saying, " When I
was about to cross the river, a demoniacal and usual sign was given me;
and whenever this takes place, it always prohibits me from accomplishing
what I was about to do. In the present instance, I seemed to hear a voice,
which would not suffer me to depart till I had made an expiation; as if
I had offended in some particular a divine nature."
" His statue stands among the Olympionicae." p. 92.
The victors at the Olympic Games had their statues placed in the groves.
These statues were called Olympionicee.
" Count me on the summer trees." p. 98.
Part of the 14th Ode of Anacreon.
"As soon would I league myself with Odomantians." p. 112.
The Odomantians of Thrace, near the river Strymon, had the same
grasping, avaricious character, attributed to the Jews in modern times.
"Concealed their frauds amid the flames of the Treasury." p. 113.
The Treasury in Athens was burned to the ground, by the Treasurers,
who took that method to avoid being called to account for the money they
had embezzled.
"That comes of having the Helots among them." p. 116.
The freemen of Sparta were forbidden the exercise of any mechanical
or laborious employment. All these duties devolved upon the Helots;
while their masters spent their time in dancing, feasting, hunting, and
fighting.
" He approves the law forbidding masters to bestow freedom." p. 117.
There was a Spartan law forbidding masters to emancipate their slaves.
About two thousand, who were enfranchised by a public decree, for having
bravely defended the country during the Peloponessian war, soon after disappeared suddenly, and were supposed to have been secretly murdered.
"Whip them, merely to remind tnem of bondage." p. 117.
The Helots were originally a brave people; but after they were conquered by the Spartans, no pains were spared to render them servile and
degraded.  Once a year they publicly received a severe flagellation, merely
to remind them that they were slaves. They were never allowed to learn
any liberal art, or to sing manly songs. In order to expose them to greater
contempt, they were often obliged to perform indecent dances, and to get
brutally drunk, that their master's children might learn to despise such
uncomely things.
" Things as trifling as the turning of a shell." p. 120.
This was an Athenian proverb, applied to things that were done quickly,
or changed easily.




288                       APPEN DIX.
"You must indeed wrestle at Cynosarges." p. 120.
This was a name of Hercules; and because he was illegitimate, it was
applied to a place near the Lyceum, where those of half Athenian blood,
were wont to exercise in gymnastic sports.  Themistocles, being partly
of foreign extraction, induced the young Athenian nobles to go there and
wrestle with him, that the distinction might be done away.
"Festival Anthesteria." 120.
In honour of Dionysus. The best drinker was rewarded with a golden
crown and a cask of wine; and none but Athenians were allowed to enter
the theatre.
" Which he inscribed Demos." p. 131.
A phrase signifying the People, or the Democracy.
"Sing their welcome to Ornithiae." p. 134,
This name was applied to a wind that blew in the spring, at the time
when the birds began to return. It was a Grecian custom for children to
go about with garlands from door to door, singing a welcome to the swallows, and receiving trifling presents in return.
"The marble sent by Darius." p. 136.
The Persians were so confident of victory that they brought with them
marble to erect a trophy on the plains of Marathon. From this marble
Phidias sculptured a statue of Vengeance, which was called Rhamnusia.
" Filled my pillow with fresh laurel leaves." p. 143.
Phoebus was supposed to inspire dreams and prophecy; and the laurel
which was sacred to him, was supposed to be endowed with similar properties.
" Like one returned from the cave of Trophonius." p. 147.
In this cave was a celebrated oracle. Those who entered it always returned pale and dejected.
" Psyche bending over the sleeping Eros." p. 150.
This beautiful fable represents the union of the human soul with immortal love. Pysche was warned that separation would be the consequence,
if she looked on the countenance of her divine lover. She gazed on his
features as he slept; and was left to sorrow alone.
"Even the Diasia are no longer observed." p. 154.
Festivals in honour of Zeus, because he delivered men from misfortunes
and dangers.
" When the Muses and the Charities inhabit the same temple." p. 160.
Among the Greeks, the Graces were called the Charities.  It was a
beautiful idea thus to deify the moral, rather than the outward graces;
and to represent innocent and loving nymphs, forever hand in hand, presiding over kind and gentle actions. The Graces were often worshipped
in the same temple with the Muses.
"Olive garlands suspended on the doors." p. 185.
This was a common practice during the festival of Thargelia, in honour
of Phoebus.




A P P E N D I X.                         289
"Gently touched the back part of his head with a small wand." p. 202
That the phenomena of animal magnetism were not entirely unknown to
the ancients, appears by what Clearchus relates of an experiment tried in
the presence of Aristotle.  He speaks of a man who, by means of " a soulattracting wand," let the soul out of a sleeping lad,and left the body insensible.  When the soul was again led into the body, it related all that had
happened to it.
"The laws of the country made it impossible to accompany her beloved husband."
p. 016.
No woman was allowed to enter Olympia, during the celebration of the
games.
" Deemed he had fallen by the dart of Phoebus Apollo." p. 208.
Those who died very suddenly were supposed to have been struck with
the arrows of Phaebus, or his sister.
"Its best pleasures are like the gardens of Adonis." p. 213.
When the annual procession formed to mourn the death of Adonis, earth
was placed in shells, and lettuce planted in it, in commemoration of Adonis
laid out on a bed of lettuces.  These shells were called the Gardens of
Adonis. Their freshness soon withered, on account of the shallowness of
the earth.
"Rather gain one prize from the Choragus than ten from the Gymnasiarch." p. 219.
The first presided over musical and literary competition; the last over
athletic games.
"The statue of Persephone, (that ominous bridal gift.)" p. 226.
While Persephone was gathering flowers, she was seized by Pluto, and
carried to the regions of the dead, over which she presided. Hence the
hair of the deceased was consecrated to her, and her name invoked at
funerals.
"Milza sneezed aloud." p. 227.
This was considered a lucky omen; particularly if the sound came from
the direction of the right hand.
"He will trust to Hermes to help him." p. 239.
Hermes was the god of lies and fraud.
" Have I told you all my flames." p. 241."
Part of the 14th ode of Anacreon.
"Threatened to appeal to the magistrates for another master." p. 250.
The Athenian slave laws were much more mild than modern codes.  If
a servant complained of being abused, his master had no power to retain
him.
"Build the wall of Hipparchus." p. 251.
A wall built round the Academia by Hipparchus was so expensive that
it became a proverb applied to all costly undertakings.




290                      APPEND I X.
" One of the slaves whose modesty Alcibiades had insulted." p. 251.
Slaves that were either personally abused, or insulted, took refuge in the
Temple of Theseus, and could not be compelled to return to those of whom
they complained.
"These brooks are Crefisa's tears." p. 253.
Ion was the son of Phoebus and Creusa.  His mother, to avoid he?
father's displeasure, concealed the birth of the infant, and hid him in the
grotto, which afterwards bore her name.  The child was preserved, and
brought up in the temple of Phoebus.
" She does not speak like one brought up at the gates." p. 254.
The lower classes of tradesmen were generally placed near the gates.'One of the illustrious Pasargadae." p. 280.
These were the noblest families in Persia.
In some unimportant matters, I have not adhered strictly to dates;
deeming this an allowable freedom in a work so purely romantic, relating
to times so ancient.
I am aware that the Christian spirit is sometimes infused into a Grecian
form; and in nothing is this more conspicuous than the representation of
love as a pure sentiment rather than a gross passion.
Greek names for the deities were used in preference to the Roman, because the latter have become familiarized by common and vulgar use.
If there be errors in the application of Greek names and phrases, my
excuse must be an entire want of knowledge in the classic languages. But,
like the ignoramus in the Old Drama, I can boast, " Though I speak no
Greek, I love the sound on't."