Philothea by Lydia Maria Child

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"More I should not taste if I were at the table of Alcibiades," replied
the philosopher of Athens. "When I see men bestow much thought on eating
and drinking, I marvel that they will labour so diligently in building
their own prisons. Here, at least, we can restore the Age of Innocence,
when no life was taken to gratify the appetite of man, and the altars of
the gods were unstained with blood."

Philothea, contrary to the usual custom of Grecian women, remained with
her grandfather and his guest during their simple repast, and soon after
retired to her own apartment.

When they were alone, Plato informed his aged friend that his visit to
Lampsacus was at the request of Pericles. Hippocrates had expressed a
hope that the presence of Philothea might, at least in some degree,
restore the health of Paralus; and the heart-stricken father had sent to
intreat her consent to a union with his son.

"Philothea would not leave me, even if I urged it with tears," replied
Anaxagoras; "and I am forbidden to return to Athens."

"Pericles has provided an asylum for you, on the borders of Attica,"
answered Plato; "and the young people would soon join you, after their
marriage. He did not suppose that his former proud opposition to their
loves would be forgotten; but he said hearts like yours would forgive it
all, the more readily because he was now a man deprived of power, and
his son suffering under a visitation of the gods. Alcibiades laughed
aloud when he heard of this proposition; and said his uncle would never
think of making it to any but a maiden who sees the zephyrs run and
hears the stars sing. He spoke truth in his profane merriment. Pericles
knows that she who obediently listens to the inward voice will be most
likely to seek the happiness of others, forgetful of her own wrongs."

"I do not believe the tender-hearted maiden ever cherished resentment
against any living thing," replied Anaxagoras. "She often reminds me of
Hesiod's description of Leto:

'Placid to men and to immortal gods;
Mild from the first beginning of her days;
Gentlest of all in Heaven.'

"She has indeed been a precious gift to my old age. Simple and loving as
she is, there are times when her looks and words fill me with awe, as if
I stood in the presence of divinity."

"It is a most lovely union when the Muses and the Charities inhabit the
same temple," said Plato. "I think she learned of you to be a constant
worshipper of the innocent and graceful nymphs, who preside over kind
and gentle actions. But tell me, Anaxagoras, if this marriage is
declined, who will protect the daughter of Alcimenes when you are
gone?"

The philosopher replied, "I have a sister Heliodora, the youngest of my
father's flock; who is Priestess of the Sun, at Ephesus. Of all my
family, she has least despised me for preferring philosophy to gold; and
report bespeaks her wise and virtuous. I have asked and obtained from
her a promise to protect Philothea when I am gone; but I will tell my
child the wishes of Pericles, and leave her to the guidance of her own
heart. If she enters the home of Paralus, she will be to him, as she has
been to me, a blessing like the sunshine."

CHAPTER XII.

Adieu, thou sun, and fields of golden light;
For the last time I drink thy radiance bright,
And sink to sleep.
ARISTOPHANES.

The galley that brought Plato from Athens was sent on a secret political
mission, and was not expected to revisit Lampsacus until the return of
another moon. Anaxagoras, always mindful of the happiness of those
around him, proposed that the constancy of faithful Geta should be
rewarded by an union with Milza. The tidings were hailed with joy; not
only by the young couple, but by all the villagers. The superstition of
the little damsel did indeed suggest numerous obstacles. The sixteenth
of the month must on no account be chosen; one day was unlucky for a
wedding, because as she returned from the fields, an old woman busy at
the distaff had directly crossed her path; and another was equally so,
because she had seen a weasel, without remembering to throw three stones
as it passed. But at last there came a day against which no objections
could be raised. The sky was cloudless, and the moon at its full; both
deemed propitious omens. A white kid had been sacrificed to Artemis, and
baskets of fruit and poppies been duly placed upon her altar. The long
white veil woven by Milza and laid by for this occasion, was taken out
to be bleached in the sunshine and dew. Philothea presented a zone,
embroidered by her own skilful hands; Anaxagoras bestowed a pair of
sandals laced with crimson; and Geta purchased a bridal robe of flaming
colours.

Plato promised to supply the feast with almonds and figs. The peasant,
whose goats Milza had tended, sent six large vases of milk, borne by
boys crowned with garlands. And the matrons of the village, with whom
the kind little Arcadian had ever been a favourite, presented a huge
cake, carried aloft on a bed of flowers, by twelve girls clothed in
white. The humble residence of the old philosopher was almost covered
with the abundant blossoms brought by joyful children. The door posts
were crowned with garlands anointed with oil, and bound with fillets of
wool. The bride and bridegroom were carried in procession, on a litter
made of the boughs of trees, plentifully adorned with garlands and flags
of various colours; preceded by young men playing on reeds and flutes,
and followed by maidens bearing a pestle and sieve. The priest performed
the customary sacrifices at the altar of Hera; the omens were
propitious; libations were poured; and Milza returned to her happy home,
the wife of her faithful Geta. Feasting continued till late in the
evening, and the voice of music was not hushed until past the hour of
midnight.

The old philosopher joined in the festivity, and in the cheerfulness of
his heart exerted himself beyond his strength. Each succeeding day found
him more feeble; and Philothea soon perceived that the staff on which
she had leaned from her childhood was about to be removed forever. On
the twelfth day after Milza's wedding, he asked to be led into the open
portico, that he might enjoy the genial warmth. He gazed on the bright
landscape, as if it had been the countenance of a friend. Then looking
upward, with a placid smile, he said to Plato, "You tell me that Truth
acts upon the soul, like the Sun upon the eye, when it turneth to him.
Would that I could be as easily and certainly placed in the light of
truth, as I have been in this blessed sunshine! But in vain I seek to
comprehend the mystery of my being. All my thoughts on this subject are
dim and shadowy, as the ghosts seen by Odysseus on the Stygian shore."

Plato answered: "Thus it must ever be, while the outward world lies so
near us, and the images of things crowd perpetually on the mind. An
obolus held close to the eye may prevent our seeing the moon and the
stars; and thus does the ever-present earth exclude the glories of
Heaven. But in the midst of uncertainty and fears, one feeling alone
remains; and that is hope, strong as belief, that virtue can never die.
In pity to the cravings of the soul, something will surely be given in
future time more bright and fixed than the glimmering truths preserved
in poetic fable; even as radiant stars arose from the ashes of Orion's
daughters, to shine in the heavens an eternal crown."

The old man replied, "I have, as you well know, been afraid to indulge
in your speculations concerning the soul, lest I should spend my life in
unsatisfied attempts to embrace beautiful shadows."

"To me likewise they have sometimes appeared doctrines too high and
solemn to be taught," rejoined Plato: "Often when I have attempted to
clothe them in language, the airy forms have glided from me, mocking me
with their distant beauty. We are told of Tantalus surrounded by water
that flows away when he attempts to taste it, and with delicious fruits
above his head, carried off by a sudden wind whenever he tries to seize
them. It was his crime that, being admitted to the assemblies of
Olympus, he brought away the nectar and ambrosia of the gods, and gave
them unto mortals. Sometimes, when I have been led to discourse of ideal
beauty, with those who perceive only the images of things, the
remembrance of that unhappy son of Zeus has awed me into silence."

While they were yet speaking, the noise of approaching wheels was heard,
and presently a splendid chariot, with four white horses, stopped before
the humble dwelling.

A stranger, in purple robes, descended from the chariot, followed by
servants carrying a seat of ivory inlaid with silver, a tuft of peacock
feathers to brush away the insects, and a golden box filled with
perfumes. It was Chrysippus, prince of Clazomenae, the nephew of
Anaxagoras. He had neglected and despised the old man in his poverty,
but had now come to congratulate him on the rumour of Philothea's
approaching marriage with the son of Pericles. The aged philosopher
received him with friendly greeting, and made him known to Plato.
Chrysippus gave a glance at the rude furniture of the portico, and
gathered his perfumed robes carefully about him.

"Son of Basileon, it is the dwelling of cleanliness, though it be the
abode of poverty," said the old man, in a tone of mild reproof.

Geta had officiously brought a wooden bench for the high-born guest;
but he waited till his attendants had opened the ivory seat, and covered
it with crimson cloth, before he seated himself, and replied:

"Truly, I had not expected to find the son of Hegesibulus in so mean a
habitation. No man would conjecture that you were the descendant of
princes."

With a quiet smile, the old man answered,--"Princes have not wished to
proclaim kindred with Anaxagoras; and why should he desire to perpetuate
the remembrance of what they have forgotten?"

Chrysippus looked toward Plato, and with some degree of embarrassment
sought to excuse himself, by saying, "My father often told me that it
was your own choice to withdraw from your family; and if they have not
since offered to share their wealth with you, it is because you have
ever been improvident of your estates."

"What! Do you not take charge of them?" inquired Anaxagoras. "I gave my
estates to your father, from the conviction that he would take better
care of them than I could do; and in this I deemed myself most
provident."

"But you went to Athens, and took no care for your country," rejoined
the prince.

The venerable philosopher pointed to the heavens, that smiled serenely
above them,--and said, "Nay, young man, my greatest care has ever been
for my country."

In a more respectful tone, Chrysippus rejoined: "Anaxagoras, all men
speak of your wisdom; but does this fame so far satisfy you, that you
never regret you sacrificed riches to philosophy?"

"I am satisfied with the pursuit of wisdom, not with the fame of it,"
replied the sage. "In my youth, I greatly preferred wisdom to gold; and
as I approach the Stygian shore, gold has less and less value in my
eyes. Charon will charge my disembodied spirit but a single obolus for
crossing his dark ferry. Living mortals only need a golden bough to
enter the regions of the dead."

The prince seemed thoughtful for a moment, as he gazed on the benevolent
countenance of his aged relative.

"If it be as you have said, Anaxagoras is indeed happier than princes,"
he replied. "But I came to speak of the daughter of Alcimenes. I have
heard that she is beautiful, and the destined wife of Paralus of
Athens."

"It is even so," said the philosopher; "and it would gladden my heart,
if I might be permitted to see her placed under the protection of
Pericles, before I die."

"Has a sufficient dowry been provided?" inquired Chrysippus. "No one of
our kindred must enter the family of Pericles as a slave."

A slight colour mantled in the old man's cheeks, as he answered, "I have
friends in Athens, who will not see my precious child suffer shame for
want of a few drachmae."

"I have brought with me a gift, which I deemed in some degree suited to
the dignity of our ancestors," rejoined the prince; "and I indulged the
hope of giving it into the hands of the maiden."

As he spoke, he made a signal to his attendants, who straightway brought
from the chariot a silver tripod lined with gold, and a bag containing
a hundred golden staters. At the same moment, Milza entered, and in a
low voice informed Anaxagoras that Philothea deemed this prolonged
interview with the stranger dangerous to his feeble health; and begged
that he would suffer himself to be placed on the couch. The invalid
replied by a message desiring her presence. As she entered, he said to
her, "Philothea, behold your kinsman Chrysippus, son of Basileon."

The illustrious guest was received with the same modest and friendly
greeting, that would have been bestowed on the son of a worthy peasant.
The prince felt slightly offended that his splendid dress and
magnificent equipage produced so little effect on the family of the
philosopher; but as the fame of Philothea's beauty had largely mingled
with other inducements to make the visit, he endeavoured to conceal his
pride, and as he offered the rich gifts, said in a respectful tone,
"Daughter of Alcimenes, the tripod is from Heliodora, Priestess at
Ephesus. The golden coin is from my own coffers. Accept them for a
dowry; and allow me to claim one privilege in return. As I cannot be at
the marriage feast, to share the pleasures of other kinsmen, permit the
son of Basileon to see you now one moment without your veil."

He waved his hand for his attendants to withdraw; but the maiden
hesitated, until Anaxagoras said mildly, "Chrysippus is of your father's
kindred; and it is discreet that his request be granted."

Philothea timidly removed her veil, and a modest blush suffused her
lovely countenance, as she said, "Thanks, Prince of Clazomenae, for
these munificent gifts. May the gods long preserve you a blessing to
your family and people."

"The gifts are all unworthy of her who receives them," replied
Chrysippus, gazing so intently that the maiden, with rosy confusion,
replaced her veil.

Anaxagoras invited his royal guest to share a philosopher's repast, to
which he promised should be added a goblet of wine, lately sent from
Lampsacus. The prince courteously accepted his invitation; and the kind
old man, wearied with the exertions he had made, was borne to his couch
in an inner apartment. When Plato had assisted Philothea and Milza in
arranging his pillows, and folding the robe about his feet, he returned
to the portico. Philothea supposed the stranger was about to follow him;
and without raising her head, as she bent over her grandfather's couch,
she said: "He is feeble, and needs repose. In the days of his, strength,
he would not have thus left you to the courtesy of our Athenian guest."

"Would to the gods that I had sought him sooner!" rejoined Chrysippus.
"While I have gathered foreign jewels, I have been ignorant of the gems
in my own family."

Then stooping down, he took Anaxagoras by the hand, and said
affectionately, "Have you nothing to ask of your brother's son?"

"Nothing but your prayers for us, and a gentle government for your
people," answered the old man. "I thank you for your kindness to this
precious orphan. For myself, I am fast going where I shall need less
than ever the gifts of princes."

"Would you not like to be buried with regal honour, in your native
Clazomenae?" inquired the prince.

The philosopher again pointed upward as he replied, "Nay. The road to
heaven would be no shorter from Clazomenae."

"And what monument would you have reared to mark the spot where
Anaxagoras sleeps?" said Chrysippus.

"I wish to be buried after the ancient manner, with the least possible
trouble and expense," rejoined the invalid. "The money you would expend
for a monument may be given to some captive sighing in bondage. Let an
almond tree be planted near my grave, that the boys may love to come
there, as to a pleasant home."

"The citizens of Lampsacus, hearing of your illness, requested me to ask
what they should do in honour of your memory, when it pleased the gods
to call you hence. What response do you give to this message?" inquired
the prince.

The philosopher answered, "Say to them that I desire all the children
may have a holiday on the anniversary of my death."

Chrysippus remained silent for a few moments; and then continued:
"Anaxagoras, I perceive that you are strangely unlike other mortals; and
I know not how you will receive the proposal I am about to make.
Philothea has glided from the apartment, as if afraid to remain in my
presence. That graceful maiden is too lovely for any destiny meaner than
a royal marriage. As a kinsman, I have the best claim to her; and if it
be your will, I will divorce my Phoenician Astarte, and make Philothea
princess of Clazomenae."

"Thanks, son of Basileon," replied the old man; "but I love the innocent
orphan too well to bestow upon her the burden and the dangers of
royalty."

"None could dispute your own right to exchange power and wealth for
philosophy and poverty," said Chrysippus; "but though you are the lawful
guardian of this maiden, I deem it unjust to reject a splendid alliance
without her knowledge."

"Philothea gave her affections to Paralus, even in the days of their
childhood," replied Anaxagoras; "and she is of a nature too divine to
place much value on the splendour that passes away."

The prince seemed disturbed and chagrined by this imperturbable spirit
of philosophy; and after a few brief remarks retreated to the portico.

Here he entered into conversation with Plato; and after some general
discourse, spoke of his wishes with regard to Philothea. "Anaxagoras
rejects the alliance," said he, smiling; "but take my word for it, the
maiden would not dismiss the matter thus lightly. I have never yet seen
a woman who preferred philosophy to princes."

"Kings are less fortunate than philosophers," responded Plato; "I have
known several women, who preferred wisdom to gold. Could Chrysippus look
into those divine eyes, and yet believe that Philothea's soul would
rejoice in the pomp of princes?"

The wealthy son of Basileon still remained incredulous of any exceptions
to woman's vanity; and finally obtained a promise from Plato, that he
would use his influence with his friend to have the matter left
entirely to Philothea's decision.

When the maiden was asked by her grandfather, whether she would be the
wife of Paralus, smitten by the hand of disease, or princess of
Clazomenae, surrounded by more grandeur than Penelope could boast in her
proudest days--her innocent countenance expressed surprise, not
unmingled with fear, that the mind of Anaxagoras was wandering. But when
assured that Chrysippus seriously proposed to divorce his wife and marry
her, a feeling of humiliation came over her, that a man, ignorant of the
qualities of her soul, should be thus captivated by her outward beauty,
and regard it as a thing to be bought with gold. But the crimson tint
soon subsided from her transparent cheek, and she quietly replied, "Tell
the prince of Clazomenae that I have never learned to value riches; nor
could I do so, without danger of being exiled far from my divine home."

When these words were repeated to Chrysippus, he exclaimed impatiently,
"Curse on the folly which philosophers dignify with the name of wisdom!"

After this, nothing could restore the courtesy he had previously
assumed. He scarcely tasted the offered fruit and wine; bade a cold
farewell, and soon rolled away in his splendid chariot, followed by his
train of attendants.

This unexpected interview produced a singular excitement in the mind of
Anaxagoras. All the occurrences of his youth passed vividly before him;
and things forgotten for years were remembered like events of the past
hour. Plato sat by his side till the evening twilight deepened,
listening as he recounted scenes long since witnessed in Athens. When
they entreated him to seek repose, he reluctantly assented, and said to
his friend, with a gentle pressure of the hand, "Farewell, son of
Aristo. Pray for me before you retire to your couch."

Plato parted the silver hairs, and imprinted a kiss on his forehead;
then crowning himself with a garland, he knelt before an altar that
stood in the apartment, and prayed aloud: "O thou, who art King of
Heaven, life and death are in thy hand! Grant what is good for us,
whether we ask it, or ask it not; and refuse that which would be
hurtful, even when we ask it most earnestly."

"That contains the spirit of all prayer," said the old philosopher. "And
now, Plato, go to thy rest; and I will go to mine. Very pleasant have
thy words been to me. Even like the murmuring of fountains in a parched
and sandy desert." When left alone with his grandchild and Milza, the
invalid still seemed unusually excited, and his eyes shone with unwonted
brightness. Again he recurred to his early years, and talked fondly of
his wife and children. He dwelt on the childhood of Philothea with
peculiar pleasure. "Often, very often," said he, "thy infant smiles and
artless speech led my soul to divine things; when, without thee, the
link would have been broken, and the communication lost."

He held her hand affectionately in his, and often drew her toward him,
that he might kiss her cheek. Late in the night, sleep began to steal
over him with gentle influence; and Philothea was afraid to move, lest
she should disturb his slumbers.

Milza reposed on a couch close by her side, ready to obey the slightest
summons; the small earthen lamp that stood on the floor, shaded by an
open tablet, burned dim; and the footsteps of Plato were faintly heard
in the stillness of the night, as he softly paced to and fro in the open
portico.

Philothea leaned her head upon the couch, and gradually yielded to the
drowsy influence.

When she awoke, various objects in the apartment were indistinctly
revealed by the dawning light. All was deeply quiet. She remained
kneeling by her grandfather's side, and her hand was still clasped in
his; but it was chilled beneath his touch. She arose, gently placed his
arm on the couch, and looked upon his face. A placid smile rested on his
features; and she saw that his spirit had passed in peace.

She awoke Milza, and desired that the household might be summoned. As
they stood around the couch of that venerable man, Geta and Milza wept
bitterly; but Philothea calmly kissed his cold cheek; and Plato looked
on him with serene affection, as he said, "So sleep the good."

A lock of grey hair suspended on the door, and a large vase of water at
the threshold, early announced to the villagers that the soul of
Anaxagoras had passed from its earthly tenement. The boys came with
garlands to decorate the funeral couch of the beloved old man; and no
tribute of respect was wanting; for all that knew him blessed his
memory.

He was buried, as he had desired, near the clepsydra in the little
brook; a young almond tree was planted on his grave; and for years
after, all the children commemorated the anniversary of his death, by a
festival called Anaxagoreia.

Pericles had sent two discreet matrons, and four more youthful
attendants, to accompany Philothea to Athens, in case she consented to
become the wife of Paralus. The morning after the decease of Anaxagoras,
Plato sent a messenger to Lampsacus, desiring the presence of these
women, accompanied by Euago and his household. As soon as the funeral
rites were passed, he entreated Philothea to accept the offered
protection of Euago, the friend of his youth, and connected by marriage
with the house of Pericles. "I urge it the more earnestly," said he,
"because I think you have reason to fear the power and resentment of
Chrysippus. Princes do not willingly relinquish a pursuit; and his train
could easily seize you and your attendants, without resistance from
these simple villagers."

Aglaonice, wife of Euago, likewise urged the orphan, in the most
affectionate manner, to return with them to Lampsacus, and there await
the departure of the galley. Philothea acknowledged the propriety of
removal, and felt deeply thankful for the protecting influence of her
friends. The simple household furniture was given to Milza; her own
wardrobe, with many little things that had become dear to her, were
deposited in the chariot of Euago; the weeping villagers had taken an
affectionate farewell; and sacrifices to the gods had been offered on
the altar in front of the dwelling.

Still Philothea lingered and gazed on the beautiful scenes where she
had passed so many tranquil hours. Tears mingled with her smiles, as she
said, "O, how hard it is to believe the spirit of Anaxagoras will be as
near me in Athens, as it is here, where his bones lie buried!"

CHAPTER XIII.

One day, the muses twined the hands
Of infant love with flowery bands,
And gave the smiling captive boy
To be Celestial Beauty's joy.
ANACREON.

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