Читать книгу Persephone of Eleusis - Clare Winger Harris - Страница 6

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“Who at Thermopylæ stood side by side,

And fought together and together died,

Under earth-barrows now are laid at rest,

Their chance thrice glorious, and their fate thrice-blest.

No tears for them, but memory’s loving gaze;

For them no pity, but proud hymns of praise.”

Simonides.

Like a great crawling serpent, the army of Xerxes, augmented by the cowardly Thessalians, wound its circuitous and perilous way from Trachis; first ascending the gorge of the river Asopus and the hill called Anopæa, then crossing the pitch-dark, oak-covered crest of Oeta. Its venomous head was the treasonable Greek, dressed as a Persian foot-soldier. Many were the woes of that nocturnal journey! Soldiers tripping over fallen branches and entangled in the undergrowth were trampled to death. Some were pressed into the treacherous morass, but the malignant monster, heedless of this sloughing, crept on toward its goal which was the town of Alpeni at the east end of the pass.

But the small army of the Greeks was not destined to suffer such a complete surprise as Xerxes had hoped, for the revengeful Tyrastiadas, limping painfully as a result of his forty lashes, had succeeded in deserting and had apprised Leonidas of the startling fact that the Persians were coming across the pass. The Spartan king sent a Phocian guard of one thousand men to prevent the enemy from crossing the summit of Oeta, but this guard was speedily overwhelmed by the Persians who were under the leadership of Hydarnes. The next morning shortly after sunrise, the Persian hordes descended upon the Greeks. The sun was reflected with dazzling brilliancy from thousands of breast-plates, spears, shields and helmets, and upon the ears of the heroic sons of Hellas fell the deafening war-cry from myriads of throats.

A suffocating sensation seized Zopyrus as he beheld the mere handful of Greeks bravely awaiting certain death at the hands of a pitiless foe, but to turn back was now impossible. Strange that he could in fancy so easily picture himself as one of that brave minority, awaiting inevitable death! To his own sorrow he had not infrequently lamented the faculty which he possessed of seeing the praiseworthy aspect of an enemy’s view-point. It was this attribute of leniency toward the opinions of his fellow-men that was especially irritating to the intolerant Xerxes. In the mind of the latter all men were divided into two great classes; subjects and enemies. To Zopyrus all men seemed friends unless by their own initiative they proved themselves otherwise. It was extremely painful to him to see these brave Greeks meet this great crisis unflinchingly. It was humanly impossible for this mere handful of men to stem the tide of the onrushing Persians.

To us at this day and age it is apparent that these men did not sacrifice their manhood in vain. The result of any noble act is never lost. In some way and at some time it brings a result as satisfactory as that desired in the hearts of the original heroes themselves. Such a result was destined to come to Greece after the bones of Thermopylæ’s warriors had long mingled with the dust.

Zopyrus was swept on by the barbarian host. A shower of missiles diminished the number of Greeks and soon the enemy was upon them and the battle continued with spear and sword. Zopyrus received a slight wound on the left shoulder, the Greek inflicting the injury snatching away his spear. Zopyrus quickly unsheathed his sword, pressing his opponent to closer combat as a better chance for self defense. The two fought long over the bodies of Persian and Greek who now lay in inevitable amity beside their once ruthless foe. At length the Greek who was little more than a boy, weakened perceptibly and in an unguarded moment Zopyrus’ sword disappeared up to the hilt. As the lad fell his helmet rolled off revealing a countenance of incomparable beauty; deep-set eyes, brows that nearly met above a straight nose, refined mouth and a contour of cheek and chin that was flawless. All this was revealed to Zopyrus in a second’s time, but it left an indelible impression on his mind. As he pressed on he felt that the horrors of war were crazing him, and his soul cried out against the awful brutality of it.

With the slaughter of the three hundred the gateway to central Greece had now been forcibly opened and Xerxes in imitation of his father’s avenging words, cried out, “Remember the Athenians.” A journey of about six days lay between the oriental despot and his ultimate goal, the city of Athens, so with prancing steeds, waving plumes, glittering arms and triumphant shouts, the Asiatic legions resumed their deleterious course.

The morning of the third day found the army within sight of Mt. Parnassus. With rapt gaze Zopyrus beheld the softest sculpture of cliff and peak against a cerulean sky. Upon yonder lofty summit dwelt the Muses, those daughters of Zeus who preside over the æsthetic and intellectual aspirations of man. It seemed to Zopyrus that surely now but one Muse, Melpomene, occupied that pinnacle, and with mournful gaze beheld the invasion of this fairest of lands.

In accordance with the order of Xerxes all faces were turned in the direction of Delphi, in spite of a report that the oracle of Delphi had prophesied that Apollo would protect his sanctuary. Through a gorge at the foot of Mt. Parnassus might Melpomene have seen the multitudes of Asiatic troops pursue their nefarious journey. Suddenly peal after peal of thunder reverberated from the apparent calm of a mid-summer sky. Then great crags from the mountain were loosened and rolled down upon the army which fled in wild terror, abandoning its attempt to plunder Delphi. So did Apollo protect his shrine! But fortune did not so favor the citizens of Thespiæ and Platæa in Bœotia both of which were ravaged and those citizens who would not join the Persian forces were put to death.

At length on the fifth day the army camped at night-fall outside of Athens. It was a beautiful intense dark blue Athenian night in which heaven’s vault seemed to blaze with innumerable jewels. Zopyrus sat at the door of his tent deep in his own thoughts. An army during its marches and battles must think, talk and act as one being, and that one subservient to its leader, but who shall say in the stillness of evening each living entity which comprises that vast unit shall not have his individual dreams, and those thoughts which render him distinct from every other living being? And Zopyrus as he sat in the darkness, thought of Athens and of his mother. What would she think if she knew he was approaching Attica’s stronghold as a plunderer and devastator! Conflicting emotions surged within his soul. Once again it seemed to him that he was in the far off Hermus valley, strolling by the little stream of Pactolus, and by his side was the austere Artaphernes whose stern visage was turned toward him with an expression of paternal rebuke. The vision faded leaving him troubled and sore at heart.

That night Zopyrus had a dream. It seemed to him that his father appeared and beckoned silently to him to follow and that he wonderingly rose and obeyed. When they were out in the open, Artaphernes, who Zopyrus noticed was fully armed, pointed with his sabre toward Athens and repeated the memorable words of Darius, “Remember the Athenians.” Suddenly the shade of his mother appeared to the right. She stood holding on her arm a scroll of papyrus, and while Zopyrus looked she pointed with it in the same direction as that indicated by the sabre of his father and behold, as Zopyrus turned he saw a beautiful city with numerous buildings of white marble, and in the center a temple-crowned hill. In the streets were many busy people hurrying to and fro. Some talked from the temple steps while the populace listened, some vied with each other in various physical sports and others sold the produce of the soil in the bustling marketplace, but whatever their occupation, they represented a happy and contented democracy.

Marveling at this vision, Zopyrus turned to his father and noticed that the sabre now pointed to the east. Following the direction of its keen blade with reluctant eyes, Zopyrus beheld another city more gorgeous, but totally lacking in the refined beauty which characterized the city which lay to the west. The buildings of this eastern city possessed a massiveness and grandeur that inspired in the beholder a profound awe. Upon the throne in the magnificent palace, and surrounded by a court retinue, sat a tyrant to whom all bowed in servility. On the streets the people moved and worked en masse. There was no individuality, no differentiation, for these people were victims of an oriental despotism.

When Zopyrus opened his eyes the palace and the toiling people had vanished and so likewise had the vision of the peaceful republic. The Persian father and Greek mother no longer stood before him. The youth knew that this dream represented the Persian and the Greek at war within himself for the supremacy.

When morning broke, the camp was astir at an early hour for this was to be the day of days! Zopyrus was awakened by the stamping and neighing of horses, the rattle of arms and the jocular voices of his comrades.

“Wake up, Zopyrus!” cried a friendly voice. Zopyrus saw his friend Masistius leaning over him.

“Xerxes bids us avenge the burning of Sardis today,” continued Masistius. “His words to all his officers this morning are, ‘Remember the Athenians!’”

“His advice to me is quite unnecessary,” replied Zopyrus, “for I can not forget them.”