LITMIR.BIZ

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are pressing on us, but they are also pushing northward towards Gaul and Germany, and southward towards Africa. The Persian King, who was formerly our enemy, has now nearly become our friend, and our danger is not now Persia, but Rome. Therefore, with the future in view, I say to you Athenians, ‘Let us go to Italy and Sicily. With Sicily as our base, we can dispute with the Romans the possession of Spain and the Pillars of Hercules. In Sicily we have the Key to Egypt; by means of Sicily we protect the threatened Tarentum, and can, in case of need, save sinking Hellas. The world is wide; why should we sit here and moulder in the wilderness? Hellas is an exhausted country; let us break up new ground. Hellas is an outworn ship; let us build a new one, and undertake a new Argonautic enterprise to a new Colchis to win another Golden Fleece, following the path of the sun westward. Athenians! let us go to Sicily!’”

      These new prospects which the speaker opened to them pleased the people, who were tired of the everlasting Sparta and the Persian King; and stimulated by fear of Rome, the growing wolf’s-cub, they received the ill-considered proposal with applause, and raised their hands in token of assent.

      Nicias sought an opportunity to speak, and warned them, but no one listened to him. The Scythian police who kept order in the Pnyx could procure him no audience. And when Nicias saw that he could not prevent the enterprise, he placed his services at Alcibiades’ disposal, and began to equip the fleet.

      Aspasia was now the widow of Pericles, and had mourned him for a long time. The “Hemicyklion” was no more, but her few remaining friends visited her from time to time. Socrates was the most faithful among them. One evening he sat with her in the little brick-roofed villa on the bank of the Cephisos.

      “No, Aspasia,” he said, “I advised against the Sicilian expedition, so did Nicias, so did the astronomer Meton, but it was to be. Alcibiades had managed to procure a favourable response from the oracle in the Temple of Ammon.”

      “Do you believe in oracles, Socrates?”

      “Yes—and no! I have my own ‘demon,’ as you know, who warns but never urges—who advises, but never commands. This inner Voice has said to me, ‘Hellas will not conquer the world.’”

      “Will Rome do it?”

      “Yes, but for another!”

      “You know that Pericles’ great thought was a single Hellas—a union of all the Grecian States.”

      “That was Pericles’ wish, but the will of the gods was otherwise. Alcibiades’ dream of Hellas governing the world is also great, but the dreams of the gods are greater.”

      “What gain do you think comes to Athens from Cleon’s death?”

      “None! After Cleon comes Anytos. Cleon is everlasting, for Cleon is the name of an idea.”

      Protagoras, grown old and somewhat dull, appeared in the inner courtyard.

      “There is Protagoras!”

      “The Sophist! I do not like him,” said Aspasia. “He is a file who frets all will away; his endless hair-splitting robs one of all resolution.”

      “You speak truly and rationally, Aspasia, and in an earlier age you would have sat upon the Pythoness’s tripod and prophesied. Like the priestess, you know not perhaps what you say, but a god speaks through you.”

      “No, Socrates; I only utter your thoughts; that is all!”

      Protagoras came forward. “Mourning in Athens! Mourning in Hellas! Alas!” was his greeting.

      “What is the matter, Protagoras?”

      “Phidias of immortal memory lies dead in prison.”

      “Alas! then they have killed him.”

      “So it is rumoured in the city.”

      “Phidias is dead!”

      “Probably poisoned, they say; but that need not be true.”

      “All die here in Athens before their proper time. When will our turn come?”

      “When it does.”

      “Are we falling by the arrows of the Python-slayer? We are shot like birds.”

      “We are the children of Apollo. Would our father kill us?”

      “Saturn has returned to devour his children.”

      Socrates sank in meditation, and remained standing.

      “We have angered the gods.”

      Lucillus the Roman entered. “See the Roman!” said Socrates, “the lord of the future and of the world. What has he to tell us?”

      “I come to warn Protagoras. He is to be banished.”

“I?”

      “You are banished.”

      “On what grounds?”

      “As a blasphemer. You have repudiated the gods of the State.”

      “Who is the informer?”

      “The sycophant, the invisible, who is present everywhere.”

      “All is probable; nothing is certain,” exclaimed Protagoras.

      “Yes, this is certain.”

      “Well, my fabric of thought is shattered against this certainty as everything else is shattered.”

      “[Greek: Pànta reî]. Everything flows away; nothing endures; all comes to birth, grows, and dies.”

      “Farewell, then, Aspasia, Socrates, friends, fatherland!

      “Farewell!”

      Protagoras departed with his mantle drawn over his head.

      “Will Athens miss Protagoras?” asked Aspasia.

      “He has taught the Athenians to think and to doubt; and doubt is the beginning of wisdom.”

      “Aristophanes has murdered Protagoras, and he will murder you some day, Socrates.”

      “He has done that already; my wife rejoices at it, but still I live.”

      “Here comes young Plato with an ominous look. More bad news I expect.”

      “Expect? I am certain! Sing your dirge, Plato.”

      “Dirges, you mean. Alcibiades has been accused and recalled.”

      “What has he done?”

      “Before his departure he has mutilated all the images of Hermes in the city.”

      “That is too much for one man; he could not do that.”

      “The accusation is definite; injury to the gods of the State.”

      “And now the gods avenge themselves.”

      “The gods of Greece have gone to Rome.”

      “There you have spoken truth.”

      “Now comes number two: The Athenians have been defeated in Sicily. And number three: Nicias is beheaded.”

      “Then we can buy sepulchres for ourselves in the Ceramicus.”

      Near the Temple of Nemesis in the Agora stood the tanner Anytos chatting with Thrasybulos, a hitherto obscure but rising patriot.

      Anytos rattled away: “Alcibiades is in Sparta; Sparta seeks the help of the Persian King; only one thing remains for us—to do the same.”

      “To go over to the enemy? That is treachery.”

      “There is nothing else to be done.”

      “There were once Thermopylae and Salamis.”

      “But now there is Sparta, and the Spartans are in Deceleia. Our envoys have already sailed to the Persian King.”

      “Then we may as well remove Athene’s image from the Parthenon! Anytos! look at my back; for I shall be ashamed to show my face now when I walk.”

      Anytos remained alone, and walked for some time up and down in front of the temple portico. Then he stopped and

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