Historical Miniatures. August Strindberg
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who has created heaven and earth, and given the promise to our people.”
“What promise?”
“That our nation shall possess the earth.”
“By Heracles! But the commencement is not very promising.”
“That is our belief, and it has supported us during our wanderings in the wilderness, and during the Captivity.”
“Will you give evidence against these blasphemers of the gods?”
“No, Cleon, for you are idolaters. Socrates and his friends do not believe in your gods, and that will be counted to them for righteousness. Yes, Socrates appeared to me rather to worship the Eternal and Invisible, whom we dare not name. Therefore I do not give evidence against him.”
“Is that the side you are on? Then go in peace, but beware! Go!”
“The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob will protect me, so long as I and my house keep His laws.”
Cleon had espied his friend and fellow-artisan in the colonnade, and therefore let the inflexible Hebrew go. The latter hastened towards the sycamore avenue of the oil-market, and disappeared there.
Anytos the tanner and politician approached, rehearsing a written speech which he was intending to deliver: “Athens or Sparta,—that is the whole question at issue....”
Cleon, full of curiosity, interrupted him: “What are you rehearsing, Anytos?”
“A speech.”
“So I heard! Athens or Sparta! Government by the people, or government by donkeys. The people, the weightiest element in the State, the cultivators of the land, the producers of wealth, lie at the bottom like gold. The worthless, the drones, the rich, the aristocratic, the most frivolous, swim on the surface like chips and corks. Athens has always represented government by the people, and will always do so; Sparta represents the donkey-government.
“The oligarchy, you mean, Cleon.”
“No; donkeys. Therefore, Anytos, Athens is badly governed, for Pericles the rich man, who boasts of royal ancestors, has come to power. How can he sympathise with these people, since he has never been down there below? How can he see them rightly from above? He sits on the gable-roof of the Parthenon, and views the Athenians as ants, while they are lions, with their claws pared and their teeth drawn. We, Anytos, born down there amid the skins of the tanyard and dog’s-dung, we understand our perspiring brothers—we know them by the smell, so to speak. But like readily associates with like; therefore Sparta feels attracted to Athens, to Pericles and his followers. Pericles draws Sparta to himself, and we sink....”
Anytos, himself an orator, did not like to hear eloquence from others, therefore he cut abruptly through Cleon’s speech.
“Pericles is ill.”
“Is he ill?”
“Yes, he has fever!”
“Really? Perhaps the plague.”
“Perhaps.”
This interjected remark of Anytos had crossed Cleon’s prolix discourse, and a new hope glimmered before him.
“And after Pericles?” he said. “Cleon, of course.”
“Why not? The man of the people for the people, but no philosophers nor actors. So, Pericles is sick, is he? Listen, Anytos? Who is Nicias?”
“He is a grandee who believes in oracles.”
“Don’t attack the oracles. I certainly do not believe in them, but a State requires for its stability a certain uniformity in everything—laws, customs, and religion. Therefore I support the gods of the State—and what belongs to them.”
“I also support the gods of the State, so long as the people do.”
The two orators began to be mutually weary, and Cleon wished for solitude in order to hatch the eggs which Anytos had laid for him. Therefore he remarked, “You say that Nicias....”
“I am going to bathe,” broke in Anytos; “otherwise I will get no sleep to-night.”
“But Alcibiades, who is he?”
“He is the traitor Ephialtes, who will lead the Persian King to Thermopylae.”
“The Persian King in the east, Sparta in the south.”
“Macedonia in the north.”
“And in the west, new Rome.”
“Enemies in all four quarters! Woe to Athens!”
“Woe to Hellas!”
The guests had assembled at the house of Alcibiades, who on his arrival had immediately gone off, with the laudable object of procuring flute-players. Since the evening was warm, supper was served in the Aula, or inner court, which was surrounded by Corinthian colonnades, and lighted by many lamps which hung between the pillars.
After they had taken a light meal, ivy wreaths were distributed and cups were set before the guests.
Aspasia, the only woman present, had the place of honour next to Pericles. She had come at the beginning, accompanied by her slaves, and was waiting impatiently for the verbal contests to begin. But Pericles was depressed and tired. Socrates lay on his back, silent, and looked up at the stars, Euripides chewed a wood-splinter and was morose; Phidias kneaded balls of bread, which in his hand took the shapes of animals; Protagoras whispered to Plato, who, with becoming youthful modesty, kept in the background.
Quite at the bottom of the table sat the skeleton, with a wreath of roses round its white forehead. In order to counteract the uncanny feeling likely to be aroused by this unbidden guest, Alcibiades had placed an onion between its front teeth, and in one of its hands an asphodel lily, which the skeleton appeared to smell at.
When the silence at last became oppressive, Pericles roused himself from his lethargy, and opened the conversation.
“I should like,” he said, “without raising any bitterness or strife, to suggest as a subject for discussion the often-raised question of Euripides’ supposed misogyny. What do you say, Protagoras?”
“Our friend Euripides has been married three times, and each time has had children. He can therefore not be a woman-hater. Is it not so, Socrates?”
“Euripides,” answered Socrates, “loves Aspasia, as we all do, and can therefore not be a woman-hater. He loves, with Pericles’ consent, the beauty of Aspasia’s mind, and is therefore no misogynist. Not much that is complimentary can be said about Aspasia’s person, and we have nothing to do with it. Is Aspasia beautiful, Phidias?”
“Aspasia is not beautiful, but her soul is beautiful and good. Is it not, Pericles?”
“Aspasia is my friend, and the mother of our child; Aspasia is a wise woman, for she possesses modesty and conscientiousness, self-knowledge and foresight; Aspasia is prudent, for she is silent when wise men speak. But Aspasia can also cause wise men to speak wisely by listening to them; for she helps them to produce thoughts, not like Socrates’ midwife, who only brings corporeal births to pass, but she incarnates their souls.”
Protagoras continued: “Aspasia is like the Mother Cybele of us all; she bears us in her bosom.”
“Aspasia is the scale of the zither, without whom our strings would not sound.”
“Aspasia is the mother of us all,” recommenced Socrates, “but she is also the midwife who washes our new-born thoughts and wraps them in beautiful swaddling-clothes. Aspasia receives our children dirty, and gives them back to us purified. She gives nothing of herself, but by receiving gives the giver the opportunity to give.”
Euripides resumed the topic which they had dropped: “I was accused, and am acquitted—am I not, Aspasia?”
“If you can acquit yourself of the accusation, you are acquitted, Euripides.”
“Accuse me, dear Accuser; I will answer.”
“I will bring the accusation in your own words. Hippolytus says