Glory and the Lightning (40 page)

“The gods have given us the capacity to comprehend them,” said one of the priests. “Do you deny that, Zeno of Elea?”

“Who has said we can comprehend them?” asked Zeno. “The gods, themselves? No. Only arrogant men have declared that, men without intelligence.”

He sat down, looked deeply at the silent priests and said in his sonorous voice, “Who among you dares to declare that he knows the attributes of the Godhead and is acquainted with His nature? Who dares to commit that blasphemy before the face of this august assemblage?”

The oldest of the judges, and the one most heavily bribed by Teos, was becoming impatient, thinking of the noontide meal which he had missed and for which he yearned. He pushed aside his parchment and said, “Zeno of Elea has put it cleverly and with precision. We are not presumptuous men; we would be presumptuous indeed to hold a dialogue concerning the gods with Xanthippus, who knows no more than we.”

Xanthippus bowed and bent his head mockingly. “It is perhaps merciful that we are all ignorant men, for to know even a portion of the truth would be death to us.”

But one of the judges, who had not been bribed, said, “There is the matter of insolence towards the law. I have here an accusation of an anonymous friend of the court to the effect that Xanthippus has declared his disrespect and ridicule of our democracy, and that he has not paid his just taxes.” He glared at Xanthippus, for he hated the other’s aristocracy and fame and riches. “Answer, lord,” he continued. “What is your contention against the liberty you enjoy under your government, laid down by Solon?”

Xanthippus had a witty reply to this but for once he held his tongue. He assumed a thoughtful expression, but his thin and delicate face flushed with the anger he was repressing. He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to define liberty, sire?” he asked.

The judge said, “That is my implication.”

Xanthippus looked at him and his blue eyes became like bright and polished stone. “What is liberty? The right of a man to demand that his government let him be and refrain from meddling with his private affairs and his life, and regulating his conduct which offends no one nor interferes with the rights of his fellows. The right of a man to own property and to pay taxes upon it for the good of the commonweal and the protection of his property and his country from internal and external enemies. The right of a man to live in peace with himself and his neighbors and to enjoy the fruit of his hands and his intelligence. The right of a man to be a man, and to live unfettered by paternalism and the officiousness of petty bureaucrats. In short, the right not to be a slave. These are simple and honest rights. Anything more is oppression.”

“You believe your government does not rise to these expectations?” asked one of the judges.

Xanthippus did not answer for a moment. Then he said in the softest voice, “Noble judge, do you believe our government rises to these expectations?”

The man shifted his eyes then thundered, “That is not only my belief but my knowledge!”

“Sire,” said Xanthippus, “who am I, a mere soldier who offered his life for his country and have served it with blood and honor, to dispute you, who were never a soldier but instead a member of a more honorable profession? As for your knowledge, sire, I plead ignorance of it.”

Teos chuckled aloud, and the priests and the judges glanced at each other, some with rage and frustration and some with only half-hidden amusement.

Then Xanthippus, the intrepid and the sophisticated, lost his precarious temper.

“You speak of Solon!” he cried. “But Solon envisioned a republic of just laws, under which all men would be free, and free, above all, from capricious and rapacious government. A nation where men could openly speak their dissent and plead for redress of wrongs—the wrongs of government against its people. We do not have such a republic, gentlemen. We do not have a republic at all. We have a degenerate democracy, the rule of the witless mob who have bellies but no minds. Under this condition we can be absolutely certain of but one thing: The world is ruled by fools, and this has always been and will be, for fools presume wisdom by their very overwhelming numbers, and what politician or judge will dispute numbers? You, gentlemen?”

Teos groaned inwardly. Now this Xanthippus had spoken his death sentence. Those whom Teos had bribed also groaned inwardly. One said sternly, “You differentiate between a republic and a democracy, Xanthippus? Are they not one and the same?”

“No,” said Xanthippus with quiet emphasis. “One is representative government. The other is government by chaos. Which, gentlemen, do we have in Athens today?”

The priests and the judges studied their parchments. They had no reverence for a brave man who was also a notable soldier, and they knew that such as Xanthippus was dangerous to their very existence. Still, many feared him, and the others feared that Teos would ask for the return of his rich bribes. After a long silence a judge cleared his throat portentously and gave Xanthippus an ominous look.

“It is alleged that you have cheated on your taxes, Xanthippus. What is your reply to this?”

Xanthippus laughed softly. “Where is my accuser, sire? Bring him forth and let his records be examined with mine, and I will wager my life that drachma for drachma I have been more honest than he.”

When they did not answer he added, “Or, is justice dead and not merely blind? Do we have government by vicious informers or government by impartial judgments?”

Again when they did not answer immediately, he said, “But only you can reply to that. That, too, is beyond my competence as a mere soldier.”

The heaviest bribed judge said with eagerness, “Then, Xanthippus, you plead incompetence both as to the nature of divinity and the nature of law?”

Xanthippus bowed. “Sire,” he said, “I am the most incompetent man present, and possibly the most ignorant, if that is possible.”

The judge said with haste, “Your humility is worthy of you, Xanthippus, and is duly noted by the Ecclesia and this court, and therefore the severity of your fate will be mitigated.” He looked furtively at Teos who was slightly frowning. Teos had asked that at the most that Xanthippus be ostracized until he, Teos, had tired of the delightful hetaira, Gaia. In memory he tasted her lips again and smelled her perfume and remembered her embraces.

Seeing the frown of Teos the judge spoke with even more haste. “Therefore, it is the judgment of this court, and the Ecclesia, that you be ostracized from Athens until we, in our mercy, are inclined to recall you. We are not insensible to your fame, Xanthippus, which was justly earned, nor is your city ungrateful. You are not guiltless, and this you know in your heart—though your guilt was caused by ignorance and incompetence. Be thankful that you live under a just and benign democracy, which takes no vengeance on its—incompetent—enemies, who speak not from malice but from benightedness.”

At this Xanthippus started to laugh aloud, but was seized quickly by both arms by Zeno and Teos, who led him towards the door. He threw off his friends on the marble steps and said to them with hilarity, “I have been saved by a philosopher and—” He halted and stared at Teos with sudden amazement. “And Teos. Why were you there, Teos, you who never interested yourself either in religion or justice?”

Teos smiled with the utmost cheerfulness. “Am I not your beloved friend, Xanthippus? Have I not always admired you?”

“No,” said Xanthippus.

Teos took his arm again with a fond look. “My litter awaits. Permit me the honor of taking you to your house.”

When Xanthippus arrived at his house he sent for his wife, gazed at her without emotion and with only indifference, and said, “I have been ostracized for an indeterminate period, but have not been deprived of any of my substance nor will I be imprisoned, or killed.”

Agariste wept, but he did not stay to hear her protestations or her laments. He went to Gaia who received him with her customary joy and he was consoled in her warm round arms and with her kisses. He did not know why, but even as she smiled tears ran down her rosy cheeks.

From his villa on Cyprus he wrote to his son, Pericles:

“Above all things a man must love not only his own liberty but the liberty of others, or he is less than a man. True, liberty is an abstraction but is this not true of all perfect things? We must, however, strive towards it though never can we fully attain it. It is our noblest duty to love all that is perfect, for perfection is the Shadow of God and we may, at our will and desire, rest in it, though never seeing That which casts it.”

Pericles was astonished at reading this from his urbane and mocking father, who had never revered the gods but had questioned their existence with laughter. He was deeply touched.

CHAPTER 5

Though Agariste believed that her son was all perfection, and even Xanthippus had feared that Pericles had too many virtues, Zeno suspected that the youth was more complex and intricate of character than was apparent. He had detected flashes in Pericles’ eyes of impatience, contempt, hostility and intolerance on occasion, and once or twice there had been a gleam of amused brutality. Zeno did not admire perfection in humanity, which would then render it featureless and lifeless and without color, but he did admire Pericles’ ability to control his tongue if not the sudden and unpleasant vivacity of his eyes when stirred to some less than admirable emotion. Then the pallor of his eyes was ignited to the whiteness of a vehement flame, and betrayed a capacity for rage and even fury.

Pericles was widely admired among the youths of his acquaintance, and by their parents, yet there was a remoteness about him which rejected intimacy while inspiring reverence in others and a desire to approach him nearer, a desire invariably frustrated. There was a Tantalus quality in his nature. When he left his fencing school, which was conducted by the expert freedman, Chilio, he never appeared anxious to have companions on his walk to his father’s house, yet he was always surrounded by eager and fawning companions who often went out of their way to accompany him.

Finally Zeno came to the dismaying—to him—conclusion that Pericles possessed that mysterious gift of the gods: the power to move men’s hearts as well as their minds, and to fire their imagination and their unpredictable emotions, which could be destructive.

Alas, Zeno would think, he has the attributes of a politician, and, as it is said, politicians are not born, they are excreted.

There was, in the fencing school of Chilio, a youth of sixteen who was scorned and ridiculed even by the master, though the youth was of a distinguished house and his father was a great soldier. His name was Ichthus, which meant fish, and this alone would have aroused hilarity among cruel youth. He was ashamed of the name, himself, but his mother, who claimed to be dedicated to Poseidon, and hinted that she had, as a maiden, been seduced by him, had insisted on the name. Moreover his character was gentle and elusive, and his movements flowing, and he lived in an aura of self-deprecation for he was very modest and not athletic of body. He absorbed learning like moss absorbing rain, and appeared to grow greener and fresher with every intellectual dew falling upon him, a faculty which did not endear him to his more robust fellows. Pericles, though he scorned the youth, never engaged in baiting him or laughing at him, but would watch him at a removed distance with an inexplicable expression, at once wondering and dismissing.

Ichthus was as tall as Pericles, who was taller than his fellows, and very slender and bony, and his skin had a peculiar pallid transparency which seemed to cover a body containing no blood. This gave him the appearance of chronic illness, for even his lips had no warm tint. His nose was overly large and emaciated and had a curious way—to the risibility of his mates—of turning bright pink at the tip when he was excited over a theory or a particularly interesting academic hypothesis. His very light brown eyes were almost completely round, and started hugely when he was confronted by a novel thought or word, and were lashless. His wide flat mouth was tremulous and betrayed too much sensibility. He stammered and would sometimes become speechless with shy fear of those about him. His thin retreating chin was not notable. His tutors and his mother loved him, and his father despised him as a weakling. Besides having tutors, he attended the same academe as Pericles. It was only his skill at fencing, which he detested, that brought him any measure of toleration from his mates. He had a high shaking voice like an adolescent girl’s, which aroused mirth when he spoke quickly, and his light brown hair was straight and dull and blew in the wind, for it was very fine. He loped rather than walked and his garments never fitted him flatteringly.

He and Pericles were well matched as excellent swordsmen, and often he won a match. He would break into Pericles’ polite congratulations with abject apologies and insistence that he was not the man Pericles was and his winning had only been an accident or an attack of preoccupation on the part of his antagonist. Pericles would leave him impatiently in the midst of his expostulations, Ichthus staring helplessly after him, hardly hearing the laughter of those who had watched the match.

There were times when Pericles felt a slight pity for Ichthus, and when the latter was beset too hard by his mates Pericles would interfere with a quiet word or a quelling glance. Sometimes the pity rose to the point of anger and protectiveness, which also annoyed Pericles. Ichthus was nothing to him, he would remind himself. He had no admiration for him except for his learning and his intelligence. When occasionally he found himself followed meekly at a distance by Ichthus, Pericles’ vexation would heighten to the point of urging him to a cruel word, which he usually suppressed. Ichthus is a poor thing, the fifteen-year-old Pericles would think. Nevertheless, he has a right to an existence without harassment, as all men have, though his ridiculous name suits him well.

One day Pericles stayed later at his academe to discuss a point of logic with his teacher, with which he hoped to confound Zeno that night. He wished to prove that validity and truth have not much in common, and that validity could often be a sophistry, while truth was granite and not merely an exercise in syllogisms. His teacher was annoyed, being an academician and a pedagogue, but he had great respect for Pericles and his family. He conceded a point, without conviction, and the suddenly bored Pericles turned away. He then saw Ichthus at his bench writing swiftly on his parchment with a stabbing pen, and for once he was curious about the youth and his air of intense inner excitement. He strolled, in all his marble beauty, to the bench and looked over Ichthus’ shoulder, and the other youth seemed unaware of his presence.