CHAPTER I.

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PHILOTHEA:

A Grecian Romance.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

AUTHOR OF LETTERS FROM NEW YORK, FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN, ETC

The intelligible forms of ancient poets,

The fair humanities of old religion,

The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty,

That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain.

Or forest by slow stream, or pabbly spring,

Or chasms and watery depths, all these have vanished--

They live no longer in the faith of Reason!

But still, the heart doth need a language--still

Doth the old instinct bring back the old names.

COLERIDGE.

A Spirit hung,

Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms,

Statues, and temples, and memorial tombs,

And _emanations_ were perceived.

WORDSWORTH.

A NEW AND CORRECTED EDITION.

To

MY BELOVED BROTHER,

Dr. Francis,

OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY,

To whose Early Influence I owe my Love of Literature

THIS VOLUME

IS RESPECTFULLY 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," will 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.

CHAPTER I.

Here let us seek Athenæ'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.

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 grand-daughter 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:

"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

Panathenæa affected me less deeply."

After a few moments of serious silence, she continued: "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 Athenæ. 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 Platææ; 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 walls?" asked Eudora,

smiling at the earnestness with which her friend gazed in the distance:"

Do the slaves, bringing water from the Fountain of Callirhöe, 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 Philæmon 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 Philæmon'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 Philæmon, 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 walks 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 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 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 Philæmon 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 Philæmon. 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 prize? With what graceful celerity he darted through the

course! I was at Aspasia's house that 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

true-hearted 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:

"The goddesses themselves contended for it. You, at least, ought not to

judge Aspasia harshly; for she has the idea that you are some deity in

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 grandfather'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.

Philæmon, 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 complexion, 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. Philæmon

had been unsuccessful; but the buoyant 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 Philæmon 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."

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 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.

Philæmon 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,

or of 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. Philæmon was the son of Chærilaüs, 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, Philæmon 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 was brought to Athens, at about the

same period; and as they resided very near each 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 Canephoræ, whose duty it was to embroider the

sacred peplus, and to carry baskets in the grand procession of the

Panathenæa. Six months of complete seclusion within the walls of the

Acropolis, were required of the Canephoræ. 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.