LITMIR.BIZ

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to his astonishment, that the grey-haired man with the wooden leg, whom he had already noticed, though without recognizing him, had hidden his face in his hands and was weeping. Rhodopis was standing at his right hand. Phanes at his left, and the other guests were gazing at the Spartan, as if he had been the hero of Kallias’s tale. In a moment the quick Athenian perceived that the aged man must stand in some very near relation to one or other of the victors at Olympia; but when he heard that he was Aristomachus-the father of that glorious pair of brothers, whose wondrous forms were constantly hovering before his eyes like visions sent down from the abodes of the gods, then he too gazed on the sobbing old man with mingled envy and admiration, and made no effort to restrain the tears which rushed into his own eyes, usually so clear and keen. In those days men wept, as well as women, hoping to gain relief from the balm of their own tears. In wrath, in ecstasy of delight, in every deep inward anguish, we find the mighty heroes weeping, while, on the other hand, the Spartan boys would submit to be scourged at the altar of Artemis Orthia, and would bleed and even die under the lash without uttering a moan, in order to obtain the praise of the men.

      For a time every one remained silent, out of respect to the old man’s emotion. But at last the stillness was broken by Joshua the Jew, who began thus, in broken Greek:

      “Weep thy fill, O man of Sparta! I also have known what it is to lose a son. Eleven years have passed since I buried him in the land of strangers, by the waters of Babylon, where my people pined in captivity. Had yet one year been added unto the life of the beautiful child, he had died in his own land, and had been buried in the sepulchres of his fathers. But Cyrus the Persian (Jehovah bless his posterity!) released us from bondage one year too late, and therefore do I weep doubly for this my son, in that he is buried among the enemies of my people Israel. Can there be an evil greater than to behold our children, who are unto us as most precious treasure, go down into the grave before us? And, may the Lord be gracious unto me, to lose so noble a son, in the dawn of his early manhood, just at the moment he had won such brilliant renown, must indeed be a bitter grief, a grief beyond all others!”

      Then the Spartan took away his hands from before his face; he was looking stern, but smiled through his tears, and answered:

      “Phoenician, you err! I weep not for anguish, but for joy, and would have gladly lost my other son, if he could have died like my Lysander.”

      The Jew, horrified at these, to him, sinful and unnatural words, shook his head disapprovingly; but the Greeks overwhelmed the old man with congratulations, deeming him much to be envied. His great happiness made Aristomachus look younger by many years, and he cried to Rhodopis: “Truly, my friend, your house is for me a house of blessing; for this is the second gift that the gods have allowed to fall to my lot, since I entered it.”—“What was the first?” asked Rhodopis. “A propitious oracle.”—“But,” cried Phanes, “you have forgotten the third; on this day the gods have blessed you with the acquaintance of Rhodopis. But, tell me, what is this about the oracle?”—“May I repeat it to our friends?” asked the Delphian.

      Aristomachus nodded assent, and Phryxus read aloud a second time the answer of the Pythia:

      “If once the warrior hosts from the snow-topped mountains descending

       Come to the fields of the stream watering richly the plain,

       Then shall the lingering boat to the beckoning meadows convey thee

       Which to the wandering foot peace and a home will afford.

       When those warriors come from the snow-topped mountains descending

       Then will the powerful Five grant thee what they long refused.”

      Scarcely was the last word out of his mouth, when Kallias the Athenian, springing up, cried: “In this house, too, you shall receive from me the fourth gift of the gods. Know that I have kept my rarest news till last: the Persians are coming to Egypt!”

      At this every one, except the Sybarite, rushed to his feet, and Kallias found it almost impossible to answer their numerous questions. “Gently, gently, friends,” he cried at last; “let me tell my story in order, or I shall never finish it at all. It is not an army, as Phanes supposes, that is on its way hither, but a great embassy from Cambyses, the present ruler of the most powerful kingdom of Persia. At Samos I heard that they had already reached Miletus, and in a few days they will be here. Some of the king’s own relations, are among the number, the aged Croesus, king of Lydia, too; we shall behold a marvellous splendor and magnificence! Nobody knows the object of their coming, but it is supposed that King Cambyses wishes to conclude an alliance with Amasis; indeed some say the king solicits the hand of Pharaoh’s daughter.”

      “An alliance?” asked Phanes, with an incredulous shrug of the shoulders. “Why the Persians are rulers over half the world already. All the great Asiatic powers have submitted to their sceptre; Egypt and our own mother-country, Hellas, are the only two that have been shared by the conqueror.”

      “You forget India with its wealth of gold, and the great migratory nations of Asia,” answered Kallias. “And you forget moreover, that an empire, composed like Persia of some seventy nations or tribes of different languages and customs, bears the seeds of discord ever within itself, and must therefore guard against the chance of foreign attack; lest, while the bulk of the army be absent, single provinces should seize the opportunity and revolt from their allegiance. Ask the Milesians how long they would remain quiet if they heard that their oppressors had been defeated in any battle?”

      Theopompus, the Milesian merchant, called out, laughing at the same time: “If the Persians were to be worsted in one war, they would at once be involved in a hundred others, and we should not be the last to rise up against our tyrants in the hour of their weakness!”

      “Whatever the intentions of the envoys may be,” continued Kallias, “my information remains unaltered; they will be here at the latest in three days.”

      “And so your oracle will be fulfilled, fortunate Aristomachus!” exclaimed Rhodopis, “for see, the warrior hosts can only be the Persians. When they descend to the shores of the Nile, then the powerful Five,’ your Ephori, will change their decision, and you, the father of two Olympian victors, will be recalled to your native land.

      [The five Ephori of Sparta were appointed to represent the absent

       kings during the Messenian war. In later days the nobles made use

       of the Ephori as a power, which, springing immediately from their

       own body, they could oppose to the kingly authority. Being the

       highest magistrates in all judicial and educational matters, and in

       everything relating to the moral police of the country, the Ephori

       soon found means to assert their superiority, and on most occasions

       over that of the kings themselves. Every patrician who was past the

       age of thirty, had the right to become a candidate yearly for the

       office. Aristot. Potit, II. and IV. Laert. Diog. I. 68.]

      “Fill the goblets again, Knakias. Let us devote this last cup to the manes of the glorious Lysander; and then I advise you to depart, for it is long past midnight, and our pleasure has reached its highest point. The true host puts an end to the banquet when his guests are feeling at their best. Serene and agreeable recollections will soon bring you hither again; whereas there would be little joy in returning to a house where the remembrance of hours of weakness, the result of pleasure, would mingle with your future enjoyment.” In this her guests agreed, and Ibykus named her a thorough disciple of Pythagoras, in praise of the joyous, festive evening.

      Every one prepared for departure. The Sybarite, who had been drinking deeply in order to counteract the very inconvenient amount of feeling excited by the conversation, rose also, assisted by his slaves, who had to be called in for this purpose.

      While he was being moved from his former comfortable position, he stammered something about a “breach of hospitality;” but, when Rhodopis was about to give him her hand at parting, the wine gained the ascendancy and he exclaimed, “By Hercules, Rhodopis,

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