PYRILAMPES’ PEACOCKS.
Among the wealthy and prominent citizens of Athens, at the time the
events narrated here occurred, were two men, who strove to vie with
each other not only in magnificent gifts to the nation, as was the
custom, but also in lavish household display, hitherto unknown.
One was Hipponicus, a man of noble birth, in whose hospitable house
Aspasia lived.
The other was Pyrilampes, an upstart, a money-changer from the Piræeus,
who had grown rich.
Hipponicus traced his lineage back to no less a personage than
Triptolemus, the favorite of Demeter, the founder of the Eleusinian
Mysteries, the teacher of agriculture and all kinds of civilization.
Doubtless the family owed to their descent from the Eleusinian hero,
the possession of the hereditary office of Daduchus, one of the
priestly dignitaries in the Mysteries of Eleusis.
Hipponicus was also invested with this honor, but it troubled the gay
man of the world very little. He was only obliged to go to Eleusis once
a year for a short time, at the celebration of the great Mysteries.
It was a remarkable peculiarity in the family of this man, that its
heads always bore by turns the names of Callias and Hipponicus. Each
Callias called his first born son Hipponicus, and each Hipponicus named
his Callias. The histories of all these various Calliases and
Hipponicuses were memorable, but the manner in which they obtained
their wealth was especially singular. The Hipponicus, who lived in the
time of Lycurgus and was a personal friend of that law-giver, was
accused of having laid the foundation of the prosperity of his family
by the misuse of a confidential communication from this famous man. In
the days of Pisistratus, a Hipponicus alone had the courage to purchase
the estates of the exiled tyrant. During the Persian wars many were
impoverished, but the families of the Calliases and Hipponicuses grew
richer. It was to a Hipponicus, that a certain Eretrian, named
Diomnestus, entrusted the treasure wrested from a hostile general at
the first attack of the Asiatics. At the second, as is well known, the
Persians carried off all the Eretrians as prisoners, among them
Diomnestus, whose treasure remained in Hipponicus’ hands. It was again
a Callias, whom a Persian, to buy his life at Marathon, secretly led to
a place where his countrymen had buried a great deal of money. Callias
took the precaution to kill the Persian, after he had shown him the
hole, that he might not betray the secret to any one else before
Callias found time to remove the treasure.
Such were the traditions of the hereditary talent for acquiring wealth
possessed by this family. Of course its scions also obtained
considerable distinction in the community.
Many a Callias and Hipponicus served his fellow-citizens as an
ambassador to the Persian kings, or in missions to negotiate a peace;
several of them also had statues erected in their honor at the public
expense.
Our Hipponicus, Aspasia’s host, was a worthy representative of his
ancestors. He had a kindly nature, and was very popular with the
people, sometimes sacrificed a whole hecatomb to the goddess Pallas
Athena, entertained at public festivals by whole districts, and at the
great feast of Dionysus arranged in the Cerameicus a drinking-bout for
all who might choose to come, and provided cushions stuffed with ivy,
on which the revellers could recline. Once, when he went to Corinth to
visit a friend, but heard on the way that the man was on the point of
having his property seized by his creditors, he sent a messenger
forward with the money needed to satisfy them, because it would have
been unpleasant to him to find his friend in a melancholy mood on his
arrival. His house in Athens, as has been already mentioned, was very
unlike the dwellings of other Athenians.
Only the rich exchanger, Pyrilampes, attempted to equal him. The latter
owned a house in the Piræeus, which he had had furnished precisely like
Hipponicus’ residence, and tried to emulate Hipponicus in everything.
If Hipponicus obtained a little dog of the Melitan breed, famed for its
delicate proportions, Pyrilampes procured a still smaller one. If
Hipponicus added to the number of his dogs a new Laconian, Molossian,
or Cretan hound, whose size all admired, Pyrilampes did not rest until
he possessed a still larger one. Hipponicus had a giant for his porter;
as Pyrilampes could not get a larger man, he adorned the entrance of
his house with a droll little dwarf, who attracted attention.
Hipponicus’ oldest son, who of course bore the name of Callias, found
it difficult to remember the names of the twenty-four letters of the
alphabet, so Hipponicus had the boy’s playmates, his household slaves,
and other persons whom the child often met, called by the names of
these letters. Pyrilampes also had a son, whose cognomen was Demos, and
as the little fellow was particularly fond of playing with puppies, he
kept twenty-four in the house, each of which bore the name of a letter
of the alphabet on a tiny label round its neck. Hipponicus was famous
for his breed of magnificent horses; as Pyrilampes could not surpass
him in this direction, he tried to throw Hipponicus’ horses into the
shade by a number of rare and curious apes. Hipponicus always raised
numerous cocks and quails to have them fight with each other, a
spectacle in which the Athenians took great delight. Recently, however,
he had devoted himself especially to the rearing of Sicilian doves,
which were very popular in Athens, and soon no such beautiful and
admirable specimens as those owned by Hipponicus could be found
anywhere. This triumph robbed Pyrilampes of sleep. He pondered a long
time to devise some means of surpassing Hipponicus’ doves, and at last
received from Samos a pair of the magnificent birds of Hera, with a
hundred eyes in their tails, which at that time were scarcely known in
Athens by name. Pyrilampes had the feathered strangers carefully
tended, and soon a number of the beautiful creatures were strutting
proudly in his spacious poultry-yard, nay even on the flat roof of his
house, to the great delight of the passers-by.
By the aid of these Samian birds, Pyrilampes drove Hipponicus and his
doves from the field. The curious Athenians flocked in throngs to gaze
at the peacocks, and for a long time talked of nothing else.
Hipponicus’ lucky rival did not rest until he had obtained Pericles’
promise to come and look at his peacocks. The latter went to his house
accompanied by Aspasia, who again concealed herself under the disguise
of the Milesian cithara-player.
Any Athenian, who desired at that time to make his fair friend a
particularly beautiful present, bought and sent her one of Pyrilampes’
peacocks. Aspasia expressed so much admiration of the magnificent
birds, and Pericles fancied he read so distinctly in her eyes the
desire to have such a beautiful creature for an ornament to the
peristyle of her dwelling, that he could not help drawing Pyrilampes
aside and secretly commissioning him to send one of the young peacocks
to Aspasia, who lived next door to Hipponicus. He said nothing to
Aspasia herself, wishing to surprise her with the gift.
The morning after this visit of Pericles and the disguised Milesian,
Hipponicus unexpectedly entered the apartment of the fair woman who was
enjoying his hospitality. He was a somewhat corpulent man, with a red,
bloated face. His eyes sparkled good-naturedly, and a smile was always
hovering around his somewhat thick lips. With this same smile, though
it now had a slight touch of sarcasm, so far as such a feeling was
possible to Hipponicus, he said to Aspasia:
“My fair guest, I hear you are very well pleased in the city of the
Athenians—”
“The merit is yours,” replied Aspasia.
“Not entirely!” returned Hipponicus, “you have from the beginning
enjoyed most delightful intercourse with Phidias’ fellow-artists, and
more recently with my friend, the great Pericles. I hear that for
convenience you sometimes accompany him in the disguise of a
cithara-player, and if I am rightly informed, Hipponicus’ doves no
longer please you, but you prefer to go to the Piræeus with Pericles,
and admire Pyrilampes’ peacocks.”
“The peacocks are very beautiful,” said Aspasia unconcernedly, “and you
ought to go and see them yourself.”
“I passed Pyrilampes’ house a short time ago,” answered Hipponicus,
“and heard the birds scream. That was enough for me. Well, it’s every
one’s own affair to seek his pleasure where he finds it. A pleasure
enjoyed at home grows wearisome. I see it pays better to amuse, than to
entertain a person—”
While uttering these words, Hipponicus looked keenly at Aspasia, hoping
she would reply.
As she was silent, he continued:
“You know that I released you from unpleasant complications at Megara;
I brought you here to Athens; I have hospitably entertained you. I have
done a great deal for you. And now tell me what thanks I have received
for it? Do you hear, Aspasia? What thanks have I received?”
“Whoever asks for thanks in such a way,” replied Aspasia, “desires
payment, not gratitude. You, too, wish to be paid, I see, for what you
have done for me. Your benefits seem to have a fixed price, but you
neglected to stipulate for this price in advance and now are angry,
like any huckster woman in the market, because it is too high for the
customer.”
“Don’t distort the matter, Aspasia,” said Hipponicus smiling; “you know
I was the customer, ready to buy your favor with everything that
pleased you.”
“So I am the wares!” exclaimed Aspasia. “Be it so. I am wares, if you
please, and have a price—”
“And that price?” asked Hipponicus.
“You will never pay, with all your wealth,” she answered quickly.
Hipponicus started.
“No fine phrases!” said he, his features regaining their good-natured
expression. “You are no longer to be had. That is all. Some one else
has bought you. At what price—is his affair. Since it is the great
Pericles, I shall bear neither him nor you ill-will. I grudge him no
possession; he once did me a great favor, which I shall never forget,
won from me a wearisome wife, the beautiful, but quarrelsome Telesippe.
May the gods reward him.”
With this remark, which he always made whenever the conversation turned
upon Pericles, Hipponicus rose and departed.
Aspasia’s first thought, after he had gone, was that it no longer
became her to claim his hospitality.
She called her slave, and gave orders to have her effects put on a
couple of mules and conveyed to a Milesian friend, a matron, who had
lived some years in Athens. She had been an intimate friend of
Aspasia’s mother, and loved her blooming young countrywoman with almost
maternal tenderness.
After Aspasia had sent a message to Hipponicus, expressing her thanks
for the hospitality he had shown and her determination to leave his
house, she put on the cithara-player’s disguise, and accompanied by a
slave, set out to seek Pericles in his own dwelling.
She had never ventured on such a step until to-day, even in disguise,
but was now urged on by her impatience to have an interview with her
friend without delay, to consider what she should do after her
departure from Hipponicus’ house.
A short time after Aspasia had gone, Hipponicus was told by his
servants that a slave had come from Pyrilampes, bringing a young
peacock, intended for the Milesian who lived in the adjoining house.
Hipponicus hated nothing in the world so much as Pyrilampes’ peacocks,
and if he had yielded to the first fleeting impulse of his heart, would
have instantly ordered the bird’s neck to be twisted.
But he contented himself with saying:
“The Milesian has gone, and I don’t know where she moved. Carry the
peacock to Pericles’ house. No doubt it was he who bought it.”
Meantime Aspasia had reached the Agora on her way to Pericles.
While hastily gliding through the crowd of strangers, Alcamenes
suddenly met her.
The sculptor stopped, looked into her face with his bright eyes, and
said smiling:
“Whither away, fair cithara-player? Doubtless to Pericles? May the new
friends, with their claims on you and your favor, be more fortunate
than the old ones.”
“To whom did I ever grant any claim upon me?” asked Aspasia.
“Among others, to me!” replied Alcamenes.
“To you?” said Aspasia. “I gave you what you wanted, what was necessary
to the sculptor. Neither more nor less!”
“A woman must give all or nothing!” answered Alcamenes.
“Then forget that I have given anything!” cried Aspasia, and vanished
in the throng.
The few words had been quickly exchanged. Alcamenes laughed bitterly.
Aspasia hastily continued her walk—
Telesippe was occupied that morning in a pious duty.
She hoped to obtain compensation for what, in her opinion, Pericles
neglected in the management of the household, from the favor of the god
Zeus Ctesius, the guardian and increaser of property, who was honored
with domestic worship by all devout Athenians. No one understood holy
ancestral customs so well as Telesippe. She wound woollen threads
around her brow and right shoulder, took a new earthen vessel with a
lid, wrapped white wool about its handles, filled it with a mixture of
all kinds of fruits, pure water, and oil, and set the gift in the
store-room in honor of the aforesaid god.
She had just completed her pious task, when she saw the porter admit a
slave, who brought in his arms a huge foreign bird, with long
tail-feathers.
The man said the bird belonged to Pericles, put it down, and went away.
Telesippe was astonished, not knowing exactly what to think of the
matter.
Had Pericles purchased the bird in the market, and was it to be plucked
and roasted?
Yet Pericles usually troubled himself very little about domestic
affairs.
She determined to await the return of her absent husband, and ordered
the bird to be placed for the present in the little poultry-yard of the
house.
A woman, attended by a slave, now glided in at the outer door, and as
Telesippe went forward, her friend Elpinice’s well-known face emerged
from the folds of the thick himation.
Elpinice’s features wore an unusually grave expression. Her manner was
agitated, her movements were hasty, her eyes wandered restlessly, and
her lips trembled as if with impatience to say something, unburden her
mind of some important secret.
“Telesippe,” she said, “send away all witnesses, or retire with me into
your most private room.”
Pericles’ wife was not entirely unaccustomed to see her friend enter in
an excited mood. The latter still had many acquaintances, and formed as
it were the centre, from which the feminine gossip of Athens spread in
all directions. She knew a great deal, and threw the tinder of exciting
news into the stillness of many a woman’s apartment. When the two were
alone and undisturbed in the most secluded room in the house, Cimon’s
sister began with a shade of solemnity:
“Telesippe, what do you think of your husband’s faith?”
Telesippe did not instantly know what to answer.
“What do you think of your husband’s regard for our sex in general?”
continued Elpinice.
“Oh,” replied Telesippe, “the man’s head is so full of public affairs—”
“That you imagine he no longer thinks of women?” interrupted Cimon’s
sister, her lips curling in a smile of mingled compassion and mockery.
“Of course!” she continued watchfully, “you as his wedded wife, his
lawful companion, must know better than any one else.”
“Of course,” answered Telesippe unsuspiciously.
Elpinice took her hand, again smiled compassionately, and said:
“Telesippe, is your husband’s nature unknown to you? Think a little.
Remember the beautiful Chrysilla—the object of the poet Ion’s love, to
whom your husband, as all the world knows, paid court a long time—”
“But that is long since over!” replied Telesippe.
“Possibly!” said Cimon’s sister. “But has no suspicion ever dawned upon
you recently? Has nothing in your husband’s conduct perplexed you more
than usual? Has no presentiment of evil filled your soul?”
Telesippe shook her head.
“My poor friend!” cried Elpinice. “Then it will come upon you without
preparation, and you must hear everything at once.”
“Speak!” said the wife.
“Has the name of Aspasia not yet reached your ears?” asked Elpinice.
“It is wholly unknown to me.”
“Then listen,” said Cimon’s sister. “Aspasia is the name of a young
Milesian, who, the gods only know through what wanderings and
adventures, drifted to Megara, and was brought from thence to Athens by
your former husband, Hipponicus. I think you are not ignorant of the
character and worth of these Milesians, especially the Ionians, the
women of the coasts on the other side of the sea? They are Bacchantes,
who spread over Greece, and with burning torches kindle the hearts of
men. Aspasia is the most dangerous, the most crafty, the slyest, the
boldest of all! Into this woman’s snares your husband has fallen!”
“What are you saying!” cried the startled wife. “Where does he meet
this woman?”
“In Hipponicus’ house!” replied Elpinice. “There she lives, and there
these hetæræ have their meetings. Orgies are held there, orgies,
Telesippe! Horrible things are whispered about the orgies in
Hipponicus’ house! And your husband is in the midst of them! But that
isn’t the worst. He is wasting his property on the Milesian courtesan!
He gives her slaves, household furniture, carpets, doves, talking
starlings, all kinds of presents. Everything has been known all over
the city since yesterday. Hitherto they have kept it as quiet as
possible. It spread like wild-fire, for yesterday Pericles capped the
climax of his shameless conduct. Yesterday he bought from Pyrilampes a
foreign bird, a peacock, bought it for the Milesian, Aspasia! Everybody
is talking about this peacock. The bird was taken to Hipponicus’ house
this morning, by one of Pyrilampes’ slaves. I, myself, on my way here,
talked with people who saw the slave carrying the peacock in his arms.
But just think! These same people told me that the peacock was not
received at Hipponicus’ house; the Milesian no longer lives there. Do
you see the connection? She has moved to some other house. And who has
bought or hired this dwelling? Your husband, Pericles! Why do you stare
so thoughtfully into my face?”
“I am thinking about the foreign bird of which you told me,” said
Telesippe. “A few minutes before you came, a strange bird was brought
here by a slave, with the message that Pericles had bought it.”
“Where is the bird?” cried Elpinice. Telesippe led her friend to the
poultry-yard, where the young peacock lay struggling piteously on the
ground, for the thong had not been removed from its feet.
“It is the peacock!” said Elpinice; “it corresponds exactly with the
description I have heard. The whole affair is perfectly clear. The bird
wasn’t received at Hipponicus’ house; the slave would not or could not
search further for the Milesian, and brought it directly here to the
purchaser. This is a dispensation of the gods, Telesippe. Offer a
sacrifice to Hera, the guardian and avenger of holy ties.”
“Miserable bird!” cried Telesippe, casting an angry glance at the
peacock. “You shall not have fallen into my hands in vain.”
“Kill it!” cried Cimon’s sister; “kill, roast it and prepare a Thyestes
banquet for your faithless husband.”
“That I will!” replied Telesippe, “and Pericles cannot even reproach me
for it. Our poultry-yard is too small for such a bird, so if he bought
it I could only suppose it was intended to be plucked, roasted and
eaten. Pericles must keep silence, for he can find no objection to such
an apology. He must keep silence, though secretly bursting with anger,
when I place the roasted bird before him. Then, after he has angrily
swallowed the accursed food, I’ll open my lips and hold the picture of
his public disgrace before his eyes.”
“You will be acting wisely!” said Elpinice, smiling and rubbing her
hands. “Now,” she continued, “you see the nature of the public business
that detains your husband from his lawful, wedded wife.”
“His friends have corrupted him,” said Telesippe. “His heart is easily
inflamed, always open to every impression. Association with those, who
deny the gods, has made him impious. His interest in the household
service of the gods is very lukewarm, and he does and tolerates many
things of this sort solely for my sake. You remember that he recently
lay ill with fever for several days. You advised me to hang an amulet
around his neck, a ring with various magical signs, or a bit of
parchment with efficacious proverbs sewed into leather. I obtained one,
and hung it round the patient’s neck. He was half asleep and did not
notice it. Soon after one of his friends came in, who perceived the
amulet on Pericles’ breast, removed it and threw it away. Pericles
awoke, and his friend—a slave who was in the room told me—said to him:
‘The women hung an amulet around your neck; I am an enlightened man,
and have taken the thing off.’ ‘That is all very well,’ replied
Pericles, ‘but I should have considered you still more enlightened if
you had left it.’”
“That was surely one of the new-fashioned sculptors,” said Elpinice. “I
never liked Pericles—how could I like the rival of my noble, peerless
brother—but he has become actually hateful to me, since he has allowed
himself to be a mere tool and plaything in the hands of Phidias,
Ictinus, Callicrates, and the rest of those, who now make such a tumult
with their ambitious labors, and crowd all genuine merit into the
background. Do you know, that while these men are busying themselves
with chisel and trowel on the Acropolis, the noble Polygnotus, the
admirable master my brother Cimon prized so highly, is forced to remain
idle.”
Elpinice poured forth similar complaints for some time, but at last
rose to go. Telesippe accompanied her into the peristyle, and there the
two friends, according to the practice of women, who in parting find it
difficult to say the last word, lingered, eagerly talking about the
great affair of the day.
Suddenly the outer door was opened, and a remarkably handsome youth
entered. The two ladies, in accordance with the rigid etiquette of
Attica, should have retired at the sight of a stranger, but they seemed
spellbound. Besides, was not the new-comer merely a beardless youth?
Ere Telesippe could recover her presence of mind, the latter, turning
to her with mingled modesty and grace, asked if Pericles was at home
and willing to receive the visit of a friend.
“My husband has gone out,” replied Telesippe.
“I am glad to be permitted to greet his wife, the mistress of the
house!” said the youth. “I am Pasikompsos, the son of Erekestides,” he
continued, intentionally emphasizing the harsh names, “from”—here he
paused, not daring to say Miletus, for one glance at the two women into
whose hands he had fallen, had taught him that he should make no
favorable impression here by mentioning that gay city. He would at any
rate excite least suspicion, if he came from austere Sparta.
“I am the son of Erekestides of Sparta,” he continued. “My grandfather,
Astrampsychus, was united by ties of hospitality, with the grandfather
of Pericles.”
Elpinice was overjoyed to hear, that the youth came from Sparta.
“Welcome, stranger!” she cried, “if you are from the land of good old
customs! But who was your mother, that you, a scion of unpolished
Sparta, possess such a wealth of curling locks, such slender, pliant
limbs?”
“I am a degenerate descendant!” replied the youth. “At home in Sparta,
people always took me for a woman; yet I have never trembled before any
one, who wished to try his strength with me. Many a man have I
overthrown. But it was all useless, people still mistook me for a
woman. At last I grew weary of it, and, to escape jeering tongues,
determined to go to a foreign country and not return till my beard had
grown. Meantime, I intend to devote myself to the fine arts that
flourish in Athens.”
“I will recommend you to the noble master Polygnotus,” said Elpinice;
“I hope you are a painter, not one of the stone-cutters already so
numerous and saucy in this country.”
“I have not learned to carve stone, but I believe I understand
something about colors, perhaps as much as any of my nation, though I
need not practise the art at present, since, thanks to the gods, I have
property enough for my support.”
“How do you like Athens and its inhabitants?” continued Elpinice.
“The inhabitants would undoubtedly charm me, if they should all prove
as worthy of reverence and love, as those the gods have permitted me to
meet in this house so soon after my arrival.”
“Youth!” cried Elpinice rapturously, “you do honor to your native
country! Would that the young men of Athens were equally modest and
courteous. Happy Sparta! Happy mothers, wives, and maidens of
Lacedæmon!”
“Is it true,” asked Telesippe, “that the Spartan women are the fairest
in all Hellas? I have often heard so.”
The question did not seem to impress the youth favorably. His nostrils
quivered and his lips curled, as he said contemptuously.
“If a robust figure is synonymous with feminine beauty, the Spartan
women are the fairest. But if delicacy and nobleness of form decide the
matter,”—here he paused, let his eyes wander over Elpinice’s face and
figure, then, with a winning smile, added: “the prize of beauty may be
justly given to the Athenians.”
“Spartan,” said Elpinice, “you speak like the great master Polygnotus,
when he came from Thasos to Athens with my brother Cimon, and begged
permission to borrow my features for the face of Priam’s fairest
daughter, in the picture with which he adorned the hall. I sat to him
for a fortnight, and he painted every feature.”
“You are Elpinice, Cimon’s sister?” cried the youth with an eager
gesture of surprise. “Let me greet you! My grandfather, Astrampsychus,
talked of you and your brother Cimon, the friend of Laconia, when he
dandled me as a child on his knees! You stand before me exactly as he
described you. Now, too, I remember the fairest of Priam’s daughters in
Polygnotus’ picture. I saw it yesterday, and know not whether to
congratulate the picture because it so closely resembles you, or you
because you are so like the picture.”
Cimon’s sister stood in a very dignified attitude, but was obliged to
wipe away the tears that sprang to her eyes. Her heart was ensnared.
For thirty years no Athenian youth had addressed her in the language
used by this Spartan. She could have embraced all Laconia, and did not
even venture to clasp this one youth, in obedience to the impulse of
her heart. But she rewarded him with a tender glance.
“Amycle,” said Telesippe, turning to a woman who appeared in the
peristyle on some household errand, “you can greet one of your
countrymen—this youth comes from Sparta.” Then addressing the stranger,
she added:
“This woman was the nurse of little Alcibiades, Cleinias’ orphan son,
whom my husband adopted. The strong, healthy Laconian women are
everywhere sought as nurses. We have become attached to Amycle, and she
is now acting as our housekeeper.”
The youth answered the laconic greeting, addressed to him by the stout,
ruddy Spartan in her broad native dialect, with a scornful smile, and
the nurse scanned with somewhat suspicious glances the delicate, yet
well-rounded limbs of her pretended countryman.
“These Laconian women grow into stout heavy figures,” said Telesippe,
glancing after the retiring housekeeper.
“If it were not for their bosoms,” replied the youth, “they would be
mistaken for porters. Now, so far as they can be judged from the
appearance of this wet-nurse, you can imagine the Spartan maidens, who
run, wrestle, leap, throw the spear and discus, and vie with the youths
in pugilistic combats. They are sturdy and bold, wear short petticoats,
reaching barely to the knee and slit up on the side—”
Meantime Alcibiades, unnoticed by the women, had slipped into the
peristyle, watched the handsome foreign youth, and listened to the last
words.
“But how are the Spartan boys reared?” he asked, suddenly emerging from
behind a column, and fixing his magnificent dark eyes upon the
stranger.
The latter was startled by the unexpected appearance of the graceful
lad.
“That is little Alcibiades, Cleinias’ son!” said Telesippe.
“Alcibiades,” she continued, turning to the boy, “don’t disgrace your
tutors by your rudeness. This is a Spartan youth.”
The stranger bent over the boy to kiss him on the forehead.
“The Spartan boys go barefooted,” he replied, “sleep on straw, reeds,
or rushes, are never allowed to eat till they are perfectly satisfied,
are flogged once a year at the altar of Artemis until the blood flows,
to harden them against pain, receive instruction in all kinds of
gymnastic exercises, the use of arms, and the art of stealing without
being detected; but, on the other hand, need not learn the alphabet,
and are expressly forbidden to bathe and anoint themselves oftener than
once or twice a year—”
“Fie!” cried Alcibiades.
“Besides,” continued the stranger, “they are always arranged in
companies, and the younger ones have older lads for friends, from whom
they try to learn everything useful, whose approval they seek to gain,
and to whom they are devoted body and soul.”
“If I were a Spartan boy and obliged to choose such a friend, I’d take
you,” said the little fellow, with sparkling eyes.
The youth laughed and again stooped to kiss the child.
At this moment, Elpinice, who had been standing quietly, close by his
side, suddenly betrayed strange emotion.
A shiver seem to run through her limbs, she hastily drew Telesippe
aside, and whispered:
“Telesippe, this youth—”
“Well?” asked the latter in the same tone.
“Oh, Zeus and Apollo!” sighed Cimon’s sister under her breath.
“What is it?” asked Telesippe eagerly.
Elpinice put her lips to her friend’s ear, and whispered:
“Telesippe, I saw just now—”
“Well, what did you see?” asked the wife anxiously.
“When the stranger bent over the boy, the edge of his chiton blew up a
little, and I saw—” Again excitement stifled her words.
“What did you see?” repeated Telesippe.
“A woman!” gasped Elpinice.
“A woman?”
“A woman! It’s the Milesian. Send the boy away and leave the rest to
me.”
Telesippe ordered Alcibiades to go back to his playfellows. The lad
refused; he wanted to stay with his “friend.” Telesippe was obliged to
call Amycle, to take the refractory child away.
After this was done, Elpinice cast a significant glance at her friend,
then drew herself up proudly, approached the stranger and looked keenly
into his face.
Pasikompsos at first tried to return the gaze, but Elpinice’s eyes
seemed to seize and hold his, as a bailiff grasps a captured criminal.
Involuntarily the culprit endeavored to evade the spell, and now,
having emerged from the duel of the eyes as a conqueror, Elpinice broke
the oppressive silence, and in a cutting tone began:
“Are you fond of roast peacock, Spartan? Pericles will have one on his
table to-day. Would you not like to be his guest?”
“Yes,” Telesippe chimed in, the expression of her face almost
surpassing the crushing contempt of Elpinice’s. “It is one of
Pyrilampes’ peacocks. He sold it yesterday to Pericles, who intended to
give it to an Ionian coquette, but now prefers to have it roasted.”
“Is it true,” cried Elpinice on the other side, “that your companions
by the Eurotas declared you were a woman? Indeed! Even here in Athens
there are also people who maintain you are no man, but—a hetæra from
Miletus.”
“Miserable wretch!” cried Telesippe with uncontrollable fury; “are you
not content to delude men outside of the house? Must you even steal
into the sanctuary of the home? Have you no fear of the household gods
of this dwelling, who look with angry eyes upon the disturber and
profaner of sacred family ties? Stand perfumed and bedecked before the
door of your own house, and drag in the passer-by. What! Do you still
dare to look me in the face? Are you not going yet?”
“Call Amycle here,” said Elpinice to her furious friend, “that her
genuine Laconian fists may thrust this false ‘countryman,’ this dainty
doll out of doors.”
“But first,” cried Telesippe, who after her sluggish nature was once
roused, always grew more and more excited, “first I’ll scratch her eyes
out with these fingers—tear her borrowed garments from her limbs!”
So the two women vied with each other in raving at the disguised and
unmasked Milesian.
The latter patiently endured the first and most violent flood of abuse,
until both, apparently bewildered by her quiet composure, paused for a
moment.
Then she began:
“Have you now discharged your sharpest, most poisoned arrows? I have
suffered the hail-stones of your wrath to pass quietly over my head,
for I exposed myself to this peril, ventured into the domain of these
angry household gods, and though you revile me for the deception of my
dress, I have enough of the masculine nature to reconcile myself to
what is natural and inevitable. But you too, Telesippe, mistress of the
house, and you, venerable Elpinice, will understand and endure it, if I
make some reply to so much talking, though in a tone which will have
nothing in common with yours. Why then, Mistress Telesippe, wedded wife
of the great Pericles, do you so harshly insult and accuse me? Tell me,
of what have I robbed you? Your household gods? Your children? Your
fair fame? Your pride of virtue? Your property? Your trinkets? Your
pots of rouge and ointment? I have taken none of these. There is but
one trifle, which I may seem to have wrested from you, that which to
you was least of all these things, which you yourself neglected, never
really possessed, never strove to gain or keep—your husband’s love! If
it were really true that he loved me, not you, would it be my fault?
No. It would be yours. Did I come here to teach the Athenians to love
their wives? It would beseem me much better and be far easier, to teach
Athenian women what they must do to be beloved by their husbands. You
Athenian housekeepers, withering in the seclusion of the women’s
apartment, do not understand the art of subjugating the hearts of men,
and are angry with us Ionians, because we do comprehend it. Is it a
crime? No! It is a crime not to understand it. What is the meaning of
being loved? It signifies pleasing! If you wish to be loved, charm. No
tie, no vow, no appeal to divine or human law will aid you to do this;
only the motto: know how to please. And when does woman please? First
of all, when she wishes to do so. How must she seek to please? With
every charm that lures. She will not long enchant, if she merely
pleases the senses, bewitches the imagination, interests the mind, or
touches the heart—she must understand how to unite all these things in
her own person, in one word to be lovable. But to complete her victory
and awaken the love of another, she must be more careful to conceal
than to betray her own. A premature display of affection from a woman
chills an awakening love, repels a declining one. She begins by making
the man proud, ends by wearying him, and the husband’s weariness is the
certain grave of matrimonial happiness, feminine sway. He may caress or
blame, coo or swear, but never, never be allowed to yawn. You,
Telesippe, did too little and too much: too little, for you gave your
husband only your faithfulness; too much, because you offered what you
gave like liquor in a goblet! The wife must neither be like the liquor
in a goblet, nor the furniture in the house; nor a slave, nor even
merely a wife, for Hymen is the mortal foe of Eros. She must make her
husband woo her every day, and understand the wondrous art of always
preserving her girlish charm. If you can practise this art, do so. If
not, renounce what is won through its power, and without envy, permit
others to reap its fruits.”
Pericles’ wife looked haughtily at Aspasia, her lips curling in a
contemptuous smile.
“Keep the lore of your coquettish arts for yourself,” she answered,
“you may need them, and forbear to try to teach me how a husband’s
admiration and esteem are won, me whom the archon Basileus sought to
make his wife! What do you, the strange adventuress, expect to gain by
your arts? You can lure my husband from me to a secret love intrigue,
but you will remain an alien to his house, his hearth; even if he casts
me off, you cannot become his lawful wife, bear him legitimate heirs,
for you are a foreigner, you are no Athenian! Whether my husband woos
me with love-sighs or not does not matter, I rule here beside his
hearth-stone; I am the mistress of the house, while you are an
intruder. I bid you ‘go’ and you must obey.”
“I will obey and go,” replied Aspasia. “We have divided fairly!” she
added with marked emphasis. “His house and hearth are yours, his heart
is mine! Let each maintain her rights. Farewell, Telesippe.”
With these words Aspasia departed.
Telesippe was once more alone with Elpinice, who applauded her friend’s
pride, praised the answer she had given the stranger.
After another long conversation, they separated, and Pericles’ wife
went to attend to her domestic affairs.
Little Alcibiades talked all day long about his “Spartan friend,” to
the great vexation of honest Amycle, who shook her head, saying:
“That young fellow never swam through the Eurotas.”
Telesippe forbade both to mention the stranger in Pericles’ presence.
The day passed, and the hour for the evening meal approached.
Pericles returned home and went to the table with his family.
He ate the offered viands, answered the questions of little Alcibiades
and the other two boys, and sometimes addressed a word to Telesippe,
who, however, remained absorbed in a half-gloomy, half-scornful
silence.
Pericles liked to see cheerful people around him. His wife’s morose,
silent manner made him uncomfortable.
Another dish was now offered. It was the roast peacock.
Pericles cast a strange glance at the bird.
“What is this?” he asked.
“The peacock brought to the house this morning by your orders,” replied
Telesippe.
Pericles made no reply. After a pause, during which he was trying to
understand the connection of the matter, he said in a somewhat
constrained tone:
“Who told you I wanted to have the peacock roasted?”
“What else could be done?” asked Telesippe. “Our poultry-yard isn’t
large enough for such an immense bird, so I could only suppose you had
bought it at the market, to be prepared for to-day’s meal. Why not? It
is nice, and admirably roasted. Just try a bit.”
So saying, she placed a well-browned piece on her husband’s plate.
Pericles, whom people called the Olympian; Pericles, the victorious
general, the mighty orator, the guider of the destiny of Athens, the
man who was accustomed to gaze with dignified composure at the
turbulent crowds of Athenians, as well as at the advancing hosts of the
enemy on the battle-field—lowered his eyes before the piece of peacock
his wedded wife, Telesippe, laid on his plate.
But he soon controlled himself, rose from the table, saying that his
appetite was satisfied, and was about to retire to his own room.
Just at this moment, little Alcibiades asked:
“Have the swans in the Eurotas as handsome plumage as this peacock?”
Then, without waiting for an answer, he continued:
“Amycle is an old fool, when she declares that my Spartan friend never
swam through the Eurotas.”
At this mention of a Spartan friend, Pericles glanced inquiringly,
first at the boy and then at Telesippe.
“Of what Spartan friend are you speaking?” he asked at last.
Neither the boy nor Telesippe answered.
Pericles left the apartment, followed by his wife. At the threshold of
the inner room, she said sharply, though in a low tone.
“Forbid Milesian adventuresses to seek you here in your home, that they
may not delude the boys also. Give them your heart, Pericles, if you
choose, but they shall not profane your house and hearth. Follow them
wherever you please, but here in this house, beside this hearth, I
shall assert my rights. Here I am mistress, I alone.”
Pericles was strangely moved by the tone of these words. It was not the
cry of a wife’s wounded heart, but the frigid, offended pride of the
mistress of the house.
He coldly returned the speaker’s icy glance and answered quietly:
“Be it as you say, Telesippe.”
The same day a slave brought a written message to Pericles.
The latter read the following lines in Aspasia’s hand.
“I have left Hipponicus’ house. There is much to tell you. Visit me if
you can, in the home of the Milesian, Agariste.”
Pericles answered as follows:
“Come to-morrow to the country-house of the poet Sophocles on the banks
of the Cephissus. You will find me there. Come in disguise, or be
carried in a litter without a mask.”