Philothea Part 22

On a rock, amid the roaring water, Lies Ca.s.siopea's gentle daughter.

Milza had just begun to sing, "Bold Perseus comes," when she perceived a servant crossing the court, and deemed it prudent to retire in silence.

She carefully preserved the leaf, and immediately after her return hastened to the apartment of Phoenarete, to obtain an explanation. That matron, like most Grecian women, was ignorant of her own written language. The leaf was accordingly placed in a vessel of water, to preserve its freshness until Clinias returned from the Prytaneum. He easily distinguished the name of Pandaenus joined with his own; and having heard the particulars of the story, had no difficulty in understanding that Milza was directed to apply to them for a.s.sistance.

He readily promised to intercede with his profligate kinsman, and immediately sent messengers in search of Pandaenus.

Geta awaited intelligence with extreme impatience. He was grateful for many an act of kindness from Eudora; and he could not forget that she had been the cherished favourite of his beloved and generous master.

At night, Clinias returned from a conference with Alcibiades, in which the latter denied all knowledge of Eudora; and it seemed hazardous to inst.i.tute legal inquiries into the conduct of a man so powerful and so popular, without further evidence than had yet been obtained. Pandaenus could not be found. At the house where he usually resided, no information could be obtained, except that he went out on the preceding evening, and had not returned as usual.

During that night, and part of the following day, the two faithful attendants remained in a state of melancholy indecision. At last, Geta said, "I will go once more in search of Pandaenus; and if he has not yet returned, I have resolved what to do. To-day I saw one of the slaves of Artaphernes buying olives; and he said he must have the very best, because his master was to give a feast to-night. Among other guests, he spoke of Alcibiades; and he is one that is always sure to stay late at his wine. While he is feasting, I will go to Salamis. His steward often bought anchovies of me at Phalerum. He is a countryman of mine; and I know he is as avaricious as an Odomantian. I think money will bribe him to carry a message to Eudora, and to place a ladder near the outer wall for her escape. He is intrusted with all the keys, and can do it if he will. And if he can get gold enough by it, I believe he will trust Hermes to help him settle with his master, as he has done many a time before this. I will be in readiness at the Triton's Cove, and bring her back to Athens as fast as oars can fly."

"Do so, dear Geta," replied Milza; "but disguise yourself from the other servants, and take with you the robe and veil that I wear to market.

Then if Eudora could only walk a little more like a fish-woman, she might pa.s.s very well. But be sure you do not pay the steward till you have her at the boat's edge; for he that will play false games with his master, may do the same by you."

Necessary arrangements were speedily made. Geta resolved to offer the earnings of his whole life as a bribe, rather than intrust the secret of his bold expedition to any of the household of Clinias; and Milza, fearful that their own store would not prove a sufficient temptation, brought forth a sum of money found in Eudora's apartment, together with a valuable necklace, which had been a birth-day present from Phidias.

It was past midnight when three figures emerged from the shadow of the high wall surrounding the mansion of Alcibiades, and with cautious haste proceeded toward the cove. Before they could arrive at the beach, a large and gaily-trimmed boat was seen approaching the sh.o.r.e, from the direction of the Piraeus. It was flaming with torches; and a band of musicians poured out upon the undulating waters a rich flood of melody, rendered more distinct and soft by the liquid element over which it floated. One of the fugitives immediately turned, and disappeared within the walls they had left; the other two concealed themselves in a thick grove, the darkness of which was deepened by the glare of torches along its borders. A man richly dressed, with several fillets on his head, and crowned with a garland of violets, ivy, and myrtle, stepped from the boat, supported by the arm of a slave. His countenance was flushed with wine, and as he reeled along, he sung aloud:

"Have I told you all my flames, 'Mong the amorous Syrian dames?

Have I numbered every one Glowing under Egypt's sun!

Or the nymphs, who, blus.h.i.+ng sweet, Deck the shrine of Love in Crete-- Where the G.o.d, with festal play, Holds eternal holiday?"

"Castor and Polydeuces!" whispered Geta, "there goes Alcibiades. He has returned from his wine earlier than usual; but so blinded by the merry G.o.d, that he would not have known us, if we had faced the glare of his torches."

"Oh, hasten! hasten!" said Eudora, weeping and trembling, as she spoke.

"I beseech you do not let a moment be lost."

As Alcibiades and his train disappeared, they left the grove, and hurried toward their boat; keeping as much as possible within the shadow of the trees. They reached the cove in safety, and Geta rowed with unwonted energy; but he was single-handed, and Salamis was many stadia from Athens. Long before he arrived at the place were he had been accustomed to land, they heard the sound of distant oars plied with furious rapidity.

They landed, and with the utmost haste proceeded toward the city.

Eudora, fearful of being overtaken, implored Geta to seek refuge behind the pillars of Poseidon's temple. Carefully concealing themselves in the dense shadow, they remained without speaking, and almost without breathing, until their pursuers had pa.s.sed by. The moment these were out of hearing, they quitted their hiding-place, and walked swiftly along the Piraeus. Intense fear imparted a degree of strength, which the maiden, under other circ.u.mstances, would have hardly deemed it possible to exert. She did not for a moment relax her speed, until they came within sight of the Areopagus, and heard noisy shouts, apparently not far distant. Eudora, sinking with fatigue and terror, entreated Geta not to attempt any approach to the house of Clinias, where her enemies would certainly be lying in wait for them. With uncertain steps they proceeded toward the great Gate of the Acropolis, until the helpless maiden, frightened at the approaching noise, stopped suddenly, and burst into a flood of tears.

"There is one place of safety, if you have courage to try it," said Geta: "We are nearly under the Propylaea; and close beside us is the grotto of Creusa. Few dare to enter it in the day-time, and no profane steps will venture to pa.s.s the threshold after nightfall; for it is said the G.o.ds often visit it, and fill it with strange sights and sounds.

Shall we enter?"

It was a windy night, and the clouds that occasionally pa.s.sed over the face of the moon gave the earth a dreary aspect. The high wall under which they stood seemed to frown gloomily upon them, and the long flight of white marble steps, leading from the Propylaea, looked cold and cheerless beneath the fitful gleamings of the moon.

Eudora hesitated, and looked timidly around; but as the sound of riotous voices came nearer, she seized Geta's arm, and exclaimed, in hurried accents, "The G.o.ds protect me! Let us enter."

Within the grotto, all was total darkness. Having groped their way a short distance from the entrance, they found a large rock, on which they seated themselves. The voices approached nearer, and their discordant revelry had an awful sound amid the echoes of the grotto.

These gradually died away in the distance, and were heard no more.

When all was perfectly still, Eudora, in whispered accents, informed Geta that she had been seized, as she stooped to gather flowers within sight of her own dwelling. Two men suddenly started up from behind a wall, and one covered her mouth, while the other bound her hands. They made a signal to a third, who came with two attendants and a curtained chariot, in which she was immediately conveyed to a solitary place on the seash.o.r.e, and thence to Salamis. Two men sat beside her, and held her fast, so as to prevent any possibility of communication with the few people pa.s.sing at that early hour.

Arrived at the place of destination, she was shut up in a large apartment, luxuriously furnished. Alcibiades soon visited her, with an affectation of the most scrupulous respect, urging the plea of ardent love as an excuse for his proceedings.

Aware that she was completely in his power, she concealed her indignation and contempt, and allowed him to indulge the hope that her affections might be obtained, if she were entirely convinced of his wish to atone for the treachery and violence with which she had been treated.

Milza's voice had been recognized the moment she began to sing; and she at once conjectured the object that led her thither. But when hour after hour pa.s.sed without any tidings from Pandaenus or Clinias, she was in a state of anxiety bordering on distraction; for she soon perceived sufficient indication that the smooth hypocrisy of Alcibiades was a.s.sumed but for a short period.

She had already determined on an effort to bribe the servants, when the steward came stealthily to her room, and offered to convey her to the Triton's Cove, provided she would promise to double the sum already offered by Geta. To this she eagerly a.s.sented, without even inquiring the amount; and he, fearful of detection, scarcely allowed time to throw Milza's robe and veil over her own.

Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was extremely anxious that Pandaenus and Clinias should be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the morning dawned. When Geta told her that Pandaenus had disappeared as suddenly as herself, and no one knew whither, she replied, "This, too, is the work of Alcibiades."

Their whispered conversation was stopped by the barking of a dog, to which the echoes of the cavern gave a frightful appearance of nearness.

Each instinctively touched the other's arm, as a signal for silence.

When all was again quiet, Geta whispered, "It is well for us they were not witty enough to bring Hylax with them; for the poor fellow would certainly have betrayed us." This circ.u.mstance warned them of the danger of listeners, and few more words were spoken.

The maiden, completely exhausted by the exertions she had made, laid her head on the shoulder of her attendant, and slept until the morning twilight became perceptible through the crevices of the rocks.

At the first approach of day, she implored Geta to hasten to the house of Clinias, and ask his protection: for she feared to venture herself abroad, without the presence of some one whose rank and influence would be respected by Alcibiades.

"Before I go," replied Geta, "let me find a secure hiding-place for you; for though I shall soon return, in the meantime those may enter whose presence may be dangerous."

"You forget that this is a sacred place," rejoined Eudora, in tones that betrayed fear struggling with her confidence.

"There are men, with whom nothing is sacred," answered Geta; "and many such are now in Athens."

The cavern was deep, and wide. As they pa.s.sed along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues of Phoebus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble. At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of s.h.i.+elds, helmets, and spears, placed there by Miltiades, in commemoration of his victory at Marathon. It was so formed as to be hollow in the centre, and Geta proposed that the timid maiden should creep in at the side, and stand upright. She did so, and it proved an effectual screen from head to foot. Having taken this prudent precaution, the faithful attendant departed, with a promise to return as soon as possible. But hour after hour elapsed, and he came not. As Eudora peeped through the c.h.i.n.ks of the trophy, she perceived from the entrance of the cave glowing streaks of light, that indicated approaching noon. Yet all remained still, save the echoed din of noises in the city; and no one came to her relief.

Not long after the sun had begun to decline from its meridian, two men entered, whom she recognized as among the individuals that had seized and conveyed her to Salamis. As they looked carefully all around the cave, Eudora held her breath, and her heart throbbed violently.

Perceiving no one, they knelt for a moment before the altars, and hastily retreated, with indications of fear; for the accusations of guilty minds were added to the usual terrors of this subterranean abode of the G.o.ds.

The day was fading into twilight, when a feeble old man came, with a garland on his head, and invoked the blessing of Phoebus. He was accompanied by a boy, who laid his offering of flowers and fruit on the altar of Pan, with an expression of countenance that showed how much he was alarmed by the presence of that fear-inspiring deity.

After they had withdrawn, no other footsteps approached the sacred place. Anxiety of mind, and bodily weariness, more than once tempted Eudora to go out and mingle with the throng continually pa.s.sing through the city. But the idea that Geta might arrive, and be perplexed by her absence, combined with the fear of lurking spies, kept her motionless, until the obscurity of the grotto gave indication that the shadows of twilight were deepening.

During the day, she had observed near the trophy a heap of withered laurel branches and wreaths, with which the altar and statue of Phoebus had been at various times adorned. Overcome with fatigue, and desirous to change a position, which from its uniformity had become extremely painful, she resolved to lie down upon the rugged rock, with the sacred garlands for a pillow. She shuddered to remember the lizards and other reptiles she had seen crawling, through the day; but the universal fear of entering Creusa's grotto after nightfall, promised safety from human intrusion; and the desolate maiden laid herself down to repose, in such a state of mind that she would have welcomed a poisonous reptile, if it brought the slumbers of death. It seemed to her that she was utterly solitary and friendless; persecuted by men, and forsaken by the G.o.ds.

By degrees, all sounds died away, save the melancholy hooting of owls, mingled occasionally with the distant barking and howling of dogs.

Alone, in stillness and total darkness, memory revealed herself with wonderful power. The scenes of her childhood; the chamber in which she had slept; figures she had embroidered and forgotten; tunes that had been silent for years; thoughts and feelings long buried; Philaemon's smile; the serene countenance of Philothea; the death-bed of Phidias; and a thousand other images of the past, came before her with all the vividness of present reality. Exhausted in mind and body, she could not long endure this tide of recollection. Covering her face with her hands, she sobbed convulsively, as she murmured, "Oh, Philothea! why didst thou leave me? My guide, my only friend! oh, where art thou!"

A gentle strain of music, scarcely audible, seemed to make reply. Eudora raised her head to listen--and lo! the whole grotto was filled with light; so brilliant that every feather in the arrow of Phoebus might be counted, and the gilded horns and star of Pan were radiant as the sun.

Her first thought was that she had slept until noon. She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the pedestal of a statue, on which she distinctly read the inscription: "Here Miltiades placed me, Pan, the goat-footed G.o.d of Arcadia, who warred with the Athenians against the Medes."

Frightened at the possibility of having overslept herself, she started up, and was about to seek the shelter of the trophy, when Paralus and Philothea stood before her! They were clothed in bright garments, with garlands on their heads. His arm was about her waist, and hers rested on his shoulder. There was a holy beauty in their smile, from which a protecting influence seemed to emanate, that banished mortal fear.

In sweet, low tones, they both said, as if with one voice, "Seek Artaphernes, the Persian."

"Dearest Philothea, I scarcely know his countenance," replied the maiden.

Again the bright vision repeated, "Seek Artaphernes, nothing doubting."

The sounds ceased; the light began to fade; it grew more and more dim, till all was total darkness. For a long time, Eudora remained intensely wakeful, but inspired with a new feeling of confidence and hope, that rendered her oblivious of all earthly cares. Whence it came, she neither knew nor asked; for such states preclude all inquiry concerning their own nature and origin.

After awhile, she fell into a tranquil slumber, in which she dreamed of torrents crossed in safety, and of rugged, th.o.r.n.y paths, that ended in blooming gardens. She was awakened by the sound of a troubled, timid voice, saying, "Eudora! Eudora!"

She listened a moment, and answered, "Is it you, Milza?"