Pausanias, the Spartan by Lord Lytton

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"The Athenians will be compelled to protect the Ionians, if the
Ionians in sufficient force demand it," said Uliades. "For as we are
nought without them, they are nought without us. Take the course
suggested by Antagoras: I advise it. Ye know me, a plain man, but
I speak not without warrant. And before the Spartans can either
contemptuously dismiss our embassy or send us out another general, the
Ionian will be the mistress of the Hellenic seas, and Sparta, the land
of oligarchies, will no more have the power to oligarchize democracy.
Otherwise, believe me, that power she has now from her hegemony, and
that power, whenever it suit her, she will use."

Uliades was chiefly popular in the fleet as a rough good seaman, as a
blunt and somewhat vulgar humourist. But whenever he gave advice, the
advice carried with it a weight not always bestowed upon superior
genius, because from the very commonness of his nature, he reached at
the common sense and the common feelings of those whom he addressed.
He spoke, in short, what an ordinary man thought and felt. He was a
practical man, brave but not over-audacious, not likely to run himself
or others into idle dangers, and when he said he had a warrant for
his advice, he was believed to speak from his knowledge of the course
which the Athenian chiefs, Aristides and Cimon, would pursue if the
plan recommended were actively executed.

"I am convinced," said the Lesbian. "And since all are grateful to
Athens for that final stand against the Mede, to which all Greece owes
her liberties, and since the chief of her armaments here is a man of
so modest a virtue, and so clement a justice, as we all acknowledge
in Aristides, fitting is it for us Ionians to constitute Athens the
maritime sovereign of our race."

"Are ye all of that mind?" cried Antagoras, and was answered by the
universal shout, "We are---all!" or if the shout was not universal,
none heeded the few whom fear or prudence might keep silent. "All that
remains then is to appoint the captain who shall hazard the first
danger and make the first signal. For my part, as one of the electors,
I give my vote for Uliades, and this is my ballot." He took from his
temples the poplar wreath, and cast it into a silver vase on the
tripod placed before him.

"Uliades by acclamation!" cried several voices.

"I accept," said the Ionian, "and as Ulysses, a prudent man, asked for
a colleague in enterprises of danger, so I ask for a companion in the
hazard I undertake, and I select Antagoras."

This choice received the same applauding acquiescence as that which
had greeted the nomination of the Ionian.

And in the midst of the applause was heard without the sharp shrill
sound of the Phrygian pipe.

"Comrades," said Antagoras, "ye hear the summons to our ships? Our
boats are waiting at the steps of the quay, by the Temple of Neptune.
Two sentences more, and then to sea. First, silence and fidelity;
the finger to the lip, the right hand raised to Zeus Horkios. For a
pledge, here is an oath. Secondly, be this the signal: whenever ye
shall see Uliades and myself steer our triremes out of the line in
which they may be marshalled, look forth and watch breathless, and the
instant you perceive that beside our flags of Samos and Chios we hoist
the ensign of Athens, draw off from your stations, and follow the wake
of our keels, to the Athenian navy. Then, as the Gods direct us. Hark,
a second time shrills the fife."

CHAPTER V

At the very hour when the Ionian captains were hurrying towards their
boats, Pausanias was pacing his decks alone, with irregular strides,
and through the cordage and the masts the starshine came fitfully on
his troubled features. Long undecided he paused, as the waves sparkled
to the stroke of oars, and beheld the boats of the feasters making
towards the division of the fleet in which lay the navy of the isles.
Farther on, remote and still, anchored the ships of Athens. He
clenched his hand, and turned from the sight.

"To lose an empire," he muttered, "and without a struggle; an empire
over yon mutinous rivals, over yon happy and envied Athens: an
empire--where its limits?--if Asia puts her armies to my lead, why
should not Asia be Hellenized, rather than Hellas be within the
tribute of the Mede? Dull--dull stolid Sparta! methinks I could
pardon the slavery thou inflictest on my life, didst thou but leave
unshackled my intelligence. But each vast scheme to be thwarted, every
thought for thine own aggrandisement beyond thy barren rocks, met and
inexorably baffled by a selfish aphorism, a cramping saw--'Sparta is
wide eno' for Spartans.'--'Ocean is the element of the fickle.'--'What
matters the ascendancy of Athens?--it does not cross the
Isthmus.'--'Venture nothing where I want nothing.' Why, this is the
soul's prison! Ah, had I been born Athenian, I had never uttered a
thought against my country. She and I would have expanded and aspired
together."

Thus arguing with himself, he at length confirmed his resolve, and
with a steadfast step entered his pavilion. There, not on broidered
cushions, but by preference on the hard floor, without coverlid, lay
Lysander calmly sleeping, his crimson warlike cloak, weather-stained,
partially wrapt around him; no pillow to his head but his own right
arm.

By the light of the high lamp that stood within the pavilion,
Pausanias contemplated the slumberer.

"He says he loves me, and yet can sleep," he murmured bitterly. Then
seating himself before a table he began to write, with slowness and
precision, whether as one not accustomed to the task or weighing every
word.

When he had concluded, he again turned his eyes to the sleeper. "How
tranquil! Was, my sleep ever as serene? I will not disturb him to the
last."

The fold of the curtain was drawn aside, and Alcman entered
noiselessly.

"Thou hast obeyed?" whispered Pausanias.

"Yes; the ship is ready, the wind favours. Hast thou decided?"

"I have," said Pausanias, with compressed lips.

He rose, and touched Lysander, lightly, but the touch sufficed;
the sleeper woke on the instant, casting aside slumber easily as a
garment.

"My Pausanias," said the young Spartan, "I am at thine orders--shall I
go? Alas! I read thine eye, and I shall leave thee in peril."

"Greater peril in the council of the Ephors and in the babbling lips
of the hoary Gerontes, than amidst the meeting of armaments. Thou wilt
take this letter to the Ephors. I have said in it but little; I have
said that I confide my cause to thee. Remember that thou insist on
the disgrace to me--the Heracleid, and through me to Sparta, that
my recall would occasion; remember that thou prove that my alleged
harshness is but necessary to the discipline that preserves armies,
and to the ascendancy of Spartan rule. And as to the idle tale of
Persian prisoners escaped, why thou knowest how even the Ionians could
make nothing of that charge. Crowd all sail, strain every oar, no ship
in the fleet so swift as that which bears thee. I care not for the few
hours' start the talebearers have. Our Spartan forms are slow; they
can scarce have an audience ere thou reach. The Gods speed and guard
thee, beloved friend. With thee goes all the future of Pausanias."

Lysander grasped his hand in a silence more eloquent than words, and
a tear fell on that hand which he clasped. "Be not ashamed of it," he
said then, as he turned away, and, wrapping his cloak round his face,
left the pavilion. Alcman followed, lowered a boat from the side, and
in a few moments the Spartan and the Mothon were on the sea. The boat
made to a vessel close at hand--a vessel builded in Cyprus, manned by
Bithynians; its sails were all up, but it bore no flag. Scarcely had
Lysander climbed the deck than it heaved to and fro, swaying as the
anchor was drawn up, then, righting itself, sprang forward, like a
hound unleashed for the chase. Pausanias with folded arms stood on the
deck of his own vessel, gazing after it, gazing long, till shooting
far beyond the fleet, far towards the melting line between sea and
sky, it grew less and lesser, and as the twilight dawned, it had faded
into space.

The Heracleid turned to Alcman, who, after he had conveyed Lysander to
the ship, had regained his master's side.

"What thinkest thou, Alcman, will be the result of all this?"

"The emancipation of the Helots," said the Mothon quietly. "The
Athenians are too near thee, the Persians are too far. Wouldst thou
have armies Sparta can neither give nor take away from thee, bind to
thee a race by the strongest of human ties--make them see in thy power
the necessary condition of their freedom."

Pausanias made no answer. He turned within his pavilion, and flinging
himself down on the same spot from which he had disturbed Lysander,
said, "Sleep here was so kind to him that it may linger where he left
it. I have two hours yet for oblivion before the sun rise."

CHAPTER VI.

If we were enabled minutely to examine the mental organization of men
who have risked great dangers, whether by the impulse of virtue, or
in the perpetration of crime, we should probably find therein a large
preponderance of hope. By that preponderance we should account for
those heroic designs which would annihilate prudence as a calculator,
did not a sanguine confidence in the results produce special energies
to achieve them, and thus create a prudence of its own, being as it
were the self-conscious admeasurement of the diviner strength which
justified the preterhuman spring. Nor less should we account by the
same cause for that audacity which startles us in criminals on a
colossal scale, which blinds them to the risks of detection, and often
at the bar of justice, while the evidences that ensure condemnation
are thickening round them, with the persuasion of acquittal or escape.
Hope is thus alike the sublime inspirer or the arch corrupter; it is
the foe of terror, the defier of consequences, the buoyant gamester
which at every loss doubles the stakes, with a firm hand rattles the
dice, and, invoking ruin, cries within itself, "How shall I expend the
gain?"

In the character, therefore, of a man like Pausanias, risking so
much glory, daring so much peril, strong indeed must have been this
sanguine motive power of human action. Nor is a large and active
development of hope incompatible with a temperament habitually grave
and often profoundly melancholy. For hope itself is often engendered
by discontent. A vigorous nature keenly susceptible to joy, and
deprived of the possession of the joy it yearns for by circumstances
that surround it in the present, is goaded on by its impatience
and dissatisfaction; it hopes for the something it has not got,
indifferent to the things it possesses, and saddened by the want which
it experiences. And therefore it has been well said by philosophers,
that real happiness would exclude desire; in other words, not only at
the gates of hell, but at the porch of heaven, he who entered would
leave hope behind him. For perfect bliss is but supreme content. And
if content could say to itself,--"But I hope for something more," it
would destroy its own existence.

From his brief slumber the Spartan rose refreshed. The trumpets were
sounding near him, and the very sound brightened his aspect, and
animated his spirits.

Agreeably to orders he had given the night before, the anchor was
raised, the rowers were on their benches, the libation to the Carnean
Apollo, under whose special protection the ship was placed, had been
poured forth, and with the rising sea and to the blare of trumpets the
gorgeous trireme moved forth from the bay.

It moved, as the trumpets ceased, to the note of a sweeter, but not
less exciting music. For, according to Hellenic custom, to the rowers
was allotted a musician, with whose harmony their oars, when first
putting forth to sea, kept time. And on this occasion Alcman
superseded the wonted performer by his own more popular song and the
melody of his richer voice. Standing by the mainmast, and holding
the large harp, which was stricken by the quill, its strings being
deepened by a sounding-board, he chanted an Io Paean to the Dorian god
of light and poesy. The harp at stated intervals was supported by a
burst of flutes, and the burthen of the verse was caught up by the
rowers as in chorus. Thus, far and wide over the shining waves, went
forth the hymn.

Io, Io Paean! slowly. Song and oar must chime together:
Io, Io Paean! by what title call Apollo!
Clarian? Xanthian? Boedromian?
Countless are thy names, Apollo,
Io Carnee! Io Carnee!
By the margent of Eurotas,
'Neath the shadows of Taeygetus,
Thee the sons of Lacedaemon
Name Carneus. Io, Io!
Io Carnee! Io Carnee!

Io, Io Paean! quicker. Song and voice must chime together:
Io Paean! Io Paean! King Apollo, Io, Io!
Io Carnee!
For thine altars do the seasons

Paint the tributary flowers,
Spring thy hyacinth restores,
Summer greets thee with the rose,
Autumn the blue Cyane mingles
With the coronals of corn,
And in every wreath thy laurel
Weaves its everlasting green.
Io Carnee! Io Carnee!
For the brows Apollo favours
Spring and winter does the laurel
Weave its everlasting green.

Io, Io Paean! louder. Voice and oar must chime together:
For the brows Apollo favours
Even Ocean bears the laurel.
Io Carnee! Io Carnee!

Io, Io Paean! stronger. Strong are those who win the laurel.

As the ship of the Spartan commander thus bore out to sea, the other
vessels of the armament had been gradually forming themselves into a
crescent, preserving still the order in which the allies maintained
their several contributions to the fleet, the Athenian ships at the
extreme end occupying the right wing, the Peloponnesians massed
together at the left.

The Chian galleys adjoined the Samian; for Uliades and Antagoras had
contrived that their ships should be close to each other, so that they
might take counsel at any moment and act in concert.

And now when the fleet had thus opened its arms as it were to receive
the commander, the great trireme of Pausanias began to veer round, and
to approach the half moon of the expanded armament. On it came, with
its beaked prow, like a falcon swooping down on some array of the
lesser birds.

From the stern hung a gilded shield and a crimson pennon. The
heavy-armed soldiers in their Spartan mail occupied the centre of the
vessel, and the sun shone full upon their armour.

"By Pallas the guardian," said Cimon, "it is the Athenian vessels that
the strategus honours with his first visit."

And indeed the Spartan galley now came alongside that of Aristides,
the admiral of the Athenian navy.

The soldiers on board the former gave way on either side. And a murmur
of admiration circled through the Athenian ship, as Pausanias
suddenly appeared. For, as if bent that day on either awing mutiny or
conciliating the discontented, the Spartan chief had wisely laid aside
the wondrous Median robes. He stood on her stern in the armour he had
worn at Plataea, resting one hand upon his shield, which itself rested
on the deck. His head alone was uncovered, his long sable locks
gathered up into a knot, in the Spartan fashion, a crest as it were
in itself to that lofty head. And so imposing were his whole air and
carriage, that Cimon, gazing at him, muttered, "What profane hand will
dare to rob that demigod of command?"

CHAPTER VII

Pausanias came on board the vessel of the Athenian admiral, attended
by the five Spartan chiefs who have been mentioned before as the
warlike companions assigned to him. He relaxed the haughty demeanour
which had given so much displeasure, adopting a tone of marked
courtesy. He spoke with high and merited praise of the seaman-like
appearance of the Athenian crews, and the admirable build and
equipment of their vessels.

"Pity only," said he, smiling, "that we have no Persians on the ocean
now, and that instead of their visiting us we must go in search of
them."

"Would that be wise on our part?" said Aristides. "Is not Greece large
enough for Greeks?"

"Greece has not done growing," answered the Spartan; "and the Gods
forbid that she should do so. When man ceases to grow in height he
expands in bulk; when he stops there too, the frame begins to stoop,
the muscles to shrink, the skin to shrivel, and decrepit old age
steals on. I have heard it said of the Athenians that they think
nothing done while aught remains to do. Is it not truly said, worthy
son of Miltiades?"

Cimon bowed his head. "General, I cannot disavow the sentiment. But if
Greece entered Asia, would it not be as a river that runs into a sea?
it expands, and is merged."

"The river, Cimon, may lose the sweetness of its wave and take the
brine of the sea. But the Greek can never lose the flavour of the
Greek genius, and could he penetrate the universe, the universe would
be Hellenized. But if, O Athenian chiefs, ye judge that we have now
done all that is needful to protect Athens, and awe the Barbarian, ye
must be longing to retire from the armament and return to your homes."

"When it is fit that we should return, we shall be recalled," said
Aristides quietly.

"What, is your State so unerring in its judgment? Experience does not
permit me to think so, for it ostracised Aristides."

"An honour," replied the Athenian, "that I did not deserve, but an
action that, had I been the adviser of those who sent me forth, I
should have opposed as too lenient. Instead of ostracising me, they
should have cast both myself and Themistocles into the Barathrum."

"You speak with true Attic honour, and I comprehend that where, in
commonwealths constituted like yours, party runs high, and the State
itself is shaken, ostracism may be a necessary tribute to the very
virtues that attract the zeal of a party and imperil the equality ye
so prize. But what can compensate to a State for the evil of depriving
itself of its greatest citizens?"

"Peace and freedom," said Aristides. "If you would have the young
trees thrive you must not let one tree be so large as to overshadow
them. Ah, general at Plataea," added the Athenian, in a benignant
whisper, for the grand image before him moved his heart with a mingled
feeling of generous admiration and prophetic pity, "ah, pardon me if I
remind thee of the ring of Polycrates, and say that Fortune is a queen
that requires tribute. Man should tremble most when most seemingly
fortune-favoured, and guard most against a fall when his rise is at
the highest."

"But it is only at its highest flight that the eagle is safe from the
arrow," answered Pausanias.

"And the nest the eagle has forgotten in her soaring is the more
exposed to the spoiler."

"Well, my nest is in rocky Sparta; hardy the spoiler who ventures
thither. Yet, to descend from these speculative comparisons, it seems
that thou hast a friendly and meaning purpose in thy warnings. Thou
knowest that there are in this armament men who grudge to me whatever
I now owe to Fortune, who would topple me from the height to which I
did not climb, but was led by the congregated Greeks, and who, while
perhaps they are forging arrowheads for the eagle, have sent to place
poison and a snare in its distant nest. So the Nausicaa is on
its voyage to Sparta, conveying to the Ephors complaints against
me--complaints from men who fought by my side against the Mede."

"I have heard that a Cyprian vessel left the fleet yesterday, bound
to Laconia. I have heard that it does bear men charged by some of the
Ionians with representations unfavourable to the continuance of thy
command. It bears none from me as the Nauarchus of the Athenians.
But--"

"But--what?"

"But I have complained to thyself, Pausanias, in vain."

"Hast thou complained of late, and in vain?"

"Nay."

"Honest men may err; if they amend, do just men continue to accuse?"

"I do not accuse, Pausanias, I but imply that those who do may have a
cause, but it will be heard before a tribunal of thine own countrymen,
and doubtless thou hast sent to the tribunal those who may meet the
charge on thy behalf."

"Well," said Pausanias, still preserving his studied urbanity and
lofty smile, "even Agamemnon and Achilles quarrelled, but Greece took
Troy not the less. And at least, since Aristides does not denounce me,
if I have committed even worse faults than Agamemnon, I have not made
an enemy of Achilles. And if," he added after a pause, "if some of
these Ionians, not waiting for the return of their envoys, openly
mutiny, they must be treated as Thersites was." Then he hurried
on quickly, for observing that Cimon's brow lowered, and his lips
quivered, he desired to cut off all words that might lead to
altercation.

"But I have a request to ask of the Athenian Nauarchus. Will you
gratify myself and the fleet by putting your Athenian triremes into
play? Your seamen are so famous for their manoeuvres, that they might
furnish us with sports of more grace and agility than do the Lydian
dancers. Landsman though I be, no sight more glads mine eye, than
these sea lions of pine and brass, bounding under the yoke of their
tamers. I presume not to give thee instructions what to perform. Who
can dictate to the seamen of Salamis? But when your ships have
played out their martial sport, let them exchange stations with the
Peloponnesian vessels, and occupy for the present the left of the
armament. Ye object not?"

"Place us where thou wilt, as was said to thee at Plataea," answered
Aristides.

"I now leave ye to prepare, Athenians, and greet ye, saying, the Good
to the Beautiful" "A wondrous presence for a Greek commander!" said
Cimon, as Pausanias again stood on the stern of his own vessel, which
moved off towards the ships of the islands.

"And no mean capacity," returned Aristides. "See you not his object in
transplacing us?"

"Ha, truly; in case of mutiny on board the Ionian ships, he separates
them from Athens. But woe to him if he thinks in his heart that an
Ionian is a Thersites, to be silenced by the blow of a sceptre.
Meanwhile let the Greeks see what manner of seamen are the Athenians.
Methinks this game ordained to us is a contest before Neptune, and for
a crown."

Pausanias bore right on towards the vessels from the Aegaean Isles.
Their masts and prows were heavy with garlands, but no music sounded
from their decks, no welcoming shout from their crews.

"Son of Cleombrotus," said the prudent Erasinidas, "sullen dogs bite.
Unwise the stranger who trusts himself to their kennel. Pass not to
those triremes; let the captains, if thou wantest them, come to thee."

Pausanias replied, "Dogs fear the steady eye and spring at the
recreant back. Helmsman, steer to yonder ship with the olive tree on
the Parasemon, and the image of Bacchus on the guardian standard. It
is the ship of Antagoras the Chian captain."

Pausanias turned to his warlike Five. "This time, forgive me, I go
alone." And before their natural Spartan slowness enabled them to
combat this resolution, their leader was by the side of his rival,
alone in the Chian vessel, and surrounded by his sworn foes.

"Antagoras," said the Spartan, "a Chian seaman's ship is his dearest
home. I stand on thy deck as at thy hearth, and ask thy hospitality; a
crust of thy honied bread, and a cup of thy Chian wine. For from
thy ship I would see the Athenian vessels go through their nautical
gymnastics."

The Chian turned pale and trembled; his vengeance was braved and
foiled. He was powerless against the man who trusted to his honour,
and asked to break of his bread and eat of his cup. Pausanias did not
appear to heed the embarrassment of his unwilling host, but turning
round, addressed some careless words to the soldiers on the raised
central platform, and then quietly seated himself, directing his eyes
towards the Athenian ships Upon these all the sails were now lowered.
In nice manoeuvres the seamen preferred trusting to their oars.
Presently one vessel started forth, and with a swiftness that seemed
to increase at every stroke.

A table was brought upon deck and placed before Pausanias, and the
slaves began to serve to him such light food as sufficed to furnish
the customary meal of the Greeks in the earlier forenoon.

"But where is mine host?" asked the Spartan. "Does Antagoras himself
not deign to share a meal with his guest?"

On receiving the message, Antagoras had no option but to come forward.
The Spartan eyed him deliberately, and the young Chian felt with
secret rage the magic of that commanding eye.

Pausanias motioned to him to be seated, making room beside himself.
The Chian silently obeyed.

"Antagoras," said the Spartan in a low voice, "thou art doubtless one
of those who have already infringed the laws of military discipline
and obedience. Interrupt me not yet. A vessel without waiting my
permission has left the fleet with accusations against me, thy
commander; of what nature I am not even advised. Thou wilt scarcely
deny that thou art one of those who sent forth the ship and shared in
the accusations. Yet I had thought that if I had ever merited thine
ill will, there had been reconciliation between us in the Council
Hall. What has chanced since? Why shouldst thou hate me? Speak
frankly; frankly have I spoken to thee."

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