olive-branch to Pisistratus. Four finer horses than his I never saw.
Arkesilaus of Cyrene, Kleosthenes of Epidamnus, Aster of Sybaris,
Hekataeus of Miletus and many more had also sent splendid teams. Indeed
the games this time were more than brilliant. All Hellas had sent
deputies. Rhoda of the Ardeates, in distant Iberia, the wealthy
Tartessus, Sinope in the far East on the shores of Pontus, in short,
every tribe that could boast of Hellenic descent was well represented.
The Sybarite deputies were of a dazzling beauty; the Spartans, homely and
simple, but handsome as Achilles, tall and strong as Hercules; the
Athenians remarkable for their supple limbs and graceful movements, and
the men of Crotona were led by Milo, strongest of mortal birth. The
Samian and Milesian deputies vied in splendor and gorgeousness of attire
with those from Corinth and Mitylene: the flower of the Greek youth was
assembled there, and, in the space allotted to spectators, were seated,
not only men of every age, class and nation, but many virgins, fair and
lovely maidens, who had come to Olympia, more especially from Sparta, in
order to encourage the men during the games by their acclamations and
applause. The market was set up beyond the Alphaeus, and there traders
from all parts of the world were to be seen; Greeks, Carthaginians,
Lydians, Phrygians and shrewd Phoenicians from Palestine settled weighty
business transactions, or offered their goods to the public from tents
and booths. But how can I possibly describe to you the surging throngs
of the populace, the echoing choruses, the smoking festal hecatombs,
the bright and variegated costumes, the sumptuousness of the equipages,
the clang of the different dialects and the joyful cries of friends
meeting again after years of separation; or the splendid appearance of
the envoys, the crowds of lookers-on and venders of small wares, the
brilliant effect produced by the masses of spectators, who filled to
overflowing the space allotted to them, the eager suspense during the
progress of the games, and the never ending shouts of joy when the
victory was decided; the solemn investiture with the olive-branch, cut
with a golden knife by the Elean boy, (whose parents must both be
living), from the sacred tree in the Altis planted so many centuries ago
by Hercules himself; or lastly, the prolonged acclamations which, like
peals of thunder, resounded in the Stadium, when Milo of Crotona
appeared, bearing on his shoulders the bronze statue of himself cast by
Dameas, and carried it through the Stadium into the Altis without once
tottering. The weight of the metal would have crushed a bull to the
earth: but borne by Milo it seemed like a child in the arms of its
Lacedaemonian nurse.
"The highest honors (after Cimon's) were adjudged to a pair of Spartan
brothers, Lysander and Maro, the sons of Aristomachus. Maro was victor
in the foot race, but Lysander presented himself, amidst the shouts of
the spectators, as the opponent of Milo! Milo the invincible, victor at
Pisa, and in the Pythian and Isthmian combats. Milo was taller and
stouter than the Spartan, who was formed like Apollo, and seemed from his
great youth scarcely to have passed from under the hands of the
schoolmaster.
"In their naked beauty, glistening with the golden oil, the youth and the
man stood opposite to one another, like a panther and a lion preparing
for the combat. Before the onset, the young Lysander raised his hands
imploringly to the gods, crying: 'For my father, my honor, and the glory
of Sparta!' The Crotonian looked down on the youth with a smile of
superiority; just as an epicure looks at the shell of the languste he is
preparing to open.
"And now the wrestling began. For some time neither could succeed in
grasping the other. The Crotonian threw almost irresistible weight into
his attempts to lay hold of his opponent, but the latter slipped through
the iron grip like a snake. This struggle to gain a hold lasted long,
and the immense multitude watched silently, breathless from excitement.
Not a sound was to be heard but the groans of the wrestlers and the
singing of the nightingales in the grove of the Altis. At last, the
youth succeeded, by means of the cleverest trick I ever saw, in clasping
his opponent firmly. For a long time, Milo exerted all his strength to
shake him oft, but in vain, and the sand of the Stadium was freely
moistened by the great drops of sweat, the result of this Herculean
struggle.
"More and more intense waxed the excitement of the spectators, deeper and
deeper the silence, rarer the cries of encouragement, and louder the
groans of the wrestlers. At last Lysander's strength gave way.
Immediately a thousand voices burst forth to cheer him on. He roused
himself and made one last superhuman effort to throw his adversary: but
it was too late. Milo had perceived the momentary weakness. Taking
advantage of it, he clasped the youth in a deadly embrace; a full black
stream of blood welled from Lysander's beautiful lips, and he sank
lifeless to the earth from the wearied arms of the giant. Democedes,
the most celebrated physician of our day, whom you Samians will have
known at the court of Polycrates, hastened to the spot, but no skill
could now avail the happy Lysander,--he was dead.
"Milo was obliged to forego the victor's wreath"; and the fame of this
youth will long continue to sound through the whole of Greece.
[By the laws of the games the wrestler, whose adversary died, had no
right to the prize of victory.]
I myself would rather be the dead Lysander, son of Aristomachus, than the
living Kallias growing old in inaction away from his country. Greece,
represented by her best and bravest, carried the youth to his grave, and
his statue is to be placed in the Altis by those of Milo of Crotona and
Praxidamas of AEgina". At length the heralds proclaimed the sentence of
the judges: 'To Sparta be awarded a victor's wreath for the dead, for the
noble Lysander hath been vanquished, not by Milo, but by Death, and he
who could go forth unconquered from a two hours' struggle with the
strongest of all Greeks, hath well deserved the olive-branch.'"
Here Kallias stopped a moment in his narrative. During his animated
description of these events, so precious to every Greek heart, he had
forgotten his listeners, and, gazing into vacancy, had seen only the
figures of the wrestlers as they rose before his remembrance. Now, on
looking round, he perceived, to his astonishment, that the grey-haired
man with the wooden leg, whom he had already noticed, though without
recognizing him, had hidden his face in his hands and was weeping.
Rhodopis was standing at his right hand. Phanes at his left, and the
other guests were gazing at the Spartan, as if he had been the hero of
Kallias's tale. In a moment the quick Athenian perceived that the aged
man must stand in some very near relation to one or other of the victors
at Olympia; but when he heard that he was Aristomachus-the father of that
glorious pair of brothers, whose wondrous forms were constantly hovering
before his eyes like visions sent down from the abodes of the gods, then
he too gazed on the sobbing old man with mingled envy and admiration, and
made no effort to restrain the tears which rushed into his own eyes,
usually so clear and keen. In those days men wept, as well as women,
hoping to gain relief from the balm of their own tears. In wrath, in
ecstasy of delight, in every deep inward anguish, we find the mighty
heroes weeping, while, on the other hand, the Spartan boys would submit
to be scourged at the altar of Artemis Orthia, and would bleed and even
die under the lash without uttering a moan, in order to obtain the praise
of the men.
For a time every one remained silent, out of respect to the old man's
emotion. But at last the stillness was broken by Joshua the Jew, who
began thus, in broken Greek:
"Weep thy fill, O man of Sparta! I also have known what it is to lose a
son. Eleven years have passed since I buried him in the land of
strangers, by the waters of Babylon, where my people pined in captivity.
Had yet one year been added unto the life of the beautiful child, he had
died in his own land, and had been buried in the sepulchres of his
fathers. But Cyrus the Persian (Jehovah bless his posterity!) released
us from bondage one year too late, and therefore do I weep doubly for
this my son, in that he is buried among the enemies of my people Israel.
Can there be an evil greater than to behold our children, who are unto us
as most precious treasure, go down into the grave before us? And, may
the Lord be gracious unto me, to lose so noble a son, in the dawn of his
early manhood, just at the moment he had won such brilliant renown, must
indeed be a bitter grief, a grief beyond all others!"
Then the Spartan took away his hands from before his face; he was looking
stern, but smiled through his tears, and answered:
"Phoenician, you err! I weep not for anguish, but for joy, and would
have gladly lost my other son, if he could have died like my Lysander."
The Jew, horrified at these, to him, sinful and unnatural words, shook
his head disapprovingly; but the Greeks overwhelmed the old man with
congratulations, deeming him much to be envied. His great happiness made
Aristomachus look younger by many years, and he cried to Rhodopis:
"Truly, my friend, your house is for me a house of blessing; for this is
the second gift that the gods have allowed to fall to my lot, since I
entered it."--"What was the first?" asked Rhodopis. "A propitious
oracle."--"But," cried Phanes, "you have forgotten the third; on this day
the gods have blessed you with the acquaintance of Rhodopis. But, tell
me, what is this about the oracle?"--"May I repeat it to our friends?"
asked the Delphian.
Aristomachus nodded assent, and Phryxus read aloud a second time the
answer of the Pythia:
"If once the warrior hosts from the snow-topped mountains descending
Come to the fields of the stream watering richly the plain,
Then shall the lingering boat to the beckoning meadows convey thee
Which to the wandering foot peace and a home will afford.
When those warriors come from the snow-topped mountains descending
Then will the powerful Five grant thee what they long refused."
Scarcely was the last word out of his mouth, when Kallias the Athenian,
springing up, cried: "In this house, too, you shall receive from me the
fourth gift of the gods. Know that I have kept my rarest news till last:
the Persians are coming to Egypt!"
At this every one, except the Sybarite, rushed to his feet, and Kallias
found it almost impossible to answer their numerous questions. "Gently,
gently, friends," he cried at last; "let me tell my story in order, or I
shall never finish it at all. It is not an army, as Phanes supposes,
that is on its way hither, but a great embassy from Cambyses, the present
ruler of the most powerful kingdom of Persia. At Samos I heard that they
had already reached Miletus, and in a few days they will be here. Some
of the king's own relations, are among the number, the aged Croesus, king
of Lydia, too; we shall behold a marvellous splendor and magnificence!
Nobody knows the object of their coming, but it is supposed that King
Cambyses wishes to conclude an alliance with Amasis; indeed some say the
king solicits the hand of Pharaoh's daughter."
"An alliance?" asked Phanes, with an incredulous shrug of the shoulders.
"Why the Persians are rulers over half the world already. All the great
Asiatic powers have submitted to their sceptre; Egypt and our own mother-
country, Hellas, are the only two that have been shared by the
conqueror."
"You forget India with its wealth of gold, and the great migratory
nations of Asia," answered Kallias. "And you forget moreover, that an
empire, composed like Persia of some seventy nations or tribes of
different languages and customs, bears the seeds of discord ever within
itself, and must therefore guard against the chance of foreign attack;
lest, while the bulk of the army be absent, single provinces should seize
the opportunity and revolt from their allegiance. Ask the Milesians how
long they would remain quiet if they heard that their oppressors had been
defeated in any battle?"
Theopompus, the Milesian merchant, called out, laughing at the same time:
"If the Persians were to be worsted in one war, they would at once be
involved in a hundred others, and we should not be the last to rise up
against our tyrants in the hour of their weakness!"
"Whatever the intentions of the envoys may be," continued Kallias, "my
information remains unaltered; they will be here at the latest in three
days."
"And so your oracle will be fulfilled, fortunate Aristomachus!"
exclaimed Rhodopis, "for see, the warrior hosts can only be the Persians.
When they descend to the shores of the Nile, then the powerful Five,'
your Ephori, will change their decision, and you, the father of two
Olympian victors, will be recalled to your native land.
[The five Ephori of Sparta were appointed to represent the absent
kings during the Messenian war. In later days the nobles made use
of the Ephori as a power, which, springing immediately from their
own body, they could oppose to the kingly authority. Being the
highest magistrates in all judicial and educational matters, and in
everything relating to the moral police of the country, the Ephori
soon found means to assert their superiority, and on most occasions
over that of the kings themselves. Every patrician who was past the
age of thirty, had the right to become a candidate yearly for the
office. Aristot. Potit, II. and IV. Laert. Diog. I. 68.]
"Fill the goblets again, Knakias. Let us devote this last cup to the
manes of the glorious Lysander; and then I advise you to depart, for it
is long past midnight, and our pleasure has reached its highest point.
The true host puts an end to the banquet when his guests are feeling at
their best. Serene and agreeable recollections will soon bring you
hither again; whereas there would be little joy in returning to a house
where the remembrance of hours of weakness, the result of pleasure, would
mingle with your future enjoyment." In this her guests agreed, and
Ibykus named her a thorough disciple of Pythagoras, in praise of the
joyous, festive evening.
Every one prepared for departure. The Sybarite, who had been drinking
deeply in order to counteract the very inconvenient amount of feeling
excited by the conversation, rose also, assisted by his slaves, who had
to be called in for this purpose.
While he was being moved from his former comfortable position, he
stammered something about a "breach of hospitality;" but, when Rhodopis
was about to give him her hand at parting, the wine gained the ascendancy
and he exclaimed, "By Hercules, Rhodopis, you get rid of us as if we were
troublesome creditors. It is not my custom to leave a supper so long as
I can stand, still less to be turned out of doors like a miserable
parasite!"
"Hear reason, you immoderate Sybarite," began Rhodopis, endeavoring with
a smile to excuse her proceeding. But these words, in Philoinus' half-
intoxicated mood, only increased his irritation; he burst into a mocking
laugh, and staggering towards the door, shouted: "Immoderate Sybarite,
you call me? good! here you have your answer: Shameless slave! one can
still perceive the traces of what you were in your youth. Farewell then,
slave of Iadmon and Xanthus, freedwoman of Charaxus!" He had not however
finished his sentence, when Aristomachus rushed upon him, stunned him
with a blow of his fist, and carried him off like a child down to the
boat in which his slaves were waiting at the garden-gate.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Did the ancients know anything of love
Folly to fret over what cannot be undone
Go down into the grave before us (Our children)
He who kills a cat is punished (for murder)
In those days men wept, as well as women
Lovers delighted in nature then as now
Multitude who, like the gnats, fly towards every thing brilliant
Olympics--The first was fixed 776 B.C.
Papyrus Ebers
Pious axioms to be repeated by the physician, while compounding
Romantic love, as we know it, a result of Christianity
True host puts an end to the banquet
Whether the historical romance is ever justifiable