"Where'er we tread 'tis haunted holy ground,
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould,
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told,
Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon."
Leaving this noble relic of the past, I presently stood before a
solitary gate, known as "The Arch of Hadrian." It was, in fact, erected
here by that Roman emperor in the second century after Christ, when
Greece was but a province of the Cæsars. In Italy this would seem to
us of great antiquity; but amid objects such as I had just beheld,
it appeared comparatively modern. On one side of this portal is the
inscription, "This is Athens, the old City of Theseus." On the other
are the words, "This is the new City of Hadrian, not that of Theseus."
In fact this gateway was a barrier, yet a connecting link, between
the Grecian and the Roman Athens,—the cities of the conquered and the
conqueror.
[Illustration: THE FRONT OF THE STAGE.]
Looking through this historic arch, I saw a group of stately columns
in the distance. They are the only relics that remain of the great
Temple of Olympian Jove. Even the writers of antiquity, familiar
though they were with splendid structures, speak of that shrine as
being awe-inspiring in its grandeur. With the exception of the Temple
of Diana at Ephesus, it was the largest Grecian temple ever built.
There were, originally, at least one hundred and twenty-six of these
Corinthian columns. They formed almost a marble forest. Within it
was a veritable maze of statues, including one of Jupiter, which was
world-renowned; but these, as well as nearly all the columns, have long
since been abstracted or destroyed.
[Illustration: PLATFORM OF DEMOSTHENES.]
[Illustration: DEPARTED GLORY.]
These marble giants do not form a single group. Two of them stand
apart, like sentries stationed to give warning of the fresh approach of
the despoiler. Between them one column lies prostrate; a sad reminder
of the fate that has overtaken so many of its brethren. However, unlike
most other ruins in the world, this was not caused by the maliciousness
of man. On the night of the 26th of October, 1852, a heavy rainstorm
undermined the soil at its base, and the huge column, overcome at last,
fell its full length of sixty feet upon the sand. It is interesting
to observe how evenly its massive sections still rest upon the ground,
like bricks set up in rows to push each other over in their fall.
It is said that the prostrate column could be restored, but perhaps it
is more eloquent as it lies. The shaft above it, with its beautiful
Corinthian capital, presents a striking contrast. One seems proudly
to say, "See what this noble temple was!" the other to murmur
pathetically, "See what it is to-day!"
[Illustration: TEMPLE OF OLYMPIAN JOVE.]
Continuing my way still farther round the base of the Acropolis,
I presently perceived a low-browed hill, partially covered with a
rocky ledge. It was the ancient Areopagus, or Hill of Mars. Here the
Supreme Court of Athens held its sessions. Such was the simple grandeur
of the old Athenians that the only covering of this court-room was
the canopy of heaven. For the immortal gods no temple could be too
magnificent; but for the serious business of deciding life and death
the Greeks would have no sumptuous decoration. The sessions of the
court were always held at night, so that no face or gesture could
exert the slightest influence. It must have been a scene of wonderful
solemnity, for here accusers and accused stood, as it were, between
their venerable judges and the gods, while in the dome of night a cloud
of glittering witnesses looked down upon them from illimitable space.
[Illustration: THE ARCH OF HADRIAN.]
[Illustration: THE SENTINELS.]
[Illustration: THE ELGIN MARBLES IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM.]
A flight of sixteen rough-hewn steps leads to the summit, where the
judges sat. They are the ancient steps. By them St. Paul ascended to
address the Athenian audience which gathered before him. Above him, as
he spoke, rose the whole glory of the Acropolis, with its magnificent
temples and bewildering array of statues. And yet this stranger dared
to utter the impressive words, "God dwelleth not in temples made with
hands." This in the shadow of the Parthenon! "We ought not to think
that the Godhead is like unto gold or silver, or stone graven by art
and man's device." This in the presence of the works of Phidias!
[Illustration: MARS HILL.]
[Illustration: IN THE TIME OF PAUL.]
When we remember how the Acropolis must then have looked, we cannot
wonder that the Athenians who heard these words spoken within its
shadow smiled, and ironically answered, "We will hear thee again of
this matter!" Well, Athens has heard him again, and so has the entire
world. Paul discoursed here for possibly an hour, but what he said has
ever since been echoing down the ages. None knew him then; but in a few
short years, to the church founded by him in the Greek town of Corinth,
he wrote his two epistles to the Corinthians, which may be read in
every language of the civilized world; and now there is hardly a city
in all Christendom that has not a cathedral or church bearing the great
Apostle's name.
[Illustration: PRISON OF SOCRATES.]
Not far from this historic spot is another ledge of great antiquity.
Here dungeons have been excavated in the solid rock, one of them
being called the "Prison of Socrates." Opinions differ as to its
authenticity; just as men still dispute about the exact locality where
Jesus hung upon the Cross. But of the general situation in each case
there is no doubt. In Athens, as in Jerusalem, one stands in close
proximity to where the purest souls this earth has ever known were
put to death by those who hated them; and somewhere on this hill,
four hundred years before the scene of Calvary, Socrates drank the
poisoned cup forced upon him by his enemies, and in that draught found
immortality.
The lineaments of Christ's face are not surely known to us, but
those of Socrates have been preserved in marble. His was a plain and
homely visage. The playwright, Aristophanes, caricatured him on the
stage, and moved the audience to shouts of laughter; but, with the
exception of the Nazarene, no man ever spoke like Socrates. He was a
natural teacher of men. He walked daily among the temples or in the
market-place, talking with every one who cared to listen to him. His
method was unique. It was, by asking searching questions, to force
men to think,—to know themselves. If he could make an astonished man
give utterance to an original thought, he was contented for that day.
He had sown the seed; it would bear fruit. He had no notes, nor did he
ever write a line; yet his incomparable thoughts, expressed in purest
speech, were faithfully recorded by his pupils, Xenophon and Plato, and
will be treasured to the end of time.
[Illustration: SOCRATES.]
[Illustration: A RELIC OF THE ATHENIAN FORUM.]
Another memorial of Athens which well repays a visit is the Temple
of Theseus,—that legendary hero of old Greece, half-man, half-god,
whose exploits glimmer through the dawn of history, much as a mountain
partially reveals itself through morning mists. Fortune has treated
this old temple kindly. There is hardly an ancient structure extant
that has so perfectly resisted the disintegrating touch of time or the
destroying hand of man. For the Theseum was built nearly five hundred
years before the birth of Christ, in commemoration of the glorious
battle of Marathon, where Theseus was believed to have appeared to aid
the Greeks in driving from their shores the invading Persians.
[Illustration: TEMPLE OF THESEUS.]
When in 1824 Lord Byron died upon Greek soil, striving to free the
Hellenic nation from the Turkish yoke, the Athenians wished his body to
be buried in this temple. No wonder they were grateful to him, for the
action of that ardent admirer of the Greeks in hastening to their land
to consecrate his life and fortune to the cause of liberty, was not,
as some have thought, unpractical and sentimental. Byron, unlike many
other poets, was no mere dreamer. He could, when he desired, descend
from Poesy's empyrean to the practical realities of life; and during
his short stay in Greece, whether he was securing loans, conciliating
angry chiefs, or giving counsel to the government, he showed the tact
and firmness of an able statesman.
As if, then, this classic temple were a Greek sarcophagus, within which
was enshrined the form of the immortal dead, I seemed to see among its
marble columns that noble statue representing Byron at Missolonghi,
the little town where, with such fatal haste, his life was sacrificed.
It would be difficult to imagine anything more distressing than
Byron's last illness. He was in a wretched, malarial district, utterly
devoid of comforts. No woman's hand was there to smooth his brow or
give to him the thousand little comforts which only woman's tender
thoughtfulness can understand. Convinced at last by the distress of
his servants that his death was near, he called his faithful valet,
Fletcher, to his side, and spoke with great earnestness, but very
indistinctly, for nearly twenty minutes. Finally he said, with relief,
"Now I have told you all."
[Illustration: BYRON AT MISSOLONGHI.]
[Illustration: A RUINED CAPITAL.]
"My lord," replied Fletcher, "I have not understood a word you have
been saying."
"Not understood me?" exclaimed Lord Byron, with a look of the utmost
distress. "What a pity! for it is too late; all is over!"
"I hope not," answered Fletcher, "but the Lord's will be done."
"Yes, not mine," said the poet; and soon after murmured, "Now I shall
go to sleep." These were the last words of Byron, for, with a weary
sigh, he then sank into that peaceful slumber in which his spirit
gradually loosed its hold on earth, and drifted outward into the
Unknown.
[Illustration: MAID OF ATHENS.]
The more modern part of Athens recalls happier recollections of Byron.
When he came here in his youth, he not only wrote those magnificent
stanzas in "Childe Harold," which are among the choicest treasures
of our English tongue, but also composed that graceful poem, "Maid of
Athens," each verse of which ends with Greek words that signify, "My
Life, I love thee!" It was addressed to the eldest daughter of the
Greek lady in whose house he lodged. Little did that fair Athenian
girl imagine that his verses would make her known throughout the world.
Yet so it was. No actual likeness of her can be given, but we may well
believe that she, in some respects, resembled a typical Grecian maiden
of to-day.
"By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ."
The tourist who visits Greece to-day finds much to admire in the modern
city which ancient Athens wears now like a jewel on her withered
breast. It is a bright, attractive place. When I revisited it a few
years ago, it seemed to me by contrast with the Orient a miniature
Paris. Yet this is all of very recent growth. Half a century ago the
devastation wrought here by the Turks had left the city desolate.
Hardly a house in the whole town was habitable. But now we find a city
of one hundred and thirty thousand people, with handsome residences,
public squares, clean streets, and several public buildings that would
adorn any capital in the world.
[Illustration: THE BYZANTINE CHURCH.]
One of the finest private residences in Athens is the home of the
late Doctor Schliemann, the world-renowned explorer of the plain of
Troy and other sites of Greek antiquity. It is constructed of pure
Pentelic marble. Around its roof beautiful groups of statuary gleam
white against the blue of the Athenian sky. Anywhere else this style of
decoration would perhaps seem out of place; not so in Athens. It simply
serves as a reminder of the fact that once the wealth of art here was
so great that half the galleries of the world are filled to-day with
the fragments of it that remain. So many statues once existed here,
that an Athenian wit declared that it was easier to find a god in
Athens than a man!
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF DOCTOR SCHLIEMANN.]
[Illustration: ATHENS FROM THE ODEON OF HEROD.]
Perhaps the finest of the public buildings in Athens is its Academy
of Science. It is a noble structure, composed entirely of Pentelic
marble and built in imitation of the classic style, with rows of grand
Ionic columns, while in the pediment are sculptures resembling those
with which the Greeks two thousand years ago adorned the shrines of
the Acropolis. The lofty marble columns in the foreground are crowned
with figures of Minerva and Apollo. Below them are the seated statues
of Socrates and Plato. What more appropriate combination could be made
than this: the wisdom of the gods above, the wisdom of humanity below,
expressed by the greatest names which in religion and philosophy have
given Athens an immortal fame? In the spring of 1896 modern Athens
seemed suddenly to surpass the ancient city in interest, through the
revival of the Olympian games. The mention of these famous contests
suggests at once the old Greek statue of the Disk-Thrower, whose arm
has been uplifted for the admiration of the world for more than two
thousand years. Although this national festival of the Greeks had
its origin nearly eight hundred years before the birth of Christ, and
though the last one was celebrated fifteen hundred years ago, the games
were renewed in 1896 as the first of a series of international athletic
contests, which will hereafter take place every four years in various
portions of the world. The first was given, of course, to Greece, the
mother of athletics as she was of art. The next will be seen at Paris
in 1900, during the Exposition there.
[Illustration: THE ACADEMY OF SCIENCE.]
For the great occasion referred to, the old Greek Stadium was partially
re-excavated and furnished with hundreds of new marble seats. This
was done not alone at the expense of a few rich Athenians, but also
through the generosity of wealthy Greeks in Alexandria, Smyrna, London,
and Marseilles. The Stadium, as it now exists, can accommodate about
sixty thousand people; and on the closing day of the recently revived
festival, fully that number were assembled in it, while forty thousand
more were grouped outside the walls or on the road between Athens and
the battlefield of Marathon. Among the contesting athletes were several
manly specimens of "Young America." In every way they did us honor.
Those with whom we talked on the subject spoke in the highest terms of
the courtesy and kindness shown them by every one in Athens, from king
to peasant. Nor was this strange. It was due, first, to their own fine
qualities; second, to the popularity which America enjoys in Greece,
and third, to the fact that they themselves soon proved the heroes of
the Stadium.
[Illustration: THE DISK-THROWER.]
[Illustration: AN ATHLETE.]
After each contest, the flag of the victorious country was displayed
above the arena, and the American emblem was the first to go up. And
it kept going up! The first three races were all won by Americans.
Then came the "long jump," which Americans also gained. Then Garrett,
of Princeton, beat the Greeks themselves at their old classic sport of
"throwing the disk." Even on the second day "Old Glory" shook out its
starry folds three times, till presently Denmark gained a victory, and
then England.
[Illustration: THE STADIUM.]
It is hard to single out for special notice any one individual among
these heroes; but no American gained more popularity on the historic
race-course, than the man who for swift running carried off so many
prizes in Old Athens,—that lithe citizen of the "Athens of America,"
Thomas Burke. Over his speed and skill the Greeks were wildly
enthusiastic. Some of them showed him proofs of personal affection. One
asked him, through an interpreter, on what food he had been trained.
Burke, like a true Bostonian, replied, "Beans!" After one of his
brilliant victories, when the Americans had gained in swift succession
four first prizes, one old Athenian stood up in the Stadium, and
raising his hands in mock despair, exclaimed: "O, why did Columbus ever
discover that country!"
Finally, on the last day, there came a contest which the Greeks had
been awaiting with alternating hope and fear. It was the long run
from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens,—a distance of twenty-five
miles.
[Illustration: SOME OF THE AMERICAN ATHLETES.]
Besides the Greeks, there entered for this race Americans, Australians,
Frenchmen, Germans, and Hungarians. Secretly, however, almost every one
of the spectators hoped that a Greek would win. History and sentiment
alike seemed to demand that the coveted honor should be gained by a
descendant of the men of Marathon, for this was the same road traversed
by the historic Greek, who ran to announce to the Athenians the triumph
of the Greeks over the Persians at Marathon, and as he entered the
Arena, dropped dead, gasping the word, "Victory!"
[Illustration: THOMAS BURKE.]
[Illustration: THE SOLDIER OF MARATHON.]
Instinctively that scene rises before the reader's imagination, as
it must have done before the minds of the thousands gathered on the
course to witness the issue of the race. It was half-past four in the
afternoon when a cannon-shot announced that the leading runner was in
sight. Two or three minutes passed in breathless silence. No one moved
or spoke. Suddenly, a far-off cry was heard, "It is a Greek—a Greek!"
These words were taken up and ran the whole length of the Stadium as
electricity leaps from point to point. A moment more, and a hundred
thousand voices rent the air with cheers and acclamations. The king
himself almost tore the visor from his cap, waving it frantically round
his head; for, in truth, the victor _was a Greek_,—a young peasant
named Loues, twenty-four years of age. Before entering the contest,
he had partaken of the sacrament and had invoked the aid of Heaven;
and apparently the gods had come to his assistance, for he had made
the run of twenty-five miles over a hard, rough country in _two hours
and forty-five minutes_! To show the feeling the victor entertained
for the American athletes, it may be said that when Loues crossed the
line, notwithstanding the tremendous excitement and enthusiasm that
prevailed, he ran to Tom Burke, and, throwing his arms around him,
kissed the American flag which the Bostonian was holding in his hand.
[Illustration: LOUES.]
[Illustration: THE "LANTERN OF DEMOSTHENES."]
At the king's palace, Loues and the other competing athletes were
entertained in royal style by the crowned head of the kingdom. The joy
and pride of the young peasant's father, as he saw him universally
fêted and admired, is said to have been extremely beautiful and
touching; for Loues was treated almost as a demigod by his delighted
countrymen. The strangest gifts were showered upon him. A café, for
example, offered him _carte blanche_ at its hospitable table for the
rest of his life; a barber-shop promised him free shaves so long as he
lived; and even a boot-black coveted the honor of polishing his shoes
for an indefinite period, expecting nothing in return. Large sums of
money also were offered him; but these, with the true spirit of the
athlete, Loues declined. "The only reward I crave," he exclaimed, "is
the wreath of laurel from Olympia, such as my ancestors received two
thousand years ago. I am poor, but I ran, not for money, but for the
glory of my native land."
[Illustration: VENUS OF MELOS.]
The pleasantest route in taking leave of the Hellenic kingdom is to
embark upon a steamer and sail through the Grecian Archipelago. It is
the same route taken by the old Greek colonists when they went forth to
civilize the world,—the same path followed by the Trojan exiles when
they sailed to Italy to build upon her seven hills the walls of Rome.
To coast along the shores of the Ægean, after a tour in Athens, is one
of the most exquisite enjoyments this life can give. To the student of
history in particular, the scene recalls events so glorious that he
is lost in admiration, not only of the marvelous country as a whole,
but of what the ancient Greeks accomplished for humanity. In what
department did they not excel?
Is it their sculpture that we question? At once the incomparable Venus
of Melos makes reply; that statue found (alas! in partial ruin) on one
of the islands that are scattered broadcast on this classic sea, like
disentangled pearls, and hence a fitting emblem of those treasures
of antiquity cast on the shores of time after a long-continued and
disastrous storm.
Is it their language? It was the most perfect and elastic tongue
in which men's lips have ever fashioned speech. It seems more than
chance that caused it, at the birth of Christ, to be the leading
literary language of the world, that it might thus receive, embody, and
perpetuate the truths of the New Testament. Even now we turn to that
old tongue to find exact expression for our terms of science, and in it
we name all our new inventions such as heliotypes and photographs, the
telegraph and the telephone.
[Illustration: HOMER.]
Is it poetry? At once there seems to rise before us from these waters,
which encircled him at birth and death, the face of Homer,—the father
of poetry. To whom has he not been a joy and inspiration? Virgil was
but the pupil and imitator of Homer. And the Iliad and Odyssey are
still such storehouses of eloquence and beauty, that such statesmen as
Gladstone and the Earl of Derby have sharpened their keen intellects in
making their translations.
Is it philosophy? "Out of Plato," says Emerson, "come all things that
are still written and debated among men of thought."
[Illustration: PLATO.]
The lesson, then, which Athens teaches us is this: not to regard past
men, past deeds, and ruined shrines as dead and useless limbs upon
the Tree of Time. The Past has made the Present, just as the Present
is now fashioning Futurity. Moreover, since one lofty sentiment
begets another; one valiant deed inspires a second; and one sublime
achievement is a stepping-stone to loftier heights; what portion of
our earth can give to us more inspiration than Athens,—birthplace of
the earliest masterpieces of the human race, the mother of imperishable
memories, and of an art that conquers time.
[Illustration: THE BAY OF VENICE.]