Pausanias, the Spartan by Lord Lytton

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Pausanias, the unconscious or the careless object of the Ionian's
jealous hate, could not resist the fatal charm of Cleonice's presence;
and if it sometimes exasperated the more evil elements of his nature,
at other times it so lulled them to rest, that had the Fates given him
the rightful claim to that single treasure, not one guilty thought
might have disturbed the majesty of a soul which, though undisciplined
and uncultured, owed half its turbulence and half its rebellious pride
to its baffled yearnings for human affection and natural joy. And
Cleonice, unable to shun the visits which her weak and covetous
father, despite his promised favour to the suit of Antagoras, still
encouraged; and feeling her honour, at least, if not her peace, was
secured by that ascendancy which, with each successive interview
between them, her character more and more asserted over the Spartan's
higher nature, relinquished the tormenting levity of tone whereby
she had once sought to elude his earnestness, or conceal her own
sentiments. An interest in a fate so solemn, an interest far deeper
than mere human love, stole into her heart and elevated its instincts.
She recognized the immense compassion which was due to the man so
desolate at the head of armaments, so dark in the midst of glory.
Centuries roll, customs change, but, ever since the time of the
earliest mother, woman yearns to be the soother.

CHAPTER VI.

It was the hour of the day when between the two principal meals of the
Greeks men surrendered themselves to idleness or pleasure; when groups
formed in the market-place, or crowded the barbers' shops to gossip
and talk of news; when the tale-teller or ballad-singer collected
round him on the quays his credulous audience; when on playgrounds
that stretched behind the taverns or without the walls the more active
youths assembled, and the quoit was hurled, or mimic battles waged
with weapons of wood, or the Dorians weaved their simple, the Ionians
their more intricate or less decorous, dances. At that hour Lysander,
wandering from the circles of his countrymen, walked musingly by the
sea-shore.

"And why," said the voice of a person who had approached him
unperceived, "and why, O Lysander, art thou absent from thy comrades,
thou model and theme of the youths of Sparta, foremost in their manly
sports, as in their martial labours?"

Lysander turned and bowed low his graceful head, for he who accosted
him was scarcely more honoured by the Athenians, whom his birth, his
wealth, and his popular demeanour dazzled, than by the plain sons
of Sparta, who, in his simple garb, his blunt and hasty manner, his
professed admiration for all things Spartan, beheld one Athenian at
least congenial to their tastes.

"The child that misses its mother," answered Lysander," has small joy
with its playmates. And I, a Spartan, pine for Sparta."

"Truly," returned Cimon, "there must be charms in thy noble country of
which we other Greeks know but little, if amidst all the luxuries
and delights of Byzantium thou canst pine for her rugged hills. And
although, as thou knowest well, I was once a sojourner in thy city
as ambassador from my own, yet to foreigners so little of the inner
Spartan life is revealed, that I pray thee to satisfy my curiosity and
explain to me the charm that reconciles thee and thine to institutions
which seem to the Ionians at war with the pleasures and the graces of
social life."[26]

"Ill can the native of one land explain to the son of another why he
loves it," returned Lysander. "That which the Ionian calls pleasure
is to me but tedious vanity; that which he calls grace, is to me but
enervate levity. Me it pleases to find the day, from sunrise to night,
full of occupations that leave no languor, that employ, but not
excite. For the morning, our gymnasia, our military games, the
chace--diversions that brace the limbs and leave us in peace fit for
war--diversions, which, unlike the brawls of the wordy Agora, bless us
with the calm mind and clear spirit resulting from vigorous habits,
and ensuring jocund health. Noon brings our simple feast, shared in
public, enlivened by jest; late at eve we collect in our Leschae, and
the winter nights seem short, listening to the old men's talk of our
sires and heroes. To us life is one serene yet active holiday. No
Spartan condescends to labour, yet no Spartan can womanise himself by
ease. For us, too, differing from you Ionian Greeks, for us women are
companions, not slaves. Man's youth is passed under the eyes and in
the presence of those from whom he may select, as his heart inclines,
the future mother of his children. Not for us your feverish and
miserable ambitions, the intrigues of demagogues, the drudgery of the
mart, the babble of the populace; we alone know the quiet repose
of heart. That which I see everywhere else, the gnawing strife of
passion, visits not the stately calm of the Spartan life. We have the
leisure, not of the body alone, but of the soul. Equality with us is
the all in all, and we know not that jealous anguish--the desire to
rise one above the other. We busy ourselves not in making wealth,
in ruling mobs, in ostentatious rivalries of state, and gaud, and
power--struggles without an object. When we struggle it is for an
end. Nothing moves us from our calm, but danger to Sparta, or woe to
Hellas. Harmony, peace, and order--these are the graces of our social
life. Pity us, O Athenian!"

Cimon had listened with profound attention to a speech unusually
prolix and descriptive for a Spartan; and he sighed deeply as it
closed. For that young Athenian, destined to so renowned a place in
the history of his country, was, despite his popular manners, no
favourer of the popular passions. Lofty and calm, and essentially an
aristocrat by nature and opinion, this picture of a life unruffled by
the restless changes of democracy, safe and aloof from the shifting
humours of the multitude, charmed and allured him. He forgot for the
moment those counter propensities which made him still Athenian--the
taste for magnificence, the love of women, and the desire of rule. His
busy schemes slept within him, and he answered:

"Happy is the Spartan who thinks with you. Yet," he added, after a
pause, "yet own that there are amongst you many to whom the life you
describe has ceased to proffer the charms that enthrall you, and
who envy the more diversified and exciting existence of surrounding
States. Lysander's eulogiums shame his chief Pausanias."

"It is not for me, nor for thee, whose years scarce exceed my own, to
judge of our elders in renown," said Lysander, with a slight shade
over his calm brow. "Pausanias will surely be found still a Spartan,
when Sparta needs him; and the heart of the Heracleid beats under the
robe of the Mede."

"Be frank with me, Lysander; thou knowest that my own countrymen often
jealously accuse me of loving Sparta too well. I imitate, say they,
the manners and dress of the Spartan, as Pausanias those of the Mede.
Trust me then, and bear with me, when I say that Pausanias ruins the
cause of Sparta. If he tarry here longer in the command he will render
all the allies enemies to thy country. Already he has impaired his
fame and dimmed his laurels; already, despite his pretexts and
excuses, we perceive that his whole nature is corrupted. Recall him
to Sparta, while it is yet time--time to reconcile the Greeks with
Sparta, time to save the hero of Plataea from the contaminations of
the East. Preserve his own glory, dearer to thee as his special friend
than to all men, yet dear to me, though an Athenian, from the memory
of the deeds which delivered Hellas."

Cimon spoke with the blunt and candid eloquence natural to him, and to
which his manly countenance and earnest tone and character for truth
gave singular effect.

Lysander remained long silent. At length he said, "I neither deny nor
assent to thine arguments, son of Miltiades. The Ephors alone can
judge of their wisdom."

"But if we address them, by message, to the Ephors, thou and the
nobler Spartans will not resent our remonstrances?"

"All that injures Pausanias Lysander will resent. Little know I of the
fables of poets, but Homer is at least as familiar to the Dorian as to
the Ionian, and I think with him that between friends there is but one
love and one anger."

"Then are the frailties of Pausanias dearer to thee than his fame, or
Pausanias himself dearer to thee than Sparta--the erring brother than
the venerable mother."

Lysander's voice died on his lips; the reproof struck home to him.
He turned away his face, and with a slow wave of his hand seemed to
implore forbearance. Cimon was touched by the action and the generous
embarrassment of the Spartan; he saw, too, that he had left in the
mind he had addressed thoughts that might work as he had designed, and
he judged by the effect produced on Lysander what influence the same
arguments might effect addressed to others less under the control of
personal friendship. Therefore, with a few gentle words, he turned
aside, continued his way, and left Lysander alone.

Entering the town, the Athenian threaded his path through some of the
narrow lanes and alleys that wound from the quays towards the citadel,
avoiding the broader and more frequented streets. The course he took
was such as rendered it little probable that he should encounter any
of the higher classes, and especially the Spartans, who from their
constitutional pride shunned the resorts of the populace. But as he
came nearer the citadel stray Helots were seen at times, emerging from
the inns and drinking houses, and these stopped short and inclined low
if they caught sight of him at a distance, for his hat and staff, his
majestic stature, and composed step, made them take him for a Spartan.

One of these slaves, however, emerging suddenly from a house close by
which Cimon passed, recognized him, and retreating within abruptly,
entered a room in which a man sat alone, and seemingly in profound
thought; his cheek rested on one hand, with the other he leaned upon a
small lyre, his eyes were bent on the ground, and he started, as a man
does dream-like from a reverie, when the Helot touched him and said
abruptly, and in a tone of surprise and inquiry,--

"Cimon, the Athenian, is ascending the hill towards the Spartan
quarter."

"The Spartan quarter! Cimon!" exclaimed Alcman, for it was he. "Give
me thy cap and hide."

Hastily enduing himself in these rough garments, and drawing the cap
over his face, the Mothon hurried to the threshold, and, seeing the
Athenian at the distance, followed his footsteps, though with the
skill of a man used to ambush he kept himself unseen--now under the
projecting roofs of the houses, now skirting the wall, which, heavy
with buttresses, led towards the outworks of the citadel. And with
such success did he pursue his track that when Cimon paused at last
at the place of his destination, and gave one vigilant and searching
glance around him, he detected no living form.

He had then reached a small space of table-land on which stood a few
trees of great age--all that time and the encroachments of the citadel
and the town had spared of the sacred grove which formerly surrounded
a rude and primitive temple, the grey columns of which gleamed through
the heavy foliage. Passing, with a slow and cautious step, under the
thick shadow of these trees, Cimon now arrived before the open door of
the temple, placed at the east so as to admit the first beams of the
rising sun. Through the threshold, in the middle of the fane, the
eye rested on the statue of Apollo, raised upon a lofty pedestal and
surrounded by a rail--a statue not such as the later genius of the
Athenian represented the god of light, and youth, and beauty; not
wrought from Parian marble, or smoothest ivory, and in the divinest
proportions of the human form, but rude, formal, and roughly hewn from
the wood of the yew-tree--some early effigy of the god, made by the
simple piety of the first Dorian colonisers of Byzantium. Three forms
stood mute by an altar, equally homely and ancient, and adorned with
horns, placed a little apart, and considerably below the statue.

As the shadow of the Athenian, who halted at the threshold, fell long
and dark along the floor, the figures turned slowly, and advanced
towards him. With an inclination of his head Cimon retreated from the
temple; and, looking round, saw abutting from the rear of the building
a small cell or chamber, which doubtless in former times had served
some priestly purpose, but now, doorless, empty, desolate, showed the
utter neglect into which the ancient shrine of the Dorian god had
fallen amidst the gay and dissolute Byzantians. To this cell Cimon
directed his steps; the men he had seen in the temple followed him,
and all four, with brief and formal greeting, seated themselves,
Cimon on a fragment of some broken column, the others on a bench that
stretched along the wall.

"Peers of Sparta," said the Athenian, "ye have doubtless ere this
revolved sufficiently the grave matter which I opened to you in a
former conference, and in which, to hear your decision, I seek at your
appointment these sacred precincts."

"Son of Miltiades," answered the blunt Polydorus, "you inform us that
it is the intention of the Athenians to despatch a messenger to Sparta
demanding the instant recall of Pausanias. You ask us to second that
request. But without our aid the Athenians are masters to do as they
will. Why should we abet your quarrel against the Regent?"

"Friend," replied Cimon, "we, the Athenians, confess to no quarrel
with Pausanias; what we demand is to avoid all quarrel with him or
yourselves. You seem to have overlooked my main arguments. Permit me
to reurge them briefly. If Pausanias remains, the allies have resolved
openly to revolt; if you, the Spartans, assist your chief, as methinks
you needs must do, you are at once at war with the rest of the Greeks.
If you desert him you leave Hellas without a chief, and we will choose
one of our own. Meanwhile, in the midst of our dissensions, the towns
and states well affected to Persia will return to her sway; and Persia
herself falls upon us as no longer an united enemy but an easy prey.
For the sake, therefore, of Sparta and of Greece, we entreat you to
co-operate with us; or rather, to let the recall of Pausanias be
effected more by the wise precaution of the Spartans than by the
fierce resolve of the other Greeks. So you save best the dignity of
your State, and so, in reality, you best serve your chief. For less
shameful to him is it to be recalled by you than to be deposed by us."

"I know not," said Gelon, surlily, "what Sparta hath to do at all with
this foreign expedition; we are safe in our own defiles."

"Pardon me, if I remind you that you were scarcely safe at
Thermopylae, and that had the advice Demaratus proffered to Xerxes
been taken, and that island of Cithera, which commands Sparta itself,
been occupied by Persian troops, as in a future time, if Sparta desert
Greece, it may be, you were undone. And, wisely or not, Sparta is now
in command at Byzantium, and it behoves her to maintain, with the
dignity she assumes, the interests she represents. Grant that
Pausanias be recalled, another Spartan can succeed him. Whom of your
countrymen would you prefer to that high post, if you, O Peers, aid us
in the dismissal of Pausanias?[27]

Notes:

[26] Alexander, King of Macedon, had visited the Athenians with
overtures of peace and alliance from Xerxes and Mardonius. These
overtures were confined to the Athenians alone, and the Spartans
were fearful lest they should be accepted. The Athenians, however,
generously refused them. Gold, said they, hath no amount, earth no
territory how beautiful soever that could tempt the Athenians to
accept conditions from the Mede for the servitude of Greece. On this
the Persians invaded Attica, and the Athenians, after waiting in vain
for promised aid from Sparta, took refuge at Salamis. Meanwhile, they
had sent messengers or ambassadors to Sparta, to remonstrate on the
violation of their agreement in delaying succour. This chanced at the
very time when, by the death of his father Cleombrotus, Pausanias
became Regent. Slowly, and after much hesitation, the Spartans sent
them aid under Pausanias. Two of the ambassadors were Aristides and
Cimon.

[27] This chapter was left unfinished by the author; probably with the
intention of recasting it. Such an intention, at least, is indicated
by the marginal marks upon the MS.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

The fountain sparkled to the noonday, the sward around it was
sheltered from the sun by vines formed into shadowy arcades, with
interlaced leaves for roof. Afar through the vistas thus formed
gleamed the blue of a sleeping sea.

Under the hills, or close by the margin of the fountain, Cleonice was
seated upon a grassy knoll, covered with wild flowers. Behind her, at
a little distance, grouped her handmaids, engaged in their womanly
work, and occasionally conversing in whispers. At her feet reposed the
grand form of Pausanias. Alcman stood not far behind him, his hand,
resting on his lyre, his gaze fixed upon the upward jet of the
fountain.

"Behold," said Cleonice, "how the water soars up to the level of its
source!"

"As my soul would soar to thy love," said the Spartan, amorously.

"As thy soul should soar to the stars. O son of Hercules, when I hear
thee burst into thy wild nights of ambition, I see not thy way to the
stars."

"Why dost thou ever thus chide the ambition which may give me thee?"

"No, for thou mightest then be as much below me as thou art now above.
Too humble to mate with the Heracleid, I am too proud to stoop to the
Tributary of the Mede."

"Tributary for a sprinkling of water and a handful of earth. Well,
my pride may revolt, too, from that tribute. But, alas! what is the
tribute Sparta exacts from me now?--personal liberty--freedom of soul
itself. The Mede's Tributary may be a king over millions; the Spartan
Regent is a slave to the few."

"Cease--cease--cease. I will not hear thee," cried Cleonice, placing
her hands on her ears.

Pausanias gently drew them away; and holding them both captive in
the large clasp of his own right hand, gazed eagerly into her pure,
unshrinking eyes.

"Tell me," he said, "for in much thou art wiser than I am, unjust
though thou art. Tell me this. Look onward to the future with a gaze
as steadfast as now meets mine, and say if thou canst discover any
path, except that which it pleases thee to condemn, which may lead
thee and me to the marriage altar!"

Down sank those candid eyes, and the virgin's cheek grew first rosy
red, and then pale, as if every drop of blood had receded to the
heart.

"Speak!" insisted Pausanias, softening his haughty voice to its
meekest tone.

"I cannot see the path to the altar," murmured Cleonice, and the tears
rolled down her cheeks.

"And if thou seest it not," returned Pausanias, "art thou brave enough
to say--Be we lost to each other for life? I, though man and Spartan,
am not brave enough to say that!"

He released her hands as he spoke, and clasped his own over his face.
Both were long silent.

Alcman had for some moments watched the lovers with deep interest, and
had caught into his listening ears the purport of their words. He now
raised his lyre, and swept his hand over the chords. The touch was
that of a master, and the musical sounds produced their effect on
all. The handmaids paused from their work. Cleonice turned her eyes
wistfully towards the Mothon. Pausanias drew his hands from his face,
and cried joyously, "I accept the omen. Foster-brother, I have heard
that measure to a Hymeneal Song. Sing us the words that go with the
melody."

"Nay," said Alcman, gently, "the words are not those which are sung
before youth and maiden when they walk over perishing flowers to
bridal altars. They are the words which embody a legend of the land in
which the heroes of old dwell, removed from earth, yet preserved from
Hades."

"Ah," said Cleonice--and a strange expression, calmly mournful,
settled on her features--"then the words may haply utter my own
thoughts. Sing them to us, I pray thee."

The Mothon bowed his head, and thus began:--

THE ISLE OF SPIRITS.

Many wonders on the ocean
By the moonlight may be seen;
Under moonlight on the Euxine
Rose the blessed silver isle,

As Leostratus of Croton,
At the Pythian God's behest,
Steer'd along the troubled waters
To the tranquil spirit-land.

In the earthquake of the battle,
When the Locrians reel'd before
Croton's shock of marching iron,
Strode a Phantom to their van:

Strode the shade of Locrian Ajax,
Guarding still the native soil,
And Leostratus, confronting,
Wounded fell before the spear.

Leech and herb the wound could heal not
Said the Pythian God, "Depart,
Voyage o'er the troubled Euxine
To the tranquil spirit-land.

"There abides the Locrian Ajax,
He who gave the wound shall heal;
Godlike souls are in their mercy
Stronger yet than in their wrath."

While at ease on lulled waters
Rose the blessed silver isle,
Purple vines in lengthening vistas
Knit the hill-top to the beach.

And the beach had sparry caverns,
And a floor of golden sands,
And wherever soared the cypress,
Underneath it bloomed the rose.

Glimmered there amid the vine trees,
Thoro' cavern, over beach,
Lifelike shadows of a beauty
Which the living know no more,

Towering statures of great heroes,
They who fought at Thebes and Troy;
And with looks that poets dream of
Beam'd the women heroes loved.

Kingly, forth before their comrades,
As the vessel touch'd the shore,
Came the stateliest Two, by Hymen
Ever hallowed into One.

As He strode, the forests trembled
To the awe that crowned his brow:
As She stepp'd, the ocean dimpled
To the ray that left her smile.

"Welcome hither, fearless warrior!"
Said a voice in which there slept
Thunder-sounds to scatter armies,
As a north-wind scatters leaves.

"Welcome hither, wounded sufferer,"
Said a voice of music low
As the coo of doves that nestle
Under summer boughs at noon.

"Who are ye, O shapes of glory?"
Ask'd the wondering living man:
Quoth the Man-ghost, "This is Helen,
And the Fair is for the Brave.

"Fairest prize to bravest victor;
Whom doth Greece her bravest deem?"
Said Leostratus, "Achilles:"
"Bride and bridegroom then are we."

"Low I kneel to thee, Pelides,
But, O marvel, she thy bride,
She whose guilt unpeopled Hellas,
She whose marriage lights fired Troy?"

Frown'd the large front of Achilles,
Overshadowing sea and sky,
Even as when between Olympus
And Oceanus hangs storm.

"Know, thou dullard," said Pelides,
"That on the funereal pyre
Earthly sins are purged from glory,
And the Soul is as the Name."

If to her in life--a Paris,
If to me in life--a slave,
Helen's mate is _here_ Achilles,
Mine--the sister of the stars.

Nought of her survives but beauty,
Nought of me survives but fame;
Here the Beautiful and Famous
Intermingle evermore."

Then throughout the Blessed Island
Sang aloud the Race of Light,
"Know, the Beautiful and Famous
Marry here for evermore!"

"Thy song bears a meaning deeper than its words," said Pausanias; "but
if that meaning be consolation, I comprehend it not."

"I do," said Cleonice. "Singer, I pray thee draw near. Let us talk of
what my lost mother said was the favourite theme of the grander sages
of Miletus. Let us talk of what lies afar and undiscovered amid waters
more troubled than the Euxine. Let us speak of the Land of Souls."

"Who ever returned from that land to tell us of it?" said Pausanias.
"Voyagers that never voyaged thither save in song."

"Son of Cleombrotus," said Alcman, "hast thou not heard that in one of
the cities founded by thine ancestor, Hercules, and named after his
own name, there yet dwells a Priesthood that can summon to living eyes
the Phantoms of the Dead?"

"No," answered Pausanias, with the credulous wonder common to
eager natures which Philosophy has not withdrawn from the realm of
superstition.

"But," asked Cleonice, "does it need the Necromancer to convince us
that the soul does not perish when the breath leaves the lips? If
I judge the burthen of thy song aright, thou art not, O singer,
uninitiated in the divine and consoling doctrines which, emanating, it
is said, from the schools of Miletus, establish the immortality of the
soul, not for Demigods and Heroes only, but for us all; which imply
the soul's purification from earthly sins, in some regions less
chilling and stationary than the sunless and melancholy Hades."

Alcman looked at the girl surprised.

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