HIPPOCLES THE ALIEN.
Hippocles has been described as an alien. An “alien,” then at Athens, as
in the other Greek cities, was a resident foreigner. He might be an
enfranchised slave, he might be a barbarian (as all persons not Greek
were described), or he might be a Greek of the purest descent, but if he
had not the rights of Athenian citizenship, he was an “alien.” He could
not hold any landed or house property: he was obliged to appear in any
law suit in which he might be concerned in the person of an Athenian
citizen who was described as his “patron,” and he was heavily taxed. A
special impost that went under the name of an “alien-tax” was only a
slight matter, some twelve drachmas[7] a year, but all the imposts were
made specially heavy for them. And though they had no share in directing
the policy of the State, they were required to serve in its fleets and
armies. This treatment however, did not keep aliens from settling in
Athens. On the contrary they were to be found there in great numbers,
and as almost all the trade of the place was in their hands, some of
them were among its richest inhabitants.
At the time of which I am writing Hippocles had the reputation, which we
may say was by no means undeserved, of being the richest resident in
Athens. And more than that, he was one of the most patriotic. He loved
the city as if it had been his native place, and did the duty and more
than the duty of a son to her. The special contributions which as a
wealthy man he was called upon to make to the public service[8] were
made with a princely liberality. He even voluntarily undertook services
which were not required of him by law. Every year he had come forward to
furnish the crew and munitions of a ship-of-war, a charge to which
citizens only were properly liable. And of the fleet of which such
gloomy tidings had just reached Athens, he had equipped no less than
three.
Hippocles had a curious history. He was born in the Greek colony of
Poseidonia.[9] He was just entering on manhood when his native city fell
into the hands of its Lucanian neighbors. The barbarians did not abuse
their victory. They did not treat the conquered city, as the Greeks of
Croton some ninety years before had treated Sybaris, reducing it to an
absolute ruin. On the contrary they contented themselves with imposing a
tribute, and leaving a governor, with a garrison to support him, to see
that their new subjects did not forget their duty. But the presence of
the foreigner was a grievous burden to the proud Greeks. For ages
afterwards their descendants were accustomed to assemble once a year and
to bewail their fate, as the Sons of Jacob at the Vale of Weeping, the
Gentile domination over their city. The disaster broke the heart of
Hippocles’ father Cimon who was one of Pacidoninus’ most distinguished
citizens and had actually held the office of Tagus or chief magistrate
in the year of its fall. He survived the event scarcely a year,
recommending his son with his last breath to leave the place for some
city where he could live in a way more worthy of a Greek. His son spent
the next two years in quietly realizing his property, nor did he meet
with any interference from the Lucanian masters of the place. His house
he had to sacrifice; to sell it might have attracted too much notice;
but everything else that he had was converted into money. When this was
safely invested at Athens--Athens having been for various reasons the
city of his choice--he secretly departed. But he did not depart alone.
He took with him a companion, who, he declared, more than made up to him
for all that as a Poseidonian citizen he had lost. Pontia, the daughter
of the Lucanian governor, was a girl of singular beauty. The Lucanian,
in common with the other Italian tribes, gave to their women a liberty
which was unknown in Greek households. Under the circumstances of life
in which he had been brought up, Hippocles though a frequent visitor at
the governor’s house, would never, except by the merest accident, have
seen the governor’s daughter. As it was he had many opportunities of
making her acquaintance. Instead of being shut up, after the Greek
fashion in the women’s apartments, she shared the common life of the
family. At first the novelty of the situation almost shocked the young
man; before long it pleased him; it ended by conquering his heart. The
young Greek, who was leaving his native land because it did not suit his
pride of race to live under the rule of a barbarian, did not submit
without an effort. Again and again he reproached himself with the
monstrous inconsistency of which he was guilty. “Madman that I am,” he
said to himself, “I cannot endure to live with barbarians for neighbors
and yet I think of taking a barbarian to wife.” Again and again he
resolved to break free from the influence that was enthralling him. But
love was too strong for him. Nor indeed, were there wanting arguments on
the other side. “Actually,” he said to himself, “I am a Greek no more; a
Greek without a city is only not a barbarian in name.” This argument, of
little weight, perhaps, in itself, gained force from the loveliness and
mental charms of the young Pontia. She had long felt a distaste for the
rough, uncultured life into which she had been born. The culture and
refinement of her father’s young Greek guest charmed her. The sadness of
his mien touched the chord of pity in her heart, and admiration and pity
together soon grew into love.
Hippocles had just completed the settlement of his affairs, and was
ruefully contemplating the curious dilemma in which he found
himself--everything ready for his departure from Poseidonia, but
Poseidonia holding him from such departure by ties which he could break
only by breaking his heart--when circumstances suggested a way of
escape.
The governor was a widower, and had more than the usual incapacity of
busy men in middle life for discerning the symptoms of love. It was
accordingly, with a cheerful unconsciousness of his guest’s feelings
that he said to him one morning:--“I have good news about my dear
Pontia. The girl is growing up, and should be settled in life, and I
have had a most eligible proposal for her. I have told you, I think,
that I am getting tired of this life, and want to get back to my farm
among the hills. So I have asked to be relieved, and I hear from the
Senate that they have chosen a successor, Hostius of Vulsi, a cousin, I
should say, of my own, and a most respectable man. Hostius has come to
announce the fact in person, and at the same time to ask for my daughter
in marriage. A most eligible proposal, I say. Perhaps he is a little
old, about five years younger than myself. But that’s of no consequence.
I mentioned the matter to her. She did not say much, but, of course, a
girl must seem to hold back. I suggested that the marriage should take
place next week--for I should dearly like to be at home in time for the
barley harvest. That roused her. Of course she said that she had no
clothes. I don’t know about that--she always seems to me to look very
nice--but I should not like to annoy her, for she is a dear, good girl,
and I gave her another month. It’s an excellent arrangement--don’t you
think so?”
Hippocles muttered a few words of assent; but long before the month was
out, he and his Pontia were on their way to Athens.
The marriage and the settlement in Athens had taken place twenty-one
years before the time of which I am writing. Two children had been born,
a son and a daughter. The son had fallen, not many months before, at
the battle of Notium[10] and the death of the mother, who had been in
feeble health, had soon followed. The daughter, to whom her parents had
given the name of Hermione, had just completed her sixteenth year.
Hermione united in herself some of the happiest characteristics of the
two races from which she sprang. Her father was a Greek of the Greeks.
Poseidonia had been founded by Dorian settlers from Sybaris, who could
not contrive to live on good terms with the Achaean Greeks that had
become the predominant element in that city; and Hippocles, who claimed
descent from the Messenian kings, yielded to none in nobility of birth.
A purer type of the genuine Hellenes it would have been impossible to
find. Pontia brought from the Lucanian hills, among which she had been
reared, some of the best qualities, moral and physical, of the Italian
race. The simplicity, frugality, and temperance which then and long
after distinguished rural Italy, were to be seen in her united with a
singular feminine charm not so often found among that somewhat rude
population; until the close air of the Piraeus, ill-suited to a daughter
of the hills, sapped her constitution, she had had a frame magnificently
healthy and strong. To the daughter the climate which had shortened her
mother’s days, happily did no harm. It was in fact her native air, and
she throve in it. She was still undeveloped, for she had only just
completed her sixteenth year; but she gave promise of remarkable beauty,
and indeed, the promise was already more than half fulfilled. When she
had performed the duty, sometimes imposed on the daughters of resident
aliens,--it might be called, rather, privilege conceded to them--and
walked in the great procession of the patron-goddess, holding a sunshade
over some high-born Athenian maiden,[11] all the spectators agreed that
the prize of beauty belonged to the stranger. Her stature reached the
very utmost height that the canons of beauty conceded to women; so far
she was more of an Athene than an Aphrodite. But her face and her whole
bearing were exquisitely feminine. The sapphire-colored eyes, shaded by
long drooping lashes, the forehead, broad and low with the clustering
ringlets of light chestnut on either side, perfectly rounded cheeks,
firm, delicate mouth, showing a glimpse, but only a glimpse of pearly
teeth, and a faultlessly clear complexion, just tinted with the brown
caught from Ægæan suns and winds--for she was dearly fond of a cruise in
her father’s yacht--made up together a remarkable combination of charms.
Callias had seen her but once before, and that was on a melancholy
occasion. He had been commissioned by the general in command to break to
her father the death of her brother, killed as has been said, in the
unlucky conflict at Notium. He had behaved there with conspicuous
gallantry, having led the boarding party which captured the only
Lacedaemonian galley that the Athenians had to set off against their own
fifteen losses, and had fallen in the moment of victory. It was not the
first time that he had shown distinguished valor, and it was for this
reason, as well as on account of the high reputation of his father,
that Alcibiades had sent Callias with a special message of condolence.
The blow, which could not be softened by any delicacy in the telling,
and for which the praises of the general were but a slight consolation,
broke Hippocles down completely. It was then that Hermione showed the
strength of her character. Tenderly attached herself to her brother she
had come forward to support her broken-hearted father. With a patient
endurance that was beyond all praise, she had battled with her own grief
in the effort to help a sorrow even more agonizing than her own, till
for very shame Hippocles had raised himself to bear his loss with
resignation. The effort saved his life; for even the physicians had at
one time been greatly alarmed. Callias, accustomed to think of women as
encumbrances rather than helps in time of need was profoundly impressed
by the girl’s demeanor. If he had been inclined, for a moment, to think
that her singular self-possession indicated a want of womanly feeling,
he would have been soon undeceived. Paying a visit of inquiry to the
house next day, he found that Hermione’s endurance had not lasted beyond
the occasion for which it was wanted. Her father received him, and told
him that his daughter had broken down under the strain. “I was cowardly
enough,” he said, “yesterday to rest upon her strength when I should
have summoned up my own. The gods grant that I may not have taxed it
overmuch, and that I may not lose both my children. I have learned that
I ought not to have grudged my son to the city which has been a second
mother to me; if only I have not learnt it at too terrible a price.”
Callias had to leave Athens on the next day to rejoin the fleet, but he
had the satisfaction of hearing before his departure that Hermione was
on a fair way to recovery. Since then he had not been in Athens.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] This would amount to about $2.25--a drachma being equal to about 20c
or 9-1/2d. in English money.
[8] These “liturgies,” as they were called, were charges imposed upon
all residents in Athens whose property was assessed at more than a
certain amount (three talents, which, as a talent contained 6,000
drachmæ, may be roughly estimated at $3,500, equivalent, it is probable,
to much more in actual value). These were originally equivalents for
special privileges and powers which the wealthy enjoyed under the
earlier constitution, but they were continued in force after the
democratic changes which put all citizens on an equality. The Aliens
were not liable to all.
[9] Better known by its Latin name of Paestum.
[10] Fought in 407. Notium was the harbor of Colophon a city of Asia
Minor, about nine miles north of Ephesus, and about fifteen miles from
the sea.
[11] Noble Athenian damsels were the “basket-bearers” (_Canephoroi_),
daughters of aliens “Sunshade-bearers” (_Skiaphoroi_) in the
Paratheraea, or Great Procession of Athens.