Athena Speaks Through the Olive Branch.
“We climb the ancient steep, which chief and sage
Mounted before, through many a changeful age;
Where Cimon blessed the gods that Greece was free,
And Thrasybulus shouted ‘Victory.’”
Nicholas Michell.
At the top of the long rugged path by which one mounted the Acropolis,
stood a young man of martial bearing. Upon his features contempt and
yearning curiously mingled. At his feet lay a city now silent and
deserted, which had once teemed with active humanity. Whether he looked
to north or south, to east or west, there crowded upon his memory in
rapid succession, incidents that brought to him the convincing reality
that this city was associated with all that was dear to him.
The fleeting memories that crowded in and out of his mind came from a
diversity of experiences. Now there came to him thoughts as he looked
toward the Agora[2] that brought a wistful smile to his lips. He was
once more a mischievous boy running through the busy market to escape
the wrath of the pursuing vender whom he had angered by the theft of a
tempting bit of fruit. Then—and his brow clouded while a blush of shame
flushed his cheek—he was a wild youth arrogant and proud, and steeped in
sin, how deep, he did not realize till later! Then had followed the
excitement of war—his father as commander of the Greeks had won a great
victory over the Persians at Marathon! His father the great Miltiades,
whose name was on every tongue and whose praise was sung throughout
Greece, returned, the idol of the hour, and Cimon, though too young to
have participated at Marathon, commemorated his parent’s triumph with a
sumptuous feast, the like of which had never before nor since been
celebrated in Athens. And then—here Cimon’s head sank upon his
breast—had followed the disgrace and death of that father whose bravery
had been extoled throughout the land. His courageous father who had
stood firm before the darts of Datis and Artaphernes, yielded to a
desire to avenge a petty, personal wrong, and fell with an arrow in his
heart. But after all, Cimon considered, had not the father’s disgrace
brought the son to his senses? His former friends shunned him in a way
that he knew was due not alone to the paternal disgrace, but to the
former arrogance with which he had flaunted his pride of social standing
in the faces of his associates.
The blush of shame which mantled his brow gave evidence of the remorse
which the young Cimon had suffered. Suddenly he stood erect and held his
head high, a triumphant gleam in his blue eyes. Yes he had made a real
man of himself after all and had won the respect and confidence of his
fellows, not through his poor father’s achievements, but through virtues
of his own. He would do what he could yet to bring this beloved city
back to her former splendor. The Persians though defeated at Salamis,
would he knew, rally for another attack, for they had not left northern
Greece, and he, Cimon, would exert himself to the utmost to save the
land which his father had so bravely defended ten years before.
His eyes glowed with enthusiasm while visions of the future held him in
absorption. What Miltiades had been to Greece, he would be, and _more_.
His father had been all soldier, but in him, Cimon, were there not
mingled some of the qualities necessary to the making of a statesman as
well? He turned and viewed with grief the ponderous slabs that had once
composed the temple to Athena. Would not Athens soon need another such
edifice, grander and of more beautiful proportions than the one which
had recently occupied this site? Some leader would arise after this war,
why not he? Of course Themistocles, here his brow puckered to a frown,
was a great man and had been the savior of Greece at Salamis, but
Themistocles would soon be past his prime, whereas _he_ was young. He
drew himself to his full height, unconsciously placed his hand upon the
hilt of his sword and gazed beyond the north horizon in which direction
he knew the Persians rallied for another attack upon the stronghold of
Attica.
His mind returned again to the statesman, Themistocles. He had been the
last person to see Ladice alive, and it was known for certain that she
was among those who ascended the Acropolis with Kyrsilus. Although it
was first reported that all of that brave little band had been
slaughtered, rumor had been rife that some of the younger women had been
spared—but only to meet a worse fate; that of captivity in the harems of
the Persians. If that had been Ladice’s fate, far better that she had
met death with the others on the Acropolis! But Ladice did not love him.
Oh, the sting of that realization! Ladice knew of the wild life that he
had led and of the drunken orgies in which he had participated. Perhaps
it was presumptuous for him to think with love upon a girl of such
stainless character as Ladice, but had he not vowed by all the gods that
he would live an upright life and had he not kept that vow for nearly
four years?
Slowly he advanced among the ruins which lay about him, mute evidences
of a destructive power as yet unconquered.
“She probably offered a last prayer to Athena here,” he surmised as he
sadly surveyed what had once been the sanctuary of that goddess. Vainly
he strove to suppress the violent agitation of his soul. At last with a
despairing cry he sank to his knees, and with uplifted hands prayed to
the goddess: “Oh Athena, thou who knowest what took place at thy
sanctuary, even though thou wert unable to defend it against the hordes
of Xerxes, did Ladice die among the followers of Kyrsilus or was she
taken captive by Persian soldiers? If she is now a prisoner among them,
is there a chance for her rescue? Is there a chance for this city that
is named for thee O Athena? Give me a sign, O Goddess, that is all I
ask, a sign that I may set forth with renewed hope and vigor to aid in
expelling the dreaded foes from our boundaries!”
Cimon staggered to his feet, his eyes resting wearily on the debris that
was piled about him. Presently among the fragments of a demolished
pillar he saw something that caused him to doubt the truthfulness of his
sight. Here on the top of the Acropolis where destruction through the
agency of fire and sword had been followed by chaos, was a bit of living
green vegetation! Cimon approached in awe and bewilderment, then he
uttered an exclamation of joy, for the sacred olive tree which had been
planted in honor of the patron goddess years before, had sent forth a
new green shoot a cubit in length. The young man knew as he gazed upon
this miracle of life sprung from the ashes of death, that Athena spoke
by the olive-branch the promise that Athens should arise from her
despair and ruin. With a lighter heart than he had felt for many a weary
day, Cimon descended the path, and in his heart not only hope, but a
grim determination to help in the restoration of his beloved city, found
lodgment.