Philothea Part 17

As the chariots approached the house, the loud barking of Hylax attracted the attention of Zoila, the merry little daughter of Proclus, who was playing in the fields with her brother Pterilaus. The moment the children espied a sight so unusual in that secluded place, they ran with all speed to carry tidings to the household. Eudora was busy at the loom; but she went out to look upon the strangers, saying, as she did so, that they were doubtless travellers, who, in pa.s.sing to the Olympic Games, had missed their way.

Her heart beat tumultuously when she saw Hylax capering and fawning about a man who bore a strong resemblance to Geta. The next moment, she recognized Pericles and Plato speaking with a tall, majestic looking woman, closely veiled. She darted forward a few paces, in the eagerness of her joy; but checked herself when she perceived that the stranger lingered; for she said, in her heart, "If it were Philothea, she could not be so slow in coming to meet me."

Thus she reasoned, not knowing that Philothea was the wife of Paralus, and that his enfeebled health required watchful care. In a few moments her doubts were dispelled, and the friends were locked in each others'

arms.

Proclus gave the travellers a hospitable reception, and cheerfully consented that Paralus and his attendants should remain with them.

Pericles, having made all necessary arrangements for the beloved invalid, bade an early farewell, and proceeded with Plato to Olympia.

When Geta and Milza had received a cordial welcome; and Hylax had somewhat abated his boisterous joy; and old Dione, with the tears in her eyes, had brought forward treasures of grapes and wine--Eudora eagerly sought a private interview with the friend of her childhood.

"Dearest Philothea!" she exclaimed, "I thought you were still in Ionia; and I never expected to see you again; and now you have come, my heart is _so_ full"----

Unable to finish the sentence, she threw herself on that bosom where she had ever found sympathy in all her trials, and sobbed like a child.

"My beloved Eudora," said Philothea, "you still carry with you a heart easily kindled; affections that heave and blaze like a volcano."

The maiden looked up affectionately, and smiled through her tears, as she said, "The love you kindled in infancy has burned none the less strongly because there was no one to cherish it. If the volcano now blazes, it only proves how faithfully it has carried the hidden fire in its bosom."

She paused, and spoke more sadly, as she added, "There was, indeed, one brief period, when it was well-nigh smothered. Would to the G.o.ds, _that_ might pa.s.s into oblivion! But it will not. After Phidias came to Elis, he made for Plato a small statue of Mnemosyne, that turned and looked upward to Heaven, while she held a half-opened scroll toward the earth.

It was beautiful beyond description; but there was bitterness in my heart when I looked upon it; I thought Memory should be represented armed with the scourge of the Furies."

"And did you not perceive," said Philothea, "that yourself had armed the benignant G.o.ddess with a scourge? Thus do the best gifts from the Divine Fountain become changed by the will of those who receive them. But, dearest Eudora, though your heart retains its fire, a change has pa.s.sed over your countenance. The cares of this world have driven away the spirit of gladness, that came with you from your divine home. That smiling twin of Innocence is ever present and visible while we are unconscious of its existence; but when in darkness and sorrow the soul asks where it has gone, a hollow voice, like the sound of autumn winds, echoes, 'Gone!'"

Eudora sighed, as she answered, "It is even so. But I know not where you could have learned it; for you have ever seemed to live in a region above darkness and storms. Earth has left no shadow on your countenance.

It expresses the same transparent innocence, the same mild love. A light not of this world is gleaming there; and it has grown brighter and clearer since we parted. I could almost believe that you accompany Hera to the Fountain of Canathus, where it is said she every year bathes to restore her infant purity."

Philothea smiled, as she playfully laid her hand on Eudora's mouth, and said, "Nay, Eudora, you forget that flattery produces effects very unlike the Fountain of Canathus. We have been gazing in each other's faces, as if we fondly hoped there to read the record of all that has pa.s.sed since we were separated. Yet, very little of all that we have known and felt--of all that has gradually become a portion of our life--is inscribed there. Perhaps you already know that Anaxagoras fell asleep in Ionia. The good old man died in peace, as he had lived in love. If I mistake not, while I talked with Pericles, Milza informed you that I was the wife of Paralus?"

"Yes, dearest Philothea; but not till she had first told me of her own marriage with Geta."

Philothea smiled, as she replied, "I believe it is the only case in which that affectionate creature thinks of herself, before she thinks of me; but Geta is to her an object of more importance than all the world beside. When we were in Ionia, I often found her whispering magical words, while she turned the sieve and shears, to ascertain whether her lover were faithful to his vows. I could not find it in my heart to reprove her fond credulity;--for I believe this p.r.o.neness to wander beyond the narrow limits of the visible world is a glimmering reminiscence of parentage divine; and though in Milza's untutored mind the mysterious impulse takes an inglorious form, I dare not deride what the wisest soul can neither banish nor comprehend."

As she finished speaking, she glanced toward the curtain, which separated them from the room where Paralus reposed, watched by the faithful Geta. There was a tender solemnity in the expression of her countenance, whereby Eudora conjectured the nature of her thoughts.

Speaking in a subdued voice, she asked whether Paralus would inquire for her, when he awoke.

"He will look for me, and seem bewildered, as if something were lost,"

replied Philothea. "Since I perceived this, I have been careful not to excite painful sensations by my absence. Geta will give me notice when slumber seems to be pa.s.sing away."

"And do you think t.i.thonus can restore him?" inquired Eudora.

Philothea answered, "Fear is stronger than hope. I thought I perceived a healing influence in the perfect quiet and watchful love that surrounded him in Athens; and to these I would fain have trusted, had it been the will of Pericles. But, dearest Eudora, let us not speak on this subject.

It seems to me like the sacred groves, into which nothing unconsecrated may enter."

After a short pause, Eudora said. "Then I will tell you my own history.

After we came to Elis, Phidias treated me with more tenderness and confidence than he had ever done. Perhaps he observed that my proud, impetuous character was chastened and subdued by affliction and repentance. Though we were in the habit of talking unreservedly, he never alluded to the foolish conduct that offended him so seriously. I felt grateful for this generous forbearance; and by degress I learned to fear him less and love him deeply."

"We received some tidings of him when Plato came into Ionia," rejoined Philothea; "and we rejoiced to learn that he found in Elis a rich recompense for the shameful ingrat.i.tude of Athens."

"It was a rich recompense, indeed," replied Eudora. "The people reverenced him as if he were something more than mortal. His statue stands in the sacred grove at Olympia, bearing the simple inscription; 'Phidias, Son of Charmides, sculptor of the G.o.ds.' At his death, the Elians bestowed gifts on all his servants; endowed me with the yearly revenues of a farm; and appointed his nephew Pandaenus to the honourable office of preserving the statue of Olympian Zeus."

"Did Phidias express no anxiety concerning your unprotected situation?"

inquired Philothea.

"It was his wish that I should marry Pandaenus," answered Eudora; "but he urged the subject no farther, when he found that I regarded the marriage with aversion. On his death-bed he charged his nephew to protect and cherish me as a sister. He left me under the guardians.h.i.+p of Proclus, with strict injunctions that I should have perfect freedom in the choice of a husband. He felt no anxiety concerning my maintenance; for the Elians had promised that all persons connected with him should be liberally provided at the public expense; and I was universally considered as the adopted daughter of Phidias."

"And what did Pandaenus say to the wishes of his uncle?" asked Philothea.

Eudora blushed slightly as she answered, "He tried to convince me that we should all be happier, if I would consent to the arrangement. I could not believe this; and Pandaenus was too proud to repeat his solicitations to a reluctant listener. I seldom see him; but when there is opportunity to do me service, he is very kind."

Her friend looked earnestly upon her, as if seeking to read her heart; and inquired, "Has no other one gained your affections? I had some fears that I should find you married."

"And why did you fear?" said Eudora: "Other friends would consider it a joyful occasion."

"But I feared, because I have ever cherished the hope that you would be the wife of Philaemon," rejoined her companion.

The sensitive maiden sighed deeply, and turned away her head, as she said, with a tremulous voice, "I have little doubt that Philaemon has taken a Persian wife, before this time."

Philothea made no reply; but searched for the epistle she had received at Corinth, and placed it in the hands of her friend. Eudora started, when she saw the well-known writing of Philaemon. But when she read the sentence wherein he expressed affectionate solicitude for her welfare, she threw her arms convulsively about Philothea's neck, exclaiming, "Oh, my beloved friend, what a blessed messenger you have ever been to this poor heart!"

For some moments, her agitation was extreme; but that gentle influence, which had so often soothed her, gradually calmed her perturbed feelings; and they talked freely of the possibility of regaining Philaemon's love.

As Eudora stood leaning on her shoulder, Philothea, struck with the contrast in their figures, said: "When you were in Athens, we called you the Zephyr; and surely you are thinner now than you were then. I fear your health suffers from the anxiety of your mind. "See!" continued she, turning towards the mirror--"See what a contrast there is between us!"

"There should be a contrast," rejoined Eudora, smiling: "The pillars of agoras are always of lighter and less majestic proportions than the pillars of temples."

As she spoke, Geta lifted the curtain, and Philothea instantly obeyed the signal. For a few moments after her departure, Eudora heard the low murmuring of voices, and then the sound of a cithara, whose tones she well remembered. The tune was familiar to her in happier days, and she listened to it with tears.

Her meditations were suddenly disturbed by little Zoila, who came in with a jump and a bound, to show a robe full of flowers she had gathered for the beautiful Athenian lady. When she perceived that tears had fallen on the blossoms, she suddenly changed her merry tones, and with artless affection inquired, "What makes Dora cry?"

"I wept for the husband of that beautiful Athenian lady, because he is very ill," replied the maiden.

"See the flowers!" exclaimed Zoila. "It looks as if the dew was on it; but the tears will not make it grow again--will they?"

Eudora involuntarily shuddered at the omen conveyed in her childish words; but gave permission to carry her offering to the Athenian lady, if she would promise to step very softly, and speak in whispers.

Philothea received the flowers thankfully, and placed them in vases near her husband's couch; for she still fondly hoped to win back the wandering soul by the presence of things peaceful, pure, and beautiful.

She caressed the innocent little one, and tried to induce her to remain a few minutes; but the child seemed uneasy, as if in the presence of something that inspired fear. She returned to Eudora with a very thoughtful countenance; and though she often gathered flowers for "the tall infant," as she called Paralus, she could never after be persuaded to enter his apartment.

CHAPTER XV.

They in me breathed a voice Divine; that I might know, with listening ears, Things past and future; and enjoined me praise The race of blessed ones, that live for aye.

HESIOD

PHILOTHEA to PHILaeMON, greeting: