sun-dried bricks coated with plaster. Its columns were all different
from one another. Some were slender, others thick; some fluted, others
plain; and all were brightly painted. Charmides smiled up at his father.
“It is not so beautiful as the Parthenon,” he said.
“No,” his father answered, “but it is very old and very holy. Every
generation of man has put a new column here. That is why they are not
alike. This is the ancient temple of Hera.”
Then they entered the door. Down the long aisle they walked between
small open rooms on either side. Here stood statues gazing out--some of
marble, some of gold and ivory. The priests had moved to the front and
stood praying before the ancient statues of Zeus and Hera. But suddenly
Charmides stopped and would go no farther. For here, in a little room
all alone, stood his Hermes with the baby Dionysus. The boy cried out
softly with joy and crept toward the lovely thing. He gently touched the
golden sandal. He gazed into the kind blue eyes and smiled. The marble
was delicately tinted and glowed like warm skin. A frail wreath of
golden leaves lay on the curling hair. Charmides looked up at the tiny
baby and laughed at its coaxing arms.
“Are you smiling at him?” he whispered to Hermes. “Or are you dreaming
of Olympos? Are you carrying him to the nymphs on Mount Nysa?” And then
more softly still he said, “Do not forget Creon, blessed god.”
When his father came back he found him still gazing into the quiet face
and smiling tenderly with love of the beautiful thing. As Menon led him
away, he waved a loving farewell to the god.
The most wonderful time was after the sacrifice to Zeus before the great
temple with its deep porches and its marble watchers in the gable.
The altar was a huge pile of ashes. For hundreds of years Greeks had
sacrificed here. The holy ashes had piled up and piled up until they
stood as a hill more than twenty feet high. The people waited around the
foot of it, watching. The priests walked up its side. Men led up the
sleek cattle to be slain for the feast of the gods. And on the very top
a fire leaped toward heaven. Far up in the sky Charmides could half
see the beautiful gods leaning down and smiling upon their worshiping
people.
Then he turned and walked with the crowd under the temple porch and into
the great, dim room. He trembled and grasped his father’s hand in awe.
For there in the soft light towered great Zeus. In embroidered robes of
dull gold he sat high on his golden throne. His hands held his scepter
and his messenger eagle. His great yellow curls almost touched the
ceiling. He bent his divine face down, and his deep eyes glowed upon his
people. Sweet smoke was curling upward, and the room rang with a hymn.
As Charmides gazed into the solemn face, a strange light quivered about
it, and the boy’s heart shook with awe. The words of Homer sprang to his
lips:
“Zeus bowed his head. The divine hair streamed back from the kindly
brows, and great Olympos quaked.”
After the sacrifices were over there was time to wander again among the
statues and to sit on the benches under the cool porches and watch the
moving crowd and the glittering sun on the gold ornaments of the temple
peaks. Then there was time to see again the strange sights of the fair
in the plain. The next morning was noisier and gayer than anything
Charmides had ever known. While it was still twilight his father hurried
him down the hill and through the gates, on through the sacred enclosure
to another gate. And all about them was a hurrying, noisy crowd. They
stumbled up some steps and began to wait. As the light grew, Charmides
saw all about him men and boys, sitting or standing, and all gaily
talking. Below the crowd he saw a long, narrow stretch of ground. He
clapped his hands. That was the ground Creon’s feet would run upon! Up
and down both sides of the track went long tiers of stone seats. They
were packed with people who were there to see Creon win. The seats
curved around one narrow end of the course. But across the other end
stood a wall with a gate. Menon pointed to a large white board hanging
on the wall and said, “See! The list of athletes.”
Here were written names, and among them, “Creon, son of the Olympic
winner Menon.” Charmides’ eyes glowed with pride.
Every eye was watching the gate. Soon the purple-clad judges entered.
Some of them walked the whole length of the stadion and took their seats
opposite the goal posts. Two or three waited at the starting line. There
was a blast of a trumpet. Then a herald cried something about games
for boys and about only Greeks of pure blood and about the blessing of
Hermes of the race course.
Immediately there entered a crowd of boys, while the spectators sent
up a rousing cheer. The lads gathered to cast lots for places. At last
eight of them stepped out and stood at the starting line. Creon was not
among them. A post with a little fluttering flag was between every two.
The boys threw off their clothes and stood ready. One of the judges said
to them:
“The eyes of the world are upon you. Your cities love an Olympic winner.
From Olympos the gods look down upon you. For the glory of your cities,
for the joy of your fathers, for your own good name, I exhort you to do
your best.”
Then he gave the signal and the runners shot forward. Down the long
course they went with twinkling legs. The spectators cheered, called
their names, waved their chlamyses and himations. Their friends cried
to the gods to help. Down they ran, two far ahead, others stringing out
behind. Every runner’s eyes were on the marble goal post with its little
statue of Victory. In a moment it was over, and Leotichides had first
laid hand upon the post and was winner of the first heat.
Immediately eight other boys took their places at the starting line.
Charmides snatched his father’s hand and held it tight, for Creon was
one of them. Another signal and they were off, with Creon leading by
a pace or two. So it was all the way, and he gave a glad shout as he
touched the goal post.
Charmides heard men all about him say:
“A beautiful run!”
“How easily he steps!”
“We shall see him do something in the last heat.”
“Who is he?”
And when the herald announced the name of the winner, the benches buzzed
with,
“Creon, Creon, son of Menon the Athenian.”
Four more groups were called and ran. Then the six winners stepped up
to the line. This time the goal was the altar at the farther end of the
stadion. A wave of excitement ran around the seats. Everybody leaned
forward. The signal! Leotichides sprang a long pace ahead. Next came
Creon, loping evenly. One boy stumbled and fell behind. The other three
were running almost side by side. Menon was muttering between his teeth:
“Hermes, be his aid! Great Zeus look upon him! Herakles give him wind!”
Now they were near the goal, and Leotichides was still leading by a
stride. Then Creon threw back his head and stretched out his legs and
with ten great leaps he had touched the altar a good pace ahead. He had
won the race.
The crowd went wild with shouting. Menon leaped over men’s heads and
went running down the course calling for his son. But the guards caught
him and forced him back upon the seats. Charmides sat down and wept for
joy. And nobody saw him, for everybody was cheering and watching the
victor.
One of the judges stepped out and gave a torch to Creon. The boy touched
the flame to the pile on the altar. As the fire sprang up, he stretched
his hands to the sky and cried,
“O blessed Hermes, Creon will not forget thy help.”
As he turned away the judge gave him a palm in sign of victory. The boy
walked back down the course with the palm waving over his shoulder. His
body was glistening, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were burning
with joy. He was looking up at the crowd, hoping to see his father and
brother. And at every step men reached out a hand to him or called
to him, until at last Menon’s own loving arms pulled him up upon the
benches. Then there was such a noise that no one heard any one else, but
everybody knew that everybody was happy. Men pushed their heads over
other men’s shoulders, and boys peeped between their fathers’ legs to
see the Olympic winner. And in that circle of faces Menon stood with
his arms about Creon, laughing and crying. And Charmides clung to his
brother’s hand. But at last Creon whispered to his father:
“I must go and make ready. I am entered for the pentathlon, also.”
Menon cried out in wonder.
“I kept that news for a surprise,” laughed Creon. “Good-by, little one,”
he said to Charmides, and pushed through the crowd.
Menon sat down trembling. If his boy should win in the pentathlon also!
That would be too great glory. It could not happen. He began to mutter a
hundred prayers. Another race was called--the double race, twice around
the course. But Menon did not stand to see it. He could think of nothing
but his glorious son. After the race was another great shout. Some other
boy was carrying a palm. Some other father was proud. Then followed
wrestling, bout after bout, and cheering from the crowd. But Menon cared
little for it all.
It was now near noon. The sun shone down scorchingly. A wind whirled
dust up from the race course into people’s faces.
“My throat needs wetting,” cried a man.
He pulled off a little vase of wine that hung from his girdle and passed
it to Menon, saying:
“I should be proud if the father of the victor would drink from my
bottle.”
And Menon took it, smiling proudly. Then he himself opened a little
cloth bag and drew out figs and nuts.
“Here is something to munch, lad,” he said to Charmides.
Other people, also, were eating and drinking. They walked about to visit
their friends or sat down to rest. Menon’s neighbor sank upon his seat
with a sigh.
“This is the first time I have sat down since sunrise,” he laughed.
Then the pentathlon was announced. Everyone leaped to his feet again. A
group of boys stood ready behind a line. One of the judges was softening
the ground with a pick. An umpire made a speech to the lads. Then, at a
word, a boy took up the lead jumping weights. He swung his hands back
and forth, swaying his graceful body with them. Then a backward jerk! He
threw his weights behind him and leaped. The judges quickly measured
and called the distance. Then another boy leaped, and another, and
another--twenty or more. Last Creon took the weights and toed the line.
“Creon! Creon!” shouted the crowd: “The victor! Creon again!”
He swung and swayed and then sailed through the air.
“By Herakles!” shouted a man near Charmides. “He alights like a
sea-gull.”
There went up a great roar from the benches even before the judges
called the distance. For any one could see that he had passed the
farthest mark. The first of the five games was over and Creon had won
it.
Now the judges brought a discus. A boy took it and stepped behind the
line. He fitted the lead plate into the crook of his hand. He swung it
back and forth, bending his knees and turning his body. Then it flew
into the air and down the course. Where it stopped rolling an umpire
marked and called the distance.
“I like this game best of all,” said a man behind Charmides. “The whole
body is in it. Every movement is graceful. See the curve of the back,
the beautiful bend of the legs, the muscles working over the chest! The
body moves to and fro as if to music.”
One after another the boys took their turn. But when Creon threw,
Charmides cried out in sorrow, and Menon groaned. His disc fell short of
the mark. He was third.
“It was gracefully done,” Charmides heard some one say, “but his arms
are not so good as his legs. See the arms and chest of that Timon. No
one can throw against him.”
After that a judge set up a shield in the middle of the course. Every
boy snatched a spear from a pile on the ground and threw at the central
boss of the shield. Again Creon was beaten. Phormio of Corinth, son of a
famous warrior, won.
Then they paired off for wrestling. Creon and Eudorus of Aegina were
together. Each boy poured oil into his hand from a little vase and
rubbed the body of his antagonist to limber his muscles. Then he took
fine sand from a box and dusted it over his skin for the oiled body
might slip out of his arms in the wrestling match. Then, at a signal,
the pairs of wrestlers faced each other.
Creon held his hands out ready, bent his knees, thrust forward his head,
and stood waiting. Eudorus leaped to and fro around him trying to get a
hold. At last he rushed at him. Creon caught him around the waist and
hurled him to the ground. Charmides laughed and shouted and clapped
his hands. That was one throw. There must be three. Eudorus was up
immediately and was circling around and around again. Suddenly Creon
leaped low and caught him by the leg and threw him. He had won two bouts
out of three and stood victor without a throw.
Soon all the pairs had finished. The eight victors stood forth and cast
lots for new partners. Again they wrestled. This time, also, Creon won.
Then these four winners paired off and wrestled, and at the end Creon
and Timon were left to try it together.
In the first bout the Spartan boy lifted Creon off the ground and threw
him, back down. Then the men on the benches began shouting advice.
“Look out for his arms!”
“Don’t let him grapple you!”
“Feint, feint!”
Creon leaped to his feet. He began circling around Timon as Eudorus had
circled around him. He dodged out from under Timon’s arms. He wriggled
from between his hands. The benches rang with cheers and laughs.
“He is an eel,” cried one man.
Suddenly Creon ducked under Timon’s arms, caught him by his legs and
tripped him. The two boys were even.
In the next bout Timon ran at Creon like a wild bull. He caught him
around the waist in his strong arms to whirl him to the ground. But with
a crook of his leg Creon tripped him and wriggled out of his arms before
he fell.
Menon caught up Charmides and threw him to his shoulder laughing and
stamping his feet.
“Do you see, lad?” he cried. “He has won two games. Only the race is
left, and we know how he can run.”
And how he did run! He threw back his head and leaped out like a deer,
skimming over the ground in long strides and leaving his dust to the
others. He had the three games out of five and was winner of the
pentathlon.
Then there was no holding the crowd. They poured down off the seats and
ran to Creon. Some lifted him upon their shoulders and carried him out
of the stadion, for this was the end of the games for that day. And
those who could not come near Creon and his waving palms crowded around
Menon. So they went, shouting, out of the gate and among the statues and
on to the river. There they put Creon down, and his father and Charmides
led him away to camp.
That was the happiest night of Charmides’ life. He heard his wonderful
brother talk for hours of the life in the gymnasium. He heard new tales
of Creon’s favorite god, Hermes. He heard of the women’s games that were
held once a year at Olympia in honor of Hera. He heard a hundred new
names of boys and cities, for there had been, athletes from every corner
of Greece in training here. He held the victor’s palms in his own hands.
He slept beside this double winner of Olympic crowns. He dreamed that
Apollo and Hermes came hand in hand and gazed down at him and Creon as
they lay sleeping and dropped a great garland over them both. It was
twined of Olympic olive leaves and Apollo’s own laurel.
On the next day there were games for the men, like those the boys had
played. On the day after that there were chariot races in a wide place
outside the walls. Every night there was still the gay noise of the
fair. But instead of going to see it, Charmides stretched himself under
the trees on Mount Kronion and gazed up at the moon and dreamed.
Then came the last day, with its great procession again and its
sacrifices at every altar. The proud victors walked with their palm
leaves in their hands. In the temple of Zeus, under the eyes of the
glowing god, the priests put the precious olive crowns upon the winners’
heads. They were made from sacred olive leaves. They were cut with a
golden sickle from the very tree that godlike Herakles had brought out
of the far north. That wreath it was which should be more dear than a
chest of gold to Creon’s family and Creon’s city. That was the crown
which poets should sing about. When the priest set the crown upon
Creon’s head, Charmides thought he felt a god’s hands upon his own brow.
Menon leaned upon a friend’s shoulder and burst into tears.
“I could die happy now,” he said. “I have done enough for Athens in
giving her such a glorious son.”
As the three walked back to camp, Menon said:
“Who shall write your chorus of triumph, Creon? Already my messengers
have reached Athens, and the dancers are chosen who shall lead you home.
But the song is not yet made. It must be a glorious one!”
Then Charmides blushingly whispered,
“May I sing you something, father? Apollo helped me to make it.”
His father smiled down in surprise. “So that is why you have been lying
so quiet under the trees these moonlit nights!” he said.
Charmides ran ahead and was sitting thrumming a lyre when his father
and Creon came up. He struck a long, ringing chord and raised his clear
voice in a dancing song:
When Creon, son of Menon, bore off the Olympic olive,
Mount Kronion shook with shouting of Hellas’ hosts assembled.
They praised his manly beauty, his grace and strength of body.
They praised his eyes’ alertness, the smoothness of his muscles.
They blessed his happy father and wished themselves his brothers.
Sweet rang the glorious praises in ears of Creon’s lovers.
But I, when upward gazing, beheld a sight more wondrous.
The gates of high Olympos were open wide and clanging,
Deserted ev’ry palace, the golden city empty.
And all the gods were gathered above Olympia’s race-course,
They smiled upon my Creon and gifts upon him showered.
From golden Aphrodite dropped half a hundred graces.
Athene made him skillful. Boon Hermes gave him litheness.
Fierce Ares added courage, Queen Hera happy marriage.
Diana’s blessed fingers into his soul shed quiet.
Lord Bacchus gave him friendship and graces of the banquet,
Poseidon luck in travel, and Zeus decreed him victor.
Apollo, smiling, watched him and saw his thousand blessings.
“Enough,” he said, “for Creon. I’ll bless the empty-handed.”
He turned to where I trembled, and stepping downward crowned me.
“To thee my gift,” he whispered, “to sing thy brother’s glory.”
“Well done, little poet!” cried Menon.
“A happy man am I. One son is beloved by Hermes, the other by Apollo.
Bring wax tablets, Glaucon, and write down the song. I will prepare a
messenger to hurry with it to Athens.”
So it happened that a lame boy won a crown. And when Creon stepped
ashore at Pirseus, and all Athens stood shouting his name, a chorus of
boys came dancing toward him singing his brother’s song. Creon was led
home wearing Zeus’ wreath upon his head, and Charmides with Apollo’s
crown in his heart. [Illustration: _A Coin of Alexander the Great_. It
shows Zeus sitting on his throne.]
HOW A CITY WAS LOST
Such was Olympia long ago. Every four years such games took place. Then
the plain was crowded and busy and gay. Year after year new statues were
set up, new gifts were brought, new buildings were made. Olympia was
one of the richest places in the world. Its fame flew to every land. At
every festival new people came to see its beauties. It was the meeting
place of the world.
But meantime the bad fortune of Greece began. Her cities quarreled and
fought among themselves. A king came down from the north and conquered
her. After that the Romans sailed over from Italy and conquered her
again. Often Roman emperors carried off some of her statues to make Rome
beautiful. Shipload after shipload they took. The new country was filled
with Greek statues. The old one was left almost empty. Later, after
Christ was born, and the Romans and the Greeks had become Christian, the
emperor said,
“It is not fitting for Christians to hold a festival in honor of a
heathen god.” And he stopped the games. He took away the gold and silver
gifts from the treasure houses. He carried away the gold and ivory
statues. Where Phidias’ wonderful Zeus went nobody knows. Perhaps the
gold was melted to make money. Olympia sat lonely and deserted by her
river banks. Summer winds whirled dust under her porches. Rabbits made
burrows in Zeus’ altar. Doors rusted off their hinges. Foxes made their
dens in Hera’s temple. Men came now and then to melt up a bronze statue
for swords or to haul away the stones of her temples for building.
The Alpheios kept eating away its banks and cutting under statues and
monuments. Many a beautiful thing crumbled and fell into the river and
was rolled on down to the sea. Men sometimes found a bronze helmet or a
marble head in the bed of the stream.
After a long time people came and lived among the ruins. On an old
temple floor they built a little church. Men lived in the temple of
Zeus, and women spun and gossiped where the golden statue had sat. In
the temple of Hera people set up a wine press. Did they know that the
little marble baby in the statue near them was the god of the vineyard
and had taught men to make wine? Out of broken statues and columns and
temple stones they built a wall around the little town to keep out their
enemies. Sometimes when they found a bronze warrior or a marble god they
must have made strange stories about it, for they had half forgotten
those wonderful old Greeks. But the marble statues they put into a kiln
to make lime to plaster their houses. The bronze ones they melted up for
tools. Sometimes they found a piece of gold. They thought themselves
lucky then and melted it over into money.
But an earthquake shook down the buildings and toppled over the statues.
The columns and walls of the grand old temple of Zeus fell in a heap.
The marble statues in its pediments dropped to the ground and broke.
Victory fell from her high pillar and shattered into a hundred pieces.
The roof of Hera’s temple fell in, and Hermes stood uncovered to the
sky. Old Kronion rocked and sent a landslide down over the treasure
houses. Kladeos rushed out of his course and poured sand over the sacred
place.
That earthquake frightened the people away, and they left Olympia alone
again. Hermes was still there, but he looked out upon ruins. Victory lay
in a heap of fragments. Apollo was there, but broken and buried in earth
with the other people of the pediments. Zeus and all the hundreds of
heroes and athletes were gone. So it was for a while. Then a new race of
people came and built another little town upon the earth-covered ruins.
They little guessed what lay below their poor houses. But for some
reason this town, also, died and left the ruins alone. Then dusty winds
and flooding rivers began to cover up what was left. Kladeos piled up
sand fifteen feet deep. Alpheios swung out of its banks and washed away
the race-course for chariots. Under the rains and floods the sun-dried
bricks of Hera’s walls melted again into clay and covered the floor.
Again the earth quaked, and Hermes fell forward on his face, and little
was left of the beautiful old Olympia. Grass and flowers crept in from
the sides. Seeds blew in and shrubs and trees took the place of columns.
Soon the flowers and the animals had Olympia to themselves. A few gray
stones thrust up through the soil. So it was for hundreds of years.
Greece was conquered by the men of Venice and then by the Turks. But
Olympia, in its far corner, was forgotten and untouched except when a
Turkish officer or farmer went there to dig a few stones out of the
ground. And they knew nothing of the ancient gods and the ancient
festival and the old story of the place, for they were foreigners and
new people.
But about a hundred years ago Englishmen and Germans and Frenchmen began
to visit Greece. They went to see, not her new Turkish houses or her
Venetian castles or the strange dress of her new people, but her old
ruins and the signs of her old glory. These men had read of Olympia in
ancient Greek books and they knew what statues and buildings had once
stood there. They wrote back to their friends things like this:
“I saw a piece of a huge column lying on top of the ground. It was seven
feet across. It must have belonged to the temple of Zeus.”
“To-day I saw a long, low place in the ground where I think must have
been the stadion in ancient days.”
At last, about thirty years ago, Ernst Curtius and several other Germans
went there. They were men who had studied Greek history and Greek art
and they planned to excavate Olympia.