A Victor of Salamis
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 she could
not understand. She did not know that he was saying in his heart:—
“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 of
the Persian was hard. The making of Athens immortal by the beauty of our
lives, and words, and deeds is harder. Yet in this also we shall conquer.
Yea, verily, for the day shall come that wherever the eye is charmed by
the beautiful, the heart is thrilled by the noble, or the soul yearns
after the perfect,—there in the spirit shall stand Athens.”
* * * * * * *
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.
STANDARD MACMILLAN FICTION
--------------
_By WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS_
A Friend of Cæsar
A TALE OF THE FALL OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC
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“God Wills It”
A TALE OF THE FIRST CRUSADE
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_With Illustrations by Louis Betts_
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Falaise of the Blessed Voice
A TALE OF THE YOUTH OF ST. LOUIS, KING OF FRANCE
The story of how his enemies plotted to separate him from his fair Queen
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The Saint of the Dragon’s Dale
(In the series of “LITTLE NOVELS BY FAVORITE AUTHORS”)
_Cloth, decorated cover, 16mo, 50 cents_
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