  The day that disloyal Thebes surrendered came the tidings of the crowning of the Hellenes’ victories. At Mycale by Samos the Greek fleets had disembarked their crews and defeated the Persians almost at the doors of the Great King in Sardis. Artabazus had escaped through Thrace to Asia in caitiff flight. The war—at least the perilous part thereof—was at end. There might be more battles with the Barbarian, but no second Salamis or PlatÆa. The Spartans had found the body of Mardonius pierced with five lances—all in front. Pausanias had honoured the brave dead,—the Persian had been carried from the battle-ground on a shield, and covered by the red cloak of a Laconian general. But the body mysteriously disappeared. Its fate was never known. Perhaps the curious would have gladly heard what Glaucon on his sick-bed told Themistocles, and what Sicinnus did afterward. Certain it is that the shrewd Asiatic later displayed a costly ring which the satrap * * * * * * * On the same day that Thebes capitulated the household of Hermippus left Troezene to return to Athens. When they had told Hermione all that had befallen,—the great good, [pg 446] “Little one, little one,” she said, while he beamed up at her, “you have not to avenge your father now. You have a better, greater task, to be as fair in body and still more in mind as he.” Then came the rush of tears, the sobbing, the laughter, and Lysistra and Cleopis, who feared the shock of too much joy, were glad. The NausicaÄ bore them to PeirÆus. The harbour towns were in black ruins, for Mardonius had wasted everything before retiring to Boeotia for his last battle. In Athens, as they entered it, the houses were roofless, the streets scattered with rubbish. But Hermione did not think of these things. The Agora at last,—the porticos were only shattered, fire-scarred pillars,—and everywhere were tents and booths and bustle,—the brisk Athenians wasting no time in lamentation, but busy rebuilding and making good the loss. Above Hermione’s head rose a few blackened columns,—all that was left of the holy house of Athena,—but the crystalline air and the red Rock of the Acropolis no Persian had been able to take away. And even as Hermione crossed the Agora she heard a shouting, a word running from lip to lip as a wave leaps over the sea. In the centre of the buzzing mart she stopped. All the blood sprang to her face, then left it. She passed her fingers over her hair, and waited with twitching, upturned face. Through the hucksters’ booths, amid the clamouring buyers and sellers, went a runner, striking left and right with his staff, for the people were packing close, and he had much ado to [pg 447] “The beautiful! The fortunate! The deliverer! Io! Io, pÆan!” Hermione stood; only her eyes followed the litter. Its curtains were flung back; she saw some one within, lying on purple cushions. She saw the features, beautiful as Pentelic marble and as pale. She cared not for the people. She cared not that Phoenix, frighted by the shouting, had begun to wail. The statue in the litter moved, rose on one elbow. “Ah, dearest and best,”—his voice had the old-time ring, his head the old-time poise,—“you need not fear to call me husband now!” “Glaucon,” she cried. “I am not fit to be your wife. I am not fit to kiss your feet.” * * * * * * * They set the litter down. Even little Simonides, though a king among the curious, found the Acropolis peculiarly worthy of his study. Enough that Hermione’s hands were pressing her husband, and these two cared not whether a thousand watched or only Helios on high. Penelope was greeting the returning Odysseus:— “Welcome even as to shipmen On the swelling, raging sea; When Poseidon flings the whirlwind, When a thousand blasts roam free, Then at last the land appeareth;— E’en so welcome in her sight Was her lord, her arms long clasped him, And her eyes shone pure and bright.” After a long time Glaucon commanded, “Bring me our child,” and Cleopis gladly obeyed. Phoenix ceased weeping and thrust his red fists in his father’s face. “Ei, pretty snail,” said Glaucon, pressing him fast by one hand, whilst he held his mother by the other, “if I say you are a merry wight, the nurse will not marvel any more.” But Hermione had already heard from Niobe of the adventure in the market-place at Troezene. The young men were just taking up the litter, when the Agora again broke into cheers. Themistocles, saviour of Hellas, had crossed to Glaucon. The admiral—never more worshipped than now, when every plan he wove seemed perfect as a god’s—took Glaucon and Hermione, one by each hand. “Ah, philotatoi,” he said, “to all of us is given by the sisters above so much bliss and so much sorrow. Some drink the bitter first, some the sweet. And you have drained the bitter to the lees. Therefore look up at the Sun-King boldly. He will not darken for you again.” “Where now?” asked Hermione, in all things looking to her husband. “To the Acropolis,” ordered Glaucon. “If the temple is desolate, the Rock is still holy. Let us give thanks to Athena.” He even would have left the litter, had not Themistocles firmly forbidden. In time the AlcmÆonid’s strength would return, though never the speed that had left the stadia behind whilst he raced to save Hellas. They mounted the Rock. From above, in the old-time brightness, the noonday light, the sunlight of Athens, sprang down to them. Hermione, looking on Glaucon’s face, saw him gaze eagerly upon her, his child, the sacred Rock, and the glory from Helios. Then his face wore a strange smile [pg 449] “And I thought for the rose vales of Bactria to forfeit—this!” They were on the summit. The litter was set down on the projecting spur by the southwest corner. The area of the Acropolis was desolation, ashes, drums of overturned pillars, a few lone and scarred columns. The works of man were in ruin, but the works of the god, of yesterday, to-day, and forever were yet the same. They turned their backs on the ruin. Westward they looked—across land and sea, beautiful always, most beautiful now, for had they not been redeemed with blood and tears? The Barbarian was vanquished; the impossible accomplished. Hellas and Athens were their own, with none to take away. They saw the blue bay of Phaleron. They saw the craggy height of Munychia, Salamis with its strait of the victory, farther yet the brown dome of Acro-Corinthus and the wide breast of the clear Saronian sea. To the left was Hymettus the Shaggy, to right the long crest of Daphni, behind them rose Pentelicus, home of the marble that should take the shape of the gods. With one voice they fell to praising Athens and Hellas, wisely or foolishly, according to their wit. Only Hermione and Glaucon kept silence, hand within hand, and speaking fast,—not with their lips,—but with their eyes. Then at the end Themistocles spoke, and as always spoke the best. “We have flung back the Barbarian. We have set our might against the God-King and have conquered. Athens lies in ruins. We shall rebuild her. We shall make her more truly than before the ‘Beautiful,’ the ‘Violet-Crowned City,’ worthy of the guardian Athena. The conquering [pg 450] * * * * * * * After they had prayed to the goddess, they went down from the Rock and its vision of beauty. Below a mule car met them. They set Glaucon and Hermione with the babe therein, and these three were driven over the Sacred Way toward the purple-bosomed hills, through the olive groves and the pine trees, across the slope of Daphni, to rest and peace in Eleusis-by-the-Sea. |
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