A COUNCIL.
The house of Hippocles was on a smaller scale than might have seemed
suitable to his vast wealth. The fact was that both he and his daughter
had simple tastes. They had a special dislike to the enormous
establishments of slaves which it was the fashion for rich Athenians,
whether of native or of foreign birth, to maintain. In each division of
the house--for, it was divided after the usual Greek fashion, into two
“apartments,” to use that word in its proper sense, belonging
respectively to the men and the women[12]--there were but three or four
inmates besides the master and mistress. Hippocles had his house steward
and his personal attendant, both older than himself, long since
emancipated, who had accompanied him from his Italian home, and a lad of
seventeen, who was still a slave, but who, if he conducted himself well,
would certainly earn his freedom by the time that he had reached the age
of thirty. Hermione’s establishment, on the other hand, consisted of a
lady who had just exchanged the post of governess, now no longer
necessary, for that of companion or duenna, a housekeeper, and two
domestics who may be described by the modern terms of lady’s-maid and
house-maid. Stephanion, the companion, was of pure Athenian descent. She
belonged to one of the many families which had been reduced to poverty
by the war, and she had been glad to take employment in the house of the
wealthy alien. She had more education than was commonly given to
Athenian ladies, but this is not to say much, and Hermione would have
fared but ill for teaching, according at least to our standard if her
father had not always found time even in his busiest days, to supplement
her education. The housekeeper was a Laconian woman. She, too, had found
her way into the family through circumstances connected with the war.
She had been nurse in a wealthy Athenian household. Before the war it
had been the fashion, my readers should know, for the upper classes at
Athens to get their nurses from Sparta. A true Spartan, a daughter that
is, of the military aristocracy that ruled Laconia and its dependencies,
it was, of course, impossible to obtain, but girls from the farmer class
that cultivated the lands of their soldier masters often sought
situations in other countries. This was the case with Milanion, who as
the youngest of the five daughters of a Laconian farmer, had been
delighted to find a place with an Athenian lady, Melissa, wife of
Demochares, at a salary which almost equalled her father’s income. This
was just before the commencement of the long war. She had been nurse to
Melissa’s five children when the disastrous expedition to Sicily brought
irretrievable ruin upon her employer’s family. Demochares was one of the
army that surrendered with Nicias, was thrown with his comrades into
that most dreadful of prisons, the stone-quarries of Syracuse, and died
of a fever before the end of the year. His property had consisted, for
the most part, of farms in the island of Chios, and when Chios revolted
from Athens, the widow and her children were reduced to something very
like poverty. Nothing was left to them but a small farm at Marathon, and
as it so happened, the rent of the house which Hippocles unable, as has
been said, to own real property in Attica, had been accustomed to hire.
The establishment had to be broken up, the slaves being sold and the
free persons looking for employment elsewhere. Milanion was about to
return, much against her will, to Laconia, where her long residence at
Athens would have rendered her an object of suspicion and dislike, when
an opening suddenly presented itself in the family of Hippocles.
Pontia’s long illness had come to a fatal end, and the widower was
looking for an experienced woman to take charge of the young Hermione.
Milanion seemed to him exactly the person that he wanted, and she, on
the other hand, was delighted to come to him. As her charge grew older,
her duties as nurse gradually changed into the duties of a housekeeper.
She had come to her new situation accompanied by a middle-aged woman, a
Marian by birth, Manto by name, whom Hippocles had bought, at her
suggestion, at the sale of Demochares’ slaves. Manto had steadily
refused the emancipation which her master had several times offered to
her.
“No, sir,” she said, “I thank you very much, but I am better as I am. I
desire nothing more than to live in your house, and, when my time comes,
to die in it.”
“What if I should die first,” suggested the merchant.
“The gods know, my master, the gods know,” cried the poor woman in an
agony. “But it is impossible; the gods would not do anything so cruel,
so unjust. But, if you wish, you may put what you please into your will.
As long as you live you are my master, and I am your slave.” So matters
stood when my story opens. Perhaps it may be added that Manto’s
condition did not prevent her tongue from being truthful; but
affectionate, faithful, and honest, she allowed herself and was
allowed--no unusual circumstance, yet she was under a system of
slavery--a liberty of speech which in one free born would certainly have
been impossible. Finally, to complete my account of the household,
Hermione had for her maid a girl about a year older than herself. She
too had come into the family along with Milanion and Manto. Demochares
had bought her at the sale of the prisoners taken by the Athenians when
a little Sicilian town was captured. She was then a singularly pretty
child about seven years old, and Demochares had meant her to be a
playfellow or plaything, as the case might be, of a daughter of his own
of about the same age. She was of mixed race; her mother was a Sicanian,
that is, one of the so-called aboriginal inhabitants of Sicily, her
father a Carthaginian trader. She was now grown up into a handsome
maiden, who with her raven-black hair, dark piercing eyes, and deep
brunette complexion, made a remarkable contrast to the fair beauty of
her mistress.
When Callias reached the house the hour was late, later than etiquette
allowed for a visit, except from an intimate friend, or on a matter of
urgent business. His business, however, was urgent, and he did not
hesitate to knock, that is to strike the door sharply with a brass ring
which was attached to it by a staple. The day-porter had gone home for
the night, and the door was opened by the young slave mentioned above.
He explained that his master was just about to sit down to his evening
meal. “Take him my name,” said Callias, “and say that I come from the
magistrates on an important matter of business.” The lad invited him to
enter, and to take a seat in a small chamber which looked upon the
central court of the andronitis, a grass plot, bordered on all sides by
myrtle and orange. In a few minutes he returned, and invited the visitor
to follow him. Callias crossed the court and passed through the door
which led into the women’s apartment. Hippocles, it should be said, was
accustomed to see visitors on business in the front or men’s portion of
the dwelling, but spent his leisure time in the rooms assigned to his
daughter. The two had just taken their places at the table, Hippocles
reclining on a couch, Hermione sitting on a chair by his right hand, so
that his face was turned towards her.[13] The steward had placed the
first dish on the table, and was standing in front, with Hippocles’
personal attendant behind him. The latter at a sign from his master,
prepared a place for the new-comer.
Hippocles saluted his guest in a most friendly fashion, and Hermione
gave him her hand with a charming smile, though the moment afterwards
tears gathered in her eyes, when she remembered the last occasion on
which they had met.
[Illustration: Plan of a large Grecian House, probably more pretentious
than the House of Hippocles.
1. Main Door.
2. Entrance Passage.
3. Central Court of the Men’s part of the house (_Andronitis_).
4. 4. 4. Various Rooms of the _Andronitis_.
5. Passage connecting the _Andronitis_ with the _Gynæconitis_
(Women’s Apartments).
6. Court of the _Gynæconitis_.
7. 7. 7. Various rooms of the _Gynæconitis_.
8. The Prostas--a hall opening from 6.
9. 9. Apartments probably used as a family bedroom and sitting room.
10. 10. Rooms for looms and woolen manufacture.]
“If the business will wait for half-an-hour,” said the host, “postpone
it for so long. I have had a long day’s work, and shall be scarcely
myself till I have eaten. And you--doubtless you have dined before this;
but you will take a cup with us.”
As a matter of fact Callias had not dined, though in the excitement of
the day’s business he had almost forgotten food. A hasty meal snatched
on board the trireme which had brought him to Athens had been his only
refreshment since the morning.
“Nay, sir, but I have not dined; unless you call some five or six dried
anchovies and a hunk of barley bread, washed down with some very sharp
Hymettus, a dinner; and that was rather before noon than after it.”
The meal was simple. It consisted of some fresh anchovies, a piece of
roast pork, a hare brought from Eubœa, for Attica swept as it had
been again and again by hostile armies, had almost ceased to supply this
favorite food, and a pudding of wheat flour, seasoned with spices. This
last had been made by Hermione herself. The rest of the dinner had been
cooked by a man who came in daily for the purpose. When the viands had
been cleared away, Hippocles proposed the usual toast, “To our Good
Fortune,” the toast not being drank, but honored by pouring some drops
from the goblet. A second libation followed, this time to “Athene the
Keeper of the City.” The host then pledged his guest in a cup of Chian
wine. His daughter followed the rule of the best Grecian families, and
drank no wine.
“We can dispense, I think, with these,” he said, when the steward was
about to put some apples, nuts and olives on the table.
“Just so,” replied his guest, “and this excellent cup of Chian will be
all the wine that I shall want.”
“Now then for business,” said Hippocles. “Let us hope that the city will
pardon us for postponing it so long. But we must eat. Shall my daughter
leave us? For my part, I find her a very Athene for counsel.”
“As you will, sir,” replied Callias, “I have nothing to say but what all
may know, and indeed will know before a day is past.”
The young man then proceeded to tell the story with which my readers are
already acquainted. The question was briefly this: How was Conon to be
told that relief was coming?
“I see,” said Hippocles, “that he must be told. He is a brave fellow,
and a good general, too, though perhaps a little rash. But he must make
terms for himself and his men, unless he has a project of relief. He
would not be doing his duty to the state if he did not. But if he
capitulates before the relief comes--how many ships has he?”
“Forty,” said Callias.
“And we can have a hundred, or possibly, a hundred and ten here, by
straining every nerve. The Spartans have a hundred and forty, I think.”
“A few may have been disabled in the battle; but it would not be safe to
reckon on less, for very likely others have been dropping in since
then.”
“Then Conon’s party will turn the scale, and they will be better manned,
I take it, than any that we shall be able to send out from here. They
must not be lost to us. If they are, we shall do better not to send out
the fleet at all, but to stand on our defence.”
“Is the _Skylark_ in harbor now?” asked Callias.
My readers must know that the _Skylark_ was Hippocles’ fast sailing
yacht.
“Yes,” was the reply, “she is in harbor and very much at the service of
the state.”
“Trust me with her,” said Callias, “and I will run the blockade.”
“I don’t think it is possible,” answered Hippocles. “I gathered from
what you said that the Spartans are inside the harbor. Now you may give
the slip to a blockading squadron when it is watching a harbor from the
outside. They always keep close to the mouth you see; and a really good
craft, smartly handled, that can sail in the eye of the wind, and does
not draw much water, has always a good chance. I’ll warrant the
_Skylark_ to do it, if it is to be done. But with the blockade _inside_
the harbor, the case is different, and I must own that I don’t see my
way.”
“May I speak, father?” said Hermione.
“Since when have you begun to ask leave to use your tongue, my darling?”
replied her father with a smile. “You should hear her lecturing me when
we are alone,” he went on, turning to his guest. “But our counsellor is
not used to speaking in an assembly.”
“Would it be of any use,” said the girl, “to disguise the _Skylark_, by
painting her another color and altering the cut of her rigging?”
“A good thought, my darling,” replied her father, “and one that I shall
certainly make use of. Now let me think; just for the present, things do
not seem to piece themselves together.”
He rose from the couch on which he had been reclining, and paced up and
down the room in profound thought. Fully half an hour had passed when he
suddenly stopped short in his walk, and turned to his daughter.
“My darling,” he said, “I see that you are getting sleepy.”
“Sleepy, father?” cried the girl, who indeed was as wide awake as
possible, “sleepy? what can you mean? how could I possibly feel sleepy,
when we are talking about such things?”
“Nevertheless your father says it,” replied Hippocles, “and fathers are
never mistaken.” And he laid his hand upon her shoulder.
Without another word Hermione rose from her chair, kissed her father,
held out her hand again to Callias, and left the room.
Hippocles waited for a few minutes, and then sat down on the couch by
Callias’ side.
“You will have guessed,” he said, “that I wanted the girl away. I wish
that I had never let her stay; now she will suspect something; but it
cannot be helped. Now, listen. What the girl said about disguising the
_Skylark_ set me thinking. That will be useful another time; indeed I
shall do it now. But it won’t do all that we want. Disguised or not
disguised, I don’t see how she is to get past the Spartan ships in
Mitylene harbor. Now we must try a bolder play. I shall disguise myself,
and go.”
“You, sir,” cried Callias in astonishment. “But think of the danger.”
“Well,” replied Hippocles, “we cannot expect to get anything really
valuable without danger. And I am something of a fatalist. What will be
will be. Now listen: I shall disguise myself as a trader of Cos. I am a
Dorian by birth, you know, and I can use the broad vowels and the lisps
to perfection I flatter myself. I say Cos,[14] because I happen to be
particularly well acquainted with its dialect. I shall go to
Callicratidas[15] and tell him my story--what the story shall be I have
not yet made up my mind, but it is not hard to impose upon a Spartan.
However leave all that to me. Go and tell the magistrates that I
undertake to tell Conon that he will be relieved. And, mind--not a word
to my daughter. I shall tell her that I am called away on important
business. Very likely she will guess something of the truth; but it
would only trouble her to tell her more.”
“And the magistrates, sir?” asked Callias, “how much are they to know?”
“Nothing more, I think, than what I said, that Hippocles the Alien
undertakes to communicate with Conon. I don’t doubt the good faith and
discretion of our friends; but the fewer there are in the secret of such
a plan, the better. Keep a thing in your own mind, I say. If you whisper
a secret even unto the earth, when the reed grows up it will repeat
it.[16] You will say simply that it is a matter which it is well for
the state to conceal. If I succeed, I justify myself; if not--well, I
take it, no man’s anger here will concern me much. And now farewell!
Don’t vex yourself about me. All will turn out well; and if not--how can
a man die better than in saving Athens. All my affairs are arranged, if
I should not return. My patron Melesippus will, of course, be my
executor, and I have ventured to join your name with his in the trust?
Have I your permission?”
Callias pressed his hand in silence.
“That is well, and now my mind is easy. And now,” he went on in a
cheerful tone, “farewell again; but before you go, we must have a
libation to Hermione who for the next ten days must be my special
patron. If I come back safe, I will regild this temple from roof to
basement.”
The libation was duly poured, and the vow repeated as the drops fell
upon the ground.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] The Andronitis and Gynaekonitis, as they were called.
[13] A Greek at table, after it became the fashion to recline instead of
sit (as had been the practice in the heroic ages) lay on his left side,
supporting his head by his left arm, the other arm being left free to
help himself from the dishes when they were placed before him. Women and
children always sat at table.
[14] Cos was one of the cities belonging to the Dorian Pentapolis.
[15] Callicratidas was the admiral In command of the Spartan fleet.
[16] Hippocles is alluding to a well known story. Midas deciding in
favor of Pan as a better musician than Apollo was punished by being
given the long ears of an ass. He hid them under his Thurgian cap from
all men except the barber who cut his hair. This man, oppressed with the
secret, dug a hole in the earth, whispered into it, “King Midas has
asses’ ears,” and filling it up again, so found relief from his burden.
But a reed grew from the spot, and as it was moved by the wind whispered
the secret to the world.