“Remember the Athenians.”
“Who at Thermopylæ stood side by side,
And fought together and together died,
Under earth-barrows now are laid at rest,
Their chance thrice glorious, and their fate thrice-blest.
No tears for them, but memory’s loving gaze;
For them no pity, but proud hymns of praise.”
Simonides.
Like a great crawling serpent, the army of Xerxes, augmented by the
cowardly Thessalians, wound its circuitous and perilous way from
Trachis; first ascending the gorge of the river Asopus and the hill
called Anopæa, then crossing the pitch-dark, oak-covered crest of Oeta.
Its venomous head was the treasonable Greek, dressed as a Persian
foot-soldier. Many were the woes of that nocturnal journey! Soldiers
tripping over fallen branches and entangled in the undergrowth were
trampled to death. Some were pressed into the treacherous morass, but
the malignant monster, heedless of this sloughing, crept on toward its
goal which was the town of Alpeni at the east end of the pass.
But the small army of the Greeks was not destined to suffer such a
complete surprise as Xerxes had hoped, for the revengeful Tyrastiadas,
limping painfully as a result of his forty lashes, had succeeded in
deserting and had apprised Leonidas of the startling fact that the
Persians were coming across the pass. The Spartan king sent a Phocian
guard of one thousand men to prevent the enemy from crossing the summit
of Oeta, but this guard was speedily overwhelmed by the Persians who
were under the leadership of Hydarnes. The next morning shortly after
sunrise, the Persian hordes descended upon the Greeks. The sun was
reflected with dazzling brilliancy from thousands of breast-plates,
spears, shields and helmets, and upon the ears of the heroic sons of
Hellas fell the deafening war-cry from myriads of throats.
A suffocating sensation seized Zopyrus as he beheld the mere handful of
Greeks bravely awaiting certain death at the hands of a pitiless foe,
but to turn back was now impossible. Strange that he could in fancy so
easily picture himself as one of that brave minority, awaiting
inevitable death! To his own sorrow he had not infrequently lamented the
faculty which he possessed of seeing the praiseworthy aspect of an
enemy’s view-point. It was this attribute of leniency toward the
opinions of his fellow-men that was especially irritating to the
intolerant Xerxes. In the mind of the latter all men were divided into
two great classes; subjects and enemies. To Zopyrus all men seemed
friends unless by their own initiative they proved themselves otherwise.
It was extremely painful to him to see these brave Greeks meet this
great crisis unflinchingly. It was humanly impossible for this mere
handful of men to stem the tide of the onrushing Persians.
To us at this day and age it is apparent that these men did not
sacrifice their manhood in vain. The result of any noble act is never
lost. In some way and at some time it brings a result as satisfactory as
that desired in the hearts of the original heroes themselves. Such a
result was destined to come to Greece after the bones of Thermopylæ’s
warriors had long mingled with the dust.
Zopyrus was swept on by the barbarian host. A shower of missiles
diminished the number of Greeks and soon the enemy was upon them and the
battle continued with spear and sword. Zopyrus received a slight wound
on the left shoulder, the Greek inflicting the injury snatching away his
spear. Zopyrus quickly unsheathed his sword, pressing his opponent to
closer combat as a better chance for self defense. The two fought long
over the bodies of Persian and Greek who now lay in inevitable amity
beside their once ruthless foe. At length the Greek who was little more
than a boy, weakened perceptibly and in an unguarded moment Zopyrus’
sword disappeared up to the hilt. As the lad fell his helmet rolled off
revealing a countenance of incomparable beauty; deep-set eyes, brows
that nearly met above a straight nose, refined mouth and a contour of
cheek and chin that was flawless. All this was revealed to Zopyrus in a
second’s time, but it left an indelible impression on his mind. As he
pressed on he felt that the horrors of war were crazing him, and his
soul cried out against the awful brutality of it.
With the slaughter of the three hundred the gateway to central Greece
had now been forcibly opened and Xerxes in imitation of his father’s
avenging words, cried out, “Remember the Athenians.” A journey of about
six days lay between the oriental despot and his ultimate goal, the city
of Athens, so with prancing steeds, waving plumes, glittering arms and
triumphant shouts, the Asiatic legions resumed their deleterious course.
The morning of the third day found the army within sight of Mt.
Parnassus. With rapt gaze Zopyrus beheld the softest sculpture of cliff
and peak against a cerulean sky. Upon yonder lofty summit dwelt the
Muses, those daughters of Zeus who preside over the æsthetic and
intellectual aspirations of man. It seemed to Zopyrus that surely now
but one Muse, Melpomene, occupied that pinnacle, and with mournful gaze
beheld the invasion of this fairest of lands.
In accordance with the order of Xerxes all faces were turned in the
direction of Delphi, in spite of a report that the oracle of Delphi had
prophesied that Apollo would protect his sanctuary. Through a gorge at
the foot of Mt. Parnassus might Melpomene have seen the multitudes of
Asiatic troops pursue their nefarious journey. Suddenly peal after peal
of thunder reverberated from the apparent calm of a mid-summer sky. Then
great crags from the mountain were loosened and rolled down upon the
army which fled in wild terror, abandoning its attempt to plunder
Delphi. So did Apollo protect his shrine! But fortune did not so favor
the citizens of Thespiæ and Platæa in Bœotia both of which were ravaged
and those citizens who would not join the Persian forces were put to
death.
At length on the fifth day the army camped at night-fall outside of
Athens. It was a beautiful intense dark blue Athenian night in which
heaven’s vault seemed to blaze with innumerable jewels. Zopyrus sat at
the door of his tent deep in his own thoughts. An army during its
marches and battles must think, talk and act as one being, and that one
subservient to its leader, but who shall say in the stillness of evening
each living entity which comprises that vast unit shall not have his
individual dreams, and those thoughts which render him distinct from
every other living being? And Zopyrus as he sat in the darkness, thought
of Athens and of his mother. What would she think if she knew he was
approaching Attica’s stronghold as a plunderer and devastator!
Conflicting emotions surged within his soul. Once again it seemed to him
that he was in the far off Hermus valley, strolling by the little stream
of Pactolus, and by his side was the austere Artaphernes whose stern
visage was turned toward him with an expression of paternal rebuke. The
vision faded leaving him troubled and sore at heart.
That night Zopyrus had a dream. It seemed to him that his father
appeared and beckoned silently to him to follow and that he wonderingly
rose and obeyed. When they were out in the open, Artaphernes, who
Zopyrus noticed was fully armed, pointed with his sabre toward Athens
and repeated the memorable words of Darius, “Remember the Athenians.”
Suddenly the shade of his mother appeared to the right. She stood
holding on her arm a scroll of papyrus, and while Zopyrus looked she
pointed with it in the same direction as that indicated by the sabre of
his father and behold, as Zopyrus turned he saw a beautiful city with
numerous buildings of white marble, and in the center a temple-crowned
hill. In the streets were many busy people hurrying to and fro. Some
talked from the temple steps while the populace listened, some vied with
each other in various physical sports and others sold the produce of the
soil in the bustling marketplace, but whatever their occupation, they
represented a happy and contented democracy.
Marveling at this vision, Zopyrus turned to his father and noticed that
the sabre now pointed to the east. Following the direction of its keen
blade with reluctant eyes, Zopyrus beheld another city more gorgeous,
but totally lacking in the refined beauty which characterized the city
which lay to the west. The buildings of this eastern city possessed a
massiveness and grandeur that inspired in the beholder a profound awe.
Upon the throne in the magnificent palace, and surrounded by a court
retinue, sat a tyrant to whom all bowed in servility. On the streets
the people moved and worked _en masse_. There was no individuality, no
differentiation, for these people were victims of an oriental despotism.
When Zopyrus opened his eyes the palace and the toiling people had
vanished and so likewise had the vision of the peaceful republic. The
Persian father and Greek mother no longer stood before him. The youth
knew that this dream represented the Persian and the Greek at war within
himself for the supremacy.
When morning broke, the camp was astir at an early hour for this was to
be the day of days! Zopyrus was awakened by the stamping and neighing of
horses, the rattle of arms and the jocular voices of his comrades.
“Wake up, Zopyrus!” cried a friendly voice. Zopyrus saw his friend
Masistius leaning over him.
“Xerxes bids us avenge the burning of Sardis today,” continued
Masistius. “His words to all his officers this morning are, ‘Remember
the Athenians!’”
“His advice to me is quite unnecessary,” replied Zopyrus, “for I can not
forget them.”