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Philothea

L >> Lydia Maria Child >> Philothea



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PHILOTHEA:

A Grecian Romance.

BY L. MARIA CHILD.

AUTHOR OF LETTERS FROM NEW YORK, FLOWERS FOR CHILDREN, ETC




The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,
The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty,
That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain.
Or forest by slow stream, or pabbly spring,
Or chasms and watery depths, all these have vanished--
They live no longer in the faith of Reason!
But still, the heart doth need a language--still
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names.
COLERIDGE.

A Spirit hung,
Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms,
Statues, and temples, and memorial tombs,
And _emanations_ were perceived.
WORDSWORTH.


A NEW AND CORRECTED EDITION.




To

MY BELOVED BROTHER,

Dr. Francis,

OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY,

To whose Early Influence I owe my Love of Literature

THIS VOLUME

IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.




PREFACE


This volume is purely romance; and most readers will consider it romance
of the wildest kind. A few kindred spirits, prone to people space "with
life and mystical predominance," will perceive a light _within_ the
Grecian Temple.

For such I have written it. To minds of different mould, who may think
an apology necessary for what they will deem so utterly useless, I have
nothing better to offer than the simple fact that I found delight in
doing it.




CHAPTER I.

Here let us seek Athenæ's towers,
The cradle of old Cecrops' race,
The world's chief ornament and grace;
Here mystic fanes and rites divine,
And lamps in sacred splendour shine;
Here the gods dwell in marble domes,
Feasted with costly hecatombs,
That round their votive statues blaze,
Whilst crowded temples ring with praise;
And pompous sacrifices here
Make holidays throughout the year.
ARISTOPHANES.


The moon was moving through the heavens in silent glory; and Athens,
with all her beautiful variety of villas, altars, statues, and temples,
rejoiced in the hallowed light.

The white columns of the lofty Parthenon stood in distinct relief
against the clear blue sky; the crest and spear of Pallas Promachos
glittered in the refulgent atmosphere, a beacon to the distant mariner;
the line of brazen tripods, leading from the Theatre of Dionysus, glowed
like urns of fire; and the waters of the Illyssus glanced right
joyfully, as they moved onward to the ocean. The earth was like a
slumbering babe, smiling in its sleep, because it dreams of Heaven.

In the most ancient and quiet part of the city, not far from the gate
Diocharis, was the modest mansion of Anaxagoras; and at this tranquil
hour, the grand-daughter of the philosopher, with her beloved companion
Eudora, stood on the roof, enjoying the radiant landscape, and the balmy
air.

Philothea's tall figure was a lovely union of majesty and grace. The
golden hair, which she inherited from a Laconian mother, was tastefully
arranged on the top of her head, in a braided crown, over the sides of
which the bright curls fell, like tendrils of grapes from the edge of a
basket. The mild brilliancy of her large dark eyes formed a beautiful
contrast to a complexion fair even to transparency. Her expression had
the innocence of infancy; but it was tinged with something elevated and
holy, which made it seem like infancy in Heaven.

Eudora had more sparkling eyes, lips more richly coloured, and a form
more slender and flexile. Her complexion might have seemed dark, had it
not been relieved by a profusion of glossy black hair, a portion of
which was fastened with a silver arrow, while the remainder shaded her
forehead, and fell over her shoulders.

As they stood side by side, with their arms twined around each other,
they were as lovely a sight as the moon ever shone upon. Totally unlike
each other, but both excellent in beauty. One might have been a model
for the seraphs of Christian faith, the other an Olympian deity.

For a few moments, Philothea stood in earnest silence, gazing upon the
bright planet of evening--then, in a tone of deep enthusiasm, she
exclaimed:

"It is a night to feel the presence of the gods! Virgin sister of
Phoebus, how calm thou art in thy glorious beauty! Thou art filling the
world with music--silent to the ear, but audible to the heart! Phidias
has embodied the unbreathing harmony in stone, and we worship the fair
proportions, as an emanation from the gods. The birds feel it--and
wonder at the tune that makes no noise. The whole earth is lulled by its
influence. All is motionless; save the Naiades of the stream, moving in
wreathed dance to the voiceless melody. See how their shining hair
sparkles on the surface of the waters! Surely there is music in this
light! Eudora, what is it within us, that listens where there is no
sound? Is it thus we shall hear in Elysium?"

In a subdued and troubled voice, her companion answered, "Oh, Philothea,
when you talk thus, my spirit is in fear--and now, too, all is so still
and bright, that it seems as if the gods themselves were listening to
our speech."

"The same mysterious influence impresses me with awe," replied the
contemplative maiden: "In such an hour as this, Plato must have received
the sublime thought, 'God is truth--and light is his shadow.'"

Eudora drew more closely to her friend, and said, timidly: "Oh,
Philothea, do not talk of the gods. Such discourse has a strange and
fearful power, when the radiant daughter of Zeus is looking down upon us
in all her heavenly majesty. Even the midnight procession of the
Panathenæa affected me less deeply."

After a few moments of serious silence, she continued: "I saw it last
night, for the first time since my childhood; for you know I was very
ill when the festival was last celebrated. It was truly a beautiful and
majestic scene! The virgins all clothed in white; the heifers decorated
with garlands; the venerable old men bearing branches of olive; the
glittering chariots; the noble white horses, obeying the curb with such
proud impatience; the consecrated image of Pallas carried aloft on its
bed of flowers; the sacred ship blazing with gems and gold; all moving
in the light of a thousand torches! Then the music, so loud and
harmonious! It seemed as if all Athens joined in the mighty sound. I
distinguished you in the procession; and I almost envied you the
privilege of embroidering the sacred peplus, and being six long months
in the service of Pallas Athenæ. I have had so much to say since you
returned, and Phidias has so many guests, that I have found little time
to ask concerning the magnificent sights you saw within the Acropolis."

"The night would wear away, ere I could describe all I witnessed within
the walls of the Parthenon alone," rejoined her companion: "There is the
silver-footed throne, on which Xerxes sat, while he watched the battle
of Salamis; the scimitar of Mardonius, captured at Platææ; a beautiful
ivory Persephone, on a pedestal of pure gold; and a Methymnean lyre,
said to have belonged to Terpander himself, who you know was the first
that used seven strings. Victorious wreaths, coins, rings, and goblets
of shining gold, are there without number; and Persian couches, and
Egyptian sphynxes, and--",

"What do you find so interesting beyond the walls?" asked Eudora,
smiling at the earnestness with which her friend gazed in the distance:"
Do the slaves, bringing water from the Fountain of Callirhöe, look so
very beautiful in the moonlight?"

"I marvel that you can speak so lightly," replied Philothea: "We have as
yet heard no tidings concerning the decision in the Court of Cynosarges,
on which the fate of Philæmon depends; and you know how severely his
high spirit will suffer, if an unfavourable sentence is awarded. Neither
of us have alluded to this painful topic. But why have we thus lingered
on the house-top, if it were not to watch for the group which, if I
mistake not, are now approaching, on their return from Cynosarges?"

"Then it is for Philæmon's sake, that you have so long been looking
wistfully toward the Illyssus?" said Eudora, playfully.

"I will not deny that Paralus has had the largest share of my thoughts,"
replied the simple-hearted maiden; "but for Philæmon, as your betrothed
lover, and the favourite pupil of my grandfather, I feel an interest
strong enough to keep me on the watch during a less delightful evening
than this. I think it must be Paralus who walks in the centre of the
group; we have been separated many months; and courtesy to the numerous
strangers under his father's roof has prevented our having much
discourse to-day. For his sake, I am glad once more to be in my own
happy home. He is none the less dear to me because I know that he can
never be my husband."

"And why should he not?" exclaimed Eudora: "The blood of princes flowed
in the veins of your ancestors. If Anaxagoras is poor, it is because he
has preferred wisdom to gold."

With a faint sigh, Philothea answered, "Had the good old man preferred
gold to wisdom, I should have loved him less; nor would his instructions
have made me such a wife as Paralus deserves; yet Pericles would have
better liked the union. He has obtained from his son a solemn promise
never to speak to me of marriage. The precaution was unnecessary; for
since this new law has passed, I would not marry Paralus, even with his
father's consent. I would never be the means of bringing degradation and
losses upon him."

"If you still love Paralus, I wonder you can be so quiet and cheerful,"
said Eudora.

"I wished him to make the required promise, because obedience to parents
is our first duty," replied Philothea; "and had I thought otherwise, the
laws compel it. But the liberty of loving Paralus, no power can take
from me; and in that I find sufficient happiness. I am bound to him by
ties stronger than usually bind the hearts of women. My kind grandfather
has given me an education seldom bestowed on daughters; and from our
childhood, Paralus and I have shared the same books, the same music, and
the same thoughts, until our souls seem to be one. When I am very happy,
I always see a peculiar brightness on his countenance; and when I am
powerfully impressed by any of the fair sights of this beautiful world,
or by those radiant deities who live among the stars, often, before I
can speak my thoughts, he utters my very words. I sometimes think the
gods have united human beings by some mysterious principle, like the
according notes of music. Or is it as Plato has supposed, that souls
originally one have been divided, and each seeks the half it has lost?
Eudora, if you consider how generally maidens are bestowed in marriage
without consulting their affections, you must confess that you have
reason to feel deeply grateful for your own lot."

"Yet this new law against those of foreign parentage, renders marriage
with me as dishonourable as with you," rejoined the maiden: "Nay, it is
much more so; for I am a slave, though, by courtesy, they do not call me
one."

"But Philæmon has no parents to forbid his choice," said Philothea;
"and if the court decide against him, he will incur no fine by a
marriage with you; for he himself will then be a sojourner in Athens.
The loss of his paternal estates will indeed leave him poor; but he has
friends to assist his own energies, and in all probability, your union
will not be long delayed. Ah, now I am certain that Anaxagoras
approaches, with Paralus and Philæmon. They perceive us; but Paralus
does not wave his hand, as he promised to do, if they brought good
tidings."

Without appearing to share her anxiety, Eudora carelessly inquired, "Did
you witness the Festival of Torches, while you were within the
Acropolis? The swiftness of the runners, moving in the light of their
own torches, making statues and temples ruddy with the glow as they
passed, was truly a beautiful sight. I suppose you heard that Alcibiades
gained the prize? With what graceful celerity he darted through the
course! I was at Aspasia's house that evening. It is so near the goal,
that we could plainly see his countenance flushed with excitement and
exercise, as he stood waving his unextinguished torch in triumph."

"I am sorry Phidias considers improvement in music of sufficient
consequence to encourage your visits to that dangerous woman," answered
Philothea: "It was an unpropitious day for Athens when she came here to
invest vice with all the allurements of beauty and eloquence."

"I think women should judge kindly of Aspasia's faults, and remember
that they are greatly exaggerated by her enemies," rejoined Eudora; "for
she proves that they are fit for something better than mere domestic
slaves. Her house is the only one in all Greece where women are allowed
to be present at entertainments. What is the use of a beautiful face, if
one must be shut up in her own apartment for ever? And what avails skill
in music, if there is no chance to display it? I confess that I like the
customs Aspasia is trying to introduce."

"And I should like them, if I believed they would make the Grecian women
something _better_ than mere domestic slaves," said Philothea; "but such
as Aspasia will never raise women out of the bondage in which they are
placed by the impurity and selfishness of man. Your own confessions,
Eudora, do not speak well for her instructions. Why should a
true-hearted woman wish to display her beautiful face, or her skill in
music, to any but those on whom her affections are bestowed?"

"It is natural to wish for admiration," replied the handsome maiden:
"The goddesses themselves contended for it. You, at least, ought not to
judge Aspasia harshly; for she has the idea that you are some deity in
disguise; and she has the most extravagant desire to see you."

"Flattery to ourselves does not change the nature of what is wrong,"
answered Philothea. "Pericles has more than once mentioned Aspasia's
wish that I should visit her; but nothing short of my grandfather's
express command will ever induce me to do it. Our friends are now
entering the gate. Let us go to welcome them."

Eudora hastily excused herself under the plea of duties at home; and
Philothea, supposing it might be painful to meet her unfortunate lover
in the presence of others, forebore to urge it.

A paternal blessing beamed from the countenance of Anaxagoras, the
moment Philothea appeared. Paralus greeted her as a brother welcomes a
cherished sister; but in the earnest kindness of his glance was
expressed something more deep and heart-stirring than his words implied.

Philæmon, though more thoughtful than usual, received his own and
Eudora's friend, with cheerful cordiality. His countenance had the frank
and smiling expression of one who truly wishes well to all men, and
therefore sees everything reflected in forms of joy. His figure was
athletic, while his step and bearing indicated the promptitude and
decision of a man who acts spontaneously from his own convictions.

Paralus, far from being effeminate, was distinguished for his dexterity
and skill in all the manly sports of the gymnasium; but the purity of
his complexion, and the peculiarly spiritual expression of his face,
would have been deemed beautiful, even in a woman. The first he probably
derived from his mode of life; for, being a strict Pythagorean, he never
partook of animal food. The last was the transparent medium of
innocence, through which thoughts and affections continually showed
their changing forms of life.

In answer to her eager questions, Philothea soon learned that her fears
had prophesied aright concerning the decision of the court. Philæmon
had been unsuccessful; but the buoyant energy of his character did not
yield even to temporary despondency. He spoke of his enemies without
bitterness, and of his own prospects with confidence and hope.

Philothea would have immediately gone to convey the tidings to her
friend, had not Philæmon early taken his leave, and passed through the
garden into the house of Phidias.

Paralus remained until a late hour, alternately talking with the
venerable philosopher, and playing upon his flute, while Philothea sung
the songs they had learned together.

In the course of conversation, Anaxagoras informed his child that
Pericles particularly urged her attendance at Aspasia's next symposium.
"I obey my grandfather, without a question," she replied; "but I would
much rather avoid this visit, if it were possible."

"Such is likewise my wish," rejoined the philosopher; "but Pericles has
plainly implied that he should be offended by refusal; it is therefore
necessary to comply with his request."

The maiden looked doubtingly at her lover, as if she deemed his
sanction necessary; and the inquiring glance was answered by an
affectionate smile. "I need not repeat my thoughts and feelings with
regard to Aspasia," said Paralus, "for you know them well; but for many
reasons it is not desirable that an estrangement should take place
between my father and Anaxagoras. Since, therefore, it has pleased
Pericles to insist upon it, I think the visit had better be made. You
need not fear any very alarming innovation upon the purity of ancient
manners. Even Aspasia will reverence you,"

Philothea meekly yielded to the opinion of her friends; and it was
decided that, on the evening after the morrow, she should accompany her
grandfather to Aspasia's dwelling.

Before proceeding farther, it is necessary to relate the situation of
the several characters introduced in this chapter.

Anaxagoras had been the tutor of Pericles, and still retained
considerable influence over him; but there were times when the
straightforward sincerity, and uncompromising integrity of the old man
were somewhat offensive and troublesome to his ambitious pupil. For the
great Athenian statesman, like modern politicians, deemed honesty
excellent in theory, and policy safe in practice. Thus admitting the
absurd proposition that principles entirely false and corrupt in the
abstract are more salutary, in their practical manifestation, than
principles essentially good and true.

While Pericles was determined to profit by diseases of the state, the
philosopher was anxious to cure them; therefore, independently of
personal affection and gratitude, he was willing to make slight
concessions, in order to retain some influence over his illustrious
pupil.

The celebrated Aspasia was an elegant and voluptuous Ionian, who
succeeded admirably in pleasing the good taste of the Athenians, while
she ministered to their vanity and their vices. The wise and good
lamented the universal depravity of manners, sanctioned by her
influence; but a people so gay, so ardent, so intensely enamoured of the
beautiful, readily acknowledged the sway of an eloquent and fascinating
woman, who carefully preserved the appearance of decorum. Like the
Gabrielles and Pompadours of modern times, Aspasia obtained present
admiration and future fame, while hundreds of better women were
neglected and forgotten. The crowds of wealthy and distinguished men who
gathered around her, were profuse in their flattery, and munificent in
their gifts; and Pericles so far yielded to her influence, that he
divorced his wife and married her.

Philæmon was at that time on terms of intimacy with the illustrious
orator; and he earnestly remonstrated against this union, as alike
disgraceful to Pericles and injurious to public morals. By this advice
he incurred the inveterate dislike of Aspasia; who never rested from her
efforts until she had persuaded her husband to procure the revival of an
ancient law, by which all citizens who married foreigners, were
subjected to a heavy fine; and all persons, whose parents were not both
Athenians, were declared incapable of voting in the public assemblies,
or of inheriting the estates of their fathers. Pericles the more
readily consented to this, because such a law at once deprived many
political enemies of power. Philæmon was the son of Chærilaüs, a
wealthy Athenian; but his mother had been born in Corinth, though
brought to Athens during childhood. It was supposed that this latter
circumstance, added to the patriotism of his family and his own moral
excellence, would prevent the application of the law in his individual
case. But Alcibiades, for reasons unknown to the public, united his
influence with that of Aspasia; and their partizans were active and
powerful. When the case was tried in the court of illegitimacy at
Cynosarges, Philæmon was declared a sojourner in Athens, incapable of
holding any office, and dispossessed of his paternal inheritance.

Eudora was a mere infant when Phidias bought her of a poor goatherd in
Phelle. The child was sitting upon a rock, caressing a kid, when the
sculptor first saw her, and the gracefulness of her attitude attracted
his attention, while her innocent beauty touched his heart. She and her
nurse had been stolen from the Ionian coast, by Greek pirates. The nurse
was sold into slavery, and the babe delivered by one of the pirates to
the care of his mother. The little creature, in her lisping way, called
herself baby Minta; and this appellation she retained, until Phidias
gave her the name of Eudora.

Philothea, the orphan daughter of Alcimenes, son of Anaxagoras, was a
year or two older than Eudora. She was brought to Athens, at about the
same period; and as they resided very near each other, the habitual
intercourse of childhood naturally ripened into mature friendship. No
interruption of this constant intimacy occurred, until Philothea was
appointed one of the Canephoræ, whose duty it was to embroider the
sacred peplus, and to carry baskets in the grand procession of the
Panathenæa. Six months of complete seclusion within the walls of the
Acropolis, were required of the Canephoræ. During this protracted
absence, Aspasia persuaded Phidias to bring Eudora frequently to her
house; and her influence insensibly produced a great change in that
young person, whose character was even more flexile than her form.




CHAPTER II.

"With grace divine her soul is blest,
And heavenly Pallas breathes within her breast;
In wonderous arts than woman more renowned,
And more than woman with deep wisdom crowned.
HOMER.


It was the last market hour of Athens, when Anaxagoras, Philothea, and
Eudora, accompanied by Geta, the favourite slave of Phidias, stepped
forth into the street, on their way to Aspasia's residence.

Loud shouts of laughter came from the agoras, and the whole air was
filled with the hum of a busy multitude. Groups of citizens lingered
about the porticos; Egyptians, Medians, Sicilians, and strangers from
all the neighbouring States of Greece, thronged the broad avenue of the
Piræus; women, carrying upon their heads olive jars, baskets of grapes,
and vases of water, glided among the crowd, with that majestic motion so
peculiar to the peasantry in countries where this custom prevails.

Philothea drew the folds of her veil more closely, and clung timidly to
her venerable protector. But neither this, nor increasing twilight,
could screen the graceful maidens from observation. Athenians looked
back as they passed, and foreigners paused to inquire their name and
parentage.

In a few moments they were under the walls of the Acropolis, walking in
the shadow of the olive groves, among god-like statues, to which the
gathering obscurity of evening gave an impressive distinctness--as if
the light departing from the world, stood petrified in marble.

Thence they entered the inner Ceramicus, where Aspasia resided. The
building, like all the private houses of Athens, had a plain exterior,
strongly contrasted by the magnificence of surrounding temples, and
porticos. At the gate, an image of Hermes looked toward the harbour,
while Phoebus, leaning on his lyre, appeared to gaze earnestly at the
dwelling.

A slave, stationed near the door, lighted the way to the apartment where
Aspasia was reclining, with a Doric harp by her side, on which she had
just been playing. The first emotion she excited was surprise at the
radiant and lucid expression, which mantled her whole face, and made the
very blood seem eloquent. In her large dark eye the proud consciousness
of intellect was softened only by melting voluptuousness; but something
of sadness about her beautiful mouth gave indication that the heavenly
part of her nature still struggled with earth-born passions.

A garland of golden leaves, with large drops of pearl, was interwoven
among the glossy braids of her hair, and rested on her forehead.

She wore a robe of rich Milesian purple, the folds of which were
confined on one shoulder within a broad ring of gold, curiously wrought;
on the other they were fastened by a beautiful cameo, representing the
head of Pericles. The crimson couch gave a soft flush to the cheek and
snowy arm that rested on it; and, for a moment, even Philothea yielded
to the enchantment of her beauty.

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