Pictures of Hellas: Five Tales of Ancient Greece

Chapter IX: Preface (9)

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A few days after Lycon, attended by Conops, made an excursion to the neighboring city of Ormenium, the place where he had been a slave before he fled to Poseidon’s altar in Methone. In Ormenium he visited his former master, a physician, and remained a long time with him. On his departure the physician accompanied him part of the way to Methone and, as they took leave of each other, he asked Lycon if he was serious in the request he had made him. When Lycon answered in the affirmative, the doctor laughed and shook his head as though it was very extraordinary. “Take it then,” he said, handing him something wrapped in cloth, which Lycon carefully concealed in the folds of his robe.

After having been elected a citizen of Methone, Lycon had gone to live in the house in the Street of the Bakers. Much of the furniture had been ruined by the flood so, with the help of Myrtale’s nurse, he was obliged to provide the women’s apartment with many things ere a bride could be received and a new household established.

One day, early in the morning, the old mansion was adorned with garlands and the door, especially, was decked and surrounded with ropes of flowers decorated with tassels of blossoms. Polycles’ house, the bride’s present home, was ornamented in the same way.

Darkness had scarcely closed in, when the roll of wheels and the hum of many voices were heard outside of the door of the latter dwelling. Accompanied by a numerous train, a chariot drawn by white mules stopped before the door, ready to bear the bride home. Lycon and his chosen bridesman, Polycles, entered the house and received from the hand of an elderly female relative the closely-veiled bride to conduct her to the chariot, where each took a seat beside the muffled figure.

The nuptial torches were lighted, and the procession started. The flames cast their red glare over the magnificent holiday robes; the flutes sounded, and the hymeneal hymns echoed far through the stillness of the evening.

The inhabitants had all gathered outside the doors of their houses, and within the dusky vestibules appeared the heads of male and female slaves. All who were passing stopped and greeted the procession with the words: “Happiness and prosperity!”

“How peaceful and beautiful it is here,” whispered Lycon to his bride. “In Athens, on the contrary, on such an evening there is more noise and bustle than usual. Every bridal procession is surrounded by beggars, carrying tame crows in their hands.”

“Crows?” repeated Myrtale in surprise.

“It is really so,” replied Lycon, smiling. “Among the Athenians the crow is the bird sacred to bridals, and when a beggar carries one in his hand no one can forbid him to follow the procession into the house, to sing the ancient vulgar crow-song and then make himself at home.”

On reaching home the wedded pair, according to custom, were overwhelmed with a shower of little cakes, figs, dried grapes, and small coins--emblematical of the prosperity to be expected.

The festal hall was lighted by tripods bearing numerous lamps; on one side stood tables for the men, on the other for the women. Among the guests were the old chief magistrate who had presided at the popular assembly, the citizens who had been on the most intimate terms with Simonides, and some of the female relatives of the bride. Young slaves in new garments, with purple fillets around their hair, placed between the couches little tables bearing favorite dishes.

When the wedding cakes were eaten it was nearly midnight. The oldest female relative now led the young couple across the peristyle to the quiet sleeping room. All the guests followed, and the nuptial hymn was sung once more outside of the closed door. But when the last visitor had gone and the porter closed the heavy house-door with a noise that echoed through the peristyle, Lycon clasped Myrtale’s hand, saying:

“That noise is dearer to me than the notes of the nuptial hymn. Now we are alone; now I have you forever.”

He drew her towards him and his lips sought hers, but Myrtale, reared in the seclusion of the virgin-chamber, had never been alone with any man, and blushing deeply, averted her face.

Lycon took the clay lamp, shaped like a couch on which lay a sleeping Eros, and pointing to the little god, said:

“The love that fills my breast will never slumber until my hair is white and my back bowed with age. It would be an evil omen if I let this lamp burn on our bridal night. Neither now nor in the future shall it shine for us.”

With these words, he flung it down so that it was broken in the fall and lay shattered on the tiled floor.

In the intense darkness which had surrounded them, he drew Myrtale to his breast. His heart throbbed as it never had before, and the gloom seemed filled with little dancing flames like those of the broken lamp. With the perfume from Myrtale’s hair, he felt as if he were breathing an atmosphere of warm, ardent youth, and in the silence which Eros commands his mouth again sought the small, fresh lips.

This time Myrtale did not avert her face.

XIV.

Time passes swiftly to the happy; ere they realized it a year had gone by.

One day every door in the house was adorned with an olive garland--a son had been born to its owner. Lycon said that the child should be reared. The father was at liberty to expose or even kill it.

The infant was carried by the midwife around the blazing household altar. Parents, relatives, and even slaves gave it a multitude of presents, principally platagai, children’s rattles.

At the great sacrificial banquet on the tenth day after the boy’s birth, Lycon, to Myrtale’s delight, named the child Simonides.

Lycon took pride in enlarging his dead master’s business, but never commenced any great enterprise without having consulted the clever and experienced Polycles. On the day that the latter completed his sixtieth year, Lycon, to his great joy, gave him the vineyard which, in his opinion, produced the best wine in Thessaly.

This present had cost Lycon more than Polycles ever knew. When he first spoke of it to Myrtale, she eagerly opposed the plan and made many objections.

“Polycles is rich enough,” she said.

“But not too rich to have this gift please him.”

“It is a man’s duty to bequeath what he possesses to his children.”

“It is also a man’s duty to show his gratitude to one who has done him many kindnesses and helped make him prosperous.”

“So you will give Polycles the vineyard?”

“I shall.”

“Even against my wish?”

“You forget, dear one, that but for Polycles I should have had nothing.”

The blood rushed into Myrtale’s cheeks and her eyes flashed.

“And you forget,” she said, “that everything you possess is mine.”

The words had scarcely escaped her lips ere she regretted them.

Lycon passed his huge hand over his face, rose, and left her.

Myrtale stole after him. She saw him cross the peristyle and enter a little room where part of the furniture was kept. Through the door, which stood ajar, she watched him open a box and take out something wrapped in cloth. But, as she cautiously pushed the door in order to see better, her shadow fell on Lycon’s arm and he turned.

“What have you there?” asked Myrtale, slightly confused at being discovered.

“What is mine--it belongs to no one else.”

Myrtale understood the reproof. Her eyes filled with tears as she sank at Lycon’s feet and clasped his knees.

“Forgive me,” she whispered humbly, “forget my wicked words.”

“Forget them--I cannot. But I will treat you as if you had never uttered them.”

Myrtale still remained on her knees; Lycon raised her and she pressed her lips upon his shoulder.

“What have you there?” she timidly repeated.

“A peacemaker. The image of a good spirit.”

“Let me see it.”

“No,” replied Lycon, wrapping the cloth closer. “If any one else should look at the image it would lose its power. So promise me that you will never,--either now or in future--ask to see it.”

Myrtale pointed to an ivory couch which stood in the little room; Lycon reclined upon it, and she took her seat on the edge at his side.

“What harm would it do if I, your wife, should see it?” she whispered coaxingly, putting her arm around Lycon’s neck.

“I have told you,” replied Lycon. “Do what I ask.”

“Well then,” murmured Myrtale sighing, “I promise.”

But at the same moment she turned pale, as if she felt a sudden chill.

“Confess!” she cried in a strangely altered tone. “It is the picture of an Athenian woman.”

Lycon shrank from the fierce expression of her face and, ere he could prevent it, she had seized the little article which he had laid on the edge of the couch in front of her.

She tore off the cloth with her teeth. A clumsy square bit of iron appeared. She turned and twisted it in her hands until, on one end, she discovered the letter K formed of three raised lines.

It was the stamp of the brand Lycon bore on his shoulder.

Myrtale instantly understood why he kept the rough bit of iron. To him, as he had said, it was the image of a good spirit.

By keeping this sign of his humiliation, he not only crushed all arrogance, but learned to judge mildly, govern himself, and become a better man. By remembering that he had been a slave, he made others forget it.

Myrtale felt a new emotion. Her heart swelled with affection, and throwing herself into her husband’s arms, she covered his face with tears and kisses.

“The gods be praised for what has happened!” she exclaimed. “To-day you have become doubly dear to me! For the first time I know you wholly.”

* * * * *

Lycon and Myrtale filled the place of children to the lonely Polycles, and he was never happier than when they visited him in the quiet evening hours.

The hillock in the garden, which had been Simonides’ favorite spot and where his monument stood, was the goal of their walks, and when they had offered their homage to the dead man by adorning his grave with flowers, they sat down on a bench among a group of tall plane-trees to gaze over the city and country.

One evening, when the distant, sun-illumined mountains of Pherae were gleaming more brightly than ever through the twilight, Lycon exclaimed:

“Simonides was right! Where is there a spot more beautiful than this?”

Myrtale looked him in the face and suddenly asked:

“Do you never wish yourself back in Athens?”

Polycles raised his eyebrows. In his opinion this was evidently a very difficult question. But Lycon found the answer easy. Clasping Myrtale’s hand, he said:

“How can you ask? In Athens I was gay; here I am happy.”

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Pictures of Hellas: Five Tales of Ancient GreeceChapter IX: Preface (9)

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