Part 18 (1/2)

Up the street on a car shaped like a galley moved the peplus, the great robe of the sovran G.o.ddess. From afar one could see the wide folds spread on a s.h.i.+pyard and rippling in the breeze. But what a sail! One year long had the n.o.blest women of Attica wrought on it, and all the love and art that might breathe through a needle did not fail. It was a sheen of glowing colour. The strife of Athena with the brutish giants, her contest with Arachne, the deeds of the heroes of Athens-Erechtheus, Theseus, Codrus: these were some of the pictures. The car moved noiselessly on wheels turned by concealed mechanism. Under the shadow of the sail walked the fairest of its makers, eight women, maids and young matrons, clothed in white mantles and wreaths, going with stately tread, unmoved by the shouting as though themselves divine. Seven walked together. But one, their leader, went before,-Hermione, child of Hermippus.

Many an onlooker remembered this sight of her, the deep spiritual eyes, the symmetry of form and fold, the perfect carriage. Fair wishes flew out to her like doves.

”May she be blessed forever! May King Helios forever bring her joy!”

Some cried thus. More thought thus. All seemed more glad for beholding her.

Behind the peplus in less careful array went thousands of citizens of every age and station, all in festival dress, all crowned with flowers.

They followed the car up the Dromos Street, across the cheering Agora, and around the southern side of the Acropolis, making a full circuit of the citadel. Those who watched saw Glaucon with Democrates and Cimon give their horses to slaves, and mount the bare knoll of Areopagus, looking down upon the western face of the Acropolis. As the procession swung about to mount the steep, Hermione lifted her glance to Areopagus, saw her husband gazing down on her, raised her hands in delighted gesture, and he answered her. It was done in the sight of thousands, and the thousands smiled with the twain.

”Justice! The beautiful salutes the beautiful.” And who thought the less of Hermione for betraying the woman beneath the mien of the G.o.ddess?

But now the march drew to an end. The procession halted, reformed, commenced the rugged way upward. Suddenly from the bastion of the Acropolis above wafted new music. Low, melancholy at first, as the pipers and harpers played in the dreamy Lydian mode, till, strengthening into the bolder aeolic, the strains floated down, inviting, ”Come up hither,” then stronger still it pealed in the imperious crash of the Doric as the procession mounted steadily. Now could be seen great Lamprus, Orpheus's peer, the master musician, standing on the balcony above the gate, beating time for the loud choral.

A chorus amongst the marchers and a second chorus in the citadel joined together, till the red crags shook,-singing the old hymn of the Homeridae to Athena, homely, rude, yet dear with the memory of ages:-

”Pallas Athena, gray-eyed queen of wisdom, Thy praise I sing!

Steadfast, all holy, sure ward of our city, Triton-born rule whom High Zeus doth bring Forth from his forehead.

Thou springest forth valiant; The clangour swells far as thy direful arms ring.

”All the Immortals in awed hush are bending, Beautiful, terrible, thy light thou'rt sending Flashed from thine eyes and thy pitiless spear.

Under thy presence Olympus is groaning, Earth heaves in terrors, the blue deeps are moaning; 'Wisdom, the All-Seeing G.o.ddess is here!'

”Now the sea motionless freezes before thee; Helios, th' Sun-Lord, draws rein to adore thee; Whilst thou, O Queen, puttest on divine might.

Zeus, the deep-councillor, gladly greets thee!

Hail, Holy Virgin-our loud paean meets thee, PALLAS, CHASTE WISDOM, DISPELLER OF NIGHT!”

Up the face of the Rock, up the long, statue-lined way, till through the gate the vision burst,-the innumerable fanes and altars, the a.s.sembly of singers and priests, the great temple in its pride of glittering marble.

Clearer, stronger sounded the choral, shot up through the limpid azure; swaying, burning, throbbing, sobs and shouting, tears and transports, so mounted new strains of the mighty chorus, lit through with the flames of Homeric verse. Then stronger yet was the mingling of voices, earth, sky, deep, beasts' cry and G.o.ds' cry, all voiced, as chorus answered to chorus.

Now the peplus was wafted on a wave of song toward the temple's dawn-facing portal, when from beneath the columns, as the tall valves turned and the sun leaped into the cella, hidden voices returned the former strains-mournful at first. Out of the adytum echoed a cry of anguish, the lament of the Mother of Wisdom at her children's deathly ignorance, which plucks them down from the Mount of the Beautiful Vision.

But as the thousands neared, as its paeans became a prayer, as yearning answered to yearning, lo! the hidden song swelled and soared,-for the G.o.ddess looked for her own, and her own were come to her. And thus in beneath the ma.s.sy pediment, in through the wide-flung doors, floated the peplus, while under its guardian shadow walked Hermione.

So they brought the robe to Athena.

Glaucon and his companions had watched the procession ascend, then followed to see the sacrifice upon the giant altar. The King Archon cut the throat of the first ox and made public prayer for the people. Wood soaked in perfumed oil blazed upon the huge stone platform of the sacrifice. Girls flung frankincense upon the roaring flames. The music crashed louder. All Athens seemed mounting the citadel. The chief priestess came from the holy house, and in a brief hush proclaimed that the G.o.ddess had received the robe with all favour. After her came the makers of the peplus, and Hermione rejoined her husband.

”Let us not stay to the public feast,” was her wish; ”let these hucksters and charcoal-burners who live on beans and porridge scramble for a bit of burned meat, but we return to Colonus.”

”Good then,” answered Glaucon, ”and these friends of course go with us.”

Cimon a.s.sented readily. Democrates hesitated, and while hesitating was seized by the cloak by none other than Agis, who gave a hasty whisper and vanished in the swirling mult.i.tude before Democrates could do more than nod.

”He's an uncanny fox,” remarked Cimon, mystified; ”I suppose you know his reputation?”