Historical Miniatures
by
August Strindberg
Part 1 out of 6
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Marc D'Hooghe,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
HISTORICAL MINIATURES
by
AUGUST STRINDBERG (Translated by CLAUD FIELD, M.A.)
PREFACE
Maximilian Harden, the well-known critic, writes in the _Zukunft_
(7th September 1907) of the _Historical Miniatures_:
"A very interesting book, as might be expected, for it is
Strindberg's. And I am bold enough to say a book which should and
must be successful with the public. The writer is not here concerned
with Sweden, nor with Natural History. A philosopher and poet here
describes the visions which a study of the history of mankind has
called up before his inner eye. Julian the Apostate and Peter the
Hermit appear on the stage, together with Attila and Luther,
Alcibiades and Eginhard. We see the empires of the Pharaohs and the
Czars, the Athens of Socrates and the 'Merry England' of Henry VIII.
There are twenty brief episodes, and each of them is alive. So
powerful is the writer's faculty of vision, that it compels belief
in his descriptions of countries and men."
"The question whether these cultured circles really were as
described, hardly occurs to us. Never has the remarkable writer
shown a more comprehensive grasp. Since the days of the _Confession
of a Fool_, Strindberg has become a writer of world-wide
significance."
[Footnote: one collection of Maximilian Harden's essays is published by
Messrs. Blackwood, and another by Mr. Eveleigh Nash.]
CONTENTS
PREFACE
THE EGYPTIAN BONDAGE
THE HEMICYCLE OF ATHENS
ALCIBIADES
SOCRATES
FLACCUS AND MARO
LEONTOPOLIS
THE LAMB
THE WILD BEAST
THE APOSTATE
ATTILA
THE SERVANT OF SERVANTS
ISHMAEL
EGINHARD TO EMMA
THE CLOSE OF THE FIRST MILLENNIUM
PETER THE HERMIT
LAOCOON
THE INSTRUMENT
OLD MERRY ENGLAND
THE WHITE MOUNTAIN
THE GREAT CZAR
THE SEVEN GOOD YEARS
DAYS OF JUDGMENT
STRINDBERG'S DEATH-BED
THE EGYPTIAN BONDAGE
The old worker in ebony and cabinet-maker, Amram, dwelt by the
river-side in a clay-hut which was covered with palm-leaves. There
he lived with his wife and three children. He was yellow in
complexion and wore a long beard. Skilled in his trade of carving
ebony and hard wood, he attended at Pharaoh's court, and accordingly
also worked in the temples. One morning in midsummer, just before
sunrise, he got out of bed, placed his implements in a bag, and
stepped out of his hut. He remained standing on the threshold for
a moment, and, turning to the east, uttered a low prayer. Then
he began to walk between fishermen's huts, following the black
broken bank of the river, where herons and doves were resting after
their morning meal.
His neighbour, the fisherman, Nepht, was overhauling his nets, and
placing carp, grayling, and sheat-fish in the different partitions
of his boat.
Amram greeted him, and wished to say some words in token of
friendliness.
"Has the Nile ceased to rise?" he asked.
"It remains standing at ten yards' height. That means starvation!"
"Do you know why it cannot rise higher than fifteen yards, Nepht?"
"Because otherwise we should drown," answered the fisherman simply.
"Yes, certainly, and that we cannot. The Nile, then, has a Lord who
controls the water-level; and He who has measured out the starry
vault, and laid the foundations of the earth, has set up a wall for
the waters, and this wall, which we cannot see, is fifteen yards
high. For during the great flood in the land of our fathers, Ur of
the Chaldees, the water rose fifteen yards--no more, no less. Yes,
Nepht, I say 'we,' for you are of our people, though you speak
another tongue, and honour strange gods. I wish you a good morning,
Nepht, a very good morning."
He left the abashed fisherman, went on, and entered the outskirts of
the city, where began the rows of citizens' houses built of
Nile-bricks and wood. He saw the merchant and money-changer Eleazar
taking down his window-shutters while his assistant sprinkled water
on the ground before the shop. Amram greeted him, "A fine morning,
cousin Eleazar."
"I cannot say," answered the tradesman sulkily. "The Nile has
remained stationary, and begins to sink. The times are bad."
"Bad times are followed by good times, as our father Abraham knew;
and when Joseph, Jacob's son, foresaw the seven lean years he
counselled Pharaoh to store up corn in the granaries...."
"May be, but that is a forgotten tale now."
"Yes, and have you also forgotten the promise which the Lord gave to
his friend Abraham?"
"That about the land of Canaan? We have waited four hundred years
for its fulfilment, and now, instead of receiving it, Abraham's
children have become bond-servants."
"Abraham believed through good and through evil days, through joy
and through sorrow, and that was counted to him for righteousness."
"I don't believe at all," Eleazar broke in, "or rather, I believe
that things go backwards, and that I will have to put up my
shutters, if there is a failure in the crops."
Amram went on with a sad face, and came to the market, where he
bought a millet loaf, a piece of an eel, and some onions.
When the market-woman took the piece of money, she spat on it, and
when Amram received his change, he did the same.
"Do you spit on the money, Hebrew?" she hissed.
"One adopts the customs of the country," answered Amram.
"Do you answer, unclean dog?"
"I answer speech, but not abuse."
The Hebrew went on, for a crowd began to gather. He met the barber,
Enoch, and they greeted each other with a sign which the Hebrews had
devised, and which signified, "We believe in the promise to Abraham,
and wait, patient in hope."
Amram reached at last the temple square, passed through the avenue
of Sphinxes, and stood before a little door in the left pylon. He
knocked seven times with his hand; a servant appeared, took Amram by
the arm and led him in. A young priest tied a bandage round his
eyes, and, after they had searched his bag, they took the
cabinet-maker by the hand, and led him into the temple. Sometimes they
went up steps, sometimes down them, sometimes straight-forward. Now and
then they avoided pillars, and the murmur of water was heard; at
one time there was a smell of dampness, at another of incense.
At last they halted, and the bandage was taken off Amram's eyes. He
found himself in a small room with painted walls, some seats, and a
cupboard. A richly-carved ebony door divided this room from a larger
one which on one side opened on to a broad staircase leading down to
a terrace facing eastward.
The priest left Amram alone after he had shown him that the door
required repair, and had, with an unmistakable gesture, enjoined on
him silence and secrecy.
When Amram was left alone, and found himself for the first time
within the sacred walls which could not overawe a Hebrew's mind, he
yet felt a certain alarm at all the mysteriousness, of which he had
heard since his youth. In order to shake off his fear of the unknown,
he resolved to satisfy his curiosity, though at the risk of being
turned out, if he met anyone. As a pretext he took a fine
plane in his hand, and entered the great hall.
It was very spacious. In the midst was a fountain of red granite,
with an obelisk set upright in the basin. The walls were adorned
with figures painted in simple colours, most of them in red ochre,
but also in yellow and black. He drew off his sandals, and went on
into a gallery where stood mummy-coffins leaning against the wall.
Then he entered a domed room, on the vault of which were painted the
great constellations of the northern hemisphere. In the middle of
the room stood a table, on which lay a half-globe covered with
designs resembling the outlines of a map. By the window stood
another table, with a model of the largest pyramid set upon a
land-surveyor's board, with a scale of measurements. Close by stood
an alidade, an instrument for measuring angles.
There was no visible outlet to this room, but after some search the
uninitiated Hebrew found some stairs of acacia-wood leading up
through a wooden tower. He climbed and climbed, but when he looked
through the loopholes, he found himself always on a level with the
roof of the domed room. But he continued to ascend, and after he had
again counted a hundred steps and, looked through a loop hole, he
found himself on a level with the floor of the domed room. Then
a wooden door opened, and an elderly man in half-priestly garb
received him with a greeting as though he were a well-known and
expected superior. But when he saw a stranger, he started, and the
two men gazed at each other long, before they could speak. Amram,
who felt unpleasantly surprised, began the verbal encounter:
"Reuben? Don't you know me, the friend of your youth, and your
kinsman in the Promise?"
"Amram, the husband of Jochebed, the son of Kohath! Yes, I know
you!"
"And you here! After you have vanished from my sight for thirty
years!"
"And you?"
"I was sent for to repair a door; that is all; and when I was left
alone, I wanted to look round.
"I am a scribe in the chief school...."
"And sacrificest to strange gods...."
"No, I do not sacrifice, and I have kept my faith in the promise,
Amram. I have entered this temple in order to learn the secrets of
the wise, and to open from within the fortress which holds Israel
captive."
"Secrets? Why should the Highest be secret?"
"Because the common people only understand what is low."
"You do not yourself believe in these animals which you call
sacred?"
"No, they are only symbols--visible signs to body forth the
invisible. We priests and scribes revere the Only One, the Hidden,
under His visible shape, the Sun, giver and sustainer of life. You
remember, when we were young, how Pharaoh Amenophis the Fourth
forcibly did away with the ancient gods and the worship of the
sacred animals. He passed down the river from Thebes proclaiming the
doctrine of the Unity of God. Do you know whence he derived that
doctrine? From the Israelites, who, after Joseph's marriage to
Asenath, daughter of the High Priest of On, increased in numbers,
and even married daughters of the house of Pharaoh. But after the
death of Amenophis the old order was restored, the King again
resided at Thebes, and the ancient gods were brought out again, all
to please the people,"
"And you continue to honour the Only One, the Hidden, the Eternal.
"Yes, we do."
"Is, then, your God not the same as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob?"
"Probably, since there is only One."
"It is strange. Why, then, do you persecute the Hebrews?"
"Foreigners are not generally loved. You know that our Pharaoh has
lately conquered the Syrian race of Hittites."
"In the land of Canaan and the region round about, in the land of
our fathers, and of the promise. Do you see, the Lord of Zebaoth,
our God, sends him to prepare the way for our people?"
"Do you still believe in the promise?"
"As surely as the Lord liveth! And I am told that the time will be
soon fulfilled when we shall leave our bondage, and go to the
promised land."
The scribe did not answer, but his face expressed simultaneously
doubt in Amram's declaration, and the certainty of something quite
different which would soon happen. Amram, who did not wish to have
his faith shaken by any kind of explanations, let the subject drop,
and spoke of something indifferent.
"That is a strange staircase."
"It is an elevator, and not a staircase."
Amram glanced up at the domed roof, and found a new pretext for
continuing the conversation, which he did not wish to drop.
"Does that represent the sky?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And its secrets?"
"Ah, the secrets? They are accessible to all who can understand
them."
"Tell them in a few words."
"Astronomy is not my province, and I know little of it, but still I
will tell you in a few words. The vault up there represents the sky,
the board lying on the table, the earth. Now the wise speak thus: In
the beginning Earth (Sibu) and Heaven (Nuit) lay near each other.
But the god of air and of sunlight (Shu) raised the sky, and set it
as a vault over the earth. The fixed constellations which we know
form as it were an impression, like that of a seal on wax, of the
earth, and when the learned study the stars, they can find out the
unknown parts of our earth. Look at the constellations which you
know. In the north the Great Bear; in the south, at a certain season
of the year, the Hunter (Orion), with four stars at the corners and
three stars in the middle. These three we Hebrews call Jacob's
Staff, and through the uppermost of them passes the sky-gauge or
equator, which corresponds to the earth-gauge where the sources
of our Nile are said to be.
"You know also the constellation which we specially love--the River
(Nile). Look, how it flees from the Hunter (Orion), and makes as
many windings as the Nile here on earth. Therefore he who wishes to
learn the hidden secrets of earth must learn them from the sky. Our
wise men know only the lands which lie towards the east; but those
which lie in the north under the Great Bear are unknown to us, as
also are the lands towards the west. But it looks as though the
lands of the Bear had great destinies assigned to them. Their
numbers are four and three, like those of the Hunter. Three
represents the Divine with its attributes, four denotes the most
perfect possible: three and four together form the mysterious number
seven. To gods sacrifices are offered with the unequal number, three;
to men, with the equal number four.
"This is about all that I have cursorily understood of the secrets
of the sky. If you now wish to understand some of the secrets of the
earth, let us consider the tombs of the Pharaohs. These, apart from their
ostensible purposes of being tombs, have also a hidden one
--_i.e._ to conceal in their numbers and proportions the discoveries
of the learned regarding the mutual relations of Sibus and Nuits. In
the first place, the sepulchre of the Pharaohs, or the Pyramid,
operates with the numbers four and three; the base with four, the
sides with three. That was indeed one of the secrets of the sky. But
the base of the Great Pyramid is 365 ells broad. There you have the
365 days of the year. Now the triple side of the Pyramid is 186
great ells, or a stadium long. There you see where our road-measures
come from.
"If you multiply the breadth of the base with the number 500, which
is about double the breadth measured in great ells, you obtain a
length which is equivalent to 1/360 of the whole orbital path of the
sun in a year, since the number of days in a lunar year is 360. This
length represents four minutes, and those who live a degree west of
us see the sun rise four minutes later than we do.
"This is all I remember about numbers and proportions. If you wish
to learn more--for example, why the sides of the pyramid are inclined
at an angle of 5l --you must ask the astronomers. The steps to the
funereal chamber, on the other hand, are inclined at an angle of
27 . This corresponds to the difference between the axis of the
universe and the axis of the earth."
Amram had listened with special attention to the learned scribe's
explanation of the tombs of the Pharaohs, and when Reuben mentioned
numbers he concentrated his attention still more, as though he
wished to fix something in his mind. Finally he interrupted him, and
began to speak: "You just now mentioned 27 . Good! That is not the
inclination of the axis of the universe, but of the Milky Way, which
probably is the real axis and lies 27 north of the heavenly
equator, while the inclination of the earth's axis to the orbit of
the sun is 23 . But you have forgotten the third Pyramid, that of
Menkheres, the base of which is 107 great ells broad. This number
107 we find again three or five times in the universe; there are 107
smaller suns between the earth and the sun; 107 is the distance
of the planet Venus, and also of Jupiter from the sun."
Reuben started. "What? Where did you get all that? Here you let me
stand, and make a fool of me! Where have you learnt that?"
"From our oldest and wisest, who have preserved the memories of
their home at Ur in Chaldaea. You despise Assur, you men of Egypt,
for you believe the Nile is the centre of the earth. But there are
many centres in the infinite. Behind Assur, on the Tigris and
Euphrates, there lies another land with another river. It is called
the Land of the Seven Rivers, because its river debouches into seven
mouths as the Nile does."
"The Nile has seven arms, as you say, like the seven-branched
candlestick!
"That betokens the Light of the world, which shall shine from every
land where a river divides itself in order to flow into the sea. The
rivers, you see, are the blood-vessels of the earth, and as these
carry blue and red blood alternately, so our land has its Blue Nile
and its Red Nile. The Blue Nile is poisonous like dark blood, and
the Red is fertilising, life-giving, like red blood. So everything
created has its counterpart above in heaven and below on earth, for
all is one, and the Lord of all is One--One and the Same."
Reuben kept silence and listened. "Speak on!" he said at last.
Amram therefore continued: "The tombs of the Pharaohs have also
grown out of the earth on which they rest. The first or Great
Pyramid is built after the pattern of sea-salt when it crystallises
in the warmth of the sun. If you could look through a dewdrop into a
salt-crystal, you would find it built up of an infinite number of
squares just like the Great Pyramid. But if you let alum
crystallise, you will see a whole field of pyramids. Alum is the
salt deposited in clay. There you have the salt of the earth and of
the sea.
"But there is another kind of pyramid with blunted corners. That is
the original form of sulphur when found in chalk. Now we have water,
earth, and chalk with its fire-stone. There is still a third kind of
pyramid with blunted edges; these resemble crystallised flint or
rock crystal. There you have the foundation of the mountains. A
closer examination of the Nile-mud will discover all these primary
forms and substances--clay, salt, sulphur, and flint. Therefore the
Nile is the blood of the earth. And the mountains are the flesh, not
the bones."
Reuben, whose Egyptian name was Phater, had regarded Amram while he
spoke with alarm and amazement. When the latter had ceased to speak,
he began, "You are not Amram the worker in ebony and cabinet-maker."
"I am certainly a worker in ebony and cabinetmaker, but I am also of
Israel's priestly line. I am the son of Kohath, the son of Levi, the
son of Jacob, the son of Isaac, the son of Abraham. I am a Levite
and the husband of Jochebed. Miriam, and Aaron are the children
hitherto born to me; one unborn I still await. Now I go back to my
work; show me the way!"
Phater went in front, but led Amram by another way than that by
which he had come. As they passed by an open door, which led into a
large hall lined with bookcases, Amram stopped, full of curiosity,
and wished to enter, in order to look at the numerous books. But
Phater held him back by his garment, "Don't go in," he said; "the
place is full of traps and snares. The guardian of the library sits
concealed in the middle of the hall, and guards his treasures
jealously. He has had the floor made of dried willow-withes, which
creak when they are trodden upon. He hears anyone stealing in,
and he hears if a scribe touches the forbidden books. He has heard
us, and he is feeling after us! Don't you feel as if cold
snake-tongues were touching your cheeks, your forehead, your
eyelids?"
"Yes, I do."
"It is he, stretching out the fingers of his soul, as we stretch out
an arm. But now I cut off the feeler which wants to examine us."
He took out a knife, and made a cut through the air in front of
them.
Amram felt a sudden glow, and at the same moment saw a great adder
writhing on the ground in its death-struggle.
"You practise magic arts here?" he said.
"Did you not know that?"
"I did not expect it."
At the same instant the wall seemed to open, and they saw a mass of
Nile mud in which crocodiles and snakes twined round each other,
while a hippopotamus trampled threateningly with its forefeet.
Amram was alarmed, but Phater took out an amulet in the shape of a
scarabaeus, and, holding it as a shield in front of him, he passed
through the terrible shapes, which dissolved like smoke, while Amram
followed him.
"The magician only cheats our eyes," said Phater, and as he waved
his hand the whole appearance vanished.
Now they stood again in the first hall, and, pointing to the
Nilometer, Amram said, "Famine!"
"There is no doubt of that. Therefore all superfluous mouths should
be stopped."
"What!"
Phater saw that he had made a slip of the tongue.
"I mean," he said, "Pharaoh must consider how to get corn."
"He would find a Joseph useful just now."
"Why?" broke in Phater more vehemently than he intended. "Don't you
know that Joseph the son of Jacob brought the Egyptians to be
Pharaoh's bond-slaves. Your chronicles and ours relate that he made
the peasants mortgage their land in return for help during the seven
lean years, and that, by his doing so, Pharaoh became sole possessor
of all the land of Egypt."
"You are not Reuben; you are Phater the Egyptian, for if you were an
Israelite, you would not have spoken thus. Our ways part. I go to my
work."
Amram laid his hand on the door, and Phater glided into the shadow
of the columns and vanished. But Amram saw by his bent back that he
had evil designs.
* * * * *
When Amram came home in the evening, he found that his wife had
borne a son. He was like other healthy children, but did not cry;
after the bath he was wrapped in linen and laid in the darkest
corner of the cottage.
The next day before sunrise Amram went again to his work in the
Temple of the Sun, and was again led into the chamber with his eyes
bandaged. There he was left alone without receiving any counsel or
advice regarding what he was to do. This carelessness seemed to him
like indifference, and indicated a general laxness in the temple
servants. Therefore he again entered the columned hall. He looked
uneasily at the Nilometer, in which the water had sunk. There was
no hope of the fifteen ells of water which the earth needed for the
harvest of the year.
He stepped out on the terrace, which looked towards the east, and
entered an open colonnade. But before he went farther, he took the
precaution of dropping small pieces of papyrus to show him the way
back. He went through narrow courtyards, but took care not to climb
steps; his experience of yesterday had warned him. At last he found
himself in a forest of pillars whose tops were crowned with
lotus-buds, and, as he listened, he heard what seemed a faint song of
children's voices from the roof. He laid his ear to a pillar, and
heard it more clearly, like the ringing music of zither and harp. He
knew that this was caused by the sun, which had already warmed the
stones of the roof, and was about to ascend the sky.
He went forward, and suddenly saw a terrace upon which stood a
sacrificial altar. From the terrace, a flight of stairs flanked with
sphinxes descended to the river. Thence there sloped a valley,
bounded on the east by the mountains of the Red Sea. At the altar
there stood a priest in a white linen robe with a purple border. He
had raised his arms towards heaven, and stood motionless. His hands
were quite white, since the blood had sunk into his arms, and the
face of the old man seemed astrain with the strength he had invoked
from above. Sometimes his body shuddered as though streams of fire
ran through it. He was silent, and gazed towards the East. Then the
shining edge of the sun's disk rose above the mountain-ridge, and
the white hands of the priest became transparently crimson like his
face. And he opened his mouth and said: "Sun-god: Lord of the
splendour of rays, be Thou extolled in the morning when Thou
risest, and in the evening when Thou descendest. I cry to Thee, Lord
of Eternity, Thou Sun of both horizons, Thou Creator who hast
created Thyself. All the gods shout aloud when they behold Thee,
O King of heaven; my youth is renewed when I see thy beauty. Hail to
Thee, as Thou passest from land to land, Thou Father of the gods!"
He stopped speaking and remained standing, his arms outstretched
towards the sun, as though he absorbed warmth from it.
Then in the forest of pillars a rattle of arms was heard, which
ceased immediately, and forthwith a stately beardless man appeared,
clothed in purple and gold. His walk was as noiseless as that of a
panther's, and he seemed to glide over the floor which reflected his
image, a bright shadow which followed him as he went. When he came
out on the terrace the sun cast behind him a gigantic dark shadow
which lay there like a carpet.
"Already at prayer, thou wisest of the wise!" was Pharaoh's greeting
to the Chief Priest.
"My lord has called me, thy servant has obeyed. My lord has returned
to his land after long and victorious campaigns in far and foreign
countries. Thy servant greets Pharaoh to his face."
Pharaoh sat down on a chair of state, his face turned towards the
rising sun, and began to speak like one who wishes to set his
thoughts in order. "My chariots have rolled over the red soil of
Syria, my horses have trampled the highways of Babylon and Nineveh;
I have crossed the Euphrates and Tigris, and marched through the
region between the two rivers; I have come to the land of the Five
Rivers, and seen the Seven in the distance, where the Land of Silk
begins, that stretches towards the sunrise. I have returned on my
traces and gone northward towards Scythia and Colchis. Wherever I
went I heard murmurs and saw movements. The people have awaked; in
the temples they prophesied the return of the gods; for men had been
left alone to manage their affairs and to guide their destinies, but
had done both badly. Justice had become injustice, and truth,
falsehood; the whole earth groaned for deliverance. At last their
prayers reached the throne of the All-merciful. And now the wise,
the gentle, the saintly proclaim in all tongues the joyful message,
'The gods return again. They return in order to put right what the
children of men have thrown in confusion, to give laws and to
protect justice.' This message I bring home as a spoil of victory,
and thou, wisest of the wise, shalt receive it first from thy lord."
"Thou hearest, my Lord Pharaoh, what is spoken over the whole circle
of the earth; thine eyes see farther than the stars of heaven and
the eye of the sun!"
"And yet only my ear has heard, but my intelligence has not grasped
what the gods have revealed to me in a dream. Interpret it for me."
"Tell it, my lord."
"I saw nothing, but I heard a voice, when sleep had quenched the
light of my eyes. The voice spoke in the darkness, and said, 'The
red earth will spread over all lands, but the black shall be
dispersed like the sand.'"
"The dream, my lord is not hard to interpret, but it forebodes
nothing good."
"Interpret it."
"Very well; the red earth is Syria, as thou knowest, my lord, where
live the wretched Hittites, that is the hereditary land of the
Hebrew, Canaan. The black earth is that of the Nile, thy land, my
lord."
"Again the Hebrews, always the Hebrews! Centuries have passed since
this people wandered into our land. They have increased without
disturbing us. I neither love nor hate them; but now I fear them.
They have had to toil, of late more severely than ever, but they do
not murmur; they are patient as though they expected something to
happen."
"Let them go, my lord."
"No! for then they will go, and found a new kingdom."
"Let them go."
"No, I will destroy them."
"Let them go."
"Certainly I will destroy them."
"But thy dream, my lord."
"I interpret that as a warning and exhortation."
"Touch not that people, my lord, for their God is stronger than
ours."
"Their God is that of the Chaldaeans. Let our gods fight. I have
spoken; thou hast heard; I add nothing and retract nothing."
"My Lord, thou seest one sun in the sky, and believest that it
shines over all nations: do you not believe that there is one Lord
of the heaven who rules the destinies of all nations?"
"It should be so, but the Lord of heaven has made me ruler over this
land, and now I rule it."
"Thou rulest it, my lord, but thou rulest not wind and weather; thou
canst not raise the water of the Nile by one inch, and thou canst
not prevent the crops failing again this year."
"Failing? What does the Nilometer say?"
"My lord, the sun has entered the sign of the Balance, and the water
is sinking already. It means famine."
"Then I will destroy all superfluous and strange mouths which take
the bread from the children of the country. I will annihilate the
Hebrews."
"Let them go free, my lord."
"I will summon the midwives, and have every boy that is born of a
Hebrew woman destroyed. I have spoken; now I act." Pharaoh rose from
his chair, and departed more quickly than he had come. Amram sought
to find his way back, but could only discover one piece of papyrus.
Then he remained standing and feared much, for he could not find his
way.
The sun had risen, and there was no more music in the forest of
pillars, but silence. But as Amram listened he began to be aware of
that compressed stillness which emanates from a listener, or from
children who do something forbidden and do not wish to be discovered.
He felt that someone was near who wished to be concealed, but who
still kept his thoughts directed towards him. In order to satisfy
himself Amram went in the direction where the silence seemed to be
densest. And lo! behind a pillar stood Phater. He did not show a sign
of embarrassment, but only held out his open hand, in which lay all
the pieces of papyrus, which Amram had strewed as he went.
"You must not strew pieces of papyrus on the ground," said Phater
with an inscrutable smile. "Yes--I am not angry, I only wish you
well. For now you will follow me, and not return to your work, which
was only a trap set for your life. You must return to your house,
and take care that your new-born child is not killed. You see that
Reuben-Phater is a true Israelite, although you would not believe
him."
Amram followed him out of the temple, and went home.
* * * * *
Jochebed went about in Pharaoh's garden watering cucumbers; she went
to and fro with her watering pot between the Watergate that opened
on the river and the cucumber-bed. But sometimes she went through
the gate and remained for a while outside.
Miriam, her daughter, pruned the vines which grew against the
garden-wall, but seemed to direct her attention more towards the
broad walk which led up to the summer palace of the princesses. Her
head moved like the leaf of the palm-tree when the wind blows
through it, looking sometimes towards the Watergate, sometimes
towards the great walk, while her hands carried on her work. As
her mother delayed her return, she went from the wall down to the
gate, and out to the low river shore where the bulrushes swayed in
the gentle south wind. A stonechat of the desert sat on a rock by
the river, wagged its tail, and flapped its wings, as though it
wished to show something which it saw; and chattered at the sight of
something strange among the bulrushes. High up in the air a hawk
hovered in spiral circles, eyeing the ground below. Miriam broke
off some lotus-buds and threw them at the stonechat, which flew
away, but kept its beak still pointing towards the rushes. The
girl girt up her dress, waded into the water, and now saw her mother
standing, hidden up to her waist in a forest of papyrus-reeds,
bending over a reed-basket with a baby at her breast.
"Mother," whispered Miriam, "Pharaoh's daughter is approaching; she
comes to bathe in the river."
"Lord God of Israel, have mercy on my child!"
"If you have given the child enough to drink, hasten and come."
The mother bowed herself like an arch over the child; her hair hung
down like an insect-net, and two tears fell from her eyes on the
little one's outstretched hands. Then she rose, placed a sweet date
in its mouth, softly closed the cover, murmured a blessing, and came
out of the water.
A gentle breeze from the land swayed the rushes and crisped the
surface of the river.
"The basket swims," she said, "but the river flows on; it is red
with blood and thick as cream. Lord God of Israel, have mercy!"
"Yes, He will," answered Miriam, "as He had mercy on our father
Abraham, who obtained the promise, because he obeyed and believed,
'Through thy seed shall all the families on the earth be blessed.'"
"And now Pharaoh slays all the first-born."
"But not thy son."
"Not yet."
"Pray and hope."
"What? That the monsters of the river do not swallow him, that the
waves of the river do not drown him, that Pharaoh's executioners do
not kill him! Is that the hope?"
"The promise is greater, and it lives: 'Thy seed shall possess the
gate of his enemies.'"
"And then Amram thy father has fled."
"To Raamses and Pithom, where our people toil in the buildings; he
has gone there to warn and advise them. He has done well. Hush!
Pharaoh's daughter comes."
"But she cannot bathe in the blood of our child."
"She comes, however. But she is the friend of the poor Hebrews; fear
not."
"She is her father's daughter."
"The Egyptians are our cousins; they are Ham's descendants, and we
are Shem's. Shem and Ham were brothers."
"But Ham was cursed by his father Noah, and Kanaan was Ham's son."
"But Noah said, 'Blessed be the Lord God of Shem, and let Kanaan be
his servant.' Have you heard? Shem received the promise, and we
belong to him."
"Lord of Hosts, help us; the basket drifts with the wind! It drifts
towards the bathing-house,--and the vulture up there in the air."
"That is a hawk, mother!" Jochebed ran up and down the bank, like a
dog whom its master has deserted; she beat her breast, and wept
great tears.
Steps and voices were audible. "Here is Pharaoh's daughter!"
"But the Lord God of Israel is watching over us."
The two women hid themselves in the reeds, and Pharaoh's daughter
appeared with her attendants at the watergate. She stepped on the
bridge leading to the bath-house, which was a hut of coloured
camel's skin, supported by pillars which stood in the bed of the
river. But the basket drifted against the bridge and excited the
curiosity of the princess. She remained standing and waited.
Jochebed and Miriam could not hear what she said on account of the
wind, but by her quiet movements they saw that she expected some
amusement from the strange gift brought by the river. Now she sent
a slave to the bank. The latter ran and broke off a long reed,
which she handed to her mistress, who fished for the basket and
brought it within reach. Then she knelt down and opened it.
Jochebed saw two little arms outstretched. The princess laughed
aloud, and turned to the women. She uttered an expression of joy,
and then lifted the infant, which nestled in her maiden bosom and
felt about in her white robe. Then the princess kissed it, pressed
it to her breast, and turned back to the shore.
Miriam, who had now lost all fear, stepped forward and fell on her
face. "See, Miriam," said the princess, whose name was Temma, "I
have found a baby. I have received it from the Nile, and therefore
it is a child of the gods. But now you must find a nurse for it."
"Where shall I find one, noble princess?"
"Search! But you must find one before evening. Do not forget,
however, that it is my child, since I drew it out of the water. I
have given him his name, and he shall be called Moses. And I will
have him educated so that he becomes a man after our mind. Go in
peace, and find me a nurse!"
Pharaoh's daughter went with her child up to the palace, and Miriam
looked for her mother among the reeds, where she had waited and
heard what Pharaoh's daughter had said and resolved.
"Mother, Pharaoh's daughter will bring up Amram and Jochebed's son.
Ham's children will serve Shem's. Praised be the Lord, the God of
Shem! Now you believe in the promise, mother!"
"Now I believe, and God be praised for His great mercy!"
THE HEMICYCLE OF ATHENS
After a hot day the sun began to sink, and the market-place lay
already in shadow. The shadow rose and climbed up the Acropolis, on
which the shield of Pallas still gleamed as the aegis of the city.
Before the vari-coloured colonnade stood a group of men who had
assembled before the semi-circular marble seat called the
Hemicyklion; they appeared to be awaiting someone's arrival before
they sat down. Among them were stately and handsome men, but there
was also an extraordinarily ugly one, round whom, however, the
others seemed to press. His face resembled that of a slave or satyr,
and there were Athenians who thought they could trace in it the
marks of all kinds of wickedness and crime. On hearing of such
suspicions, Socrates is said to have remarked, "Think how much
Socrates must have had to contend against, for he is neither wicked
nor a criminal!"
This was the man known to the whole population of Athens as an
eccentric character who carried on philosophical discussions in
streets and market-places, in drinking-houses and brothels. He
shunned no society, and was on equally intimate terms with Pericles,
the head of the state, and with the licentious Alcibiades. He sat
down to table with tradesmen and artisans, drank with sailors in the
Piraeus, and lived himself with his family in the suburb Ceramicus.
When it was asked why Socrates was always out of doors, his friends
answered, "because he was not comfortable at home." And when his
more intimate friends asked how he could be on intimate terms with
seamen and tax-gatherers, Socrates himself answered, "They are
also men!"
At the philosopher's side, and when he sat, standing behind him, was
always to be seen a youth, whose broad brow attracted attention.
This was his best disciple, whose real name was Aristokles, but who,
on account of his forehead, had the nickname Plato.
Vying with him in an almost jealous rivalry to appear by the
Master's side, stood the beautiful Alcibiades.
The third after them was the stately austere Euripides, the tragic
dramatist. Turning his back to the company, absorbed in thought and
tracing designs on the ground, as though he were always at work,
stood Phidias, the man "who made gods for Athens." On the edge of
the fountain sat a man with his legs dangling and his mouth
perpetually moving, as though he were sharpening his tongue for
thrust and counter-thrust; his brow was furrowed and worn as though with
fruitless thought, his eyes glowered like those of a serpent
watching for its prey. That was the Sophist, Protagoras, the
reasoner for hire, who for a few figs or a pair of obols, could make
black seem white, but was tolerated in this brilliant society,
because he could carry on a dialogue. They used him to enliven
their meetings, and pitted him in argument against Socrates, who,
however, always entangled him in the meshes of his dialectic. At
last came the one they expected. It was the head of the State, who
would have been king had not the kingship been abolished. His
appearance was majestic, but his entrance without a body-guard was
like that of a simple citizen. He ruled also only by force of his
personal qualities--wisdom, strength of will, moderation,
forethought.
After exchanging greetings which showed that they had already met
that day, for they had been celebrating the deliverance from Persia
at the Salamis festival, the company sat down on the long
semicircular marble seat, called the Hemicyklion. When all had taken
their seats, which were reserved for each according to prescription,
a silence followed which was unusual in this circle, for they were
accustomed to assemble as if for an intellectual feast at every
sunset. It was a symposium of minds, at which the excesses,
according to Alcibiades, were only spiritual.
Alcibiades, the second youngest, but spoilt and aggressive, was the
first to break the silence. "We have been celebrating the battle of
Salamis, the day of our deliverance from the barbarians and the King
of Persia, and I see we are tired."
"Not too tired," answered Pericles, "to forget the birthday of our
friend Euripides, for, as we all know, he first saw the daylight
when the sun shone on the battle of Salamis."
"He shall have a libation," answered Alcibiades, "when we sit at
table with our cups in front of us."
The Sophist, sitting by the fountain, had now collected enough yarn
to commence spinning with.
"How do you know," he began, "that our deliverance from the King of
Persia was really a piece of good fortune? How do you know that
Salamis was a happy day for Hellas? Has not our great Aeschylus
lamented and sympathetically described the defeat of the Persians?
"'Hateful to me is thy name, Salamis,
And with a sigh I think of thee, Athens!'"
"For shame, Sophist!" Alcibiades broke in.
But Protagoras whetted his beak and continued, "It is not I who say
that the name of Salamis is hateful, but Aeschylus, and I, as
everyone knows, am not Aeschylus. Neither have I maintained that it
was a good thing to serve the Persian King. I have only questioned,
and a questioner asserts nothing. Is it not so, Socrates?"
The master drew his fingers through his long beard, and answered.
"There are direct and indirect assertions; a question can be an
indirect and mischievous assertion. Protagoras has made such a one
by his question."
"Good! Socrates!" exclaimed Alcibiades, who wished to kindle a
flame.
Pericles spoke: "Protagoras, then, has asserted that you would be
happier under the Persian King. What should be done with such a
man?"
"Throw him backwards in the fountain," cried Alcibiades.
"I appeal!" protested the Sophist.
"To the mob! They will always justify you," Alcibiades interrupted.
"One does not say 'mob' if one is a democrat, Alcibiades. And one
does not quote Aeschylus when Euripides is present. When Phidias
sits here one would rather speak of his Parthenon and his Athene,
whose robe even now glitters in the sinking sun. Courtesy is the
salt of social life."
Thus Pericles sought to direct the conversation into a new channel,
but the Sophist thwarted him.
"If Phidias' statue of Athene must borrow its gold from the sun,
that may prove that the gold granted by the State did not suffice,
and that therefore there is a deficiency. Is it not so, Socrates?"
The master silenced with his outstretched hand the murmur of
disapproval which arose, and said:
"It must first be proved that Phidias' statue must borrow gold from
the sun, but since that is unproved, it is absurd to talk of a
deficit. Moreover, gold cannot be borrowed from the sun. Therefore
what Protagoras says is mere babble, and deserves no answer. On the
other hand, will Phidias answer this question? 'When you have made
Athene up there on the Parthenon, have you made Athene?'"
"I have made her image," answered Phidias.
"Right! You have made her image. But after what pattern?"
"After the pattern in my mind."
"Not after an external one, then? Have you seen the goddess with
your eyes?"
"Not with my outward eyes."
"Does she then exist outside you, or inside you?"
"If no one were listening to us, I would answer 'She is not outside
of me, therefore she is not anywhere at all.'"
Pericles interrupted him: "You are talking of the gods of the State:
friends, take care!"
"Help, Protagoras! Socrates is throttling me!" cried Phidias.
"In my opinion it is not Zeus but Prometheus who has created men,"
answered the Sophist. "But Zeus gave unfinished man two imperishable
gifts--the sense of shame and conscience."
"Then Protagoras was not made by Zeus, for he lacks both." This
thrust came from Alcibiades. But now the taciturn tragedian
Euripides began to speak: "Allow me to say something both about Zeus
and about Prometheus; and don't think me discourteous if I cite my
great teacher Aeschylus when I speak about the gods."
But Pericles broke in: "Unless my eyes deceive me, I saw just now a
pair of ears projecting from behind the pillar of Hermes, and these
ass's ears can only belong to the notorious tanner."
"Cleon!" exclaimed Alcibiades.
But Euripides continued: "What do I care about the tanner, since I
do not fear the gods of the State? These gods, whose decline
Aeschylus foretold long ago! Does not his _Prometheus_ say that the
Olympian Zeus will be overthrown by his own descendant--the son that
will be born of a virgin? Is it not so, Socrates?"
"Certainly: 'she will bear a son who is stronger than his father.'
But who it will be, and when he will be born, he does not say. Now I
believe that Zeus already lies _in extremis_."
Again the warning voice of Pericles was heard. "The gods of the
State! Hush, friends! Cleon is listening!"
"I, on the other hand," broke in Alcibiades, "believe that Athens is
near her end. While we have been celebrating the victory of Salamis,
the Spartans have risen and devastated the north. Megaris, Locris,
Boeotia, and Phocis are already on her side."
"What you say is well known," answered Pericles deprecatingly, "but
at present there is a truce, and we have three hundred ships at sea.
Do you think, Socrates, that there is danger?"
"I cannot mix in the affairs of State; but if Athens is in danger, I
will take up shield and lance as before."
"When you saved my life at Potidaea," added Alcibiades.
"No, the danger is not there," interrupted Euripides--"not in
Sparta, but here at home. The demagogues have stirred up the marsh,
and therefore we have the pestilence in the Agora, and the
pestilence in the Piraeus."
"That in Piraeus is the worse of the two," said Protagoras; "don't
you think so, Alcibiades?"
"Yes, for there are my best girls. My flute-players, who are to
perform at supper this evening, live by the harbour. But, by
Hercules, no one here fears death, I suppose?"
"No one fears, and no one wishes it," answered Socrates; "but if you
have other girls, that would increase our pleasure."
"Euripides does not like girls," interrupted Protagoras.
"That is not true," answered Euripides; "I like girls, but not
women."
Pericles rose: "Let us go to supper, and have walls round our
conversation--walls without ears! Support me, Phidias, I am tired."
Plato approached Socrates: "Master, let me carry your mantle?" he
asked.
"That is my function, boy," said Alcibiades, intercepting him.
"It was once," objected Socrates; "now it belongs to Plato of the
broad head. Notice his name! He descends from Codrus, the last king,
who gave his life to save his people. Plato is of royal birth."
"And Alcibiades is of the race of heroes, the Alcmaeonidae, like his
uncle Pericles; a noble company."
"But Phidias is of the race of the gods; that is more."
"I am probably descended from the Titans," broke in Protagoras. "I
say 'probably,' for one knows nothing at all, and hardly that. Don't
you think so, Socrates?"
"_You_ know nothing at all, and least of all what you talk about."
The company passed through the Sacred Street, and went together to
the theatre of Dionysus, near which Alcibiades lived.
* * * * *
The demagogue Cleon had really been lurking out of sight, and
listening to the conversation. And so had another man with a yellow
complexion and a full black beard, who seemed to belong to the
artisan class. When the brilliant company had departed, Cleon
stepped forward, laid his hand on the stranger's shoulder, and said:
"You have heard their conversation?"
"Certainly I have," he answered.
"Then you can give evidence."
"I cannot give evidence, because I am a foreigner."
"Still you have heard how they spoke against the gods of the State."
"I am a Syrian, and only know one true God. Your gods are not mine."
"You are a Hebrew, then! What is your name?"
"I am an Israelite, of the family of Levi, and call myself now
Cartophilus."
"A Phoenician, then?"
"No, a Hebrew. My forefathers came out of Ur of the Chaldees, then
fell into bondage in Egypt, but were brought by Moses and Joshua to
the land of Canaan, where we became powerful under our own kings,
David and Solomon."
"I don't know them."
"Two hundred years ago our city Jerusalem was destroyed by
Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, and our people were carried captive
to Babylon. But when Babylon was overthrown by the King of Persia,
we fell under the power of the Persians, and have groaned under the
successors of your Xerxes of Salamis, whom we called Ahasuerus."
"Your enemies, our enemies! Very well, friend; how did you come
here."
"When the Assyrian was about to carry us for the first time into
captivity, those who could flee, fled to Rhodes, Crete, and the
islands of Greece. But of those who were carried away some were sent
northwards to Media. My ancestors came hither from Media, and I am a
new-comer."
"Your speech is dark to me, but I have heard your nation praised
because they are faithful to the gods of the State."
"God! There is only One, the Single and True, who has created heaven
and earth, and given the promise to our people."
"What promise?"
"That our nation shall possess the earth."
"By Heracles! But the commencement is not very promising."
"That is our belief, and it has supported us during our wanderings
in the wilderness, and during the Captivity."
"Will you give evidence against these blasphemers of the gods?"
"No, Cleon, for you are idolaters. Socrates and his friends do not
believe in your gods, and that will be counted to them for
righteousness. Yes, Socrates appeared to me rather to worship the
Eternal and Invisible, whom we dare not name. Therefore I do not
give evidence against him."
"Is _that_ the side you are on? Then go in peace, but beware! Go!"
"The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob will protect me, so long as I
and my house keep His laws."
Cleon had espied his friend and fellow-artisan in the colonnade, and
therefore let the inflexible Hebrew go. The latter hastened towards
the sycamore avenue of the oil-market, and disappeared there.
Anytos the tanner and politician approached, rehearsing a written
speech which he was intending to deliver: "Athens or Sparta,--that
is the whole question at issue...."
Cleon, full of curiosity, interrupted him: "What are you rehearsing,
Anytos?"
"A speech."
"So I heard! Athens or Sparta! Government by the people, or
government by donkeys. The people, the weightiest element in the
State, the cultivators of the land, the producers of wealth, lie at
the bottom like gold. The worthless, the drones, the rich, the
aristocratic, the most frivolous, swim on the surface like chips and
corks. Athens has always represented government by the people, and
will always do so; Sparta represents the donkey-government.
"The oligarchy, you mean, Cleon."
"No; donkeys. Therefore, Anytos, Athens is badly governed, for
Pericles the rich man, who boasts of royal ancestors, has come to
power. How can he sympathise with these people, since he has never
been down there below? How can he see them rightly from above? He
sits on the gable-roof of the Parthenon, and views the Athenians as
ants, while they are lions, with their claws pared and their teeth
drawn. We, Anytos, born down there amid the skins of the tanyard
and dog's-dung, we understand our perspiring brothers--we know
them by the smell, so to speak. But like readily associates with
like; therefore Sparta feels attracted to Athens, to Pericles
and his followers. Pericles draws Sparta to himself, and we sink...."
Anytos, himself an orator, did not like to hear eloquence from
others, therefore he cut abruptly through Cleon's speech.
"Pericles is ill."
"Is he ill?"
"Yes, he has fever!"
"Really? Perhaps the plague."
"Perhaps."
This interjected remark of Anytos had crossed Cleon's prolix
discourse, and a new hope glimmered before him.
"And after Pericles?" he said.
"Cleon, of course."
"Why not? The man of the people for the people, but no philosophers
nor actors. So, Pericles is sick, is he? Listen, Anytos? Who is
Nicias?"
"He is a grandee who believes in oracles."
"Don't attack the oracles. I certainly do not believe in them, but a
State requires for its stability a certain uniformity in everything
--laws, customs, and religion. Therefore I support the gods of the
State--and what belongs to them."
"I also support the gods of the State, so long as the people do."
The two orators began to be mutually weary, and Cleon wished for
solitude in order to hatch the eggs which Anytos had laid for him.
Therefore he remarked, "You say that Nicias...."
"I am going to bathe," broke in Anytos; "otherwise I will get no
sleep to-night."
"But Alcibiades, who is he?"
"He is the traitor Ephialtes, who will lead the Persian King to
Thermopylae."
"The Persian King in the east, Sparta in the south."
"Macedonia in the north."
"And in the west, new Rome."
"Enemies in all four quarters! Woe to Athens!"
"Woe to Hellas!"
* * * * *
The guests had assembled at the house of Alcibiades, who on his
arrival had immediately gone off, with the laudable object of
procuring flute-players. Since the evening was warm, supper was
served in the Aula, or inner court, which was surrounded by Corinthian
colonnades, and lighted by many lamps which hung between the pillars.
After they had taken a light meal, ivy wreaths were distributed and
cups were set before the guests.
Aspasia, the only woman present, had the place of honour next to
Pericles. She had come at the beginning, accompanied by her slaves,
and was waiting impatiently for the verbal contests to begin. But
Pericles was depressed and tired. Socrates lay on his back, silent,
and looked up at the stars, Euripides chewed a wood-splinter and was
morose; Phidias kneaded balls of bread, which in his hand took the
shapes of animals; Protagoras whispered to Plato, who, with becoming
youthful modesty, kept in the background.
Quite at the bottom of the table sat the skeleton, with a wreath of
roses round its white forehead. In order to counteract the uncanny
feeling likely to be aroused by this unbidden guest, Alcibiades had
placed an onion between its front teeth, and in one of its hands an
asphodel lily, which the skeleton appeared to smell at.
When the silence at last became oppressive, Pericles roused himself
from his lethargy, and opened the conversation.
"I should like," he said, "without raising any bitterness or strife,
to suggest as a subject for discussion the often-raised question of
Euripides' supposed misogyny. What do you say, Protagoras?"
"Our friend Euripides has been married three times, and each time
has had children. He can therefore not be a woman-hater. Is it not
so, Socrates?"
"Euripides," answered Socrates, "loves Aspasia, as we all do, and
can therefore not be a woman-hater. He loves, with Pericles'
consent, the beauty of Aspasia's mind, and is therefore no
misogynist. Not much that is complimentary can be said about
Aspasia's person, and we have nothing to do with it. Is Aspasia
beautiful, Phidias?"
"Aspasia is not beautiful, but her soul is beautiful and good. Is it
not, Pericles?"
"Aspasia is my friend, and the mother of our child; Aspasia is a
wise woman, for she possesses modesty and conscientiousness,
self-knowledge and foresight; Aspasia is prudent, for she is silent
when wise men speak. But Aspasia can also cause wise men to speak
wisely by listening to them; for she helps them to produce thoughts,
not like Socrates' midwife, who only brings corporeal births to pass,
but she incarnates their souls."
Protagoras continued: "Aspasia is like the Mother Cybele of us all;
she bears us in her bosom."
"Aspasia is the scale of the zither, without whom our strings would
not sound."
"Aspasia is the mother of us all," recommenced Socrates, "but she is
also the midwife who washes our new-born thoughts and wraps them in
beautiful swaddling-clothes. Aspasia receives our children dirty,
and gives them back to us purified. She gives nothing of herself,
but by receiving gives the giver the opportunity to give."
Euripides resumed the topic which they had dropped: "I was accused,
and am acquitted--am I not, Aspasia?"
"If you can acquit yourself of the accusation, you are acquitted,
Euripides."
"Accuse me, dear Accuser; I will answer."
"I will bring the accusation in your own words. Hippolytus says in
one passage in your tragedy of that name: 'O Zeus, why, in the name
of heaven, didst thou place in the light of the sun that specious
evil to men--women? For if thou didst will to propagate the race of
mortals, there was no necessity for this to be done by women, but
men might, having placed an equivalent in thy temples, either in
brass or iron, or weighty gold, buy a race of children each
according to the value paid, and thus might dwell in unmolested
houses, without females.'"
"But now first of all, when we prepare to bring this evil to our
homes, we squander away the wealth of our houses."
"How evil woman is, is evident from this also, that the father who
begat her and brought her up, having given her a dowry, sends her
away in order to be rid of her."
"Now defend yourself, Euripides."
"If I were a Sophist like Protagoras, I should answer, 'It was
Hippolytus who said that; not I.' But I am a poet, and speak through
my characters. Very well; I said it, I meant it when I wrote it, and
I mean it still. And yet I almost always love any given woman, though
I hate her sex. I cannot explain it, for I was never perverse like
Alcibiades. Can you explain it, Socrates?"
"Yes, a man can hate and love a woman simultaneously. Everything is
produced by its opposite--love by hate, and hate by love. In my wife
I love the good motherly element, but I hate the original sin in
her; therefore I can hate and love her at the same time. Is it not
so, Protagoras?"
"Now it is Socrates who is the Sophist. Black cannot be white."
"Now it is Protagoras who is simple. This salt in the salt-cellar is
white, but put out the lamps, and it is black. The salt therefore is
not absolutely white, but its whiteness depends on the light. I
should be inclined rather to believe that salt is absolutely black,
for darkness is merely the absence of light, and is nothing in
itself, communicates no quality of its own to the salt, which in the
darkness is something independent, consequently its real nature is
black.
"But in the light a thing can be both black and white. This sea-sole,
for instance, is black above, but white below. In the same way
something can be good and bad at the same time. Therefore Euripides
is right when he says that he loves and hates woman simultaneously.
The misogynist is he who only hates woman, but Euripides loves her
also. Therefore he is not a misogynist. What do you think, Aspasia?"
"Wise Socrates! You confess that Euripides hates women, therefore he
is a woman-hater."
"No, my dear child, I admitted that Euripides _both_ loves and hates
women,--_both_, mark you. I love Alcibiades, but I abhor and hate
his want of character; now I ask the friends here, am I a hater of
Alcibiades?"
"No, certainly not," they answered simultaneously. But Aspasia was
roused, and wished to rouse him. "Wise Socrates, how do matters
stand between you and your wife?"
"The wise man does not willingly speak of his wife," Protagoras
struck in: "nor of his weakness."
"You have said it. One sacrifices to the earth, but unwillingly; one
binds oneself, but without pleasure; one endures, but loves not; one
does one's duty to the State, but with difficulty. There is only one
Aspasia, and she belongs to Pericles--the greatest woman to the
greatest man. Pericles is the greatest in the State, as Euripides is
the greatest on the stage."
This was an opportunity for Protagoras, without his needing to seek
it. "Is Euripides greater than Aeschylus and Sophocles?" he asked.
"Certainly, Protagoras! He is nearer to us; he speaks _our_
thoughts, not those of our fathers; he does not cringe before the
gods and fate; he fights with them; he loves men, knows them, and
laments them; his art is more elaborate, his feelings warmer, his
pictures more life-like than those of the ancients. But now I should
like to speak of Pericles."
"Stop, Socrates! In the Pnyx or the Agora, but not here! Though I
should be glad of a word of encouragement since false accusations
rain on me. We have come here to forget and not to remember
ourselves, and Socrates delights us most when he speaks of the
highest things, among which I do not count the State of Athens. Here
comes Alcibiades with his following. Kindle more lights, boys, and
put more ice in the wine."
There was a noise at the entrance; the dog barked, the doorkeeper
shouted, and Alcibiades entered with his companions. These consisted
of girls and of two strangers whom he had found in a wine-house.
"Papaia!" he cried. "Here is the host! And here is Aristophanes, a
future dramatist. Here is the Roman Lucillus, formerly a Decemvir,
who has been banished. There is one of the many Laises who have sat
to Phidias. Aspasia must not take it ill. And here are flute-players
from Piraeus. Whether they have the pestilence, I know not! What can
they do to me? I am twenty years old, and yet have done nothing?
Why, then, should I live? Now Lais will dance. Papaia!"
Euripides rose and made a sign for silence. "Let the dance wait;
Pericles is not pleased, and looks serious." A pause followed. The
heat was oppressive. It was not thunder-weather, but something like
it, and a sense of uneasy expectation seemed to weigh upon all their
spirits.
Then, as if by accident, the arm of the skeleton fell on its knee
with a slight snap. The flower, which it had held under its nose,
lay on the earth.
All started, even Alcibiades, but, angry with himself for this
weakness, he took a cup and stepped forward.
"The skeleton is thirsty! I drink to it! Who pledges me?"
"Socrates can do so the best. He can drink half a jar of wine in one
pull, without winking."
As a matter of fact, Socrates was notorious for his drinking powers,
but now he was not in the mood. "Not to-day! Wine is bitter to my
taste," he said.
And turning to Pericles, he whispered: "Evil eyes have come here.
This Aristophanes is not our friend! Do you know him?"
"Very little, but he looks as though he would like to murder us."
Alcibiades continued to address the skeleton: "Thus looks Athens at
this moment! Sparta and the Persian King have gnawed off its flesh;
Cleon has tanned its skin; the allies have gouged out its eyes; the
citizens have drawn out its teeth,--those citizens whom Aristophanes
knows and whom he will soon describe. Here's to you, skeleton!
'[Greek: _Polla metaxu pelei kulikos kai cheileos akrou_]!'"
There was a sudden change in the scene. The skeleton sank backwards
like a drunken man; the lamps began to sway on their chains, the
salt-cellar was spilt on the table.
"Ohioh!" cried Alcibiades, "Tralall! Ha! Ha! Ha! The table wobbles,
the sofa rocks; am I drunk, or is the room drunk?"
All were alarmed, but Socrates commanded quiet. "A god is near! The
earth shakes, and I hear ... does it thunder? No! That is an
earthquake."
All jumped up, but Socrates continued, "Be quiet! It is already
past."
After they had all taken their places again, he continued: "I was
five years old when Sparta was visited by an earthquake; twenty
thousand men perished, and only six houses remained standing. Then
it was Sparta. Now it is Athens. Yes, friends, a voice says to me,
'Before a babe can become a man, we shall have been dispersed and
destroyed like a bevy of birds.'"
Again the dog barked, and the door-keeper shouted. There entered an
uninvited guest in a state of excitement.
Alcibiades greeted him. "It is Nicias," he said. "Now I will be
sober; the thoughtful Nicias comes to our feast. What is the
matter?"
"Allow an uninvited guest."
"Speak, Nicias!"
"Pericles!" began the new-comer hesitatingly, "your friend, our
friend, the glory of Athens and Hellas,--Phidias is accused...."
"Stop! Silence!"
"Accused! O shame and disgrace! I cannot say it without weeping:
Phidias is accused of having purloined gold from the statue of
Athene."
The silence which followed was first broken by Pericles: "Phidias
hides his face in his mantle; he is ashamed for Athens. But by the
gods and the nether world, let us swear to his innocence."
"We swear!" exclaimed all like one man.
"I swear also," said Nicias.
"Athens is dishonoured, if one has to swear that Phidias has not
stolen."
Nicias had approached Pericles, and, bowing to Aspasia, he
whispered, "Pericles, your son Paralos is ill."
"Of the pestilence! Follow me, Aspasia."
"He is not my son, but yours; therefore I follow you."
"The house collapses, friends depart, all beauty passes away, the
ugly remains."
"And the gods sleep."
"Or have emigrated."
"Or are dead! Let us make new ones."
Another shock of earthquake extinguished the lamps, and all went out
into the street, except Socrates and Alcibiades.
"Phidias accused of theft! Let the walls of the world fall in!" said
Socrates, and sank, as was his custom, into a fit of absent-mindedness
that resembled sleep.
Alcibiades took one of the largest double-goblets, veiled it, and
improvised the following dithyramb:
"May everything break up from Pindus to the Caucasus!
Then will Prometheus be unbound and bestow fire again
on frozen mortals!
And Zeus descends to Hades, Pallas sells herself;
Apollo breaks his lyre in two, and cobbles shoes;
Ares lets his war-horse go, and minds sheep;
And on the ruins of all earthly glory, stands Alcibiades
alone,
In the full consciousness of his almightiness,
And laughs!"
* * * * *
The pestilence had broken out in Athens accompanied by shocks of
earthquake.
When Pericles, accompanied by Aspasia, reached his house, his son by
his divorced wife was dead.
According to the prevailing custom, and to show that he had not been
murdered, the corpse was placed in the doorway. A small coffin of
cedar-wood, painted red and black, stood on a bier, and showed the
dead child dressed in a white shroud. He had a garland on his head,
woven of the plant of death, the strong-scented Apium or celery. In
his mouth he had an obol as Charon's fee.
Pericles uttered a prayer in an undertone, without showing
especially deep sorrow, for he had gone through much, and learnt to
suffer.
"Two sons the gods have taken from me. Are they enough to atone?"
"What have you to atone for?" asked Aspasia.
"One must suffer for another; the individual for the State. Pericles
has suffered for Athens."
"Pardon me that my tears dry sooner than yours. The thought that
_our_ son lives, gives me comfort."
"It comforts me also, but not so much."
"Shall I go, before your wife comes?"
"You must not leave me, for I am ill."
"You have spoken of it for a long time now. Is it serious?"
"My soul is sick. When the State suffers, I am ill.... There comes
the mother of the dead."
A black-robed woman appeared in the doorway; she wore a veil in
order to hide the fact that her hair was cut off; she had a garland
in her hand, and a slave followed her with a torch.
She did not immediately notice Aspasia's presence, greeted her
former husband with a glance, and laid the garland at the dead boy's
feet. "I only bring a funeral garland for my son," she said, "but
instead of the obol, he shall take a kiss from the lips of his
mother."
She threw herself on the dead child, and kissed him.
"Beware of the dead!" said Pericles, and seized her arm; "he died of
the pestilence."
"My life has been a lingering death; a quick one is preferable to
me."
Then she noticed Aspasia, and, rising, said with quiet dignity,
"Tell your friend to go."
"She goes, and I follow her."
"That is right! For now, my Pericles, the last tie between us is
dissolved! Farewell!"
"Farewell, my wife!"
And, turning to Aspasia, he said, "Give me your hand, my spouse."
"Here it is."
The mourning mother lingered: "We shall all meet again some day,
shall we not? And then as friends--you, she, and he who is gone
before to prepare a dwelling for the hearts which are separated by
the narrow laws of life."
* * * * *
Pericles and Socrates wandered in the avenue of plane-trees below the
Hemicyklion, and conversed together.
"Phidias has been acquitted of theft, but re-arrested on the charge
of blaspheming the gods of the State."
"Arrested? Phidias!" "They say that he has represented me and
himself in Athene's shield."
"That is the mob's doing, which hates all greatness! Anaxagoras
banished because he was too wise; Aristides banished because he was
too just; Themistocles, Pausanias.... What did you do, Pericles,
when you gave the people power?"
"What was lawful and right. I fall certainly by my own sword, but
honourably. I go about and am dying piecemeal, like Athens. Did we
know that we adorned our statues for a funeral procession? that we
were weaving our own shrouds? that the choruses of our tragedies
were dirges?"
"Athens is dying--yes! But of what?"
"Of Sparta."
"What is Sparta?"
"Sparta is Heracles; the club, the lion-skin, brute-strength. We
Athenians are the sons of Theseus, ranged against the Heraclidae,
Dorians, and Ionians. Athens dies by Sparta's hand, but Hellas dies
by her own."
"I believe the gods have forsaken us."
"I believe so too, but the Divine lives."
"There comes Nicias, the messenger of misfortune."
It was Nicias; and when he read the question in the faces and
glances of the two, he answered, without waiting to be asked: "From
the Agora!"
"What is the news from the Agora?"
"The Assembly seeks help from the Macedonians."
"Why not from the Persians? Good! then the end is near. Do they seek
help from the enemy? From the barbarian, the Macedonian, who lies
above us like a lion on a hill. Go, Nicias, and say, 'Pericles is
dying.' And ask them to choose the worthiest as his successor! Not
the most unworthy! Go, Nicias, but go quickly."
"I go," said Nicias, "but for a physician."
And he went.
"No physician can cure me!" answered Pericles; but in a weak voice,
as though he spoke to himself. He took his old seat in the
Hemicyklion. When he had rested a while, he made Socrates a sign to
come near, for he did not wish to raise his voice.
"Socrates, my friend," he began, "this is the farewell of a dying
man. You were the wisest, but take it not ill if I say, 'Be not too
wise'; seek not the unattainable, and confuse not men's minds with
subtleties; do not make the simple complicated. You wish to see
things with both eyes, but he who shoots with the bow, must close
one eye; otherwise he sees his mark doubled. You are not a Sophist,
but may easily appear so; you are not a libertine, but you go about
with such; you hate your city and your country, and rightly; but
you should love them to the death, for that is your duty; you
despise the people, but you should be sorry for them. I have not
admired the people, but I have given them laws and justice;
therefore I die!
"Good-night, Socrates! Now it is dark before my eyes. You shall
close them, and give me the garland. Now I go to sleep. When I
awake, _if_ I awake, then I am on the other side, and then I will
send you a greeting, if the gods allow it. Good-night."
"Pericles is dead. Hear it, Athenians, and weep as I do!"
The people streamed thither, but they did not weep. They only
wondered what would now happen, and felt almost glad of a change.
* * * * *
Cleon the tanner stood in the orator's pulpit in the Pnyx. Among his
most attentive hearers were Alcibiades, Anytos, and Nicias. Cleon
said: "Pericles is dead, and Pericles is buried; now you know it.
Let him rest in peace with his merits and faults, for the enemy is
in Sphacteria, and we must have a commander; Pericles' shadow will
not serve for that. Here below sit two adventurers, fine gentlemen
both; one is called Nicias, because he never has conquered; the
other Alcibiades, and we know his conquests--goblets and girls. On
the other hand, we do not know his character, but you will some day
know him, Athenians, and he will show his incisors himself. Such and
such and such a one have been proposed for commander--oddly enough
all fine gentlemen, and all grandees, of course. Athens, which has
abjured all kings and their like, must now fight with royal Sparta,
and must, faithful to its traditions, appear in the field under a
man of the people on whom you can rely. We need no Pericles who
commissions statues and builds temples to Fame and Glory; Athens has
enough of such gewgaws. But now we must have a man who understands
the art of war, who has a heart in his breast and a head on his
shoulders. Whom do you wish for, men of Athens?"
Alcibiades sprang up like a young lion, and went straight to the
point. "Men of Athens, I propose Cleon the tanner, not because he is
a tanner, for that is something different. At any rate the army may
be compared to an ox-skin, and Cleon to a knife; but Cleon has other
qualities, especially those of a commander. His last campaign
against Pericles and Phidias closed with a triumph for him. He has
displayed a courage which never failed, and an intelligence which
passed all mortal comprehension. His strategy was certainly not that
of a lion, but he conquered, and that is the chief point. I propose
Cleon as leader of the campaign."
Now it so fell out that this patent irony was still too subtle for
the mob, who took it seriously. Alcibiades also had a certain
influence with them because of his relationship to Pericles, and
they listened to him readily. Accordingly the whole assembly called
out for Cleon, and he was elected.
But Cleon had never dreamt of the honour of being commander, and he
was prudent enough not to endeavour to climb beyond his capacity.
Therefore he protested against the election, shouting and swearing
by all the gods.
Alcibiades, however, seized the opportunity by the forelock, and,
perceiving that the election of Cleon meant his death, he mounted an
empty rostrum and spoke with emphasis: "Cleon jests, and Cleon is
modest; he does not himself know what sort of a commander he is, for
he has not proved himself; but I know who he is; I insist upon his
election; I demand that he fulfil his duty as a citizen; and I
summon him before the Areopagus if he shirks it when the fatherland
is in danger." "Cleon is elected!" cried the people.
But Cleon continued to protest, "I do not know the difference
between a hoplite and a peltast; [Footnote: a heavy-armed and a
light-armed soldier.] I can neither carry a lance nor sit upon a
horse."
But Alcibiades shouted him down. "He can do everything; guide the
State and criticise art; carry on law-suits and watch Sophists; he
can discuss the highest subjects with Socrates; in a word, he
possesses all the public virtues and all the private vices."
Now the people laughed, but Cleon did not budge.
"Athenians!" said Alcibiades in conclusion, "the people have spoken,
and there is no appeal. Cleon is elected, and Sparta is done for!"
The assembly broke up. Only Cleon remained behind with his friend
Anytos. "Anytos!" he said. "I am lost!"
"Very probable!" answered Anytos.
But Alcibiades went off with Nicias: "Now Cleon is as dead as a dog.
Then comes my turn," he said.
* * * * *
Socrates walked, deep in thought, up and down the courtyard of his
house, which was very simple and had no colonnades. His wife was
carding wool, and did it as if she were pulling someone's hair.
The wise man kept silence, but the woman spoke--that was her nature.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"For the sake of old acquaintance, I will answer you, though I am
not obliged to do so. I am thinking."
"Is that a proper business for a man?"
"Certainly; a very manly business."
"At any rate no one can see what you are doing."
"When you were with child, it was also invisible; but when, it was
born, it was visible, and especially audible. Thus occupations which
are at first invisible, become visible later on. They are therefore
not to be despised, least of all by those who only believe in the
visible."
"Is your business with Aspasia something of that sort?"
"Something of that, and of another sort too."
"You drink also a good deal."
"Yes, those who speak become thirsty, and the thirsty must drink."
"What is it in Aspasia that attracts men?"
"Certain qualities which give zest to social intercourse
--thoughtfulness, tact, moderation."
"You mean that for me?"
"I mean it for Aspasia."
"Is she beautiful?"
"No."
"Anytos declares that she is."
"He tells an untruth. Do you see Anytos, Cleon's friend and my
enemy?"
"He is not my enemy."
"But mine. You always love my enemies and hate my friends; that is a
bad sign."
"Your friends are bad men."
"No, on the contrary. Pericles was the greatest of the Athenians,
Phidias the best, Euripides the noblest, Plato the wisest,
Alcibiades the most gifted, Protagoras the most acute."
"And Aristophanes?"
"He is my enemy, though I do not know why. I suppose you have heard
of the comedy which he has written about me."
"Anytos told me. Have you seen it?"
"I saw the _Clouds_ yesterday."
"Was it amusing--was it clever?"
"What did Anytos think?"
"He made me laugh when he described some scenes."
"Then it must be amusing, or you would not have laughed."
"Did you not laugh, my Socrates?"
"Yes, of course; otherwise they would have thought me a blockhead.
You know that he has depicted me as a rogue and fool. Since I am
neither, it was not serious; therefore it was in jest."
"Do you think so? I think it was serious."
"And you laugh at the serious? Do you weep, then, at jesting? Then
you would be mad."
"Do you think I am mad?"
"Yes, if you think me a rogue."
"You know that Cleon is with the army."
"I was astonished to hear it."
"Astonished! You think, then, that he is not fit to command."
"No, I know nothing about his fitness as commander, for I have never
seen him in the field. But I am astonished at his election, as he
himself was, because it was unexpected."
"You therefore expect him to be defeated."
"No, I wait for the result, in order to see whether he wins or
loses."
"You would be glad if he lost?"
"I do not love Cleon, but as an Athenian I would mourn if he were
defeated; therefore I would not rejoice at his overthrow."
"You hate Cleon, but you do not wish his overthrow."
"On account of Athens--no."
"But except for that?"
"Except for that, Cleon's overthrow would be a blessing for the
State, for he has been unjust to Pericles, to Phidias, to all who
have done anything great."
"Here comes a visitor."
"It is Alcibiades."
"The wretch! Are you not ashamed to be on intimate terms with him?"
"He is a man; he has great faults and great merits, and he is my
friend. I do not wish to be on intimate terms with my enemies."
Alcibiades knocked at the door, and rushed in. "Papaia! The pair
are philosophising together, and talking of yesterday's comedy!
This Aristophanes is an ass! If one wishes to kill an enemy, one
must hit him; but Aristophanes aims at the clouds. Hit, yes! Do
you know that Cleon is defeated?"
"What a pity!" exclaimed Socrates.
"Is it a pity that the dog is unmasked?"
"I think Alcibiades is misinformed," broke in Xantippe.
"No, by Zeus, but I wish I was!"
"Hush! here is Anytos coming," said Socrates.
"The second tanner! It is strange that the destiny of Athens is
guided by tanners."
"The destiny of Athens! Who knows it?"
"I, Alcibiades, am the destiny of Athens."
"[Greek: _Hubris_]! Beware of the gods!"
"I come after Cleon; Cleon is no more; therefore it is my turn."
"Here is Anytos!"
Anytos entered: "I seek Alcibiades."
"Here I am."
"Must I prepare you....'
"No, I know."
"Prepare you for the honour...."
"Have I waited long enough."
"To go at the head...."
"That is what I was born for."
"To take the lead...."
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