I.

Callippides was universally detested in Athens. Every one knew him to be one of the most dangerous informers, who lived by extorting money from people by threatening them with some ruinous impeachment.

When he entered a workshop, a hair-dresser’s, or a lesche,C any of the places where the citizens met to discuss70 the incidents of the day or to drive a bargain, one after another stole away till he was left alone. If he bought a fillet from one of the pretty perfume dealers in the market-place, she put his copper coins aside that they might not become mixed with the other money and so bring ill-luck to the day’s receipts; if he spoke in the street to a female slave who knew the residents of the city she hurried off, and if he had merely laid the tips of his fingers on her arm, she rubbed it with the palm of her hand as though some poisonous reptile had touched her. If he was seen in any one’s company more than once, that person was known to be a timid man who was trying to flatter and cajole him in order to be safe from him. In other respects he led so solitary a life that a well-known jester, the parasite Meidias, said of him that “the only thing that stood near him was his shadow.”

C A sort of portico, supplied with seats, and free to all.

Yet there was one person in Athens who valued him. This was Pyrrhander, the Ildmand,D to whom he was inestimable in tracking the hetaeriae or secret societies and who, when Callippides was mentioned, used to say: “He’s the best sleuth-hound in our pack.”

D Ildmand—the red-haired, seems to have been a nickname for Cleon, who at this time was treasurer. (Aristophanes, equites v. 901.)

The sycophant was by no means frightful in his external appearance. On the contrary, he was a stately man. Of noble lineage, he had belonged in his youth to the select circle of the “gilded youth” of Athens, and in the company of the young Eupatridae, Proxenides71 and Theagenes, he had squandered his ancestral property in a few years upon horses and chariots. At every horse and chariot race he was seen among the most excited spectators. No one could say how often he had been thrown from his chariot while swinging around the race-course, or how frequently a snorting, foaming team of four horses had been driven over him. The last time this had happened he had been kicked so violently on the head by one of the steeds that he always bore the mark of it. He was so severely injured that the physician, Pittalus, had already sent a messenger for the wailing women.

When Callippides regained his health, his passion for horses and chariots was at an end. His fortune was expended and, like so many Athenians of rank before him, he now sold his last Samphora steed and bought the sandals of a sycophant. With this foot-covering, which made every step noiseless, he stole around the market-place like a snake or a scorpion, listened to backbiters, came behind whispering couples, questioned slaves and soon became as full of unsavory secrets as a marsh is full of croaking frogs. These secrets he used for his own profit and the ruin of others.

In his almost deserted house in the street of the Potters not far from the Pnyx, the market, and the Prytaneum he had a strange, dismal room, whose like was not to be found in Athens, and which he jestingly called his Opisthodomus, treasure-chamber. The name was no pious one and showed no deep reverence for the gods; for the real Opisthodomus, the apartment72 where the treasures of the state were kept, was a sacred place behind the Parthenon and was placed under the protection of Athene Polias, the defender of the city. But Callippides only used this title when he was talking to his faithful old Manes, a slave nearly seventy years old who, like the house, had been a legacy to him from his ancestors.

Whoever had expected to find gold and silver in Callippides’ treasure-chamber would have been greatly mistaken.

The apartment was almost empty, the only furniture it contained being an old arm-chair, a sort of high seat with a foot-stool beside a little table. The riches of the chamber consisted of the notes which covered its white walls—all written in a firm, elegant hand. They were found by the score, were as tersely composed as possible, and were all accurately marked with the day, month, and Archon’s year. Over the door leading to the peristyle were the following inscriptions:

    “POLYCLES, SON OF STRATON. Accused of deserting from the military service. Sentenced to the LOSS OF THE RIGHTS OF CITIZENSHIP, THOUGH WITHOUT FORFEITURE OF PROPERTY.”

    “MANTITHEUS, SON OF CTESIPHON. Accused of secret understanding with the Spartans. Ran away. Punished by the erection of a pillar of infamy INSCRIBED WITH HIS NAME.”

These and a number of other notes were written with charcoal; but directly over the entrance, in the most conspicuous place in the room, there were a large73 collection written with red chalk and embracing the most severe and terrible punishments. The first and second of these inscriptions ran as follows:

    “STEPHANUS, SON OF EUCTEMON. Accused of treason. Sentenced TO DRINK THE HEMLOCK.

    “NAUSICRATES, SON OF GLAUCUS. Accused of having tempted his step-mother to commit adultery. HURLED INTO THE GULF.”

Yet in his way Callippides seemed to be an honest man, for, little as it might have been expected, here and there appeared a sentence whose result had gone against him, as for instance:

    “POLEMARCHUS, SON OF CALLIAS. Accused of fraud. Sentenced by the Forty to loss of the rights of citizenship and forfeiture of property. The decree DECLARED INVALID by the dicasts of the people because founded on the deposition of a false witness.”

True, this inscription was placed in the darkest corner, where no one would easily seek it, and what the record did not relate was that the affair had almost proved a bad one for Callippides—so bad that Pyrrhander, the Ildmand, had required all his influence to save him. But this concealment must be regarded as an allowable military stratagem.

It is certain that the “treasure-chamber” rarely failed in its purpose. Here Callippides used to bring his victims, the unfortunates who were threatened with a dangerous accusation. Scarcely did they find themselves74 here when, on some pretext, he left them alone. As they read the gloomy records, read them by scores, at first with surprise, then with anxiety, and finally with increasing fear, there were few who had confidence in the justice of their cause. As they stood there alone with throbbing hearts, quaking with dread lest everything which in a short time would belong to their Past should make a fresh inscription on these ill-boding walls, the written characters gradually began to run into each other before their eyes; the red letters seemed to be inscribed with blood, and even firm, brave men were ready, almost without exception, to come to terms with Callippides without bargaining as to price, if he would only promise to let the accusation drop. In this way the “treasure-chamber” justified its name, there was not a little money in it.

Strangely enough there was one place in the room where a whole row of records was erased, leaving only a dark stain on the white wall. It had happened in this way.

From the first the old slave, Manes, had not liked these notes. During the greater part of his life he had served Philocles, Callippides’ father. The latter had been one of the most distinguished of the Athenian citizens and had filled the most important offices; he had been commander of a trireme, inspector of the city walls, and member of the Council of Five Hundred. Messengers from tributary cities never came to Athens without seeking him, to bring him costly gifts, as one of her principal citizens.

75 The room in which he used to receive them was the prettiest in the house, and richly furnished with brass tripods, ivory couches, magnificent vases, and Milesian carpets.

This was the apartment of which the son, Callippides, made so unworthy a use. Every time a new inscription was placed on the walls which to Manes seemed so sacred he felt as though he had received a stab in his honest old heart. One day, when the number had again increased, he plucked up courage and, without asking permission, he was beginning to wash the walls as if merely intending to clean the room. But he had scarcely commenced, when Callippides came behind him.

Their eyes met. The master looked so sharply at the servant that for the first time in many years the old man’s pale, wrinkled cheeks flushed.

“Well, well!” said Callippides drily and, without another word, he seized the largest whip he had left from the time of his passion for horse-racing and belabored the luckless Manes’ back until the shrieking slave clasped his knees and begged for mercy.

“Blockhead!” muttered Callippides, flinging the scourge into a corner, “don’t you know that these notes are my livelihood.”

From that day the old man never meddled with the inscriptions.

Whatever the “treasure-chamber” brought in, Callippides had not succeeded in making a new fortune. Men like him, with a restless mind and tireless body,76 only give up one passion to devote themselves to another. He who, when a youth, had cared for nothing except horses and chariots, now, in his fortieth year, could not see a pretty hetaera fasten up her dress to dance without having his heart kindle with the most ardent love. It was no longer Menippus, the horse-dealer, but Philostratus, the go-between, with whom he had business. Just before we made his acquaintance it was said that, by a written agreement, he had hired the key of Philostratus’ garden gate for two months that he might be able to steal in to visit his youngest daughter, fifteen year old Charixena. This bargain, in which the father had sold his daughter, was rumored to have cost Callippides two bright staters.E It was with the profit of his wiles, with blood-money, that he paid for the key of the quiet room where Dionysus and Aphrodite, the deities of joy, were to receive him.

E A stater was about 20 drachmae—at that time a considerable sum. An archon received for his daily pay only 2 drachmae.

But Aphrodite did not allow herself to be mocked.

Behind Callippides’ house lay a garden which was in a very neglected condition, so overgrown with weeds that there was scarcely an avenue or path, and the statue of Hermes in front of the house had fallen and rested on one side. An old stone seat under a tall leafy plane-tree was in better preservation, and here Callippides used to seek coolness and shade during the burning heat of noon.

While resting there one day, half drowsily turning the leaves of a yellow roll of manuscript, he heard a77 door in the next house open and saw a young female slave come out to spread a carpet over a prettily-carved aiōra (swing) which was hung in the shadiest place between the pillars of the house. Directly after a little girl seven or eight years old, dressed in white, came skipping out and was lifted on to the rug by the slave. But the swing had scarcely been set in motion before it began to rock unsteadily and the child, growing impatient, leaned back in the seat and shouted:

“No, Chloris, not you! Stop, stop! My sister knows how to do it a great deal better.” Then the little one began to scream with all her might: “Melitta, Melitta!”

The sycophant, whose profession required him to know everything, remembered at the child’s call that the young girl who bore this name must be a daughter of General Myronides, who had recently inherited the next house, and that she was reputed to be amechanōs kalē, irresistibly pretty. So it was not without eager expectation that he awaited her coming. Then he heard a young girl’s voice inside the house, singing:
“Amid the vines, amid the leaves Peer forth the lustrous grapes....”

The singer approached, and Callippides’ heart throbbed faster.

But he was not taken by surprise when the door opened. Rumor had told the truth; for she was beautiful, fairer than any woman he had ever seen—half78 child, half maiden, like Polycleitus’ bewitching basket-bearers.F

F Basket-bearers. This was the name given to a chosen band of citizens’ daughters who, at the Panathenaic Festival, took part in the great procession of the whole Athenian population. They carried on their heads baskets containing offerings. A representation in marble of these beautiful Attic virgins was the sculptor Polycleitus’ most famous work.

She laughed so gaily and carelessly at her little sister’s impatience that her dark eyes sparkled and her white teeth glittered between her scarlet lips, then as the child turned, stretching its arms towards her, she darted to her, embracing and kissing the little one.

“Swing me, Melitta, swing me!” cried the child. “Chloris can’t do it.”

Melitta fastened the purple fillet tighter around her black locks, removed the upper garment worn over her red-bordered dress, and told the slave to carry it into the house; then, leaning forward, she put the swing in motion.

So this was Melitta, the irresistibly pretty Melitta.

Callippides’ glance rested as though spell-bound on the young maiden with the dark eyes, smiling lips, and slender, girlish figure. As she stood there in her light robe in the shadow between the pillars of the house, she was surrounded by such an atmosphere of purity that it defended her like a shield against evil thoughts. From the black curls that slipped out beneath the purple fillet to the gold-broidered sandals everything about her was full of childlike grace.

“Higher!” cried the little girl joyously, striking her feet together till the sandal straps clapped.

79 Melitta bent still lower to give the swing a stronger push. This loosened the gold clasp that fastened her dress at the neck, and the dainty dazzling shoulders appeared a moment.

Callippides knew himself, so he was surprised that no flush of passion had crimsoned his face. In the midst of his secret agitation, he recognized this fact as a sign that he was no longer the same man.

As Melitta soon after stopped the swing and helped the child out, her glance fell on the next garden where Callippides, half concealed by some bushes, stood motionless as a statue in the shade of the plane-tree.

Callippides was a tall, distinguished-looking man. His dark hair and beard were cut by Sporgilus, the best barber in Athens, and the blood-red scar made by the horse’s hoof on the crown of his head was partially concealed by the hair which, in this place, had grown somewhat thin. His features were dark and stern, but in consequence of his arduous exercises in the race-course, he had retained a bearing which made him ten years younger. Like all Athenians of noble birth, he paid great attention to his person and most frequently wore a snow-white chiton or tunic of the finest Milesian wool, with a blue over-garment of Persian kaunakē, a kind of costly rough woollen fabric imported from Sardis. Down to the light soles which belonged to his calling of sycophant he was, in short, in everything an exquisite, a dandy, but in such a way that he did not make himself ridiculous. His gait showed none of the affected stiffness with which Athenian coxcombs tried80 to attract attention, and he never carried a short staff under his cloak nor walked with a fragrant Median apple in his hands when he appeared out of doors.

Women have quick eyes. Melitta, with a single glance, received an impression of his whole person. The tall, grave, bearded man seemed to her to resemble her father—the only free citizen whom in her monotonous life in the women’s apartments she had had an opportunity to notice. She let the child go in first, and turned her head again. Melitta was very fond of her father. She wanted to see whether she had been right—whether the man in the next garden resembled him.

At the young girl’s movement a flood of joy swept through Callippides’ heart, and he became even happier when he fancied he read good-will in the look with which Melitta gazed at him.

The sycophant was not spoiled by good-will.

When Melitta had disappeared he walked towards the house as if in a dream. At the sun-dial he found old Manes who, bending over the pin, was in the act of reading the hour. He looked intently at him but the slave did not seem to have noticed anything.

Callippides went into the “treasure-chamber” and took his seat in the arm-chair. He imagined that he still saw Melitta with the purple fillet around her b............