“For now at least the soil is free,

Now that one strong reviving breath

Has chased the eastern tyranny

Which to the Greek was ever death.”

Lord Houghton.

Most conspicuous among the few houses left in the city after the departure of the Persians was one that stood at no great distance from the Acropolis. It was a typical home of the upper-class Athenian citizen. Its narrow stone front with a massive door and its two closely barred windows at the second story did not present a very imposing aspect, but if one desired admittance and felt disposed to make use of the polished bronze knocker with which the door was equipped, his impressions of inhospitality were immediately dispelled by the appearance of a slave who courteously bade him enter.
102

Looking down a short hallway one beheld an open court surrounded by a colonnade and in the center of this court stood an altar to Zeus. It was here on pleasant days that the family assembled for worship, partook of its meals, entered into friendly discussions or played games. The women’s apartments were above, theirs being the barred windows which looked out on the narrow winding street. The kitchen and servant quarters occupied the rear, but by far the most interesting room was that which adjoined the court to the left; the library. As if by a miracle this room remained intact. Its shelves were filled with hundreds of rolls of manuscript, some slightly charred but undamaged by fire. At intervals about the room, upon marble pedestals stood statuettes of the muses, for this was the library of a poet, and could he not thus readily summon the muse he desired?

If one were able to tell the time of day by the shadow-pointer in the nearby public square, he would know that it was shortly past the noon hour. Four men were seated in the library, three of them young, the fourth, slightly past middle-age, was the master of the house, the poet Pasicles.

As he sat facing his friends, surrounded by his beloved muses and scrolls, he appeared the personification of dignity and aristocracy. His features were clearly and delicately cut, his face thin, his forehead high and intellectual. The folds of a white linen chiton draped the long lines of his figure. The three younger men were Cimon, Polygnotus and Zopyrus. The soft notes of a flute came from the direction of the court.

“Your young son plays the flute remarkably well. May I ask who is his teacher?” asked Polygnotus.

“The pedagogue, Niceratus, has given Mimnermus instructions in flute playing. It is an art in which I wish the lad to become proficient. The Bœotians have ever excelled with the flute and I would not have Mimnermus less skilled in the art than his grandfather for whom he is named.”
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“In my opinion,” said Cimon, “a youth can spend his time more profitably than with music. Think you that with the Persian expelled, all warfare is past? Remember Athens is an object of envy to Sparta, Thebes and Corinth, to say nothing of such islands as Aegina, Samos and Naxos, and who knows what may take place when Mimnermus is in his early manhood!”

“I believe all sciences and arts should form a part of every man’s education,” replied the poet quietly, “but to each one should be allowed the privilege to specialize in that particular phase of culture which is dearest to his heart.”

Cimon laughed good-naturedly. “I confess my tastes are one-sided too, but I truly believe that our new friend, Zopyrus, is equally skilled with the sword or the pen. I swear by the gods I never saw mortal man fight more heroically than he at Platæa, and yet he can recite the works of Homer, Hesiod and Sappho, and is well acquainted with the histories of Persia, Babylonia, Assyria and Egypt!”

“Nevertheless,” remarked Zopyrus to whom all eyes were now turned, “I admire a specialist and will say that I hope to cultivate the arts more assiduously. I do not enjoy fighting, but God has given me a strong body and I hope the ability to judge correctly between right and wrong.”

Pasicles leaned forward in his chair and looked with peculiar interest at the young stranger.

“Do you know the tragedian, Aeschylus?” he asked.

Zopyrus replied in the negative, wondering at his host’s question.
104

“Your statement that God has given you a strong body,” continued the poet, “is a peculiar one. Among the numerous friends of my profession, Aeschylus alone speaks frequently of ‘God.’ Does it not seem strange that he exalts Zeus so far above the others, each one of whom has his or her interest in the affairs of men?”

“No it does not appear strange to me, for I have often wondered at the petty jealousies existing between the gods and even between them and mortals,” answered the Persian.

“But,” said Pasicles earnestly, “the envy of the gods is just and divine. Have you never noticed that if a mortal rises to too great heights here below, some god will surely cause his downfall?”

“That, my friend,” said Zopyrus, seriously interested, “is not the envy of the gods, but the natural result of arrogance and pride.”

“As I can well testify,” said Cimon sadly, “for was not my father Miltiades, the greatest man in all Greece after Marathon? And did he not at the very summit of his glory, stoop to avenge some petty wrong and thus die an ignoble death? It seems that with complete success, passes that good judgment which is ever present as we strive to attain some worthy end.”

“The fate of your hapless parent,” said Pasicles, “should prove a warning, but alas, man is little content to profit by the sad experiences of his forefathers. Each one must learn for himself in the school of life, and many there be who, in the realization of success, do not lose their power of judgment, and such as these are partially rewarded by the gods here on earth.”
105

“What do you think of our statesman, Themistocles?” asked Polygnotus. “Is he not of the type likely to lose his head over his popularity, for truly one must admit his advice about Salamis was a turning point in our affairs with Persia.”

“In truth,” replied Pasicles, “I like not this blustering statesman any too well. My sympathies have always been with his rival, the just Aristides whose policies are not for the purpose of display, and whose reserved manner has won the confidence of the refined, thinking people.”

“Themistocles has the interest of Athens truly at heart, and the people have just awakened to a realization of this,” said another voice from the doorway.

Zopyrus looked up and saw a stranger, to him at least, whose gaze after it had fallen upon each of his three companions, rested in final friendly curiosity upon him. His waving hair and short beard of rich chestnut brown framed a face of surprising manly beauty, the face of a man about the age of Pasicles. His forehead was smooth and broad, the brows rather prominent, the eyes meditati............