The Defense on the Acropolis.
“Dim is the scene to that which greets thee here,
Prompting to worship, waking rapture’s tear,
Yes, rise, fair mount! the bright blue heavens to kiss,
Stoop not thy pride, august Acropolis!”
Nicholas Michell.
The city of Athens was seething with excitement, for the news had just
been received that the Greek soldiers had been unable to hold the pass
of Thermopylæ. The streets were filled with groups of agitated old men,
women of all ages, and children, who seemed no longer capable of being
controlled by reason. Weighted down by the burdens of their personal
property they prepared to flee. But whither!
In the center of a group near the Areopagus, at the foot of the
Acropolis on the north-west, were gathered about fifty men, women and
children intently listening to the counsel of one to whom they turned at
this time. He was a man of venerable countenance, flowing beard, and
wore a white _chiton_ with a handsomely embroidered Greek border.
“My friends,” he was saying, “let us make haste to the top of the
Acropolis, there to defend our temples and to seek refuge within the
‘wooden wall.’”
Some of his audience seemed inclined to take his admonition seriously,
others hesitated as if in doubt. Presently a man whose personality was
felt before he was actually visible came hurriedly into the group. He
possessed a commanding bearing, noble face, an eye piercing and full of
fire. There was decision in the swift gestures of his shapely hands.
This man was Themistocles, the most powerful Athenian of his time. It
was he who had persuaded his fellow-citizens to increase their navy at
the time of the war with Aegina, and who sincerely believed that the
future safety of his country lay with the ships which were now anchored
in the bay of Salamis.
He approached with dignified air the terrified gathering of Greeks, and
there was an imperious ring in his voice as he addressed the spokesman
of the group.
“Kyrsilus, can you not persuade these people to come to the bay at once
where some of the ships will conduct them safely to Salamis till all
danger from this invasion is past?”
To his surprise the old man answered haughtily. “I am trying to prevail
upon these frightened people to seek refuge behind the ‘wooden wall’ as
the Delphic oracle warned us.”
“The ‘wooden wall,’” shouted Themistocles, “is not the Pelasgic wall
which surrounds the top of the Acropolis. It is a wall of ships, and by
this means alone will the people of Athens find refuge. Come!” he cried
turning away, “all who wish to live to see the accursed foreigners
expelled forever from Greece, follow me to the protection of the ‘wooden
wall!’”
“And all who are brave enough to defend their city,” cried the old man,
still firm in his conviction, “follow me to the protection of the
‘wooden wall!’”
There was a division of opinion at the last moment, Themistocles winning
nearly half of Kyrsilus’ former followers.
Clinging tightly to Kyrsilus’ hand as they ascended the steps of the
Acropolis was a young girl possessing exceptional charm of face and of
personality. The usual clearness of her blue eyes was dimmed with tears,
and the customary curve of her smiling lips had vanished. Upon her
luxuriant brown hair the sun revealed gleams of gold. She was clad in a
white garment which hung in graceful folds from her shoulders. Over this
was slipped a _kolpos_ plaited at the waist. Her neck and arms were bare
except for a necklace and bracelets of silver. The white of her dress
and ornaments brought out in favorable contrast the healthful pink of
her youthful face.
“Dear Kyrsilus,” the girl was saying, “I shall think of you as my father
while my own dear father is preparing to fight the Persians in the bay.
He fought bravely at Marathon and I do not believe the gods will see him
defeated at Salamis. My uncle too is in command of one of the ships!”
“It is possible that with such brave men as we possess on our side the
victory will be ours,” said the elder, “but remember the words of the
oracle at Delphi! Although there have been some differences of opinion
as to the meaning of the words of the oracle, to me it is quite clear
that our city should be defended from its sacred hill. I am not
criticizing your father, nor Themistocles, nor others like them who seem
sincere in their belief that our land will be saved by a battle upon the
water. However your father left you in my care, and I shall do what I
deem best for your safety.”
A faint smile flitted across the girl’s face. “Did it ever occur to you,
Kyrsilus, that the words of the Delphic oracle are usually vague and
ambiguous? Come, be frank, do we not all try to interpret its prophecies
to our individual satisfactions? Take for instance Themistocles, whose
one obsession ever since he has risen to a place of prominence, has been
to increase our navy. It is natural that he should desire to bring his
beloved navy into use at the first possible opportunity. Then again let
us consider you, dear Kyrsilus, and I mean no offense whatever. Your
sister served many years as a priestess of Athena, performing her duties
with others in the temple of Athena on this Acropolis. Then too you have
lived in Athens longer than has Themistocles. The city itself and above
all its templed hill, the very nucleus of Athens, are dearer to you than
relatives of whom you now have none surviving.”
The old man looked sadly at the girl and turned his face away to hide a
tear. He was deeply affected by her words and the sincerity of her
manner, but he did not wish to betray his emotions.
With an effort at severity he said, “My daughter you do unwisely to
ridicule the divine oracle of Apollo. The words it utters are not as you
say ambiguous, but so fraught with significance that we mortals are
incapable of full comprehension. We do our best to interpret the will of
the god through his agents, and perhaps at best we can only guess what
revelations he makes concerning the future. But it is unseemly in a
maiden of your years to criticize our divine source of revelation.”
They were now at the top of a long flight of broad steps, and stood one
hundred and fifty feet above the level of the city. In the distance
through an atmosphere of unusual clarity they beheld to the south and
east, isolated peaks which, though apparently devoid of vegetation,
possessed a beauty of color and contour that was enchanting. It was the
time of the year when the Etesian winds came from across the blue Aegean
and the whole fair land of Greece smiled under the magic touch of the
goddess, Demeter.
The faithful band of Kyrsilus’ followers passed through the gateway of
the Pelasgic wall and stood in front of a large rectangular building,
the temple of Athene Polias[1]. Upon a pediment of this temple was a
grotesque serpent in relief, painted and gilded to a dazzling
brightness. Processions of priests and priestesses with conventional
head-dress and stereotyped smile, formed a frieze which adorned the
entablature. A figure in relief of Theseus carrying across his shoulders
the Marathonian bull aroused in these, his supposed descendents, a
renewed courage to protect their threatened city. They made ready for
use what few weapons of defense they had among them, then retired to the
temple to pray for the safety of Athens.
“My daughter,” said old Kyrsilus, “pray to Ares that our soldiers may be
possessed of unusual valor and courage in the coming conflict, and pray
to Athena that our generals may wisely direct the approaching battle.”
“Father Kyrsilus,” replied the maiden, “I always pray to one God! You
may call Him Zeus if you wish, but He is all powerful and in His hands
alone rests the fate of Greece.”
“Hush my child,” said the aged one, horrified, “you will call down the
wrath of the goddess in whose temple you now stand! Will you not pray to
Athena?”
Before the girl could reply, a young cripple, who because of his
affliction, had been unable to join his friends in the defense of his
land, hobbled into the temple.
“They are coming, they are coming!” he cried pointing with trembling
finger to the west. The refugees, looking in the direction indicated,
beheld on the distant horizon a mass of purplish nimbus which as it
gathered momentum gradually took the definite shape of a vast glittering
array of horsemen and foot-soldiers. Petrified with terror they stood
watching the approaching multitude, which swept relentlessly toward
them, a great human deluge!
“Quick! gather rocks and stones and pile them near the wall. The ascent
is steep and few can attempt to scale it at a time. We can easily hold
them back from the steps with these stones till our soldiers at Salamis
return to our aid.” Kyrsilus forced an air of bravado to encourage his
countrymen, but his heart sank as he beheld the barbarian host! For a
brief space the maid’s doubt as to the wisdom of the oracle also took
possession of him, but only for a moment. He thought, “When all else
fails, Athena will protect her sanctuary and we can find refuge there.”
Soon the oscillating wave of humanity was beneath them. A voice from
below rang out clearly above the clash of weapons:
“I represent, O Athenians, one of the banished Peisistradi from this
fair city. I beg of you, surrender your city to this world conqueror and
save your holy places from pillage!”
It was the resolute voice of Kyrsilus that replied; “Behind the ‘wooden
wall’ will we defend our temples, and the gods of Greece will aid us!”
The answer seemed to amaze the Persians. Their officers drew aside and
discussed the situation, arriving at their decision without unanimity.
The cripple whose name was Philinus, was appointed sentinel since he was
unable to lift the heavy rocks and stones. From a seat upon several
boulders near the wall he could observe the movements of the Persians
without being seen.
Many of the girls and women wept and prayed for themselves and for their
fathers, brothers, husbands and sons now on the fleet. A few had lost
loved ones at Thermopylæ. The maiden who had been with Kyrsilus showed
remarkable self-control. To her the others now turned for strength and
encouragement. One girl to whom she seemed especially dear, clung to her
robe tenaciously.
Kyrsilus approached his charge, and there was on his countenance an
expression of mingled horror and compassion.
“Persephone,” he said with trembling accents, “if a worse fate than
death threatens you, and you can avail yourself of no weapon, better far
fling yourself to the rocks below!”
The girl, Ladice, who clung tightly to Persephone’s hand wept bitterly,
calling upon the names of all the gods and goddesses to protect her.
“Why are you so calm, Persephone?” she cried. “Do you not realize that
this Acropolis may be our huge funeral pyre?”
“Yes I know that, Ladice, but I pray to one God, and I have a belief in
a future existence beyond this one, so I am not afraid to die.”
“I too have not had the horror of death that is common to many, but not
because of any thought of an existence continuing beyond this. The
certainty of oblivion after a tumultuous life in this world of ours is
reward enough for me. Surely the peace of nonexistence would be
sufficient compensation.”
The smile on Persephone’s face was indicative of an inner knowledge out
of which she derived supreme satisfaction and which was incomprehensible
to Ladice.
An elderly man by the name of Moschion called excitedly from the
gateway: “It will be necessary for all the women and girls who can, to
help throw these stones upon the Persians who are climbing faster than
we can prevent.”
Persephone and Ladice with others rushed to their task, rendering the
needed assistance, though their fingers bled and their bodies, unused to
such prolonged, strenuous labor, ached to the point of complete
exhaustion. The additional help from the women turned the tide of
fortune temporarily in their favor, and the Persians were forced to
abandon their attack upon the well protected west side, but now they
employed different tactics! They poured upon the wooden ramparts, arrows
with burning tow attached to them and it was not long before the
palisades were consigned to flames. Still the little group held its
ground bravely, but Kyrsilus and Moschion at last sent the women into
the temples where they soon joined them. Once within the sanctuary of
the city’s patron goddess the frightened Greeks looked for a miracle,
and indeed nothing short of a miracle could save them now! In this they
were doomed to disappointment for the temple to Athena was the first to
be reached by the hungry flames, and the frenzied Greeks were forced to
abandon it for other smaller temples.
It was soon observed that Philinus was not with them. He had last been
seen in prayer before the altar of Athena and doubtless there he had met
his death! In unspoken terror all wondered who would be the next victim
on the altar of oriental voracity. The chapel of Aglaurus was farthest
from the flames and to it the terror-stricken Greeks fled. Here for a
time at least was safety and possible salvation.
“Watch the north side now!” cried Kyrsilus, “The Persians may——” but the
words froze on his lips, for there at the doorway stood fifteen or more
of the besiegers, who had succeeded in scaling the precipitous northern
side.
“To the rocks below, my daughter!” screamed Kyrsilus. “Do not forget my
warning!”
An officer laid rough hands on the aged Moschion: “Old bald head, your
time on earth is about up, anyway. You may as well journey on without
delay. Old Charon is waiting to ferry you across the Styx.”
“Hold!” cried another voice, “I prefer to die first and not witness the
end of these my followers.” It was Kyrsilus.
“As you wish,” cried the big Persian, “you are all to go anyway.”
The brave Kyrsilus knelt before his captor whose spear-head disappeared
in his breast. His face was convulsed in the agony of death, but with
his last faint breath he tried to speak to Persephone. “Perhaps you were
right—about the oracle—to the rocks—below—”
Immediately following the tragic death of the leader the remaining men
were killed and the rough floor of the little chapel became slippery
with blood. A number of the women, following old Kyrsilus’ advice, flung
themselves to certain death upon the ground below rather than fall into
the hands of Xerxes’ soldiers.
It was Artabazus, one of the most insolent and rapacious of the king’s
officers, who discovered Persephone and Ladice cowering in a remote
corner.
“Oho, look what I have found here!” he laughed in a coarse loud voice.
“Surely such a prize was worth that perilous climb.”
He took a step forward and seized Persephone roughly, but as he did so,
he caught the eye of a young officer who had just arrived upon the scene
together with Xerxes himself. The king took in the situation at a glance
and his narrow eyes gleamed in approbation.
“A brave soldier deserves a fair prize, Artabazus,” he said.
“One moment please!” It was the voice of the young officer Zopyrus. “Did
you not, cousin Xerxes, promise me a choice of the fairest maidens of
the kingdom? This land of Greece is now a part of your kingdom, O mighty
conqueror, and out of it I choose the maiden whom Artabazus now holds.”
“It is all one with me,” cried the impatient monarch, “Artabazus shall
have the other maid.”
Zopyrus stepped forward and took the half unconscious form of the
beautiful girl in his arms, and amid the coarse jests and ribaldry of
the Persian soldiery, fled with his burden to the city below.