ALCIBIADES.
The sun was just setting when the _Skylark_ cast anchor about two
hundred yards from the shore and opposite the castle with which the
loftiest point of the cliffs was crowned. The signal flag which the
captain ran up to his mast-head was answered by another from the castle,
and in a few minutes a boat was seen to start from a little quay which
had been built out into the sea at the foot of the cliff. Callias had
written a letter to Alcibiades in which he briefly described himself and
his errand, and Hippocles, though modestly depreciating the value of any
thing that he could say, had also written, at the young man’s request, a
letter of introduction. These documents were handed over to the officer
in charge of the boat, and conveyed by him to the castle. After a very
short delay the boat returned again, this time in the charge of an
officer of obviously higher rank. This higher personage mounted the side
of the _Skylark_, and after giving a courteous greeting to Callias,
delivered to him an invitation from Alcibiades to make his castle his
home for as long a period as he might find it convenient to stay there,
explaining at the same time that his master would have come in person to
welcome his guest, if he had not been detained by business of importance
with a neighboring chief. The young Athenian’s baggage--for he had been
liberally fitted out by the thoughtful and generous care of
Hippocles--was transferred to the boat, and in a few minutes more he had
set his foot on the landing-place.
He had been speculating as he neared the shore, about the way in which
the castle was to be approached. An observer looking from the sea might
have thought that there was no way of getting to it except by scaling
the almost perpendicular base of the cliff. Once landed on the quay,
however, the traveller discovered that a passage had been cut through
the cliff. This passage, which could be closed at its lower end by a
massive door, was something like a winding staircase. It was somewhat
stifling and dark, though light and air were occasionally admitted by
holes bored to the outer surface of the rock. Its upper end opened in to
a courtyard round which the castle was built. The approach from the sea
was, it will have been seen, sufficiently secure. On that side indeed
the castle of Bisanthe was absolutely impregnable. From the land, it
was, to say the least, safely defensible. It was approached by one
narrow ridge, so formed that a few resolute men could hold it against a
numerous body of assailants. The walls were lofty and massive, and so
constructed that a galling fire of missiles could be kept up on either
flank of an attacking force.
Callias was escorted to his chamber by a young Thracian slave, who
informed him in broken speech that a bath room in which he would find
hot and cold water was at his service, and further that his master hoped
to have the pleasure of his company at supper in an hour’s time. The
chamber, it may be said, was furnished with a clepsydra, or
water-clock, marked with divisions.[44]
Callias awaited his introduction to his host with no little curiosity.
Alcibiades was, as has been said, a kinsman of his own, and he had heard
of him--what Athenian, indeed, had not,--but he had never happened to
see him. Callias’ father had been an aristocrat of the old-fashioned
type, and had so strongly disapproved of his cousin’s reckless and
extravagant behavior that he had broken off all intercourse with him,
and had been particularly careful that his son should never come in
contact with him. Callias was about fourteen when Alcibiades left Athens
in command (along with two colleagues) of the Sicilian expedition. The
absence thus begun lasted about eight years. For the first half of this
time he was an exile; for the second half in command of the fleets and
armies of Athens, but still postponing his return to his native city.
Then came his brief visit, lasting it would seem, only a few days,[45]
and at that time Callias, as it happened, had been absent in foreign
service. He was now in what was or should have been, the prime of life,
having just completed his forty-fourth year, but the dissipation of his
youth and early manhood and the anxieties of his later years had left
their mark upon him, and he looked older than his age. Yet there were
traces of the brilliant beauty that in earlier days had helped to make
him the spoiled darling of Athens. The wrinkles had begun to gather
about his eyes, but they were still singularly lustrous, and could
either flash with anger, or melt with tenderness. His temples were
hollow and his cheeks had somewhat fallen in; but his complexion was
almost as brilliant as ever, while the abundant auburn curls that fell
clustering about his neck had scarcely a streak of gray in them.
His greeting to his guest was more than courteous. It was affectionate,
exactly such as was fitting from an older to a younger relative. Indeed
then, as ever afterward during their acquaintance, Callias was greatly
struck by the perfection of his manners. It seemed impossible that the
stories told of his haughty insolence by which in former years he had
made himself one of the best-hated men in Athens could possibly be true.
Supper was announced shortly after Callias had been ushered into the
chamber. Alcibiades took his guest by the hand, led him into the
dining-room, and assigned him a place next to himself. Some other guests
were present. Two of these were officers in the military force which
Alcibiades maintained in his stronghold; the third was an aged man, who
had been his tutor many years, and for whom he retained an affection
that was honorable to both master and pupil. The fourth was the Thracian
chief with whom Alcibiades had been engaged when the _Skylark_ arrived.
The meal was simple. The chief feature was one of the huge turbot for
which the Euxine was famous.
“That would have cost a fortune in the fish market at Athens,” said the
host pointing to the dish, “even if it could have been procured at all.
Here a fisherman thinks himself well paid for such a monster by three,
or at the most, four _drachmae_.”[46]
A piece of venison and a platter of quails were the other dishes. The
second course consisted of a maize pudding and some sweet-meats.
During the repast the conversation turned speedily on local matters, and
was carried on (but not till after a courteous apology had been offered
to the young Athenian) in the bastard Greek largely mixed with Thracian
words, in which the chief was accustomed to express himself. The meal
ended, a handsome silver cup was handed by the major-domo, a venerable
looking man, who made the comfort of his master and his most honored
guests his special care. Alcibiades took it and poured out a few drops
upon the table, uttering as he did so, the words: “To Athene the
Champion.” This was equivalent to the loyal toasts of an English
banquet. He then took a very moderate draught, the wine being unmixed,
in obedience to the rule which demanded that all wine used in religious
ceremonies--and this libation was such a ceremony--should be pure.[47]
He then tipped the cup to each guest in turn. All were equally moderate,
for it was not the custom, even for a Greek drunkard, it may be said, to
drink his wine unmixed. But when the cup came to the Thracian chief he
drank a deep draught as if the liquor had been liberally diluted.
Callias who had never been at table with a Thracian before, watched the
man with amazement. He saw that while the other guests were supplied
with the usual mixtures of wine and water the chief remained steadfast
in his devotion to the undiluted liquid, and that he emptied his cup at
a draught, and that the cup itself was of an unusual capacity. Nor did
the drinker seem affected by these extraordinary potations, except that
his voice became louder, and his manner more boastful. At last, however,
and that without a moment’s notice, he rolled over senseless on his
back. So sudden was the change that it suggested the idea of a fit.
“Is he ill?” he whispered in some alarm, to his neighbor.
“Ill? not a whit. It is the way in which he always finishes his
evenings. His slaves will carry him to bed, and he will awake to-morrow
morning without the suspicion of a headache. Bacchus, I verily believe,
has a special favor for these fellows, and, truly, they do worship him
with a most admirable earnestness.”
The Thracian’s collapse was the signal for breaking up the party.
Callias and the old tutor, Timanthes by name, declined to drink any
more, and the two officers, who were on duty for the night, departed to
make their round. Strong as was the place Alcibiades omitted no
precautions for its safe custody. Timanthes, who was old and feeble
retired to rest.
“Come with me to my own room,” said Alcibiades to his guest, “we shall
be here alone.”
The chamber to which he led the way was little like what one would have
expected to find in a free-booter’s stronghold, for really the castle of
Bisanthe was more of that than anything else. Art and letters were amply
represented in it. On one wall hung a panel painting[48] by Polygnotus,
a masterly composition, of that serenity, that ethical meaning, as the
great critic Aristotle expresses it, which was characteristic of the
artist. This represented the gods in council at Olympus. It was faced on
the opposite wall by an exceedingly graceful painting from the hand of
Xeuxis, Aphrodite and the Graces, and a spirited picture by the same
artist, of the duel between Ajax and Hector. There were other works by
men of less note. Sculpture was represented by only a single specimen, a
bust of Socrates.
“Paintings are easily carried about,” Alcibiades afterwards explained to
his guest, “but sculpture is inconveniently heavy. You will understand
that a man in my situation has always to be ready for a move; and I
always like to have two or three really good things that I can always
take with me. One bust, indeed, I have indulged myself with, that of my
old teacher. Ah! if I had heard him to more purpose, I should not be
here! You know him, of course?”
Callias said that he did.
“An excellent likeness! is it not? Who would think that such features
concealed a soul so divinely beautiful? Did you have any talk with him
when you were in Athens?”
“Yes,” replied Callias, “and I admired above all things his practical
wisdom. But what was that to what I afterwards saw of him?”
And he went on to relate how the philosopher stood firm, though in
imminent peril of his life, and had steadfastly refused to put the
unconstitutional proposal of Callixenus to the assembly.
Alcibiades heard the story with uncontrollable delight. He started up
from his seat, and walked up and down the room with flashing eyes. “Tell
me everything about it,” he said, and he insisted upon the repetition of
every detail. “That is magnificent,” he cried, when his curiosity had
been satisfied. “That is exactly what one would have expected from
Socrates. I suppose that it is the very first time that he ever acted as
presiding magistrate--he had never been so, I know, when I left Athens,
nor have I heard of his having been since--and that first time he did
what nobody else dared to do. You say that the others gave way?”
“Yes,” replied Callias, “they stood up against it at first, but gave in
afterwards. Socrates was absolutely alone, and at last they put the
question without him.”
“It is just like him,” cried Alcibiades with enthusiasm.
“He is simply the bravest and most enduring man alive. I could tell you
stories about him that would astonish you. We served together in the
campaign at Potidæa. Indeed we were in the same mess. When we had short
commons, as we had many a time, there was no one like him in holding
out. He seemed to be able to go without food altogether, but when we had
plenty, he could enjoy it as well as anybody. We had a foolish way, as
young men will, of making people drink whether they wished it or not.
But nothing ever affected Socrates. No one ever saw him one whit the
worse for what he had taken. And as for the way in which he bore cold,
it was absolutely incredible, only that one saw it with one’s own eyes.
The winters here are terrible, as you will find out, if, as I hope you
will, you stop with me, but he used to make nothing of them. During the
very hardest frost we had, when every one who could, stayed in doors,
and those who were obliged to go out, wrapped themselves till you would
hardly know them, he wore nothing but his common cloak, and went
absolutely barefoot.
“Once, I remember, something came into his mind. That was in the early
morning. Well, he stood trying to think it out till noon, and from noon
he went on till evening. Some Greeks from Asia wanted to see how long
this would go on; so, after dinner, they brought out their mattresses,
and took up their quarters for the night in the open air--it was
summer-time, you must understand. Some of them slept, and some watched
him, taking it by turns. Their report was that he stood there till
morning, and the sun rose, and that then he made a prayer to the sun,
and so went to his quarters.
“His courage, too, is astonishing. In one of the battles at Potidæa he
saved my life. I had been wounded and must infallibly have been killed,
if it had not been for him. He took me up and carried me off to our
line. The generals gave me the prize for valor, when they ought, by
right, to have given it to him. But they took account of my family and
rank, and curiously enough, he was just as anxious as they were that I
should have it and not he. Then at Delium, again, when the day went
against us, and the army was in full retreat, I was in the cavalry; he
was serving as a foot soldier. Our men would not keep together, and he
and Laches--he was killed, afterward, at Mantinea--were making the best
of their way back. I rode up to them and told them to keep up their
courage and I would not leave them. A cavalry soldier has, you know, a
great advantage in a retreat. There was no need to tell Socrates to keep
up his courage. Laches, I could see, though a brave enough man, was
terribly frightened; but Socrates was as cool as a man could be. He held
up his head finely, and marched steadily on. It was plain enough to see
that anyone who meddled with him would find out his mistake. The end of
it was that he got back safe, and brought Laches back safe also. The
fact is that at such times it is the men who are in a hurry to get away
that are cut down. I do not think that there ever was a braver man than
Socrates. And what you have just been telling me bears it out. A man may
be brave enough in battle and be timidly frightened when the assembly is
howling and raging against him. This has been a dismal business of the
generals and I have never been so near despairing of my country, as I
have since I heard it. How is it possible to help a city that makes
such a requital to those who save her? But still, while there are men
like Socrates in her, all is not lost. But no more now; you must be
weary, and ready to sleep. There will be plenty of time hereafter to
talk. And now farewell.”
FOOTNOTES:
[44] It is convenient in a narrative to speak of “hours,” and the Greeks
had a division of time that was so named. But it must not be supposed
that these hours were exact periods of time such as we mean by the word.
The day between sunrise and sunset was divided into twelve equal parts,
which varied in length according to the season of the year. The
divisions of the whole period of a day and night into twenty-four equal
unvarying parts was later than the period of which I am writing, being
attributed to Hipparchus, the astronomer, a native of Nicæa in Bithynia
who lived in the second century B. C. The water-clock mentioned in the
text may have been one of those large ones which served for the whole
night (Plato is said to have had one). The slave in announcing to the
guest the time at which the meal would be served would probably indicate
it by pointing to this or that division marked upon it. The water-clock
may be roughly compared to a sand-glass, but the water flowed through
several orifices, which were very minute.
[45] He returned in May, 407, conducted in person the procession to
Eleusis; a ceremony which had been discontinued for some time on account
of the presence of the Spartan garrison at Decelea, and left again to
take command of the fleet a few days afterward. He never saw Athens
again.
[46] Three _drachmae_ would be something more than half-a-dollar,
(2 s. 5 d. in English money). This is taking silver at its present
conventional value. What its purchasing power would be now it would be
difficult to say, but it would certainly be greater than that of the sum
by which it is represented.
[47] So we have in Homer (Iliad 11, 261) “the libations of wine
unmingled” mentioned together with “the hand-holt trusted of yore,” a
thing that gave a solemn sanction to treaties. Similar references abound
in the Greek and Latin poets.
[48] The ancients painted on panel, not on canvass. Thus the Latin
equivalent for ‘picture’ is tabula or tabella, words which may otherwise
be used for a ‘plank.’