Philothea by Lydia Maria Child

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Full of smiles, Aspasia rose and greeted Eudora, with the ease and
gracefulness of one long accustomed to homage; but when the venerable
philosopher introduced his child, she felt the simple purity emanating
from their characters, and something of embarrassment mingled with her
respectful salutation.

Her own face was uncovered, contrary to the custom of Grecian women; and
after a few of those casual remarks which everywhere serve to fill up
the pauses in conversation, she playfully seized Eudora's veil, and
threw it back over her shoulders. She would have done the same to
Philothea; but the maiden placed her hand on the half transparent
covering, and said, "With your leave, lady, I remain veiled."

"But I cannot give my leave," rejoined Aspasia, playfully, still keeping
her hold upon the veil: "I must see this tyrannical custom done away in
the free commonwealth of Athens. All the matrons who visit my house
agree with me in this point; all are willing to renounce the absurd
fashion."

"But in a maiden it would be less seemly," answered Philothea.

Thus resisted, Aspasia appealed to Anaxagoras to exert his authority;
adding, in an audible whisper, "Phidias has told me that she is as
lovely as the immortals."

With a quiet smile, the aged philosopher replied, "My child must be
guided by her own heart. The gods have there placed an oracle, which
never misleads or perplexes those who listen to it."

Aspasia continued, "From what I had heard of you, Philothea, I expected
to find you above the narrow prejudices of Grecian women. In _you_ I was
sure of a mind strong enough to break the fetters of habit. Tell me, my
bashful maiden, why is beauty given us, unless it be like sunlight to
bless and gladden the world?"

"Lady," replied the gentle recluse, "beauty is given to remind us that
the soul should be kept as fair and perfect in its proportions, as the
temple in which it dwells."

"You are above ordinary women," said Aspasia; "for you hear me allude to
your beauty without affecting to contradict me, and apparently without
pleasure."

The sound of voices in earnest conversation announced the approach of
Pericles with visiters. "Come to my room for a few moments," said
Aspasia, addressing the maidens: "I have just received a magnificent
present, which I am sure Eudora will admire. As she spoke, she led the
way to an upper apartment. When they opened the door, a soft light shone
upon them from a lamp, which a marble Psyche shaded with her hand, as
she bent over the couch of Eros.

"Now that we are quite sure of being uninterrupted, you cannot refuse to
raise your veil," said Aspasia.

Simply and naturally, the maiden did as she was desired; without any
emotion of displeasure or exultation at the eager curiosity of her
hostess.

For an instant, Aspasia stood rebuked and silent, in the presence of
that serene and holy beauty.

With deep feeling she exclaimed, "Maiden, Phidias spoke truly. Even
thus do we imagine the immortals!"

A faint blush gleamed on Philothea's face; for her meek spirit was
pained by a comparison with things divine; but it passed rapidly; and
her whole soul became absorbed in the lovely statues before her.

Eudora's speaking glance seemed to say, "I knew her beauty would
surprise you!" and then, with the eager gayety of a little child, she
began to examine the gorgeous decorations of the room.

The couch rested on two sphinxes of gold and ivory, over which the
purple drapery fell in rich and massive folds. In one corner, a pedestal
of Egyptian marble supported an alabaster vase, on the edge of which
were two doves, exquisitely carved, one just raising his head, the other
stooping to drink. On a similar stand, at the other side, stood a
peacock, glittering with many coloured gems. The head lowered upon the
breast formed the handle; while here and there, among the brilliant tail
feathers, appeared a languid flame slowly burning away the perfumed oil,
with which the bird was filled.

Eudora clapped her hands, with an exclamation of delight. "That is the
present of which I spoke," said Aspasia, smiling: "It was sent by
Artaphernes, the Persian, who has lately come to Athens to buy pictures
and statues for the great king."

As Philothea turned towards her companion, she met Aspasia's earnest
gaze. "Had you forgotten where you were?" she asked.

"No, lady, I could not forget that," replied the maiden. As she spoke,
she hastily withdrew her eyes from an immodest picture, on which they
had accidentally rested; and, blushing deeply, she added, "But there is
something so life-like in that slumbering marble, that for a moment I
almost feared Eudora would waken it."

"You will not look upon the picture," rejoined Aspasia; "yet it relates
a story of one of the gods you reverence so highly. I am told you are a
devout believer in these fables?"

"When fiction is the robe of truth, I worship it for what it covers,"
replied Philothea; "but I love not the degrading fables which poets have
made concerning divine beings. Such were not the gods of Solon; for such
the wise and good can never be, in this world or another."

"Then you believe in a future existence?" said Aspasia, with an
incredulous smile.

With quiet earnestness, Philothea answered:--"Lady, the simple fact that
the human soul has ever _thought_ of another world, is sufficient proof
that there is one; for how can an idea be formed by mortals, unless it
has first existed in the divine mind?"

"A reader of Plato, I perceive!" exclaimed Aspasia: "They told me I
should find you pure and child-like; with a soul from which poetry
sparkled, like moonlight on the waters. I did not know that wisdom and
philosophy lay concealed in its depths."

"Is there any other wisdom, than true simplicity and innocence?" asked
the maiden.

With a look of delighted interest, Aspasia took her arm familiarly;
saying, "You and I must be friends. I shall not grow weary of you, as I
do of other women. Not of you, dearest," she added in an under tone,
tapping Eudora's cheek. "You must come here constantly, Philothea.
Though I am aware," continued she, smiling, "that it is bad policy for
me to seek a guest who will be sure to eclipse me."

"Pardon me, lady," said Philothea, gently disengaging herself:
"Friendship cannot be without sympathy."

A sudden flush of anger suffused Aspasia's countenance; and Eudora
looked imploringly at her friend, as she said, "You love _me_,
Philothea; and I am sure we are very different."

"I crave pardon," interrupted Aspasia, with haughty impatience. "I
should have remembered that the conversation prized by Pericles and
Plato, might appear contemptible, to this youthful Pallas, who so
proudly seeks to conceal her precious wisdom from ears profane."

"Lady, you mistake me," answered Philothea, mildly: "Your intellect,
your knowledge, are as far above mine, as the radiant stars are above
the flowers of the field. Besides, I never felt contempt for anything to
which the gods had given life. It is impossible for me to despise you;
but I pity you."

"Pity!" exclaimed Aspasia, in a piercing tone, which made both the
maidens start. "Am I not the wife of Pericles, and the friend of Plato?
Has not Phidias modelled his Aphrodite from my form? Is there in all
Greece a poet who has not sung my praises? Is there an artist who has
not paid me tribute? Phoenicia sends me her most splendid manufactures
and her choicest slaves; Egypt brings her finest linen and her metals of
curious workmanship; while Persia unrolls her silks, and pours out her
gems at my feet. To the remotest period of time, the world,--aye, the
_world_,--maiden, will hear of Aspasia, the beautiful and the gifted!"

For a moment, Philothea looked on her, silently and meekly, as she stood
with folded arms, flushed brow, and proudly arched neck. Then, in a
soft, sad voice, she answered: "Aye, lady--but will your spirit _hear_
the echo of your fame, as it rolls back from the now silent shores of
distant ages?"

"You utter nonsense!" said Aspasia, abruptly: "There is no immortality
but fame. In history, the star of my existence will never set--but shine
brilliantly and forever in the midst of its most glorious
constellation!"

After a brief pause, Philothea resumed: "But when men talk of Aspasia
the beautiful and the gifted, will they add, Aspasia the good--the
happy--the innocent?"

The last word was spoken in a low, emphatic tone. A slight quivering
about Aspasia's lips betrayed emotion crowded back upon the heart; while
Eudora bowed her head, in silent confusion, at the bold admonition of
her friend.

With impressive kindness, the maiden continued: "Daughter of Axiochus,
do you never suspect that the homage you receive is half made up of
selfishness and impurity? This boasted power of intellect--this giddy
triumph of beauty--what do they do for you? Do they make you happy in
the communion of your own heart? Do they bring you nearer to the gods?
Do they make the memory of your childhood a gladness, or a sorrow?"

Aspasia sank on the couch, and bowed her head upon her hands. For a few
moments, the tears might be seen stealing through her fingers; while
Eudora, with the ready sympathy of a warm heart, sobbed aloud.

Aspasia soon recovered her composure. "Philothea," she said, "you have
spoken to me as no one ever dared to speak; but my own heart has
sometimes uttered the truth less mildly. Yesterday I learned the same
lesson from a harsher voice. A Corinthian sailor pointed at this house,
and said, 'There dwells Aspasia, the courtezan, who makes her wealth by
the corruption of Athens!' My very blood boiled in my veins, that such
an one as he could give me pain. It is true the illustrious Pericles has
made me his wife; but there are things which even his power, and my own
allurements, fail to procure. Ambitious women do indeed come here to
learn how to be distinguished; and the vain come to study the fashion of
my garments, and the newest braid of my hair. But the purest and best
matrons of Greece refuse to be my guests. You, Philothea, came
reluctantly--and because Pericles would have it so. Yes," she added, the
tears again starting to her eyes--"I know the price at which I purchase
celebrity. Poets will sing of me at feasts, and orators describe me at
the games; but what will that be to me, when I have gone into the silent
tomb? Like the lifeless guest at Egyptian tables, Aspasia will be all
unconscious of the garlands she wears.

"Philothea, you think me vain, and heartless, and wicked; and so I am.
But there are moments when I am willing that this tongue, so praised for
its eloquence, should be dumb forever--that this beauty, which men
worship, should be hidden in the deepest recesses of barbarian
forests--so that I might again be as I was, when the sky was clothed in
perpetual glory, and the earth wore not so sad a smile as now. Oh,
Philothea! would to the gods, I had your purity and goodness! But you
despise me;--for you are innocent."

Soothingly, and almost tearfully, the maiden replied: "No, lady; such
were not the feelings which made me say we could not be friends. It is
because we have chosen different paths; and paths that never approach
each other. What to you seem idle dreams, are to me sublime realities,
for which I would gladly exchange all that you prize in existence. You
live for immortality in this world; I live for immortality in another.
The public voice is your oracle; I listen to the whisperings of the gods
in the stillness of my own heart; and never yet, dear lady, have those
two oracles spoken the same language."

Then falling on her knees, and looking up earnestly, she exclaimed,
"Beautiful and gifted one! Listen to the voice that tries to win you
back to innocence and truth! Give your heart up to it, as a little child
led by its mother's hand! Then shall the flowers again breathe poetry,
and the stars move in music."

"It is too late," murmured Aspasia: "The flowers are scorched--the stars
are clouded. I cannot again be as I have been."

"Lady, it is _never_ too late," replied Philothea: "You have unbounded
influence--use it nobly! No longer seek popularity by flattering the
vanity, or ministering to the passions of the Athenians. Let young men
hear the praise of virtue from the lips of beauty. Let them see religion
married to immortal genius. Tell them it is ignoble to barter the
heart's wealth for heaps of coin--that love weaves a simple wreath of
his own bright hopes, stronger than massive chains of gold. Urge
Pericles to prize the good of Athens more than the applause of its
populace--to value the permanence of her free institutions more than the
splendour of her edifices. Oh, lady, never, never, had any mortal such
power to do good!"

Aspasia sat gazing intently on the beautiful speaker, whose tones grew
more and more earnest as she proceeded.

"Philothea," she replied, "you have moved me strangely. There is about
you an influence that cannot be resisted. It is like what Pindar says of
music; if it does not give delight, it is sure to agitate and oppress
the heart. From the first moment you spoke, I have felt this mysterious
power. It is as if some superior being led me back, even against my
will, to the days of my childhood, when I gathered acorns from the
ancient oak that shadows the fountain of Byblis, or ran about on the
banks of my own beloved Meander, filling my robe with flowers."

There was silence for a moment. Eudora smiled through her tears, as she
whispered, "Now, Philothea, sing that sweet song Anaxagoras taught you.
He too is of Ionia; and Aspasia will love to hear it."

The maiden answered with a gentle smile, and began to warble the first
notes of a simple bird-like song.

"Hush!" said Aspasia, putting her hand on Philothea's mouth, and
bursting into tears--"It was the first tune I ever learned; and I have
not heard it since my mother sung it to me."

"Then let me sing it, lady," rejoined Philothea: "It is good for us to
keep near our childhood. In leaving it, we wander from the gods."

A slight tap at the door made Aspasia start up suddenly; and stooping
over the alabaster vase of water, she hastened to remove all traces of
her tears.

As Eudora opened the door, a Byzantian slave bowed low, and waited
permission to speak.

"Your message?" said Aspasia, with queenly brevity.

"If it please you, lady, my master bids me say he desires your
presence."

"We come directly," she replied; and with another low bow, the Byzantian
closed the door. Before a mirror of polished steel, supported by ivory
Graces, Aspasia paused to adjust the folds of her robe, and replace a
curl that had strayed from its golden fillet.

As she passed, she continued to look back at the reflection of her own
fair form, with a proud glance, which seemed to say, "Aspasia is herself
again!"

Philothea took Eudora's arm, and folding her veil about her, with a deep
sigh followed to the room below.

CHAPTER III.

All is prepared--the table and the feast--
With due appurtenance of clothes and cushions.
Chaplets and dainties of all kinds abound:
Here rich perfumes are seen--there cakes and cates
Of every fashion; cakes of honey, cakes
Of sesamum, and cakes of unground corn.
What more? A troop of dancing women fair,
And minstrels who may chaunt us sweet Harmodius.
ARISTOPHANES.

The room in which the guests were assembled, was furnished with less of
Asiatic splendour than the private apartment of Aspasia; but in its
magnificent simplicity there was a more perfect manifestation of ideal
beauty. It was divided in the middle by eight Ionic columns, alternately
of Phrygian and Pentelic marble. Between the central pillars stood a
superb statue from the hand of Phidias, representing Aphrodite guided by
Love, and crowned by Peitho, goddess of Persuasion. Around the walls
were Phoebus and Hermes in Parian marble, and the nine Muses in ivory. A
fountain of perfumed water, from the adjoining room, diffused coolness
and fragrance, as it passed through a number of concealed pipes, and
finally flowed into a magnificent vase, supported by a troop of Naiades.

In a recess stood the famous lion of Myron, surrounded by infant Loves,
playing with his paws, climbing his back, and decorating his neck with
garlands. This beautiful group seemed actually to live and move in the
clear light and deep shadows derived from a silver lamp suspended above.

The walls were enriched with some of the choicest paintings of
Apollodorus, Zeuxis, and Polygnotus. Near a fine likeness of Pericles,
by Aristolaus, was Aspasia, represented as Chloris scattering flowers
over the earth, and attended by winged Hours.

It chanced that Pericles himself reclined beneath his portrait, and
though political anxiety had taken from his countenance something of the
cheerful freshness which characterized the picture, he still retained
the same elevated beauty--the same deep, quiet expression of
intellectual power. At a short distance, with his arm resting on the
couch, stood his nephew Alcibiades, deservedly called the handsomest man
in Athens. He was laughing with Hermippus, the comic writer, whose
shrewd, sarcastic and mischievous face was expressive of his calling.
Phidias slowly paced the room, talking of the current news with the
Persian Artaphernes. Anaxagoras reclined near the statue of Aphrodite,
listening and occasionally speaking to Plato, who leaned against one of
the marble pillars, in earnest conversation with a learned Ethiopian.

The gorgeous apparel of the Asiatic and African guests, contrasted
strongly with the graceful simplicity of Grecian costume. A
saffron-coloured mantle and a richly embroidered Median vest glittered
on the person of the venerable Artaphernes. Tithonus, the Ethiopian,
wore a skirt of ample folds, which scarcely fell below the knee. It was
of the glorious Tyrian hue, resembling a crimson light shining through
transparent purple. The edge of the garment was curiously wrought with
golden palm leaves. It terminated at the waist in a large roll, twined
with massive chains of gold, and fastened by a clasp of the far-famed
Ethiopian topaz. The upper part of his person was uncovered and
unornamented, save by broad bracelets of gold, which formed a
magnificent contrast with the sable colour of his vigorous and
finely-proportioned limbs.

As the ladies entered, the various groups came forward to meet them; and
all were welcomed by Aspasia with earnest cordiality and graceful
self-possession. While the brief salutations were passing, Hipparete,
the wife of Alcibiades came from an inner apartment, where she had been
waiting for her hostess. She was a fair, amiable young matron, evidently
conscious of her high rank. The short blue tunic, which she wore over a
lemon-coloured robe, was embroidered with golden grasshoppers; and on
her forehead sparkled a jewelled insect of the same species. It was the
emblem of unmixed Athenian blood; and Hipparete alone, of all the ladies
present, had a right to wear it. Her manners were an elaborate copy of
Aspasia; but deprived of the powerful charm of unconsciousness, which
flowed like a principle of life into every motion of that beautiful
enchantress.

The momentary silence, so apt to follow introductions, was interrupted
by an Ethiopian boy, who, at a signal from Tithonus, emerged from behind
the columns, and kneeling, presented to Aspasia a beautiful box of
ivory, inlaid with gold, filled with the choicest perfumes. The lady
acknowledged the costly offering by a gracious smile, and a low bend of
the head toward the giver.

The ivory was wrought with exquisite skill, representing the imaginary
forms of the constellations, studded with golden stars. The whole rested
on a golden image of Atlas, bending beneath the weight. The box was
passed from hand to hand, and excited universal admiration.

"Were these figures carved by an artist of your own country?" asked
Phidias.

With a smile, Tithonus replied, "You ask the question because you see a
Grecian spirit in those forms. They were indeed fashioned by an
Ethiopian; but one who had long resided in Athens."

"There is truly a freedom and variety in these figures, which I have
rarely seen even in Greece," rejoined Phidias; "and I have never met
with those characteristics in Ethiopian or Egyptian workmanship."

"They belong not to the genius of those countries," answered Tithonus:
"Philosophy and the arts are but a manifestation of the intelligible
ideas that move the public mind; and thus they become visible images of
the nations whence they emanate. The philosophy of the East is misty and
vast--with a gleam of truth here and there, resting like sunlight on the
edge of a dark and mighty cloud. Hence, our architecture and statuary is
massive and of immense proportions. Greece is free--therefore she has a
philosopher, who sees that every idea must have a form, and in every
form discovers its appropriate life. And because philosophy has
perceived that the principle of vitality and beauty flows from the
divine mind into each and every earthly thing, therefore Greece has a
sculptor, who can mould his thoughts into marble forms, from which the
free grandeur of the soul emanates like a perpetual presence." As he
spoke, he bowed low to Plato and Phidias.

"The gigantic statues of Sicily have fair proportions," said Plato; "and
they have life; but it is life in deep repose. There is the vastness of
eternity, without the activity of time."

"The most ancient statuary of all nations is an image of death; not of
sleeping energy," observed Aspasia. "The arms adhere rigidly to the
sides, the feet form one block; and even in the face, the divine ideal
seems struggling hard to enter the reluctant form. But thanks to
Pygmalion of Cyprus, we now have the visible impress of every passion
carved in stone. The spirit of beauty now flows freely into the
harmonious proportions, even as the oracle is filled by the inspiration
of the god. Now the foot bounds from the pedestal, the finger points to
the stars, and life breathes from every limb. But in good time the
Lybian pipe warns us that the feast is ready. We must not soar too far
above the earth, while she offers us the rich treasures of her
fruit-trees and vines."

"Yet it is ever thus, when Plato is with us," exclaimed Pericles. "He
walks with his head among the stars--and, by a magic influence, we rise
to his elevation, until we perceive the shadows of majestic worlds,
known in their reality only to the gods. As the approach of Phoebus
fills the priestess with prophecy, so does this son of Phoebus impart
something of his own eloquence to all who come within its power."

"You speak truly, O Pericles," replied Tithonus; "but it is a truth felt
only by those who are in some measure worthy to receive it. Aspasia
said wisely, that the spirit of beauty flows in, only where the
proportions are harmonious. The gods are ever with us, but few feel the
presence of the gods."

Philothea, speaking in a low tone to Eudora, added, "And Plato rejoices
in their glorious presence, not only because he walks with his head
among the stars, but because he carries in his heart a blessing for
every little child."

These words, though spoken almost in a whisper, reached the ear of the
philosopher himself; and he turned toward the lovely speaker with a
beaming glance, which distinctly told that his choicest blessings were
bestowed upon spirits pure and gentle as her own.

Thus conversing, the guests passed between the marble columns, and
entered that part of the room where the banquet was prepared. Aspasia
filled a golden basket with Athenian olives, Phoenician dates, and
almonds of Naxos, and whispering a brief invocation, placed it on a
small altar, before an ivory image of Demeter, which stood in the midst
of the table. Seats covered with crimson cloth were arranged at the end
of the couches, for the accommodation of women; but the men reclined in
Asiatic fashion, while beautiful damsels sprinkled perfumes on their
heads, and offered water for their hands in vases of silver.

In choosing one to preside over the festivities of the evening, the lot
fell upon Tithonus; but he gracefully declined the office, saying it
properly belonged to an Athenian.

"Then I must insist that you appoint your successor," said Aspasia.

"Your command partakes little of the democracy of Athenian
institutions," answered he, smiling; "but I obey it cheerfully; and
will, as most fitting, crown the wisest." He arose, as he spoke, and
reverently placed the chaplet on the head of Plato.

"I will transfer it to the most beautiful," rejoined the philosopher;
and he attempted to place the garland on the brow of Alcibiades. But the
young man prevented him, and exclaimed, "Nay--according to your own
doctrines, O admirable Plato, wisdom should wear the crown; since beauty
is but its outward form."

Thus urged, Plato accepted the honours of the banquet; and taking a
handful of garlands from the golden urn on which they were suspended, he
proceeded to crown the guests. He first placed upon Aspasia's head a
wreath of bright and variegated flowers, among which the rose and the
myrtle were most conspicuous. Upon Hipparete he bestowed a coronal of
violets, regarded by the proud Athenians as their own peculiar flower.
Philothea received a crown of pure white lilies.

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