Part 12

The stern chieftain spake not, but, as he stooped to raise the child, a single tear, falling between the bars of his helmet upon the upturned face of the wondering boy, told of the agony within.

PERICLES TO THE PEOPLE

Imagine yourself at Athens, among that strange people of feverish blood, who deify to-day the man they slaughtered but yesterday. The voice of the herald proclaims that Pericles is to be arraigned before the tribunal of the people. Borne along by the crowd, you enter the hall of justice. Not a sword rattles in its scabbard; not a mailed foot rings on the marble floor; one deep, intense, ominous silence pervades that dangerous assembly, as Pericles, rising, thus addresses them:--

“Ye men of Athens, I come not here to plead for life, though it be spent in exile; to entreat for a breath, though it be drawn in the damps of a dungeon; but to refute a vile slander; to show that he who invents and propagates a falsehood, like Sisyphus, rolls a stone to return and crush him. Cratinus accuses me of having embezzled the money raised for the defence of Greece, and of having expended it in adorning the city of Athens, as a proud and vain woman decketh herself with jewels.

“Have I not defended Greece, while Sparta and the allies were reposing in comfort by their own firesides? He avers that I was often at the house of Phidias to admire his statues, but insinuates that I had a softer motive. Suppose I had; rather let him show in what I have betrayed my country, when I have oppressed the poor, polluted myself with bribes, or turned back in the hour of battle. He accuses me of sacrificing the lives of brave men to my vaulting ambition, and even affects to shed tears over those who fell, in the flower of their youth, at Samos.

“Sacrificing! Were they machines to move at my bidding? bullocks to be dragged up and offered at the altar of Mars? Were they Persian mercenaries, to be driven with whips to the conflict? or were they patriots defending their firesides, and I their elder brother? They were the descendants of those who fell at Marathon,--men whose youthful locks had been worn off by the helmet, and whose fingers grew to the sword-hilt.

“The parents of those brave men did not, with reddening cheeks, behold them lying on some feverish couch, like a sick girl, crying for cooling drinks; but they died with their wounds in front, the broken sword in their hand, and the shout of victory ringing in their ears. Oh, yes! one hour of glorious conflict--when the blood leaps and the muscles rally for the mastery, when the hero’s soul wings its way through gaping wounds to Elysium--is worth a whole eternity of sitting in senates and dull debates, and private bickerings, and tame, common life.

“One day, as we were making forced marches across the isthmus in pursuit of the Lacedæmonians, a woman, following the camp as a sutler, with a child at her breast, fell and expired from fatigue. A soldier raised a spear to despatch the infant. Moved with compassion, I struck down his weapon; for I thought of my own little ones at home, whose kisses were scarcely yet cold on my lips, and even in the confusion of pursuit, I provided him with a nurse.

“On my return, he accompanied me, grew up with my children, fed at my table, slept in my tent, and fought behind my shield. As a reward for life, education, and a thousand anxious cares incurred, he has now, by false accusation, summoned me to the tribunal of my country, to plead for that life which has ever been held cheap in her service. What shall be done with such a wretch? I hear you exclaim: ’Send for the executioner! burn him to ashes! fling him from the Acropolis!’

“Cratinus, thou art that wretch; and yet methinks thou hast not altogether the noble bearing of the patriot who rejoices that he has been able to bring to justice the betrayer of his country; but thou hast rather the look of some timid shepherd, who, in chasing the stag, and pursuing the goat, has, all unwittingly, stumbled upon the lair of the lion, and, too terrified to flee, stands shivering before the glaring eyeball of the tawny brute.

“Thou small thing, I will not hurt thee; for, in the proud consciousness of right, I could even pity thee. And, when again thou liest among the slain at Megara, thy helmet cleft, the lance of the enemy at thy throat, and thou with not strength enough to parry it, then call for Pericles, and he will _again_ come to thy rescue. Farewell, thou grateful child! thou faithful friend! thou manly enemy!”

ICILIUS

The intolerable oppression of the patricians, to which was now added the tyranny of the Decemvirs, had excited a spirit of rancor in the breasts of the Roman commons, which was gradually extending itself to the entire army that now lay encamped in a strong position within sight of the enemy. But so sullen was their temper that the generals feared to lead them from their intrenchments, and the only barrier to open mutiny seemed to be the absence of special provocation, or the lack of a leader.

Upon the slopes of Crustumeria hung the dark masses of the Roman legions, while the watch-fires of their enemy, gleaming through heavy masses of foliage, lit up the vales below. But the haughty joy with which these stern warriors were wont to hail the hour of conflict no longer thrilled the soldiers’ breasts. By the dim light of stars men spake in whispers; and murmurs, waxing louder as the night wore on, like the hollow moan of surf before the gathering tempest, rose on the midnight air.

Just as the red light, touching, tinged the mountain summits, a warrior, clad in gory mantle from which the blood, slow dripping, had stained his armor and clotted upon his horse’s mane, rode down the sentry, and, bursting into the midst of the camp, shouted, “Soldiers, protect a tribune of the people!” Those pregnant words, associated with all of liberty the commons had ever known, were to the chafed spirits of the soldiery as fire to flax. From every quarter of the camp trumpets sounded to arms, the clash of steel mingled with the tramp of hurrying feet, and, marshalled by self-elected commanders, the gleaming cohorts closed around him. But when the helmet, lifted, revealed a face of wondrous beauty, stained by the traces of recent grief, the eyes flashing with the light of incipient madness, and they recognized the features of that tribune most of all beloved by the people, tears trembled on the cheeks of that stern soldiery, and, “Icilius!” ran in a low wail through their ranks.

“Comrades,” he cried, “you behold no more that young Icilius who, foot to foot and shield to shield with you, has borne the brunt of many a bloody day, and whose life was like a summer’s morning, rich with the fragrance of the opening buds, while every morn gave promise of new joys, and twilight hours were in their lingering glories dressed,--but a man sore broken, made ruthless by oppression, and so beset with horrors that this reeling brain, just tottering on the verge of madness, is steadied only by the purpose of revenge.

“Yesterday, Virginia, my betrothed, was by her father slain, to thwart the lust of Appius Claudius, a guardian of the public virtue and a ruler of the State.

“As she crosses the forum, on her way to school, that she may take leave of her mates, and invite them to her bridal, some ruffians set on by Appius Claudius lay hold upon her, averring that she is not the daughter of Virginius, but of a slave-woman, the property of Marcus, his client. The matter is brought to public trial; Appius, failing to attain in this manner the custody of her, that he may gratify his evil passions, commands his soldiers to take her by force. Her friends, apprehending no violence at a legal tribunal, are without arms. Soldiers are tearing her from her father’s embrace, when the stern parent, preferring death to dishonor, catches a knife from the butcher’s stall, and, crying, ’Thus only can I restore thee untainted to thine ancestors,’ stabs her to the heart.

“The purple torrent gushing from her breast, she falls upon my neck,--her arms embrace me,--her lips close pressed to mine, murmuring in death my name, she dies.

“In childhood we were lovers; from her father’s door to mine was but a javelin’s cast. We sought the nests of birds,--played in the brooks,--chased butterflies--we clapped our hands in childish wonder when the great eagle from the Apennines plunged headlong to the vale, or skimmed with level wing along the flood,--and I, adventurous boy, risked life and limb upon the jutting crag, to pluck some wild flower that her fancy pleased.

“As generous wine by age becomes more potent, thus fared it with our loves. For her I kept myself unstained, rushed to the battle’s front, and honors gained, that I might lay them at her feet, and by her love inspired, press on to worthier deeds. Like flowers whose kindred roots intwine, whose perfume mingles on the morning air, did our affections blend. ’Twas but three nights ago that we sat hand in hand beside the Tiber, and listened to the song of nightingales among the elms. The purple twilight quivering through the leaves streamed o’er her brow, and bathed in heavenly hues her lovely form.

“There we talked of our approaching nuptials. Love ripened into rapture. I kissed her lips, and chid the slow-paced hours that kept us from our bliss. The marriage day was fixed. With curtains richly wrought, and coverings of finest linen, spun by her own hands and by her maidens’, my mother had adorned the couch.

“To that sweet home where I had hoped through happy years to cherish her a wife, I bore her mangled corpse, gashed by her father’s hand. Her blood bedewed the bed decked with those nuptial gifts.

“To you, mates of my boyhood, brethren in battle tried, I stretch my hands; not in the petty interest of private wrong, but in the sacred right of Roman liberty, of virgin purity, sweet household joys, and in the name of those whose fair forms mingle with your dreams, in the fierce shock of battle nerve your arms, the fragrance of whose parting kiss yet lingers on your lips.

“The blood of age creeps slowly, and in its timid counsels interest and fear bear sway. Shall youthful swords lie rusting in the scabbards, and young men count the odds, when slaughtered beauty from its bloody grave clamors for vengeance?

“Behold this mantle, drenched in the blood of her whose fingers wove it as a gift of love,--each precious drop a tongue to shame your lingering courage. Led by the father with his bloody knife, your comrades thunder at the gates of Rome, while you, unworthy sons of sires who banished Tarquin and expelled the kings, sit here deliberating whether the virgin’s sanctity, the wife’s fair virtue, and all that men and gods hold sacred, are worth the striking for. Consume your youth in hunger, cold, and vigils, with spoils of conquered realms to pamper tyrants, till, waxing wanton on your bounty, they desolate your homes; and ye, hedged in by mercenary spears, revile your misery.”

His words were drowned in the clash of steel and the cries of multitudes calling to arms. Tearing the bloody garments in pieces, he flung them among the thronging battalions. “Be these your eagles. Bind them to your helmets; and, in the spirit they inspire, strike down the oppressor, that sweet Virginia’s unquiet ghost no more may wander shrieking for vengeance on the midnight air, but to the silent shades appeased return.”

DECIUS

Patriotism in the Roman breast was something more than principle; it was a passion. The sacred fire, so far from being diminished by age, waxed purer through the decay of the flesh, and, partaking of the nature of a divine afflatus, expired only with life itself. After all reasonable allowances made for the enchantment which distance flings around the great of past ages, the instances of devotion to country, scattered here and there through the pages of their history, fill us with amazement. To extend its empire, contribute to its glory, repel its enemies, no sacrifice was deemed too great. In common with other ancient nations they believed that the blood of a human victim, smoking upon the altar, was a sacrifice most acceptable to the gods, and in great emergencies an argument of wondrous power. It was therefore resorted to only when the fate of armies and nations hung trembling in the balance.

The victims chosen were often aged, useless, or prisoners taken in war; but when a virgin in the purity of her innocence and the glory of her expanding charms, or a man of noble birth in the prime of manly vigor, with high hopes and great inducements to live, voluntarily devoted themselves to die for the State, victory was considered no longer doubtful.

The Roman army being engaged in desperate conflict, and hard pressed by a valiant foe, the left wing, under command of Decius, was forced to retire; their general, determined to devote himself, arrayed in a mantle broidered with purple, and standing with bare feet upon his spear, cried: “Ye gods and heroes who rule over us and our enemies, and ye infernal deities whose dwelling is in the shades beneath, I invoke your presence. I entreat you to give victory to the Roman armies, and strike their enemies with fear and death. I here devote myself to mother earth and the shades of my ancestors in behalf of the Roman republic, her legions and auxiliaries, and with myself I devote the legions and auxiliaries of the enemy. For every drop of my blood shed in holy sacrifice grant that theirs may flow in torrents; for my single life, may they atone by thousands.”

Putting on his armor and mounting his horse, he said: “It is well known to you, my countrymen, that our fathers have taught us both by their words and acts, that it is the duty of every citizen to devote himself to the welfare of his country. They have taught us during peace to cultivate the soil, to despise luxury and effeminate pursuits, and, by begetting and educating children, to strengthen the State; in war by valor to defend it; nor without sufficient reason to risk our lives, the property of our country, bestowed by the gods. This I have ever striven to do. I am indeed young to die; age hath not tamed my sinews, nor misfortune broken my spirits, that I should be weary of life; fortune thus far has been friendly to me, reasonable expectations have been gratified, and efforts crowned with success. I might justly hope for many years of usefulness to my country and honor to myself, but it is now in my power, by devoting myself, to secure the interposition of the gods in crowning with victory the banners of our country and destroying its foes.

“It would be a solace to me once more to embrace an affectionate wife and dutiful children, to look again upon the trees I have planted and watched in their growth till they have become a part of myself, and upon the fields from which for so many years I have raised my bread and that of my family. I should like to walk over them once more, but I leave them with all my other affairs to the care of the State, which I am assured I shall this day more benefit by death than by the longest and most prosperous life. To you, Valerius, I commit the care of interring my body, that, having received the sacred rites of burial, I may enter those happy fields, where dwell the shades of heroes and my warlike ancestors. I commission you to inform my wife of the manner of my death, charging her to educate my sons in a manner worthy of their father and their ancestors.

“I pray you, my friends, look not so mournfully upon me, as though some great misfortune were about to befall me; for, though I may no longer lead you to battle, my shade will be present with you and nerve your arms to strike for the safety and glory of the Republic. The spirits of our ancestors hover around us; I behold their shadowy forms. The immortal gods are present for our aid. Jove thunders from the sky and Apollo bends the bow.”

Followed by the frantic legions assured of victory, he rushed into the midst of the foe; they fled in terror before the terrible warrior armed with supernatural terrors and seeking only death. The contest ended, the victorious Romans drew the body of their general from beneath a heap of slain, contemplating with emotions of mingled pride and sorrow the wounds which had let out a spirit so noble. They cleansed that beloved form from the stains of battle, arrayed it in gorgeous robes perfumed with fragrant odors, and reverend senators bore it to the grave.

LEONIDAS

It was on the morn of the 7th of August, 480 B.C., that Leonidas, with three hundred kindred spirits, performed the deed that shall be transmitted from father to son, through the generations of men, while human hearts shall throb with the love of country and of the domestic hearth. Four days had the haughty invader lingered at the mountain pass to afford this desperate band time to reconsider their act and disperse. Summoned to lay down their arms, they replied, “Come and take them.” Vainly had he poured his thousands upon this devoted band till the defile was choked with Persian dead. At length the tidings came that ten thousand men guided by a traitor were threading the goat paths to attack their rear. With ample opportunity to retreat, in obedience to the laws of their country, which forbade its soldiers to retreat from the foe, the Spartans, dismissing their allies, remained to face the storm. Never before or since has law been thus voluntarily baptized in blood, or the sun looked down upon a scene like that.

On one side in solitary grandeur tower the massive cliffs of Œta, wreathed with the white foam of torrents, and shaggy with forests bathed in dew; before stretches the narrow path leading to a plain, where lie the hosts of Xerxes, two million men; and on the other, the sea.

In these rude ages of brawl and battle his life and liberty alone were safe whose hand could help his head; thus also in respect to communities, the nation unable to defend itself found no allies; to be weak was to be miserable. The institutions of Lycurgus aimed to produce the greatest physical strength, contempt of pain and death, and to inspire an absorbing love of country. They decreed that all puny and imperfect children should be put to death, thus leaving to grow up only the strongest of the race. All labor was performed by slaves, that the citizens might be left at leisure for the study and practice of arms. The fatigues of their daily life were greater than those of the camp, and to the Spartan alone war afforded a relaxation. Their cities disdained the protection of walls, while they boasted that the women had never seen the smoke of an enemy’s camp. From the breast they were taught that glory and happiness consisted in love for their country and obedience to its laws. They were early accustomed to cold, hunger, and scourgings, in order to teach them endurance and contempt of pain. No tender parent wrought with saddened brow their battle robes, or buckled on with tears their armor; but the Spartan mother’s farewell to her son was, “Bring back thy shield or be borne upon it.” Trained in the contests of the gymnasium and the free life of the hunter and the warrior, accustomed from childhood to the weight of harness graduated to their growing strength, their armor grew to their limbs, and was worn with a grace and their weapons wielded with a skill that was instinctive.

Such were the stern brotherhood, chosen from a thousand Spartans, all the fathers of living sons, that others might be left to fill their places, inherit their spirit, and follow their example. In those forms so replete with manly beauty dwelt a spirit more noble still, which, preferring the toils of liberty to the ease of servitude, caught from those frowning precipices and that matchless sky, ever flinging its shadow over sea and shore, a love for the soil enduring as life itself.

As the sun arose they bathed their bodies in water, anointed themselves with oil, and arranged their hair as for a banquet. “Let us,” said Leonidas, “breakfast heartily, for we shall all sup with Pluto to-night.”

“Comrades,” cried the heroic king, as the serried ranks gathered around him, “those whose laws do not forbid them to retreat from the foe have left us. I welcome you to death; had not treachery done its work, three hundred Spartans would have still held at bay two million slaves. Deem not because we, trained in all feats of arms, in the full strength of manhood, perish nor hold the pass, our country’s gate, we therefore die for naught. This day shall we do more for Sparta than could the longest life consumed in war or councils of the State. As trees that fall in lonely forests die but to live again, and with other trees incorporate, lift their proud tops to heaven, wave in the breeze, and fling their shadows over the murmuring streams, thus shall our blood, which ere high noon shall smoke upon these rocks and stain these fretting waves, beget defenders for the soil it consecrates. To-day you fight the battles of a thousand years and teach this vaunting foe that bodies are not men, that freedom’s laws are mightier than the knotted scourge or chains by despots forged. The savor of this holocaust, borne by the winds and journeying on the waves, shall nerve the patriot’s arm, while Pinda rears its awful front, and from its sacred caves the streams descend. Inspired by this your act, henceforth five hundred Spartan men shall count a thousand. Our countrymen with envy shall view the gaping wounds through which the hero’s soul flees to the silent shades, and mourn they were not privileged with us to die. Our children shall tread with prouder step their native hills, while men exclaim each to the other, ’Behold the sons of sires who slumber at Thermopylæ.’ These battered arms, gathered with jealous care, shall hallow every home; our little ones with awful reverence shall point to the shivered sword, the war-scarred shield, the bloody vesture or the helmet cleft, and say, ’My father bore these arms at old Thermopylæ.’ With noble ardor shall they yearn for the day when their young arms shall bear ancestral shields, the spear sustain, and, like their sires, strike home on bloody fields for liberty and law.”

Their courage needed to be attempered, not aroused by the clangor of trumpets, the stormy roll of drums, and the frantic shout of multitudes. To the sound of softest music, and decked with flowers as for a bridal, they marched upon their foe.

Now flute notes and the sweet music of the Spartan lyre floated upon the breath of morn as they encountered the foe. Persian arrows and javelins darkened the air, and discordant yells rose up to heaven, but before that terrible phalanx the multitudes went down like grass before the scythe of the mower. Their spears gave no second thrust, their swords no second blow; assailed at length by millions in front and rear, they were slain and not subdued. Yet does their influence live in all literature and all lands. To-day they teach the age that there are nobler employments for man than the acquisition of riches or the pursuit of pleasure. The patriot scholar goes from the contemplation of the relics of Roman and Grecian art, to pay a deeper devotion at their grass-grown sepulchre; listens to the dash of waves, breaking as they broke upon the ear of Leonidas and his heroes, when, on that proud morning, they marched forth to die; reads with awe that sublime epitaph and passes on a better patriot and a better man.

THE CENTURION